A Convenient Proposal

Chapter Nine

The downside of valet parking was that you couldn’t make a quick getaway. You had to wait for the attendant to notice you, find your ticket and then bring the right car back. You had to scrounge in your wallet or your pockets for a tip—or borrow from the woman you came with, which was a total embarrassment. Only then was escape possible.

Griff blew out a huge breath when the doors finally shut on both sides of the Jag and he could put his foot on the gas pedal. After a few minutes of driving blindly through the Patricks’ upscale neighborhood, he brought his brain back on track.

“How about a real dinner? Somewhere my suit and your dress fit in? We do have a fancy French restaurant in Sheridan, it’s called—”

“I don’t think so, thanks.” Arden’s voice sounded tight, rigidly controlled.

“What’s wrong?” He moved his hand to cover hers on the seat, but she slipped her fingers away. “Arden?”

He heard her sharp breath in the darkness. “Are you going to ignore what just happened? What you did?”

Griff pulled his hand back. “Sounds like a good option.”

“You investigate the behavior of others—you want to know every detail of my past, my—my motivations and my reasons, my plans for the future. But you don’t stop to examine your own?”

Jaw clenched, he took whatever turns became available, heedless of direction. “I’m aware of my own faults. Believe me, I know exactly where I come up short.”

“This is not about failing, Griff. This is about facing your life and making it work.”

“Which you, living like a hermit on a deserted island, know so much about?”

“I made my choice deliberately and was quite…satisfied, thank you very much.”

“That’s not true, Arden, and you know it. You’re happier after a week in Sheridan than you ever were on that pile of sand.”

“And you are an expert at evading the issue. But I won’t allow it this time. What you just did, in the middle of a very nice party, was rude and immature.”

“I shook their hands. I said hello.”

“And you stalked out as if you’d shaken hands with the devil himself.”

“Well…”

“Are you still so in love with her that you can’t bear to see her happy?”

He opened his mouth…and then closed it again because the automatic answer he’d started to give surprised him so much.

When was the last time he’d thought about Zelda as…well, as the woman he wanted to be with for the rest of his life? For six months, he’d been laboring under a sense of rejection and loss, but was he missing her—or simply the habit of being half of a pair?

Because these days, when he saw a woman in his mind’s eye, when he thought about who to talk to, spend time with…make love with all day and night…the face was Arden’s. The body in his dreams, the voice in his head, the laugh he wanted to hear when he encountered something funny—they all belonged to Arden Burke.

His foot had eased off the gas as he pondered, and the car had slowed almost to a stop. He braked and shifted into Park, then turned to face her. “Arden—”

But now she sat with her head against the back of the seat and her eyes closed.

“Honestly, Griff, I’m really not feeling well. I’d like to go home—” She stopped short, then continued after a pause. “That is, to the cottage. To bed. If you don’t mind.”

“No problem.” He made the turns that would take them back toward the farm. “Are you just tired, or really sick?”

“Both, I think.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” He stayed close to the speed limit as he drove, torn between avoiding trouble and making Arden comfortable as soon as possible.

“Why don’t I make you some tea,” he offered as they stepped into the cottage, “while you get into bed?”

She shook her head. “Igor needs a walk first.”

Griff suppressed a wince. “I’ll take him out.”

For the first time since leaving the party, their eyes met and held. “Neither of you will like that.”

“We’ll manage.” He gave her a gentle shove down the hallway. “Get into your gown, crawl between the sheets. I’ll multitask in the kitchen.”

Her shoulders lifted on a sigh, but she did as he directed. With a cup of water heating in the microwave, Griff took the dog’s leash and opened the door to the sunroom.

Igor had been lying with his nose on his front paws, but when he saw Griff, he came immediately to an alert stance. Even without a voice, this canine could growl.

“Want to go outside?” Griff showed him the leash. “I’m here to do the honors.”

Igor’s hackles rose as he approached.

“Oh, come on, son. Your mom doesn’t feel good. Let me take care of both of you without a hassle. Tonight, anyway. Tomorrow, you can resume the hostilities. I, by the way, am a totally neutral party where you’re concerned.”

Igor glanced toward the sunroom door and then toward the kitchen. Griff could almost see the dog considering his options.

Then the hairs standing up along Igor’s back smoothed and his ears relaxed. If a dog could look resigned, this one was.

