“Tag, it’s . . .” I don’t even know what to say. I just follow it with my eyes as he takes it from the tiny cushion and places it on my finger.
“Amethysts for your eyes. Butterflies for your freedom. Diamonds because you’re mine,” he says softly, just before he kisses the ring where it rests on my finger. “I’ll ask you again, my fair Weatherly. The right way. Will you marry me?”
Tears flood my eyes. I want to say yes more than I’ve ever wanted anything except Tag Barton himself, but I can’t. I just can’t do that to the kids that I’ve worked so hard to help. Thousands of them depend on Safe Passage for their nourishment, and thousands more depend on us for breakfast at school or food on the weekends.
“Tag, I . . .” I can’t bring myself to say no. The word just won’t fit past the boulder lodged in my throat. It seems everything I’ve ever wanted is right here, kneeling before me, asking me to be his, yet my father still manages to stand in the way. He knows me so well. Too well. He knew where to hit me where it would hurt the most. And he did.
My phone bleeps from my pocket. An incoming text. I take the signal as an excuse to gather my composure before I do what must be done. “Pardon me,” I mutter, taking it out and sliding my finger over the screen. It’s a message from Deana. Evidently, she got tired of waiting for me to call her back.
Oops.
Deana: Five million dollars.
Me: Five million dollars? Am I supposed to know what that means?
Deana: SOMEONE DONATED FIVE MILLION DOLLARS.
Me: WHAT? WHO?
Deana: Maybe this guy I met at a fund-raiser who was looking for a good write-off. But who cares? SOMEONE DONATED FIVE MILLION DOLLARS!
I stare at the screen for several long seconds, my heart pounding as I read and re-read the words. Someone donated five million dollars. We’ve always had a handful of generous donors, but no one has ever given an amount substantial enough to allow the charity to function without my help, without my money. Well, technically Dad’s money, I guess. And that was never a problem until recently. Maybe Deana’s guy came through. Maybe someone else heard of us and felt the need to help. I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t really care. Whoever it was and whatever the reason, someone donated five million dollars to Safe Passage.
Five. Million. Dollars. Dollars that buy my freedom.
With this money, we’ll be okay without my trust money. That means that the kids won’t suffer no matter what I do. That means that I can marry Tag.
Because, God help me, I want to.
I toss my phone aside, not caring when I hear it drop to the ground on the other side of the four-wheeler, and I throw my arms around Tag’s neck. I can’t dial back the brightness of the smile that wreaths my face when I give him my answer. “Yes. I’d love to marry you, magnificent Tag.”
I don’t think of the kids, the money or the butterflies again for quite some time.
TWENTY
Tag
As much as I wanted to lend Weatherly a hand with her shower, I knew I needed to check on Mom. I haven’t seen her since late last night.
The caretaker’s quarters is basically a tiny cottage located at the rear of the property, right at the edge of the oldest of the Chiara vines. Its dark, aged brick matches that of the main house, only this structure is about one-sixteenth the size. Although the inside is quaint and functional, consisting of a small kitchen, a sitting room and a good-sized master bed and bath, the wide porch off the back is my favorite part. It overlooks the fields, something that I used to hate, but have since grown to appreciate.
When I was a kid, the sitting room was actually my room, but after I left for the military Mom converted it back to its original state and gave my bed to a needy family she knew in town. That’s why I was staying in the guest cabin when I first got back after Dad died. Not that I would’ve been comfortable sleeping in the room next to my mother. Not with a social life that’s as . . . active as mine has always been.
It actually worked out perfectly since Mom got sick. She has a place that she can relax in peace and quiet. I have privacy. Well, I had privacy. It wasn’t until the cabin started renting again that it became a problem. Luckily, since the owners are rarely here, William didn’t have a problem with me taking up residence in one of the spare rooms in the main house. It’s when he got a complaint about the plumbing that I suggested we remodel. He was agreeable. For the most part, I don’t think he gives a shit about this place as long as the wine’s good and it continues making him some money.
I knock on Mom’s door before I enter the kitchen. It smells like garlic, which leads me to believe she made herself some lunch. Although I’ve been having the kitchen staff bring her meals as well, I’m glad that she felt like cooking and that she felt like eating. “Mom?”