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“My mistake. And what do you propose to do about these newfound feelings of yours?”
“I propose to marry you, what do you think?”
“Ah.”
The baby gummed happily away at her pearls. Mat would have liked to do a little gumming of his own—on her bottom lip, her earlobe . . . a breast. He nearly groaned. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about breasts, or any other enticing body parts. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are you going to marry me?”
She gave him a frigid look that told him he needed a really good argument. Something logical instead of emotional. “I know you probably think of it as marrying down, since I’m not an aristocrat like you. But it might be time to refresh the Litchfield family genetic pool. Add a little Eastern European peasant blood to the mixture.”
“Then make a run for the Triple Crown?”
He narrowed his eyes. Exactly what was going on here?
Nealy watched him tilt that big, handsome head and study her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. She hurt so badly she could barely maintain her composure. Had he really thought she’d believe this begrudging declaration of love and accept that pitiful excuse for a marriage proposal?
Now she recognized her mistake in trying to cut the girls out of his life. Even though he hadn’t been able to express it, she should have known how much he loved them. But she would never have suspected he’d go this far to have them back in his life. She would never have imagined he’d be desperate enough to suggest marriage.
It still didn’t seem to have occurred to him that he could simply take the girls away from her. He was their legal guardian, and the adoption wasn’t final. All he had to do was say that he’d changed his mind. But his sense of honor would never allow that.
Her knees turned to water. Would his sense of honor permit him to ask a woman he didn’t love to marry him just so he could get his children back?
Her head had begun to throb. What if it were true? What if he really did love her? Could this just be another example of Mat’s predictable clumsiness around the mysterious minefield of his own deeper emotions? Or were his feelings for the girls so strong that he was willing to marry someone he liked, but didn’t love, just so he could keep them in his life?
Only one thing was certain . . . despite the months she’d spent hugging his stupid T-shirt and whimpering over Whitney Houston, she was no longer the emotionally needy woman who’d wed Dennis Case. In the past year, she’d learned that she deserved better, and nothing was going to make her question another man’
s love. If Mat Jorik burned for her, he’d have to find a better way than this to make her feel the flames.
“Nealy, I know I’ve done this badly, but . . .”
“Badly doesn’t begin to describe it.” She glanced at her watch, rose from the chair, and strode toward the hallway. “Sorry, but I’m out of time.”
Mat had no choice but to follow her. “How about if I ride along with you today? Some insider press coverage wouldn’t hurt.”
She didn’t need any more coverage, and they both knew it. She opened the door and stepped outside, making him follow. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Let me have your phone number. We need to talk again.”
“I’m sure if you try hard enough, you can find a way to get it.”
She slipped back inside before he could stop her and closed the door. Then she drew the baby closer and tried to decide whether she wanted to cry or scream.
* * *
Mat knew he’d blown it. He’d spent so many years erecting a privacy barrier between himself and his sisters that he hadn’t been able to pull it down when he most needed to. He sat behind the wheel of the car without turning on the ignition and stared blindly through the windshield. If only he’d had the guts to take her in his arms the moment he’d seen her and tell her everything that was in his heart. Instead, he’d bumbled around like an idiot.
Now he had nothing. No date to see her again. No phone number. Nothing.
He was so angry with himself that he nearly missed the flash of yellow jutting out from behind the garage as he began to pull away. He looked more closely and realized it was the rear end of a battered Winnebago.
He couldn’t believe it. Just before he’d left Iowa he’d sold Mabel to a dealer and sent the check to Nealy’s attorney for the girls. Why had she gone to all the trouble of buying it herself? He felt a faint spark of hope. Not much to hold on to, but it was all he had.
He pulled up the name of Lucy’s new school from his memory bank and phoned for directions. After he arrived, he established his credentials with the principal and was shown into an empty office. Just before the walls finished closing in on him, the door opened and Lucy was standing there.
A smile took possession of his face. He felt only a momentary pang of nostalgia for the hooker makeup and purple hair. She looked wonderful—all scrubbed up, shiny, and pretty. Had Nealy smoothed away her rough edges or did Lucy not need them anymore?
