That'll Be the Day

by Kress, Alyssa

  The atmosphere in the car was thick with everything neither one of them was saying. Maggie bit her lip as she ran a yellow light. Now, what?

  "Um, I have to go home," she announced. Hardly to the point, but true.

  Ian merely nodded.

  "See, I don't have clean clothes for today. A shower would be nice. And there're my cats." Maggie realized she was babbling.

  Ian just inclined his head again.

  Jeez, couldn't the man say anything? All right, it was obvious he was depressed. Deeply depressed. It was just as obvious that Ian's emotional state was no affair of hers.

  But she couldn't help feeling...like she ought to do something.

  "It would be nice if I could open the nursery on time, though," Maggie went on, speaking slowly. "I don't suppose you'd mind...?"

  It took him almost a full minute to get it. From the corner of her eye, Maggie could see his frown deepen as he stared out the windshield. "You want me to open the nursery for you?"

  "You just have to be there, basically," Maggie hastened to explain. "Stall anyone who actually wants to make a purchase."

  Ian turned to look at her full on. "You're suggesting I be at your nursery...while you're at your house?"

  Maggie threw him a quick glance. "Is that a problem?"

  He paused for a significant beat. "I had thought there was."

  Maggie brushed a hand in the air. "Oh, you mean how Andy doesn't want you without a keeper for even five minutes? Pfft! I figure what Andy doesn't know can't hurt him."

  Ian simply stared at her. He was clearly checking for sincerity, examining whether she truly believed he could handle thirty minutes on his own without a medical emergency.

  Maggie did her best to disguise a nervous swallow. She wasn't actually sure she did. His condition still seemed delicate, and she was pretty sure he'd already tried to go around the rules.

  But, dammit, he needed a boost of confidence.

  "True," he finally said, his voice very deep. "What Andy doesn't know can't hurt him."

  "Good." Maggie smiled as if she were pleased he'd come to the same conclusion she had. Inside she felt a knot of trepidation.

  Was she doing the right thing? For heaven's sake, wasn't a less-than-confident Ian a much more likable one? She had no use for the jerk she'd met on the stairs that morning.

