Unlikely Allies (31 page)

“I’m not betraying her trust that way, but believe me, she knows he doesn’t love her.”

“But—”

“No buts, Mags. You can’t fix him or change the way he feels.” Kat squeezed Maggie’s shoulder, her frown turned into a smirk and disappeared just as fast. “But you can give the munchkin something she really wants.”

“What?” She grabbed Kat’s hand, willing to accept her sister’s insight if it would make Cece happier.

“Hmm . . .” Kat tapped her chin with her finger, drawing out the anticipation and making Maggie crazy. “I’ll give you a hint . . . six-pack, thirty-something . . .”

Before Kat finished, Maggie slammed open the screen door and rushed down the steps, stomping across the overgrown lawn. She didn’t want to hear any more. Taking her advice would be like jumping out of a frying pan and into the fire. She hadn’t told Kat about the elder Mr. Stone’s threats, and she didn’t plan to either.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kat stormed after her, raring to go again.

Maggie plopped down in a swing and kicked the grass, swaying back and forth. “I thought you didn’t like Rick.”

There were three other slings to choose from, and of course Kat picked the seat next to her. Kat’s legs pumped really fast as she tried to kick the leaves hanging from a low branch Maggie meant to cut down. “I got over it, you should too.”

“I don’t need to get over anything.”

Kat snorted, and on a downward pass, snagged the chain at Maggie’s shoulder and yanked, almost knocking her off the seat as it twisted side to side and tipped forward. Maggie clasped onto the metal links above her head, threw her legs straight out, and planted her sneakers in the grass so she didn’t fall. “I have enough man troubles, don’t you think? Isn’t that what you were warning me about two seconds ago?”

“Oh, honey, Rick Stone kinda trouble, you definitely want.” Kat’s growl took on a whole different tone, deep and seductive followed by heavy panting like a dog left out in hundred-degree heat.

Unable to hold it in, Maggie burst out laughing as Kat flicked her tongue along her forefinger and sucked it into her mouth, imitating a sex act. “You’re a sick, demented individual, you know that, right?”

At least five feet in the air, in an upswing, Kat leapt off her seat and planted both legs on the ground, tossing her hands above her head as if she were a gymnast performing a full vault. She swung around and took a bow, saluting Maggie while walking toward the kitchen. “I gotta get to work. Do me a favor, Mags.”

Since Maggie had the rest of the week off she figured Kat would assign some chore or maybe even impart more of her sage advice. Because they ended their discussion on a somewhat positive note, she decided not to ignore her. “What’s that?”

“Get laid.”

Another load of laundry in the machine, a basket of Kat’s clothes folded and ready to put away, Maggie scratched off each chore listed on a notepad next to her cell phone on the counter. The entire house swept, upstairs and down, she turned the hot tap on in the kitchen and set the bucket underneath, ready to scrub the shelves in the fridge and the interior of the oven. The busier she kept herself, the less time she’d have to think. Even after Kat’s warnings, her brain refused to focus on Jake. Instead it taunted her with sexy images of Rick. After planting the “get laid” seed, he’d been all she could think about.

Six pack, twelve, she hadn’t counted. The part that kept popping up in her mind, the rigid length he’d pressed into the crease of her behind on numerous occasions. She wondered how big he was. By the evidence, she guessed at least seven, eight inches. No idea what size a typical guy might be, she knew he wasn’t average in any way. If she traced his expansive shoulders and narrow waist with her tongue, his outline would form a perfect triangle. The tip pointing to the grand prize hidden behind his form-fitting dress pants that cupped his butt, and the treasure she couldn’t seem to stop obsessing about, front and center, below his belt.

His scent, like a wild berry pie baked over an apple wood fire, conjured up a different kind of emotion. Fond memories of family and camping. For as long as she could remember, their summer vacations were spent in the Colorado Mountains, roughing it in a tent and fishing from Dad’s rowboat. They were some of her happiest moments, and the kind she wanted Cece to experience too. An image of Rick roasting marshmallows over a campfire made her smile. She couldn’t picture Mr. Executive enjoying something so primitive. What she envisioned, though, was Rick standing next to the flickering and dancing flames, unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt in a slow striptease just for her.

