Well, shit.
Chapter Four
Mary and Max made their rounds at the Birch Falls retirement home, greeting the residents and passing out “care packages” consisting of tiny pots of brightly colored plants and a few extra niceties. Mary made a point of collecting things – lotions, special soaps, puzzle books, novels – for the folks to enjoy whenever she caught a good sale, knowing how much even the littlest things sometimes meant the most.
Their weekly visits weren’t totally selfless. Over the past few years, Mary had found a great deal of solace among the residents. It seemed that with their advancing age, they had also developed ways of dealing not only with death and the grief that it brought, but more importantly, how to go on afterward. Their support, their quiet empathy, had meant a lot when everyone else was incapable of processing the tragic loss of such a young life.
She whiled away a couple of hours in the massive rec center, sharing her gifts, chatting, playing several games of checkers and chess and getting solidly beaten. Max made his rounds, too. He was always a big hit. He loved the attention they lavished on him, as well as the generous amount of treats they snuck him when they thought Mary wasn’t looking.
By the time the winter sun started sinking below the horizon, Mary and Max took their leave and headed back home.
It had been difficult to keep thoughts of Aidan at bay since the moment she left him at Tommy’s, but keeping busy had definitely helped. Now that she was back in her own house, there was no hope of pushing them away.
Being the practical person that she was, Mary gave in to them as she warmed up some Ramen noodles in the microwave and filled Max’s doggie bowls with food and fresh water. She allowed images of golden eyes and bronzed hair to fill her mind’s eye with a soft sigh. There was no one here to bear witness, no one to tell her that she was acting more like a crushing teen than a thirty-something widow who should know better. She could recall his whiskey-smooth voice, his delicious scent, and his sexy grin to her heart’s content and no one would be the wiser.
Mary was reminded once again of that time-honored gem, “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.” Aidan definitely fell into that category, at least on the surface. Beyond gorgeous with the body of a male model, he was a sinfully tempting package that elicited naughty dreams and erotic fantasies with little more than a hooded glance from those incredible eyes.
And out of all the women at Tommy’s, he’d actually wanted to kiss her at midnight!
It was enough to set her heart fluttering and send a thrill down the length of her spine. That is, until she factored in his drunken state. Even plain Janes like herself started to look pretty good after a couple hours of partying.
That wasn’t self-pity taking hold; Mary was a realist. She had no illusions about herself. The dew of youth was all but gone from her features, though the signs of aging had mercifully not taken root quite yet. Just below the average height at five feet three inches, her frame was neither petite nor big-boned. Her hair was a medium shade of brown; her eyes a matching common shade of the same. There was nothing remarkable about her – no marks, no scars, no lush assets – to draw attention. Even her name was common, ordinary.
No, Mary was the quiet friend always waiting in the wings, but never the one in the spotlight. The one men inevitably looked right past to the younger, prettier, sexier models. Even Cam probably wouldn’t have noticed her if he hadn’t accidentally run into her with his bike the day she and her mother had been unloading the moving van.
She’d come to terms with it a long time ago, had made her peace with it. She really wasn’t the “look at me” type, anyway. Never had been. But, she thought ruefully, it would be nice to be noticed once in a while.
And yet...Aidan had noticed her. He was the one to approach her at Tommy’s. The big question was, why? Maybe it was because she had a prime corner booth all to herself. Maybe it was because he sensed a kindred lonely spirit.
Or maybe, he was just another good-looking guy who saw a wallflower and thought she’d be easy game.
While it was a possibility, it didn’t feel right. Aidan was a good-looking man. Bronzed and golden like a Greek god, with tiger eyes and a smile that could dampen a woman’s panties in a heartbeat or less. The type of man who must certainly set his sights higher than the likes of her. With a crook of those long, perfectly shaped fingers he could have had any woman in the bar. So why hadn’t he?
Looks weren’t everything, she reminded herself. Maybe Aidan, like her, was looking for something more. That might explain (but not excuse) the drinking. There had been a few unguarded moments where she was sure she’d caught the haunting loneliness in his eyes. And she knew she hadn’t imagined the way he’d looked at her when he was trying to figure out why she was being nice to him without expecting anything in return.
Clearly the man had some issues beneath all that pretty packaging.
The caring part of her recognized that and ached to do something about it, but the rest of her was weary. Sometimes it felt as if she’d been taking care of others her entire life. Her dad had been stricken with ALS while she was still in elementary school. Her mom didn’t cope well with his illness, so even at such a young age, Mary had stepped up to be there and care for her father.
After his death, her mom seemed to have completely lost her already-limited maternal instincts. She embraced her newfound freedom with both arms, leaving Mary at home alone more often than not to fend for herself.
Then they’d moved to Birch Falls, and Cam had literally crashed into her life. She’d been barely sixteen...
Mary shook off those thoughts. What was done was done, the past was the past. Rehashing it accomplished nothing more than making her depressed, and that was a waste of time and energy that could be better spent elsewhere.
Mary stared at the small card sitting on the table before her. A business card for the Celtic Goddess resort in Pine Ridge. She wondered if that was where Aidan worked. On the back he’d scribbled his first name and a phone number. His bold, male handwriting made her smile a little; it was so at odds with the man who’d needed her help to remove his own clothes the night before.
