House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3

by Zanders, Abbie

Remember your manners, Maggie. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice channeling. “If I offer you some, will it speed this along?”

  Okay, so she wasn’t exactly Miss Manners, but she was trying. The most important thing was to get him on his way before Ian came along, because surely he’d go tattling to Michael right away. Not that she felt she was doing anything wrong, but over the last few months she’d come to recognize and appreciate the fierce protective instincts of the Callaghan men. Innocent as it may be, she just could not see Michael – or any of his brothers – seeing it that way. With everything they’d been through lately the last thing she needed was another reason to worry.

  “You are an angel, Maggie. I would love some, thank you.”

  Maggie fought to keep the neutrality in her expression as she led the way toward the kitchen. Spencer made himself at home, parking himself at the kitchen table while Maggie poured coffee and put some still-warm rolls on a plate.

  He was dressed impeccably, as always. Had he not followed in his father’s footsteps he could have been a male model. Even Maggie had to admit he was an extremely good-looking man, with classic features and a lean, athletic build. But, as she found out so conclusively, looks weren’t everything.

  He occupied himself by looking around the kitchen. Maggie didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on the two coffee cups that sat in the drainer board, or Michael’s heavy quilted flannel hanging by the back door.

  “You look beautiful, Maggie,” he said, as she placed the plate and mug in front of him. “Much better than the last time I saw you. Radiant, in fact. Like a woman in love. Or expecting. Or both.”

  She forced herself to count slowly to ten in her mind. She would not allow him to rile her this morning; she was too happy. She smiled sweetly and took a seat adjacent to him. “You’re looking good yourself, Spencer. New blood in the secretarial pool?”

  He chuckled. “You always did keep me on my toes, Maggie. I miss the challenge. But I assure you, I am being completely sincere.” He bit into the roll and closed his eyes. “Ah, perfection.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  She waited patiently, sipping her own decaf while waiting for him to get to the point. Spencer had a tendency to take his time, she knew. It was one of his little power games, intended to get people wondering, fidgeting.

  She refused to play those games with him any longer. Maggie watched him steadily, her gaze unwavering, unwilling to be intimidated by the likes of Spencer Dumas.

  “That’s quite a lovely ring you’ve got there,” Spencer said finally, eyeing the white gold setting and brilliant diamond appreciatively. Maggie did not comment. “I take it you are engaged, then?”

  “Spencer, you didn’t come all the way out here to look at my ring. Or to ask me questions you surely already know the answers to.” Pine Ridge was not an overly large community. Even if she was a fair distance from the town proper, something this juicy was bound to get around. She was sure she and Michael had provided much fodder for the local gossip mill. “What is it that you want?”

  He looked hurt by her question. If she didn’t know him so well, she might have fallen for it. But Spencer Dumas had the skill of a Hollywood leading man when it came to facial expressions and body language. He spent untold hours perfecting both. She’d even caught him practicing in front of the mirror once.

  “We used to be very close, Maggie. I’ve been hearing things...”

  She offered him a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Have you now?” The soft Irish lilt colored her words unintentionally, an indication of the strength of the emotions running just below the surface.

  “Yes.” Spencer’s countenance masterfully shifted from ‘hurt’ to ‘concerned’. “Some of the things you are getting involved in...”

  “And what I do should matter to you why, exactly?”

  A quick flicker of hurt again, mixed with just a touch of confusion and ... longing, perhaps? “I know things didn’t work out between us, but that doesn’t mean I cannot still care about you.”

  Maggie’s green eyes grew stormy as she fought to cap the rage building beneath. “Yes, Spencer, that’s exactly what it means. And don’t kid yourself. You never cared for me. The only thing you’ve ever cared about is my land.”

