Maid for Love (4 page)

"Why would you want to live alone with your son in a place where no one knows you?"

She shot him a withering look.

He had no idea what she meant. He'd ask his sister Janey. She knew everything that went on in Gansett.

A knock on the door startled them.

"Maddie? Are you home?"

He got up to answer it. A pretty dark-haired woman looked at him with accusatory eyes. "Jim came home for lunch and saw a man…" Her brows furrowed. "Who are you, and what're you doing in my sister's apartment?"

"Come in, Tiff," Maddie called.

Mac stepped aside to admit her, deciding that Tiffany must resemble their other parent, because he saw none of fair-haired Maddie in her. And whereas Maddie's curves were extravagant, her sister had the lean, lithe build of a dancer. At the moment, she resembled a protective panther about to pounce.

Tiffany saw Maddie and let out a gasp. "What happened?"

Mac extended his hand. "Mac McCarthy."

Tiffany just stared at him, and once again, Mac wondered why his name drew such an odd, almost hostile, reaction from the Chester sisters.

He let his hand drop to his side. "We had an accident," he said, filling Tiffany in on the details.

She went to her sister for a closer look. "Oh God, Maddie."

"I know."

"Don't worry," Mac said. "I'm taking care of her."

Tiffany's head whipped around, and the look she gave him could've cut glass.
What was that all about?
"I'll take care of my sister. You can go now."

"I tried that," Maddie said. "He's quite difficult to get rid of."

For a brief instant, Mac thought he saw affection on her face, but it was gone before he could celebrate the breakthrough.

"It's my fault that she's in this predicament, so I'll be covering for her at the hotel and at the daycare until she's able to get back to work," Mac said.

Tiffany looked from her sister to Mac and back again to Maddie. "You can't be serious."

"What else can I do, Tiff? I can't lose the hotel job, and you've got your dance classes. We need the help. I can barely move, let alone take care of four babies."

"How will you care for Thomas?"

"We were just discussing that when you arrived," Mac said.

"You'll move in with us until you're recovered," Tiffany declared.

"Tiff," Maddie said softly, "you know that's not a good idea. The way things are with you and Jim right now, the last thing you need is me and Thomas underfoot."

Tiffany seemed annoyed that her sister had mentioned her marital problems in front of "the enemy."

Mac watched Tiffany's expressive face as she ran through the various options and came to the same conclusion he had—Maddie needed him, and he was going to be there for her. Why he was so determined to help her was something he could ponder after he cleaned up the mess he'd made of her life.

"What does he know about taking care of babies?" Tiffany asked her sister.

"Not much, but I'll be there to guide him."

Tiffany turned to him. "I'll expect you downstairs at three, and if you screw up or hurt her any more than you already have, you'll answer to me. Are we clear?"

Mac refused to be intimidated by a tiny slip of a woman, but damn, she was kind of scary. "Crystal."

"Do you need anything?" she asked Maddie.

"No, thanks. You'd better get back so Jim can leave."

"I'll see you later." Tiffany brushed past Mac and slammed the door.

"Pleasant," he said to Maddie.

"Protective."

"What did I ever do to the two of you?"

"It's not you…"

"Then who?"

Her open expression slammed shut faster than the door had. "No one."

Even though she refused to say so, Mac knew that someone in his family had done this woman wrong, and if it was the last thing he ever did, he'd find out who. He had a bad feeling he wasn't going to like what he uncovered.

"Will you be all right for a little while?" Mac asked a short time later.

"Of course." Maddie felt like she could sleep for a year.

"I need to do a couple of things, but I'll be back well before three."

"Okay."

"Do you need me to pick up anything while I'm out?"

"No, thank you."

"You look like you could use a nap. Would you like me to help you into bed before I leave?"

Maddie's face heated with embarrassment. "I, um, I sleep here. The bed pulls out. Thomas sleeps in the bedroom."

"Do you want me to pull it out for you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"All right, then…"

He seemed both reluctant and anxious to go. Maddie wondered if he'd really be back. Once he reconnected with his family in their big white house, he'd forget all about his charity case in town. The thought of never seeing him again made her sad and then mad—what did she care if he didn't come back?

"You're sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes! Just go!"

"You're really good for my ego, you know that? I've never had a woman so anxious to be rid of me."

"A little dose of humility might be just what you need."

He flashed her the smile that had no doubt convinced many a woman to part with her panties. The bolt of heat that chased through her surprised and angered her. Maddie had no desire to be another notch on his belt, so why was she wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him, to be held in those strong arms when he was offering more than comfort?

"See you later," he said.

Watching him go, all broad shoulders, cocky arrogance and sure-of-himself-and-who-he-was-in-the-world elegance, she should've hated him. She'd spent most of her life envying—and hating—the McCarthys.

He had grown up with everything she'd ever wanted—a safe, secure home, a large boisterous family, and two parents who seemed utterly devoted to each other and their gaggle of kids. After working for his parents for the last eight years, Maddie had discovered that Big Mac and Linda saved their love and affection for their family, sparing very little on their employees, especially grunt workers like her.

Maddie sat there for a long time, thinking about how it was possible that she could actually be somewhat attracted to a McCarthy, of all people. The thought disgusted her. "I refuse to be like every other female alive who falls swooning at the feet of the mighty McCarthy brothers," she said out loud, as if saying the words might bolster her flagging resistance.

