by Grace Walton
“No, I trust you, I do. It’s just that…” she quickly assured. She stopped and bit her lip.
He put out a surrendering hand. “It’s fine Maggie. You’re allowed to keep your life private. I always have.”
And the part he left out was, I always have until a few minutes ago when I spilled my guts to you because I trust you, because you’re important to me, because I care about you. She could fill in the blanks. And it made her feel like a horrible person.
“I want to tell you. I want to tell someone.” Her words were low and defeated.
He came near once more. “Then tell me. Tell me what happened to you. I promise it will not change the way I feel about you, Blackbird.”
When he laid his work-worn hand atop his heart, she thought he looked like a hero from a medieval romance novel. His eyes were a true pale beryl. His perfect face was solemn. A lock of rebellious dark hair fell over his broad forehead. He was the embodiment of the prince in the fairy tale. Except that this particular fairy tale must involve a cowboy out of place on a grimy urban street.
“Your feelings will change,” she argued weakly. “If I tell you, everything will change.” She licked her lip to moisten the sudden dryness there.
“They won’t, I promise,” he said once again. “Just tell me. You will feel much better. Secrets always hurt the one who’s keeping them the most.”
“Can I have the day to prepare?” She couldn’t believe she was even asking such a puerile question. Did she really believe he would hear about her sin and still have any good regard for her?
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll pick you up at the mission this evening. We’ll have dinner. And you can tell me everything.”
Hollister was no fool. He knew when to push and when to back away. This revelation had to be of her own choosing. And it had to be in her own time. Just securing her promise to tell him what he needed to know was enough until that night.
“Fine,” she gulped hard as she spoke the words.
“Let me take you to work.” He indicated a low-slung sports car parked halfway down the skinny street.
Maggie gaped at the expensive vehicle. In Montana he’d driven a beat up truck. He’d been her brother’s ranch foreman. Now she could see more than one of her suppositions about Hollister were wrong.
“That’s yours?” It was an impolite question, she knew. But she couldn’t stop the words from spilling from her mouth.
He smiled. How to answer that question, he wondered? Was Maggie truly ready to understand how different his life was from hers? Was she ready to see him in a new, more accurate light?
“It is.”
“Oh,” she whispered. It was not a promising sound. Her face became as red as the nearby phone booth. She nodded like she understood, but her wide dark eyes were glazed.
“Maggie,” he began to explain.
“No, no,” she hurriedly said. “There’s no need to tell me more. With your title, I’m sure you could buy and sell me and my family several times over. It was very rude of me to comment upon your fancy car. I’m sorry. Just put it down to shock,” she said with an uneasy low laugh.
He could buy and sell her family. But it wasn’t because of anything he’d inherited. It wasn’t because of the blasted title. He was rich because he’d put his life in danger every day since he’d been eighteen. He’d taken more bloodthirsty risks than any sane man should or would. He’d earned and invested his money. Just like his youngest sister was now trying her best to earn her own money with the organic farm at their country seat.
“I didn’t inherit anything from my father other than a useless title and a back full of scars,” he said as unemotionally as he could.
He wasn’t trying to elicit her pity. The abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his brutal father was a truth no one knew. But she had to recognize he was willing to let her see past the façade he’d built against the rest of the world. If she saw him offer a little bit of his own vulnerability, maybe it would ease her struggle to tell him about what had happened to her. As for the money, there was no way he would risk scaring her off over something as paltry as his bank account.
Maggie’s breath caught in her chest. He’d been hurt by his father? How and why, she wondered? There was never any excuse for a grown man to take out his ire on a defenseless child. She couldn’t stand the thought of Hollister, as a boy, being the target of such abuse.
“So you’re saying you’re not wealthy?” she asked somewhat confused.
His jaw hardened. And before he could stop himself, he told her the truth, yet again, “No, I am wealthy. The Jag is mine as well as several others on several continents. I have homes all over the world. There’s an Italian vineyard and a small island in the Bahamas. And, I have a family estate as well as several holdings here in England.”
“You own an island? Wow,” she whispered her eyes going even wider. “Hollister, I don’t know you at all, do I?”
He didn’t like the sound of that. He hated the look of reserve upon her lovely face. He wanted to get rid of the closed expression she had that made him think about his life of lies and deceit.
“You know me better than anyone, Blackbird. You always have,” he pleaded with her to understand.
“No, that’s not true,” she said as she turned away from him. “If I really knew you, I’d know about your houses all over the place. I’d know about your history with your father.”
She started to walk away. Hollister felt his whole world tilt on its axis. He strode after her. And he begged, without any shame, “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Everything you want to know. Just don’t walk away and refuse to let me protect you.”
Maggie stopped and slowly turned to face him. A gust of stinking fog swirled around her feet. Her cheeks were pale. Her hands balled into small fists at her side.
