Makin' Miracles (19 page)

Spencer yearned to tell Zola he loved her again, but he held the words back, not wanting to press his luck right now. He felt so grateful she was opening her heart back up to him at all.

He felt a tugging on his pants leg. “Ava hug, too!”

They looked down to see Ava holding her chubby arms up, smiling.

Spencer reached down to grab up the small girl to hug between them. His heart felt warm and big enough to readily share its joy right now.

When he heard Zola's rich, throaty laughter float out on the warm air, his joy felt complete.

S
pencer showed up to drive Zola to the airport on Friday after lunch. It had been a busy week getting ready to leave on short notice, and neither had seen each other, although they talked on the phone frequently.

Zola studied Spencer as she opened the door to him. He'd cut his hair. That was the first thing she noticed. And he was dressed to the teeth in preppy clothes and held a suit coat casually slung over one shoulder. As he passed by her, Zola could smell some divine earthy scent drifting off him. This was a surprise, too, as Spencer seldom wore cologne.

“Wow.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively, giving him another head-to-toe look.

He smiled, his eyes roving over her with appreciation, too, noticing the tailored gray pant suit she wore with a soft, pink blouse and simple jewelry. Zola knew it was a different look from her usual bright clothes and hoop earrings. When she'd talked with Spencer about the weekend, he mentioned that his family were very traditional. Zola decided she didn't want to make a statement by standing out.

Spencer leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You look nice, too, Zola.
Very
nice.”

He draped his jacket on the bamboo coatrack by the front door. Zola could see when he turned his back that there was no ponytail tied behind his neck anymore. He'd truly made a transition in this area of his appearance.

She studied the new haircut—neat and tailored. He'd obviously been to the barber earlier in the week since he sported a tan now where his long hair had been tied back with a leather string on his neck before.

“You've cut all your hair off,” she said. She frowned at him, not sure she felt happy about this change. “Did you think you had to change your identity that much for your family, Spencer? In order to be accepted?”

He turned and gave her a challenging look. “Actually, Zola, who I am is not in how I dress or wear my hair.”

She felt a smile quirk the corners of her mouth. “Well spoken, Spencer.”

He grinned. “I'm working on it, Zola.”

Watching him, she noticed that he seemed more at ease with himself today, which surprised Zola when she thought of what they were soon to face.

“My bags are here and ready to go.” She pointed to her suitcase and carry-on by a side chair and then looked at her watch. He'd come early.

“I know I'm early,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts. “I stopped by to see your grandmother and grandfather before I came over.”

“You did?” That was a surprise.

His hand moved to rub his neck again as if missing the length of hair that had been there before. “Yes, I did. I wanted to assure your grandparents I wasn't going to be taking advantage of you on this trip to Richmond.”

She could feel a blush begin to creep up her cheeks.

A frown touched his face. “I told them my mother had insisted we stay at the house this weekend rather than at a hotel. Your grandparents seemed pleased about that. It wasn't what I preferred, of course, but I decided if I was going to dive in, I might as well jump in at the deep end.”

“I see.” She grinned.

He shuffled, uncomfortable now—hesitating before saying something else.

Zola watched him, wondering what else was on his mind.

He rubbed his neck again. “I talked to your grandparents about another matter while I was there.” His hazel eyes caught Zola's, serious and intense now. “I told them I was going to ask you to marry me and I wanted to get their blessing.”

Zola's knees felt weak, and she reached out to grab the back of the couch to anchor herself. She had not expected this. And certainly not today.

A warm look crossed Spencer's face, and he reached over to trace the back of his hand down her cheek. “I love you, Zola Devon.” His voice held a husky note. “I told you that before and I really did mean it.”

He reached for the coat he'd hung on the bamboo rack. “I'd like my family to meet you as my fiancée.” He dug a faded jewelry case from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

“This was my Grandmother Chatsworth's mother's ring. Passed down through several generations. It's old, but my grandmother said she hoped I'd give it to my future wife one day. I hope you'll like it.” His eyes moved toward the faded blue case. “If not, we can choose something else.”

