9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  "You're the one slowing us down."

  With a kiss to Bridey's cheek, Graeme followed Elliott out the door to his car. He had no idea what they'd find, but he appreciated having family by his side.

  When they reached the offices at Southern Star Airlines located outside DFW International Airport, Elliott decided to go to the hangars to look around so Graeme could get reacquainted with Widmore alone. It had been a few years since he'd been here but, for the most part, not much had changed. That was until he exited the elevator on the floor reserved for upper management.

  The smell of fresh paint mixed with new leather filled his nostrils and artwork he didn't remember adorned the walls. Instead of Andrew's secretary, Penny Barclay, a new, young receptionist sat behind a teak desk.

  She greeted him with a warm, eager smile. "Good morning. How can I help you?"

  "Graeme McAlister, an old friend, to see Mr. Widmore, please."

  "He has meetings this morning, but if you'll take a seat, I'll ask if he has time." She disappeared through the door behind her and returned shortly. "You can go on in."

  He nodded his thanks and entered the office that, up until few months ago, had belonged to Andrew.

  "Come in, Graeme. Nice to see you, son." Nelson Widmore met him in the middle of the room. He eagerly shook hands in welcome. "Trevor said you'd be in today and I couldn't be happier to see you. What brings you down here so far from Washington?"

  "I missed the ranch and family and decided to take some of the time I've accumulated to get reacquainted. You know how it is – use it or lose it." Graeme sat in one of the two tapestry covered chairs placed in front of the carved mahogany desk, while Widmore sat in his own.

  "I do and it's a hell of a note. We give you days off then yank 'em right back if you don't take 'em 'cause we don't give you any time off. Damn vicious cycle."

  "I don't usually mind giving them back," Graeme stated. "But, since Bridey's Labor Day bash is in a few weeks, the timing's right."

  Widmore reached for the pipe that rested in an antique crystal ashtray, picked it up then took several short puffs on the stem as if to revive smoldering tobacco. He tapped the pipe's bowl upside down on the rim of the ashtray and when nothing came out, he sighed and shrugged a shoulder. Wistfully, he said, "I miss smoking inside office buildings and restaurants." He drew the pipe in front of his nose, breathed in deeply then slid it into his jacket pocket.

  "Seems to be the way of things, these days."

  "I've said all along people need to watch out for their local and small town governments. Given time they'll take away all our rights."

  Graeme mulled that statement over carefully. He didn't want to start a discussion over politics. Chances were he'd say something that would piss off Widmore and shut down any opportunity he might have to look over the business.

  Widmore laughed jovially then swiveled his chair around to the credenza behind him and set a bottle of bourbon and two glasses on the desk. He poured two fingers of the golden brown liquid into one glass and offered Graeme the same.

  "No, thanks. It's a little early for me."

  He looked at the glass, gave it a swirl and said, "My doctor wouldn't approve, but there are too few pleasures left these days."

  "That's the gist of what I got from Andrew in the short visit we had the other night. I think he's ready to come back to the office."

  "He sounded like he was going a little stir crazy when we talked last week. But, hell, I encouraged him to take all the time he needs to rest and get well. This place isn't going anywhere before he gets back." Widmore stood, picked up a file and a pen from a carved wooden holder. "Why don't I have one of the boys take you around for a look-see while you're here?"

  "If it's an inconvenience, I can look around myself."

  "No, not at all. If I didn't have this meeting, I'd take you."

  Graeme followed him into the receptionist's office. While arrangements were made, he busied himself with observing the eclectic mix of oil paintings and personal photographs chronicling Andrew and Nelson's service years in Viet Nam to the current day at Southern Star.

  Widmore joined him shortly at the black and white photos. "These are some good memories. I miss the old days. Tell Bridey and Andrew I'll be out soon for a visit, will you?"

  "Yes, I will. I'm sure they'll look forward to it."

  The older man appeared lost in thought for a few seconds then, as if he remembered where he was, he said, "Well, I have to get going. Marcy will fix you right up with a visitor's pass and a tour guide. Take your time." He opened the door to the hallway, waved, and hurried on his way.