  “That’s not true!” he insisted, losing some of his composure. For a few moments, it appeared that something genuine actually broke through the carefully crafted, rehearsed presentation. “I care for you, Maggie. I admit, business may have been the initial impetus behind our relationship, but things changed and - ”

  “I caught you having sex with your assistant in your office the day after you proposed, Spencer! And she was one of many!” Her voice grew louder. Even if she no longer cared for Spencer, the betrayal, the humiliation, still stung. “You don’t do that to people you care for.”

  A reddish hue tinged his lightly bronzed skin; the tick in his jaw barely noticeable. “I am a man, Maggie. Perhaps if you’d been a little more attentive, things might have turned out differently. God knows I asked enough.”

  “Don’t you dare blame me for your indiscretions, Spencer Dumas! A real man takes responsibility for his own actions!” Fire flew from her eyes as she shot to her feet, splashing her coffee across the table. He mimicked her actions, standing up and towering over her, all pretense evaporating.

  “Damn it, Maggie! You gave me no choice.”

  “You always had a choice, Spencer! Keep it in your pants or don’t!”

  “So superior, aren’t you?” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm as the smirk played about his lips. “Playing the virtuous little farm girl. Tell me, Maggie, are you just as virtuous with Michael Callaghan? Are you making him wait until you are married? Or are you just another Callaghan whore?”

  Maggie’s face flushed crimson as her temper flared. Before she could stop herself her hand drew back and slapped him right across his face. Hard. The resounding crack split through the quaint kitchen like a shotgun blast. Spencer’s smirk vanished instantly as shock temporarily seized him. Maggie took a step back, her eyes huge with disbelief at what she had just done as the expression on Spencer’s face grew dark. Maggie opened her mouth to say something, but the voice they heard was not her own.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Dumas?” Ian’s deep voice cut through the kitchen unexpectedly, startling them both. He strode across the room and angled himself protectively in front of Maggie.

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business, Callaghan,” Spencer said, bringing his hand up to the blossoming red stain across his cheek as if he could wipe the sting away. Spencer was tall and fit, but he was still several inches shorter – and narrower – than Ian.

  Ian’s eyes narrowed in warning. “Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong.” His voice was whisper soft, but there was no mistaking the threat it held. “Maggie is very much my business.”

  “Spencer just stopped by to see how I was, Ian,” Maggie said, wishing her voice hadn’t trembled. Even overseas she hadn’t seen Ian like this. Gone were the roguish smile and laughing eyes, the ever-present air of fun and mischief she’d come to associate with him. Though his stance appeared relaxed, the tightly-coiled tension was impossible to miss as he pinned his gaze on the other man, almost daring Spencer to refute him.

  In those few moments she saw Spencer’s mind working furiously, the muscles clenching around his jaw as his hand did at his side. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to pit himself against Ian, Maggie thought. Even she could see that he wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell. Despite her ire, Maggie actually felt a little sorry for him.

  Another quick glance at Ian suggested he was already considering various options for hiding Spencer’s body after he was done with him. Maggie wasn’t particularly fond of Spencer on a good day, and right now he was pretty far down on her shit list, but she had no desire to have his blood on her hands. Or in her kitchen.

  “He was just leaving, weren’t you, Spencer?”
<
br />   The plea in her voice was unmistakable. Spencer’s eyes flicked from Ian to Maggie and back again. Ian’s eyes glowed, the hint of a smile inviting Spencer to contradict her. Probably hoping he would, in fact.

  Maggie released the breath she’d been holding when Spencer nodded curtly.

  “Excellent,” Ian said. I’ll show you out.”

  “Make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Maggie,” Spencer warned, shrugging away from Ian’s grasp.

  “Don’t worry, Spencer. You taught me that lesson well.”

  * * *

  Minutes later, Spencer’s Mercedes pulled around Ian’s SUV and proceeded up the driveway under Ian’s watchful eye. Only once it disappeared from sight did Ian turn to Maggie. “You okay, Mags?”

