Читать книгу What a Woman Wants - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 12

“N o!”

John winced away from Darby’s gasp. She looked like someone had just turned a fire hose on her and was desperately searching for a way to dodge the spray.

Yet somehow she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Her green eyes were wide and compassionate, her mouth built for kissing for hours on end, her body made for the kind of loving he couldn’t stop thinking about wanting to give her.

When he’d decided to come out here, he hadn’t known what he was going to do. Okay, maybe he’d known. The flowers and the ring were evidence of that. Only, he hadn’t known whether he would have the guts to do it. Proposing marriage was so foreign, the idea alone was enough to strike fear deep into his heart. But when he’d said the words, he’d immediately known they were the right ones to say. They felt right. Darby was pregnant with his child. He was going to do the right thing and marry her.

He’d never imagined she’d say no.

John cleared his throat, for the life of him not knowing what to say now.

He did his best, though, along with a grin that missed the mark. “Well, that certainly didn’t come out the way I meant for it to, did it?” he spoke more to himself than to her, finding the house suddenly quiet. Too quiet. Somewhere two six-year-old girls were probably listening with their little ears pressed to the wall. “I’ve surprised you.”

Darby blinked several times, then smiled in a way he could only classify as uncertain. “Umm, I think ‘shocked’ is more the word I’d use.”

A roughly cut flower stem bit into John’s palm. He looked down at the bouquet. He’d told Janice at the recently rebuilt General Store that he was picking up the flowers for his mother. It was only after the impulse buy that he realized Janice would probably say something to Mona, then Mona would talk to his mother’s best friend, Beatrice, and before the day’s end everyone would figure out he hadn’t bought the flowers for his mother, but had, in fact, purchased them for someone else.

But he hadn’t been thinking about that at the time. He knew how much Darby liked daisies, and he’d wanted to buy her these, no matter the consequences.

And she didn’t even appear to notice them.

“Won’t these things die or something if you don’t put them in water?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Darby merely blinked at him again, not having moved more than that since the moment he’d blurted out his question.

He shrugged, going for nonchalance, but probably looking like an idiot. “Be a shame to have to throw such pretty flowers away.”

Finally Darby seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d gone into. She snatched the flowers from his hand and put them on the opposite end of the table. “Forget about the flowers, John. I want you to, um, tell me that you didn’t just ask what I think you asked.”

He winced. Her words were like a punch to the gut. No-nonsense Darby. She’d earned the nickname while they were still in college. No matter what was going on, you could count on her to tell it like it was, no-holds-barred. He’d never wished otherwise—until now.

Okay, so maybe he’d mucked up the proposal. But he never thought she’d respond the way she had. He searched her eyes, finding in their depths confusion, a smear of sadness he’d become all too familiar with after Erick’s death, and a light that drew him in farther, deeper. He’d always been able to talk to Darby. Always. Yet the prospect of discussing his reasons behind his proposal now seemed impossible.

“But I did. Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said finally.

The light vanished from her eyes, leaving only the sadness and confusion. “I see.”

John cursed himself. Maybe he hadn’t done this right. Maybe he should have gotten down on one knee, as he had planned, instead of just blurting out the question like that. There seemed to be some sort of magic involved when guys did that.

He pushed from the table and bent down on one knee, his heart threatening to beat straight through the wall of his chest.

“John!” she whispered urgently, her gaze darting around the room. “What are you doing? Get up!”

He shook his head and reached for her hands, but she tugged them out of reach. He reached farther and caught them in his fingers. Her hands were warm, her palms as damp as his were. It was all he could do not to forget what he’d been about to do in order to marvel at her soft skin. He settled for turning her hands over and rubbing his thumb along the length of her palms. He only half registered her shiver.

“Darby, I…I know neither one of us planned…well, you know.” She glanced away. He caught her chin in his fingers and coaxed her to look back at him. “But facts are facts, and things being as they are, I think it would be a good idea if you and I became…”

He nearly said “husband and wife,” but somewhere between his lungs and his mouth the words got lost. He stared at her, trying to think of her as his wife. The only wife Darby had been was Erick’s.

“I think it would be a good idea if you and I got married,” he finally finished. He straightened his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden itching of his nose.

“Oh, John,” she whispered, no longer trying to tug her hands away. But the words weren’t said in a wistful, happy way, as he’d hoped. Rather, Darby was looking at him as if he was in his Sunday best and had just fallen headfirst into a mud puddle.

Whoa, rejection. He didn’t have much experience in that department. In fact, he didn’t have any at all.

This time, he was the one to do the hand tugging. She held fast.

Darby leaned closer to him, but John refused to look at her for fear of what he’d find there. “Is this what you thought I was looking for when I told you…what I did this morning?”

He grimaced. Her gaze traveled over his face, then she ran her fingertips over his hair. A soft smile tilted her full mouth.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said, damning his allergies to all her animals as he gave in and rubbed his nose against the uniform of his shirt to ward off a sneeze.

