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“Spirited. Willful. beautiful.”
He hadn’t meant to say that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything without calculating first.
Pink deepened in her cheeks, but she met his gaze dead-on. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t think you were married.”
“I don’t recall you asking,” she countered.
He nodded toward her left hand. “No wedding band.”
“Ah,” she said. “You thought right. I’m not married.”
“Divorced?”
She hesitated. “No.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s got to be one or the other, Maggie.”
“No, it doesn’t. Not if I’ve never been married.” She didn’t look away and her small, pointed chin lifted slightly in the same rebellious gesture that he’d just seen on her daughter.
So she’d had Faith outside of marriage vows. That must have fried her folks, as protective as they were. What about the rest of the people in town? Had they been rough on her? She’d said her business had been around for five years, so if they had been, it was ancient history.
But damn it, that thinking was all a smoke screen. Typical of the cold hearted man he’d become, he couldn’t stop the feeling of satisfaction that she’d never married. But that meant she’d done it alone—not the conceiving part, the raising part. And it ticked him off that a guy would use Maggie, then walk out on her.
“Do I know her father?” It was none of his business, but he couldn’t stop the question.
Her face went white. “No one knows her father.”
“Not exactly. You do.”
“I’ll clarify. I’ve never told anyone who her father is.” Her hands were shaking.
“Not ever? Not even your folks?” He found that hard to believe.
“Not a soul.” Color flushed back into her cheeks, but again he admired the fact that she didn’t look away.
He wanted to ask why she’d kept such sensitive information to herself. He wanted to demand that she tell him the guy’s name so he could make the creep sorry for deserting her. But he didn’t ask questions. If anyone under stood the necessity of keeping a secret, it was him.
“Guess you’ve got your reasons” was all he could say.
The whole time they’d been talking, spectators had been wandering by. Jack had been aware of announcements over the public address system. From time to time, static crackled in the night air. Now he heard a female voice say, “I love you, Mitch.”
“That sounded like Taylor,” Maggie said.
Jack glanced at the bleachers and noticed that all the spectators were turned to watch Mitch Rafferty and Taylor Stevens in the corral. He recognized them from the news pa per photo he’d told Maggie about. A buzz started in the crowd. After several moments it got louder and more wide spread. Finally he figured out what they were repeating over and over— “Kiss her.”
At that moment a big burly cowboy lugging a saddle walked behind Maggie and pushed her forward. Automatically Jack’s arms went around her to keep her from falling. The man’s mumbled apology penetrated part of Jack’s consciousness. But it was the very small part not taken up with wondering if an all-grown-up Maggie tasted different. The crowd was chanting even louder now and far be it from him to singlehandedly curb mob rule.
He stared into Maggie’s wide eyes. She swallowed once, and ran her tongue along her top lip. The movement was like kerosene to the sparks of his aware ness. He went hot all over. Discipline had been his middle name for the last ten years. But a short time with Maggie had sent his self-restraint into the dumper. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to care.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he lowered his mouth to hers. The sweet ness of it mustered a moan deep in his chest. He slid his arm around her waist and settled her more securely against him. He traced her bottom lip and her mouth opened, allowing him access.
He dipped inside the moist, honeyed interior. With her breasts pressed against him, he felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Satisfaction sluiced through him. This was a replay from all those years ago and felt even better now than it had then. He could still turn her warm and willing in his arms with just a touch. He lifted his head and opened his eyes in time to see that Faith had disobeyed orders.
“I guess that’s how you thank him for saving me,” she said.
“Faith,” Maggie gasped, then pushed against his chest, urging him to release her.
He let her go and side by side they both met the gaze of her daughter.
“I—I thought I told you to stay at my booth,” Maggie managed to get out.
Jack heard the slightly breath less quality to her voice and, God help him, couldn’t stop the intense feeling of pleasure that coursed through him at the sound.
“Mo-om, you said to stay with Jensen.”
“She’s at the booth,” Maggie said.
