Darling obstacles (3 page)

She knew he was staring at her, Greg realized as he saw her lower her eyes. And she was uncomfortable about it. Her rigid posture and clenched hands were proof of that. He immediately sought to put her at ease, saying the first thing that came into his head. "I see you still wear your wedding ring." He glanced down at his own ringless hand. "I, uh, stopped wearing mine a year ago." It had begun to feel strange, dating while wearing a wedding ring. When he'd finally accepted the fact that he was no longer a married man, he had removed his ring. But Maggie hadn't. Did that mean she still considered herself married to her dead husband? The notion disturbed him.

Maggie was staring at the gold band on her finger and was about to comment when a sharp, impatient voice called "Greg!" from the car. Both Greg and Maggie glanced toward the sound to see Francine leaning out the window. "Greg!" she called again. "We're late enough as it is. By the time we get these kids back to your house and—"

Greg stopped listening and looked at Maggie, his expression a combination of embarrassment and irritation. Suppose it were Maggie in his car, waiting for him? He couldn't imagine her behaving as peevishly as Francine. "Greg!" Francine's voice rose imperiously.

"These kids happen to be my kids, Francine," Greg said as he strode to the car, his tone as sharp as hers. "And they're spending the night here." Wendy and Max were out of the car in a flash, running toward Maggie. The old brown teddy bear was tucked

under Max's arm and Greg felt a sudden, sick pang of remorse. What kind of father was he anyway? Whacking a four-year-old, then dumping his kids for the night so he could wine, dine, and bed a bitch like Francine Gallier?

Maggie had picked Max up, and his arms and legs were wrapped around her like a little monkey's. She was smiling as she carried him into her house, her one arm draped casually around Wendy's shoulders. Greg felt a crazy urge to follow them into the house. Not that he would ever make it inside, he told himself. He watched them enter the small frame duplex, noting bleakly that neither the children nor Maggie had cast a backward glance or called good-bye to him.

When Maggie answered the ring of the doorbell seven minutes later, she was astonished to find Greg Wilder at her door again.

He gave her a rather sheepish smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you again, Maggie, but may I use your telephone?" He half-expected her to refuse and point out the phone booth at the corner of the street. But she paused only a moment before replying, "Of course. This way, Dr. Wilder."

She led him into the kitchen and pointed to the white wall phone, immensely relieved that the dinner dishes were done and put away. She asked no questions, but he gave her an explanation anyway. "I have to call Paula. She was going to baby-sit for the kids tonight, but since they're going to be here, she'll be able to go to her friend's house and stay overnight. Shell be overjoyed." And he would no longer be the world's meanest dad.

Maggie nodded. Paula Wilder was very pretty and led an active social life, according to an admiring Kristin who was in the seventh grade at Woodland Junior High where Paula was in the ninth.

A sharp blast from a car horn shattered the silence and Greg frowned. "Francine thought I should

phone Paula from the club, but it's nearly a forty minute drive from here and . . ." His voice trailed off. He couldn't explain his urge, his need, to come back. Nor could he explain the surge of pure pleasure that had rushed through him when Maggie had greeted him at the door. And now he was inside her house, invited. Well, almost.

He dialed the number, listened, then replaced the receiver. "The line's busy. Paula talking to her friends, naturally." But he didn't care, he admitted to himself. He was in no hurry to leave Maggie's small kitchen. No hurry at all.

The horn blared again and Greg's fingers tightened around the telephone receiver. Maggie saw his knuckles whiten, his jaw clench, and his aquamarine eyes grow cold as ice. "I'll be happy to call Paula for you, Dr. Wilder," she said quickly. "You have a long drive ahead of you and I know you're anxious to leave." At least Francine was. Another sharp, staccato blast of the horn made Maggie jump. She pictured the gorgeous, furious Francine sitting in the car and summoning her man with the horn, and she marveled at the woman's confidence. The expression on Dr. Wilder's face was making her nervous, and she had nothing to do with its cause.

Greg ignored the imperious demand of his date and strolled to the refrigerator, which was covered with children's drawings and school papers. "All As," he remarked. "I guess the bad papers don't get put up, do they?"

