Maggie's Dad

by Diana Palmer

  The going got rough the closer to home she went. It was just outside Bighorn that her car slipped on a wide patch of ice and almost went into a ditch. She knew all too well that if she had, there would have been no way she could get the vehicle out, because the slope was too deep.

  With a prayer of thanks, she made it into the small town of Bighorn, past the Methodist Church and the post office and the meat locker building to her father’s big Victorian house on a wide street off the main thoroughfare. She parked in the driveway under a huge cottonwood tree. How wonderful to be home for Christmas!

  There was a decorated tree in the window, all aglow with the lights and ornaments that had been painstakingly purchased over a period of years. She looked at one, a crystal deer, and remembered painfully that Powell had given it to her the Christmas they’d become engaged. She’d thought of smashing it after his desertion, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The tiny thing was so beautiful, so fragile; like their destroyed relationship. So long ago.

  Her father came to the door in a bathrobe and pajamas, sniffling.

  He hugged her warmly. “I’m so glad you came, girl,” he said hoarsely, and coughed a little. “I’m much better, but the damn doctor wouldn’t let me fly!”

  “And rightly so,” she replied. “You don’t need pneumonia!”

  He grinned at her. “I reckon not. Can you stay until New Year’s?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have to go back the day after Christmas.” She didn’t mention her upcoming doctor’s appointment. There was no need to worry him.

  “Well, you’ll be here for a week, anyway. We won’t get to go out much, I’m afraid, but we can keep each other company, can’t we?”

  “Yes, we can.”

  “Dawson said he might come by one evening,” he added surprisingly. “He’s just back from Europe, some convention or other he said he couldn’t miss.”

  “At least he never believed the gossip about George and me,” she said wistfully.

  “Why, he knew his father too well,” he replied simply.

  “George was a wonderful man. No wonder you and he were friends for so long.”

  “I miss him. I miss your mother, too, God rest her soul. She was the most important person in my life, next to you.”

  “You’re the most important person in mine,” she agreed, smiling. “It’s good to be home!”

  “Still enjoy teaching?”

  “More than ever,” she told him warmly.

  “There’s some good schools here,” he remarked. “They’re always short of teachers. And two of them are expecting babies any day. They’ll have problems getting supply teachers in for that short little period.” He eyed her. “You wouldn’t consider…?”

  “I like Tucson,” she said firmly.

  “The hell you do,” he muttered. “It’s Powell, isn’t it? Damn fool, listening to that scatterbrained woman in the first place! Well, he paid for it. She made his life hell.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, I suppose so. And some soup. There’s some canned that Mrs. Harper made for me.”

  “Does she still live next door?”

  “She does,” he murmured with a wicked smile, “and she’s a widow herself. No need to ask why she brought the soup, is there?”

  “I like Mrs. Harper,” she said with a grin. “She and Mother were good friends, and she’s like family already. Just in case you wondered what I thought,” she added.

  “It’s only been a year, girl,” he said, and his eyes were sad.

  “Mother loved you too much to want you to go through life alone,” she said. “She wouldn’t want you to grieve forever.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll grieve as long as I please.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll change clothes and then I’ll see about the soup and coffee.”

  “How’s Barrie?” her father asked when Antonia came out of her bedroom dressed in jeans and a white sweatshirt with golden sequined bells and red ribbon on it.

  “She’s just fine. Spunky as ever.”

  “Why didn’t you bring her with you?”

  “Because she’s juggling four boyfriends,” she said, chuckling as she went about warming soup.

  “Dawson won’t wait forever.”

  She glanced at him. “Is that what you think, too? She won’t talk about him.”

  “He won’t talk about her, either.”

  “What’s this rumor about him and the widow Holton?”

  He sat down in a chair at the table with a painful breath. “The widow Holton is redheaded and vivacious and a man-killer,” he said. “She’s after Dawson. And Powell Long. And any other man with money and a passable face.”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t remember her, do you? Came here before you went off to college, but she and her husband traveled a lot. She was some sort of actress. She’s been home more since he died.”

  “What does she do?”

  “For a living, you mean?” He chuckled and had to fight back a cough. “She’s living on her inheritance. Doesn’t have to do anything, lucky girl.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do nothing,” Antonia remarked thoughtfully. “I like teaching. It’s more than just a job.”

  “Some women aren’t made for purposeful employment.”

  “I guess not.”

  She finished heating the soup and poured the coffee she’d made. They ate in silence.

  “I wish your mother was here,” he said.

  She smiled sadly. “So do I.”

  “Well, we’ll make the most of what we have and thank God for it.”

  She nodded. “We have more than some people do.”

  He smiled, seeing her mother’s face in her own. “And a lot more than most,” he added. “I’m glad you came home for Christmas.”

  “So am I. Eat your soup.” She poured him some more, and thought that she was going to make this Christmas as happy for him as she could.

  Chapter Two

  Dawson Rutherford was tall, lean and drop-dead gorgeous with blond, wavy hair and eyes that seemed to pierce skin. Even if he hadn’t been so handsome, his physical presence was more than enough to make him attractive, added to a deep voice that had the smoothness of velvet, even in anger. But he was as icy a man as she’d ever known, especially with women. At his father’s funeral, she’d actually seen him back away from a beautiful woman to avoid being touched. Odd, that, when she knew for a fact that he’d been quite a rounder with women in his checkered past.

