"Can't a mother watch out for her daughter?"
"Of course, Mom. But I'm giving this a try. Who knows?" she said flippantly. "He could be the one."
Her mother swatted her with a towel. "Just take your time.
You have your whole life ahead of you. You don't have to rush into marriage."
"I'm not rushing," she said. "I'm twenty-five, years older than any of the other marrying females in this family."
"Wel , be careful."
"You weren't careful, and here you are, enjoying another year of wedded bliss." She leaned forward and kissed her mother's cheek. "You're the reason I keep searching for the right man, Mom. Come help me pick out something to wear tonight." She raised one hand as her mothers mouth opened. "I'm not planning in run off and get married but I do want to look my best."
Fifteen minutes later, she was surprised to hear the doorbel . "I'm not ready! He's early." She couldn't hide the panic in her voice.
"I'll have your father stal him." Marian patted her cheek. "Breathe, dear. He's just a man."
She didn't have a chance to retort before her mother disappeared down the hal .
A minute later, she was back, with Alice fol owing her. "What are you doing here?" Margaret demanded.
Alice lifted an eyebrow. "Hel o to you, too. Marcia and I were taking a walk and thought we'd drop in on Grandma and Grandpa."
"Wel , help me."
Alice sifted through the clothes. "If we had time, I'd throw most of these out. You have atrocious taste, Margaret." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Let's see what's the best of this stuff."
She settled on a dark-blue patterned skirt and soft white blouse, with a bright blue cardigan Margaret had bought in Scotland. "And a hint of makeup," Alice insisted. "You have a lot of wasted potential, Margaret."
"Be nice to your sister," Marian said automatical y as Alice applied rouge and a touch of face powder.
Alice grinned and stepped back to admire her handiwork. "I am. Now, just be your natural charming self. You have a chance to start something here with someone who doesn't know you at al ."
Margaret burst into laughter. "That doesn't exactly give me confidence."
The doorbel rang again, and Margaret sent them another panicked look. Alice pushed her toward the door.
"Go, before Dad scares him off."
The introductions were made. Four-year-old Marcia was fascinated by him and stood in the middle of the room, her thumb in her mouth, staring. Margaret understood her reaction. He was better looking than she remembered, his shoulders broad and his brown eyes deep. It took al her concentration to remember how to walk to his 1954 Chevy.
"Junior col ege teachers don't drive fancy cars," he explained as he opened her door.
She slipped in, holding her skirt careful y so it wouldn't catch on the door handle. "Part-time junior col ege teachers don't own cars at al ." And what did he think about her stil living with her parents?
He chuckled and she relaxed.
The talk was light and easy. The owner of the restaurant led them past the crowd waiting for tables to a quiet one in the corner.
"I stopped to make reservations before I went to your house," Alex whispered in her ear. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be seated for at least an hour."
"Ah, an organized man." His breath tickling her neck had driven her senses to a near-frenzy.
He grinned. "My parents would say I'm a perfectionist. That's why I asked you to vacate the room. I need at least five minutes alone to prepare for my class."
She thought of her own rushed arrival and ducked her head to study the menu. Punctuality was not in her repertoire. It was only thanks to Alice and her mother that she'd been ready on time tonight.
Waiting for coffee after their dishes were cleared away, he leaned his elbows on the table. "You're good at the questions, Margaret Robertson. Lucky for me, I have nothing to hide. I'm just your ordinary, never-been-married thirty-year-old. Which is a good thing, since your father gril ed me while we were waiting."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Her father could be the most gentle of men but let anyone threaten one of his four women, and a fiercely protective beast would emerge.
"Perfectly natural," Alex said. "Three daughters. A beautiful wife. The man must have his hands ful ."
Margaret grinned. She would definitely share the "beautiful wife" comment. Might make her dad spit nails but her mom would warm to Alex the next time they met.
And she hoped there'd be a next time. He was funny and charming and—
"Hel o, Margaret?"
She blinked. "Sorry."
"Were you plotting a story?"
She shook her head. How could she admit she was actual y plotting to see him again?
"It's my turn," he said, and she forced herself to pay attention.
"Do you have the happy outlook on life that my secretary assumes you enjoy, based on your stories?"
Margaret choked on the sip of water she'd just taken and almost choked again when he patted her on the back.
"You don't have a happy outlook? Or your stories aren't?"
Without warning, she was tel ing him about Andrew and the years of sadness she'd suffered. His comments were few and sympathetic and she soon launched into tales of her trip to England before coming to a sudden stop.
He counted on his fingers. "Andrew died when you were fourteen. You graduated when you were almost eighteen and went to England when you were twenty. Either you've left out a few years or you're only twenty-one."
She sipped at her water. "I forgot you teach mathematics. In the last four years, I finished my col ege degree and wrote for the paper. I sold a book last spring, a novel, after a dozen or so short stories. As a local writer, the col ege offered me a few creative writing courses. You saw me in action. Or, rather, winding down."
"I would like to see you in action."
His voice was quiet and she sent him a suspicious look. Was this a pass?
He laughed. "I meant in the classroom, but now you have me curious."