As she sat back on her legs, removing a casserole dish and a bag of fresh veggies from the bottom shelf of the fridge, her mind wandered to his strong hands, which didn’t belong to someone in corporate America. His thick-veined grip could be a construction worker’s, more apt to lift steel beams and operate a jackhammer than shuffle papers. Whenever he yanked her against him, she got a tingling rush. To be manhandled by him, yeah, she’d love that. He’d shove her pants down, drop to his knees, and spread her legs wide. His long fingers and tongue would ram into her core. She sighed. Yep, rough sex would definitely be his style.

He reminded her of an untamed mustang. Both had a compact and natural muscular appearance that moved with commanding, swift elegance—an unrestrained wildness. Between his confident strut, determined attitude, and the force of his unyielding grip, the similarities couldn’t be denied. Ever since they met, she had the hottest, most orgasmic fantasies about him. As much as she needed to forget him, she couldn’t. It would take time. Lots and lots of time, but she’d get over him. She had no choice.

After the way she acted, he’d stay away for sure. The mockery she’d made of their intimacy twisted her up inside so much, she had to get out of that lounge as quick as possible. She’d been beating herself up ever since. If he said those things to her, she would have crumpled into a heap. Since she’d fallen madly in love with him. As awful as she’d been, at least she knew he couldn’t feel the same. He never showed any interest other than lust and wanting to get her into bed. Although, now that she thought about it, he never implied he’d take her there either.

The doorbell rang and she slammed the fridge shut, stumbling into a jog. “Don’t open it.” As if in a stampede her daughter ran in the same direction. She scooped Cece into her arms and held the squirming bundle in position to look through the peephole. One of her favorite things to do.

“Who is it?”

Cece clapped and shouted, “Miss Em, Miss Em.”

What the heck? Sure enough, on the porch stood Rick’s mother. She had a pink bucket with books sticking out of it pressed to her chest.

“Hi, um, hi,” Maggie sputtered.

“Surprise.” Emma came in as Maggie took a step back.

Cece leaned over. “Let me see.” With her nose stuck in the bucket, she yanked a coloring book and crayons out, shoving them in Maggie’s face.

“Whoa, young lady. That is very rude. Put them back.”

Both of the items were dropped into Cece’s lap. She pouted and turned around to return them. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. They’re for you anyway. Do you mind? Can I set it down?” Emma pointed her thumb toward the coffee table in the living room.

“Sure, sure, go ahead.” After putting Cece on the wooden floor, she prodded, “What do you say to Miss Emma?”

“Thank ya.” Cece hopped onto the couch next to their guest, folding her legs under her bum, the coloring book already open on her lap and crayons dumped onto the cushions.

Emma brushed a hand down Cece’s arm. “I wanted to check on you. How you feeling, sweetie?”

“'Kay.” Once Cece had something new to play with, little could distract her. She’d keep herself occupied for the next hour at least.

Maggie shuffled closer and perched a leg on the arm of the sofa near Emma. “I guess Rick told you.”

When Emma turned toward Maggie, her brows scrunched. “Uh, yeah, he did.” She patted Cece on the knee. “She came to see us in CCU. Didn’t you, sweetie.”

Cece’s head popped up from the princess dress she’d been shading in turquoise, shaking her head side to side, eyes bugging out. Oh, Maggie knew that caught-with-her-hand-in-the-cookie-jar-and-deny-it expression well. In this case, what Cece and her idiot sister had done was far worse than sneaking sweets. Their actions thrust her into damage control mode, racking her brain with the potential repercussions. “How is your father-in-law?” She didn’t give a damn about his recovery. Her concern had to do with how soon he’d strike.

“He’s in step down, getting better. Strong as an ox, that man. Shocked us when he had a heart attack.” Emma squeezed her hand. “Thanks for asking, that’s so nice of you.”