“So I clipped the leash to his collar,” Griff reported to Arden a short time later, “staying as far away from his chops as I could manage. We took the prescribed constitutional and now we’re in for the night. You have a cup of tea. What else can I do for you?”

Propped against the head of the bed, she looked nearly as pale as his mother’s white cotton sheets. “I can’t think of anything. You should go find yourself something to eat.”

“I won’t starve.” Unsure of what she was thinking, still marveling at the discovery he’d made only a few minutes ago, he went down on one knee beside the bed.

“Maybe I should stick around, in case you need help during the night.” He set his fingertips lightly on the back of her hand, thought it felt cold, a little damp. Her cheek, when he rested his knuckles there, was just as cool. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I don’t.” She set the tea mug on the bedside table. “My stomach is upset, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow. Have dinner. See a film. Go back to the party and talk to your friends—you can blame your sudden exit on me.”

“I don’t think so. Remember, you’re my camouflage.”

She gave a slight smile. “That’s right. We agreed.”

The idea came from out of nowhere, but hit him hard.

She could be pregnant. Maybe Arden’s queasy stomach signaled a baby. His mother always said she knew the morning after she got pregnant.

The idea drove him to his feet. “I guess I will get some dinner. Maybe I’ll check in on you later, before I hit the sack. And tomorrow morning, early.” Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. “I hope you feel better. Call the house if you need me.”

Her fingers fluttered against his cheek. “Of course.”

Outside on the front porch, he stared at the Jaguar, trying to figure out what to do next. Not the party. He’d atone for his sins at the dinner dance next weekend, if Arden was up to going.

And not the bars. He needed to think, not drink. An idea concocted with champagne insights would have to be completed cold stone sober in order to succeed. These next few weeks might be trickier than he ever could have imagined.

A baby would mean he’d fulfilled his part of the bargain. Arden could stay until the wedding, then leave, and they’d both have gotten what they wanted.

But she would be taking his child with her. Faced with the existence of a son or daughter he would never meet—without the veil drawn across his reasoning skills by champagne—Griff’s conscience cringed. His gut cramped. A man didn’t abandon his own flesh and blood to be raised by a woman alone. Not if he could prevent it.

Considering flesh and blood, his family would be devastated to discover the existence of a child they knew nothing about. Jake and Rosalie Campbell had been looking forward to grandchildren since their kids left college. Was he going to deprive them of that joy?

Most important, Arden should not be allowed to resume the solitary life she’d “chosen” for herself. He couldn’t begin to guess what had driven her into isolation, although a philandering fiancé who slept with her mother would be a good start. But the lady was meant for life and love and happiness as part of a family. His family.

Somehow, Griff decided over peanut butter sandwiches, he would have to change her mind about leaving. Surely, given enough time, she would come to love him. But he had only five weeks till the wedding.

Five weeks would have to be enough.



WAKING UP, Arden kept her eyes closed while she assessed her state of health. Curled up underneath the featherlight covers, warm and relaxed, she felt well enough. Especially if she ignored the emptiness beside her, a space Griff usually filled quite nicely.

Igor jumped onto the bed and came to lick her face, his usual signal to go outside in the morning.

“Yes, yes, I understand. Wait just a second.” She turned to her side to get up.

Instead of landing on her feet, though, she found herself on her hands and knees on the floor, as the room spun around.

Folding her legs to sit against the side of the bed, she closed her eyes and tried to make the world stand still. Igor nosed at her face again.

“I know, Igor. I’m trying.” Poor dog. He’d been inside all night long.

She undertook a harrowing journey, lurching from the bedpost to the door frame to the hallway wall, then the kitchen table and counter, all the while feeling as if her brain were sloshing around inside her skull.

Only when she opened the back door did she remember that this was Georgia in January, not the Florida Keys. The temperature hadn’t yet reached forty degrees at 7:00 a.m. Walking outside in bare feet and her nightgown was not a good idea.

At this point, Igor started pulling at the leash, anxious to get into the grass for his morning exercise. Given the state of her equilibrium, he quickly jerked her onto the frost-coated lawn. She squealed at the contact of ice with skin, and pulled back, trying to retreat.

At the edge of the woods, something moved, something fairly big. A deer, she guessed, squinting in that direction. She’d watched them grazing behind the cottage on other mornings.

Igor, however, was not satisfied to watch. Obeying his instincts, he surged into the chase, sprinting toward the animal and yanking the leash free from Arden’s grasp.