No matter how appealing he was on the outside, Mary just could not afford to let herself get involved with a man who needed a caretaker. She couldn’t be sure, of course, that Aidan fell into that category, but there were enough clues to make her wary. He showed poor judgment in drinking too much and trying to get behind the wheel. He wore Levis paired with four-hundred dollar Bruno Magli loafers and a buttery soft leather jacket that probably cost more than she made in a year, but drove around in a battered Honda that probably wouldn’t pass its next inspection. He was a walking contradiction.
And, for a moment at least, he thought she might be in the habit of picking up drunk men in bars and bringing them into her house, although she was pretty sure he realized his mistake soon enough. She actually felt bad for him by the time she dropped him off by his car.
Then again, nobody was perfect. If he had been, he certainly never would have found his way to her.
She liked helping people, she really did, and she would continue to do so. But it would be on her own terms; she would not allow it to become her whole life again if she could possibly help it.
Just once, Mary wished someone might want to take care of her. Not because she needed it, but because they simply wanted to.
She sighed, picking up the card in one hand and carrying it over to the sink. Taking the long-handled clicker she used for her favorite fragrant candles, she applied the flame to the corner, feeling a stab of regret as she watched it consumed by the flames. It was necessary. If she kept his number, she would have been compelled to call him, if only to see how he was doing.
* * *
Since when had a week been so long and gone so slowly?
Aidan tried everything to stop thinking about Mary. He threw himself into work, coming in early and staying late. He went to BodyWorks and worked out until he
was exhausted and his limbs felt like jelly.
He even made the two-hour drive midweek out to the invitation-only, private BSDM club to which he belonged, but not even playing Dom could get her out of his mind for more than a few minutes. It had been impossible to find a partner even close to resembling the soft, naturally lovely features he was oddly craving. For the first time since he’d joined, he had left without partaking in any scenes.
In spite of the long hours and marathon workouts, she was still there, quietly commanding his thoughts. Mary, with her big heart, warm hands and sad brown eyes. The ones that he saw every time he closed his lids.
As he had done at least a hundred times in the last few days, Aidan slid his private cell phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it discreetly. Just like every other time he’d looked, it stared blankly back at him. No missed calls. No unread texts. Nothing.
The question was, why did he care so much? She was so not his type. Aidan preferred tall, leggy blondes, not short, curvy brunettes. He liked his women sleek and well-schooled in certain behaviors, not fresh-faced and natural. And while he told himself that what he really wanted was a woman who liked him for who he was on the inside, he felt more comfortable with females whose eyes glittered at the sight of his sports cars, designer suits, and platinum cards.
Not those who tucked him in bed with tender kisses and soft whispers.
“Ah, fuck it,” he said to no one in particular after yet another attempt to reason his way through his uncharacteristic interest. It was unfortunate that he happened to be in the middle of a promotional meeting with Marketing at the time.
By Friday, he’d had enough. After his last meeting of the day, he drove down the mountain and crossed over into Birch Falls in record time. Of course, the trip was a lot faster in his powerful Benz than it had been in the beat-up Honda.
All eyes turned to him the moment he entered Tommy’s. It took him a moment to realize he was still in his Black Label Ralph Lauren suit and matching overcoat.
With the confidence of a man in his position, he walked up to the bar, took a seat and ordered one of the top-shelf Scotches.
“I know you, don’t I?” said the bartender sporting a Tommy’s polo. Aidan recognized him as the same man who’d worked New Year’s Eve. He thought he might be the owner.
“We’ve met,” Aidan confirmed. “I was in here New Year’s Eve.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed a little bit, then cleared, and Aidan knew the guy had placed him, too. “Right.”
“That’s actually why I’m here. I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the young lady that was sitting over there in that corner booth that night.”
Tommy’s hand paused mid-stroke as he wiped down the bar in front of Aidan; the conversations on either side of him grew silent, and the tension in the room suddenly increased.
“There were a lot of women here that night,” Tommy said noncommittally.
“Not like this one,” Aidan pressed. “Brown hair, brown eyes, about yay-big.” Aidan held his hand up to his shoulder. “She was sitting right over there, alone.”
Tommy didn’t even look up. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“You talked to her. Her first name is Mary, and - ”
“You got a hearing problem? I said I can’t help you.”
Tommy was standing at his full height, leaning menacingly on the bar, his palms flat. Aidan met his glare with one of his own. After seven years of holding his own against the Callaghans, he wasn’t even slightly fazed by Tommy’s aggressive posturing.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just looking for a last name.”
“You won’t find it here. Drink’s on the house. Now get the fuck out.”
Aidan was not at all inclined to leave, but the two large men who had made their way over and now flanked him on either side were rather persuasive. Aidan reached into his pocket and dropped a twenty on the bar for his drink, along with a business card. Tommy glanced down while chewing the toothpick between his teeth. Aidan could tell by the expression on the bartender’s face and the way one brow lifted that he recognized the name.
“Aidan Harrison, huh?”
Aidan nodded, then turned to leave. “If she comes in again, I’d appreciate it if you could see that she gets this.”
