Maggie's Dad (9 page)

He closed his eyes, fighting memories and prejudices and gossip and pain. He'd forgotten nothing.
Forgiven nothing.
Seeing her alone like this brought it all back.

She was fighting memories of her own. She lifted the coffee to her lips and burned them trying to drink it.

“Go ahead,” he invited coldly. “Tell me she's lying.”

“I wouldn't tell you the time of day,” she said in a voice like warmed-over death. “I never learn. You said we'd discuss the problem, but this isn't a
discussion, it's an inquisition. I'll tell you flat-out— I've already asked Mrs. Jameson to move Maggie out of my class. She can't do that, and the only option I have left is to quit my job and go back to Arizona.”

He stared at her without speaking. He hadn't expected that.

She met his startled eyes. “Do you think she's a little angel?” she asked. “She's rebellious, haughty, and she lies better than her mother ever did.”

“Damn you!”

The whip of his voice made her sick inside. She reached for her purse and this time she got up. She pushed past him, and ran out into the snow with tears streaming down her face. She'd walk back to town, she would…!

Her foot slipped on a patch of ice, and she went down hard. She felt the snow on her hot face and lifted it, to the cooling moisture of fresh snowflakes, just as a pair of steely hands jerked her back to her feet and propelled her toward the car.

She didn't react as he unlocked the door and put her inside. She didn't look at him or say a word, even when he fastened her shoulder harness and sat glaring at her before he finally started the car and headed it back toward town.

When they arrived at her father's house, she reached for the catch that would unfasten the harness, but his hand was there, waiting.

“Why can't you admit the truth?” he demanded. “Why do you keep lying about your relationship
with George Rutherford? He bought your wedding dress, he paid your college tuition. The whole damn town knew you were sleeping with him, but you've convinced everyone from your father to George's own son that it was perfectly innocent! Well, you never convinced me and you never will!”

“I know that,” she said without looking at him. “Let me go, Powell.”

His hand only tightened. “You slept with him!” he accused through his teeth. “I would have died for you…!”

“You were sleeping with my best friend!” she accused hotly. “You got her pregnant while you were engaged to me! Do you think I give a damn about your opinion or your feelings? You weren't jealous of George! You never even loved me! You got engaged to me so that my father's influence could get you a loan that you needed to save your family ranch!”

The accusation startled him so much that he didn't have the presence of mind to retaliate. He stared at her in the dim light from the front porch as if she'd gone mad.

“Sally's people didn't have that kind of clout,” she continued, tears of anger and pain running down her cheeks like tiny silver rivers. “But mine did. You used me! The only decent thing you did was to keep from seducing me totally, but then, you didn't need to go that far, because you were already sleeping with Sally!”

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was
the first time in his life that he'd been at a loss for words, but he was literally speechless.

“And
you
can accuse
me
of lying?” she demanded in a choked tone. “Sally lied. But you wanted to believe her because it got you out of our engagement the day before the wedding. And you
still
believe her, because you can't admit that I was only a means to an end for your ambition. It isn't a broken heart you're nursing, it's broken pride because you couldn't get anywhere without a woman's family name to get you a loan!”

He took a short breath. “I got that loan on my own collateral,” he said angrily.

“You got it on
my
father's name,” she countered. “Mr. Sims, the bank president, said so. He even laughed about it, about how you were already making use of your future father-in-law to help you mend your family fortunes!”

He hadn't known that. He'd put the land up for security and he'd always assumed that it had been enough. He should have realized that his father's reputation as a gambler would have made him a dangerous risk as a borrower.

“Antonia,” he began hesitantly, reaching out a hand.

She slapped it away immediately. “Don't you touch me,” she said hotly. “I've had the Longs to hell and back! You can take this for gospel—if your daughter doesn't study, she won't pass. And if that costs me my job, I don't care!”

She jerked open the door and got out, only to find Powell there waiting for her, dark-eyed and glowering.