She blushed. Seeing the crowd mil ing about in the lobby, she turned back. "Shouldn't we let some other hungry souls eat?"
She waited discreetly by the door as he settled the bil . She pushed at the door but he reached across her before she could do more than nudge it partway. "Don't your dates usual y open the door for you?" he asked.
His arm rested over her shoulder and she was finding it hard to catch her breath. "I—that is..." She swallowed and tried again.
"Most of the guys I've dated recently have known me forever."
She thought she heard him say, "Lucky them," but he was bending down to unlock her door and she couldn't be certain. Probably just more of her daydreaming.
He backed out of the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction from her house. "Where are we going?"
"My apartment. I don't want this evening to end yet, and I can't talk to you with your parents breathing down our necks."
He didn't want the evening to end. A warmth flowered within her. "But I can't go to your apartment. What will people think?"
He looked at her, al trace of his easygoing smile gone. "Do you care?"
His hair fel over his forehead, a tiny crease between his brow. "No," she said. His right hand touched hers briefly before returning to the steering wheel.
His apartment was on the second floor of a house at the edge of town. A large painting of a rushing sea occupied the wal above the couch, the only item in the room that wasn't neat and orderly. Margaret hated to sit down and rumple the cushions. She stood in the doorway.
"What is it?"
"I don't want to mess anything up."
He laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that made her stomach pitch. His smoldering glances had excited her but this laugh made her want to throw her arms around his neck and hold him close so he'd never leave. His laugh was that of a man who saw much joy in life.
He leaned over the couch and pressed it with his palm, creating a dent in the center of the cushi
on. With a low bow, he turned. "Milady, your seat."
She curtseyed and started to sit. Halfway down, his hands caught her elbows and she raised her face trustingly for his kiss.
His lips were firm. She closed her eyes, letting him support her weight. After a moment, she pul ed her arms away and locked them around his neck. He gathered her closer and she sank into his embrace, her back against the cushions of the couch.
She couldn't breathe. For a moment, she thought about cataloging his kiss, storing the sensations away for a story, but then his tongue invaded her mouth and she forgot everything except his kiss.
His mouth seared a path down her jaw, her cheek, along her neck. His hand crept up her side and she inhaled sharply, her nipple puckering in anticipation.
He removed his hand and she opened her eyes. "No," she said, placing his hand back on her waist.
"Are you sure?" His voice was rough with longing.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
They moved frantical y, sliding garments off and onto the floor, hands exploring newly bared skin, lips trailing over shoulders, mouths, cheeks. His beard grazed the tender skin of her breast and she giggled, surprised at the soft, ticklish sensation.
He raised his head, eyes dark with desire. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing." She curled her fingers into the thick mane of his hair, bringing him closer so she could kiss his mouth. "I didn't realize your beard would tickle, that's al ."
"It tickles, does it?" He rubbed his beard back and forth over her nipples until she forgot to laugh and moaned with need.
"Okay, you have to understand." He was stretched on top of her, one hand flung over the back of the couch, the other on the floor. "I real y did think we'd just talk when we came up here. I don't usual y..." He paused.
She pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I should hope not. And I've never jumped into bed on a first date before, so I suppose that says something, too." She'd jumped into bed twice, both times with men she'd met on her English trip, determined to completely expand her horizons.
He kissed her, a hard kiss that pressed her head into the couch arm. When he released her, she gently smoothed a finger over his cheek. "I told you things tonight I've never told anyone before. And now this." She ran her finger over the straight line of his thick brows, down his nose, over his mustache, around the lips that had driven her crazy. "Alex Martin, if you don't stop leering at me, I'll expect satisfaction al over again."
"That can be arranged." He shifted and nipped her bare shoulder and she knew he was speaking the truth.
She sighed, smiling as his gaze fol owed her breasts. "Cal my parents, would you? Tel them I'm not coming home tonight."
He straightened, half lifting himself off the couch. "What time is it? They're probably wondering where you are."
She pul ed his head down until his beard tickled her chin. "I'm grown-up now, Alex. I don't answer to them."
But the mood was broken. He jumped off the couch and pul ed on his pants. She lay on the couch, watching, her arms tucked casual y behind her head. He threw her blouse and sweater at her.
"Margaret, I love you and thank you for a wonderful evening' but you must go home."
She sat up, clutching her clothes. "What did you say?"
"I said you must go home. You may not worry about your reputation but I worry about mine."
"No, Alex, be serious. What else did you say?"
He knelt down, his hands cupping her face. "I said I love you. Those words never came out of my mouth before, honest."
Her tears surprised them both. He snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly mopped at her cheeks. He helped her into her blouse, fastening the tiny buttons with clumsy fingers. She hiccuped and stepped into her skirt.
"I—I—"She hiccuped again. "Thank you. You didn't have to say that, you know. I was a party to al this."
He frowned, then caught her around the waist, bringing her close. "I didn't just say the words, Margaret. I meant them."
Her tears flowed faster. He tilted back her head and captured them with his lips, his mouth on her cheeks and then her lips, his kiss overwhelming her with tenderness.
