Come Rain Or Shine Part 10

"We have a date set you know," Ava said nonchalantly.

Emmie turned around with wide eyes. "When?"

Ava bit her lower lip. "Next Thursday. Can you really have it finished by then?"

That was going to be a lot of work but she couldn't let her friend down. "Of course, that'll be no problem. I'm so happy for you. I guess you are happy that you will see Gabe soon then. Which reminds me, Silas told me to tell you he had it all worked out. You should be seeing Gabe before the wedding."

Ava clasped her hands together excitedly. She wanted the details but Emmie had none to share. Pulling the blue-green dress over her body, she realized she was going to freeze in the cold Chicago air. The material was soft but paper-thin. The dress was also much shorter than what she typically wore, but Ava and Jemma a.s.sured her it was not indecent. A large ribbon tied at her middle. Alternating colors of blue and light green fabric cascaded down from her hips. A matching headband and navy heels complemented the dress. She put her arms out and spun. Ava gasped and told her how lovely she was. And the truth was, Emmie felt lovely. She looked in the mirror: her hair, new shoes, the makeup, and dress all came together nicely in one package. She looked just like a city girl.

The door popped open as Emmie finished her little spin. Silas stood there for a moment with wide eyes and swore under his breath.

"If you'll excuse me I just need to go keep Jemma busy," Ava muttered, walking out of the room with a smile.

"What do you think?" Emmie asked, giving another slow spin.

"You look beautiful," Silas said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Honestly?" she asked, walking toward him.

"I swear it." He closed the s.p.a.ce between them.

"You don't mind that my hair is gone? You don't think it makes me look like a boy?" She touched her short wavy locks.

He gave her a slow look that made her feel uneasy. His wide hand found the material of her dress. It ran slowly up the curve of her hip, across her ribs and stopped at the seam nearest her breast. She felt her breath hitch in her throat. He looked into her eyes. "Honey, I could never mistake you for anything but a woman."

Her neck flushed crimson. Emmie's feet left the ground as he pulled her into his arms. She playfully flipped his hat off with her index finger and smiled at his surprised expression.

"I'm really starting to like what Chicago brings out in you," he whispered in her ear as he set her back on the floor.

She leaned back and laughed. "I'm glad you don't hate the new look."

"You have always been beautiful, hair or no hair. Fancy dress or worn out hand-me-down. You will always be beautiful to me," he said, pulling her chin up so she could look in his eyes.

"Are we going out tonight or staying in?" she asked as he started to unb.u.t.ton his s.h.i.+rt.

"We're going out," he answered, retrieving another s.h.i.+rt from his closet.

He stood there in only his tight white unders.h.i.+rt. Looking in the mirror, he patted down his hair. Her eyes were drawn to his faded blue cross tattoo that rippled on his bicep as he moved. Emmie couldn't help herself; she didn't know when they would be alone like this again. She walked over and ran her index finger down the length of his arm. He stood frozen while she touched him.

"You have the strongest arms. I've missed sleeping in them," she said quietly.

He turned around to face her. She ran her finger across his collarbone and down to the hard muscles of his chest. Her hands found the hemline of his white unders.h.i.+rt. Emmie touched his bare skin to feel the corded muscles of his stomach.

"I miss your chest against my back at night. I don't sleep as well without you," she said, looking up at him.

"Sweetheart, if you don't stop touching me like this, we're not going to make it out of my bedroom."

Emmie pulled her hand back from him with a nervous laugh. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What had gotten into her? "Sorry, Silas. I didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't be sorry. My beautiful sweet girl is rubbing her soft hands all over my chest," he said, kissing her hand. "You're testing my willpower here."

She smiled up at him as he went back to fixing his hair. "Thanks for all the special treatment today. I'm lucky to have a guy like you. I know you worked hard on the plan today."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm lucky to have a doll like you."

"Thanks for having Walter call me," she said.

Silas only grinned.

"He mentioned some things," she said nonchalantly. She tried to decide which of those things she was going to ask him about first.

"Oh G.o.d, what did he say?" Silas groaned. "I was afraid that little nicety might backfire on me."

"He said a lot. I've got some questions about it actually." Emmie smiled as she repeated his least favorite phase. She knew he hated all of her questions. She decided she'd leave the ones related to Bo and the moons.h.i.+ne unsaid right now. He'd worked hard to make it a special day. She didn't want to pry too much right now.

Silas groaned. "Ask away."

She decided to go with the one that seemed the most curious to her personally. "He said to tell you he wasn't a patient man. He acted like I should have been calling to give him some news. Do you know what that was about?"

Silas actually belly laughed trying to decide what to tell Emmie. In the end he chose to give the truth a try. "Honestly? He's defending your honor or he thinks he is anyway."

