The Millionaire's Proposal (10 page)

“W
hat are you doing here on your wedding day?” Darcy chastised as Grace entered her shop the following Saturday morning.

“It’s better than sitting at home,” Grace replied, setting her purse on a clear spot on the work bench behind the counter. She offered Darcy what she hoped came off as a cheerful smile, though she was feeling anything but. She’d had a horrible morning, and her plans for the afternoon certainly didn’t offer much comfort. Her and Ford’s “appointment” with Rev. Jones had her insides twisting with nerves. “The quiet is enough to drive me insane lately, and I’d rather keep myself busy here.”

Darcy nodded in sympathetic understanding, and clipped the stem of a yellow daisy before pushing it into the floral arrangement. Needing an outlet for Ford’s ultimatum, Grace had confessed everything about her relationship with Ford to Darcy, who’d become one of her best friends over the past few years. She’d shared her past with Ford, his secretive return, to her unexpected pregnancy, and finally the news of her upcoming nuptials. Darcy had been a sympathetic listener, which Grace had desperately needed a week ago when she’d been so confused and overwhelmed by everything.

She was still feeling confused and overwhelmed—especially after her tension-filled visit with her father that morning—but she was resigned to marrying Ford. The argument Ford had issued on his child’s behalf was strong and solid, motivated by painful memories of his own upbringing. She and Ford might be at odds, but she couldn’t fault him for insisting on doing the honorable thing and legitimizing his child.

What Grace found difficult to forgive was the fact that Ford had lied to her and deceived her that first night he’d returned—even if only for the purpose of being “cautious” in his approach. She’d trusted him, had surrendered to emotions and needs and made love with him, and he’d betrayed her with half-truths. His deception made her wonder what else he might be hiding, and that disturbing thought made her realize how little she knew about the man Ford had become, and how the past eleven years had shaped him.

Not wanting to dwell on any other secrets her husband-to-be might be harboring, she picked up an invoice from the wooden table and perused the order for a “cheer me up” bouquet to be sent to Mrs. Lord, who’d broken her leg two days ago.

“What time is Ford supposed to pick you up?” Darcy asked, casting her a curious look.

“He’ll be at my house at twelve-thirty, so I’ll head back around twelve.” That had been the extent of her conversation with Ford the past week—a brief phone call to confirm the time of the appointment with Rev. Jones, and when Ford would be at her cottage to pick her up. Glancing at her gold wrist watch, she noted the time, figuring that gave her another hour to try and relax her churning stomach.

Darcy headed toward the glass enclosed refrigerating unit. “Well, since you’re here, it saves me from having to drive out to your place for a delivery.”

Grace watched Darcy return with two square floral boxes, and frowned. “To deliver what?”

Her friend grinned enthusiastically. “These.”

Grace stared in stunned surprise at the two floral items Darcy produced from the boxes. One was a lovely crown of pink roses with baby’s breath, and the other was a lush, gorgeous handheld bouquet of the same design. Thin, streaming ribbons of pale pink and white matched the outfit she’d told Darcy she’d be wearing today for her wedding when her assistant had casually asked a few days ago. She’d decided on a simple pink linen skirt and matching jacket with a white silk blouse, and the headdress and bouquet Darcy had made complimented the colors perfectly. She lightly fingered the soft petal of a rose and breathed in the delicate fragrance of the fresh flowers, touched by the sweet gesture. “Oh, Darcy, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, I didn’t.” A wry smile canted Darcy’s mouth. “Your
fiancé
came in earlier this week and ordered them. He asked me to find out what you’d be wearing, and to make sure the pieces matched.”

Grace’s breath caught, and she silently damned Ford for being so thoughtful and wreaking additional havoc to her already jumbled emotions. She didn’t want him to be nice and sweet, which only served to chip away at her resolve to keep her feelings out of the marriage she’d agreed to. They were marrying for practical reasons, for their baby’s sake, and she had to keep that important fact foremost in her mind.

“You know,” Darcy began thoughtfully, capturing Grace’s attention. “For all the gossip I’ve been hearing this week about Ford McCabe and what a trouble-maker he supposedly is, I just don’t see it myself. He comes across as very respectable, quite the gentleman, and gorgeous to boot.”

