What Were You Expecting? (3 page)

“Need a hand?”

Maggie used all of her effort to turn her face from Nils to Paul. Paul nodded, looking relieved and tilting his head toward Maggie. “She started feeling tired and wanted to go home so we left, but I left my wallet at the bar. Can you take her the rest of the way home?”

“Ummm,” said Maggie to no one in particular, staring at the pavement to steady herself. “I’m standin’ right here. I can take myself the rest of the way home.”

“No problem. I’ll see to her. You go get your wallet.”

“Yep,” she slurred. “Go get yer wallet, Nils.”

“No, not him, me. I’m going to— Aw, forget it. She’s three sheets. Thanks, Nils. Night, Mags.”

“’Night, Nils,” she murmured, listening to his retreating footsteps.

Paul must have gone to work out somewhere for a few minutes, because when he gripped her waist again, his arm was stronger and bigger and he held her tighter than before, like even if she wanted to pull away from him, he wouldn’t let her now. Like he wouldn’t let her go.

She stared at the pavement, watching her boots as they moved along.

“Come on, Maggie May. Let’s get you home.”

“Only Nils calls me Maggie May.”

“Yep. That’s right.”

“So, don’ call me that, Paul. You should know better.” Her words took a lot of effort, but she didn’t want to think about Nils Lindstrom, about the way it had felt to be pressed against his chest in the bar. “Since yer m’best friend, can I tell ye somethin’?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Y’ know Nils Lindstrom?”

“Boy, you’re in rough shape,” said Paul, but he didn’t sound exactly like Paul, probably because he was so drunk. In fact, he sounded a lot like Nils Lindstrom, all low-toned and grouchy. Tricks. Tricky beer mind games. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Well, I’m gonna let you in on a li’l secret, chum, and it’s—”

“Maggie, I don’t think you should tell m—”

“—this. We been circlin’ each other for four-ish years, and I’m a-tellin’ y’ true. That man needs to bed me or wed me, Paulie. Anythin’ else is puir wastin’ me time.”

“Is that right?” Paul’s voice was deep and gravelly.

“Tha’s right,” she said, resolutely, tripping over a seam in the sidewalk. Paul hauled her up against his side, his paw-like hand tight against her hip. Since when were Paul’s hands so massive? “Paul! The beer ate your hands an’ gave you bear hands.”

“Whew. Careful, now.”

They were almost at the Prairie Dawn. Almost home. Maggie looked up at the dark sky, littered with tears, and felt stars in her eyes.

“I wish I dinna love him so well,” she whispered.

Paul’s arm tightened around her as she whispered the words, but he didn’t say anything until they got to her door. “Maggie May, where’re your keys?”

She was leaning up against the wall beside her back door, but she felt so heavy and wobbly, she started to lean forward. Suddenly a hand was pressed into her abdomen, keeping her upright against the wall and a moment later she heard the sound of a key twisting in a lock.

“I hate it that you leave one under the mat. Anyone could…” Grouchy-voiced Paul kept talking about the unsafe practice of leaving keys under mats as she swayed and tried not to giggle at him. Then suddenly she was being carried up the flight of stairs to her apartment. The world swirled and her stomach rebelled and she closed her eyes, pressing her face into a warm neck that smelled of sandalwood and sweat. It smelled like Nils Lindstrom. It made her stomach calm down like magic.

“You smell like ’im, Paul,” she sighed. “You smell like Nils. It makes me wan’ kiss you.”

How had she gotten to her bed? Had she taken her coat off or had Paul? He was pulling her boots off gently, first one, then the other.

“Gotta take your jeans off, Mags. They’re soaked.”

“Don’ get fresh…” she said in a singsong voice, her eyes still closed against the threat of spin.

She felt warm fingers graze her belly under her jeans as they unbuttoned the five buttons in her fly. The same fingers moved to her waist, peeling the jeans away from her skin and tugging them down over her panties. His fingers trailed lightly down the outside of her thighs as he pulled gently, finally freeing them from the curve of her ankle. His fingers hooked into the tops of her socks and he pulled them down until her feet were as bare as her legs. She heard a couple of drawers open and close and a moment later she felt dry, fuzzy socks being rolled onto her feet, and then her covers were pulled up and around her.