"My honor?" she asked, confused.

"Well, to him . . . he feels like I've stolen you away from home. He knows I was staying with you in Kentucky too. He is expecting us to be married soon, I think. Crazy old coot."

Emmie was surprised at his words but didn't reply. Walter wanted her to marry Silas. That was news. She always thought Walter didn't like her around Silas. That must mean the old man had finally approved of him. Emmie realized that maybe what Walter was asking of Silas wasn't so far off from what she wanted.

"I want to be honest with you about something. I lied today in your office," she said, watching him reach for his s.h.i.+rt.

He frowned. "What did you lie about?"

"When I said I just bought you that book to read with your children and not our children," she said before she lost her nerve. "I meant our children. Silas I want to have babies with you. I want to be with you forever. Come rain or s.h.i.+ne, like Ava said. It's you that I want. I've never wanted anyone else like this."

A wide grin spread across his face and he laughed. "What's Ava said? Rain or what?"

"I want you Silas," she said, throwing her hands out.

"And I want you but I told you the time isn't right yet. You deserve better than this. My sister, Trick, and Ava are out there." He pointed to his bedroom door.

"I'm not talking about making love to you," she practically yelled. "I mean I want that too, I guess. But what I'm saying is I want it all with you."

Silas paled but didn't say a word.

Emmie looked up at him and whispered, "You say you love me. You call me 'Mo Chuisle.' Are you planning to make me promises?"

"What kind of promises are you looking for, Emmie?"

"The I-want-to-be-with-you-forever kind of promises . . . living-together kind of promises. I want to fall asleep with you every night, Silas. As much as I've wanted to be alone all these years-determined that isolation was what made me strong-I don't want that any more. I see that I was wrong. Strength doesn't come from isolation, it comes from loving and trusting someone else."

"You can love someone without running down the aisle with them, Emmie," he said, rubbing his face.

She was hurt. "Are you saying that's not what you want from me? You don't want me forever?"

"Wait . . . what are you talking about? I'm not saying that. I'm just saying we're still getting to know one another. I've known you since when, August? And you're wanting me to propose? Let's give it some time, Emmie. Let's not smother each other right now," he said.

"Smother each other? Before we came to Chicago, we practically lived together in my house and now you are worried about smothering one another? Do you not feel the same as I do?" she asked, surprised at the ugly turn of this conversation.

"No. Yes. h.e.l.l, I don't know," Silas said, pulling out a cigarette.

She stormed over to him, pulled the tobacco stick out of his mouth, and held it up to him. "You are not using this to avoid talking to me."

If anyone else in the world had pulled a cigarette out of his mouth he would have shoved it where the sun didn't s.h.i.+ne. But he couldn't do that to her, so he slammed his lighter down instead.

"What's all this about?" he asked.

"I want to hear you say it. I want a promise from you. I want to know you will always be there," she said.

"Are you asking if I'm going to propose to you?" Silas swore under his breath.

"I guess I wondered if it ever crossed your mind," she said quietly.

"h.e.l.l yes it crosses my mind. But I don't think it's the right time," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Emmie, you've barely lived. I can't sweep you away when you are just now figuring out who you are. We've got a lot of life left ahead of us. Why do we have to be in a rush?" he asked, looking at her.

"What do you mean, I've barely lived? I've lived enough to know you are the one I want," she said.

"Yeah and how many guys have you been around to know that, Emmie? Stealing kisses from Bo Johnson in some barn when you were a teen doesn't count. You've not lived enough to know what you want yet," Silas said, turning away from her.

She stood there flabbergasted. "You want me to find more men to be around so you can be sure I want you? That's a p.i.s.s-poor excuse for not making me promises."

"You know that's not what I meant," he said, b.u.t.toning his jacket. "Come on. We're going to be late."

Chapter Twenty-one.

Silas, as a general rule, was not someone who fidgeted. He'd been berated, shot at, and shaken down by people and never fidgeted. But give him a five-foot tall southern girl, begging for him to propose marriage, and he fidgeted. This was supposed to be a good day. Everything about today was supposed to be good. The Bell House, the beauty shop, the call from Walter, it was well planned and was supposed to be good. So how had things gone to h.e.l.l? He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She had scooted as far from him as the small car seat would allow, watching out the window.

Silas swore to himself. Trick was right. He should have just told her the truth. He should have leveled with her about college but he couldn't think how to say it. Each time he thought of the words to say it sounded like he was asking her to make a choice. Emmie you can't marry me if you want to be a teacher. He wanted her to figure that out on her own. Silas couldn't have her living with him the rest of her life, looking behind her shoulder and wondering what might have been. That's what he'd meant by living her life. So, why in the h.e.l.l had he brought Bo Johnson into the fight? That had been a dumb thing to say.

