“Max?” Jake called. “Are you in here?”
Max Hess came out of the rear-walled office, wiping his hands on a blue bandana and stuffing the cloth into his denim pants pocket. “I wondered if you’d show.”
“Of course I’d show. Where’s Miss Valentine?”
“She’s not here.”
The low nicker of horses and clump of shod hooves softly sounded in the row of stalls.
“I didn’t think so.” Jake held the note out with Truvy’s neat writing on it in slanted black ink. “She left me this on her door. What’s going on?”
“I know what’s going on,” he said, shaking his head, “and I’m sorry to be the one to do this to you, Jake—but wait here.”
Jake crumpled the note and tossed it into the cold forge. He didn’t like the chill settling into his joints. Something wasn’t right.
And he knew for sure the moment he saw Max back an animal out of the last stall and walk it toward him. A mule to be exact:
Walter Zurick’s—with a red ribbon around its neck.
Truvy thought about not going to the dance after what she’d arranged with Max Hess. But the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t want to cower and hide away in her apartment and . . . cry.
Far better to show up at the dance. Alone. And show the men from the gymnasium that she had outsmarted Mr. Brewster. What better way to save her integrity, her pride, than to come to the town’s dance and act as if she was gay and happy? Not amused at all by their silly bet. Not having fallen for it.
Why, then, was she having difficulty smiling and putting on a brave front?
The members of that stupid Barbell Club were here, watching her with interest. Milton Burditt sported a black eye. The others looked uneasy, as if fearing Jake’s reaction. To what?
She wanted to run and hide, and in the fifteen minutes she’d been there, fifteen of them had been spent convincing herself to stay.
This was Edwina and Tom’s first night out together without Elizabeth, and Edwina looked radiant, so lovely on Tom’s arm. They’d danced already, once. A band had been hired and played popular songs as well as traditional ballads and waltzes. Of course, every one reminded Truvy of Jake.
She wondered when he would find the mule. And what he would do as soon as he saw it. Would he come over to the schoolhouse and confront her? He wouldn’t. Couldn’t and save face. Because she’d make a fuss. A public one. She didn’t care. She’d tell everyone how silly he was for believing she’d come with him . . . for believing that she—
Truvy had to turn away toward the rear of the large room and discreetly remove her hankie from her reticule. She touched its soft edge to each eye. It was mortifying. It was the worst. How could he have done this to her?
She didn’t want to believe it.
Deep down, she couldn’t believe it. Not after all she and Jake had shared. But she kept going back to the fact—he did make bets. He’d confessed before.
She faced away from the couples and the merrymaking long enough to regain her composure. Then she turned around and tried to look as if she belonged, even though her heart was breaking in two.
The schoolhouse’s upper-grade classroom had been cleared of desks and chairs, the three chalkboards covered with crepe paper. A radiator heater had the room hotter than an oven. Truvy fanned her cheeks, knowing they were a deep shade of red. She shouldn’t have come; she shouldn’t—
Don’t think about that.
The decorations. Look at them. Heart-molded Japanese lanterns hung from the ceiling. Paper hearts had been strung like chains from each lighting fixture. The building ran on electricity, so the interior was bright and yellow. Tables had been set up with heart cookies and cakes and tea breads. Punch and seltzers and soda pops were served alongside.
The men from Jake’s gymnasium were now crowding the refreshment table, giving her sidelong glances of confusion. Those of them who were married had brought their wives, and as far as Truvy could tell, not a one had spent more than a moment with his spouse. How awful. But she wouldn’t waste thoughts on them or on what they were thinking. Instead, she’d keep her chin high and her smile plastered on until her cheekbones ached.
In the far corner, a floor-to-ceiling drapery covered a round table. On the guests’ arrival, Minister Stoll had made a point to tell the party attendants not to lift the cloth. His edict aroused the curiosity of the crowd. Not Truvy’s.
