been able to touch. Making his way inside, John reflected on all he knew about her.
Edward Briscoe had told him story upon story about his three daughters. The man adored his children and it was evident in everything he did and said. He was also a concerned father, worried about what would happen with each of them when he was no longer around to help them toe the line. He had high hopes for his youngest child, the daughter most like the wife he’d loved and adored. And he worried more for her than he did the others.
Edward had told him the tragedy of losing their mother had touched Marah more than the other girls. John could understand what she had gone through, remembering his own devastation when learning that both his parents were gone. Edward feared that Marah’s obsession with the ranch was more about her being afraid to let go and move on with her life than anything else. He was concerned because he himself was ready to think about moving on.
John had watched as Edward and Juanita had grown closer over the last few months. They had slowly moved past the bounds of friendship toward something more and John, for one, was happy for them. He couldn’t help but notice, however, that his Aunt Juanita’s presence had been a source of consternation for Marah. It probably hadn’t helped that her father hadn’t shared the news of the woman in his life with his youngest child. John had admonished him for that while Edward had tried to make John understand why the news was not going to sit well with his daughters and how Marah would be the child least accepting of his choices. They had politely agreed to disagree.
He took a moment to reflect back on his conversations with the woman while she’d been in his family home. At one point he’d been able to pull her aside, to apologize for the experience in the elevator. Marah had shrugged it off. He wasn’t quite so eager to do the same.
After changing out of his tuxedo, he moved from his bedroom into his studio. John settled himself in front of an easel and began to paint. He was ready to lose himself in something that didn’t have to do with business—or that woman. Because that woman was beginning to crawl knee-deep beneath his skin and John wasn’t quite sure he liked how that felt at all.
As she’d been doing every evening before retiring for the night, Juanita Hilton dialed the private number she’d been dialing for months. As it rang, she couldn’t help but think back on everything that had happened over the course of the evening. When Edward answered his line she was anything but happy with him.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Edward.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I told you that you need to tell the girls about us. Poor Marah. That child looked like she was ready to cry.” She paused as the man drew a deep sigh on the other end. “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know, Juanita. When John extended the invitation I just thought it would be as good a time as any for Marah to see us together.”
“This was not the proper way for you to introduce me to your child.”
“You’re right. I should have warned her first.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“Do you still love me?” Edward asked, his voice dropping low on the other end of the telephone.
Juanita giggled, the length of her gray hair waving from side to side. “Don’t be silly, Edward Briscoe. Of course I still love you.”
The man smiled through the receiver, the brilliance of it seeming to flow over the line. “Good, because I love you, too.”
“Do you have any plans for dinner on Thursday?” he asked, shifting his body against the pile of pillows atop his bed.
“I would love to have dinner with you,” Juanita responded. “Are you asking me?”
“I am. In fact, I would be honored if you would come have dinner here at the house with me and my family. I would like to introduce you to my children.”
“Are you sure about that, Edward?”
The man nodded as though she could see him. “It’s past time, Juanita. I’ve asked you to be my wife. I don’t want to keep our relationship a secret any longer.”
The woman nodded slowly. “I would love to meet your children, Edward.”
“Thursday, then.”
“Thursday it is. Sweet dreams, Edward.”
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