The deer whirled and vanished into the woods, with the dog at its heels.

“Igor! Igor, come! Come on, Igor. Breakfast,” she called. But her dog had decided to hunt his own meal this morning. Arden stood out on the stone terrace until her feet were quite numb, but Igor did not return. She would have to dress, get shoes, go find him…

Her stomach chose that moment to revolt. Arden was sick on the grass and then, when she had stumbled drunkenly into the house, sick again in the bathroom. When the spasm passed, she was tempted to simply lie on the floor and go back to sleep. Anything else would be too hard.

But instead she got to her feet and managed to splash her face with cool water. Back in the bedroom, she dragged her nightgown off and pulled on the gray leggings and silver sweater, because they were easiest. Then, exhausted, she sat on the bed and picked up the phone.

As if he’d been waiting, Griff answered on the first ring. “Arden? How are you this morning?”

At the sound of his voice, she burst into tears. Whether or not he understood what she tried to say between sobs, he waited until she paused.

“Hold on,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

She’d barely hung up when the front door opened. In the next minute, he was beside her on the bed, picking her up and setting her on his lap.

All Arden could do was cry.

He pressed his mouth against her forehead and cheeks. “Still sick? You feel hot.”

She nodded.

“You need to be in bed.” But when he started to put her there, she shook her head.

“Igor,” she managed to say, trying not to cry. “He’s in the woods. After—” she hiccupped and sniffed “—a deer. I dropped the—the leash.”

Griff nodded and folded her tight against his body. “It’s okay, honey. Igor knows where you are, and he’ll get himself back just fine.”

“He’s n-never been in these woods.” Her teeth were starting to chatter. “There might be bears.”

“Bears are hibernating this time of year. And they mostly eat plants. Plus, Igor’s faster than any old bear.” Griff rocked back and forth. Despite herself, Arden felt soothed.

When she had calmed down, he pulled back the bed-covers and placed her on the sheets, then tucked the blankets over her. “You stay right here. I’m going to get my mom to come down with a thermometer to take your temperature. We’ll scare up some medicine to make you feel better. Then I’ll go out and find Igor the man-eater. But you don’t move, understand?”

Exhausted, Arden nodded. Her eyes wanted to close, and she let them, now that Griff was here. She could trust him to take care of everything.

The day passed like a soft-focus dream. Mrs. Campbell floated in and out, offering pills and water. At some point, Arden came awake to find a woman she didn’t know pressing a stethoscope against her chest.

“Hello there,” she said, her voice deep and mellow. “I’m Dr. Loft. I practice general medicine here in Sheridan.” She moved the stethoscope to a different place. “How are you feeling?”

Arden took stock. “Cold,” she whispered, with a shiver. “Dizzy. Sick.”

“You have a fever.” Dr. Loft put the stethoscope in the pocket of her white coat. Her fingers, warm and firm, pressed on the sides of Arden’s throat and under her jaw. “We’ve got a nasty virus going around and I suspect you’re playing host this weekend.”

She pushed up the sweater to poke at Arden’s belly in various places. “Does this hurt? This? Breathe in and hold it. Again. Okay, I’m done.”

As Arden straightened her sweater and pulled the covers back up to her shoulders, the doctor dragged a chair over to sit by the bed. With her dark skin and long, elegant neck, she looked like an Egyptian queen.

“I don’t have a medicine that will chase this virus away,” she said, making notes on a clipboard in her lap. “You can take regular pain pills for the fever and muscle aches. I can give you a prescription for the dizziness and for nausea. You’ll just have to ride this out, but in three or four days you should be pretty much back to normal.

“Eat what you can, and drink—we don’t want you dehydrated. If you’re not feeling absolutely well in a week, I want to see you in my office.” She set a business card on the bedside table. “Any questions?”

“Do you…” Arden pulled in a deep breath. “Do you deliver babies?”

“For uncomplicated pregnancies, yes. I refer high-risk patients to a specialist.” Her eyebrows drew together over dark brown eyes. “Are you pregnant?”

“N-no. I don’t think so.”

“Are you trying to become pregnant?”

Despite the chills shaking her, Arden thought she could feel herself blush. “Um…yes.”

Dr. Loft got to her feet. “In that case, I definitely want to see you in a week, even if you’re feeling terrific. You should be taking vitamins and eating a balanced diet. Let’s make sure you’re in the best possible health for this adventure.”