“I'm not going to let you take out any sort of vengeance on Maggie,” he said shortly. “And if you don't stop giving her hell because of grudges against her mother, you'll be out of a job, I promise you.”

“Do your worst,” she invited with soft venom, her gray eyes flashing at him. “You can't hurt me more than you already have. Very soon now, I'll be beyond the reach of any vengeance you like to pursue!”

“Think so?” With a lightning-quick movement, he jerked her against his lean, hard body and bent to her mouth.

The kiss was painful, and not just physically. He kissed her without tenderness, with nothing more than a need to punish. His tongue insinuated itself past her lips in a cold, calculating parody of sex, while his hands twisted her body against his lean hips.

She stiffened, trying to fight, but she was too weak to force him to let go. She opened her eyes and looked at him, stared at him, until he thought she'd had enough. Just at the last, he relented. His mouth became soft and slow and sensuous, teasing, testing. His hands slid up to her waist and he nibbled at her lower lip with something like tenderness. But she refused him even the semblance of response. She stood like a statue in his grasp, her eyes open, wet with tears, her mouth rigid.

When his eyes opened again, he looked oddly guilty. Her mouth was swollen and her face was very pale.

He winced. “I shouldn't have done that,” he said curtly.

She laughed coldly. “No, it wasn't necessary,” she agreed. “I'd already gotten the message. You held me in such contempt that you didn't even change out of your working clothes. You took me to a bar….” She pulled away from him, a little shakily. “You couldn't have made your opinion of me any plainer.”

He pushed his hat back on his head. “I didn't mean it to turn out like this,” he said angrily.

“Didn't you?” She stared up at him with eyes that hated him and loved him, with eyes that would soon lose the ability to see him at all. She took a breath and it ended on a sob.

“Oh, God, don't,” he groaned. He pulled her into his arms, but this time without passion, without anger. He held her against his heart with hands that protected, cherished, and she felt his lips in her hair, at her temple. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Annie.” He bit off the words.

It was the first time he'd used the nickname he'd called her when she was eighteen. The sound of his deep voice calmed her. She let him hold her. It would be the last time. She closed her eyes and it was as if it was yesterday—
she was a girl in love, and he was the beginning of her world.

“It was…so long ago,” she whispered brokenly.

“A lifetime,” he replied in a hushed tone. His arms cradled her and she felt his cheek move tenderly against her blond hair. “Why didn't I wait?” he whispered almost to himself, and his eyes closed. “Another day, just one more day…”

“We can't have the past back,” she said. His arms were warm against the cold, and strong, comforting. She savored the glory of them around her for one last time. No matter how he felt about her, she would have this memory to take down into the dark with her.

She fought tears. Once, he would have done anything for her. Or she'd thought that he would. It was cruel to think that he had only used her as a means to an end.

“You're skin and bones,” he said after a minute.

“I've had a hard year.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her temple. “They've all been hard years, one way or another.” He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry about tonight. God, I'm sorry!”

“It doesn't matter. Maybe we needed to clear the air.”

“I'm not sure we cleared anything.” He drew back and looked down at her sad face. He touched her swollen mouth tenderly, and he looked repentant. “In the old days, I never hurt you deliberately,” he said quietly. “I've changed, haven't I, Annie?”

“We've both changed. We've grown older.”

“But not wiser, in my case. I'm still leading with my chin.” He pushed a few wisps of blond hair away from her mouth. “Why did you come home? Was it because of me?”

She couldn't tell him that. “My father hasn't been well,” she said, evading a direct answer. “He needs me. I never realized how much until Christmas.”

“I see.”

She looked up into his black eyes with grief already building in her face.

“What's wrong?” he asked gently. “Can't you tell me?”

She forced a smile. “I'm tired. That's all, I'm just tired.” She reached up and smoothed her hand slowly over his lean cheek. “I have to go inside.” On an impulse, she stood on tiptoe. “Powell…would you kiss me, just once…the way you used to?” she asked huskily, her gray eyes pleading with him.

