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CJ grabs my hand, drawing my eyes back on him. “Velma. All I’m asking for is a chance. A chance to show you how good we could be together. I know that you’re it for me and I need you to know it too. I’m going to put on a shirt then we’re going to have lunch and talk.”
Fuck me this is a bad idea but I’m going to say yes. The only part of me that doesn’t want to stay —the rational side of my brain— is getting quieter and quieter.
With a huff and an eye roll just because I cave. “Fine. You get dressed and I’ll let Georgie know I’m at lunch.”
“Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.”
God, I hope not. All I have to do is ignore the feelings that are trying to creep in, and everything will be fine.
CHAPTER7
CJ
I givethe mare I just finished examining a treat for her troubles then address her waiting owner.
“Yep, you were right, she’s pregnant.”
Mr. McAvoy chuckles and gives the beautiful Irish Draft tucked away in its stall a few strokes. “Didn’t think she had it in her. Wasn’t even trying to breed her. She’s knocking on eighteen, you know.”
“Eh, don’t count her out. She still has some good years left in her yet.” I reply.
“True…true,” he drawls, then his eyes gleam with mischief and I know whatever coming next I won’t like. “So does Velma. Hope you’re taking precautions or else you’ll be saddled with an old lady and a baby.” He laughs, shaking his round belly.
I roll my eyes. The people in this town, while nice can be a tad judgmental. Plus, I don’t know who Bill is calling old. If he’s not in his sixties, I’ll let him examine me like I did his mare.
I lean against the gate of the empty stall next to Beauty’s, the mare, and look Bill straight in the eyes so there’s no mistaking my words.
“Velma isn’t old, she’s just right. And when we do have children, I’ll be the happiest man on earth.” Lord knows I’ve been trying to get her pregnant for the past month.
Mr. McAvoy nods and smiles, seeming to respect my answer. Done with his poor stand-up routine, we walk out of the stable and head toward the edge of the wide field where my truck is parked, going over what he should expect. He’s a horse breeder so it’s a quick conversation. Hell, with his years of experience I learned some things from him.
Visit over, I wave goodbye and climb into my truck. Nothing is going on in the office and my next appointment isn’t until one and it’s only ten so with time to kill, I decide to make the forty-minute ride to the resort. Only this time it’s not for quick a nap or a bite to eat. My days of staying there are long over. I’ve been in Coldwater for a month now and have settled into my apartment nicely. Not that I’m there much. I spend most of my nights at Velma’s place. As small as her place is, mine is a virtual shoebox.
Our time together has only solidified my resolve that she’s my forever, not that I had any doubt. With every new thing I learn I fall in love with Velma a little bit more.
Our quilt has grown, with scrapes of fabric representing our journey. Pieces of clothing, a cut of the tablecloth where we had our first official date. Mrs. Caldwell, the manager of Gala, the swanky restaurant located by one of Coldwater's many lakes, wasn’t too happy about that but since Velma’s family owns the restaurant there wasn’t much she could say. I bought some material designed with apple varieties and their meanings and carefully cut out the ones I’ve called her so far. Velma mock-complains with every new piece I gather, claiming she’ll never get it done if I don’t stop. But I remind her that’s the point…our story will never end.
Christmas is next week and I’m nervous about the small box I plan on placing under our tree.
It was a task convincing Velma to buy one. She insisted that her apartment was too small, which is true, but even a decorated potted tree is better than nothing. The only sign of the holidays in her home was a festive wreath on the front door. Her apartment desperately needed some cheer and once I found out that she was the one who had decorated the resort's main office, I pressed her into doing something for herself.
While searching through the meager selection, most people already had their trees since Thanksgiving, we ran into her parents. They call it a coincidence; I call it bullshit. One of their spies, I mean friends, was at the farm getting a new wreath and phoned them the moment they saw us. Velma wasn’t too keen on doing the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing so she had been trying her hardest to avoid them; agreeing to go out during hours she knew they’d be in or too busy to pop up.
How she came from such cold pretentious people I’ll never understand. They weren’t shy about their disdain for me and more than once Velma had to give her mom a hard look. At first, I thought it was the race difference but quickly realized it had more to do with my age and occupation. The age I get but to tell me a veterinarian isn’t a legitimate doctor is baffling. I went to school and earned my Ph.D. same as those so-called real doctors. However, by the end of the terse conversation, I had somewhat won them both over.
Thinking about the package I received in the mail last week, I wonder what they would say about my plan. I probably should ask Velma’s father for her hand, but his opinion doesn’t seem to matter much, if the way she kept huffing and rolling her eyes whenever he spoke was any indication.
It took some doing to get her ring size. She doesn’t wear jewelry on her hands and is a very light sleeper so I had to pull out all my bedroom tricks to wear her ass out, then slipped on plastic ring after plastic ring until I landed on one that fit.
I ordered the light green, emerald-shape ring from Lockton, a midsize city a few hours away. I had traveled there to attend a presentation my second weekend here and decided to go shopping. Why wait when you know? Velma still hasn’t given me the words and treats what we have as just a fling but eyes tell a different story. They sparkle with love even though she tries to fight it. I hope a Christmas proposal changes that. My mom and sister seem to believe it will and can’t wait to meet Velma.
The trip to the resort passes by quickly and soon I’m at the front desk asking Tacie about my angel’s whereabouts.
“I’m not sure, CJ. All we were told was that she was sick and would be out the rest of the week.” Tacie fidgets as she speaks, unsure if she should be divulging this information. Which makes sense. As Velma’s man, I should have known this already and it upsets me that I didn’t.
It’s Monday so that means Velma plans on being absent for at least four more days. That is not like her. She loves her job and has to be at death's door before calling out, let alone be out that long.
Thinking back, she said she felt ill yesterday morning and asked me to leave so she could rest. I didn’t want to and argued but she almost cried so I gave in with a warning I would be back later. When I did she only let me stay long enough to drop off some soup from the Last Stop, claiming she didn’t want to get me sick. I know I shouldn’t have listened. She could be seriously ill and all alone. Why the hell didn’t she call me?
