Flirting with Disaster (3 page)

Now Juliette did a disapproving survey of Maggie's simple red dress and sandals, then sighed before adding, “I thought you'd vanished.”

“Obviously you weren't too concerned or you'd have hired a search party,” Maggie replied, bending down to give her mother a dutiful peck on the cheek. “How are you? You're looking well.”

“I'm humiliated, that's how I am,” Juliette declared. “I can barely hold my head up as a result of that debacle with your wedding.”

“You should be in
my
shoes,” Maggie retorted, though it was clear the sarcasm went right over her mother's head. Everything was always about Juliette, how events affected
her.
By the time Maggie had hit her teens, she'd given up expecting a sympathetic ear.

“You still haven't said why you haven't been by,” Juliette complained.

“I've been away,” Maggie said, regretting that she'd bothered to rush right over, since it was evident her mother hadn't been especially worried about her absence.

Juliette looked momentarily startled. “Away? Where? You never said anything about going away.”

“I rented a house on Sullivan's Island. I've been out there for nearly a month now.”

“My heavens, why would you do a thing like that? What if your father and I had needed you in an emergency? Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself, Magnolia?”

“If you'd needed me, I would have known about it,” she said. “I checked my phone messages every day. Since there weren't any from you, obviously there were no emergencies, so don't make a big to-do about it now, Mother.”

Juliette regarded her with a familiar expression of dismay. “Sometimes I just don't know what to make of you.”

Maggie bit back a grin. “Now there's a news flash,” she muttered under her breath.

Her mother frowned. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important,” Maggie said. “I should run along now. I know you need to get to your appointment and I have to go to the gallery and check on things there. I just wanted you to know I was back.”

Her mother glanced at her watch, obviously torn. “I do need to go, but we really must talk soon, Magnolia.”

“About?”

“This fiasco with Warren.”

“The fiasco with Warren is over. It's not open for discussion.”

“But I'm sure you could mend fences if you put your mind to it,” Juliette persisted. “He's a reasonable man. I'm sure he'll forgive you for whatever you did to upset him.”

“He'll forgive me?” Maggie said incredulously. “Are you kidding, Mother? I didn't do anything. He's the one who called off the wedding. If there's any groveling to be done, let Warren do it.”

“There it is again,” her mother said accusingly. “That stubborn streak of yours. It's always been your downfall, Magnolia. If you don't reconcile with Warren, what will you do?”

“I'll survive, Mother. In fact, I've already gotten involved in an exciting new project that will take up a lot of my time for the rest of the summer. I'll tell you about it next time I see you. Now, we both really need to get moving.” She leaned down for another quick kiss. “Love you.”

Duty done, Maggie was out the door and down the stairs at a clip an Olympic runner would envy. With her visit to Juliette behind her, life already looked brighter.

 

Maggie's improved mood lasted only until she walked into Images and took a good look around at the displays that had been created in her absence. They were chaotic. Of course, she had no one to blame but herself. She was the one who'd gone off and left the decision making to her employees. She could hardly expect a twenty-one-year-old who dressed all in black and had pink streaks in her hair, or an art-school dropout whose mind tended to wander when she wasn't in front of a canvas, to arrange the gallery with the same expertise and attention to detail that Maggie would. She was probably fortunate that they'd even bothered to uncrate the new shipments and price them.

“You're back!” Victoria exclaimed when she stirred from reading her book. Judging from the cover, it was something dark and depressing, suitable for a woman in black.

“Indeed, I am,” Maggie said. “I see the new shipments came in.”

“Last week,” Victoria acknowledged. “I didn't want to touch them, but Ellie said we probably should. The gallery was starting to look kinda empty, like we were going out of business or something.”

“Ellie was exactly right,” Maggie said. “Is there coffee made?”

Victoria stared at her blankly. “Coffee?”

“Yes, coffee. We make it every day in case a customer would like a cup.”