Perhaps she should go home. This was crazy. All around her, people were having a wonderful time. Most were couples. Many she’d met through Edwina. Matthew Gage and his bride, Meg. The woman was delightful and genuinely nice. She wore her hair short and curly to her shoulders, and her husband adored her; it was so clear by the way he rested his hand on the small of her back while they talked with Alex Cordova and his new bride, Camille. Truvy had thought Camille one of the most gracious ladies she’d ever met. It was amazing the statuesque blonde was the manager of the local baseball team; Truvy would have liked to spend more time with her. They shared a common enthusiasm for sports.
But Truvy wouldn’t get the chance to know these women friends of Edwina’s better. Because she was leaving. Right now. She shouldn’t have come to the party. Shouldn’t have dressed in her best blue dress to prove to Jake that she didn’t care, when she cared more than her soul could bear.
Just as she made the decision to leave, she turned and saw Jake as he entered the room. He wore a suit that fit the mold of his body to sheer perfection. Nobody could fill it out the way he did. He was the tallest and most magnificent man she’d ever seen.
Everything she’d talked herself out of, his handsome face, his walk, his eyes, his demeanor—all touched her soul, and she was left with the actuality that he was everything she’d ever desired in a man. Dejection wilted her courage. If she could have made her feet move, she would have dashed past him, out of the building and into the night. But she couldn’t get her legs to work.
She was held by an invisible thread, a pull toward this man that she was unable to break. He might have rendered her incapable of fleeing, but he would never know how deeply he’d wounded her.
Taking in a breath, she stared at him, refirmed the set of her chin, and threw her shoulders back. She had the same smile on her mouth that had been there since she’d arrived.
Jake stormed toward her, determination in his expression. She held on, fortitude keeping her outward appearance calm when her every nerve ending collided.
In several easy strides, he stood in front of her, his face mere inches from hers. “I’m thinking you know something about that mule,” he said in a quiet tone without preamble, “and I’m here to tell you you’re wrong about it.”
Keeping her expression neutral, she batted her eyelashes at him. “Good evening, Mr. Brewster,” she said, remarkably sedate. “I believe it’s customary for a man to seek an introduction to a woman at a social event before he discusses mules with her.”
He took her by the arm, gently guiding her to the corner of the room. It was all she could do to banish the shower of tingles that erupted over her skin where he touched her.
“I never made a bet about Walter Zurick’s mule and you and this dance. You have to believe me, Truvy.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “You must have overheard me and the men talking at the gym, but you misunderstood. They had one perception of tonight, and I had another.”
Confusion danced in her pulse. He stood too close. All she could think about was the scent of his cologne, its enthralling masculine fragrance the same one that clung to her bedclothes, to her body after he’d spent the night with her. His wonderfully green eyes enveloped her in their depths. She wanted desperately to believe him . . . but she knew what she had heard—knew that he did make foolhardy bets with those men. It was . . .
“I know of only one way to prove it to you, Tru.” The sincerity was all too convincing, and yet—
To her stunned surprise, he kissed her fully on the mouth. Right there in front of everyone. Th
e hot moisture of his lips melted into hers as he undid her resolve, breath by breath. When she was dizzy and more confused than ever, he held her at arm’s length and gave her an order. An order! “Stay here. Don’t move.”
Then he quit the schoolroom and left her alone.
By this time, Edwina and Tom had come toward her. Edwina took her hand, a tender smile in her eyes and on her mouth, as if she knew what Jake was doing, what this was all about. No wonder Edwina had tried to talk her out of leaving that mule for Jake.
“Edwina—I don’t like this,” Truvy said. “I think I should leave. People are staring at me.”
“Wait a moment.” Edwina squeezed her fingers. “Trust him, Truvy.”
Jake reappeared in the doorway and he stepped aside, What, or rather, who came in his wake made Truvy clutch Edwina tightly.
“Aunt Beatrice! Aunt Gertrude!” Truvy exclaimed, then broke free of Edwina and went to her two aunts.
“Truvy, our dear!” The Aunts said, crushing her in a hug.
It was soothing to be in their arms. And so familiar. They smelled like vanilla and lavender, a mixture she’d always and forever associate with them. For long seconds, they held one another; then The Aunts pulled back.
