Can't Stop Loving You (25 page)

“Yes, actually there was.”

“Did you register? Pay to attend?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to any of it?”

He shook his head.

“Why?”

“You promise not to tell anybody?”

She sent him a quizzical look.

He put a hand to his ear. “I can't hear you.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.”

“The conference was on panda bears.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

Voice gruff, he said, “You heard me.”

“Panda bears?”

“It was the only one I could find in the city this week.”

“But that makes no sense, Brawley.”

“Sure it does.” He tugged her close and nibbled at her neck. “You told me I couldn't come.”

“I didn't say—Ohhh, Brawley. I can't think when you do that.” She ran her fingers through his hair, drew him closer still.

“Good. I don't want you to think. Just feel.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. “You're beautiful, Maggie.”

“You're not so hard on the eyes, either.” She ran her tongue over his bottom lip.

“Be quiet, Maggie.”

“Okay.” And she let him pull her under, to a place where only the touch of his hands, his lips, the scent of him existed.

She gave herself up to him, thought she'd die for wanting more. The first time had been hard and fast, the second more leisurely. This time, Brawley more than took his time. He drove her crazy with his slow caresses and long, drawn-out kisses.

His arms wrapped around Maggie, Brawley pressed his face into her hair and breathed in her unique scent. He ran a hand along her waist, down her hip, her leg. The woman was smooth as silk, soft as dandelion fluff.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“You,” he whispered. “And how incredibly lucky I am to be here with you.” He felt her smile in the dark. “How about you?”

“My thoughts are running along that same track.” She turned in his arms, molded her body to his, and buried her face in his chest. She kissed the spot over his heart. “I've missed you.”

“Oh, Mags.” A finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his, took her mouth. Fire raged again, and he was lost.

When they finally surfaced, voice ragged, he said, “I might have a coronary here.” He put a hand to his chest. “You do things to me. Things I can't even begin to describe.”

She snuggled in with a sexy little purr.

“What's going on with Ty and Sophie? Things seemed a little, I don't know, strained between them,” she said.

“Sophie wants to have a baby.”

Maggie went quiet on him. He pulled back and rose on one elbow, tried to read her face in the moonlight that filtered through the partially opened blinds.

“Maggie?”

“Hmmm?”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Of course she wants a baby of her own.”

“That's what I told Ty.”

“He has a problem with it?” She sounded surprised.

“He's scared—and you didn't hear that from me.”

“Scared?” Maggie frowned. “Why on earth—” She stopped. “Oh, my God, of course he is. He's afraid he'll lose her like he did Julia.”

“Yep.”

“Sophie's not Julia.”

“No, she's not.”

“Julia had a heart problem long before her pregnancy.”

“I reminded Ty of that, but I don't think logic figures into this. For him, it's a deep-down emotional trigger. Any man would worry about the woman he loved. But with Ty, he's lost his first love. He's afraid to risk his second.”

Maggie stirred beside him, swiped the hair from her face.

“Would you worry about me?” she asked.

“Darlin', I'd worry myself sick.”

She went still.

“What?”

He saw her eyes close.

“Hey, don't worry. I dressed for the occasion tonight, remember? Every time. We didn't make a baby.”

“Not tonight.”

Her words were so quiet he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

“Excuse me?”

She lay absolutely still. “Not tonight. We didn't make a baby tonight.”

He jerked up and snapped on the bedside lamp.

She blinked and brought up a hand to shield her eyes. Her face had gone ghostly white.

“What are you saying, Maggie?”

She pulled the sheet around herself, but he saw the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed deeply.

Focusing on a spot on the ceiling rather than look at him, she said, “When you came home at the end of your fall term—” She stopped.

“Spit it out, Maggie.”

“We took your dad's truck out for a moonlight ride.”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember the blanket you spread in the back? What we did on it?”

He pulled her hand away from her face. “Look at me, Maggie.”

She cut her eyes to his, then averted them again. “You only had one condom with you. We made love twice.”

His stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Come on, Brawley. You're a big boy. You know what I'm saying.”

“You got pregnant?”

She nodded.

“You carried my baby and didn't tell me?”

“I lost your baby.” Hot tears burned in the eyes she turned to him.

