In fact, the thought had never entered his head. What was it with Maddy and names?
She was obviously having some trouble suppressing her laughter as she stroked and patted the big animal. “Okay, Squiggles,” she said, feeding the horse a chunk of carrot from the flat of her hand. “I’d think of you more as a Blaze or a Chieftain. Something more . . . dignified.”
There she was again, talking to an animal as if it were a human and would answer her back. But after his conversation with Brutus last night, on what grounds could he say anything?
“At least his name isn’t Bruce,” he commented.
Surprised, Maddy looked up at him. A shaft of sunlight from the window in Squiggles’s stall hit her hair and it gleamed like burnished copper in the gloom of the stable.
“Point taken,” she said, her eyes creased with good humor.
It warmed Tom’s heart the way Maddy could take a joke. He also liked the way she was as at home here in the muck and the straw as she was in a photographer’s studio.
“Shall we saddle up?” she asked with a grin. “I don’t mind if you help me mount. That will really give those girls ogling you something to giggle about.”
The stable hands giggled all right and continued to giggle every time they “accidentally” encountered him and Maddy along the trail ride.
Their surveillance was beginning to bug him. Maddy was an expert on horseback, and they were well matched to ride together.
But—trail ride over—here he was with Maddy on a picnic blanket and not appreciating an audience hiding somewhere in the forest behind them.
Brutus—known for today as Bruce—was snoring peacefully nearby. Tom had had a tough time separating the less-than-discerning dog from the wonderful new toys he’d found lying around everywhere—dried balls of horse manure.
Maddy lay back against the big tree stump they’d used as a table. She stretched her arms out above her head, an action that lifted her breasts enticingly into prominence, the embroidered ponies pulled nearer to their bucket of carrots.
Lucky ponies. From where he sat Tom could reach out and touch them. But as he moved closer, there was a muted chorus of giggles. He swore.
“Be flattered,” Maddy said, smiling, “and accept that we’re being chaperoned.”
He didn’t want to be chaperoned. He was thirty years old and he wanted to kiss Maddy in privacy. And maybe explore those carrots. He grumbled some more. This wasn’t how he’d planned the day.
“The girls obviously think you’re a hottie and are used to having you all to themselves. I’d say they’re jealous as hell of me.”
“A hottie? Me?” The idea seemed preposterous, although he had to admit to being flattered. “Get real. I’m an old man to them. A boring old lawyer.”
“I find you anything but boring. And you look pretty well preserved to me.” Her gaze traveled lazily over him. It was as if she had trailed tantalizing fingers over his body and it reacted accordingly.
“As long as you think so, that’s all that’s important,” was all he managed to choke out. He lay down on his stomach to disguise the evidence of his reaction. “But you’re a grown woman, these are just kids.”
“When I was fourteen I had a mad crush on my riding instructor.” A smile hovered around her impossibly sexy mouth. “He scarcely knew I existed and, boy, did that hurt.”
He knew she had been engaged, must have had other boy-friends, but he didn’t want to think of her being involved with any other man. “I wonder what you were like when you were fourteen.”
Maddy pulled a face. “Gawky. Ugly. Covered in freckles.”
“Ugly? Never.” He moved closer to her and propped himself on one elbow as, with the other hand, he traced the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. “I think your freckles are cute.” He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose.
“Ugh,” Maddy said. “I hate ’em.The freckles, I mean. Luckily they faded once I started in kitchens. Working ’til two in the morning with only Mondays off I hardly saw the sun.”
“It sounds like a tough life. What made you become a chef ?” He enjoyed the play of expressions on her face as she thought about her answer. In the dappled sunlight her eyes shone greener than ever.
“Accident, really. I was at college, living in town with my grandmother. To make some extra money I waited tables at the only halfway decent restaurant there.”
He imagined her in a short black skirt, smiling her luminescent smile as she took the orders. Bet she made lots in tips. And not just from the male patrons. He thought back to how she’d handled Mrs. Poodle. The impression she’d made on his mom. Maddy was the kind of girl other women liked, too.