They were both breathless when he released her lips, his head bent over hers. "When I walked into that classroom today, I had no idea I was meeting my future wife. But after tonight, sweetheart, I am never letting you out of my life. Ever."
The tears threatened again and she swallowed. "Alex, you'd better get me home soon. Or I'm going to flood your apartment."
His kiss was gentle. "Let's go then. Or I'll keep you here for another reason."
She curled against his side on the ride home, too dazed to speak. She hadn't given him an answer and he hadn't asked for one. When he parked in front of her house, she waited but he didn't repeat his proposal. If his kiss hadn't been so possessive and intense, if her body didn't stil bear the imprint of their lovemaking, she'd worry that she'd imagined the entire scene.
She made it to her bedroom door before she heard the cal . "Margaret? Margaret, is that you?"
"Yes, Mom, sorry it's so late."
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
A grin spread over Margaret's face. "I did."
"And is he the one?" Her mother's voice was sleepy but Margaret could hear the humor in it.
You knew as soon as you met Dad, didn't you, Mom? You took one look at him and you knew. And thirty years later, you're stil looking at each other with love in your eyes.
"I think he is," she whispered to herself.
She wasn't ready to say the words out loud, though, so she wished her mother good-night and received a muffled "good night, dear" in reply.
After that, she spent every available minute with Alex, cooking meals at his apartment, grading papers at his dining-room table, making love in his big bed. A week after their first dinner, he proposed again and she eagerly accepted. He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief then tumbled her onto the pil ows.
He asked her to announce the engagement and choose a wedding date, but she begged for more time. "Not yet, please. I know and you know, but other people might think we're rushing into marriage."
"Why wait when we know it's right?" he asked, nibbling her earlobe.
She ducked away.
He shoved the papers she'd been trying to grade onto the floor and brought her closer to his body. "If you're worried about what happened with your sister Alice, remember your other sister's happily married. We have a fifty-fifty chance of being successful. And that's just going by your sisters. If we factor in your parents, not to mention mine, our odds are even better. Besides, I'm an optimistic kind of guy myself."
"Yes, but—"
She couldn't focus on her argument, not with his arms encircling her, his lips making their way down her cheeks, over her shoulders. He was insatiable, touching her, caressing her, and she basked in the attention.
Sometimes she wondered if that was why she was so enamored with him or if—as she hoped—her feelings went deeper. But he never gave her time to reflect on it.
She pushed against his chest. "Alex, please. I can't think when you're kissing me."
"That's the general idea." He nuzzled her neck.
She squirmed out of his hold and stood up. "Alex, please."
He gazed at her, lust burning in his eyes. "Al right. What?" He folded his arms over his chest.
She paced around the room, unable to concentrate now. She did better with a blank sheet of paper, and time to formulate her thoughts.
She turned to face him. "It's sil y, Alex, but how can I tel my parents I'm engaged to a man they've met once?"
He reached her in a few quick strides, forcing her to stop her mad dash around the room. He raised her chin up with one long finger. "Margaret, I love you and I love the way you care about your family. But I'm not marrying your parents. I'm marrying you. Your opinion is the only one that matters."
She nodded, tracing a finger down the buttons of his shirt. "I
know you're right, Alex. It's just that—"
He swallowed her objection with a hard kiss. "It's just nothing. Now, repeat after me. I, Margaret Robertson, love you, Alex Martin, and agree to marry you within the month."
She stared at him. His finger and thumb pinched her chin, forcing her mouth to open and shut like a ventriloquist's dol . "Repeat after me," he said.
She giggled and then said the words, pausing after "marry you."
"Finish the sentence," he ordered.
"Within the month," she whispered.
"Good. Now let's go practice for our wedding night."
Six weeks after their first meeting in the classroom, they stood together in the col ege chapel and exchanged vows. His parents, two sisters and brother came from Kansas, eager to witness tin- marriage. Anne and Alice were her attendants, his brother and j fel ow teacher assisting Alex. Marian sniffled throughout the short service, Frank s arm around her shoulders. After a buffet dinner .it her parents' house, Alex drove them to his apartment.
In bed that night, she ran her fingers through his beard, reveling in the different textures against her skin. "Any regrets?" she asked.
He gave a satisfied groan and rol ed over so she was resting on his chest. "Not now and not ever."
"Pretty words, my love." She leaned down to give him a floating kiss. "I'll remind you of them during our first fight."
"We won't ever argue." He rol ed over again, trapping her beneath him. "From now on, your stories will reflect our happily- ever-after marriage."
She laughed. "Art imitating life."
"You bet." He framed her face with his hands. Her stomach I tensed at the need she saw in his dark eyes.
"Now, enough talking, Mrs. Martin. This is our wedding night."
*****
Summer 2004
"Shotgun!" Hannah grabbed the front passenger door handle a fraction of a second before Preston reached it.
"I'm the oldest, anyway!"
"How long do you get to do that?" he grumbled, crawling in the back.
"Forever. I'll always be the oldest, won't I, Grandma?"
Anne buckled her seat belt and started the engine. "'Fraid so, Preston. That's the way it works. I'm always the oldest in my generation, too."
Tessa McDermid - Family Stories Page 19