  While waiting, Graeme reflected on his brief meet with Nelson Widmore. He'd seemed friendly enough, but it still felt like a bum's rush, sort of a "here's your coat, here's your hat, what's your hurry?" With any luck, he'd hear back soon from Joe on those background checks, but until then, he'd have to bide his time. Dinner tonight with Maggie pushed to the forefront of his mind and that, he thought, would be a more than adequate time filler.

  * * *

  Back at the main house, Graeme entered the office. A glance toward the fax revealed an empty tray. Disappointed Joe hadn't yet sent him any information, he trusted Joe to send a full report as soon as he could.

  He headed toward male voices coming from the family room, detouring to the fridge to put in the six pack of beer he planned to take with him to Maggie's. Elliott, Andrew and Trevor Riordon sat in front of the big screen TV watching the Golf channel. What, he wondered, was Riordon doing here? How did he manage to be everywhere? And how long had he been working his way into this family? With a few hours before he'd leave to go to Maggie's house, Graeme grabbed a long neck from the fridge. It was time to get to know Mr. Trevor Riordon.

  * * *

  Maggie sealed the second potato in foil wrap, placed it next to its twin on the oven rack and tore off another length of foil for the French bread. The salad makings were ready to toss at the last minute and the steaks waited for the grill. She glanced at the table setting and, pleased enough with her decorating choices, pronounced it done.

  Sitting beside Dinah on the back porch glider, she sighed and fanned herself. "I'm glad I decided to eat indoors this evening. The food will taste better in the air conditioning. I don't think winter will ever come again."

  "Yeah, the heat's oppressive and, with the humidity, it's like living in a sauna."

  "I know, right?" Maggie agreed. "I wish I could figure out how to keep ice in my shoes."

  "Speaking of clothes, what're you wearing tonight?"

  "Something cool, probably crop pants and a tee shirt."

  "Oh, no you don't." Dinah scooted to the edge of the glider, rocking it sideways and halting forward motion as she stood up. She disappeared into the house before Maggie realized where she was going.

  Maggie followed her, but stopped when her phone rang. She didn't recognize the number that registered on the caller ID, but answered quickly hoping it was Andy.

  "Hi, Bud, are y'all having fun?"

  "Hey, Maggie. It's Graeme."

  Seconds passed as she switched gears in her thinking. Why was a conversation with a four-year-old easier than a sexy adult male? This man affected her more each time she saw him or, as now, heard his voice, and her increased lack of control where Graeme McAlister was concerned scared her. She had a mouthful of words and no way of stringing them together in a coherent sentence.

  "H-hello," she managed. "Are you still coming to supper?" Could she sound any more desperate?

  "I sure hope so." He cleared his throat. "Am I still invited?"

  Dinah swept into the dining room where Maggie stood by the large round table and started holding blouses and dresses, all still on hangars, under Maggie's chin to see which one worked the best.

  Maggie covered the phone with her free hand and whispered, "Will you stop flapping around like a chicken on speed? You almost put my eye out." Graeme's baritone chuckle drew her attention back to the phone. "Sorry, I
have a major distraction on my end. Of course you're invited."

  "That's good, 'cause I've already bought the beer."

  The smile in his tone put her on alert. If she let her guard down she might be in deep trouble here. She drew a deep breath to fortify her resolve.

  "Steaks go on the grill at seven."

  "I'll be there."

  Maggie set the phone on the table and stared at the innocuous communications gadget. Briskly, she rubbed her hands over her upper arms.

  Yes, serious trouble.

  * * *

  The screen on Graeme's iPhone went dark. He enjoyed the fact that Maggie sounded slightly off-balance. So much better to his way of thinking than her being pissed with him.

  He didn't enjoy it for long, though, for what he really wanted was to see her fully confident and secure in her world. To have her friendship again. And to have her warm and willing in his arms, the way he'd thought of her so many times.