A warm hand brushed the bangs off her forehead, and then Nils Lindstrom’s voice whispered in her ear—it was a cool trick that drunk Paul could sound so much like growly Nils—and the sound was like heaven.

“You need anything else?”

“Nah, I’m goin’ asleep,” she sighed, snuggling into her pillow. “Just don’ tell Nils what I told you, ’kay? He doesna like me that way. Doesn’a see me that way neither. Doesn’a matter. Yer my best friend ever.”

“It’s okay,” he said. She felt soft lips graze her forehead, brushing back and forth gently before pulling away. “’Night, Maggie May.”

“’Night, Paul,” she murmured, falling immediately into a deep sleep.

Chapter 2

“Nils! I’ve said your name three times, son,” his father scolded him from desk next to his.

“Sorry, Pop.”

“Where’s your head at today?”

Morning sunlight streamed into the small office, the cold rain from the night before long gone. But his memories from last night were just as fresh as if he’d left Maggie’s apartment five minutes ago.
That man needs to bed me or wed me… I wish I dinna like him so well… It makes me wan’ kiss you.
Nils took a shaky breath, wishing he’d never heard those things, wishing he didn’t know what they sounded like in his ears.

He glanced at his father. “Don’t know. Distracted, I guess.”

“Feeling okay?”

“Oh, sure.”

“I tell you what…how about you go get us two decent-tasting coffees from Maggie’s place and when you get back we’ll discuss the McCarthy group coming in for the month of July.”

“M-Maggie’s?”

“Yeah. I’ll have one of them lat-tays with cinnamon.” His father shoved his glasses up from the tip of his nose and turned his attention back to the files.

Nils stood up slowly, not sure he was ready to see Maggie after last night. She was so drunk, he doubted she’d have any recollection of the things she’d said to him, and yet they were seared on Nils’s brain like a brand.
That man needs to bed me or wed me…That man needs to bed me or wed me…
Well, they lived in the same small town. Best to bite the bullet and smooth things over as soon as possible. Not to mention, he was going to have to work with Maggie on his father’s surprise party. He couldn’t avoid her forever.

He cleared his throat and pushed back from his desk. “Sure, Pop. I’ll, uh, I’ll maybe take a quick walk first. Get a little fresh air. Be back in a bit.”

Outside it was sunny, though cool for early May. Nils’s favorite weather. He turned away from the Prairie Dawn and headed up the road, hoping to clear his head a little bit.

The first time he saw Maggie, working with her Aunt Lily at the Prairie Dawn, he’d been taken with her. Her strawberry-blonde head was bent over a cappuccino machine that was getting the full force of her frustration as she swore at it repeatedly in her thick Scottish accent.

“Ye keech sheepshagger of a—”

“Ah-hem,” Nils had cleared his throat to get her attention, but hadn’t prepared himself for the emerald green eyes that flashed up to meet his. He was rendered speechless by their sparkling depths, bursting with mischief and humor.

“Ya caught me cursin’,” she said softly with an impish grin. “This damned thing willna foam.”

He knew he was staring at her—at her smooth reddish hair that curled softly against the milky skin of her neck, at the smattering of freckles over her nose, at her cherry red lips, that spread into a bemused smile. She looked so much like…like…

“Yer starin’,” she said, smacking the back of his hand lightly twice in quick succession. “Wake up!”

The combination of her skin touching his and her gentle command forced him back to reality.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You’re new here.”

She nodded, “Aye, that I am. I’m Lily’s niece.”

“From Scotland?”

“Aye, fresh from Glasgow. Ye ever been to Glasgow?”

She turned away and when she turned back she’d placed a colorful mug of steaming coffee in front of him. He had no idea when he’d taken a seat on the stool in front of her.

“N-no. Never left Montana.”

“Och! That’s a shame. Scotland’s lovely, though not so much Glasgow. It’s a rough town. Gangs. Thieves!” She said this conspiratorially then grinned again like she was making a joke. “What
you
want is Inverness.”