“You weren’t around when he was a hell-raiser of the worst sort and causing trouble for everyone.” She absently curled a finger around the satiny ribbon from the bouquet, fearing the strings on her heart would become just as ensnared by Ford’s charm and romantic persuasion if she wasn’t careful. She glanced back at Darcy, who waited to hear more. “‘Respectable’ is the last word anyone in Whitaker Falls would use to describe Ford. When he was a teenager he stole regularly from the Cash and Carry market, went joyriding in George Godwin’s rebuilt ‘57 Chevy and wrecked it, set fire to Ken Olsen’s barn and nearly killed one of his prized Quarter Horses, and though he was never caught, everyone assumes he’s the one who busted in the windows of the After Hours bar and did over ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage to the place.”

Grace ticked each transgression off on her fingers, but her mind lingered on that last misdeed. She’d made the same assumption as everyone else about the break-in to After Hours. Ford had had a personal vendetta against the bar where his mother worked and spent her paychecks on booze, and practically lived her life, so it hadn’t been difficult to deduct who the culprit had been. After Hours had since become a rundown, shady bar that catered to a more unsavory clientele, hurting the other respectable establishments in that same strip of shops and businesses. The shop tenants were hoping the new property owner of the buildings, who had yet to be named, would do something to restore order to the shoddy place.

Grace followed up her monologue on Ford’s delinquent childhood with, “He lied, stole, damaged property and generally caused trouble wherever he went.
That’s
what everyone remembers when they hear the name Ford McCabe.”

Darcy continued working on the vibrant bouquet for Mrs. Lord. “I’ll admit that’s quite a track record, but people change, Grace.”

“I know that,” she admitted quietly. “But folks only remember the rebellious way he was and how much strife he’d caused. It might be unfair and judgmental, but I suppose those bad memories are all they have to go on.” Even she could easily recall the reckless, recalcitrant kid he’d been, but she also remembered the vulnerability and loneliness in his eyes when she’d first met him. Beneath all that tough rebellion had been a boy aching to be loved, and accepted. She’d given him both, at the expense of her own reputation.

The irony of how history was about to repeat itself wasn’t lost on Grace.

It was evident Ford
had
changed. His confidence and wealthy appearance showed a man who’d gained success. Yet, like everyone else, Grace felt so uncertain of him, his motives for returning, and why he’d chosen the very town that had spurned him to build such a sprawling, permanent kind of home.

And then there was her father, whose opinion of Ford hadn’t changed or softened at all over years. If anything, his bitterness and hatred had only grown for the man he believed was responsible for Aaron’s death, his wife’s demise, and tainting his young daughter’s reputation. There was no forgiving, no compromising, and certainly no understanding how Grace had gotten herself into her current predicament.

Grace’s chest banded with the awful possibility that she’d driven a permanent wedge between her and her father. Needing to release the pressure of holding in her father’s disappointment of her actions, she said, “I finally told my father this morning about me and Ford.”

Darcy immediately glanced up from her task of arranging fern in the floral bouquet. “Nothing like waiting until the last minute,” she said wryly. “How did it go?”

“Horribly.” She couldn’t stem the rush of tears that filled her eyes. She’d remained strong and adamant in front of her father while he’d ranted and raved and cursed Ford like a madman. Ellis’s face had flushed with anger, and he’d clutched his heart as if she were breaking it. She’d remained immune to his theatrics and rage, refusing to allow her father to heap guilt upon her, but now, her fortitude dissolved. She’d needed her father’s support, if not his understanding, and she’d gotten nothing but grief.

She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “He was furious about me marrying Ford, of course, and totally devastated about me being pregnant with Ford’s child. He all but disowned me.”

“Aww, Grace,” Darcy murmured, compassion glimmering in her eyes. “I’m sure your father will come around.”

“I’m not too sure about that. In his eyes, I’m marrying the enemy, the man who destroyed his family and is now stealing his daughter, too.” She sniffled, and drew a breath that seemed to shudder right to the depths of her soul. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of a day or two before the entire town finds out I’m Ford’s wife and that I married him because I’m pregnant with his baby. Considering how everyone feels about his return, I might as well wear a scarlet letter on my chest.”