He felt their eyes on his back as he walked across the floor and out the exit, but no one made an attempt to stop him.
Well, hell. That hadn’t gone at all like he’d hoped. The card he’d left with his personal number on it was already lining the bottom of the nearest trash receptacle.
* * *
Mary put down her book and sighed in frustration. It was a great read, but so unfair. It gave such false expectations, nothing like reality. The leading men were always gorgeous, wealthy, strong and virile. Honorable rogues who were skilled in so many ways, falling hard and irrevocably for the “right one”. Fiercely possessive, they took care of their women.
She snorted. As if such a man really existed.
An image of golden hair, skin and eyes flashed into her mind, but she buried it quickly. She was already worked up enough from the steamy erotic romance to start thinking about him again, or to feel the sharp pain of regret at having burned his card.
Then again, she had done so for exactly this reason, hadn’t she? She knew that she would break down, and in a moment of extreme weakness (like the one she was having right now), she would have picked up the phone and called him, if for no other reason than to hear his voice, whiskey smooth and conjuring up images of body oil and silk sheets...
Lord, but he was a good looking man. Probably the finest she’d ever seen, if she was totally honest with herself. Everything about him appealed to her – his face, his hair, his voice, his scent. Oh, and she couldn’t forget that body. If that wasn’t created to answer a woman’s every erotic fantasy, she didn’t know what was. Expanses of golden skin, lightly dusted with slightly darker bronze hair. Layers of lean, hard muscle. The man screamed of sensual, dark power just barely leashed beneath the surface.
It wasn’t just his looks that were haunting her, though. It was him. She’d felt an instant connection to him the moment their eyes had met. Bad idea or not, she just couldn’t stop thinking about the man.
Mary fell back on the sofa and groaned. If she closed her eyes, she could remember everything about those twelve hours. The way his eyes seemed to look right into her soul, golden and glowing. His strong hands as he gripped her wrists so easily, frightening and thrilling her at the same time. The quiet but powerful timbre of his voice when he told her she had soft, warm hands.
It was official. She was in lust.
Her phone rang, jolting her from her memories. Even though she knew it couldn’t possibly be him (because, moron that she was, she’d refused to give him her number) part of her still hoped he had somehow found a way. It wouldn’t be that hard. He knew where she lived, after all.
Of course it wasn’t Aidan. It was her mother. Mary closed her eyes and put her hand over her forehead, angry with herself for not remembering that it was Sunday, and her mother always called on Sunday nights.
A sense of doom settled into her chest, displacing the lingering desire. Usually there was some mental preparation required before Mary had the strength to hold a civil conversation with her mother, and even then it was an exercise in patience. In her weakened mental state she didn’t stand a chance.
“You sound off,” Catherine (Cat) Murphy said within seconds, confirming Mary’s fears. “Are you sick?”
“No, Mom,” Mary said, forcing more energy into her voice than she felt. “I was just reading, and I guess I dozed off.”
There was a moment of silence, but Mary knew it was a very brief respite while Catherine loaded her guns.
“You should be out living life, not reading about it,” Catherine said. “You’re still young, Mary, but not by much. Each year you wait, it gets harder and harder to find a decent man willing to care for a woman beyond sweating
up the sheets.”
Mary groaned inwardly, wishing that just once, her mother would give it a rest. They rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything, but this was an especially sore topic. Catherine Murphy lived for male attention; to her, it was the most important thing in life. She simply could not understand how Mary could be content to be alone.
“Happy New Year to you, too, Mom,” she said, feeling the weight of guilt upon her shoulders for not calling and wishing her so on New Year’s Eve, which would have been much smarter. There was no way her mother would sit home on a night known for celebrating. She could have just left a message and avoided this. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
“I at least had ten good years with your father,” Cat said, ignoring her. “You barely had ten weeks before you became more of a nursemaid than a wife.”
“Cam didn’t ask for cancer, Mom,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he didn’t. My point is that bad things happen, Mary, whether we want them to or not. Often without warning. It is exactly why you need to grab as much of life as you can while you can. Life is too short, too unpredictable to spend it alone.”
“I’m not alone, Mom,” Mary said, the familiar argument weighing on her already-weary soul. “I have Max.” Besides, she added silently, it’s not as if there were many offers.
“For God’s sake, Mary, he’s a dog.”
Mary looked over her legs at the huge mass of yellow fur currently resembling roadkill. On his back, belly bared to the world, his long legs protruded out at odd angles that would have been painful for a dog with proper hip sockets. His big head hung off the side of the sofa, lips pulled away from massive, gleaming white fangs by gravity, eyes rolled far back in his head, lost in some utopian doggie dream. Max was so much more than a mere dog. He was the only other living soul to which she felt inexplicably linked.
He was also the primary excuse Mary repeatedly used to decline her mother’s frequent pleas to visit her in Florida. There were other reasons, too, not the least of which was her mother’s unerring ability to get on her last nerve in record time. She meant well (at least Mary kept telling herself she did) but she and her mother had very different opinions on what a woman needed to be truly happy.
Bottom Line: Callaghan Brothers, Book 8 Page 4