When he'd sat so close to her on the sofa that she could feel the heat of his skin, she'd wanted to run as far from him as she could get. Only a man like him, who thought he could get away with anything, would sit that close a woman he'd just met. That she'd felt so safe and cared for in his presence was yet another reason to be disgusted with herself. He didn't give a damn about her, and she'd do well to remember that lest she be swayed by his irresistible appeal.

As she gritted her teeth and tried to move into a more comfortable position on the sofa, she decided that road rash hurt way worse than broken bones. Even the ankle she'd broken in sixth grade hadn't hurt like this.

Turning onto her uninjured side, she finally found relief from the pulsing pain in her arm and leg. She also discovered that Mac had left his backpack in her kitchen. Much to her dismay, that, too, brought relief.

Mac jogged the short distance from Maddie's place to the town's main drag, looking for a cab. When he saw a beat-up woody station wagon heading his way, he smiled and flagged it down.

"Well, I'll be," Ned Saunders said as he pulled up to the curb and jumped out of the car to greet Mac with a bear hug. "Little Mac McCarthy. Are pigs flying in hell and no one told me?"

Mac laughed and hugged his father's best friend. Since Ned's thick white hair was spiked at awkward angles, Mac deduced that the old man still didn't own a comb. His grizzled beard and tobacco-yellowed smile were just as Mac remembered, even though he'd heard Ned gave up his beloved cigarettes a year or so ago after a cancer scare. He wore a Gansett T-shirt that might've once been red, madras plaid shorts that probably dated back to the first time they'd been in style, and battered flip-flops.

"You look great, Ned. Not one day older than when I last saw you."

His tanned face crinkled at the corners of devilish blue eyes. "Aw shit, boy, y'always were a charmer, now, weren't ya?"

"So my mama tells me."

"Speaking of yo mama, she know yer here?"

"Not yet. That's where I'm heading now."

"Yer travelin light, boy."

"I left my bag with a friend. I'll grab it later."

Ned pushed a pile of discarded coffee cups, paper bags and newspapers to the floor and flashed a sheepish grin as he gestured for Mac to join him in the front seat. "I sure am glad to see ya. Yer daddy's been giving me fits lately, talking about selling the place and retiring."

Mac wished he knew why his father selling McCarthy's saddened him so profoundly. His life, his home, his work were more than a thousand miles away. Why should he care if his parents decided to sell their business?

Mac and his siblings had grown up on those docks, had been weaned on his mother's famous sugar donuts and New England clam chowder in the marina restaurant, had held crab races on the pier and earned spending money working there as teenagers. The place was hardwired into their DNA, and the thought of someone else owning it felt so unbearably wrong.

"You really think he's serious?"

"Got himself an interested buyer and everything. I'd say he's pretty serious."

Mac sighed as Ned navigated the cab through the bustling downtown area on the way to North Harbor. Once they cleared town, the island's bucolic beauty unfolded like a red carpet, welcoming Mac home. Rolling fields of green, stonewalls, saltbox houses with crushed-shell driveways, rows of grapes waiting to be harvested, cabbage roses and jasmine. Mac rolled down the window to let the perfume of home drift into the car.

"No place like home," the older man said with a knowing smile. "Ya ever think about coming back?"

"No way. Things are good in Miami. Business is booming."

"More to life than work, boy. Yer daddy taught you that."

Truer words were never spoken. Somehow Big Mac had managed to run a thriving business that demanded his full attention every summer without sacrificing his family. His five children always knew where they stood with him and that nothing was more important to him than their safety and happiness.

As Mac watched the road to home unfold around him, a sudden and powerful urge to recapture the magic of his childhood overtook him. He wanted to go back to the time before the island closed in around him like a prison. He wanted to go back to those endless summer days of fog and sun and boats and people. The startling realization shocked him to his core and sent his life plan out the window like a piece of paper sucked into Gansett's balmy breezes.

"Ya know," Ned said, "if just one of you kids showed the slightest interest in the place, yer daddy would never sell it."

Mac had no idea how to reply to that, so he said nothing. Approaching his parents' rambling home at the top of the hill, Mac caught his first glimpse of the action below: McCarthy's Gansett Inn, perched on a hill of its own overlooking the marina and busy harbor. Adirondack chairs peppered the hotel lawn, and boats were packed three and four deep against the marina's main pier. After five years away, not one thing about the cluster of white buildings and docks looked different to Mac.

They pulled into the driveway of Mac's childhood home, and he reached for his wallet.

"Don't even think about it," Ned growled.

"Thanks for the lift." Mac shook Ned's hand. "It's good to see you."

"You, too." Ned held Mac's hand longer than necessary. "Ya know, sometimes life puts things in yer path to show ya where ya belong." Ned fixed his eyes on the marina. "Don't miss what's right in front of ya."

Mac had a sudden vision of the lovely but bitter woman who'd crossed his path earlier in the day and was filled with a profound sense that something huge was about to change.

Ned released Mac's hand and smiled at him as if he hadn't just rocked his world.

"See ya 'round," Ned said.

"Yeah," Mac said. "See ya."

He flipped the latch on the gate to his parents' two-story white colonial. Stepping into his mother's rose garden, he took a moment to appreciate the fragile multicolored blooms and intoxicating scent before continuing up the stairs to the wide front porch.

Since none of the year-rounders believed in locks, Mac walked right into the house. "Anyone home?"

Silence and the aroma of potpourri greeted him.

Walking on gleaming hardwood floors, he passed a wall of school photos of the young McCarthy siblings on his way to the recently modernized kitchen that looked out over the marina and North Harbor. Mac remembered his father staring out those windows, taking in every nuance of the goings on below. The employees often joked about Big Mac spying on them from "The White House."