“Do you two need some help with that dessert? It’s taking a long time.” Her father came through the swinging doors and then stopped cold.
Janet sprang away from Gage, her face heating with embarrassment. “Father...I-I...” she stammered.
Her father frowned and held up a palm. His jaw muscle jumped. “No need to explain anything to me. You’re a grown woman. A doctor, even. If you feel the need to debase yourself in your mother’s kitchen with a man you barely know, it’s no concern of mine.”
Her heart raced, and her palms grew slick. It was almost as bad as that time in college when her father had caught her making out with Ace Mulgrew in a hammock in the backyard. He’d called her a tramp and much worse. He didn’t say those ugly words now, but he was thinking them. She could tell by the cold, hard look in his stony eyes.
Janet cleared her throat, drew herself up tall, and stared him right in the face. “Father, you’re wrong. It’s not like that at all.”
“Oh, no?” His tone could have frozen molten lava. “What is it like then?”
Why was he always so disappointed in her? Why was he making a big deal out of something as simple as a kiss? Why was he so harsh and unbending? For the love of Pete, she was thirty years old! What on earth did he expect from her? If she lassoed down the moon and deposited it at his feet, he would berate her for leaving a hole in the sky.
“Well?” he demanded.
Before she even considered what to say next, Gage blurted out, “Dr. Hunter, Janet and I are engaged.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him.
“Really?” Her father broke into the most beatific smile she’d ever seen on his face.
Her gut wrenched. How many years had she struggled to put such a smile on his lips, and how many times had she failed miserably? And now she had finally achieved her goal, but only because her father thought her engaged to Gage.
“Uh...” was all she managed.
“Well, why didn’t you say so before? This is absolutely the smartest thing you’ve ever done, Janet.”
“What? What’s this?” Gracie popped into the kitchen, too, bumping her father in the backside with the door. He was so pleased he didn’t even chide Gracie for jarring him. “Did I hear right? You and Gage are getting married?”
“You heard correctly, Gracie, but don’t start with your usual antics,” Janet’s father warned.
Wait, whoa, stop, rational voice screamed. Do something, Janet. Deny this. Right now.
But the proud expression on her father’s face stayed her tongue. She said nothing.
“My baby’s getting married!” Gracie threw her arms around Janet and squeezed hard. “Darling, you’ve made me the happiest woman on the face of the earth.”
Janet searched Gage’s eyes.
He tossed her an I-can’t-believe-I-just-did-that look of apology.
“The ring! Let me see the engagement ring.” Gracie snatched Janet’s left hand in her own. “There’s no ring. Where’s the ring?”
“Um...er...” She stammered. Oh, she was a terrible liar.
“You’re having the ring sized, aren’t you,” Gracie said, providing her with an excuse.
Janet nodded.
Gracie started humming Wagner’s wedding march and pirouetting around the kitchen like a ballerina on amphetamines.
Her father, as preposterous as it seemed, was spouting his ideal guest list for the engagement party he was planning on throwing for them at Garden Green Acres, Houston’s oldest and most exclusive country club.
“Invite any of your Hollywood friends and your family as well,” her father told Gage and waved his hand expansively. “Your engagement party will be the event of the year.”
Holy cow! What had Gage wrought? Her father, or so he thought, was finally getting the son he’d always wanted. While her Baby Predicate-obsessed mother was looking forward to wedding bells and lullabies, bridal gowns and cradles.
Everybody was happy.
Except for her.
“Could I see you outside for a moment, Gage?” she asked, trying to keep her voice at an even pitch, belying the demented thoughts sprinting through her brain.
“We’ll serve coq au vin, crepe ramekins, bulgar pilaf with green peppercorns, creamy fennel puree, and maple hazelnut mousse for dessert. I’ll hire Gil Chaney’s orchestra,” her father was saying, sounding as if this would be an over-the-top, designed-to-impress soiree.
“You can register at Harrisons, and we’ll hire Reverend Newton to officiate and let’s look into releasing doves. Mrs. Tattersol’s daughter did that at her wedding last year, and it was beautiful. No wait, I forgot about the dove poop. What a mess that was. On second thought, how do you feel about butterflies?” her mother blathered, speaking at the same time as her father so that everything came out in a jarring cacophony.
“Butterflies are ridiculous, Gracie, do you have any idea how much they cost?” her father interjected.
Omigod, look what those two paltry words—we’re engaged—had done. Running into Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolfman on a three-day drinking binge in a deserted alley in Bangkok at midnight wouldn’t have been as scary as this.
“Don’t be such a tightwad, Niles. Your only daughter doesn’t get married every day.”
“Especially not to Dr. Gage Gregory.” Her father stroked his chin with his thumb and index finger.
Give it a rest, Father. We know, we know. You think the sun shines out of Gage’s...
She crooked her finger at Gage in a come-with-me gesture and opened the back door. He seemed more than happy to flee to the privacy of the backyard, leaving her parents arguing over the—unbeknownst to them—never-gonna-happen wedding festivities.
Her entire body shook as she closed the door firmly behind them. Was she angry or upset or just the teeniest bit thankful? She didn’t even know what she felt. But she knew one thing. No man had ever done anything so gallant for her.
Without a word, Gage took her arm and guided her to the wooden porch swing set up under the shelter shade of an old red oak tree.
“Sit,” he commanded.
She sat, the intense scent of honeysuckle and jasmine vibrating the surrounding air. Spring. The best time of year in Houston. She should