“Is that what this is all about?” she demanded. “Is this still some kind of ploy you’re working for Gage? He doesn’t trust me to be an adult and take care of myself?” The disgust was heavy in her voice.
Hollister walked over and jerked her into his arms. He kissed the pink back into her cheeks. He cradled her head in one hand and forced her to look straight into his forbidding eyes.
“This has nothing, nothing whatsoever to do with your brother,” he growled.
“What is wrong with you? Why have you followed me here? It makes no sense?”
“Have dinner with me and find out,” he demanded.
She pulled out of his arms. It was then she realized she’d had no anxiety. She’d been locked fast in his embrace. He’d kissed her face. His breath had brushed her cheek. And she’d felt not one frisson of fear. She shook her head trying to clear it.
“No?” he rasped.
His heart fell to his boots. Was she really going to deny him the chance to make this right? He wanted to ram his fist through a brick wall.
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I’ll have dinner with you. There’s a lot we need to discuss.”
He nodded relieved. “There is. And I still want to know what happened between you and this Chase fellow.”
Maggie’s lips thinned. “I’ll tell you. But I’ll want to know some things about you in return.”
“Anything,” he said.
“Fine, I get off work at six.”
“I’ll be outside the mission.”
“You know where it is?” she asked.
Though why the fact that he knew exactly where her new place of work was should surprise her was anybody’s guess. Everything she’d thought she knew about this man was now up for review. But a promise was a promise. She’d said she’d tell him about Chase and she would. Maybe just telling it would somehow free her from the guilt and shame. She could only hope so. And she could pray about just how to relate the events of that long ago night.
“Yes,” he said.
Everything within her wanted to ask him how he knew. But some small spark of self-possession kept her from
inquiring. It was probably for the best. She wasn’t at all sure she could handle that information at the moment.
“I’ll see you at six, then,” she said as she, once again, turned to leave.
“Maggie?” he called after her.
“What?” she asked over her shoulder.
“It’s going to be all right.”
“What is?”
“Everything,” he said.
She saw how much he wanted to believe that simple statement. It was clearly written across his stark and beautiful face. She hoped and prayed he was correct. Because, right now, her life seemed like nothing more than a slow motion train wreck.
“I’ll see you at six,” was all she said.
Hollister stood rooted to the sidewalk staring at her. Two long blocks later she disappeared around a corner. The chirp of his cell phone was the only thing that made him move. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled it out to read the name of the caller. It was his sister, Mercedes.
“Hullo Merry,” he said into the receiver as he strode over to where his Jaguar was parked.
“J!” the girl screamed. “It’s you.”
“Mercedes, this is my cell. Who else would be answering?” He slid onto the rich leather seat of his car.
“Maybe one of your girlfriends,” she teased.
“Nobody answers this phone but me,” he answered gruffly. “And there are no girlfriends.”
“At the moment,” she mocked.
Hollister ignored her banter. He eased the low-slung car out into the traffic. “What do you need?”
“Oh pooh,” she answered. “Do I always have to need something just to call my favorite brother?”
“I’m your only brother, poppet. Tell me what you want,” he said acerbically.
“All right, we’ll dispense with the pleasantries and get right to it then, shall we?”
“We shall,” he answered.
Hollister was in no mood to be playful. He wanted to solve whatever problem his sister had and get back to the business of trying to figure out how he’d lost his mind over a little slip of a blackbird girl he’d known forever. He wiped a frustrated hand over his forehead. He didn’t even know who he was anymore. Where was the big bad mercenary who fought like a tiger and spat bullets at his enemies?
“Fine,” she huffed. “If you insist on being so bloody cold-hearted, I’ll tell you.”
“Soon, I hope,” he growled.
“J, you need to come down to the farm and get rid of this bloody woman.”
“What bloody woman?”
“Lady Fiona Cooper.”
Hollister cursed long and low. This was just one more thing to complicate his life right now. His mind should be focused on Magnolia Ferguson and her alone. She was the only thing, the only person who mattered. She didn’t know it, and he didn’t understand it, but she’d become the center of his personal universe.
“Truly, J, come fetch her. I can’t get anything done with her whining about rooms and breakfast and don’t even make me mention that slick man with the posh public school tie she’s got trailing after her. Come get her.”
“Merry, it’s complicated,” he started.
“Do not tell me you can’t come fetch your fiancée,” she tried to stop his explanation.
Hollister gritted his teeth. “Fiona is not my fiancée. She is nothing to me but a bad memory.”
“That’s not the tale she tells.”
“She’s a liar. We both know that. Just send her away. It’s your farm.”
“It’s our farm, J. And I’ve already done everything but call the local constable. She won’t budge. She’s installed herself in your bedroom and begun ordering me around like I’m one of her staff. You’ve got to come.”
He looked at his watch. He mentally calculated the time he’d need to get out to the country house, send Fiona scampering back to her father, and get back into London by six. He could do it, just.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” he barked before he cut the line.