He pulled a cigarette out of his vest pocket and she turned to look at him. She didn't look as angry as he thought she would. Embarra.s.sed or sad maybe but not angry. He tried to give her a lazy grin. "You gonna rip this one outta my mouth too?"

She shook her head and bit her lip. He could tell her wheels were turning and he didn't have a d.a.m.ned clue what she was about to say. He worked his large lighter in his hands, fidgeting again.

"It's been such a good day. I just want to have a nice night out," she said, looking out the window at the blue-black sky. It was really late.

He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to his body. "I do love you. I don't want you to doubt that . . . and I'm sorry that I brought you kissing Bo when you were a kid into our fight."

"It's fine," she said, but they both knew that it wasn't.

The club should have been romantic. They were seated in the corner of the fanciest place Emmie had ever stepped foot in. A man and woman sang jazz songs with deep throaty voices. The whole setting was lovely. They tried to smile and have a normal conversation, but it was too forced to be real. Emmie's heart hurt a little. Rejection. She'd put herself out there for him and he had rejected her. She didn't care that he had brought Bo into the argument. She cared he'd said he didn't want her to smother him. He'd said he wanted her to have more time, more experience before she settled with him. She couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason he'd not taken her into his bed. Maybe he knew she had no idea what she was doing and he wanted her to figure some things out before they were together.

When they arrived at the club Emmie was surprised the place didn't serve alcohol. This wasn't a speakeasy, just a jazz club. They had only been there a half hour or so when the joint began to close down for the evening. Silas spoke first, "I had planned to go one more place tonight but if you're tired, I can drive you back to Ava's house."

"Has Ava already gone back home?" Emmie asked. She'd thought they would meet up later.

"Yeah, Molly's taken her back. Trick and Jemma were going to meet us at the next spot though, if you are up to it. It's your choice," he said, grabbing her hand. She could tell he wanted to continue on with the plan even though things were going to h.e.l.l in a handbasket.

"No, I'm not too tired. Let's go."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the restaurant's kitchen. Hand in hand they walked down two flights of stairs. She wasn't surprised that he'd taken her to a speakeasy. Or that there was a pa.s.sword to get in. Or that the place was hidden beneath the ground. But there were a lot of things about this speakeasy that did surprise her.

For one, it wasn't fancy. Nothing about this place was fancy. As a matter of fact, if it weren't for the amount of women that were here, she would think they were in a blind pig rather than a speakeasy. This place was the polar opposite to the nice restaurant two floors above them. There were a few tables and mismatched chairs but mostly it was open s.p.a.ce. There also were no fancy drinks to be found. Everyone seemed to be drinking whiskey or moons.h.i.+ne. There was a band but not like the jazz band upstairs. This band was playing fast paced Irish tunes and dancing, sweaty as pigs, laughing, pa.s.sing people from partner to partner.

"Where are we?" Emmie asked with wide eyes.

"A speak," he said, ordering two whiskeys that came in mismatched gla.s.ses.

"I've never seen anything like this." She looked over in the corner and saw two men were circling one another with their fists up. She looked back at Silas. "Is it safe?"

His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her. "It's as safe as those barn parties you go to at the Johnson's."

"Reminds me of them," she said, watching a man spin a woman on the dance floor. She turned back to the fight in the corner. "Although, you are the only person I've ever seen fight at one of their barn parties. I can see where you picked up that little skill."

Silas snorted. It was good to see him laugh, even if it was halfhearted.

"It's not a party until there's a fight," he said, watching the two boys in the corner as they began to trade licks.

Emmie downed the whiskey. The amber liquid warmed her throat but didn't set her on fire like white lightning. She reached out, grabbed his cup, and drank it too.

"Easy Emmie," he said with a grin, taking the drink away from her.

Silas took Emmie around from person to person. If he didn't want to be with her, why was he introducing her to all of these people? She was surprised to find that Silas was related to several of the people there. Including one of the fighters. Jemma was in a corner with a group of girls about her age. Trick had taken up dancing. Clearly he had started drinking the whiskey a before she arrived. The biggest surprise was the last names of the people Emmie met. Each name seemed to be more Irish than the next. After about the fifteenth name she turned to Silas and asked if this was an Irish-only party. He grinned and nodded proudly. Emmie couldn't help but return the smile. Silas loved that he was Irish and she loved that proud look in his blue-gray eyes. He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over a chair, and rolled up his sleeves. His hand slipped around hers and pulled the drink from her hands, pa.s.sing it to a man standing to his right.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Dancing," he whispered in her ear.

She glanced out at the groups of people dancing.