Maddy continued. “One night the chef turned up drunk, totally incapable. The owner was desperate. I volunteered to cook and somehow managed to get through all the orders.”
“So . . . they gave you the job and a star was born.”
“Nothing as fairy tale as that. The chef stayed sober from then on, and I finished my journalism degree.”
“And . . . ?” he prompted.
“I got a taste of being a professional cook. When I graduated, I moved to San Francisco and trained as a chef.”
She sat up, rolled back her sleeve, and flexed her bicep. “See? Muscles. They’re from hauling industrial-sized saucepans around a kitchen.” She pointed to a small scar on her forearm. “That’s a burn from the grill.”
“Hard work,” he said, admiring both her spunk and her shapely arm.
“Yes, but worth it. At Annie magazine I get to be both journalist and cook. The best of my two worlds. Now if I can just get this television gig . . .” Her eyes became hazy with dreams.
Maddy was on the brink of her dream job; he was on the way to his partnership.
She was as ambitious as he was. So how did he factor in her job, her goals with his master five-year plan? Could he successfully amend it and still ensure they both got where they wanted to go? And what would he do if he couldn’t?
Rethink things. That’s what his mother had urged him to do. Was his rigid life plan grounded in an adolescent reaction to a set of adult actions he hadn’t, at the time, fully comprehended?
It was time to shed that self-imposed stricture. Rid himself of something he’d long outgrown. Open his no-longer-bombproof heart to the possibilities this wonderful woman brought into his life.
The sun warmed his shoulders and Maddy’s scent intoxicated his senses. He filled his lungs with the sharp, pine-tangy air and felt a rush of the most exhilarating sense of freedom.
Maddy sat up, pulled her knees up to her chest, and hugged them. “That’s enough about me. How about you, Tom? Was there some”—she sought the right words—“significant event in your life that changed it forever?”
Tom looked so relaxed, his big, hunky body sprawled on the picnic rug. To Maddy, he appeared a man born to wear riding gear. His tight breeches molded the long, lean muscles of his legs and hugged the contours of his butt.
A good butt meant a lot on a man, and so did a good set of broad shoulders. Tom had both. She’d been appreciating them all day.
His handsomeness was not in doubt. But she ached to know more about this man she’d fallen so unexpectedly in love with. When she asked him the “significant event” question, he tensed. Immediately she regretted it, wondering if she had breached a no-go zone.
He pulled himself up to sit near her. “I can’t come up with anything as interesting as a drunken chef.” His mouth twisted into something that was neither grimace nor grin. “But I guess my father leaving us for a girl the same age as my sister could count as significant.”
Maddy snatched her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Tom, I’m so sorry. Of course they mentioned your parents’ divorce in that horrible newspaper article. I didn’t mean to . . . to reopen old wounds.”
He picked up a fallen eucalyptus leaf and worried it between his fingers, releasing its pungent odor. “That’s what they are, old wounds. I’ve put all that behind me no
w.”
Had he? The pieces of the puzzle that was Tom began to slide into place. His five-year plans, for instance. Maddy was no psychologist, but she wondered if he used those plans to exert control over a life that had for a while been thrown out of kilter.
Yes, that must have something to do with it. The knowledge made her feel she had moved to a new level of understanding and it served only to strengthen her feelings for him. She’d had her own way of dealing with her mother’s death that might not have been much different.
“Thanks for sharing with me, Tom,” she said.
He gave the leaf a final squeeze, tore it in two, and threw it onto the grass. “It’s no big deal.” He turned to meet her gaze. She was surprised at the expression of mingled relief and triumph that shone from his eyes and lit his smile. “I really mean that, Maddy.”
She slid closer to him on the picnic rug and snuggled against him. With her finger she traced that wonderful dimple, the sexy curve of his upper lip.Then she kissed him.