Maggie was tempted to tell him that her children did not bring home any bad papers; they received nothing but A's and gold stars. She was enormously proud of their school success, but she didn't want to sound like a braggart. She just smiled noncommit-tally and said nothing.

"I remember Josh telling us that Kevin was the smartest boy in his class." Greg examined a math test of Kevin's, which boasted a smiling face sticker and a big red A+ at the top. "That was a couple of years

ago, before Alicia ..." He turned his attention to Kevin's social studies test, which bore a blue A + and a SUPER written in capital letters by the teacher. "Kevin seems to be doing very well so far in fourth grade." Maggie nodded. "I wish some of his habits would rub off on Josh," Greg added wryly. "Alicia used to say that Josh was an underachiever. His teacher last year claimed that he wasn't any kind of achiever at all. I'm hoping hell do better this year."

"Mmm," Maggie murmured. Apparently Greg didn't know how poorly Josh was doing in school this year. The first report cards hadn't been sent home yet, but from what she'd heard from Kevin and from Josh himself, Dr. Wilder wasn't going to be very pleased with his son's progress—or lack of it.

Greg dialed his number again and hung up at the busy signal. The car horn sounded again, a long, angry blare. He ignored it. Maggie had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, he observed. TJiey looked cute. Wholesome and appealing. And he liked being in her kitchen. It was warm and homey, unlike the sterility of the barely used kitchen in his house.

The horn again. "Please let me make the call for you, Dr. Wilder," Maggie said. Her offer was more like a plea. He was staring at her again. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen. And when he looked at her she felt . . . she wished . . . She swallowed. She wished she hadn't let him inside. But she'd had no choice, had she? It would have been totally unreasonable to deny him the use of her phone. But having him here, inside her home, made her feel so exposed, so strangely vulnerable. As if she had also admitted him into—Maggie promptly told herself that her thoughts were bordering on lunacy. "I'll call Paula for you, Dr. Wilder," she repeated in what she hoped was a take-charge, no-nonsense tone of voice.

"Not Dr. Wilder. Greg,'' he corrected her. He'd asked her to call him Greg a year or so ago, but she

never had. "Call me Greg. I call you Maggie, don't I? Is it short for Margaret?"

"I wish it were, but it's short for Mary Magdalene." Maggie imparted this information reluctantly. "When my brothers wanted to infuriate me, that's what they would call me."

Greg's lips twitched with amusement. "Then I guess I'd better stick to Maggie." He'd always known she had nice legs, he thought as his gaze swept the length of her limbs. Long, shapely, slim. He'd noticed them before, but now he wanted to touch them, to run his hand along their silken length. A flash of heat swept through him and he tried to shake off the thought.

Kevin and Joshua burst into the kitchen, fortunately diverting him. "We want a snack!" Josh boomed, then caught sight of his father and stopped in his tracks. "What are you doing here, Dad?"

Greg raised his brows and asked a question of his own. "You were asking Mrs. May for something to eat, Joshua?"

Josh looked at his shoes. "Uh, yeah."

"You aren't to ask for food at someone else's house, Joshua. You're to wait until it's offered to you. You know that," Greg reproved his son. "And you weren't even asking politely. You were demanding!"

"He was just kidding, Dr. Wilder," Kevin interjected quickly. "Sometimes we joke around like that with my mother. She doesn't mind, do you, Mom?"

"No." Maggie smiled at the boys. "I promised Kev and Josh that they could make some popcorn and I think that's what they came down to do." Both boys nodded in agreement. The car horn blared again.

"Who keeps honking that horn?" Kevin asked, frowning. "Mr. Crothers is going to get mad and call the police if it keeps up."

Greg cleared his throat. "Maybe you'd better make that call to Paula for me, Maggie, if you're sure you don't mind." Damn Francine! He wished he could make her disappear and the car horn along with her.

22 • BARBARA BOSWELL

Greg was shaken by the sheer force of his anger. He was feeling no pleasure at the thought of an evening with Francine. The prospect of watching Maggie and the kids pop corn in her too-small kitchen held infinitely greater appeal. His eyes fastened on a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and curled against the nape of her neck. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from reaching out and touching the bright auburn wisps. Her neck was graceful and slender and he wondered if the skin was as soft as it looked. But he didn't dare touch her. If he did, Maggie would be shocked out of that creamy, silken skin. She didn't see him as a man; he was just a daddy to her, the Wilder kids' daddy. She didn't even call him Greg. Dr. Wilder. Always Dr. Wilder. Suddenly that fact irritated him enormously. He wondered if he would ever gain admittance to her home again, or if he'd be relegated back to the infernal doorstep. That idea was absolutely intolerable to him.