  All the same, she took the turn that led to the nursery instead of the one that went to her house. She was committed now.

  ~~~

  Exactly a half hour after dropping Ian off at the nursery, Maggie pulled his Cherokee into her usual spot beside the sales building. She wasn't fussy when it came to clothes and makeup, but she'd outdone even her own speed record in showering and changing into clean clothes this morning. Instead of taking time to open cans, she'd simply tossed some dry cat food into her pets' bowls.

  Since she was panting as she closed the car door, she paused a moment at the top of the nursery steps to catch her breath. She didn't want Ian to think she'd rushed on his account.

  Although, of course, she had.

  Because what in the world would she tell Andy if she found Ian collapsed on the floor of the sales building?

  Maggie took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  Ian was not collapsed on the floor. In fact, he was nowhere in sight.

  But Maggie could hear him. She walked through to the other side of the building, where it opened out on the nursery. Ian was standing beside a ficus tree, smiling and chatting with an elderly couple. The man and his wife were dressed in casual clothes, jeans that were comfortably wide and colorful shirts.

  If she hadn't known Ian had spent the weekend in the hospital, she'd never have guessed by looking at him now. He appeared quite natural, tall and at ease. As Maggie watched, the elderly couple laughed at something Ian said.

  Ian laughed, too.

  His action caused a peculiar spike of emotion in Maggie. It was good to see him laughing. And his smile...Maggie had never noticed, or maybe she'd never witnessed, this particular smile of his. It was good-humored, charming...weirdly attractive.

  Maggie blinked and shook her head. Attractive? Ian wasn't attractive. Ian was...well, Ian. And it was time to take care of her customers. She moved out from the building.

  "Good morning!" she called to the group by the ficus tree.

  The elderly couple turned to her with smiles left over from their conversation with Ian. Ian's eyes shifted to meet Maggie's. His smile turned ironic.

  Darn. Ian's smile told Maggie he knew she'd rushed to get back to him. Her face warmed.

  "So! What can I do for you today?" she asked her customers. She looked from one of them to the other, careful not to glance again in Ian's direction.

  Fortunately, the couple was focused on obtaining some new ground cover for their front yard and was happy to demand Maggie's full attention. She didn't have to look at Ian again and possibly reveal any more of her guilt. It didn't hurt that Ian himself moved off once she arrived. From the corner of her eye, she noticed him pacing to the perimeter of the nursery. Exercising.

  She felt surprised. Judging by his neglect this morning in hiring a caretaker, she'd assumed he was going to act completely delinquent.

  Perhaps she'd misjudged him.

  Half an hour later, she helped the satisfied couple load twenty flats of blue fescue into the back of their Suburban. Not a bad sale, and she knew they'd be happy with their choice. The fescue would work well with the phormium and queen palm they'd described in their front yard.

  She was watching them drive off when she heard Ian's voice behind her left shoulder. "That certainly wasn't easy."

  Startled, Maggie whirled. "Oh—! What wasn't easy?"

  Ian nodded toward the vanishing Suburban. "Making that sale. It took you thirty minutes."

  Maggie brushed her hands. "Oh, it wasn't so bad. Thanks for keeping them here until I could arrive, by the way."

  Ian's lips twisted. "It was nothing."

  It hadn't been 'nothing,' particularly considering how few sales she'd made since Friday, but Maggie didn't want to point out that Ian's health problems had cost her money. "Well, thanks anyway," she said.

  "Don't thank me!" Ian's eyes were hard and fiery on her before flicking abruptly away. "You've only been doing everything for me and my family since Friday."

  Maggie opened her mouth, appalled. "Ian, I—"

  "No. Don't." He closed his eyes. "Please don't try and make excuses for me or explain how none of this is my fault. And for heaven's sake, don't thank me."

  Amazing, Maggie thought, gaping at the man. Even in despair and concentrated fiercely on hating himself, he could manage to push her buttons. "Excuse me, but I'll thank whomever I want to," she declared.

  He opened his eyes. Maggie saw a spark of something—antagonism, the desire to bite back. Something beyond the bleak despair.

  But then it was gone.

  "Sorry," he said. "Sorry. Of course you can."

  Sorry? The man had apologized to her? Maggie instantly felt the hot wind taken out of her sails. She stood there in stupefaction as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to walk away.

  Well, hell. He wouldn't even fight?

  Maggie felt a deep well of concern as he paced away. This wasn't right. It wasn't good. Maybe his heart had been fixed but something else inside had been broken.

  And was getting worse. The swimmer wasn't even trying to reach the buoy any more.

  "Hey, Mr. Sorry!" she called out.

  Ian stopped. He took a second, as if disbelieving she could be addressing him, then turned.

