Touched by Angels Page 0,83

company this morning. He had some heavy-duty thinking to do.

Twice he'd asked Jenny to leave New York and come back to Montana with him. Twice she'd told him no. The time had come for him to play his trump card, give her some incentive to return to Custer.

He planned to ask her to be his wife.

Generally when a man proposed to a woman he was fairly confident of her response. Trey figured his chances with Jenny were less than fifty-fifty. Although he'd worked hard to build up his herd, he didn't have a whole lot in the way of material wealth to offer her. A few hundred head of cattle, a run-down house that badly needed a woman's touch. And a heart so full of love that he nearly burst wide open every time he thought of Jenny and himself raising a family together.

Trey was a realist, and he was well aware that he couldn't compete with the bright lights of Broadway. He didn't have any diamond ring to offer her, either. Not yet.

The fact was, he hadn't thought about asking Jenny to marry him until after they'd kissed that first time. He'd always dreamed it would be like that with them, but the reality had knocked him for a loop. Jenny's kisses gave him hope that she might harbor some tenderness for him.

Never having proposed to a woman before, Trey had no idea how to go about it. Did a man of the nineties get down on one knee? Should he remove his hat and place it over his heart? None of those things sounded right to him. But since he was asking Jenny the most important question of his life, he didn't figure he should do it without showing some semblance of respect.

On impulse, Trey slipped off the stool and looked around the doughnut shop. The place held the same five or six people who frequented the place every morning.

"Can I have your attention, please," he said in a loud voice.

The businessman lowered the newspaper. The cook turned around, the spatula raised in one hand.

"My name's Trey LaRue," he said. "I've been having coffee here every morning since I arrived in this city, and it seems time I introduced myself. I take it you folks all know each other."

The five other customers stared back blankly.

"You don't know each other?"

"No." It was the woman with one high heel and one tennis shoe.

"Well then, don't you think it's time you introduced yourselves to one another? I'm Trey, and I'm visiting from Montana."

"Hello, Trey," the waitress responded. "I'm Trixie."

"I'm Bob, and I'm in advertising."

"I'm Mary Lou, and I'm an assistant editor at a publishing house." She waved one shoe in greeting.

The others went around the compact space and introduced themselves and told what they did for a living. Trey acknowledged each one with a brisk nod.

"What brings you to New York?" The question came from the cook, whose name was Steve.

"I came to ask a special woman to be my wife."

"Has she agreed?" This came from his editor friend.

"Not yet." He splayed his fingers through his hair, feeling less confident about his decision. "The fact is, I haven't asked her yet. I'm not exactly sure how to go about it."

"Just come right out and ask her," Bob advised.

"But wine and dine her," was Trixie's advice.

"Yeah," Bob teased, "get her good and soused first."

Mary Lou shook her head slowly. "Don't you listen to any of that. You tell that young woman what's in your heart. That's all you need to do, and if she feels as strongly about you as you do about her, nothing else will be necessary."

"I shouldn't take her to a fancy dinner, then?" Trey asked. His newfound friends confused him more than they helped.

"Dinner and champagne won't hurt," Trixie assured him, "but Mary Lou's right. Just tell this special lady what's in your heart and go from there."

That sounded like a lot less trouble than getting down on one knee, Trey decided.

"You might try singing to her."

Everyone turned to stare at Steve, Trey included. As far as Trey was concerned, there were certain things a man didn't do, and break into song was one of them. One of Jenny's male friends might consider that, but not him.

"Women like romance, and there ain't nothing more romantic than to sing. You don't even have to have that great a voice," Steve added, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

"I won't be doing any singing," Trey said emphatically.

"You love