It was an odd request, but the stormy evening had robbed him of the ability to reason properly. He didn't answer. He bent, nuzzling her face, searching for her lips, and he kissed her as he had on their very first date, so long ago. His mouth was warm and searching and cautious, as if he didn't want to frighten her. She reached up to him and held him close. For a few precious seconds, there was no dreaded future, no painful past. She melted into the length of him, moaning softly when she felt the immediate response of his body to hers. He half lifted her against him, and his mouth became demanding, insistent, intimate. She gave what he asked, holding him close. For this moment, he belonged to her and she loved him so…!

An eternity later, she drew gently away without
looking at him, pulling her arms from around his neck. The scent of his cologne was in her nostrils, the taste of him was in her mouth. She hoped that she could remember this moment, at the end.

She managed a smile as she stood on shaky legs. “Thanks,” she said huskily. She stared up at him as if she wanted to memorize his face. In fact, she did.

He scowled. “I took you out because I wanted to talk to you,” he said heavily.

“We talked,” she replied, moving back. “Even if nothing got settled. There are too many scars, Powell. We can't go back. But I won't hurt Maggie, even if it means leaving the job, okay?”

“You don't have to go that far,” he snapped.

She just smiled. “It will come to that,” she replied. “She's got the upper hand, you see, and she knows it. It doesn't matter,” she added absently as she stared at him. “In the long run, it doesn't matter at all. Maybe it's even for the best.” She took a long, slow breath, drinking in the sight of him. “Goodbye, Powell. I'm glad you've been so successful. You've got everything you ever wanted. Be happy.”

She turned and went into the house. She hadn't thanked him for the coffee. But, then, he probably didn't expect it. She was glad that her father was watching a television program intently, because when she called good-night, he didn't ask how it had gone. It saved her the pain of telling him. It spared her his pity when he saw the tears she couldn't stem.

 

Powell's step was slow and leaden as he went into his house. He was drained of emotion, tired and disheartened. Always he'd hoped that one day he and Antonia would find their way back together again, but he couldn't seem to get past the bitterness, and she'd closed doors tonight. She'd kissed him as if she were saying goodbye. Probably she had been. She didn't like Maggie, and that wouldn't change. Maggie didn't like her, either. Sally was gone, but she'd left a barrier between them in the person of one small belligerent girl. He couldn't get to Antonia because Maggie stood in the way. It was a sad thought, when he'd realized tonight how much Antonia still meant to him.

Surprisingly he found his daughter sitting on the bottom step of the staircase in her school clothes, waiting for him when he walked into his house.

“What are you doing up? Where's Mrs. Bates?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She had to go home. She said I'd be okay since you weren't supposed to be gone long.” She studied his face with narrowed, resentful eyes. “Did you tell Miss Hayes that she'd better be nice to me from now on?”

He frowned. “How did you know I took Miss Hayes out?”

“Mrs. Bates said you did.” She glared harder. “She said Miss Hayes was sweet, but she's not. She's mean to me. I told her that you hated her. I told her that you
wanted her to go away and never come back. You did say that, Daddy, you know you did.”

He felt frozen inside. No wonder Antonia had been so hostile, so suspicious! “When did you tell Miss Hayes that?” he demanded.

“Last week.” Her lower lip protruded. “I want her to go away, too. I hate her!”

“Why?” he asked.

“She's so stupid,” she muttered. “She goes all gooey when Julie brings her flowers and plays up to her. She doesn't even know that Julie's just doing it so she can be teacher's pet. Julie doesn't even come over to play with me anymore, she's too busy drawing pictures for Miss Hayes!”

The resentment in his daughter's face was a revelation. He remembered Sally being that way about Antonia. When they'd first been married, she'd been scathing about Antonia going to college and getting a job as a teacher. Sally hadn't wanted to go away to school. She'd wanted to marry Powell. She'd said that Antonia had laughed about his calling off the wedding and saying that she'd marry George who was richer anyway…lies, all lies!