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The new Maggie stalked over to the microphone and grabbed it off the stand. An earsplitting squeal startled David.
Silence descended on the high-ceilinged room. Except for David’s offended screech.
She jogged him on her hip as she tried to attract attention.
“Sorry to interrupt all you nice folks during your dinner. Can you hear me there at the back of the room? No, well let me speak a little louder.” Maggie raised her voice until it bounced off the walls and tinkled the crystal chandelier.
“Good. I’ve got your attention. Just tell me where that lowlife Eric McGuire is and I’ll let you get back to your meal.”
Her only response was a room full of gaping mouths. Maybe they were all mentally deficient. Maybe Eric had been the sharpest knife in their family drawer.
The thought made her speak very slowly and distinctly, as if they didn’t understand English. “I said…where is that lowlife, scum-sucking, lazy, no good SOB, Eric McGuire?”
They must’ve heard her this time, because they gasped in unison, every set of eyes as big as half dollars.
“You can’t hide from me, Eric. I know you’re out there. So get your hands off that waitress and come out here and face me like a man.”
She watched the double doors, but no lowlife, or anyone else for that matter, entered the room.
An elderly woman in the second row of tables gasped for air. Some guy with a shaved head and shoulders the size of Mount Rushmore handed the woman a glass of water and patted her hand solicitously.
David suckled on her shoulder, leaving a big wet ring on her last clean T-shirt. The baby was hungry and patience wasn’t one of his virtues. Just like his daddy.
“Look. This is David. He’s Eric’s son. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just need some…help.”
It was nearly impossible to spit out the last word. To beg for what should have been hers.
The old woman gasped, fixed her with a weird stare. The Vin Diesel look-alike whispered something in the woman’s ear, squeezed her shoulder and headed for the stage.
The guy was pure enforcer. From the top of his well-shaped head to the toes of his size-twelve dress shoes. He tugged at his crisp, white collar as he ambled toward her. His jacket fit, but just barely.
He moved with graceful control, like the guys she’d seen on televised bodybuilding competitions. The evil glint in his eye told her he’d take great pleasure in throwing her out on her rear.
The man stepped up on the dais and stood in front of her, his shoulders effectively obscuring her view of the assembly and vice versa.
He seemed ready, willing and able to block her only chance at making a better life for her child.
“Eric,” she yelled. “All I want is to talk to—”
Her jaw dropped as the enforcer produced a cracker and handed it to David. His baby sobs were muffled by the ecstatic gumming of salt and carbohydrates. Then the man pried the mike out of Maggie’s hand and grabbed her by the upper arm.
“But—”
“You wanna know about Eric?” His voice rumbled low in his throat.
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Then come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not till I talk to Eric.”
The man ran a hand over the black stubble on his head and took what looked like one of the deep cleansing breaths she’d learned in her childbirth class. She half expected him to start the hee-hee-hee breaths through clenched teeth.
Instead, he fixed her with a bright, white smile. One that didn’t come close to easing the tight lines around his eyes.
“You’ll talk to Eric.” His voice was soothing. And totally insincere.
She stood her ground and glared at him. He intended to trot her out the door and hand her over to security.
“Everyone’s been through enough.” He gestured toward the roomful of silent onlookers. “They don’t need this—” His eyes narrowed as he turned to survey the baby. “And neither does the kid.”
“He has a name. David McGuire.”
The man stared long and hard. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the old woman. When he addressed Maggie, his voice was low, desperate.
“Please. We’ll go somewhere, get a bite to eat. There’s a diner nearby. The baby…David, is it? He’s gotta be tired and hungry.”
Her tummy rumbled at the mere mention of food. Her son squirmed on her hip. Dampness saturated her shirt where it was wedged between her body and the baby’s. Warm and pungent, it would be only a matter of minutes before the odor of baby urine spread across the stage.
“Only if you promise to tell me about Eric. Promise?”
“Of course.”
David cast his vote, by way of an angry screech. The cracker was gone and he demanded more. Now. And a dry diaper, too.
“Okay. But this better not be a trick.”
He held out his hands to the baby. David smacked them away. If the man didn’t hold crackers or a bottle, he wanted nothing to do with the stranger.
“Follow me.”
She nodded, but apparently he didn’t believe her. He grasped her elbow and hauled her out of the room. She could feel two hundred sets of eyes follow their progress out the double doors.
Pandemonium broke out before the doors swished shut. Everyone babbled at once. She’d succeeded in making quite a scene.
As she followed the enforcer through the lobby, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how she’d gotten to this point. The point where she’d sacrificed her self-respect and values.
But it really wasn’t a mystery. It all came back to Eric. She hadn’t had a chance. Not from that first glance.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN HESITATED, then held the lobby door for Maggie. His tight expression said he wasn’t sure she merited the courtesy.
Maggie held her head high as she passed. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.
“Where’s your car?” he asked. His long strides put him ahead of her in no time.
“East lot. Why?”
He turned and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a car seat, I presume? My truck isn’t exactly equipped for kids.”
“Oh.”
To his credit, he didn’t even blink a few minutes later when they arrived at the poor, tired Toyota with the mismatched fenders. He simply waited while she tried to get David into his car seat.
But the baby had fury-induced rigor mortis. His face was squinched up and red; his arms and legs were stiff as boards.
“Do you have any more crackers?” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she begged for food. No decent mother let her child get this hungry.
He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”
“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”
“Not on your life.”
She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.
“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.
David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.
Or was that simply what she wanted?
They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.
The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.
The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.
“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.
“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”
“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”
“Nope. Couple miles.”
“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.
He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.
He shook his head and grunted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”
“I don’t need gas—”
“Like hell you don’t.”
“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”
“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”
Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.
She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”
“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”
J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.
Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.
Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.
He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.
As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.
The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.
Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.
Nope. This woman was different.
But the same.
Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.
J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.
“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”
David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.
The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.
Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.
“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.
Nothing, just more screaming.
He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.