“Is that what I want?” he murmured, as his heart thumped painfully behind his ribs. Her looks were so familiar to him, but her accent kept throwing him.
This isn’t Veronica. This isn’t Veronica.
She’d folded her small, white freckled hands on the bar in front of him and he noticed she wore a Claddagh ring on the fourth finger of her right hand with the heart turned out.

“Aye! The Loch Ness monster, Urquhart Castle, Cawdor Castle…d’ye like castles?” Her bright eyes captured his, animated and expectant, as he considered her question. In all his life, no one had ever asked if he liked castles. He certainly didn’t have a formed opinion. When he didn’t answer, she answered her own question. “Of course ye do. Everyone likes castles.”

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat and before he could stop it, it escaped from his lips. The male equivalent of a giggle. It sounded so foreign and so ridiculous, his eyes flew open and he rubbed his jaw with his hand, trying to get his head around this strangely familiar new girl who fairly sparkled with teasing energy.

“Ah! There ’tis. A wee smile. I knew you had one hidden somewhere behind all that sobriety.” She rolled the “r” grandly, drawing out the sound like a purr, and stuck out her hand. “I’m Maggie Campbell.”

He lowered his hand from his face, unable to wipe away his grin completely as he clasped her delicate fingers in his tanned paw of a hand. “Nils Lindstrom.”

She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him for a brief moment before pulling her hand away, but not before he noticed a slight blush flush her cheeks. “D’ye know anything about fixin’ coffeemakers, Nils?”

And he couldn’t help it. Though he had no business offering genuine smiles to pretty girls, he’d smiled at her again.

A cool breeze smacked him in the face and scattered his memories. How was it possible that was four years ago? Where had the time gone? He pulled the dark brown corduroy collar of his barn jacket up around his ears, grateful for his cowboy hat.

Before Maggie’s arrival in Gardiner, Nils had been quietly satisfied with his life. He didn’t need much, and if he had longings deep in his heart for more than his life offered, he was able to ignore them. He lived quiet and alone, loving his family and avoiding anything more than an occasional short-lived fling. He’d had his chance for love long ago and destroyed it. He knew he didn’t deserve a second chance; he’d come to terms with that truth long ago.

But after meeting Maggie that first day, a quiet battle had waged inside of him, and even as his mind won round after round, sometimes, just sometimes, his heart ached with loneliness, with the want of her. During those times, he’d leave Gardiner for a spell—lead a weeklong tour group in the park, visit Jenny in Great Falls or his brother Erik in Kalispell. Get away from Gardiner—physically remove his body from Maggie’s proximity—until he could cope with being her friend and resolve that nothing more serious than friendship must ever transpire between them. For her sake, if not for his.

Mostly, being Maggie’s friend was bearable, especially because she wasn’t attached to anyone else. It made him a selfish bastard that he didn’t make a move on her, but desperately hoped she’d remain unattached. If he truly cared for her, he’d want the best for her. He’d want for her to find a solid, responsible person to love her who didn’t have demons at his heels. He’d want her to have the life he’d never be able to share with her, the children he’d never be able to give her. And yet every time he saw Maggie—
every
time—his glance flicked to that little ring on her finger, and seeing the heart turned out made him sigh softly with relief to know that her heart still hadn’t been claimed.

He tried not to fantasize about a future with Maggie; he wanted to be content with her friendship. And though it was sometimes a struggle, mostly he was able to live with it. Mostly, he just enjoyed the time he spent with her—the scraps of her warmth devoured gratefully and shamefully at the doorstep to his imposed loneliness. He lived for the evenings he played euchre with her, Paul, and Lars at the Prairie Dawn, for her smiles when he grabbed a cup of coffee before work and the sparkle in her green eyes for a few precious moments as she prepared it for him. One thing that had made his feelings for her easier was that aside from a friendship in which she occasionally teased him or colored when he caught her staring at him, she’d never implied that she had any special feelings for him. He could admire her from afar, wishing he had a right to her, but settling for the warmth of her friendship. He could convince himself that she was content with their friendship, too.