“No, she’s not,” the child answered.
“Who’s manning the booth?”
“Ronnie Slyder’s mom.”
“Where’s Jensen?” Maggie demanded.
Faith rolled her eyes. “In the stands.”
Maggie rested her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you with her as ordered?”
“I was. But now she’s talking prudence with Sheriff O’Connor,” she said.
“Juris prudence?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah. That’s what Jensen called it.” She frowned. “But the sheriff is mad about something.”
“What?” Maggie asked.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. He said something about being served. But he didn’t have any food.”
“Was it about papers?”
“Yeah, I think he mentioned some papers.”
“How did you figure that out?” Jack questioned.
Maggie met his gaze. “Some times you have to read between the lines. Jensen is an attorney now. I understand she’s taking some time off from her Dallas job and is staying with her sister Taylor on the ranch.”
“Good information. I’m going to need some legal help with Gran’s estate,” he said. “Although I don’t think it’s complicated and wouldn’t take much of her time.”
“She’d probably be happy to give you a hand.”
“I want to go home, Mom.”
“Okay.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” Again, he thought. And probably for the best after that kiss. She’d given him a cheap lesson. She always could make him forget himself before he could say damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Which was why he’d returned her letter ten years ago. He’d had an opportunity to be good at something and needed to cut any personal ties that weren’t family. He hadn’t trusted himself to resist any request she would make to get back together.
A feeling of loneliness surrounded him, a sensation he hadn’t ever felt before. The last time he’d said goodbye to Maggie, he’d had high hopes for making something of his life. Now he couldn’t shake the feeling he should have grabbed hold of her and hung on for all he was worth.
“Where are you staying, Jack?” Maggie put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and her knuckles went white.
“Gran’s house.”
“Then it’s not goodbye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Faith and I live next door. It’s more like, ‘Howdy, neighbor.’”
Chapter 3
Maggie rubbed her gritty, sleep-deprived eyes then stared for the umpteenth time at her stalled computer monitor. If she could have frozen her mind as solid as that screen, she’d have slept like a baby last night instead of tossing and turning and thinking about Jack Riley. Worrying the tie of her light weight cotton robe, she decided having this technical problem to focus on was a blessing in disguise. The silver lining to her Jack Riley cloud. Technical glitches almost took her mind off the fact that Wild Jack was back. She was nearly frustrated enough to overlook all the possible ramifications of that fact.
“Control, Alt, Delete works for everything,” she said to the screen and put action to the words. When there was no change, she sighed and shook her head. “Why should this be different from the rest of my life? I’m so together even my computer is frozen.”
Then, being Maggie, she went from the general to the specific. Specifically that kiss. Why had he done it?
She’d heard nothing from the man for ten years, then he shows up and kisses her. What’s she supposed to do with that? For one thing, she had to tell him the truth about Faith.
There was a soft tap on the front door and she figured her hearing must be as tired as her eyes. It was the crack of dawn—way too early for anyone to show up at her door. Even her daughter the early bird was still asleep.
Maggie padded barefoot to the front door. Standing on tiptoe, she peeked through the peephole and recognized Jack. Instantly she moved out of sight, as if he could see her, and pressed her back to the door, trying to control her hammering heart. What was he doing here? For several moments she toyed with the idea of not answering. He didn’t know her routine. For all he knew, she and Faith could be gone. Then she remembered the evidence of her presence was parked in the driveway. Real soon she was going to have to clean out her garage so she could get her car in there.
But she could still be asleep for all he knew. Then she sighed. Cowardice wasn’t her stock in trade. Sooner or later she had to face him. Wouldn’t it be best to get it over with?
She removed the chain lock and dead bolt and opened the door. Smiling she said, “Good morning, Jack.”
“Maggie.”
“You’re up early.”
He nodded. “I don’t need much sleep.”
