by Kathy Ivan
“Thanks for letting me know. Mr. Delgado, if you need anything, I’ll be here, and my housekeeper, Felicia, is around, too.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.”
“See you later, Maggie.”
Ridge showed Delgado where to get started, and headed out to the garage. Maggie had given him permission to use any of her vehicles, and he’d spotted a nice ATV, which would get him where he needed to go a lot quicker than hoofing it. Grabbing the keys from the pegboard, he started it and drove away from the house, taking a well-worn path behind the garage. Might as well explore some of the property he hadn’t looked at yet.
He hadn’t made it far before his phone vibrated in his pocket. Slowing to a stop, he cut the engine, and pulled out his phone.
“Boudreau.”
“Oh yeah? This is Boudreau, too.” His father’s deep voice held humor and affection, and Ridge soaked it up.
“Dad. Good to hear from you. What’s up?”
“Your momma said you’re coming for lunch tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. She orders, I obey.”
“I see I taught you well.” His father’s chuckle warmed Ridge. The love he felt for the man was beyond explanation, and he thanked God daily that he’d been fortunate enough to have gained two people who’d made his life bearable after his mother’s death. “I needed to check on you. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”
Ridge pondered his father’s words, wondering what was going on with him. “You saw me last week. Nothing’s changed. I’m fine, I promise.”
“Good. I’ve had this feeling, can’t explain it. Like anticipation maybe. I know you’re working,” his father stressed the word, “so be careful. Something’s in the air I can’t put my finger on. I guess I needed to hear your voice.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad. I’m bringing a guest.”
“Your mother told me. A girl?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas. It’s not like Rafe or Antonio or Brody. Maggie is simply a friend, and she’s been under a lot of stress. I thought a dose of Boudreau family life would be just the thing to cheer her up.”
“Good idea, son.”
“Dad, tell Momma no matchmaking. I’m working for Maggie, and I don’t need her or any of the other women trying to make more of it than it is. She’s a nice person, but we aren’t going to fall in love.”
Douglas laughed at Ridge’s protestation. “You keep telling yourself that, son. The harder you run, the harder you’ll fall. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Starting the ATV, Ridge headed deeper into the wooded area, intent on scoping out another section. Little by little, he was eliminating Maggie’s land as the drug pipeline. Hopefully their intel was wrong, and the trucks wouldn’t cross through her stretch of property. It had happened before. He really wanted to go to Daniel and tell him the DEA didn’t have a case against Mary Margaret White. That she was innocent.
Because he had a gut feeling things were about to turn ugly, and he wouldn’t be able to do a darned thing about it, except stand by and watch her be led away in handcuffs.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunday morning dawned with one of the most beautiful sunrises Maggie had ever seen. Taking her cup of coffee, she sat on the back patio and watched the sky come alive with color, painting the few low-lying clouds with all the majestic hues nature offered. She’d slept like a rock until right before dawn, and couldn’t get back to sleep. So, she’d crawled out of bed and decided to take a few quiet moments for herself.
She loved this time of day, where everything seemed fresh and new. Reborn. A time for contemplating her past, her present, and her all-too-elusive future. Funny how she’d never envisioned having much of one. Not until Ridge steamrolled his way into her life, like an unstoppable freight train. Now, she wondered…if she’d done things differently, made other choices, chosen a different path, would she even be where she was today?
“Morning, Miss Maggie.” Ridge stepped into her line of sight, a mug of coffee in his hand. His pants rode low on his hips, his bare chest was covered with a smattering of dark hair. She swallowed past the lump in her throat to respond.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Yes.” He nodded toward the still breaking sunrise. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. It’s one of my favorite views from the house. Dawn breaking over the treetops, the water from the pool shimmering with color. And the quiet. It’s like I’m such a tiny piece of the great big world around me, insignificant to the bigger picture.”
Perching on the edge of her chaise lounge, he placed one hand on her knee, squeezing gently. “You’ll never be insignificant. You’re too full of life, Maggie. It’s like you glow, radiate this internal…I don’t know what to call it, maybe peace. Like you know who you are and what you want from life, and you’ll move heaven and earth to accomplish it, and yet still remain the person you are deep within.”
“That’s beautiful, almost poetic.” And sounds nothing like me. Inside I’m a mess, with so many broken pieces, I’m afraid like Humpty-Dumpty, nobody will ever be able to put me back together again.
“We’ve all got broken pieces,” Ridge said softly, and Maggie blushed, realizing she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Some more than others.”
Ridge’s eyes scanned her face, not in an unkind way. There was something in that look, a kindred spirit maybe, who understood all-too-well what it felt like to be broken. Curiosity crept into her thoughts, wondering what could have caused somebody as strong and upright as Ridge to shatter into a million tiny pieces.
“Want to talk about it?”
Did she? She’d hidden behind a façade of cavalier nonchalance for so long, kept everyone at arm’s length for longer than she cared to think about. Yet there was something about Ridge that made her want to tell him. A gut instinct that said he wouldn’t judge her and find her wanting.