Anger or grief, he wondered. “You lost it?”

She nodded. “At the end of my first trimester.”

“And you didn't tell me.”

“Why should I? It wouldn't have changed anything. You'd already decided I had no place in your life.”

His head spun, trying to make sense out of what she said. Furious, he reached out to take her hand, but she jerked it away.

“When you say you lost the baby, do you mean miscarried or aborted?”

“You can ask me that?” She sat up and slid across the bed, as far away as she could get. “I'm sorry, Brawley. I think it's time for you to leave.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. The question's justified, Maggie. You're pregnant with my baby and don't think to tell me till now? Jesus. How did you think I'd react?”

“Exactly like you are.”

“I could have been a daddy.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Ah, damn, Red. Don't cry.” He leaned across, wiped the tear away with his thumb. Cursed when she flinched. “I need to know the answer to my question, though. I think I deserve that much.”

She sniffled. “Yes, I guess you do.” Her eyes met his. “Do you really believe I could have aborted your baby? I loved you.”

“Maggie—”

“I miscarried.”

When he reached for her, she drew farther away.

“Don't touch me, Brawley. Not now.”

“Okay.” A muscle worked in his jaw. He supposed he should take the high road here, tell her it didn't matter. But it did. “Why didn't you tell me?” he whispered.

“What?” She turned hurt eyes on him. “I should have called you after you dumped me? And say what? Hey, Brawley, I know you don't want anything to do with me, and that's okay, but I thought you should know I'm pregnant.”

“If you'd told me, I wouldn't have.”

“Wouldn't have what? Dumped me? Too late. You already did.”

“I'd have done the right thing, Mags. God, you should have known that.”

“I didn't want you under those circumstances.”

Ouch.
Her words hurt. Hurt more because he understood. He'd picked a hell of a time to cut the strings. It didn't much matter that he'd done it as much to make sure he didn't hold her back as for himself.

“Still, you should have told me. You shouldn't have had to go through that alone.”

“I didn't. Mom was there for me.”

He grimaced. “I'm surprised your dad didn't drive to Dallas and take me out.”

Maggie smiled lopsidedly. “He probably would have—if I'd told him. I didn't. He still doesn't know. When things fell apart, I went to my mom. She drove me to a clinic in Austin.”

At Pops's wedding, Rita, big-hearted Rita, had asked if he still loved her daughter. He was surprised she hadn't hired a hit man instead.

“I owe her. Big time,” he said.

“Yes, you do. So do I. She was my rock.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Wrapping a sheet around herself, Maggie stood. “It's probably best if you leave now.”

His chest ached. “I don't want to. We need to talk.”

She shook her head. “We really don't have anything to talk about. It's all in the past, Brawley, and as nice as today was, as this was—” She gestured toward the bed, toward him, “We both know it won't work long-term.”

Plucking at the sheet, she said, “For what it's worth, I didn't intend to tell you. Tonight or ever. I figured why dump a load of guilt on you for something you can't change.” She hesitated. “I'm going to take a shower. When I come out, I'll expect you to be gone.”

“So I'm dismissed.” His jaw set in a hard line.

“That's a little dramatic, but, yeah.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that,” she said.

“You're not the Maggie I used to know.”

She tipped her head and regarded him. “I'm not so sure you ever did really know me, Brawley.”

“Don't be stupid. We grew up together.”

“Yes, we did. And then we grew apart.” As regal as any queen who ever lived, she turned her back and walked away from him.

The moonlight highlighted her back and turned it into shimmery alabaster, her red tangle of curls into every man's dreams.

Finally he understood his sin. What he'd done that could not be forgiven. He'd left her—eighteen, pregnant, and alone. God, no wonder she'd kept him at a distance all these years. He'd screwed up, and it was so much worse than he'd ever imagined.

He'd watched Jarvis touch her, kiss her yesterday, and it had been enough to drive him crazy. How had Maggie felt about all the women he'd dated over the years? Did she still harbor any of the feelings she'd once had for him? Or had he ruined that, killed those feelings forever when he'd walked away all those years ago? When he hadn't been there for her—and their baby.

After tonight, he'd have thought he could answer that question. He couldn't. He was more confused now than ever.