“Oh, I thought it was just for you, and since I didn't know you were coming back today, I didn't make any.”

“Never mind. I'll make it, and as soon as I have a cup you can tell me what business has been like while I've been gone.”

“Actually, you'll need to ask Ellie. I have an appointment at eleven, so she's coming in early. Since you're here, I'll go now so I won't be late.”

Maggie had always given her employees a lot of flexibility in scheduling, but usually she expected them to work longer than an hour before taking off. “When will you be back?”

Victoria shrugged as if the concept of time was of little importance. “How should I know? It depends on how long Drake can get away.”

“Drake?”

“My boyfriend,” Victoria explained impatiently as if Maggie should know that.

Maggie searched her memory. “I thought your boyfriend was named Lyle.”

“He split, like, three weeks ago, so now I'm seeing Drake.”

“In the middle of a workday?” Maggie said, subtly trying to suggest that there was something inappropriate about that. The notion apparently was utterly foreign to Victoria.

“It's when he's free,” she said reasonably. “After work, he has to go home to his wife.”

Maggie stared after Victoria as she fled to keep her “appointment” with her new, married boyfriend. And Juliette thought Maggie made bad choices. Her mother should spend an hour or two with Victoria. Maggie would begin to seem downright traditional after that.

A few minutes later, as Maggie was sipping gratefully on her first cup of very strong coffee, Ellie came in. In comparison to Victoria, she looked thoroughly professional in her tan slacks and white blouse. Her hair might be short and carelessly styled, but it was a perfectly normal shade of golden blond.

“Where's Victoria?” Ellie asked, obviously startled to find Maggie behind her desk. “You didn't fire her, did you?”

“No, though the thought has crossed my mind. She went to see Drake.”

Ellie grimaced. “Can you believe it? She's dating a married man. And he must be having some kind of midlife crisis or something. Why else would he pick somebody as flighty as Victoria? He's old. He must be thirty-five, at least.”

Maggie herself had issues with men that age. Warren was thirty-five. “Maybe you could sit here and tell me what's been going on. Has business been good?”

Ellie looked vaguely disconcerted by the question. “I guess,” she said eventually. “The deposit slips are all in your desk.”

Maggie sighed. She should have known better than to expect any kind of overview of the gallery's business the past month from either Victoria or Ellie. She was lucky they'd managed to keep the place from burning to the ground in her absence.

Ironically, the customers loved them. The two young women, with their off-beat quirkiness, seemed to fit the artistic stereotype people anticipated when shopping in a gallery. Her own contribution, she supposed, was class, necessary to assure the customers that the works and antiques on display were genuine and worth every penny of their exorbitant price tags.

“Thanks for looking after things,” Maggie said, meaning it. “I really appreciate the way you pitched in.”

“Sure. No problem. You know me. I can always use the extra cash.” Ellie's expression brightened. “But I did sell two of my paintings while you were gone.”

Maggie beamed at her. What Ellie lacked in business skills, she more than made up for as an artist. “Congratulations! I told you it was only a matter of time. I think we should talk about having a real show one of these days. You're ready for it, don't you think?”

Ellie's joy faltered. “Maybe you should come by the studio and take a look before you decide,” she suggested worriedly. “Maybe there aren't enough good paintings yet. I don't want you to be embarrassed.”

“You could never embarrass me. You're the most talented artist I've discovered yet,” Maggie assured her with total sincerity. “I can't wait to really give your work a big splashy show. Why don't I come by one evening after we close and take a look. Then we can decide. I'd love to schedule something for this fall.”

“Really?” Ellie said, her eyes shining.

“Sweetie, you're going to be showing in the Museum of Modern Art in New York before you know it, and I'm going to be bragging that I knew you when.”

“Don't even tease about that,” Ellie said, bright spots of color in her cheeks.

“Who's teasing? Don't you know how good you are?” She could see by Ellie's doubtful expression that she did not. “Don't worry. You'll see. I promise you.”

