Ed shook his head trying to clear it of her scent and taste. Hearing the light rap on his door, he groaned. There wasn’t much doubt who that was, and she was likely madder than a wet hen.
He opened the door.
Looking somewhat hesitant and sheepish, Maggie asked, “May I come in?”
“Might as well,” Ed said curtly, “you’re here.” Had the little woman come to read him the riot act, or to apologize for her careless behavior earlier in the day? The latter was unlikely. He wasn’t duped by her apparent meekness. Might as well start packing his bags. It’d been a nice dream, but like so many dreams this one had turned into a nightmare. He slumped back down into the winged chair without offering her a seat.
Maggie remained standing. “You look pretty haggard. Are you okay?”
“You don’t have to worry about me climbing back into the bottle, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I’m worried about you. I’m worried about all of us.” She folded her hands together, as if to steady herself against the tension whirling between them. “We have to talk, you know.”
Ed sighed. At least she wasn’t going to fire him on the spot. Damn woman. Damn kids. Damn himself for getting involved with them. Why couldn’t they listen when he told them to be careful around the horses? Any one of them could be seriously maimed or worse. “I know,” he finally replied. “Guess I overdid it some today. Sorry about that. How’s Carolyn?”
“She’ll survive. We all will,” Maggie said forcefully.
He shook himself. He was close to falling over the edge. What the hell was wrong with him? Those blue ovals staring narrowly at him looked so innocent and so filled with worry. Had he ever had anyone this troubled over him? It made his skin crawl and his heart crack open.
“Do you know why she did it? Why she wasn’t wearing a bra?” Maggie inquired, bending over to straighten some magazines on a small round table next to Ed’s chair.
Ed shook his head, trying not to notice the casual bobbing of the woman’s breasts.
“She wanted you to notice her.”
“What the…”
“Not so much sexually. She seems to think you ignore her.”
“She’s sort of difficult to ignore. Pretty, like her mother. I’d have her on a tight leash if she were my daughter.” He regretted his remark as soon as it escaped his lips.
“You don’t think I’m a good mother?” The calm voice belied the anger reflected in her twitching cheek.
“It’s not that at all,” he corrected quickly. “You’re a fantastic mom. But I’d make a damn poor dad. Men are predators when it comes to women.”
“You don’t think we women can defend ourselves?” Maggie asked, crossing her arms under her breasts.
“You might, but Carolyn…”
“Most of us females learn about the mating dance when we’re young. Many of us choose not to follow all the steps until we’re older. In fact, I would suggest that women are often in more control of that dance than men.”
“Oh.” Ed fumbled with his fingers, not liking at all the direction of their conversation.
“Besides,” Maggie chastised in a sultry tone, “women can be predators too. Don’t you agree?”
“Don’t know.” He shrank inside his skin as the blonde pixie leaned over and brushed her lips lightly against his.
“Don’t,” he protested, and then her tongue touched his. There was that intoxicating mulberry taste again. He floated in its familiarity as Maggie settled on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was as light as a feather. He knew she had to feel his erection pressing against her bottom. He felt her shift her position to gain more leverage. Then, she aggressively invaded his mouth.
“Don’t talk. Don’t run from me,” Maggie muttered against his lips, catching her breath.
He couldn’t run if he tried. Ed clutched her tight, not wanting to ever let her go. She felt like a life preserver being thrown to a drowning man. Again her lips bruised his; breasts crushed against his chest. He stroked her neck leisurely, then her back, and then her buttocks. She moaned encouragement.
Maggie reached for his hand and guided it up the length of her bare inner thigh. Her skirt already lay bunched at her waist. His fingers froze when she placed them on her straining mound. Not breaking the kiss, she pulled aside her bikini panties and pressed his fingers against her sensitive skin. The throbbing in his ears was deafening. Her tongue probing his mouth and her swaying hips pled for him to enter her.
Mesmerized by her tongue, Ed committed to memory the satin texture of her skin hidden from view. Her curly hair was moist from wanting. Her fingers pressed against his until they were inside. He probed tentatively. She was wet and hot to the touch; she pushed upward, taking him further in.
