A Convenient Proposal(64)

Inevitably, Al’s party spilled out of the club room. Inebriated revelers, most of them friends or acquaintances of Griff’s, wandered into the lounge to watch the ball game and harass the bartender. The older patrons soon abandoned the scene, but Griff couldn’t resist remaining as an observer. None of the drunks had noticed him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t get into trouble.

Then Al wove his way into the room. He patted a few backs, called for a double whiskey, neat, then turned around and fixed his bleary gaze on Griff’s face.

“You,” he said loudly. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Griff got slowly to his feet. He kept his voice down, as he did when he talked to Igor. “Leaving.”

But his old friend stepped in front of him. “Runnin’ away again?”

“My specialty.”

“No, your specialty is screwing up my life.”

“Don’t do this,” Griff begged. “Let it go.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Al had always brooded over his hurts, then exploded to release the pressure. “Do you know how long it took her to get over you leaving? Huh? It was six weeks before she’d talk to me on the phone.”

Leaning against the wall, Griff folded his arms. Maybe the solution was to let him talk it out.

“Then I finally got her to say yes, plan a wedding, get started on our life together and what happens? You show up again. Only this time…” He wiped a hand over his face. “This time, you bring another woman with you…one who has every guy in town panting over her.”

Behind Al, the lounge had gone quiet, except for the TV. So they all heard Griff when he said, “Shut up, McPherson. Not another word.”

But Al wasn’t listening. “And Zelda goes crazy. Absolutely insane. ‘He wants me to be sorry,’ she says. ‘He’s trying to make me jealous.’ And damn if it didn’t work. I couldn’t—”

“That’s enough.” Griff grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him toward the door. “The party’s over for you, buddy. You’re going home.”

They got as far as the entry hall before Al recovered his balance and his instinct for self-defense.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not lettin’ you order me around.” He pivoted, then started swinging.

Griff ducked, but didn’t hit back. “Give it up, Al. You never could beat me in a—”

He saw the last punch coming, but reacted a second too late. Knuckles slapped into flesh. Pain bloomed on the side of his head from ear to nose.

What he hadn’t counted on was the shove in the chest that followed, and the crack of his skull against the floor.

Or the black hole he fell into after that.



ARDEN HAD ACCEPTED Kathy’s invitation to join the Campbell sisters’ “girls night out” for only one reason—by going, she could avoid an entire Friday evening alone with Griff.

His hectic week at the office had worked to her advantage, because he’d been too tired in the evenings to do much more than eat dinner and go to bed. He certainly hadn’t been his usual eagle-eyed, perceptive self.

She believed she could hide the truth from his sisters, too. Especially since Kathy had promised champagne as the drink of choice for the evening. A glass or two would keep Dana and Lauren from noticing anything off in Arden’s mood. And she figured she’d get a boost of her own from the bubbly, at least enough to evade Kathy, who would be staying sober because of her baby.

Then she walked into Kathy’s charming bungalow and found that girl’s night included Griff’s mother, which created a much more dangerous situation. She might not be as insightful as her husband, but any hint of a threat to Griff’s welfare would put her on alert.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Arden said as she gave Kathy her coat. “I missed a couple of turns.” Because she’d been musing over her deception with Griff rather than watching where she was going.

“Arden.” Rosalie Campbell caught her hands and squeezed. “I just got here myself. I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“Champagne,” Kathy said, offering a glass to each of them. “Dana and Lauren are already ahead of you. Drink up.”

Once they were all seated in the living room, the conversation developed in a predictable direction.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you this week,” Rosalie began. “Semester exams are as onerous for the teachers as they are for students. And I haven’t seen Griff at all. But I’m still fielding questions about you from everybody in town. You’re a concert violinist, and you never said a word? I’m just so amazed. And delighted, of course.”