“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she admitted. “Neither Mom nor I feel comfortable with the current arrangement, given what almost happened. It’s either sell out or move out, and frankly, neither option holds appeal.”
Clay knew that money was an issue. By living here together, sharing the income from the inn, they were both in a fairly comfortable position. But if Tate had to move out…
“How about the carriage house?” he inquired, referring to the old structure behind the inn’s garden. It had once been used, not surprisingly, to house carriages, and later functioned as a store-all and garage. It was roomy enough to hold three cars, and boasted an attic of sorts with stairs, but lacked plumbing and all but the most rudimentary electrical wiring.
“It’s a nice thought,” she said wistfully, “but it would take an unbelievable amount of work to make it livable. Unfortunately, I don’t have that sort of cash lying around, nor am I given to carpentry.”
“How much do you think it would take,” Clay asked, “to make it workable?”
Tate shrugged her shoulders in a futile gesture. “I honestly don’t know. Probably at least a hundred thousand.”
Clay did a few rapid calculations. The real estate market around the DC area had taken a hit recently, but he’d purchased his house several years ago, and had accrued a tidy little bit of equity. If he sold out, his cash profit would probably just about cover it. Maybe even allow for a little bit of room. This close to the water, he’d want a boat.
“What if I told you I was good for it?”
Tate blinked, and looked at him in confusion. “You mean, like a loan?” She shook her head before he could even answer. “That’s awfully generous of you, Clay, but…” She gave a short burst of surprised laughter. “There are enough complications to our relationship already without adding financial obligations to the mix.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, toying with her fingers, enjoying the anticipation of the moment. He should have been pee-in-his-pants nervous, but maybe it was the drugs or an undiscovered brain tumor or something because he was feeling totally jazzed. He’d given this thing a lot of consideration over the past few days, and was completely at ease with his decision. “Because, I was thinking that we could work out a really creative reimbursement plan. Like you could marry me and give me more children. I mean, Max is great, but he could probably stand a brother or a sister. Help keep him in line.”
Her hand jerked beneath his. The faint blush which tinted her cheeks disappeared. And she looked at him with such a wide-eyed gape, that he realized he should have been nervous. What the hell would he do if she said no?
No way was he going to let her say no.
He regrouped, and changed his tactic. Maybe the casual, dropping-the-bomb-as-a-joke approach was not the way to go. Tate was a romantic. Okay. He could do romantic.
He levered himself off his pillow, stifling his unromantic urge to shout out an obscenity over the stab of pain, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“What are you doing?” Tate demanded, finally finding her voice. “Get back in bed!”
“No.” He shook her off, because he was going to do this right. He probably could have made a better impression dressed in something other than pink – yes, he’d mixed his whites with his colors – boxers, but hell, he’d just have to work with what he had.
He lowered himself to one knee.
“Tate.” He took her hand, kissed her palm as his gaze never wavered. “You are everything I’ve ever needed, and never knew that I was missing. And Max is the son I never realized I already had. When I look at you – at both of you – I see my life stretching out before me. And it’s filled with happiness, and love, and a sense of… accomplishment and contentment that I never even knew existed. You’re goodness and light and beauty.” He remembered thinking that the first time they’d made love. “And if you’ll have me, I’ll love and treasure you and our family for the rest of my days. Marry me?”
And Tate thought she was speechless before. She hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t known how to respond to that half-joking proposal out of nowhere. But this…
The look in Clay’s eyes took her breath away.
And she saw her future, there, too.
“Your work?” It was a question that needed answering. She wasn’t sure what he was offering, or sacrificing.
Clay held her penetrating look with his own. “I can’t give it up entirely, sugar. It’s… what I do, and I’m not ready, yet, to stop.”
“I didn’t mean –”
He held up a hand. “Let me finish. However, there is no way that I would have asked you to share your life with me if I felt that mine would be going along as it had before. I’ve made some inquiries, and there’s a position that could be made available to me at the local RA, as a profiling coordinator. I’d still work consults when invited, but primarily I’d function as a bridge between local law enforcement and the resources at Quantico. I’d run a lot of workshops, that sort of thing. There’d be some travel involved, but not a lot. Bottom line, I’d be home most nights. And I want to be home. With you.”
“But that Agent in charge, Beall. You hate him. Are you sure you want to work with him?”
Clay huffed out an abrupt laugh, feeling that flutter of nerves again. “Are you
