I know when we enter the woods. The temperature drops by about ten degrees and Tag slows considerably. He drives us back to the edge of the drop-off, the one that overlooks the waterfall, where he stops.
The view is not quite as mystical in the daylight, but it’s every bit as stunning. The sun pours down into the crease in the mountain face, kissing every treetop and turning the waterfall to a million-sparkling-diamond-fall. Other than the hiss of water on rocks, the only sounds that interrupt the blissful silence are the soft whisper of the breeze teasing the leaves and the distant chirp of some birds.
“I missed something the other night,” Tag says from behind me. I pull my eyes from one miracle of nature to another, equally spellbound when I gaze up into his flawlessly formed face.
“I don’t remember you missing anything on any night,” I tell him with a shy smile. Sometimes, I can’t believe we are this intimate. Although he never comments on it, I know I still blush occasionally.
“Well I did. And I’m here to correct my oversight.”
Tag eases out from under me, leaving me sitting sideways on the four-wheeler. He pauses for a quick second, his face a breathtaking mask of what looks like anticipation, before he reaches into his pocket for a small box and then drops to one knee in front of me. My heart stutters to a stop in my chest and the backs of my eyes burn like fire.
Ceremoniously, he slowly snaps open the lid to the velvet box, revealing the most incredible ring I’ve ever laid eyes on. The center stone is an enormous round diamond, cut perfectly to capture every possible facet of light. It’s flanked by four small amethyst ovals, slightly offset so that they appear to be wings. Below them are diamonds of a similar shape, which form the body of the butterflies. The stones are graceful, the placement subtle, making the ring simply breathtaking. And my breath is taken.
“Tag, it’s . . .” I don’t even know what to say. I just follow it with my eyes as he takes it from the tiny cushion and places it on my finger.
“Amethysts for your eyes. Butterflies for your freedom. Diamonds because you’re mine,” he says softly, just before he kisses the ring where it rests on my finger. “I’ll ask you again, my fair Weatherly. The right way. Will you marry me?”
Tears flood my eyes. I want to say yes more than I’ve ever wanted anything except Tag Barton himself, but I can’t. I just can’t do that to the kids that I’ve worked so hard to help. Thousands of them depend on Safe Passage for their nourishment, and thousands more depend on us for breakfast at school or food on the weekends.
“Tag, I . . .” I can’t bring myself to say no. The word just won’t fit past the boulder lodged in my throat. It seems everything I’ve ever wanted is right here, kneeling before me, asking me to be his, yet my father still manages to stand in the way. He knows me so well. Too well. He knew where to hit me where it would hurt the most. And he did.
My phone bleeps from my pocket. An incoming text. I take the signal as an excuse to gather my composure before I do what must be done. “Pardon me,” I mutter, taking it out and sliding my finger over the screen. It’s a message from Deana. Evidently, she got tired of waiting for me to call her back.
Oops.
Deana: Five million dollars.
Me: Five million dollars? Am I supposed to know what that means?
Deana: SOMEONE DONATED FIVE MILLION DOLLARS.
Me: WHAT? WHO?
Deana: Maybe this guy I met at a fund-raiser who was looking for a good write-off. But who cares? SOMEONE DONATED FIVE MILLION DOLLARS!
I stare at the screen for several long seconds, my heart pounding as I read and re-read the words. Someone donated five million dollars. We’ve always had a handful of generous donors, but no one has ever given an amount substantial enough to allow the charity to function without my help, without my money. Well, technically Dad’s money, I guess. And that was never a problem until recently. Maybe Deana’s guy came through. Maybe someone else heard of us and felt the need to help. I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t really care. Whoever it was and whatever the reason, someone donated five million dollars to Safe Passage.
Five. Million. Dollars. Dollars that buy my freedom.
With this money, we’ll be okay without my trust money. That means that the kids won’t suffer no matter what I do. That means that I can marry Tag.
Because, God help me, I want to.
I toss my phone aside, not caring when I hear it drop to the ground on the other side of the four-wheeler, and I throw my arms around Tag’s neck. I can’t dial back the brightness of the smile that wreaths my face when I give him my answer. “Yes. I’d love to marry you, magnificent Tag.”
I don’t think of the kids, the money or the butterflies again for quite some time.
TWENTY
Tag