  "Yeah, you," Maggie called out. She strode toward him. "Instead of being sorry, which does me no good, why don't you make yourself useful?"

  Ian's expression of disbelief expanded. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard." Maggie planted herself in the aisle facing him. "What are you going to do for me today?"

  Ian stared at her. "You think I can do something—useful?"

&nbs
p; Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah." Inside she was shaking. Was she doing the right thing? Would her challenge spark him back to life or keel him right over?

  Ian continued to stare, and then he laughed.

  Maggie shrugged. "I don't know what's so funny."

  "I'll tell you what's funny." Ian dropped a step back and gestured. "You want me to work? How? I can't pull a rake, I can't push a shovel, or even weed. And no, I can't haul a damned bag of fertilizer for you. And to top it all off, I don't know a thing about plants!"

  Maggie carefully kept her expression impassive. "So?"

  "So?" He was breathing through flared nostrils. "So, exactly how do you expect me to be 'useful?'"

  Maggie shook her head and snorted. "Men. Not a one of you has an ounce of imagination."

  Ian's eyes got very wide. "Is that right?"

  "It is." Maggie made this very certain. Then she spun on her heel. She'd certainly managed to provoke a reaction. But had it been enough...? She strode purposefully toward the sales building but secretly listened to hear if he were following her.

  Ian's footsteps behind her were heavy and determined.

  Since she was turned away from him, Maggie allowed her mouth a pleased quirk. She then went through the open side and into the building. Pretending she had no idea Ian was right behind her, she strolled past the counter and into the office area behind it. She dropped into the old desk chair that sat in front of her ancient computer.

  "Let's see now," she murmured, ignoring Ian hulking on the other side of the counter. "Where d'you suppose Pearl put it?"

  "I have an imagination." Ian sounded like he was speaking through his teeth.

  "Hm." Maggie made it unclear whether she were responding to his statement, or still wondering where Pearl had put the mail.

  "Believe me, I've been imagining all kinds of things lately." Ian sounded bitter.

  "But none that are particularly useful, I'd bet." Maggie pulled open the top drawer of the old desk, but no stack of mail sat there. This was too bad—she really did want to find the mail. Meanwhile, she shut the drawer and then ever so casually reached over to depress the 'on' button of her computer.

  "Although imagination is rarely useful," Ian claimed.

  "Uh huh," Maggie said, then tried the second drawer down, but without much hope. It would be a silly place to put the mail, even for Pearl. Meanwhile, the computer hummed, and the mascot icon started to burn in the middle of the screen.

  "Nothing is going to 'imagine' me out of this mess," Ian muttered, then added more distinctly, "What are you looking for?"

  "Huh?" Maggie's head came up fast.

  Ian nodded toward the open drawer of old receipts and notepads. "Did you lose something?"

  "What? No." Maggie closed the drawer quickly. "I'm only wondering where my worker yesterday put the mail."

  Ian rocked on his heels and smirked. "What, you can't imagine where it might be?"

  Normally, Maggie would have been irritated by his attitude, but now she felt triumphant. He was responding, waking up. Fighting back. "If I could imagine it," she told Ian, very sweet. "It would certainly be useful."

  Ian snorted.

  Maggie was just congratulating herself on this snort, a decidedly alive and even amused snort, when her computer spoke up, emitting a horrible wail.

  "What?" With a gasp, she glanced over at the screen, as if she didn't know exactly what she would find there: the icon blinking madly.

  "Oh, dear," Maggie murmured, as if she hadn't been seeing this same deplorable behavior from her computer for the past week.

  "What's wrong with it?" Ian asked.

  Maggie tapped a few keys on the keyboard, knowing full well there'd be no response. "I have no idea," she said, quite truthfully.

  "Try turning it off and starting over," Ian commanded.

  Maggie looked up at him. "How is that supposed to help?"

  "Just try it."

  "But—"

  "Move over."

  Maggie firmed her lips. "No." She didn't need to pretend resistance. His commanding attitude never failed to get her back up. She was thankfully saved from resisting too much by the bell ringing over the front door. A customer.

  "Maggie?" It was Irene, a regular. She fingered the beads of her long, costume-jewelry necklace as she peered around for Maggie. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Maggie at the computer, with Ian looming over her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"

  "No, no." Ian's voice was deep and unmistakably pleased. "Maggie was just about to let me take a look at her computer."

  "I was not—"

  "Go," Ian told her. He gave her shoulder a gentle shove. "Spend some time selling vegetation."

  Maggie narrowed her eyes as she rose from her seat. "Don't break my computer."

  "It's already broken, sweetheart." He smiled wickedly. "Now, go."