  Thoughts of her had pulled him through the dark days after his injury and near capture in Afghanistan, when he'd been so severely injured. Though there were still facets of his ordeal that eluded his memory, Maggie remained center stage.

  His heated body welcomed the cooled interior air of the now vacant family room as he came in from the patio. He hadn't found out anything from the visit with his brother, Andrew and Riordon, except that Riordon had grown up in a small town near the border between Texas and Mexico. Like so many towns these days, the area had become a hot bed of corrupt activity for the cartels. The cagey way he side-stepped a few of Elliott's and Graeme's questions raised red flags.

  Graeme would call his office in the morning if he hadn't heard from Joe by tonight. His gut told him he needed the information from that background check. Now, more than ever.

  Chapter 7

  Graeme rang the bell, waited a couple of minutes and, when no one came to the door, raised his hand to knock. He heard a thud on the other side, then suddenly the door opened. Behind it stood the tall, leggy brunette he recognized as Maggie's friend. She studied him with brown eyes as big as silver dollars, one hand on the doorknob and the other resting on her hip. Her lips curved into a smile but she said nothing.

  Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he resisted the urge to check his fly. Instead, he said, "Dinah? I'm Graeme. We met here, and then again last night at the Bigger Jigger."

  She opened the door wider, motioning him in with a wave of her hand. "Sure, of course I remember. Come on in, Maggie'll be out in a minute."

  He crossed the threshold into the living room and side stepped a box labeled "Andy's toys". The accomplishments they'd made in the few hours since this morning were noticeable. The couch still rested in the middle of the room, except now it faced the fireplace on the left side of the house. An old player piano graced the wall to his right. Dinah walked backward just ahead of him nearly falling over an end table.

  Still moving toward the hallway, she bumped into a glass encased bookcase divider. "Oops," she said, as she recovered her balance, never missing a beat. "Have a seat, Graeme. I'll go move Maggie along."

  "Thanks." He shook his head and smiled. From what he'd seen since she'd opened the door, she must be who Maggie'd referred to as the 'chicken on speed'. Taking his seat on the over-stuffed sofa, he noticed other improvements made to the room. Family pictures sat in random order on the fireplace mantle, a leather recliner sat in front of the window, a few flower arrangements strategically placed on shelves and tables. All elements that made this house a home.

  Maggie's home.

  He stood when she came into the room, his mouth cotton dry at her beauty. She'd twisted her auburn hair up into a gold clip above the nape of her neck where several errant curls begged his attention. The backless construction of her saucy green sundress with its flirty little skirt dancing over her shapely legs, worked shamelessly to fuel his already over-active imagination. Pink manicured toes wrapped in strappy sandals completed the temptation.

  "Hi, Graeme. Excuse me while I shove Di out the door?" She smiled mischievously with her hand on her friend's back. Dinah waved bye and Maggie added, "Why don't you go ahead and put those beers in the fridge? I won't be a minute."

  Maggie turned off the kitchen light a couple of hours later, the food put away and dishwasher running, and joined Graeme in the living room. She handed him another longneck and sat beside him on the sofa. He'd turned on the only two working table lamps in the room, so the setting seemed overly intimate. As was his voice when he spoke. "Were you able to call an electrician today?"

  "Yes, one's coming tomorrow afternoon."

  "Good." He rested his left ankle on his opposite knee, tipped the bottle to his lips for a healthy swig then set the bottle on his boot, using the heel for a coaster. "Dinner was great, by the way, thanks again for the invite."

  "You're welcome." She smiled. "You did a great job on those steaks. I've never mastered that grill."

  "It's really not that difficult. I'll give you pointers the next time we cook out."

  Her shapely brow lifted. "There's going to be a next time?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Maggie watched him settle into the cushions and close his eyes. He looked relaxed and comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable for her liking. He spoke before she ventured off on a new thread of conversation. "How's Andy? Did you hear from him today?"

  "I did, this afternoon." She didn't say so, but it meant a lot that he asked. "He could barely speak he was so excited. I don't know how Mom's gotten him to sleep at night."