“Let us look at you,” Aunt Beatrice declared.
“Yes, let’s!” Aunt Gertrude seconded.
Truvy gave them a loving gaze, taking in their appearances. They were still the same as the last time she’d seen them. Both were tall, with hair more on the red side than brunette, sharp blue eyes, and smiles that displayed very slightly gaping front teeth. They wore matching necklaces of glass beads and waists of hand-tatted lace with pulley belts and identical skirts.
“You never told me they were twins,” Jake said, reaching her side.
“Didn’t I?” she remarked, hearing herself reply but not really listening to her voice. All she could think was: The Aunts are here.
“Dears,” Truvy said to the pair, “why did you come—what’s happened? You’re not ill, either one of you?”
“Good heavens, no.” Aunt Gertrude laughed. “We’re as strong as a pair of mules.”
“Make that Mr. Zurick’s mule,” Aunt Beatrice added with a wink.
Truvy looked at them, then at Jake. Then back to The Aunts. “How did you know about the mule?”
Aunt Beatrice replied, “Jacob told us.”
“Yes, Jacob told us,” Aunt Gertrude echoed.
Truvy grew puzzled. “Why did he tell you that? Why are you here? I’m going back to Boise tomorrow and—”
“Perhaps not.” Aunt Gertrude glanced at Jake.
“Perhaps not.” Aunt Beatrice glanced at Truvy.
Jake stepped in and took Truvy’s hand, then walked her to where the band played. She let him lead her away, her thoughts in a jumble, her gaze reaching over her shoulder once. The Aunts waved at her, smiling knowingly. They were in on this—whatever it was.
Jake asked the band to quit playing. The notes faded, and Jake raised his voice. “Attention, folks; I have an announcement to make.”
All eyes rested on Truvy, and she tensed. She looked at The Aunts for reassurance. They weren’t distressed in the least. They clasped hands and had tears in their eyes.
Suddenly, the evening wasn’t about bets and mules. Truvy knew it was something else. Something bigger . . . and . . . she wasn’t sure. Didn’t dare to think.
“As some of you may know,” Jake said, hooking her arm through his, “this is Truvy Valentine’s birthday.”
Truvy swallowed hard, hoping her smile was nonchalant. Oh dear Lord, please don’t make a big to-do over my birthday. I couldn’t bear it. Celebrating twenty- six with everyone in this room knowing my marital sta tus.
A sense of inadequacy swept over Truvy as he went on.
“There’s a long-standing tradition in the Valentine family to marry on Valentine’s Day.”
Not that . . . I don’t need any reminders.
“How far did you say that went back, Aunt Beatrice?”
Aunt Beatrice? Jake called her Aunt Beatrice?
“Eighteen hundred and fifty-two.”
Aunt Gertrude put in, “February the fourteenth of eighteen hundred and fifty-two, sister.”
“Of course, sister.”
Jake slipped his arm around Truvy’s waist, and she looked up at him in astonishment, her pulse racing out of control.
“Since that’s how the Valentines do things, and since I knew I had one chance to ask Miss Valentine to be my wife—or I’d have to wait one full year before we could get married—I’m using this evening to state my intentions.” Turning Truvy toward him, he fumbled inside the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew something small and round, then held her left hand. She gazed at him with an effort not to tremble, but her knees quivered and she could hardly breathe. His hand was warm and callused. The richness of his voice wrapped around her heart when he said, “Truvy Valentine, I love you. Will you marry me?”
Her mind spun. All the doubts of late welded together in one swell of consuming yearning. How she wanted to marry him! And be his wife. That gentle and loving look in his eyes was honest and pure. True. He waited, as did everyone in the room. Watching. Wondering what she would say. There was only one answer. Now and forever.
“I . . . this is a surprise.” Her throat was tight and her legs threatened to give out. “I thought you didn’t”—she lowered her voice—“favor marriage.”
Equally as softly, he answered, “That was until I met you.” Then louder: “Will you, Truvy? Marry me?”
