Yesterday's Love (18 page)

There would be no more of that, he solemnly told his reflection. His birthday was as good a day as any to start over, to get himself back on track again. Maybe he'd even quit his job and leave Cincinnati, check out new options and new horizons. The old ones had left him feeling increasingly dissatisfied ever since Victoria had opened his eyes to new possibilities.

An hour later he was sitting in his office trying to work up the courage to tell Pete he wanted to quit or, at the very least, transfer to another IRS office, when he heard a chorus of laughter floating through the outer offices. He opened the door and peered out to see what had brought on this totally unexpected, raucous sound. Pete frowned on joviality. In fact, right now Pete was standing outside his office, shaking his head and muttering dire curses under his breath.

“What's going on?” Tate asked.

“You tell me, McAndrews,” he groused.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I think you'd better go check out the elevator.”

“The elevator?” His head started spinning in that same crazy, light-headed way it always had when Victoria was up to something. It hadn't happened to him in weeks now.

He walked through the main office, noticing that everyone seemed to be either studiously ignoring him or grinning like the proverbial cat who'd just lunched on a very satisfying canary. When he reached the elevator, he began to understand why. The door was lodged open by a clown wearing a puffy, polka-dotted costume, a bright-orange fright wig and oversized shoes. One foot was propped against the left door, while the clown's very attractive rear poked against the right door. Both hands were frantically trying to pull a tangled bunch of helium-filled balloons through the doors before they smashed shut.

Tate started to chuckle at the perfectly incongruous sight, but the sound died in his throat as one of the balloons floated close enough for him to get a good look at it. He groaned softly and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, he'd discover that he'd only imagined that every one of the red, silver and blue balloons said “Happy Birthday, Tate” in bright green lettering. He peeked again. Nothing had changed. Without even counting, he knew there would be thirty balloons in that elevator. He prayed innocent, claustrophobic people weren't stuck in there with them.

His eyes squinted suspiciously and roved over the clown again, and his heart suddenly tripped a little faster. That rear end, poked out so provocatively, looked very familiar despite the baggy costume. Surely it couldn't be….

The clown offered him a lopsided grin. “Are you this Tate person?” an unfamiliar, squeaky little voice asked, throwing him. He stared at the clown more closely, his brow creasing in a puzzled frown. For a minute, he'd been so sure, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him after all. He'd missed Victoria so much, his imagination had probably simply conjured her up for him. The clown, however, was very real and was waiting for an answer.

“I'm Tate,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Sorry about the entrance,” the clown squeaked. “But I'm a little new at this. If you could hold some of these?”

“Umm…of course,” he said, blushing furiously as the new, unrestrained chuckles started again behind him. When he had all thirty balloons safely in tow, the clown released the elevator door and it slowly glided shut. The clown was inside. Tate was outside, staring at the elevator in confusion. A minute later, the door opened revealing an obviously embarrassed clown.

“Sorry. I was supposed to sing.”

The clown cleared its throat and began a lusty, only slightly off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” The entire office joined in, singing so loudly that Tate, for the life of him, couldn't be sure if it was Victoria's sweetly melodious voice he heard or not. Before he could make a grab for the clown and take a good hard look into those dancing, seemingly familiar blue eyes, the doors were shut again and the clown was gone.

“Do you suppose we could get some work done around here now?” Pete growled next to him, though there was a decided twinkle in his eyes.

Suddenly, Tate made a decision. He grinned at Pete, put the strings of the balloons into his hands and hopped on the next elevator. He thought if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the startled grin that had creased Pete's face, right before he'd resumed his more characteristic scowl.

When he reached the lobby, Tate wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do next. He only knew that he had to find that clown—Victoria, he was absolutely sure of it—and make things right between them somehow. As ridiculous as their relationship might be, their fight had been even more absurd. They loved each other, and two reasonably intelligent people should never have been separated by a fortuneteller and a deck of cards. Rational people in love could work things out, cards or no cards. Surely they could find a way to have both balloons and order in their lives.

He drove north as though he'd been sent to put out a raging fire, which, in a manner of speaking, he had. There had been a fire burning inside him for weeks now, and only Victoria had the power to quench the flames. He headed straight for Victoria's shop and found her mother chatting happily with a customer over coffee and cherry pie. He wondered briefly if the crust was soggy or if Victoria had finally mastered crusts.

Katherine Marshall glanced up at his entrance and beamed at him.

“It's about time,” she chided gently.

“Where is she?”

“Have you tried the house? She seems to be hiding out there a lot lately.”

“I'll have her back here by tomorrow,” he promised.

“I'd rather you took her off on a long honeymoon.”

He grinned. “I think that can be arranged, too.”

When he got to the house, the battered blue Volkswagen was in the driveway. Feeling like an amateur detective, he walked over and laid his hand over the engine. It was still warm. She'd either been to the supermarket, or she'd been to Cincinnati. He was willing to lay odds on Cincinnati.

He knocked on the back door and marched in without even waiting for a response. He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top, he hesitated at the closed bathroom door, then shrugged, muttered under his breath and threw it open. Startled blue eyes flew up and met his in the mirror. Golden-red curls tumbled over her shoulders, which were still encased in an oversized clown's costume. He grinned. Her reflection grinned back at him hesitantly.

“You knew, didn't you?”

“Of course, I knew,” he said confidently, as if he'd never had a second's doubt. “How many people do you think I know who'd get trapped in an elevator with thirty balloons?”