Still feeling stunned, Zola opened the box to see an oval ruby circled by small, sparkling diamonds. The stones were set in a warm gold ring that was burnished with age. The ring was softly beautiful and seemed to speak of the enduring loves and years it represented.

The cherished, old ring called to Zola, but she hesitated.

Her eyes found Spencer's. “Are you only asking me to marry you as protection with your family—and with Geneva—when we go up to Richmond?”

Spencer winced as if she'd hit him. “If I were weak enough to want protection—and, granted, I probably am—I still wouldn't be foolish enough to ask a woman to commit her entire future and life to me simply to insulate myself from a few potentially unpleasant scenes.”

Zola felt a guilty flush rise up her neck. “I'm sorry, Spencer. I guess I spoke without thinking.”

He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I know you don't admire how I've handled things with my family, Zola. But it has been a truly happy event in my life to have discovered you.”

She dropped her eyes, her emotions a scramble.

Spencer stepped away from the wall and took both her hands in his. “You are the first bright, happy thing that has come into my world in many years, Zola. You warm my heart, my life, my blood.”

His eyes captured hers. “You can look deep right now, Zola. You won't see another woman in my thoughts. I want to spend my life with you, share my days with you, have children with you, and grow old with you.”

The words sounded sweet, but Zola wondered if another time, given the sight to see, she would see
only
herself in Spencer's thoughts as she seemed to now.

His watchful eyes never moved from hers. She knew he was waiting for her answer.

“All right,” she said at last. “We'll take the first step and see how things go.”

She heard him release a pent-up sigh of relief before he leaned forward to kiss her with eager warmth. Then he pulled away to take the ring from its box and slip it on her finger.

His voice grew husky again. “This is a sweet moment, Zola. I wish I had a photo of this.”

She held out her hand to admire the ring. “Just make a photo memory in your heart, Spencer.”

“I will.” He smiled at her.

Zola noticed the ring fit surprisingly well, which was unexpected.

“I had it sized,” Spencer said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Maya Thomas at your store told me the right size.” He grinned then. “She said I'd better not be a
bootoo
anymore, and that I'd better take good care of you and cherish you.”

Zola raised an eyebrow. “Did she, now?”

“She did,” he replied. “She also told me some good stories about you—like about how you were led to find her after her husband died and then asked her to come work at the store. She said you helped her and her girls to find a house to rent when the resort her husband worked for tossed her out.”

Zola frowned. “The resort gave them free housing because Nigel Thomas managed their sales department, but practically the day after his funeral they kicked Maya and the girls out. They had a new manager coming in, they told her, who needed the apartment. They also took away her job at the resort gift shop. It was appalling how she got treated. Out with the old, in with the new—that's how they acted.”

Zola felt her anger flare remembering it. “They had to move into a single motel room together. And Maya was having a hard time getting another job with her mixed nationality.”

“So I heard.” Spencer reached over to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand again. “It was good of you.”

“Not really. The Lord connected us. I was opening the store and needed her, and she needed me. She's a wonderful store manager. It was a blessing I found her.”

“The more I learn of you, the more I love you.” He leaned over to kiss her again.

A frisson of passion surfaced, and Spencer moved in closer, pulling Zola into his warmth, running his hands up under her hair and then down over her back, drawing her closer to him.

He pulled away reluctantly to look at his watch. “I hate to shorten this moment, my future Mrs. Jackson, but we have a plane to catch.”

Zola pondered the sound of that title over the next hours as they checked into the airport, boarded, and took off for Richmond, Virginia. Flying shortened a seven-hour drive to a forty-five minute flight.

It was Spencer's father who met the plane—coming forward with a face wreathed in smiles as they came into the terminal. He was about Spencer's build, with a kindly face. His hair, once dark, was now threaded with gray, receding on both sides of his forehead. He had the same hazel eyes Spencer did.

He shook his son's hand firmly in welcome and then leaned in to give him an awkward hug. Spencer's return hug looked equally self-conscious, but Zola saw a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye.

