Page 58 of Mistletoe and Molly
“What is that?” he asked with forced patience.
She faced him. “Why didn’t you at least tell me that she’d offered you money?”
He exhaled a short, silent laugh and shook his head. “And risk you believing your mommy if she denied it? It was her word against mine. I figured I didn’t stand a chance and it didn’t matter what I said. I felt so powerless then.”
“I did too,” Bridget replied in a low, hurt voice. “As far as I knew, you sold me out. You sold our love out. I had no reason to wait for you.” She was trembling all over. There had been a reason and she should have waited. But she still wasn’t ready to tell him that.
For ten long years Bridget had believed she knew all the details surrounding his leaving. Now she realized that she hadn’t—only what her parents had told her. There were a lot of things they had failed to tell her, it seemed.
A cold chill ran down her spine. “You are telling the truth.” It was a statement.
“Don’t take my word for it.” Jonas gave her a look that made her feel even colder.
“I—” Bridget was about to deny the need for that.
But Jonas interrupted, “I mean it, Bridget. Don’t accept what I say. Ask your parents. As a suggestion, if I were you, I’d ask your father: I’m not certain your mother would be capable of giving you an unbiased answer.”
“But I—”
“Go home,” he said firmly. “Go home and ask them.”
Bridget stared at his wide shoulders. Her heart was filled with an aching love that was boundless. She wanted to touch him, to somehow show him how deeply she cared.
“I believe you, Jonas,” she said in a soft, throbbing whisper. “I don’t need my parents to confirm your story.”
“I want them to confirm it.” He pivoted to face her. The line of his jaw revealed his unyielding stand. “When you come to me, Bridget, when you marry me, I don’t want there to be any room in your heart for doubts. None. Not about you and not about me.”
She wanted to protest, to argue, but his hard, short kiss silenced the attempt. She swayed toward him. He broke it off, but he held her firmly at arm’s length.
“Go home, Bridget,” he ordered and gave her a little push toward the back door.
Bridget left, not because Jonas had ordered her to leave, but because he was right. And because he had said when you marry me. Not if. When.
The instant she walked into the chalet, she went straight to the phone and dialed her parents’ number. Jonas had been right about another thing: her father was more likely to give her an unvarnished account, although he had a few things to answer for himself.
If she had stopped at the house, the chances were that she would not have been able to speak to her father in private. On the phone, she could persuade him to come to the chalet under one pretext or another.
Her mother answered the telephone. “Is Dad there?” Bridget asked.
“No, he’s gone to an auction. He probably won’t be home until late. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” she assured her mother quickly.
“Why are you calling?”
“I heard about a used horse van that was for sale,” Bridget lied. “The price sounded reasonable and I was going to ask Dad if he would mind looking at it for me. I’ll talk to him tomorrow about it.”
“I’ll mention it to him. Molly does have her heart set on one, doesn’t she?” her mother commented.
“Yes, she does,” she agreed.
It was nearly twenty minutes later before Bridget was able to end the conversation with her talkative mother.
With getting Molly off to school in the mornings, working at the shop all day herself, and trying to elude both her daughter and her mother in the evenings, it was four days later before Bridget had a chance to speak to her father. He confirmed everything Jonas had told her, as she had guessed.
To his credit, he offered an explanation of sorts. Something about agreeing with Margaret being easier than arguing with Margaret.
After trying three times unsuccessfully to reach Jonas at home or on his cell, Bridget finally gave up and waited until the following day to call him at his office from her shop. The phone rang several times before his receptionist answered.