  If Antonia hadn’t given her heart to Powell Long so many years before, she wouldn’t have minded setting her cap at Dawson, intimidating though he was. But he was plainly meant for another type of woman altogether. Barrie, perhaps.

  It was Christmas Eve, and he’d stopped by with a pipe for her father. Antonia walked him out a few minutes later.

  “Shame on you,” she muttered, pausing on the porch.

  Dawson’s green eyes twinkled. “He’ll get over the bronchitis. Besides, you know he won’t quit smoking, whether or not I give him a new pipe. You’ve tried and I’ve tried for years to break him. The best we can do is make him smoke it outdoors.”

  “I know that,” she agreed, and smiled. “Well, it was a nice gesture.”

  “Want to see what he gave me?” he asked, and produced a smooth silver lighter with inlaid turquoise.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” she observed.

  “I don’t.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I did, just briefly, smoke cigars.” He corrected himself. “I gave it up months ago. He doesn’t know, so don’t tell him.”

  “I won’t. But good for you!” she said approvingly.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know any smokers who don’t want to quit.” His eyes narrowed, and he watched her without blinking. “Except one, maybe.”

  She knew he was talking about Powell, who always had smoked cigars, and presumably still did. Her face began
to close up. “Don’t say it.”

  “I won’t. You look tortured.”

  “It was nine years ago.”

  “Somebody should have shot him for the way he treated you,” he replied. “I’ve never liked him, but that didn’t win him any points with me. I loved my father. It was a low thing, for Sally to make him out a foolish old man with a lust for young girls.”

  “She wanted Powell.”

  His eyes narrowed. “She got him. But he made her pay for it, let me tell you. She took to alcohol because he left her alone so much, and from all accounts, he hated their daughter.”

  “But why?” Antonia asked, shocked. “Powell loved children, surely…!”

  “Sally trapped him with the child,” he replied. “Except for that, he’d have left her. Don’t you think he knew what a stupid thing he’d done? He knew the truth, almost from the day he married Sally.”

  “But he stayed with her.”

  “He had to. He was trying to build a ranch out of nothing, and this is a small town. How would it look for a man to walk out on a pregnant woman, or on his own newborn daughter?” He pursed his lips. “He hates you, you know,” he added surprisingly. “He hates you for not making him listen, for running. He blames his misery on you.”

  “He’s your worst enemy, so how do you know so much?” she retorted.

  “I have spies.” He sighed. “He can’t admit that the worst mistake was his own, that he wouldn’t believe Sally capable of such underhanded lies. It wasn’t until he married her that he realized how she’d conned him.” He shrugged. “She wasn’t a bad woman, really. She was in love and she couldn’t bear losing him, even to you. Love does crazy things to people.”

  “She destroyed my reputation, and your father’s, and made it impossible for me to live here,” Antonia said without pity. “She was my enemy, and he still is. Don’t think I’m harboring any tender feelings for him. I’d cut his throat given the slightest opportunity.”

  His eyebrows levered up. Antonia was a gentle soul herself for the most part, despite an occasional outburst of temper and a keen wit that surprised people. She hadn’t ever seemed vindictive, but she harbored a long-standing grudge against her former best friend, Sally. He couldn’t really blame her.

  He fingered the lighter her father had given him. “How’s Barrie?” he asked with deliberate carelessness.

  “Fending off suitors,” she said with a grin, her soft gray eyes twinkling. “She was juggling four of them when I left.”

  He laughed coldly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? One man was never enough for her, even when she was a teenager.”

  She was curious about his antagonism toward Barrie. It seemed out of place. “Why do you hate her so?” she asked bluntly.

  He looked surprised. “I don’t…hate her,” he said. “I’m disappointed at the way she behaves, that’s all.”

  “She isn’t promiscuous,” she said, defending her colleague. “She may act that way, but it’s only an act. Don’t you know that?”

  He looked at the lighter, frowning slightly. “Maybe I know more than you think,” he said curtly. His eyes came up. “Maybe you’re the one wearing blinders.”

  “Maybe you’re seeing what you want to see,” she replied gently.

  He pocketed the lighter with a curt gesture. “I’d better go. I’ve got a deal cooking. I don’t want the client to get cold feet.”

  “Thanks for coming to see Dad. You cheered him up.”

  “He’s my friend.” He smiled. “So are you, even when you stick your nose in where you shouldn’t.”

  “Barrie’s my friend.”

  “Well, she’s not mine,” he said flatly. “Merry Christmas, Annie.”

  “You, too,” she replied with a warm smile. He was kind, in his way. She liked him, but she felt sorry for Barrie. He was a heartbreaker. And unless she missed her guess, Barrie was in love with him. His feelings were much less readable.

  After he left, she went back to join her father in the kitchen, where he was fixing hot chocolate in a double boiler. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Did he leave?”

  “Yes. Can I help?”

