The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (33 page)

"It was an accident."

He clenched his hand, grasping the bedsheet. "I don't make accidents like that."

"What do you think happened?"

He leaned forward. "I made one of them angry. One of Cassie's playboys and poets."

It sounded far-fetched, but Drake decided to listen. "Which one?"

"He's black, tall, with dark hair."

He frowned. "Hell, you just described me."

"Except for the gray."

"There's nothing that sticks out?"

"I think I'd know his footsteps." Mr. Gianolo rested his head back and sighed, looking suddenly worn. "I can't seem to focus somehow and I know I'm not good with descriptions, but I know he's not right."

"How do you think he did it?"

"I get my soups from Mrs. Hill next door. She leaves some in the hall for me. He could have put something in it. I know a chrysanthemum from an onion. I didn't do it."

"Hmm."

"You don't believe me. Nobody does and now they want to put me away like some useless old man." His voice crumbled and tears swam in the pale blue eyes.

Drake expected to be embarrassed by the tears, remembering the many times he'd turned away from his father's. But strangely all he wanted to do was comfort him. He dragged his chair closer and lowered his voice. "Maybe I could convince your daughter to get a caretaker."

His mouth became a straight line. "I don't need anyone."

"Just for a while," he urged. "Until you prove your independence. We always end up proving ourselves somehow in this world."

Mr. Gianolo shook his head. "A caretaker costs money."

Drake hesitated, wanting to phrase the offer in a manner that didn't sound like charity. Every man had his pride. "Taking care of Cassie is a lot of work. You've done a good job looking out for her and being a friend. Cassie is special to me and it's only fair I take care of those special to her."

He turned away. "It's too much money. I couldn't let you."

For a moment the room was quiet but for the sound of a crowd cheering on TV, the curtains swaying from the breeze blowing through a vent Drake absently reached for his cigarettes, then clasped his hands together. "When my dad died, I hated him," he said suddenly. "I thought it was because I believed him weak, believed that he had given up and left us. But that wasn't why." He took a deep breath. "It was because I couldn't do anything for him— there's a feeling of helplessness that can torture a man's soul. I know how you feel—the weakness, the lack of hope—but it doesn't have to be so. Think of it as a contract. You continue to look out for Cassie and I look out for you."

Mr. Gianolo kept his head turned, but reached out and seized Drake's hand in a surprisingly strong grip. "It's rare that people make an old man feel useful," he said in a rough voice. He looked at him. "You're a good son. Your father understood."

Drake tried to ease the tightening of his throat. "Hmm."

Both men were relieved when the door opened, easing the strain of emotions hanging in the air.

"Mr. Gianolo, how are you?" Cassie asked, entering the room. She halted when she saw Drake. "Isn't this a surprise?"

Mr. Gianolo grinned, his face a lot more animated than when Drake first entered. "My friend's visiting me."

"I see that." She put her gift near the window.

Mr. Gianolo pulled Drake's collar and whispered in his ear, "So have you asked her?"

"What?"

"The big question."

"No, I—"

He released his grip and sat back. "You're going to have to. She's no longer safe in this place."

"But I—"

Mr. Gianolo patted the bedsheets, in no mood to debate the issue. "Sit down, Cassie, Drake's got a proposal to give you."

She narrowed her eyes suspicious. "It's not—"

Drake nodded, resigned. Now was the time to ask the question he'd waited months to utter. "Yes, it is. Will you marry me?"

Chapter 13

"You asked her to marry you?" Eric asked as they walked to Drake's office the next day. "What did she say?"

"She said she would think about it," Drake said.

Eric cringed. "It's better than no."

His jaw tightened. "You try it sometime."

They entered his office and sat.

Drake's assistant peeked his head inside. "Hey, did you two pass her in the hallway?"

"Who?" Drake asked absently as he sorted through his messages.

"She said her name was Cassie."

His head shot up. He turned to Eric, then back to his assistant. He rose to his feet and came from behind the desk. "Did she leave a message? Did she say what she wanted? How long ago did she leave?"

"She didn't leave a message, but she did give me this." He handed Drake a large paper bag.

"Looks like the booby prize," Eric muttered.

His assistant held up his hands. "I'm just the delivery boy," he said and closed the door.

Drake set the large paper bag on his desk and stared at it.

"You have to open it at some point," Eric said.

He pushed it aside. "No, I don't."

Eric reached forward. "Then I will."

Drake snatched the bag away. "You won't either."

"You can't just stare at it," he argued, pushing up his glasses. "We already know what the answer is, why deny it?"

Drake scowled at the bag, then opened it. Inside he found a thermos marked
hot chocolate
, a can of whipped cream, and various containers: an omelet, a fruit salad, and a bagel: she had made him breakfast.

He stared at the containers of food with a mixture of emotions engulfing him: fear, pleasure, astonishment, and something he couldn't yet analyze. She had cooked him breakfast—no one except his mother and brother had ever cooked for him before. This gift meant more to him than any gold cufflinks or silk ties others had given him. To a man who in the past had to do without breakfast and lunch most of his life, it was almost sacrilege to eat it. He ran his hand over the containers as if they were sacred artifacts.

"She made you breakfast," Eric said in awe.

His voice sounded far away. "I know."

Eric picked up the fork. "Can I have a taste?"

"No."

Eric lifted the lids, knowing his brother needed a little urging to begin. "Aren't you going to eat it?"

Drake met his brother's gaze, still stunned, but unable to articulate his feelings. "I'm not sure." Since his mother's death he hadn't been greeted with a homemade meal. He even remembered what she'd last prepared for him—saltfish with scrambled eggs because there was no ackee. He stared at the puffy yellow of the omelet as the cheese and green peppers peeked through the soft layers. How would he remember this moment? Why wasn't she here with him to enjoy it?