His fingers began their own exploration. Her muffled pleasure reverberated against the insides of his mouth.
She opened for him and he plied her with two fingers, searching deep and then nearly withdrawing. Her breath shortened. He worked in and out, slowly, then faster.
She hunched up on her knees, giving him even more space. And then she began riding his fingers as if it were the most natural thing to do. Her gasps were audible as his thumb glided over her clit. Her grip tightened. She was closing in on a massive climax. Her tongue slipped from his mouth. Her body shook and she buried her head against his shoulder, as if trying not to disintegrate.
Ed kissed her hair, helping her find herself. Too soon, his head started to clear from the erotic fog that had overtaken him. He grimaced. Maggie had given him a great gift that he could neither claim nor keep.
He sensed Maggie gradually drawing back into her body. Her hands fumbled at his belt. She had the buckle undone and was reaching for him.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” Ed hissed, shoving her hand away. “Now!”
Her eyes rounded. Her face filled with shock and disbelief. “But don’t you…”
“Now, Maggie,” Ed mumbled, roughly pulling down her skirt and unceremoniously standing her on her feet. “We’ve got to get on top of this, woman.”
Without a word, Maggie straightened her clothing. Moving toward the door, she turned and smiled like a wanton temptress. “I certainly expect to do that, Mr. Harrington. Sooner or later. I like being on top.”
As she shut the door quietly, Ed leaned against it emptying his lungs of air. She had clearly laid down the sexual gauntlet. The woman would drive him crazy. Damn, she smelled delicious. Her sticky heat still warmed his fingers. But she needed a decent man. A man who would make a decent husband and decent father.
Her scent hovered, teasing, enticing his hormones. She would be devastatingly delicious.
- o -
On the other side of the door, Maggie caught her own breath and gingerly made her way down the stairs on wobbly legs. She hadn’t planned on seducing Ed, not tonight, but she was a firm believer in spontaneity. Again, he’d left her only partially satisfied, wanting, needing more. Next time she wouldn’t be denied. And what about that parting shot? Being on top. She smiled broadly.
Two days later, Maggie paused from doing her morning chores to watch a white Con-Ex Farms van pull down the driveway. “Here comes trouble,” she grumbled. Her stomach knotted even before the tall, dark-haired man stepped away from the van. Determined to show no fear, she left the sanctuary of the barn and headed toward her uninvited guest.
She recognized him—she’d seen his picture often enough. It appeared in the local newspaper whenever there was a store opening, a county fair, or a church bazaar. He looked too confident, too tall, and definitely too handsome. Hiding behind polarized sunglasses, Mr. Taylor Fallon in his dark suit seemed very out of place standing in front of a barn. He was vice-president in charge of acquisitions. At least they weren’t sending a water boy.
Taking off her gloves, Maggie extended her hand in the mandatory greeting. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fallon?” she asked, squaring her shoulders.
“Have we met, Ms. Ande
rson? I’d never forget such a pretty face.”
“No,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Your picture has been in the paper a time or two, that’s all.”
“Thank goodness, thought I might be slipping.”
Not liking his subtle sexual innuendo, Maggie said, “Let’s get to the point, Mr. Fallon. I’m not interested in anything you might be offering.”
“Testy little thing. Josh Prater warned me about you. Guess you’ve earned your reputation for being a ball crusher.” Fallon folded his arms, then continued, “I’m only interested in your farm, Ms. Anderson.”
“It’s not for sale.”
Scowling, the man tugged at his tie. “You haven’t heard my offer yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. Farm’s not for sale. Not to you or anyone else.”
“There must be a price we can agree on.”
“This farm doesn’t have a price tag,” Maggie snarled through compressed lips.
The Con-Ex Farms man cast her a knowing smile. “Everything has a price tag, Ms. Anderson. Sometime it takes longer to discover what it is, but I can assure you, everything has a price.”