  He shook his head. He poured hot chocolate into two mugs and nodded for her to take one while he put the boiler in water to soak.

  “He gave me a pipe,” he told her when they were seated at the small kitchen table, sipping the hot liquid. He grinned. “Didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’ve finally given it up.”

  “Dad!” She reached across and patted his hand. “Oh, that’s great news!”

  He chuckled. “Figured you’d like it. Maybe I won’t have so much trouble with my lungs from now on.”

  “Speaking of lungs,” she said, “you gave Dawson a lighter. Guess what he’s just given up, and didn’t have the heart to tell you?”

  He burst out laughing. “Well, maybe he can use it to light fires under his beef cattle when he throws barbecues out on the Rutherford spread.”

  “What a good idea! I’ll suggest it to him the next time we see him.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he replied. “He travels a lot these days. I hardly ever see him.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “Powell came by last week.”

  Her heart fluttered, but her face was very composed. “Did he? Why?”

  “Heard I was sick and came to check on me. Wanted to know where you were.”

  Her frozen expression grew darker. “Did he?”

  “I told him you didn’t know about the bronchitis and that he should mind his own business.”

  “I see.”

  He sipped hot chocolate and put the mug down with a thud. “Had his daughter with him. Quiet, sullen little thing. She never moved a muscle the whole time, just sat and glared. She’s her mother all over.”

  Antonia was dying inside. She stared into her hot chocolate. That woman’s child, here, in her home! She could hardly bear the thought. It was like a violation to have Powell come here with that child.

  “You’re upset,” he said ruefully. “I guessed you would be, but I thought you’d better know. He said he’d be back to check on me after Christmas. Wouldn’t want him to just show up without my telling you he was expected sooner or later. Not that I invited him,” he added curtly. “Surprised me, too, that he’d come to see about me. Of course, he was fond of your mother. It hurt him that the scandal upset her so much and caused her to have that first heart attack. Anyway, he’s taken it upon himself to be my guardian angel. Even sent the doctor when I first got sick, conspired with Mrs. Harper next door to look after me.” He sounded disgusted, but he smiled, too.

  “That was nice of him,” she said, although Powell’s actions surprised her. “But thanks for warning me.” She forced a smile to her lips. “I’ll arrange to do something in the kitchen if he turns up.”

  “It’s been nine years,” he reminded her.

  “And you think I should have forgotten.” She nodded. “You forgive people, Dad. I used to, before all this. Perhaps I should be more charitable, but I can’t be. He and Sally made my life hell.” She stopped, dragging in a long breath.

  “No other suitors, in all that time,” he remarked. “No social life, no dating. Girl, you’re going to die an old maid, with no kids of your own, no husband, no real security.”

  “I enjoy my own company,” she said lightly. “And I don’t want a child.” That was a lie, but only a partial one. The children she had wanted were Powell’s, no one else’s.

  Christmas Day passed uneventfully, except for the meager gifts she and her father exchanged and their shared memories of her late mother to keep them company.

  The next day, she was packed and dressed for travel in a rose knit suit, her hair carefully coiffed, her long legs in hose and low-heeled shoes on her feet. Her burgundy velvet, full-length coat was slung over one arm, its dark lining gleaming in the overhead light, as she put her suitcase down and went to find her father to say goodbye.

  Voices from the living room caught
her attention and she moved in that direction. But at the doorway, she froze in place, and in time. That deep, gravelly voice was as familiar as her own, despite the many years since she’d last heard it. And then a tall, lean man turned, and cast narrow black eyes on her face. Powell!

  She lifted her face slowly, not allowing a hint of emotion to show either in her posture or her eyes. She simply looked at him, reconciling this man in his thirties with the man who’d wanted to marry her. The memories were unfavorable, because he was definitely showing his age, in the new lines beside his mouth and eyes, in the silver that showed at his temples.

  He was doing his share of looking, too. The girl he’d jilted was no longer visible in this quiet, conservatively dressed woman with her hair in a bun. She looked schoolmarmish, and he was surprised that the sight of her was still like a knife through the heart, after all these years. He’d been curious about her. He’d wanted to see her again, God knew why. Maybe because she refused to see him at her mother’s funeral. Now here she was, and he wasn’t sure he was glad. The sight of her touched something sensitive that he’d buried inside himself.

  Antonia was the first to look away. The intensity of his gaze had left her shaking inside, but that reaction was quickly hidden. It would never do to show any weakness to him. “Sorry,” she told her father. “I didn’t realize you had company. If you’ll come and see me off, I’ll be on my way.”

  Her father looked uncomfortable. “Powell came by to see how I was doing.”

  “You’re leaving so soon?” Powell asked, addressing her directly for the first time in so many long years.

  “I have to report back to work earlier than the students,” she said, pleased that her voice was steady and cool.

  “Oh, yes. You teach, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Her gaze fell somewhere between his aggressive chin and his thin but sensuous mouth, below that straight, arrogant nose and the high cheekbones of his lean face. He wasn’t handsome, but five minutes after they met him, most women were enchanted with him. He had an intangible something, authority perhaps, in the sureness of his movements, even in the way he held his head. He was overwhelming.