Together, he and Maggie had created a baby. An innocent little life. A lost life. He mourned for the child he'd never known about, would never know.

When the shower turned on, he reached for his clothes, dressed slowly, then stole out of the apartment like a thief.

Only it was Maggie who was the thief. She'd stolen his heart—and refused to return it, teasing and tantalizing him with a glimpse of what could be before snatching it away again.

O
verhead, seagulls circled, cawed, then swooped down to scavenge their breakfast. A breeze off the ocean tossed Maggie's hair, and she brushed it back. Her coffee had cooled. She broke what was left of her bagel into small pieces, throwing them into the air and watching as each was snapped up by a dive-bombing seabird.

The sun warmed her skin but nothing could warm her inside. It had been a week since she'd sent Brawley away. She hadn't handled that well. All this time she'd held her silence. Then, at the worst possible moment, her secret had spilled, catching him totally off guard.

She hadn't heard a word from him since she'd left him there in her bed. He must hate her. Laying a hand on her flat stomach, she mourned again the loss of his child. A child he'd known nothing about until seven days ago.

Plucking her phone from her purse, she dialed her grandfather. She missed him, his wisdom. When he answered, his voice gruff-sounding, she missed him even more.

“Hey, Pops, how are the newlyweds?”

“Can't speak for the other half, but this half's doing well.”

“Have fun at Disney World?”

He laughed. “We had a great time. Dottie could wallpaper a room with all the pictures she took. How about you? How's the city treating you today?”

“I'm at South Street Seaport drinking my morning coffee. Listen.” She held up her phone, sharing the sounds of the birds and a boat's whistle.

“Hear that?” she asked.

“Sure do. Quite a difference from Lone Tree, Texas, huh?”

“And some. You and Dottie are at your place now?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. We're, ah, going through some things.”

“You're moving.” Her voice sounded flat.

“We are, darlin'. Even if we could keep them up, we don't need two houses. Dottie's offered to sell her place and move in here, but I can tell her heart's not in it.”

“I can't say I blame her. Her gardens—she's spent a lot of hours creating that oasis.”

“It's a pretty little place.”

“It is, and you'll be happy there, Pops.”

“I'm glad you called, honey. I've held off talking to a Realtor. Wanted to ask you first.”

“Me? It's your house.”

“I know that.” His old voice took on a deeper timbre. “But your grandma and I always figured we'd leave the old homestead to you. To do whatever you wanted with it. Now, well, I kind of feel like I'm selling your birthright.”

“Nonsense. It's yours. I'm in New York. If you and Dottie want to sell the house, then that's what you should do.”

“You're staying there then?”

“I am.” If she suffered a little melancholy at the words, she tamped it down. “How's everyone doing?”

“Your mom and dad both miss you, but otherwise they're fine. Your mom's actually bullied Sean into taking a country-line-dancing class.”

“I know. Can you believe it? I talked to them on the way here this morning.”

He harrumphed. “Saw Ty and Sophie and the boys last night. They sure do make a nice family.”

“They do. The boys Skyped me yesterday to show me Trouble's new trick. They're growing like weeds.”

“So's Annie with that new little one she's carrying.”

“Really? I talked with her last night, and she didn't say anything about it.” A pang of regret stabbed her. She wanted to watch Annie grow big with her friend's baby. She'd never had the chance to do that with Brawley's, never felt their baby quicken.

“So let me make sure I've got this right,” Pops said. “In the last twenty-four hours, you've talked to Sophie and the boys, to Annie, and to your mom and dad. That means your earlier question about everyone was either rhetorical or you're taking an around-the-barn route to asking about Brawley.”

She closed her eyes and said nothing. The old man was too perceptive by far.

“He's good,” her grandfather said. “That what you wanted to know?”

She expelled the breath she'd been holding. “We had a fight before he left.”

“Nothing new about that. The two of you have been bickering for over a decade now.”

“We have not.”

His chuckle drifted over the line. “Girl, this is me you're talking to. You and Brawley rile each other without even trying. I know he hurt you. Hurt you bad. And I'd like to take him over my knee for that. But don't you think it's time you pulled out that thorn and let the wound heal?”

“I'm not sure I can, Pops. It's a pretty big thorn and buried deep.”