Maggie saw him scowl and wondered what fate awaited the impetuous Francine. Of course, a woman as beautiful and sexy as Francine would probably have ways of creatively channeling a man's anger into something else entirely. Casting another covert glance at Greg, Maggie found herself wondering what it would be like to coax him out of his anger into . . . something else entirely. He had a sensual mouth, wide and generous, the lower lip curved and full. And his hands were surgeon's hands, big and strong and capable, with long fingers and squared, immaculate nails. What would it be like to be touched by those hands, to feel that mouth on hers? What if she were the one leaving for a night out with Greg, and Francine were staying behind to mind the children?

The direction her thoughts had taken unnerved Maggie and she felt a slow blush spread over her skin. She didn't indulge in erotic fantasies very often. In fact, she'd thought the sexual side of her was well and truly dead. Since Johnny's death she had stopped

thinking of herself as a sexual woman. She was a mommy, a sexless, thoroughly maternal mother of three. And there was no man in her life to prove otherwise. She'd learned long ago that a woman accompanied by children was invisible to the public at large and to men in particular. People might glance at the children, but they never saw the mother. Not even men in hard hats at construction sites whistled or leered at a woman with children by her side. And Maggie seldom went anywhere or did anything without her kids.

She was thankful that Greg Wilder was unaware of her wayward thoughts. Wouldn't he be stunned to know that the Perfect Mother—and therefore the Asexual Being—was having a lascivious thought or two about him? He would be heartily sorry he'd ever set foot in her kitchen!

Maggie grinned in spite of herself. She watched Greg ruffle Joshua's hair, then do the same to Kevin. Josh stiffened; Kevin beamed. He was always thrilled by masculine attention, however slight. Enterprising Kevin had managed to assemble a whole cast of surrogate fathers for himself.

"Tell Max and Wendy I want to say goodnight to them," Greg said to Josh.

Josh gave a reluctant shrug. "I'll tell them, Dr. Wilder," Kevin said, and rushed from the kitchen. He appeared with Max and Wendy in tow a few moments later.

Maggie watched Greg kiss Wendy's cheek and give Max a quick hug. It was a heartwarming sight, seeing a father's affection for his children.

Max squirmed away with a glare at his father and ran from the kitchen. "I guess he's still angry with me," Greg said with a small smile. But his eyes were sad.

Suddenly it was difficult for Maggie to swallow around the lump that had risen in her throat. She led Greg to the door, wondering what on earth was the matter with her.

"Good night, Maggie," Greg said softly. The burgundy Cadillac loomed before them with Francine ensconced inside. Maggie mumbled a response and quickly closed the door.

the matching sleeveless nightie. Both ended several inches above her knees. Her dark auburn hair hung loose around her face and she quickly flicked two strands behind her ears. "I—We just got up about fifteen minutes ago." She felt oddly breathless and very embarrassed to be caught looking this way. And she was totally disconcerted by Greg's presence in her home. He seemed to take over the small kitchen and dwarf it; the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension. She wished she could think of something hilarious to say to break that peculiar tension, but wit failed her.

"I'm still getting used to working during the day and sleeping at night, I think," she blurted out. Hardly a bon mot.

"You don't work the night shift anymore? You worked for the airlines, I believe. In Washington?"

"Baltimore," she corrected him. "And I don't work there. I quit in August, right before school began this term. There was an opening for a secretary at the Woodland Elementary School office and the principal offered me the job. A payoff for the hundreds of cookies I've baked over the years, perhaps." She smiled and Greg laughed appreciatively at her little joke.

Encouraged, she went on. "Since Kari was to begin first grade this fall, I wanted a daytime job, and this one was perfect for me. I have the same hours as the kids, the same days off, and after working nights all those years ..." Shut up, Maggie, she admonished herself. You're babbling, and boring the poor man to death.