As she picked up her medical bag, Arden cleared her throat. “I didn’t know doctors made house calls anymore.”

Her throaty laugh filled the room. “This is a small town. We do favors for each other. Dr. Jake came to my place when our Great Dane puppy got into a fight with a stray dog. I couldn’t manage my eighteen-month-old daughter and an injured animal. So when he called, I was glad to return the favor.”

“Igor.” Arden sat up suddenly, then fell back with a groan as the room whirled. “Did Griff find him? Is he back?”

The doctor put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll find out. You stay in bed and keep calm.”

Mrs. Campbell came in a few moments later. “Griff is out looking for Igor,” she said, smoothing the pillows and blankets. “I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now.”

“But it’s late, isn’t it? What’s the time?” Arden wanted to see the clock, but her head was too heavy to lift.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” A soft hand brushed the hair off her forehead. “Everything will be okay. Just relax.”

“I can’t lose him,” Arden fussed. “He’s all I have….”



GRIFF’S THIRD TRIP into the woods felt like an exercise in futility. After eight hours, Igor could be anywhere in the county. And Griff would prefer to be sitting with Arden, watching her sleep.

As his mom had pointed out, though, Arden would feel better when the dog came home, virus or no virus. So here he was, fighting brambles, tramping through mud and wearing out his voice calling for the truant animal.

“Igor. Igor, come home, buddy.” His dry mouth couldn’t send out much of a whistle. “Damn it, Igor. Come. Now.”

He heard his dad’s voice, over to the south, and an echo from Kathy’s husband, calling off to the north. They could cover the ground faster this way. What would happen if they didn’t find the dog, though, would be his responsibility alone.

The Campbell portion of the forest ended on a ridge above a deep, brush-filled ravine. The wooden fence marking the boundary line wouldn’t have kept a deer or Igor on the property.

Griff stood on the edge, staring down into the gully, as his dad came up beside him. “I haven’t been down there. The sides are steep.”

“That’s Fletcher property,” Jake said. “They do some trapping.”

Jim joined them. “The little guy could have stepped in one.”

“So could we,” Griff pointed out. “But I guess there’s no other choice.”

Soil had washed down the walls of the narrow valley, leaving slippery rock and gravel exposed. The trees seemed to grow just far enough apart to avoid being used as handholds. Only a few steps down, Griff found himself on his butt, sliding sideways into a thorn bush.

“You okay?” his dad called.

“Yeah.” Braced on his downhill leg, Griff wiped his scraped and bloody palms on his jeans. “Be careful, though.”

At the words, he heard Jim fall in turn. Moments later, the sound of tumbling rocks came from the other side. “Dad?” There was no answer for way too long. “Dad, are you there?”

“Hell, yes,” Jake growled.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. But I’m too old for this.”

“We’re all too old for this,” Jim yelled back.

They reached the bottom without breaking any bones. Griff turned to look back the way he’d come. “And we thought getting down here was the hard part.”

The afternoon sun had passed beyond the rim above, leaving the bottom of the ravine in twilight. Stepping carefully, peering at the ground in order to see a trap before he tripped it, Griff continued to call for Igor. But as the minutes passed, then an hour, his hopes began to die. If they hadn’t found him by now…

He hated the image in his head of Igor, voiceless, stuck or trapped or somehow unable to travel, marooned all night in the woods. Not too many hunting animals would be out this time of year. But a hungry coyote would be glad for easy prey.

“Getting dark,” his dad called. “We’d better start back.”

“Agreed,” Jim yelled.

“But…” Griff sighed. “Okay. Let’s shift about a hundred feet to the left as we go, to cover different ground.” For him, that meant more difficult traveling, including a minigulch or huge ditch, depending on your definition. Visibility decreased to almost zero, which he didn’t realize until he walked into a tree.

“Ow.” He stumbled to the side, stepped into a hole and landed flat on his face. “Aw, hell.”

He lay there for a minute, glad just to be off his feet, even if that meant lying on the damp ground with bugs wriggling around underneath him.

Then something wet and slimy crawled over the nape of his neck.

He swore and sat up, swiping at the back of his head. Through the darkness, a pair of bright eyes gleamed at him. Panting breaths created puffs of smoke in the cold air.

A wet tongue slathered across his mouth.

“Well, hello again, Igor.” Laughing, Griff wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Fancy meeting you here.”