“Then go in for surgery. But get it done and put it away.”

In the background, she heard Dottie.

“Listen, Pops, you're busy, and I have to get to work.”

“Okay, but you think about what I said.”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Dottie sends her love.”

“Tell her it's more than reciprocated.”

“That's a mighty big word.”

She laughed and hung up. Tossing her now very cold coffee into a nearby trash bin, she stood and brushed a couple stray crumbs from her dress.

Facing the river, she let the breeze flow over her, wishing it could blow away the hurt. She'd put it away—or nearly had—for all these years. Brawley's move back to town had irritated old wounds. Sleeping with him had been a huge mistake. Rather than healing, it had ripped those wounds wide open.

Her phone rang. Brawley?
Don't be an idiot.
Pops? Maybe he'd remembered something he'd wanted to tell her. She glanced at the caller ID and frowned. She didn't recognize it.

“Hello?”

“Maggie? It's Jarvis.”

Disappointment raced through her, but she tamped it down. “Hi. The photos you took are beyond amazing. I can't thank you enough.”

“Sure you can. Have dinner with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Do you have other plans?”

“No, I don't.” She chewed her lip. She liked Jarvis, found him sophisticated, different from anyone she'd ever dated. But she couldn't see any future for them.

Whoa. Dinner, Maggie
. That's all he was proposing. A meal together. She'd had a good time with him before. If she intended to live here, wasn't it time to start that life? How better than dinner with Jarvis?

“I'd love to.”

Jarvis took her to a small outside café. They ate pasta, drank wine, and talked. The food was some of the best she'd ever eaten, the evening warm, the stars brilliant. One hour turned to two, edged toward three.

Over coffee and a shared piece of cheesecake, he mentioned a friend was playing sax at a club across town. “Do you want to stop by? Listen to a set?”

“Sure, why not?”

The club, in the basement of an old bank, turned out to be quintessential New York. Posters and graffiti covered the walls, and smoke hung in the air.

The quartet had a sound that wrapped itself around you and held on. At the break, Jarvis wandered to the front to speak to his friend. He waved her over and introduced her.

“I could listen to you all night long,” Maggie said. “The saxophone is one of the most romantic instruments ever made…and you really make it sing.”

They talked for a few more minutes.

“You ready to go?” Jarvis asked.

Maggie nodded.

The evening air felt fresh and cool after being inside.

He insisted on seeing her home. When the taxi pulled up in front of her house, he asked the driver to wait.

At the base of her stairs, he said, “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

She smiled at him. “I did, too. Thank you. I was feeling a little homesick, and this evening was exactly what the doctor ordered.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes hooded. “You could ask me in. I can pay the cab and get another later. Or in the morning.”

Maggie's heart raced. Before she could tell him no, his arm circled her waist and he pulled her to him, his lips covering hers.

This second time was no different from the first. She still felt nothing. This gorgeous man wanted her. That was more than evident as he held her close, but she couldn't respond.

He drew away. “No?”

She shook her head.

“Is it the cowboy?”

“No.”

He laid a hand on the side of her face. “You sure? He's definitely got a thing for you.”

She almost snorted, caught herself in time. “You are so wrong.”

Now, his lips tilted in the faintest smile. “You're kidding me, right? I honestly thought he might tear my head off at your runway show when he caught me kissing you. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under now.”

“We had a thing. In high school. It's long over.”

“Then maybe we should give this another shot.”

He bent his head, but she reached out, rested a hand on his chest. “It's been a long day, Jarvis.”

He nodded. “Good enough.” After a quick kiss on the cheek, he said, “Go on. Scoot inside then. Like before, I'll wait till I hear you lock up.”

She felt like a heel. He was a good man. “Thank you, both for the wonderful evening and for understanding.”

She hurried up the stairs and inserted her key in the lock.

“I think I understand far more than you do,” he said.

Maggie stepped inside, and Jarvis walked to the taxi. She watched the taillights as they disappeared into the traffic, then laid her head on the door frame.

She needed a hobby. Something that required a great deal of concentration. For tonight, she'd try a bath and a good book. Maybe a complicated whodunit.

Problem was she already knew whodunit.

The long, tall Texas cowboy.