In fact, seeing Ellie's career take off the way a few of Maggie's other discoveries had before her was exactly the kind of achievement that kept Maggie in business. It was reassuring to know that in one area of her life, her judgment was impeccable.

T
here were at least forty people milling around in the church parish hall when Josh arrived there on Saturday morning. A long folding table was loaded down with a coffee urn, pottery mugs and trays of doughnuts and pastries. He wasn't convinced there was enough caffeine or sugar in the world to get him through the weeks to come, but he filled a cup to the brim and grabbed a couple of glazed doughnuts before going in search of Cord.

He found him in an alcove, deep into what sounded like a very serious conversation with an unfamiliar man. Josh was about to back away when Cord spotted him.

“Hey, there you are,” Cord called. “Josh, get over here and let me introduce you to Caleb Webb. He's the minister here and the driving force behind this project.”

Surprised, Josh took another look at the man dressed in worn jeans and a polo shirt. He didn't look like any preacher Josh had ever known. For one thing, he was built as if he'd been working construction all his life. For another, he was young. Certainly no older than Josh's age, thirty-four.

The few preachers Josh had encountered in his brief brushes with religion had all been old and mostly crotchety. They'd spent a lot of time talking about fire and brimstone, which had been pretty scary stuff to a kid. Caleb looked like someone you could enjoy a beer with at the end of the day. He also didn't seem like the kind of man who'd try to frighten a youngster into behaving.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Josh told them. “I just wanted to let Cord know I was here.”

“Not a problem,” Cord assured him. “Caleb was just filling me in on a couple of problems that have cropped up.”

Josh should have guessed this project wouldn't be the picnic Cord had promised him. “What kind of problems?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Caleb assured him. “I just have a little rebellion in the ranks among my parishioners. Some of them don't approve of what we're doing. It's gotten a little ugly, but I'll get it straightened out.”

“Ugly in what way?” Josh asked, trying to imagine why anyone would disapprove of building a home for someone in need.

Caleb gave him a wry grin. “There's a camp that thinks I ought to be run off for doing this for Amanda O'Leary. They're very vocal.”

Josh didn't get it. He looked blankly from Caleb to Cord. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

It was Caleb who responded. “I assume Cord filled you in on Amanda's situation.”

Cord nodded. “I know her husband was killed a while back.”

“It was more than that,” Caleb said. “He'd gotten himself into serious debt and she was forced to declare bankruptcy. She's been working two, sometimes three, jobs to try to pay off all the bills. She was about to be evicted from her apartment when we stepped in. At first we were just going to help out with the rent, which we did, but then someone had the idea to build her a house. Most of the congregation jumped on board, but a few people think we've picked the wrong person to help.”

“Why?” Josh asked.

“Because Amanda's daddy is William Maxwell,” Cord explained. When Josh shook his head, Cord added, “Big Max is one of the wealthiest men in Charleston. Some folks think Big Max is the one who ought to be helping Amanda, not the church.”

There was obviously still some critical piece of information that Josh was missing. If getting this woman a place to live were that simple, it would have been done long ago.

“Why isn't he?” Josh asked. “I assume there's a reason.”

“There's a lot of bad blood between the two of them,” Cord said succinctly.

“That's an understatement and it's not without reason, at least on Amanda's part,” Caleb said. “Since you're involved in this now, you should know what's going on. Here's the short version. Big Max disowned Amanda when she got married. He didn't approve of Bobby O'Leary. He dug in his heels. Amanda refused to cave in to his pressure, so he hasn't had a thing to do with her for almost ten years now. He's never even set eyes on his grandkids. I think he regrets all that now, but he's too stubborn to fix it, and Amanda's too hurt and has too much pride to turn to him now that she's in trouble because of Bobby's mistakes.”

Josh got the picture. “But some folks think she should swallow her pride and go running to daddy now, instead of taking this opportunity away from some other family, one with no other resources.”

