which was still remarkably flat for a man of fifty-something.
Holly swallowed past her suddenly dry throat and took a deep breath.
It’s now or never , she thought, and she knew that it really was. She had to take her chance now or meekly accept whatever choices her parents would make for her.
“Sit down, Holly,” her father said, nodding towards the chair across the massive mahogany desk (Harry Sutherland sure had a soft spot for mahogany).
“No, thank you, I’d rather do this standing.” She couldn’t bring herself to sit; she was too nervous.
Harry Springford’s gray eyes flashed dangerously. “Do what, exactly?”
Holly took yet another steadying breath. She could feel her heart thundering away within her chest. Her palms were sweaty. “Dad, I don’t want to marry Tim Sutherland.”
Her father’s dark eyebrows shot up, so further up his forehead that they seemed to threaten to disappear within his graying hairline. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re sitting here discussing ‘engagement details’ behind my back, but you didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know you were considering Tim as a candidate to be my future husband.”
“Does it really surprise you?”
Holly bit her bottom lip as hard as she could in order to keep in the insults that sprung to her mouth. No, it did not surprise her. Of late, Timothy Sutherland had been coming to the ranch more often than usual with some improbable excuses. Holly sure never thought it was to look at the horses, but she didn’t think her and Timothy’s fathers would go so far as to start making plans without discussing it with either of them first.
“Does Tim know?”
“Of course he knows,” her father huffed impatiently. “He’s been courting you for months.”
It was Holly’s turn to raise an eyebrow now. “Seriously? That was courting?” All she could remember were a few awkward talks from the pompous twenty-five year old Sutherland heir. She shook her head, dismissing her astonishment. “Regardless, I don’t want to marry him. And I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark when it comes to my own future.”
“I would’ve told you after I had worked out the details with Ed,” her father said. “Unfortunately, you interrupted us while we were doing just that.”
Holly did her best not to comment on the remark. “Dad,” she said again, as patiently as she could, “You need to listen to me. I don’t want to marry Tim Sutherland.”
“Well, who do you want to marry, then?”
Holly stared at the man sitting in the chair at that mahogany desk and wondered if it was really her father. Could a father really be asking that question? In the year 2015, could a father really be asking her twenty-one year old daughter to choose a man to marry?
Apparently, he could. Harry Springford was staring at her with genuine curiosity written all over his angular, stern face.
“No one!” Holly snapped, appalled. “I don’t want to marry anyone!”
Harry Springford sat up a little straighter in his fancy leather chair. “Holly, what are you talking about?” He asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous low tone.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m twenty-one years old, Dad! I’m too young to be marrying anybody.”
“No, you’re not. Your mother was nineteen years old when she married me, and I myself was only twenty-two.”
“Those were different times.”
“Not so different,” Harry Springford argued. “Not in our kind of society, anyway.”
You mean the elite kind? Holly thought bitterly, but she refrained from saying it out loud, although she had no idea where she found the restraint. “It doesn’t matter, Dad,” she said. “I don’t want to marry right now. Maybe someday.”
That seemed to set her father off on a whole other level—a deeper level, a more demanding level. A scarier level. “What do
Holly swallowed past her suddenly dry throat and took a deep breath.
It’s now or never , she thought, and she knew that it really was. She had to take her chance now or meekly accept whatever choices her parents would make for her.
“Sit down, Holly,” her father said, nodding towards the chair across the massive mahogany desk (Harry Sutherland sure had a soft spot for mahogany).
“No, thank you, I’d rather do this standing.” She couldn’t bring herself to sit; she was too nervous.
Harry Springford’s gray eyes flashed dangerously. “Do what, exactly?”
Holly took yet another steadying breath. She could feel her heart thundering away within her chest. Her palms were sweaty. “Dad, I don’t want to marry Tim Sutherland.”
Her father’s dark eyebrows shot up, so further up his forehead that they seemed to threaten to disappear within his graying hairline. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re sitting here discussing ‘engagement details’ behind my back, but you didn’t even have the courtesy to let me know you were considering Tim as a candidate to be my future husband.”
“Does it really surprise you?”
Holly bit her bottom lip as hard as she could in order to keep in the insults that sprung to her mouth. No, it did not surprise her. Of late, Timothy Sutherland had been coming to the ranch more often than usual with some improbable excuses. Holly sure never thought it was to look at the horses, but she didn’t think her and Timothy’s fathers would go so far as to start making plans without discussing it with either of them first.
“Does Tim know?”
“Of course he knows,” her father huffed impatiently. “He’s been courting you for months.”
It was Holly’s turn to raise an eyebrow now. “Seriously? That was courting?” All she could remember were a few awkward talks from the pompous twenty-five year old Sutherland heir. She shook her head, dismissing her astonishment. “Regardless, I don’t want to marry him. And I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark when it comes to my own future.”
“I would’ve told you after I had worked out the details with Ed,” her father said. “Unfortunately, you interrupted us while we were doing just that.”
Holly did her best not to comment on the remark. “Dad,” she said again, as patiently as she could, “You need to listen to me. I don’t want to marry Tim Sutherland.”
“Well, who do you want to marry, then?”
Holly stared at the man sitting in the chair at that mahogany desk and wondered if it was really her father. Could a father really be asking that question? In the year 2015, could a father really be asking her twenty-one year old daughter to choose a man to marry?
Apparently, he could. Harry Springford was staring at her with genuine curiosity written all over his angular, stern face.
“No one!” Holly snapped, appalled. “I don’t want to marry anyone!”
Harry Springford sat up a little straighter in his fancy leather chair. “Holly, what are you talking about?” He asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous low tone.
“I’m talking about the fact that I’m twenty-one years old, Dad! I’m too young to be marrying anybody.”
“No, you’re not. Your mother was nineteen years old when she married me, and I myself was only twenty-two.”
“Those were different times.”
“Not so different,” Harry Springford argued. “Not in our kind of society, anyway.”
You mean the elite kind? Holly thought bitterly, but she refrained from saying it out loud, although she had no idea where she found the restraint. “It doesn’t matter, Dad,” she said. “I don’t want to marry right now. Maybe someday.”
That seemed to set her father off on a whole other level—a deeper level, a more demanding level. A scarier level. “What do
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