“Two that I can think of.”

He chuckled. “You've met my mother.”

Victoria nodded.

“I wondered how long it would take her to get to you.”

Victoria knew that she would be forever grateful to Lisa McAndrews for making her see that she and Tate shared all of the important values: love, respect, family loyalty. They just expressed them differently. She did wildly impulsive things for those she cared about. Tate expressed his caring in a more sedate manner, but the sentiment was just as strong, just as real.

“She was worried about you,” she told Tate now.

“And you?”

“I was too busy being miserable and confused and mad at myself to worry about you.”

“Me, too,” he admitted. “I was being miserable and stubborn.”

Victoria gave him a dimpled smile, that was emphasized by the rosy-red greasepaint on her cheeks. “You're very good at stubborn.”

“You're not so bad yourself.”

She turned around finally and took a step toward him, tilting her head to one side as she studied the face that she had missed so much. She reached out a finger and gently touched the dark circles under his eyes.

“My fault?”

“Nope. Mine.”

She nodded. “Your mother says it doesn't matter whose fault it is, as long as we work it out.”

“Wise woman, my mother.”

Victoria grinned. “You might tell her that sometime. She's convinced you think she's a flake.

“She is.”

“Tate!”

“That doesn't mean I don't love her, just like it doesn't mean I can't love you. It just took me a while to figure that out.”

“Wise man,” Victoria noted, gazing into his eyes, her heart warming at the answers she saw there, answers to all of her unasked questions. She grinned at him impishly.

“Did you like the balloons?”

Golden lights danced in his eyes. “I don't suppose you could have sent a card?”

She shook her head. “Boring. Would you have driven up here after me if you'd gotten some dumb old card in the mail?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But Pete wouldn't have had nearly as much fun.”

“Pete?”

“I left the balloons with him.”

“He must have loved that.”

“Actually I think he did. You may be saving two men from boredom, instead of only one.”

“I've always believed in getting a good deal.”

“Since when?”

“Since I fell in love with a man who's keeping a close watch on my finances.”

“Is that all you're interested in? My financial skills?”

She took another step closer and circled her arms around his neck. “Well, there is this other little skill I've noticed….”

“What's that?” he teased.

“Let me show you.” Her lips brushed across his lightly, then returned with a firmer, hungrier touch. When his mouth opened and her tongue flicked across his teeth, she heard a moan rumble deep in his throat, and his arms tightened around her.

“Don't you ever leave me again,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don't think I could stand it.”

“There is one way to be sure I won't,” she taunted, grinning at him impishly.

“What's that?”

“If I have to tell you, it doesn't count.”

“Oh,” he said. “That way.”

She nodded, as Tate dropped dramatically to one knee.

“Victoria Marshall, will you marry me?” he asked solemnly.

She studied him considerably. “That's an awfully traditional proposal.”

“Too traditional?” he teased, his brown eyes twinkling in the way that always made her feel as if he'd earned a Nobel prize.

“Much. I was thinking along the lines of a skywriter.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “Tell me where I can hire one.”

“You'd really do that for me?”

“I would do almost anything for you. Don't you know that by now?” he asked as the phone rang. He groaned. “Not again.”

“Hush,” Victoria soothed. “I'll get rid of them.”

She picked up the phone and talked briefly, her lips curving into a smile. “I'll tell him,” she promised.

“Tell me what? Who was that?”

“It was your mother.”

“How did she know I was here?”

“She said she knew it was only a matter of time.”

“What did she want?”

“She had this great idea for our honeymoon.”

“
She
had a great idea for
our
honeymoon? What made her think we were getting married?”

“She said that was only a matter of time, too.”

Tate moaned. “Good Lord. What am I doing to myself? I'll never be able to cope with the two of you.”

“Don't worry,” Victoria consoled him. “You'll have my parents on your side.”

“That may help some. What exactly did my mother have in mind for our honeymoon?”

“She wanted us to go on an archaeological dig.”

“What?”

“With her.”

“Victoria!”

“I think it would be fun.”

“No. Uh-uh. Absolutely not. That would not be a honeymoon.”

“Who says?”

Tate sighed. “Victoria do you know anything at all about archaeology?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Then that's all the more reason for us to go.”

“Victoria, I may not know much about digs, but I know a little about honeymoons. Mothers do not go.”

“Who says? Miss Manners?”

“No. I do.”

“Spoilsport.”

Tate sighed. “How about if we go on our honeymoon alone and then go on an archaeological dig with my mother?”

“Oh, okay,” she agreed finally. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Thank goodness. Since you're so anxious to plan the honeymoon, does that mean you're accepting my proposal?”

“Oh,” she said innocently, “Didn't I give you an answer?”

“You did not. Am I going to have to wait to see if I pass some other test?”

“Oh, you've passed all the tests,” she said softly. “With flying colors.”

“Hallelujah!” he said fervently. “Then you won't mind helping me up.”

“Can't you get up?”

“No. I seem to have thrown my back out.”

“Oh, Tate, not again.”

“Again,” he confirmed. “But it's okay. I'm getting used to it.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” she offered hopefully.

Tate regarded her skeptically. “Do you actually think that will work?”

“It's worth a try,” she said, smiling at him suggestively.

“Now that you mention….”

Her delicate touch skimmed over him and suddenly his back did feel better. In fact his entire body felt as if it were floating on air. “Not bad, Victoria. Keep it up.”

“I plan to,” she promised. “For a lifetime.”

* * * * *