She saw every ounce of his love for her in his face, in his eyes, in the way he smiled at her. He meant it, truly and deeply. He was in love with her. Elation consumed her soul.
“I . . . yes, Jake, I’ll marry you.”
Relief relaxed his features. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He slipped a ring on her finger. She looked at her engagement ring, a brilliant diamond and an endless gold circle. He pulled her to him for a kiss, and the room clapped and cheered. Blushing, Truvy spoke into the curve of his neck. “I love you, Jake.”
“I love you, Truvy. A thousand times. I couldn’t let you go,” he said for her ears only. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Oh, Jake . . .”
The Aunts, militant marchers that they were, burst into a vaporous fit of tears.
Mrs. Plunkett could be heard blowing her nose into her handkerchief.
Jake bussed her cheek before turning Truvy toward the corner—and that mysterious curtain. “Okay, Reverend, you can pull the string now.”
“I’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon to do this!” the minister said, then went to the table, found a corded pull, and grasped it. In one clean jerk, the curtain fell to reveal a wedding cake on the table. A grand affair, three-tiered, iced a snowy white, and decorated with red roses. On its top—the Valentine family wedding cake topper: two porcelain hearts, entwined.
The Aunts gleefully came forward. Aunt Beatrice said with her hands clasped in front of her, “We brought it with us.”
Aunt Gertrude tittered. “Mr. Brewster said to send the wedding cake topper, but we knew as soon as we got his letter that we had to come with it.”
“Oh, yes, sister—you’re right. And with your mother’s wedding dress, Truvy.”
“My mother’s . . .” Truvy barely breathed the words. “I didn’t know she had one stored for me.”
“We didn’t tell you, dear.”
“We wanted to surprise you when the time came.”
“And we knew the time was coming as soon as you found Jacob uncouth but commendable. And you crossed out his nickname.”
“I pointed that part of the letter out, sister.”
“Correct, sister,” Aunt Beatrice answered. “But it was I who noticed the part about his manners. And his joke about the woman on stilts.”
“Quite.”
Truvy listened to them, laughter bubbling up her throat. Suddenly, the structure of events fo
r today and this evening fell into place. Jake had to have been planning this for a couple of weeks—The Aunts, the cake, the proposal.
“If we’re to have a wedding tonight,” the minister pointed out, “then I suggest we get on over to the church.”
Edwina said, “Truvy, I’ll help you change into your gown.”
“It’s at the hotel,” Aunt Beatrice said. “That’s where your young man has put us up. We got in just this morning and—”
“—we’ve been playing whist ever since. Jacob wouldn’t let us go out lest you detected we were here. I wanted to play pinochle. In fact, we made Jacob play several hands with us this afternoon.”
Truvy rested her cheek on the rough tweed of Jake’s coat, loving him more than she’d ever thought possible. The picture of him playing cards with her aunts in a hotel room . . . just to surprise her . . .
Jake brought his mouth to her ear. “Why don’t you go get that wedding dress on and I’ll see you at the church? After we’re married, we’ll dance any dance you want. And we’ll eat cake. And we’ll dance some more. And then I will make you one bet.”
The feel of his sensual lips against the curve of skin brought a shower of pleasure through her. “Yes . . .?”
“I bet we don’t go to sleep tonight.”
Epilogue
J ake felt like an idiot.
Although nobody was on the pond at this hour of the morning, he was making an ass out of himself in front of his wife. Truvy had insisted they get up early from the Idanha Hotel and go ice skating on Pierce Lake. Boise’s pond was deserted, except for some curious geese.
Slicing his way over the ice on blades strapped onto his shoes, Jake held his arms out for balance. He could go the distance with any boxer, lift weight beyond ordinary amounts—but couldn’t ice skate. He didn’t have the body or the coordination.
“I don’t think this is going to work, Tru.”
Truvy skated backward, clearing the way ahead of him. She laughed at his disclaimer. The tail of her blue scarf rippled in the breeze, and a knit cap covered her curls. “You aren’t trying. Move your feet. Left and right. Push out with each leg and you’ll slide longer.”
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