“Exactly,” Caleb said.

“I suppose I can see their point, but obviously she doesn't think she can turn to her father or doesn't want to after the way he treated her,” Josh said. “I can't say I blame her.” He could empathize. Even if he discovered tomorrow that his father was rolling in dough, it would be a cold day in hell before he ever turned to the man for help, no matter how dire his own circumstances.

“As far as Amanda's concerned, her father burned that bridge,” Caleb said. “She won't ask him for a dime. So as far as I'm concerned, she's a struggling single mom who's as deserving as anyone else. And she's doing everything she can to get back on her feet. It's not like she came looking for a handout. People just saw a need and wanted to help. She's one of our own. We have an opportunity to help her and we'll all get something out of doing it.”

“So you want to go ahead, even though it'll anger some members of your congregation?” Josh asked.

“Absolutely,” Caleb responded without hesitation. “And it's really only one member who's dedicated himself to stirring the pot. He just happens to be wealthy and powerful in his own right. He could complicate things if he switches from talk to action.”

“What sort of action?” Josh asked.

“Let's just say he's politically well connected and could hold things up,” Caleb replied. “Especially if he thinks he's doing Big Max a favor in the process.”

“Has he threatened to throw up real roadblocks?” Josh asked.

Caleb shook his head. “Not yet. Mainly he's been working to get the congregation on his side. He's succeeded with some. We expected a larger turnout than this initially.”

“And as of this morning, Amanda's balking,” Cord explained.

“Last night she got wind of the battle that was brewing, and she doesn't want the congregation divided over this,” Caleb said. “I've tried every way I can think of, but I can't get through to her that it's only George Winslow flexing his muscles.”

Silence fell as they all pondered how to break the impasse. It was several minutes before Josh realized that Cord was studying him speculatively.

“You know, Josh, you might have better luck than Caleb did,” Cord suggested mildly.

“Hold it,” Josh protested. “When did this become
my
problem? I'm here to build a house, not to provide counseling services. Besides, I don't even know this woman. Why would she listen to me?”

Cord didn't answer.

“There won't be any reason to build a house unless we get Amanda back on board,” Caleb pointed out.

“Hey, that suits me,” Josh said.

Cord regarded him with disappointment. “Josh, take a look out there,” he said, gesturing toward the main room. “See those kids. Who do they remind you of?”

Reluctantly Josh turned to look at Amanda O'Leary's three children. They were sitting on metal chairs, their expressions glum. Two little boys, who should be out running and playing ball on a Saturday morning, and a pint-size girl with huge blue eyes who looked as if she might cry any minute. She was clutching a worn stuffed bear by one arm. Josh saw himself in each of those solemn faces. Once again he cursed the day he'd ever confided in Cord about his past.

“Well?” Cord prodded.

Josh wondered how different his life might have been if someone had ever sat his mother down and had a heart-to-heart with her about giving him a real home, instead of dragging him from city to city, from motel to motel. He heaved a resigned sigh.

“Okay, where is she?” he asked.

“Over in the corner trying to stay out of Dinah's path. Dinah's already tried and failed to persuade her,” Cord said. “Knowing Dinah, she's just taking a breather, but maybe you can head her off.”

“I think you're giving me way too much credit on all fronts,” Josh said. “But I'll give it a shot for the sake of those kids.”

Rueing the day he'd ever met Cord, much less agreed to take on the building of this house, Josh crossed the parish hall to where Amanda O'Leary was sitting all alone, her jaw set stubbornly and her chin lifted high.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, already sliding onto the chair next to her.

“There's nothing you can say to change my mind,” she said before he could say another word.

He grinned at her defiance. She might be down, but she was definitely not out. He had to admire her for that. “What makes you think I'm here to change your mind?”

“Oh, please,” she said disdainfully. “I saw you with Caleb and Cord. I'm sure they've given you an earful about how stubborn I'm being.”