“Prater said about the same thing, but you’re both mistaken. This land has no price tag, Mr.Fallon.” She spoke distinctly, in case the man was hard of hearing.
She reached a hand to her cheek, trying to still its jumping. “I don’t want to be rude, but I think you found what you needed to know. Best you be getting on with your day. I’ve got plenty of work to do.”
Disbelief etched across his face. “But…”
“Don’t think there are any more buts,” Ed offered as he strolled easily out of the barn with a pitchfork in his hand. “Sounds like the lady’s made up her mind. And I can assure you she doesn’t change her mind easily.”
“Who the hell are you?” Fallon retreated a step.
Maggie swallowed a giggle—the vice-president’s take charge attitude had slipped a little. He hadn’t expected running into a man like the one threatening him with a pitchfork. Probably neither Fallon nor Prater knew about Ed yet—well, they sure knew now.
This was a new Ed, relaxed on the outside but coiled on the inside, ready for whatever happened next. She wasn’t positive she liked being protected in this way, but this wasn’t the time for that discussion.
“Name’s Harrington. Just happen to be here.” Ed spat within inches of Fallon’s shiny black wing-tips. “Thought you were leaving.”
“I’m out of here.” Glowering at Maggie, Fallon declared, “But this isn’t the end, Ms. Anderson. You can count on that. I’ll have this land yet. Everyone has a price. Don’t stretch yourself too thin, you might just snap. You better hope we get some rain soon, or your crops will dry up before you can name an asking price.”
Annoyed, Maggie watched the Con-Ex Farms van tires spin in Fallon’s rush to leave. “So, what do you suppose he meant by that? Not stretching too thin.”
“Does this place have a mortgage on it?” Ed lean heavily against the pitchfork, his gaze focused on the disappearing van.
“Not much, given what it’s worth.”
“Can you pay it off? That’s what matters.”
“I could. It would eat into what I could invest in the stables, but it wouldn’t be a severe dent. The mortgage is less than thirty-five thousand. It’s a loan left over from when Mason wanted to start a trucking business. That didn’t work out too well.”
Ed gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to know how much you have in reserve, but getting the mortgage paid off seems timely. Sounds like the suit who just scurried back to town is in cahoots with the local banker. If it was me, I’d pay the loan off, even if I had to cut back on the horses. You don’t need anybody having that kind of leverage on you. Makes you too vulnerable.”
“I agree, but Fallon’s right too.” Maggie picked up a handful of dry dirt and let the powder fall between her fingers. “If we don’t get rain fairly soon, we could be in deep trouble. A lot of money is going out. I might have to borrow against the land or the horses to make it through to next spring’s planting. Or maybe put off buying the broodmares.”
Ed fixed his gaze on her.
She knew he was trying to determine how long she could and would stick to the plan for the stables. She didn’t like the fact that he doubted her courage.
“In the long run, the broodmares will likely be your cheapest investment,” he said, without censure. “They can help you make a profit without depending on the luck of the track. But that will take time.”
Maggie watched the man remove his dusty ball cap and run his finger nervously through his hair. He wasn’t speaking his mind. Ed was clearly on edge about her financial situation. She couldn’t blame him, she was too. And he did have a lot riding on her being able to make it.
“I never advise anyone to borrow against their horses,” he said. “That’s too damn risky. The value of a horse is only one race or one bad step away from plummeting.”
“Can’t that value also go up?”
“That doesn’t seem to happen as often.” Ed fell silent.
Maggie watched a hopeful robin tap the ground with its beak, trying to entice a worm to rise. Maybe it was too dry for a worm. Yet, shortly the bird was pulling on a long worm, extricating it from its home.
“Think I’ll run into town this afternoon and pay that mortgage off. If I have to borrow later in the year, it will be from a different bank. Prater doesn’t know I have the bulk of my husband’s insurance money in the Walker bank.”
She noticed Ed flinched at the word husband. No matter, that was his problem. If he wanted to be hung up on the fact that she had been married and was the mother of two children, she couldn’t do much about it.