There was an immediate chorus of muted giggles and she broke away, giggling herself. “We’ve still got an audience.”
“Unfortunately.”
“No more kissing then,” she said, and laughed at his grim expression. She looked teasingly up at him. “But we’ve managed to talk and find out things about each other and that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Really good. But not as good as kissing. Never as good as kissing.”
Kissing—and much more than kissing—was what she wanted, too.
He got up and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s gallop. I’ll race you back to the stables.”
Twenty-one
Tom scanned the corridor outside the door to his apartment, trying not to appear too furtive. Thankfully the coast appeared clear.
He, Maddy, and Brutus had safely negotiated the journey from basement garage to doorway without any of the other apartment owners detecting the presence of a dog. Brutus had again refused to be confined to Maddy’s shopping basket, and she had him clutched to her chest, hidden under the picnic blanket.
Brutus was protesting at his confinement, wriggling and squirming and trying to fight his way out. From beneath the plaid blanket came the beginnings of a growl.
Suddenly a door opened down the corridor two apartments away. Maddy swiftly clamped her hand over the dog’s mouth as Tom pushed open their door. They fell through the doorway as Tom slammed the door behind them.
“That was close,” she said, getting her balance. Then she snatched her hand away from Brutus. “Ouch! You get down right now,” she said to the dog, plunking him on the floor.
Without a backward glance Brutus scrabbled away from her then waddled up the hallway, progressively freeing himself from the blanket until one final shake of his back leg left it lying on the floor behind him as he scampered toward the kitchen.
“Straight to his food bowl,” Tom observed. By now he had figured out Brutus’s priorities.
Maddy was still shaking her hand and wincing. “Did Brutus bite you?” Tom said. He threw down the bag with the picnic stuff.
“No, his teeth just grazed my hand when I was trying to keep him quiet.”
“Show me.”
Her pale hand, long fingers topped with short, practical fingernails, lay in his much larger one. He turned it over but couldn’t see any marks, just a slightly reddened area. But he held on to her hand, anyway, enfolding it in his.
That brought Maddy very close to him, the hungry ponies in their eternal quest for embroidered carrots just stroking distance away. “I really am fine.” Then she sighed. “But I’ll be glad when this is all over and Brutus can run around freely again.”
Her words reverberated through him with a pain that surprised him. “Will you?” He searched her heart-shaped face for answers. “I won’t be. Glad when it’s over, I mean. I, uh, I’ve gotten kind of used to having you around.”
There was a long, still silence between them. “Me, too,” she said, “gotten used to you, I mean.” A pink flush appeared high on her cheekbones.
Tom cleared his throat. “You and Brutus, well, you’ve made your mark . . .”
“On your car upholstery.Yes. Don’t forget to bill him for that. That’s assuming we win the court case, of course. I suppose he’ll have a bank account but what about signatures and ID and—”
Maddy was talking way too fast. He took her other hand so both were captured in his. Her face was only inches from his.
“Don’t try and change the subject, Maddy. You’re very good at doing that.”
“I am?” Her eyes widened.
“You know you are. I’m trying to be serious here . . . I . . . uh . . . dammit, this isn’t easy. I’m trying to say I don’t want this—you, me—to end after twenty-one days. I want us to . . . well, I want there to be an ‘us.’ ”
Hell. That didn’t come out very well. At work he was known for his eloquence.Yet he couldn’t find the right words to tell this special girl that she’d gotten under his skin and how he couldn’t imagine a life without her. Or, in fact, without that pesky little dog.
But, hold on, her eyes had gone all misty, and that delightfully bow-shaped mouth was trembling. Maybe she had gotten the message after all.
“Tom, I feel the same way,” she said in a soft little voice that made his heart beat faster. “Yes, it’s no fun having to stay inside, keeping Brutus locked away, but it’s . . . I . . . well, I’m really enjoying being with you. I don’t want that part to end.”