Josh grinned. “They did say something along those lines. To tell you the truth, I get where you're coming from. I grew up with folks thinking I was the perfect target for their good deeds. It wasn't much fun.”

Amanda regarded him skeptically. “Then why are you over here pressuring me?”

“Pressure?” Josh scoffed. “Sweetheart, this isn't pressure. This is just two people having a get-acquainted chat. Obviously I know who you are, but since we haven't been introduced, I'm Josh Parker.”

Her gaze narrowed. “The builder Cord hired?”

“That's me.”

“So you're out of work if I don't go along with this thing,” she said with a biting edge of sarcasm. “Not my problem.”

“It's not about me. I don't need the work.” He studied her intently, then glanced toward her kids. “But those children over there look to me like they could use a nice home.”

“And I'd love for them to have it, but not if it's going to split this congregation apart,” Amanda said spiritedly. “That's too high a price. Things might be a little cramped where we're living, but we've been managing for the last year.”

“With a little help, I understand…Anyway, Caleb seems willing to pay the price, however steep it is.” He leaned toward her and confided, “Personally, I think he has visions of teaching some lessons about humanity and generosity.”

Her lips twitched. “I imagine he does, but it's not up to him. I will not be responsible for him getting fired or friends taking sides against each other.”

“Friends might disagree, but they'll patch things up. As for Caleb, who said anything about firing him?”

“Some anonymous caller left a message for me yesterday, and I heard a few people talking about it this morning. Word's getting around that George Winslow wants Caleb gone. He's not going to let this drop, not as long as he has my father whispering in his ear. He's determined to stir up trouble if we go forward. Caleb doesn't deserve the aggravation.”

“People talk about a lot of things. It doesn't mean they'll act on it. I'm sure whoever left the message figured you'd cave in, because they knew instinctively that you'd back away from a fight.”

Her eyes flashed. “I've never backed away from a fight in my life,” she said indignantly. “But George is as rich as my daddy and just as powerful. He and Big Max are allies. When it comes to me and my father, there's little question about whose side he'd take. He'll happily bring down anyone who tries to help me, and he'll consider it a favor to my daddy.”

“He doesn't seem to scare Caleb. Isn't that what counts?” Josh asked.

“I'm not willing to take that chance.” Her gaze narrowed. “Besides, didn't you just say it wasn't much fun being the object of pity? Maybe I've thought it over and decided I don't want to be in that position, either. I'll be indebted to these people forever if I let them build the house.”

“I could certainly understand it if you were to come to that conclusion,” Josh agreed.

“Then we're agreed. I'm doing the right thing.”

“No, we're not agreed,” Josh said. “Because I don't think that's what happened. I think you got scared off, just the way this Winslow person—or your daddy—wanted you to.”

Despite her earlier indignation, she didn't seem to have enough fight left to argue. “Does it really matter?”

“I think it does. There's a big difference between being proud and being scared,” Josh told her. “And even if you think this is all about pride, I'm not sure you're in a position to let pride get in the way of doing what you need to do for those kids of yours.”

She studied him intently. “Something tells me you would have thrown this offer right back in their faces, too, especially once it got complicated.”

“Possibly,” Josh agreed. “But I like to think that I'd have taken another look at it if someone had offered my mom the one thing that might have made a real difference to us.”

“What was that?”

“A home,” he said simply. “I'm not just talking about four walls and a roof over our heads, Amanda, but a real home with a community of people who cared enough to build it for us. That's what you've got happening here. I'm not sure you should be so quick to turn your back on it, especially not just to protect Caleb, a man who doesn't seem to think he needs your protection.”

“But there are a lot of people, not just George Winslow, who think building this house for me is the wrong thing to do. Maybe they're right.”

“Thumb your nose at them,” he advised. “After all, what do they know? You have your reasons for not asking your daddy for help, and those reasons are none of their concern. If they knew, they might just admire your gumption.
I
do.”

“I suppose,” she said, though she still sounded doubtful.