A Convenient Proposal - By Lynnette Kent Page 0,25
to know exactly why he was so sure. “Arden is a fantastic person. I think you’ll realize that as you get to know her.”
He wasn’t lying with that one, but he felt as if a huge bell had rung inside his chest, and the vibrations just kept going and going….
“I hope so. She’s certainly beautiful. A little quiet, I thought. Not comfortable in a crowd.”
“I’m sure Mom told you she’s not from a big family. Our hordes of cousins would scare anybody.”
“True. They’re mostly your mother’s family.” They shared a grin, because that was the standard line. Anything wrong always happened on the other side of the family. “Well, I’ll look forward to the quieter times when we can get to know your Arden better.”
Griff picked up his ripped jeans and dirty towel and followed his dad out of the bathroom. The shadowed hallway provided good cover for anything his face might give away. “Me, too.”
“So did you get to do any real work while you were down in the islands? Or did you drink the time away?”
“I volunteered for different clinics and rescue groups, when I could find them. There are some marine animal facilities scattered around, all still dealing with the aftermath of the oil spill and the last few hurricanes.”
“Not a total waste of time, then.” Jake headed toward the master bedroom.
Griff watched the door close behind his dad, knowing he shouldn’t let that last comment go unchallenged. But why start an argument his first night home?
He climbed the stairs to his room, instead, and settled into the bed he’d slept in since he was ten, where he’d hidden magazines of various kinds under the mattress and dreamed about everything from hot cars and hot music to hot women.
Apparently, he had one of those on his hands right now. Under Arden Burke’s cool exterior burned a fierce fire. After so long alone, Griff had a pretty good inferno going, himself. Together, they could burn up the night. Many nights, he hoped.
With the dog locked away somewhere else.
As he punched his pillow into shape, though, Griff reminded himself to be careful. The lady wanted something from him—that’s why she’d come along. This wasn’t a friend doing him a favor. Arden wanted him to make a baby for her. Quid pro quo.
So getting too involved would leave him in the same place Zelda’s defection had. But he didn’t want another woman to miss, or a relationship to mourn. Good times, salvaged pride and an easy goodbye—surely that wasn’t too much to ask.
And if it was, he was tired enough that even his doubts couldn’t keep him awake tonight.
OVER BREAKFAST the next morning, Griff offered to take Arden into town. “I can show you off to the populace, in line with our agenda, and you can tour the booming metropolis of Sheridan, Georgia.”
“Can we walk?” She took a deep breath of crisp air when they stepped outside. “It’s a beautiful day, not too cold at all.”
He squinted, as if measuring the distance. “Depends on how long you want to walk. We’re about three miles from the middle of town.”
A glance down at the knee-high boots she’d bought just yesterday dampened her enthusiasm. “Um, maybe not this time.”
“So, we can drive the Jag. Or…” He lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“Or?”
“We could ride my bike.”
Arden took a quick breath, hardly daring to hope. “As in motorcycle?”
“As in Harley.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Please?”
Griff pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. “I hoped you’d say that.”
In a matter of minutes, she was straddling the motorcycle at his back, arms around his waist and the wind in her face. “This is glorious,” she called over his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to ride a Harley.”
“Glad I could be your first,” he yelled back, with that mischievous, slanted grin she was beginning to look for.
Griff piloted them to the center of town and found a parking place along a tree-lined street with quaint storefronts on each side. At one end stood an impressive brick courthouse with white columns and a white steeple on top. At the other end, long stretches of lawn and huge, leafless trees surrounded the statue of a mounted soldier.
“Here we are,” Griff said, removing his own helmet and holding a hand out for hers. “Beautiful, anachronistic Sheridan, Georgia. Population eight thousand, give or take a few. Home to the last remnants of the antebellum South.”
“Lovely.” Arden noticed the live pine garlands swagged across front porches, the wreaths made of real