“Did you know I was married before?” When he shook his head, she continued speaking softly because she didn’t want to ruin this moment between them. “It was a long time ago. I married young, far too young to know what a mistake I made. I should probably tell you about my family, so you’ll understand. My parents were great. The best parents anybody could ask for. I had a brother, Landon. He was a year and a half older than me. We didn’t have a lot when we were growing up, not like you see here.” She waved her hand around, indicating the patio, pool, and the house.
“Nothing wrong with not having money. It’s how most of us lived.”
“We had a house in an Austin suburb. A ranch-style house. Three bedrooms with a front porch and a postage stamp of a backyard. But it was home, and I loved it. My parents both worked. Dad drove a truck for a supermarket chain, and Mom worked for a pharmacy. One of those mom-and-pop shops like you’d see in the old TV shows, with sundries on the shelves, and a little soda fountain toward the back where they served milk shakes and ice cream.”
Maggie stopped talking, her throat clogged with the memories of her mom, standing behind the counter, fixing shakes for her and Landon. He always got strawberry, and she got chocolate. She remembered her mother’s smile, her gray eyes shining with hidden laughter when Landon would blow bubbles in his shake, making Maggie giggle uncontrollably. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw her mother’s eyes. The same gray color, the same shape, surrounded by dark lashes.
“My mom loved working at the pharmacy, futzing around behind the counter. She wasn’t a pharmacist, so she didn’t dispense drugs or anything, but everything else in the store she dealt with. On the weekends, when Dad was home, we’d make homemade ice cream. I won’t go into details, but they came up with an ice cream treat that all the neighbor kids loved. Dad mentioned it to somebody at the grocery chain where he worked. Long story short, the chain could deal with manufacturing it and all the things that go along with selling it, so they put him in touch with a large company whose sole focus was ice cream novelties. They loved my p
arents’ creation so much they bought it outright—lock, stock, and barrel—for a ton of money.”
“That’s amazing, Maggie. You must be very proud of them.” Ridge’s hand still rested on her knee, slowly massaging little circles on her skin, and Maggie closed her eyes against the feelings stirring deep within.
“I was.” She felt the almost imperceptible acknowledgement at her use of the past tense, when the soft circles on her knee stopped for a mere second, before resuming. Before he could say anything, she plunged forward in her story. “All of a sudden, we had everything we ever dreamed. My parents built this house right away. We already owned this land. It had been in the family for generations, though nobody had done much with it. Not until we came into that ice cream money. Money changes everything, you know. Of course, both of them quit their jobs; they didn’t need to work anymore. Landon and I were in high school, and it meant changing districts. Things were great for years. He graduated and went off to A&M. I followed two years later. Landon and I were coming home for fall break. My parents drove up to get us. It was pouring rain. We’d been on the road for almost an hour when a semi veered into our lane.”
She stopped and took a deep breath. Even after all this time, thinking about the accident—what she could remember—wracked her with guilt. At the tightness in her chest, she closed her eyes, focusing on breathing. In slowly, out. Repeat.
“Maggie, darlin’, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. My parents…were killed instantly. Landon lingered in intensive care for almost twenty-four hours, though I never got to see him. They took me into surgery immediately, doing everything possible to keep me alive. You know what the hardest part was? All the people around me, telling me how lucky I was that I’d survived. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt abandoned. I felt guilty because I survived and they didn’t.”
“I think it’s perfectly normal to feel that. The loss you suffered wasn’t only traumatic physically, but emotionally. Did you get help, counseling of some kind?” Ridge reached for her hand, and wrapped his around it, entwining their fingers.
“Yes, I did some one-on-one counseling with a psychiatrist at the beginning. Once I was allowed to leave the hospital, she suggested I attend a group for people dealing with loss. Grieving with others who’ve suffered is cathartic, at least that’s what she told me. Anyway, I went. That’s where I met Michael, my husband.”
“You attended the same group therapy?”
“Uh-huh. Michael had lost his brother in a boating accident. They’d been out on Lake Travis and his brother fell overboard and drowned. So, we felt a bit like kindred spirits, working our way through loss. Maybe I was naïve, but all the attention he paid me made me feel special. Wanted. When Michael proposed, like a gullible fool, I leapt into marriage with both feet. We eloped to a Justice of the Peace and got hitched before I could realize what a colossal mistake I’d made.”
“Sounds like he took advantage of your vulnerable state to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”
Maggie shook her head, and pulled her hand free from Ridge’s, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective fashion. “Being young and foolish isn’t an excuse. I went into the marriage with my eyes wide open. They might have been covered with rose-colored glasses, but I was stupidly, passionately, in love with Michael. He swore he felt the same about me. Just goes to show what a gullible fool I am.”
“Never say that, Maggie. You were in shock from your loss, grieving, and it sounds like he manipulated you into something you were in no way ready for. Let me take a wild guess—he wanted your money.”
“That’s part of it, yes. But what he really wanted was a doll. Somebody who’d eagerly stay at home, cook his meals, wait on him hand and foot, and never say boo. And I did, because I wanted Michael to be happy.”
“Why wouldn’t he be happy? You are an amazing woman, Maggie. Any man would be blessed to have your love.”
