His dad laughed gleefully. “She ain’t my ex no more thanks to your dime. She’s gonna come down and see me in El Paso in a couple weeks.”
Adam was sure she would. As long as his idiot father had some of Adam’s spare cash to blow on her.
“Well, are you going to help me out, or what?”
Or what, Adam wanted to say, but instead he said, “I’ll wire you enough cash for some gas—”
“And supper?” Dad interrupted. “I ain’t ate nothing all day, and you know I need to have something in my gullet when I take my pills.”
Adam’s stomach sank at the mention of the pills. His father’s most current overdose had done even more injury to his aging heart. They’d discovered the damage after the overdose. The doctor had said he’d probably had a heart attack over a year ago, but hadn’t had the sense to go to the hospital with his chest pains. Fucking idiot. Someone had to look after him. Adam hoped Jose could keep him under control better than Adam could. Jose was an okay guy. He had a criminal record, sure, but he’d served his time and was walking a straight and narrow path now. At least he was according to Adam’s father.
“And supper,” Adam conceded. “But that’s it. I’ll send Jose money for your half of the rent and utilities directly.” Since the old man was entirely untrustworthy with a stack of cash.
“Yeah, yeah. I fucked up again. You knew I would. Why do you sound disappointed?”
“Can I talk to him?” Madison asked.
Adam turned his head to gawk at her. Why in the hell would she want to talk to his father? She’d taken the phone from Adam’s hand before he could refuse.
“Mr. Taylor?”
“Who the hell is this?”
Adam was close enough that he could hear his father’s boisterously loud voice.
“I’m Madison Fairbanks. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been treating your son.”
“Treating him?” The old man chortled. “You mean banging him. He told me about you.”
Madison glanced at Adam, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.
Adam looked away. Yeah, he’d discussed her with his father last weekend and had explicitly forbidden Dad from fucking things up for him by being himself around Madison.
“Our relationship has progressed with time,” Madison said, a hint of amusement in her tone, “but initially I was his rehab counselor.”
“You can lead a junkie to rehab, but you can’t scrub him clean.” The old man apparently thought he was hilarious as he cackled with glee.
“That’s true,” Madison said. “Getting clean is a lot of hard work. A person has to want to be clean to stay that way. Do you want to get clean, Mr. Taylor?”
Adam scowled at the floor. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure he wanted to be clean. He did know he never wanted to disappoint Madison. She’d worked so hard to get him clean. He planned to stay that way. For her. He could do anything—no matter how challenging—as long as it was for her.
And soon—very soon—she would be his legally.
Chapter Eleven
Adam directed the bike onto a desolate road in some long-forgotten bayou. He parked on the shoulder and turned to Madison, who was holding his waist.
He took his helmet off and accepted hers as well, watching her run her fingers through her curls and loving the way the sunlight dappled her body through the scattered leaves overhead. Near the road, the trees weren’t so dense, but the canopy thickened over the green-tinged water that rocked in gentle waves beneath the strange twisted roots of the mangrove trees.
He slapped at a mosquito buzzing near his ear and offered Madison an arm so she could climb from the back of the bike.
“Well, you wanted to see a real bayou while you were here,” he said. “What do you think?”
“It smells funny,” she said with a laugh.
Adam covered his nose against the offending odors of wet decay and funk. “Is funny another word for bad?”
“In this case?” She pursed her lips and then crinkled her pert, freckled nose. “Yes.”
He laughed and climbed from the bike to stand beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, so glad that the discomfort between them the night before had been chased away by the morning sun. As far as he could tell, they were back to their normal, easy camaraderie. The woman, and her ability to forgive, amazed him. He’d already forgiven her for her wild times at the club the night before, and he was working very hard on forgetting. The forgetting was a little more of a challenge. Especially when she flinched every time she sat down.
He drew her closer to his side. It was the simple moments when they were alone and silent—touching but not overly physical—that he relished with her. But he felt sort of stupid for feeling that way. Sex with Madison was always spectacular, and he knew he should cherish that intimacy most, but he’d never been with a woman long enough to feel completely comfortable with her—not necessarily inside her, just with her. The emotional part of being with a woman was entirely new to him, and damned if she didn’t have the power to destroy him.
He held her against him, fingertips toying with her now frizzy curls, as they stared out into the murky, smelly waters and tried to decide if the large, elongated object floating near a particularly gnarly mangrove root was a log or an alligator. They slapped at mosquitoes and watched a heron wade near the shore hunting for fish, laughing when the bird noticed them and flapped its expansive white wings.
Content and happy. Adam rarely had moments when he felt either. This was one of those rare times.
Adam slipped the tip of his little finger into the warm ring nestled deep in the pocket of his jeans. He stroked the smooth and warm metal, wondering if he should go through with this crazy idea of his or wait until he was sure she wanted to marry him. They’d never actually talked about marriage, but he knew that family was important to her, and if he married her, he’d not only be her friend and her lover, he’d be her family. If their relationship was strong enough to get through last night without irreparable harm, then marriage would be a snap. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would.
He supposed there was no use in putting off the inevitable. He wanted her as his wife, so why wait?
Adam wasn’t one to get down on one knee and ask for anything, but he’d make the concession for Madison. She’d given him his life back; he loved her; she deserved the best. The best ring. The best proposal. The best husband.
Well, at least he knew the ring was good.
Adam took a deep breath, pulled the ring from his pocket, and sank to one knee in the soft moss at Madison’s feet.
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she stared down at him. Her lovely heart-shaped face made his heart thud just from looking up at her.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tilting her head to look behind him to see why his leg had suddenly given out.
He couldn’t help but chuckle around the nerves churning in his belly. “I’m perfect,” he said. Perfectly insane.
He took her right hand in his before remembering he was supposed to put the ring on her left ring finger. He kissed her knuckles before reaching for her other hand. Apparently the gesture made her realize what he was about to do. Her eyes widened, and her face went pale. She swayed slightly, and he wondered if she was about to faint.
“Adam!”
“Madison,” he began, searching for words and finding few. Perhaps he should have thought this through a little more. Not asking her to marry him—he knew without a doubt he wanted her to be his wife—but the actual proposal. He probably should have come up with something a little more romantic than a spur of the moment proposal in a bayou loaded with mosquitoes, a heron and maybe an alligator as their only witnesses. “I saw this ring and could think of nothing but how much I want to see it on your finger. How much I want you to be my wife. I love you, Madison. Will you marry me?”
He held the ring suspended over the tip of her ring finger, waiting for one
three-letter word to leave her lips and greet his ears.
Her hand closed unexpectedly, preventing him from slipping the engagement ring on, and she took a step back.
“Adam,” she said in that calm, rational voice she used with her clients. The same voice she’d used on him so many times when he’d been going through treatment.
His breath caught, and the feminine fist he held clutched desperately in his hand seemed to punch straight through his breastbone and rip his heart free of his impossibly constrictive chest. Why wasn’t she squealing with excitement? Why wasn’t she wrapped in his arms and kissing his lips, pressing her body against him? Why wasn’t she wearing his ring? Why hadn’t she said yes?