Chapter Seven
The long tree-lined drive up to the house was beautiful this time of year. The leaves put on a colorful show. And the surrounding fields were heavy with swaying stalks of grain. It was a golden, inspiring scene. And all of it was lost on the hard-faced man driving like his life was in jeopardy. Or maybe it was someone else’s life that was truly at risk. If his cold narrowed eyes and clenched jaw were any indication.
Hollister wasn’t angry. No, he would have had to lose some of the iron control he was known for to be experiencing anything close to anger. Dealing with Fiona Cooper would not have been how he’d have chosen to spend this day. The woman had the sensibilities of a pit bull. Once she made her mind up, she was fairly unstoppable. And this time, she had the added impetus of following her father’s orders. If what she’d said in Montana was true, which was debatable. One never knew with Fiona. She played fast and loose with both honesty and integrity. But if she was indeed telling the truth, she needed Hollister’s name, title, and his wedding ring on her finger if she was going to be able to keep living like a billionaire’s daughter.
He would need to make sure she understood none of that would ever be happening. It was just the Devil’s own luck he must deal with this drama now. Now, when he should instead be seeing to Maggie’s welfare.
It wasn’t that he felt any compunction about setting Fiona straight as to their lack of a relationship. No, Hollister had no problem telling the woman exactly what he thought of her. She’d more than earned his ire. He was going to make sure she didn’t do or say anything to anyone that might be interpreted as interest from him. He’d not let the ashes of some long dead affair stain Maggie’s tenure in London. He’d do everything within his power to make sure Blackbird knew how much he cared for her. He wasn’t about to let her go back to Montana with any question in her mind as to his concern and respect for her.
He knew for a fact that she had very little confidence in herself. Partly because of what had been done to her by that idiot, Chase. And she was damaged partly due to his own clumsy efforts. He’d thought to save them both a lot of heartache by ignoring the lovely Miss Ferguson. But he’d finally admitted to himself that ignoring Maggie Ferguson was impossible. She was his. She just didn’t know it yet. And he didn’t fully understand all the implications this new revelation would cause in his own life. He’d never truly laid claim to a woman before. Not like he did now with Maggie. She was eons too young and innocent for him. But it was a visceral thing, an unstoppable force of nature. He had to be with her. The feeling was nothing like his brief and temporary engagement of years ago. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Fiona Cooper, or anyone else for that matter, threaten his progress in the wooing of his woman.
Gravel spun out under the tires of his car as he whipped it to a standstill in the circular drive of his family home. The country house rose to three stories and shone pale yellow in the sunshine. The marble it was faced with was old and veined with brown lines that made the place appear ancient. He knew it was not truly golden. But because of a trick of the light and the mottling of the stone façade, it appeared gilded. Hollister set the hand brake on the sports car and wondered idly if Maggie would find this house appealing.
Never before had he cared what anyone thought of the ancestral pile. Now, it seemed, he did. The feeling was unsettling. But before he could think on it further, Lady Fiona strolled down the worn steps leading from the massive double doors. She had a feline look. One he’d seen many times before. Once, a long time ago, he’d found it arousing. The exaggerated roll of her slim hips and the intentional jutting of her bosom had called to him on a very elemental level in those days. He’d been a callow youth eager to explore her feminine bounty. And she’d let him do so with animal enthusiasm. But now he felt only distaste at her blatant display.
“Why are you here, Fiona?” he demanded.
“Darling, can’t you at least try to be civilized. I know you’ve been rusticating in the wilder
ness of Montana forever. But can’t you at least try for a little of the aristocratic culture that’s been bred into you?” she purred.
When she got close enough, the woman leaned against him and ran a lingering hand down the center of his chest. To anyone watching it would look as if they were still a couple. It would seem she had every right to touch him in any way she liked.
Hollister’s frown deepened. He saw a second floor window’s curtain twitch back into place as if some had been spying on them. He took a step away from the Englishwoman.
“You aren’t welcome at Hollister Hall, Lady Fiona,” the man ground out.
There was much more he would say to her. None of it was good or even civil. So, instead, he gripped her elbow in a hard hand and began leading her towards her car.
“Why so formal, darling?” The woman seemed to take his rough handling of her as a sign of affection. “You know I’m just Fee to you.”
“No. You are not,” he countered. As he literally dragged her towards the waiting limousine, he continued, “You are nothing to me. You never have been. And I want you off my property and out of my life.”
“You lie!” she hissed. Her facade, much like that of the house they were standing before, was not so golden and lovely as it first appeared.
“I’m telling you the truth. We both know it. It’s over. It has been for a long, long time.”
“Of course it’s not over, you beastly man,” she huffed.
“Fiona, go home. Find another fish to hook.”
“But my father said…”
He cut her screeched words off with a few intense words. “I don’t care what your father says. I don’t care what we once had, little though it was. And I don’t care that you are about to lose your inheritance through no one’s fault but your own. Go. Home.”