  Sweetheart? Oh, now he was taking advantage— But Maggie got out of her chair and went. In fact, she led Irene out to the gardens with a small, wicked smile of her own. Ian was busy, occupied...fighting.

  And, hey, who knew? He might even end up fixing her computer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With a steady influx of customers, Maggie was also kept busy that Tuesday. But at one point, she did notice Ian emerge from the sales building. He made a clearly exercise-motivated walk around the perimeter of the gardens and then strode back inside. Maggie congratulated herself. He was well-occupied and distracted.

  Her last customer of the morning necessitated a long tour of the garden area, a detailed discussion of the pros and cons of English ivy—and no sale. Maggie waved him off with a smile, nonetheless. If a customer bought something he didn't like and ended unhappy, he'd never return. This one, however, might come back.

  She looked around the deserted garden area. Since she now had a free moment, it wouldn't look odd if she checked on her two patients: Ian and the computer.

  She found the former looking perfectly healthy, lounging in her desk chair, his ankles crossed and his heels resting on the desktop. An open seed catalog was in his hands.

  For a moment Maggie's eyes rested on his hands, the long, tanned fingers spread over the seed catalog. She'd never noticed that Ian had very nice hands, as graceful as a musician's.

  It took her a second to realize her computer had vanished.

  Maggie blinked. What? No, surely it had to be here somewhere. She craned her neck, but saw no computer beneath the desk.

  Meanwhile, Ian looked up from the seed catalog. "I thought you were never going to get rid of that old geezer."

  "He just didn't want to make a serious mistake." Maggie continued looking around. Where on earth could the computer be? "Ivy can be hell to get rid of."

  "He keeps dithering like that and he'll end up six feet under before he plants his garden."

  "Not everybody is as decisive as you are," Maggie returned. "All right. What did you do with it?"

  "With it? Oh, you mean the junk heap." Ian closed the seed catalog. "I guess you could say I got decisive."

  Maggie looked blankly at him.

  "I called some tech guys I know from the office. They took it away."

  "What?"

  Ian dropped his feet from the desktop. "You heard me."

  "But—but—" Maggie was incredulous. He'd ordered someone to take her computer away? Just decided to have her personal computer hauled off? Not to mention he was supposed to have been fascinated by the project. As long as an object had a plug and buttons, a man was supposed to mess with it 'til the cows came home. "I can't believe you did that!" she gasped.

  Ian raised his eyebrows, putting him in haughty and superior mode.

  Maggie's ire spiked. "You—you had no right. That was my computer." If he thought he was going to start bossing her around, running her life...

  Ian meanwhile tossed the seed catalog onto the desk. "I had every right."

  "Excuse me."

  He gazed up at her. "You asked me to fix it,
didn't you?"

  "I did not." But even as Maggie said these words, hotly and self-righteously, a tiny voice piped up inside, debating them.

  Ian must have seen her wince. His expression turned satisfied. "No, you didn't ask me to fix it. You just..." Here he rolled the chair up to the desk where Maggie had earlier sat. He made a pantomime of turning on a nonexistent computer. "Oh, dear," he said, in a mocking falsetto. "What is this? My computer isn't working?" He put his hands to his cheeks. "What a—why, what a pure surprise!"

  Maggie, watching this, crossed her arms. He was being utterly disrespectful, making fun of her on top of trying to take over her office. She tried to hang onto her indignation, but instead felt the corners of her lips twitch.

  Ian shot her a glance. "And no, no, no," he continued, in the same falsetto. "I don't want you to touch it, Ian. Of course not. Because if I didn't act reluctant, you might not try to fix it!"

  Maggie felt a laugh bubble forth. Oh, it was—too frustrating. He'd completely overstepped, and all she could do was laugh because...he was right. "Oh, come on, Ian. You know it's true. You wouldn't have given my poor computer the time of day if I hadn't...managed things a little."

  Ian swiveled the chair to face her. "So you admit it? You did want me to try fixing it?"

  Maggie wiggled her fingers where they lay on her forearms. "Mm." Of course, she was guilty as charged. But still... "You shouldn't have hauled my computer away without asking me first." The cost of fixing it wasn't something she'd budgeted, for one thing, but even more, he just shouldn't have.

  Ian crossed his arms over his chest. "And if I'd asked, would you have said yes?"

  "No."

  He uncrossed his arms and lifted his palms as if to say, 'I told you so.'

  Maggie's amusement faded into a moment of supreme frustration. Why couldn't he understand? A person might want to order her own life and not have him manage it, wonderful and expert as his management might be. "Ian—"

  "Maggie," he interrupted. He set his palms on his thighs. "You wanted me to fix the computer. You admit that. Well, I got as far as I could. Then I wasn't about to beat my head against a wall. I called someone who could actually do something."