She stood back quietly to watch them welcome each other. It had been twelve years since Spencer had been home to Richmond, but Zola knew he'd seen his parents several times over the years when they visited in Savannah. Still, since he'd moved to Gatlinburg, they hadn't seen each other at all.

Zola watched the look of love in Spencer's father's eyes and felt her spirit lighten. Regardless of what had happened, this man still held deep love for his son. She found that very promising.

Introductions made, they collected their bags and located Gordon Jackson's spotless luxury car in the airport parking lot. The international airport lay east of Richmond, and their route to the Jackson home took them south and then east of the city. On the way down the freeway, Spencer's father opened up to talk congenially about sights along the way, telling them about changes in the city since Spencer had last been home. Zola could see he was making an effort to be sociable to put them both at ease. It was kind of him.

Zola watched Spencer lean forward eagerly from the backseat as the car turned onto rural lanes nearer to his family homeplace.

Spencer had tucked Zola into the front seat beside his father, letting her be the one to respond with politeness to his father's comments. Yet, despite himself, Spencer joined in the discussion now, pointing out familiar spots to Zola along the way. Zola could feel the eager excitement in him build as they drove up the quiet lane to the country residence belonging to the Jackson family.

The house, a sprawling one of angles, gables, and porches set behind a charming white picket fence, was cloaked in a mix of stone, shakes, and white lap siding with a dark gray roof. The home sat on a sloped green lawn, neatly landscaped, with a background of hardwood trees and an arch of ivy growing over the front porch entrance.

It seemed hard to imagine, from appearance only, that this had been anything but a happy home.

“It's beautiful,” Zola said.

Spencer's father smiled at her while Spencer sent her a telling sideways glance. He wasn't as comfortable as he was portraying.

A smiling lady came out the door as they drove up. She tripped down the sidewalk, her eyes eagerly focusing on Spencer as he stepped out of the car. Obviously Spencer's mother, she reached out to hug him. Zola noticed her embrace was given with fondness but careful restraint.

She held him at arm's length then. “You look very good, son. Welcome home.”

Zola wondered if Spencer's parents noticed the change in his expression at that last word—or saw him wince. He looked up at the house with wary eyes now, a feigned smile still pasted on his face.

Spencer's father took Zola's arm and introduced her. “Marion, this is Spencer's friend, Zola Devon. Zola, I'm sure you've realized this is my wife and Spencer's mother, Marion Jackson.”

Zola shook her hand politely, noticing she had warm brown hair like Spencer's but that in other ways Spencer looked more like his father. Mrs. Jackson wore her hair pinned up in a neat bun and had small pearl posts in her ears. Her clothes were obviously expensive and fashionable, a silky cream shirt tucked into tailored tan slacks with matching sling-back shoes and a tasteful belt.

Spencer slipped his arm into Zola's, drawing her closer to him. “Zola is my fiancée now.” He held out her hand, adorned with the ruby ring.

“Oh, it's Grandmother's ring.” Marion studied it with a wistful expression. “Mother told me she gave it to you some years ago. I'd almost forgotten.”

She smiled at Zola. “I can remember my grandmother—Spencer's great-grandmother—Amelia Chatsworth wearing that ring.” A memory touched her face wistfully. “She was always very much in love with my grandfather Randal Gaynor Chatsworth. That ring carries much affection.”

Zola, surprised, looked at her more closely then. “I could feel that,” she said. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Marion seemed embarrassed at her lapse into fancy, and quickly recovered herself. “We must get you both up to your rooms so you can get settled,” she said. “Spencer, I've put you in your old room, although, of course, it's been remodeled since you left. And I've put Zola in Rita's old room. It's tastefully decorated now with some nice antiques I found at auction, and I think she will find it restful.”

Spencer leaned closer to Zola to say softly, “Rita's choices of décor in her bedroom always set Mother's teeth on edge. I'm sure Mother was thrilled to redecorate the minute Rita moved out.”