Return To Me. Shannon McKenna
me if I was out of line.”
“Please, don’t worry about it,” she assured him.
El flinched as a car horn blatted outside. She looked out the window. “Oh. There’s Brad now.”
Simon joined her at the window and peered out at the car that waited for El beneath the maple. A Porsche. Of course. Brad Mitchell would settle for nothing less than top of the line, being the crown prince of the known universe.
El looked flustered and guilty. “Um…please excuse me.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Simon said as she scurried out the door.
Brad beeped again. The sound jarred her, and she steadied herself against the maple. Her heart hammered, her face was red, her eyes watered like she’d been chopping onions. She couldn’t get into Brad’s car in this condition. Let him beep all he liked.
She gritted her teeth as Brad’s horn let out a loud, impatient bray. She’d tried to break him of that rude habit. It didn’t seem so much to ask for him to come to the door, but Brad had told her not to be silly. What was the sense? Coming to the door was an inefficient use of his time and energy. Assuming, of course, that she was punctual.
Brad was very, very good at getting the last word.
She wiped her eyes, counted slowly down from ten and walked down to where the Porsche waited, motor humming.
The chilly blast of air-conditioning made goose bumps prickle on her arms. Brad pulled her face to his and gave her a quick kiss.
“We’re late, honey,” he said. “You’re flushed. You feeling OK?”
“Yes,” she said. Her back flattened into the seat as the car surged forward. She fastened her seat belt.
“Mom’s put an engagement announcement in the Chronicle.”
Ellen was startled. “Already? But I thought that we—”
“I heard her talking to your mom on the phone this morning,” he said. “They’re already arguing about caterers and florists.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“Moms,” Brad said philosophically. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em. Dwight Collier will do our engagement photos.”
“Dwight Collier? But he hasn’t changed his style since the seventies!”
“Yes, I know,” Brad said impatiently. “But he’s a golfing—”
“Golfing buddy of your dad’s, yes, of course,” she muttered.
Brad frowned. “I would appreciate it if you made an effort to be more positive about this. Our wedding will be a community event. Of course our friends want to be involved. Mom said to tell you our appointment with Dwight is Saturday at nine A.M.”
“But I can’t make that appointment!” Ellen protested. “I serve a full breakfast until noon for my guests on weekends, and I have a full house! That’s nine people to cook for!”
Brad swooped around a curve with enough centrifugal force to fling her against the seat belt. “Get someone else to do it for one morning, for God’s sake. This just points out the fact that you’re going to have to rearrange your priorities once we’re married.”
Ellen braced herself against the dashboard and the door as Brad executed another sharp curve. “She might have asked my schedule,” she said. “Two hours later would have been fine.”
“Mom takes some getting used to,” Brad said. “My advice is to pick your battles carefully, or you’ll just exhaust yourself. But this brunch issue brings me to another thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. Your business.”
Ellen chomped down on her tongue as they bumped over a cattle crossing guard. “Brad, could you please slow down?”
“Relax, Ellen. I know what I’m doing. Now, it’s great that you’ve got this hotel thing going—”
“‘Bed and Breakfast’ is the term,” she said tightly.
“Whatever. The point is, it’s a nice little business, and you’ve done an excellent job. One of the reasons I proposed to you is because I admire your initiative. You’re a self-starter. I respect that.”
“Uh, thanks.” Ellen shot him a nervous glance. “I sense a ‘but.’”
“But you can’t run a hotel forever,” Brad said. “We have to have to set up housekeeping somewhere, right? You can’t possibly expect me to live in a hotel with strangers underfoot.”
“Uh, I guess not,” she faltered. She actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. A glaring oversight if there ever was one.
“You must turn a nice profit these days, but you work long, hard hours for it, right?”
“I guess so,” she admitted. “But I don’t mind. I enjoy the work.”
“I’ll need some of that quality time for myself, once we’re married,” Brad said. “And it’s not like money’s going to be a problem for us.”
“I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it that way,” Ellen said. “Brad! Look out for that cow!”
Brad braked. They skidded to a stop just inches from the placid cow. Brad honked. She ambled off the road, taking her own sweet time.
“Stupid animals,” he muttered.
“Brad, would you please, please slow down?” Ellen pleaded.
“Don’t worry,” he snapped. “Everything is under control.” He took off with a roar. The Porsche bounced down the hill. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. You’ve been playing house for a bunch of strangers, Ellen. It’s time to grow up and do the real thing. So?”
“Um, so what?” she hedged.
Brad’s jaw tightened. “Weren’t you even listening?”
Ellen twirled a lock of her hair. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” she said. “You want me to give up my business.”
Brad frowned. “I’m not asking you not to work. I’m asking you to shift your focus, and work with me, on our own household and our own future. You’ve got to think about the family.”
“What family? Yours?”
Brad looked hurt. “Ours. I assume you want one. The pitter-patter of little feet, and all that? I thought that was a priority for you.”
“Yes,” Ellen said. “I do want that.”
“Well, then? You can keep your baking business for the time being, as long as it’s not too time-consuming, and we’ll set up Kent House for the two of us. Mom can’t wait to help you redecorate.”
Ellen stared straight ahead. “Oh. How nice of her to take such an interest,” she said woodenly. “A seven-bedroom house for two people?”
Brad’s hand tangled possessively in her hair. “Like I said, it won’t always be just us,” he pointed out. “It’s a great piece of property. A real showplace. Wasted as a hotel. You’re lucky to have it.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ellen said. “I’ll be paying twelve hundred dollars a month on it for the next twenty-four years.”
Brad was silent as the car bumped over the railroad crossing. “I was under the impression that your mother had given you the house.”
“Nope,” Ellen said. “She gave me as good a deal as she could, but it’s a valuable property. Expensive to maintain, too.”
“You should have told me.”
“I’m telling you now,” she said shortly. “It never occurred to me that you might assume that I owned