“Wish I could say that.” She looked up at him—way up—and pulled her cotton robe more snugly across her bosom. For a man who got by on little sleep, he looked awfully good. His hair was short and she couldn’t tell if he’d combed it or not. She tried to picture him in uniform, but the thought wouldn’t focus. She’d only ever seen him dressed as he was now—smooth worn jeans and a white T-shirt. The sleeves snugly surrounded his bulging biceps, the soft clingy material molded to the muscles and contours of his impressive chest.
“How did you know I was awake?” she asked.
“Heard your slider open a little while ago.”
The man must have ears like one of those very perceptive wild animals whose survival depended on their keen sense of hearing. She’d have to remember that. “What can I do for you?”
Tell him, the good angel perched on her right shoulder insisted. He has a right to know.
The devil on her left shoulder chimed in, It isn’t your fault he never received your letter. He dropped out of sight.
True, she thought, very much liking that left-shoulder devil. The problem was, he was in her sight now, and he had a right to know.
“Can I borrow some coffee? If you’ve got extra?”
It would be so easy to give him enough grounds for a pot and send him on his way. But for the life of her, Maggie couldn’t do it. Before she thought it to death, or turned into one of those scary characters who answered the voices in her head, she made up her mind.
“I can do better than that. Would you like a cup of already brewed coffee?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Come on in.” After he did, she closed the door and locked it again. “Follow me. The kitchen is this way.”
Feeling self-conscious in her flimsy night clothes, she led the way through her living room to her kitchen at the back of the house. Shorty pajamas barely concealed by a thin cotton robe wasn’t exactly proper attire for receiving gentle man guests. Then again, Jack had seen her in a lot less ten years ago. Did that really count now?
She reached into the cupboard, annoyed because she hadn’t arranged the cups on a lower shelf. She had the worst feeling that she was getting “cheeky” with the man from her past. In spite of it, she refused to give in to the sensation by pulling at the hem of her robe. But her cheeks—the ones on her face—burned.
With her back to him still, she busied herself with pouring steaming black coffee into a large mug. If she was lucky, by the time she was finished she’d have a cooling off period and could turn to look at him with her dignity shored up.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the cup. “Do you need milk or sugar?”
He shook his head, then blew on the coffee. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looked around her kitchen. “This is nice. Homey.”
She followed his gaze. Oak cabinets above and below a beige ceramic-tiled counter filled two walls. At the end closest to the family room there was a matching built-in desk holding her computer. Beyond that, was the open slider to her backyard, letting in air that was the coolest it would be all day. A tiny butcher-block island stood in the center of the room.
“I like it,” she said. “The best part is, I made it happen all by myself.”
Could she have sounded more defensive? she wondered. She looked at Jack to see if he’d noticed. He was watching her, but she couldn’t read his expression. Only once last night had she been able to detect a stirring of emotion in him, when she’d introduced her daughter. Maggie didn’t have any problem deciphering her own reaction to him.
Sooty shadows of stubble sprinkled his cheeks and jaw, clueing her that he hadn’t shaved yet. How intimate was this? Sharing coffee with a man in her kitchen before his morning shave, as if… Don’t go there, Maggie, she ordered herself.
She dated occasionally, but she’d be lying if she said she’d ever seen a more masculine man in her kitchen. Last night at the rodeo, her attraction had kicked in instantly and she’d chalked it up to a dream like quality connected to the night. But it was morning now and the sun was up. With his dusting of whiskers and hair tousled from sleep, Jack Riley was still the best-looking dream she’d ever had. The handsomest man she’d ever seen.
And she was the woman who had a secret he had a right to know.
Maggie stood with her back to the counter and Jack leaned a shoulder against the wall that separated kitchen and family room. As they sipped their coffee, an awkward silence developed between them. In the old days they’d had ways to fill the silence—ways having everything to do with mouths and tongues and frantic hands that couldn’t touch each other enough. Did he remember?
Jack met her gaze for a moment and stuck the fingertips of his free hand into his jeans’ pocket. “Maggie, I—”