  She exhaled heavily, dropping back into her chair and wiping up the coffee she spilled. “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. The flush was fading quickly, her hands trembling as the adrenalin surge drained away. Ian watched her closely, dialing down his aggression, but his protective instincts remained on full alert. It was more than a chivalrous reaction; he, like his brothers, had become quite fond of her since their return from overseas. Any woman who would fly halfway across the world in the middle of the night for his brother’s sorry ass was more than alright with him. He held no illusions that had Maggie not done what she did, they would have been bringing Michael home in a body bag. She had given Michael the incentive he needed to pull through. Not to mention Lexi adored her.

  Inclusion to the inner circle of the Callaghan clan, however, also meant that she was now under the watchful eyes of seven alpha male types – eight, including the family’s patriarch, Jack Callaghan. Michael took great comfort in that, but Maggie was having trouble adjusting. As an only child used to living alone and independently, she no doubt found all the added attention overwhelming sometimes.

  Her irritation was evident now. She made no attempt to hide it, stubbornly refusing to meet Ian’s gaze as he studied her. Half of him wanted to give her a high five for standing up for herself; the other half wanted to give her a lecture on personal safety. He ended up doing both.

  “Hell of a smack down there, sweetheart. But don’t you know better than to let a man into your home when you’re here by yourself?”

  * * *

  Maggie continued to scrub at the table long after the small puddle was gone. Her heart was still thumping against her chest, but it was slowing now. Another few deep breaths ought to do it.

  “Funny how that rule doesn’t seem to apply to you or your brothers,” she said, crossing her arms. “I know I locked the front door. How did you get in?”

  Ian shrugged, as if it was inconsequential. “I saw a strange car in your driveway.”

  “So you picked the lock and let yourself in?”

  For the first time Ian seemed to realize that Maggie might have a problem with that. “I was worried about you. You’re family now, Mags. And I’ve got a nephew to protect.”

  He grabbed a cinnamon roll and somehow managed to cram the entire thing in his mouth at once. The hard, lethal mask he wore earlier transformed back into the delight of a roguish boy with gooey icing sticking to his lips right before her eyes.

  She fought to keep the twitch of her lips from turning into an actual grin. The last thing he needed was encouragement, even if deep down inside she was thankful he’d arrived when he did.

  Plus it was hard to remain miffed with him when he said things like that, when he looked at her with so much affection, as if looking out for her was the most logical, natural thing in the world. Still, his total lack of repentance was irksome.

  She released the pent-up breath she held inside. “I don’t see how that gives you the right to break into my house.”

  Ian grinned and ruffled her hair. “That’s because you’re an only child. You clearly don’t grasp the concept of big brothers.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched again, despite her best efforts. “I’m older than you are.”

  “True, but I am much bigger than you. Now, how about some of that coffee to go with these cinnamon rolls?”

  “Well, okay. But only if you teach me that awesome death stare thing.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Dumas was there?” Michael said, accepting the draft Ian poured for him. He had refused initially, but changed his mind after Ian convinced him it was a good idea. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? Is she alright?”

  He kept his voice even, but couldn’t completely mask the displeasure in his voice.

  “Relax, Mick. Maggie’s fine. A little pissed off, maybe. From what I heard, Dumas was trying to warn her off you.”

  Michael snorted. Maggie didn’t do ‘a little pissed-off’; her fiery temperament didn’t allow for such degrees. She was either angry or she wasn’t, and he could guess which applied in this case. The thought of Dumas sniffing around Maggie created a blood-red haze that tainted his vision. It was probably a good thing that he’d had some business to take care of that morning. If it had been him walking into the kitchen instead of Ian, he might not have shown the same restraint, despite the fact that on most days, he was the most level-headed of them all.

  “Any idea why?”

  Ian smirked. “Because he’s an arrogant, self-centered bastard who cannot stand the fact that you, my brother, have succeeding in getting the one thing he cannot have?”