Darcy laughed lightly at Grace’s attempt at humor. “I’m sure there will be people who will be shocked, and your marriage will no doubt fuel the gossip, but a few weeks from now I’m sure the novelty of you being married to the town’s bad boy will lose its appeal and everything will settle back down to normal.”

Grace shot her friend a dubious look.

Darcy wasn’t the least bit daunted. “Grace, if Ford really has changed, then people have got to acknowledge that and accept him for the person he is now.”

Grace remained silent and watched as Darcy made a big fat bow out of red ribbon for Mrs. Lord’s bouquet while one very important question persisted in her mind . . . who
was
Ford now?

The bell above the door tinkled, and Grace and Darcy turned to see who’d entered the flower shop. Despite her dreary morning, Grace found an easy smile radiating within her at the sight of one of her most favorite people, Marie Tedder, who owned the popular Marie’s Cafe in that strip of businesses near After Hours. She’d known Marie all her life, and the plump older woman was the closest thing she’d ever had to a grandmother.

Marie’s green eyes lit up as they took in Grace’s pink suit. “Well, don’t you look as pretty as a picture today?”

Grace’s cheeks warmed, and she suddenly felt too self-conscious in her wedding attire, as casual as it was. “Marie, what are you doing here?” she asked, taking the attention off herself.

The older woman pushed through the low swinging gate to the work area and set a white bakery bag on the wooden bench. “Well, my joints were stiffening up some, so the bossy old man told me to take a walk, and since I had two cinnamon twists leftover from this morning’s batch, I thought I’d come see my two favorite girls.”

“You’re a sweet thing, Marie,” Darcy said, enthusiastically opening the bakery bag and pulling out a fresh, fragrant twist for Grace, then one for herself.

Not sure if her stomach was in the mood for something so heavy, Grace set hers on a napkin.

“So, who’s getting married?” Marie asked abruptly.

Grace transferred a startled glance the older woman’s way. “Uh, what makes you ask that?”

Marie motioned to the floral items on the work bench. “Handheld bouquets mean one of two things in Whitaker Falls—a school dance, or a wedding, and the prom just passed.”

“Grace and Ford McCabe are getting married today,” Darcy announced around a mouth full of Marie’s confection.

Grace scowled at Darcy, but there was nothing she could do about the news her assistant had imparted. After dealing with her father’s censure this morning, she didn’t think she could handle Marie’s disapproval, too.

“Ford McCabe, hmmm?” Marie asked, surprise and something more bemused in her tone. “Out of all the eligible men in Whitaker Falls, you had to stir up a ruckus with the town’s rebel? And here I thought you were a good girl.”

The teasing note to Marie’s voice made Grace relax and smile. “I
am
a good girl. I just had a momentary lapse in judgment.” Then she grew serious, wanting Marie to hear everything from her, rather than through gossip. “I’m pregnant with his baby.”

Marie just smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “I’m thinking you never stopped caring about Ford McCabe.”

The woman’s insight caught Grace off-guard. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you never fooled me, sweetie-pie, when you’d ask me about Ford and his mama, and why everyone treated Ford so badly.” She touched Grace’s back in a soothing, comforting gesture and continued. “And I know those day old loaves of bread and cakes and cookies I gave you to take home never made it to your mother, either. One day, I saw you sneaking off toward Cutter Creek with my white bag in hand, and I knew . . .”

She silently thanked Marie for her loyalty, and for never saying anything to her parents about her trysts to Cutter Creek. “His mother hardly ever bought groceries for Ford,” she said, attempting to justify what she’d done. “And I felt sorry for him.”

“Yeah, I suppose it started out that way, out of the goodness of your heart.” Picking up the crown of roses and baby’s breath, Marie placed the wreath on top of Grace’s upswept hair, arranging it just so. “But then the look in your eyes changed when you mentioned Ford. You spoke of him with that soft, girlish catch in your breath and an unmistakable softness in your eyes.”

And despite everything, Grace still felt that girlish excitement when it came to Ford, and a very womanly desire that held too many emotions attached to it. “Marie . . . do you harbor ill feelings toward Ford?”

Marie appeared genuinely perplexed by her question. “Whatever for?”

“For all the terrible things he did when he was a kid?”