  "I'd bet he's worn plumb out. Probably asleep before his head hits the pillow."

  "I wouldn't doubt it," Maggie said, smiling. "I miss him."

  They grew quiet again. Finally, she gained the courage to voice her question.

  "Graeme, can I ask you something?"

  He stood slowly, took her hand and pulled her up to face him. Cupping her jaw, he smoothed his thumb across her cheek and said, "No more questions tonight. We'll have plenty of time for those later."

  Her knees squished like marshmallows, instead of solid like bone and cartilage, and she braced her hand against his chest to remain upright. When his breath fanned her lips, she held her own in anticipation that he might kiss her. Instead, he led her to the door.

  He squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek and said softly, "Good night, sweet Maggie."

  * * *

  Graeme climbed into the car and sat there a minute to gather his wits and settle his libido. It'd taken all the strength he could muster to walk away from Maggie and not ravage her right there on the couch.

  He thought he knew the question she wanted to ask, Where had he been? Or possibly, Why was he here now? What could he say to her that wouldn't sound like an excuse? Sorry our timing was off? Sorry, I was working when you tried to call? Sorry I'd been shot and was in rehab when you needed me the most? All he had was a bag full of sorry excuses.

  No, until he could face himself in the mirror and not experience a mountain of guilt, there was no way he could give her a satisfactory answer.

  * * *

  Maggie closed the door behind Graeme, leaned her forehead against the solid wood and listened as his boots descended the porch steps. She smiled as she brushed her fingertips across her cheek to her lips. It was good they hadn't gone any farther than they did, she told herself. Good because she probably wouldn't have stopped him. If he'd tarried at the door for a split-second longer, she might've made a fool of herself.

  When the engine sound and the crunch of gravel under tires faded, she locked the deadbolt and slid the chain into place then turned and sat abruptly in the middle of a cardboard box. Dragging herself up and out, she noticed it was the one she'd packed with non-functioning tech toys. The very same one she'd helped Dinah carry to Andy's room. How the devil did it get back in here?

  That was a puzzle she decided to tackle in the morning. She didn't want anything to dampen her good spirits.

  * * *

  Graeme met Bridey at th
e bottom of the stairs the next morning. He folded her into an embrace, lifted her feet off the floor, and held her suspended until, laughing, she insisted he put her down. "Good morning, Beautiful."

  She straightened her jacket and hooked her arm onto his, directing him toward the dining room. "I hope you're hungry. Vidalia's fixed you and Elliott a feast."

  "I'm near starved," he confirmed. "Save me a seat? There's something I want to get from the office."

  "If it's the fax you're expecting, Andrew has it." She stopped outside the dining room door. "I haven't told him I spoke to you about the business."

  "It's okay, I'll handle it."

  Graeme held Bridey's chair, nodded a hello to Elliott then joined them at the table. He recognized Andrew's agitated mood and knew better than to let him stew.

  "I see the information I requested came this morning."

  "It did." Andrew lifted a corner of the missive off the table, put on his readers and angled a glance over the frames to Graeme. "What the hell, boy?"

  "I have questions about Wyatt's death and whether or not anyone's involved at Southern Star, per our discussion." He waited for the explosion. But it didn't come.

  Bridey poured fresh coffee while Vidalia cleared dirty dishes from the table.

  Andrew set his glasses beside his cup and saucer. "I've trusted Nelly since we were in Nam together. Hell, he saved my life before we got out of there." For a few seconds, he looked like he might've traveled forty or more years back in time. "We worked shoulder to shoulder getting the airline off the ground, literally. I owe him."

  "I understand." Graeme drained his coffee cup. "What do you know about Riordon or anyone else for that matter?"

  "Wyatt brought Trevor in originally. They shared a bond. Nelly and I looked over his resume and service record. I liked what I saw."

  Graeme glanced to Elliott then to Bridey. "When were you at the office last?"

  "'Bout six months ago. Why?"