“Maybe I should make a deposit in a Des Moines bank and pay the loan off without exposing the existence of the Walker account.”
Grinning, Ed drawled, “You hang around me long enough and you’ll become a suspicious person, Ms. Anderson. But I do believe that’s an excellent idea. Devious, but superb.”
Maggie curtsied gracefully, returning his smile. “Well, I am pleased that I please you, Mr. Harrington. Sometimes I wonder.”
“It doesn’t take much to please me,” Ed said, looking down at her. “It’s you I worry about.”
Ed sauntered back to his work without waiting for a reply, leaving Maggie sputtering to herself. Pleased! He’d pleased her immensely. Why the hell couldn’t he see that? Why wouldn’t he let her please him?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Color drained from the teller’s face when she saw the amount of Maggie’s cashier’s check. “It’ll take me a little bit to pull together the necessary paper work. Would you like to take a seat over there?”
Maggie nodded at the mousy haired woman with the honey sweet voice. She knew what was coming next. She’d prepared herself against the forthcoming onslaught. She hardly had time to settle on the slippery vinyl chair before Josh Prater stormed out of his office looking for her. Spying her, his eyebrows arched and he made his way quickly across the foyer.
“Maggie, you don’t have to do this. We want your business. You don’t have to borrow from another bank to pay us off.” He scowled. “I know Mr. Fallon was out to your place. He told me how rude you were to him.”
“Rude. Rude? Me?” Maggie pounced off the chair and Prater took two steps back. “You tell Mr. Fallon if he wants to see rude, just come back without an invitation.”
Maggie thought Prater was going to burst. His face looked as red as a vine ripened tomato.
“You sure are a chip of the old block. Your father thought he was bigger than his britches, too. Didn’t get him far.” Glaring down at her, he stood ramrod straight and hissed, “You’ll get your comeuppance, young lady, just wait and see.”
Maggie glared at the back of the banker practically dashing toward his office. The slamming of his office door echoed across the lobby. Tellers who had been discreetly observing the scene quickly found something else to do.
“I’
m ready for you, Ms. Anderson,” the teller handling her transaction said.
With a flourish, Maggie signed all the necessary papers. Seething, she walked through the bank foyer, hurrying for some fresh air. She’d never thought her dad had an enemy in the world. Sometimes she could be naïve, though. She groaned. It wasn’t difficult at all to imagine Ed Harrington agreeing with her about that.
As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, Maggie glanced skyward. Hardly a cloud could be seen. Worry lines strained many of the faces she saw in town. It was mid June already, and tender new crops were starting to wilt. If they didn’t get rain soon, they’d all be in trouble. Of course the bank and Con-Ex Farms were big enough to ride out even weather difficulties. They’d be major beneficiaries of a prolonged drought.
“So how’s life treating you, Maggie?
Maggie turned to greet Ben Templeton with a wisp of a smile. “Just made the banker unhappy by paying off a loan. I’m surviving. How about you?”
“I’m doing fine. Join me for a glass of cold lemonade in my outer office?”
“Sarah is going to start charging you rent one of these days,” Maggie replied, allowing herself to be guided toward Sarah’s diner.
After Flo Zimmerman set two tall glasses of icy lemonade at their table, Ben asked, “Did you ever find Harrington?”
Taking her cue from Flo, Maggie cocked her ear and heard Patsy Cline’s Crazy playing on the jukebox. She’d have to sort that out later, maybe. “Yes,” she replied to Ben. “Harrington’s working for me now.” Maggie kept her tone steady, certain that Ben already knew about her hired hand. So what did her old friend really want to know?
“Drove by the other day. Saw a few horses, but not enough to qualify as a racing stable. Figured you’d found some help.”
“It’ll take time. Actually, I have a half dozen horses racing in the Chicago area.”
Ben’s jaw dropped. “That’s got to be expensive.”
“So far they’re holding their own. And some of Ed’s friends cut a real good deal for me.”
Heat Wave (Riders Up) Page 9