“So, what does that mean for the two-date rule?”
Maddy didn’t hesitate, looked straight into his eyes. “Forget the two-date rule.”
“And kissing occasions?”
She nodded in the affirmative. “Forget them, too.” Then wailed, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant.” She tried to pull back from him but he held her hands firmly.
He smiled. “You meant, I think, forget any limitations on kissing occasions.”
“Yes, Mr. Attorney, that’s exactly what I meant,” she said. And the pout to her lovely mouth made it very clear that she expected a kissing occasion right now.
Oh, oh, oh, this was turning out so right, Maddy exulted to herself as Tom’s mouth covered hers. He hadn’t said he was in love with her. Not exactly. But she was sure he must be close. He just couldn’t say it.
Well, who could blame him? It was hard to utter those three words, darn near impossible, in fact. She’d had her chance, and she hadn’t murmured, “I love you,” either.
But, oh, how she was feeling it. After their blissful day together she felt so close to him, so confident that they could be happy together.That they understood each other.
So they hadn’t talked long term, but didn’t short term have to come first?
And if this was short term, she was in heaven. Tom’s arms around her, his mouth on hers, his heart beating against her breast, beating so fast she knew he must be thinking the same way as she was. His hands slid down her back, cupped her bottom, pulled her even closer.
Tom kept kissing her and she kept kissing him back.
It felt so good. But there was another dimension to the physical contact.With his arms around her she felt like she could deal with anything. The press intrusion. Jerome. Tuesday’s courtroom appearance. Her fear of Jerome harming Brutus.
Brutus. Where was he? She pulled away from the kiss and looked around.
“Where is Brutus?”
“In the kitchen. I told him to stay away. And as his alpha male he listens to me.”
Maddy whipped around to face Tom. “Say that again?” she asked, delighted at his words.
“I said—”
“So you’re finally admitting you are Brutus’s alpha male?”
“I’m just—”
“Go on, admit it,” she teased, loving how uncomfortable he looked.
“Okay, dammit.” He raised his hand as if swearing an oath. “I admit that I am Brutus’s alpha male.”
“And with all the responsibilit
ies that entails . . .”
“And with all the responsibilities that entails,” he intoned. “But that doesn’t mean cleaning up after any of his ‘little accidents, ’ ” he hastily amended.
Maddy laughed her agreement. He’d come a long way from his grumpy attitude toward her at their first meeting. Of course, at the time he had thought she and Walter were having an affair. She remembered the bitterness in his voice when he’d spoken of his father’s second wife.
If there were any traces of those suspicions still lingering in his mind, she needed to know.
Maddy paused before she spoke, choosing her words carefully. “You never seriously thought my relationship with Walter was . . . was anything improper, did you,Tom?”
She realized she was holding her breath for his answer.
Time to step up to the plate, thought Tom. Silence hung between them for a long moment. Maddy’s eyes were questioning, unguarded. Tom knew any kind of future he might have with her rode on him giving the right answer the first time.
Knowing her now as he did, how could he ever have doubted her innocence?
“Not after I got to know the real you, Maddy,” he said.
Maddy’s sigh of relief was audible.
“Before that day you opened the door in your apron, I had built up quite a different picture of Madeleine Cartwright, believe me.”
To his relief, she giggled. “Tell me. Go on.”
“We-ell,” he said. “Bleached-blond hair—”
“Big boobs,” she prompted, laughing. “Go on. I bet you thought big boobs.”
“And tons of makeup.You know, completely fake.”
Maddy put up her hands to her makeup-free face.
“Everything I’m not,” she said, her voice a little unsteady.
It was true. There was no artifice to her. What you saw was what you got. She looked so cute in that childish T-shirt with its chubby ponies, her hair mussed, her freckles standing out from her pale skin after a day in the spring sunshine.
So entirely different from that gold-digging Madeleine Cartwright he had envisaged.
Love Is a Four-Legged Word Page 20