  Michael grunted in response. He already wanted to kill the bastard for hurting Maggie over a year ago, though at the same time he was immensely grateful that Dumas had been such a selfish prick. If he hadn’t been, it would have made things more difficult.

  If there was one thing Michael was absolutely certain of, it was that Maggie was meant to be his and his alone, and Fate would have found some way to ensure that their paths crossed. And once he’d come in contact with her, he would have realized who and what she was. The fact that she was unmarried and uninvolved when he found her made it easier, really, but the end result would still be the same. When all was said and done, Maggie was his.

  “Maybe.” He took a drink, letting the smooth brew roll around on his tongue before swallowing. “You were there. What did your gut tell you?”

  Ian’s eyes met his, and he had his answer. “He’s up to something. I can feel it, and I don’t like it, Mick.”

  Michael nodded. The Callaghan brothers had long since learned to trust their instincts, and his were telling him the same thing. When one of them had a feeling, it was nearly a sure thing. When more than one of them shared the same feeling, you could pretty much bet the bank on it.

  “Feel up to doing a little research, then?”

  Ian looked affronted. “Like you even have to ask? I’ve already kicked off a bunch of sniffers. Dumas isn’t stupid, though. He’ll cover his tracks well. It may take some time.”

  Michael nodded again. Ian was the best. If there was anything to find he would do it and then they would take care of it, because that’s what they did – ferreted out and neutralized threats. What worried him more was the fact that Dumas had managed to get into Maggie’s house so easily, and that things had escalated enough for Maggie to actually hit him. Ian wasn’t telling him everything – he was sure of it – but he would not press. For now. He trusted Ian enough to know that if he needed to know something, Ian would tell him.

  “Thanks, man. I’m glad you showed up when you did. What the hell was she thinking letting him in like that?”

  A slight frown creased Ian’s boyish features. “I asked her the same thing. That got her back up, said that I was the one that broke into her house.” Michael raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, I didn’t recognize the car, and knew you’d already left,” Ian explained.

  “Perfectly reasonable.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. But Maggie didn’t quite see it that way. Go figure.”

  Michael’s lips twitched. “That explains why you didn’t call me r
ight away.”

  “I didn’t call right away because there was no need,” Ian said firmly, suddenly finding a spot on the bar that needed attention. “Everything was under control.”

  “Meaning she offered to show you some creative storage space for some of her scarier kitchen implements if you tattled, all of which involved parts of your anatomy to which your wife is fondly attached?”

  Ian’s huge grin confirmed his suspicions.

  Michael laughed. “Afraid of my little woman, are you?”

  “No,” Ian countered defensively. “But I’m not stupid enough to wave a red flag in front of a bull, either.”

  When Maggie came into the bar with Taryn an hour later, her face lit up at the sight of Michael. His heart swelled in his chest; he didn’t think he would ever get used to the fact that she loved him so completely. Pulling her into his arms, he greeted her with a searing kiss, one that left absolutely no doubt to anyone within viewing distance exactly who she belonged to. Let that get back to Spencer Dumas and his little spies.

  “Michael! I thought you had to work all day,” she said breathlessly.

  “I finished early,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Did you now?” Flames licked through her green eyes at the possibilities of exactly how they might spend the bonus time. That soft, Irish lilt had him hardening painfully.

  “Aye.” It was the only way to answer when she spoke to him like that.

  Ian cleared his throat, and their little private world expanded to include everyone else again. Maggie’s eyes swiveled toward him accusingly. “You called him, didn’t you?”

  “Now, Maggie, – “

  “The question is,” Michael said quietly, his deep voice commanding her full attention, “why didn’t you?”

  * * *

  Ian almost patted Michael on the back for his exemplary male behavior, along with an encouraging remark or two, but thought better of it as Maggie’s eyes flashed and he mentally prepared himself for her response. Amazingly, though, the intensity of Maggie’s fire dialed down to a low simmer as she dropped her eyes. It was one of the most impressive transformations he’d ever seen.