Shame rushed through Maggie for deceiving the kind woman, and she jumped up from the arm of the couch. “Can I get you some tea?” She already made it halfway to the kitchen before Emma confirmed she did. The soapy suds in a metal pail reminded her about the person she’d been thinking of while doing chores, causing her cheeks and neck to warm. Bent over, she shoved the casserole and veggies into the fridge and moved the bucket out of the way. As she turned to put it on the counter, she rammed an elbow into Emma’s stomach and the water sloshed over the side, dampening her white blouse. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you were behind me. I’m so sorry.” Swiping a stack of napkins from a basket on top of the microwave near the fridge, she patted the wet spot, apologizing over and over.

“It’s okay. Just water, no big deal.” Emma sat down in a chair and laughed as she brushed a curly brown lock out of her eyes.

Maggie set a roll of paper towels on the table in front of Emma. “Here. These might do a better job.”

Unraveling several sheets and folding them in a pile, Emma tucked the bundle under her shirt and patted the tiny bump. “All good. It’ll dry while you make tea.”

“Oh, yeah.” Maggie filled the kettle with tap water and placed it on the stove. The wooden tea box sat on the counter. She propped open the top and asked, “What would you like?”

“Hmm . . . so many choices.” Emma picked up three packets in different rows before deciding on wild orange wulong oolong.

“That’s a good one.” Maggie selected a couple mugs from the stand next to the stove and placed them on the Formica counter. “I’ll have some too.” Full of nervous energy, imagining Emma could read her previous thoughts, she leaned against the counter, hands twisting. “Can I get you something to eat?” Good old hospitality and preparing food would help settle her down. She’d seen Emma a little over a week ago and even though the catering went well, she didn’t expect a visit. Being on her own turf didn’t reduce the jitters. Neither did Emma’s scrutinizing glances, like she had something to say but wasn’t ready to reveal it yet.

“I um, I can uh, make you a sandwich if you like.” She grabbed a Tupperware container off the table, removing the lid. “Homemade biscotti. Would you like some?”

Emma leaned over, placing her hand on Maggie’s arm. “That would be fine. Nothing else though, thank you.” She tilted her head to a chair next to her. “Would you mind sitting, relax a little?”

The sweet and hopeful tone in Emma’s voice had her doing as asked, but Maggie sat in silence, concentrating on her thumbnail rubbing along the rim on the plastic container.

Emma cleared her throat. “I thought maybe I could sign that book while I’m here.”

More at ease, Maggie looked up and smiled. “I’d love that. I’ll get it before you go.”

Nodding, Emma’s gaze drifted over to the fridge, scanning the photos. “You have a beautiful family.”

“So do you . . .” She couldn’t believe that came out. “I, uh, um, I . . .”

A smirk tilted up one side of Emma’s lips. “It’s okay. I agree. I always wished I had more children.”

“Why didn’t you?” Her hand thrown over her mouth, she couldn’t understand why she’d blurted the question. “Oh god, jeez, just ignore me,” she mumbled through her fingers.

Emma laughed. “It’s okay.” She shrugged and glanced at the pictures again, but her eyes seemed unfocused, reminiscent. “I was twenty-five when Max and I got married. A year later, I had Rick. I was a stay-at-home mom and took full advantage, writing several manuscripts. He was five when I got my first publishing contract. That’s when the rat race began. Part of the agreement was traveling to conventions, doing book tours. I didn’t mind. I wanted to connect with readers. Before I knew it, four or five novels a year, raising Rick, and jet-setting across the country, time got by me.”

When the kettle whistled Maggie hopped up again, filled both mugs, and set them on the table. “Would you like sugar, cream?”

“You have honey?”

Maggie grinned; she liked her tea that way too. A natural sweetener. After they had their drinks fixed, she took a sip and sighed. While she dunked the biscotti and munched away, she gulped small mouthfuls to wash it down.

“I was wondering . . . about you and Rick.”

Spewed tea with chunky bits flew onto the table and on Emma’s thumb looped through the cup handle. Her choking gasps had Emma leaping from the seat and rubbing her back. Maggie covered her mouth with a clump of paper towels, muffling the gagging and crumbs that lodged in her throat. From the living room, she heard Cece shout, “Hands up, Mama.” Which had always been her advice when Cece had a similar experience. After several swallows and deep breaths, the gag reflex stopped, and she took a swig of tea. Her eyes were watery, and she swiped them with the backs of her hands.