“That’s…very sweet. I did love him, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing I did was ever enough. I couldn’t be the woman he wanted. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t thin enough. I wasn’t meek or submissive. I guess once the shock subsided, my true personality, the real me, surfaced. Michael didn’t like the real me, much less love me.”
When Ridge sighed, she wanted to stop talking. She didn’t want to tell him about the ugliness her marriage devolved into. Didn’t want him seeing the side of her who’d allowed herself to be weak and ashamed. But once started, the words seemed to take on a mind of their own, spilling from her until she had to finish.
“The first time he hit me, I left. I walked away with nothing but the clothes on my back. I had money, lots of money, so I didn’t end up in a shelter like most women less fortunate. I checked into a hotel and started making calls. Made sure Michael got taken off every account, every credit card. His name was removed from all the bank accounts. I cut him off at the knees, because I might have been a fool for marrying him, but I wasn’t a doormat to allow him to get away with abusing me. No woman needs to allow anyone to hit them. That was and is a hard no for me.”
“Good girl,” Ridge murmured.
“Please, let me finish, so you know it all. If I stop now, I’ll never be able to talk about this again.” Getting off the chaise, Maggie took a few steps and stood at the edge of the pool, listening to the cascading water from the waterfall splashing against the rocks, the sound a soothing backdrop to her frazzled thoughts.
“I had to get a restraining order, have my lawyer remove Michael from the property physically, and believe me, that wasn’t a happy, fun time. He used the legal system like a pro, trying to stay in this house. We already had a security system my dad installed when they built the house, and I got it upgraded. That’s where Henry Duvall comes into the picture. He came highly recommended by several prominent people. The guy knows his stuff when it comes to electronics and surveillance. Anyway, Michael wasn’t allowed anywhere near me. And before you ask, yes, I filed for divorce. Michael wasn’t having any part of agreeing to a divorce, no matter how big a settlement check I offered, and it was a lot. I wanted him gone, out of my life for good, and was willing to pay to make it happen.”
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in her ear. Lost in her memories, she hadn’t heard him move to stand behind her. When his arms slid around her waist, she leaned against him, indulging in the feeling of warmth and safety offered with his silent support.
“I was home alone when Michael showed up. Henry had gone to town to get something, I can’t even remember now what it was. Felicia only came in the mornings, and she’d already left. He—Michael—rammed his Hummer through the front gates, pushing them aside like they were tin cans. He pounded on the door, demanding I let him in. The sound of his shouting, there was something different about it this time. Not that he didn’t lose his temper and yell; he did. A lot. But this time, I don’t know, it sounded like he didn’t care anymore. He wasn’t going to get back into his car and leave. I could feel it in my gut. I went for my shotgun. I wasn’t going to be defenseless if he somehow got through the doors. You’ve seen my front doors; they aren’t easy to get through with anything less than a battering ram.”
“They aren’t, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of what he did. I noticed the repair work in the limestone around the entranceway. Meant to ask you about it. He drove his Hummer through the front doors.” The way he said it wasn’t a question, but she answered him anyway.
“Yes. By the time I realized what he was doing, it was almost too late. The doors were no match for a six-thousand-pound Hummer. I ran for the back doors, intent on getting away. He…he was on me before I’d made it halfway. Tackled me from behind, and when I landed on my stomach, the shotgun flew from my hands.” Maggie trembled, remembering how helpless she’d felt sprawled on the living room floor, Michael’s weight pressing against her, smothering her, leaving her gasping for breath.
“We struggled. It was pretty one-sided, because Michael was a large man, over six
feet tall, and he worked out. He backhanded me across the face. I remember thinking at the time it didn’t hurt. I guess I’d gone numb, locking everything away. I do remember thinking if I didn’t provoke him, didn’t respond to his tirade or his fists, he’d stop.”
“Did he—stop?”
Maggie’s head jerked in a brief nod. “The alarm triggered the minute he hit the front doors with the Hummer. When I didn’t respond to the security services’ call, they must’ve notified the police. I heard the sirens, knew help was coming, and I must have made a sound, or moved the wrong way, because Michael grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to the kitchen. Then he grabbed a butcher knife—to this day I don’t know why he didn’t go for the shotgun. The local police got here first, flashing lights and sirens blaring. The county sheriff showed up next. I can’t remember if it was Shiloh Springs or Burnet County.”
“Shh, it doesn’t matter. Finish it, Maggie. Get it all out, and then we’ll let it go.”
“I wish I could let it go. If only it was that easy.”
Ridge’s arms tightened around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. How long had it been since she’d allowed anyone to hold her? Touch her? Standing here with Ridge’s arms around her, it felt like she was coming alive. For the first time since she’d gotten out of the hospital, after the accident and losing her family, she felt like a tiny blossom opening to the sunlight. And it scared her, because Ridge was temporary. Once the job was done, he’d move on, without a backward glance. She couldn’t afford to risk her heart. Look what happened the one time she’d risked it. No, allowing Ridge close would require her trusting him, and no matter how good or kind or upstanding he seemed, she didn’t trust him. Not completely. And she never would.