Eric handed him the fork. "You would be shaming her if you didn't eat it. Not to mention wasting a good meal. At least try it."

"Right." He took the fork and twirled it between his fingers before tucking into the omelet and taking a bite. He pushed a container toward Eric, handing him one of the plastic forks he kept in his drawer.

Eric took a bite, then rested his head back and closed his eyes. "We have to convince her to marry you."

"Hmm." He didn't want to damper the moment by thinking about that.

Eric glanced in the bag for napkins and saw a note. He held it up between two fingers. "I think your answer is here."

"Throw it away." He turned back to his messages.

"At least read it."

"I know what it says." He didn't care that she wouldn't marry him. For now this was enough.

"Can I read it?"

Drake nodded.

He tried to work as Eric read, but instead listened for a sign of his brother's response to the note. He heard him softy swear and tear it up. Drake felt his last hope crumble to his feet.

"I'm glad you didn't read it." He stretched his legs out. "The woman tries so hard not to hurt your feelings that she doesn't get to the point."

"Hmm."

"I mean she goes on about how much she loves you and the reason why she'll marry you, but doesn't—"

Drake leaped out of his seat and grabbed Eric by the lapels of his jacket. "And you tore it up?"

"I thought you didn't want to read it," he challenged.

"I could break your fingers." He returned to his seat and pointed at him. "You'd better not be lying to me about what she wrote."

"I wouldn't do that. Here." He tossed the note on the table. "Read it yourself."

Drake glared at him. "Bastard."

Eric shrugged good-naturedly. "Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing you."

Drake read the letter, then placed it down almost afraid to believe the words she'd written. She'd said she loved him and would marry him. At last she would belong to him.

* * *

She should have said yes in person, Cassie thought, staring at the phone as if she could make it ring. Why hadn't he called yet? Had he changed his mind now that he had what he wanted? Maybe the day had given him a chance to think as well—to change his mind. She had not been able to sleep last night, her mind running with all the reasons to say no to his proposal. A failed first marriage, her need for space, her convictions, Drake's feelings about love. Yes, she was certain to say no, but somehow this morning as she had prepared breakfast she thought of Drake munching on one of his disgusting breakfast bars. Before she knew it, she had his breakfast in hand and was heading to his main office.

She could have waited to see him, but a part of her was still unsure that he knew what he was doing. Now that he had achieved his goal, would the prize lose its potency? She couldn't sit and wait anymore. She went into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of oatmeal cookies, and indulged. Of course the phone rang when her mouth was full. She raced to it and picked it up on the second ring.

"Hmph?"

"Cassandra, I hope you're not answering the phone with your mouth full."

Cassie fell into the couch like a lead doll and tugged on her shirt like an awkward teenager. She swallowed and said, "Hello, Mother. How are you?"

"Just wonderful. I went to the spa yesterday and treated myself to a delightful mud bath. So how are you doing? Are you seeing anyone?"

Just what she needed, her mother prying into her life and injecting it with her negativity. How could she tell her mother she was planning on marrying a man she'd known only a few months? That she loved him but that he might be a big mistake? Thankfully, someone knocked on the door, giving her the needed reprieve. "Just a moment, I have to get the door." She put down the receiver, prayed that it was some sort of emergency—a fire perhaps—and opened the door.

Her big mistake was leaning against the door frame like a sexy rogue, dressed in a black turtleneck and trousers, his amber eyes lazily sensuous and his smile even more so. "Hello, Mrs. Henson," he said.

"I'm on the phone," she replied stupidly.

His smile grew. "Don't let me stop you. I'll be in the kitchen."

Drake piled the containers in the sink. He planned to go look at engagement rings once she got off the phone. He had been able to squeeze in an appointment for them that afternoon. Breakfast in the morning and ring shopping in the afternoon. His patience had paid off. It was a good day. He tried not to listen to Cassie's conversation, but found himself eavesdropping anyway. He wanted to make sure it wasn't someone bothering her.

Just when he was about to turn on the tap, he heard Cassie say in a low voice, "No, I'm not seeing anyone special, Mom. Of course I'd tell you. Adriana said what? Uh-huh. Yes, well, he's not important. He's just a close friend. Uh-huh. No, he's not like Timothy." A heavy sigh. "I know you liked him, too bad you didn't marry him. No, I'm not trying to be facety. Uh-huh. That's right. No one. Talk to you later. Good-bye." She hung up.

Drake felt ice spread through his stomach, then shatter as if someone had kicked him. Had he misunderstood her? Had he misread how she felt about him? He took out the note he had carefully folded and tucked in his pocket. He reread the words he had begun to memorize. She had said she loved him, and for a moment he had let that mean something even though he knew she was just being romantic. But her words had been a lie. He crumbled the note in his fist.

"Whew. I'm glad that's over," Cassie said with evident relief as she entered the kitchen. She halted when she saw him. She'd never seen such a look of anger floating in his eyes before. "What's wrong?"

He gestured to the phone. "That was your mother, right?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Why did you tell her you weren't seeing anyone important?"

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "It's just a ruse. If she knew you and I were close, she'd start asking questions and then want to meet you."

"Would that be so bad?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"It would be dreadful. Trust me on this one." Cassie knew her mother would spend the entire time comparing him to Timothy or ask him what he saw in her daughter.

Drake shook his head as if finally solving a riddle that should have been obvious. "You really had me fooled." He laughed without humor. "I actually believed that your insecurities about weight was what kept us apart, what kept me from meeting your family, having you introduce me to your friends, or kept me at a distance in public. But now I know the truth." His intense eyes held her still. "You're ashamed of me."