She shook her head, disturbing her auburn curls. “It’s completely the wrong thing to do,” she whispered. “You don’t want to marry me, John. You don’t want to marry anyone.”

He opened his mouth to say all that had changed, that it no longer mattered what he wanted, but she lay a finger across his lips to stop him. He nearly groaned at the feel of her flesh against his flesh. That so simple a touch sent his hormones to raging should have concerned him. But he couldn’t think much of anything at the moment.

“Thank you, though,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to his chest where her fingers ran over the starched material of his shirt. “I think it’s really sweet, you know, that you asked.”

Heat fanned over his skin. “I wasn’t exactly going for sweet,” he said, his voice sounding much too gravelly.

The hint of a smile turned into a smile. “I know. And that’s what makes it even sweeter.”

Her hand dipped millimeters lower to touch his stomach. He drew a harsh breath and caught her fingers. “You know, I’m not used to taking no for an answer, Darby.”

Her smile faded.

“I believe marrying you is the right thing to do and I’m not going to give up until I see you and me at that altar.”

Darby’s breath snagged in her throat. The material under her fingertips was silky and inviting. John’s eyes held a resolution that touched her to her toes.

He wants to marry me.

Despite her initial shock at his bumbled proposal, Darby found that his words warmed her, touched her in a way she was helpless to explore just then. He was so earnest, so determined that she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, long to kiss him, if not for the panic swirling through her bloodstream, along with a thousand other jumbled emotions. Panic caused not by the thought of marrying him, of becoming Mrs. John Sparks, but fear that he was serious. That he intended to take this ridiculous idea of his and run with it.

“John…I think you and I need some time to adjust before either of us says anything we don’t mean.”

His jaw flexed, making her itch to inch her palm along the strong length of it. To press her mouth there, against his freshly shaved skin and drink in the tangy taste of him at her leisure. “I don’t need time, Darby. I know how I feel. I know what I need to do. And nothing you can say is going to change that.”

Something tickled her chest from the inside. “We’re not teenagers, John. When something like this happens, you don’t have to get married. There are alternatives now.”

His eyes narrowed.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that alternative. I’m going to go through with this.”

The relief on his face was so complete even she felt it rush through her body and warm her all over.

“Time,” he said pensively. “If it’s time you want, Darby, then it’s time I’m going to give you. But I promise you, no matter how long it takes, you are going to marry me.”

“No!”

Darby stared at him as if he had made the vehement announcement. Because if there was one thing she was sure of, she hadn’t said the word. Her heart was too busy doing a silly little dance for her to have responded in any manner.

Reality sank in and every one of her muscles went on alert. If the word hadn’t come from her or John, who had said it? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

She pried her gaze from John’s sincere face to find Erin standing in the kitchen doorway. Her tiny frame was tense and battle-ready, her angelic face drawn and tight. Both hands were curled into fists at her sides and she shook as she repeated the word, as if the entire farm outside hadn’t heard her the first time. The passion behind her exclamation made the hair on Darby’s arm stand on end, made her stomach squeeze ominously. Extricating her hands from John’s, she somehow managed to stumble to her feet, and then wondered why the floor suddenly seemed to be swaying. Then she realized that the floor wasn’t, she was.

Not a good sign.

“Erin!” she said, her tone one of reprimand. Her gaze darted from her daughter’s flushed face to John, who stared at the tablecloth as if afraid it had come alive and was about to smother him.

The six-year-old’s entire stance seemed to crackle with electricity as she pointed a stiff finger in John’s direction. “You are not going to marry him. You’re not!”

Of course that had been Darby’s own response only minutes ago. But hearing it come from her daughter’s young mouth was completely different. Erin’s aberrant behavior all day left her drained and confused and just a tad angry.

“Why not?”

As John asked the question, Darby stared at him as if he’d grown another head. He’d lifted his gaze from the table and now stood next to her, looking at Erin with infinite patience.

“Because my daddy’s coming back, that’s why.”

A strangled sound erupted from Darby’s throat as every moment of the past year swept through her mind. From that terrible phone call in the middle of the night telling her Erick was dead, to the funeral where she’d clutched the twins to her so tightly she’d been afraid she’d break them, to the here and now and everything that had happened in between. She wouldn’t exactly classify the past year as easy. It had been everything but. But she never, ever, would have thought that either one of her daughters would have a doubt about the permanent absence of their father.

“He is coming back. He is,” Erin whispered again, moisture sparkling in her wide brown eyes, her crushed expression making Darby feel as if she’d just run over the family dog with her truck. “And that means you can’t marry anyone.”

Looking much like a rag doll in need of cuddling, Erin turned on her heel and trudged from the room and all the way back up the stairs. Movement nearby drew Darby’s attention. She watched as an eerily silent Lindy stepped from the shadows of the living room, her gaze confused and vulnerable as she turned and followed her sister up the stairs.

Darby’s stomach roiled ominously. Unlike when she was pregnant with the twins, the first three months of this pregnancy had been so far uneventful.

She had the awful sensation that was about to change.

“Excuse me,” she said softly. “I think I’m going to be sick….”