She shook her head at his predictable response. "The month only gives your sun sign. I'd need the exact date, year, and place of birth to predict the planets, but I'm not very good at charting. Your Virgo nature is obvious. It's that Aquarian streak worrying me."
"Astrology simply labels basic human behavior in a manner people can easily grasp. If it makes you happy to label my behavior, be my guest, but I'd wager genetics and environment more accurately explain character."
"Since I don't know your environment and can't examine your genes"—she threw his lap a naughty glance he probably didn't catch and couldn't follow since he wasn't wearing jeans—"I'll stick with astrology, thank you." Her mind had taken some warped loops with advanced pregnancy, but wondering what was under the god-like Axell Holm's trousers was loopier than usual.
They pulled into the driveway of a typical suburban Charlotte brick residence, the kind with more gables and outcroppings than she could count. As the car followed the drive around behind the house, Axell flicked a switch on the dash, and a garage door silently opened. As far as Maya was concerned, garages were a waste of money in this mild climate, but she supposed the rich had money to waste.
She didn't know why it bothered her that Axell was rich. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, but men of his caliber made her extremely nervous, perhaps because she so desperately craved what he had to offer.
Damn, the shock must be wearing off and her brain must be bubbling with panic if she thought Axell Holm was what she needed.
She couldn't keep on like this. She'd been homeless before, but this time she had a baby on the way and Matty to worry about. How would she keep Matty? As soon as the social worker discovered their plight, she'd shove him into a foster home. Maya shivered as the fear rose in her, fanned by the winds of memory. She had to leave Wadeville, go back to California where she had friends...
How the devil would she get back to California? She'd sold everything she owned, including her car, so she could afford the outrageous cost of a last minute, one-way, cross-country plane ticket to rescue Matty from foster care. The few dollars she'd possessed over and above the fare had gone to restoring Cleo's utilities, buying groceries, and dressing Matty in something besides rags. She'd never earned enough in her few years as a teacher to build a cushion of savings.
Tears filled her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away as Axell opened the passenger door and held out his hand to her. Matty and Constance were already scurrying out of the back seat.
She curled her fingers into her palms and stalled with the practice of a lifetime of rebelling against hand-outs. "I'll wait here while you take Constance in."
"Don't be ridiculous. I've got room, and you're exhausted. You can have a room near Constance. In the morning, things will look better."
"I've had a lot of experience with mornings. Generally, they only look worse." She refused his hand. She'd earned her degree so she would never have to take charity or depend on anyone else again.
He withdrew his hand impatiently. "Look, you can sleep in the car if you like. I've got to get back to the restaurant after I see Constance settled, but I can take the Rover."
The Rover looked to be a looming utility vehicle of horrendous size on the far side of the garage. Two vehicles and one driver. Conspicuous consumption. She didn't have the energy to sniff her disapproval. Terror had replaced her brain.
As Axell turned away, Maya halted him. "What good is it showing Matty what he cannot have?" she demanded. "It would be much kinder if you'd take us to the school."
He didn't turn as he contemplated her words, leaving Maya a view of his wide shoulders. He'd removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but the carelessness didn't conceal that he was accustomed to dealing from a position of strength: physical and emotional as well as financial. He had absolutely no concept of what it was like to worry that the roof over his head and the food in his mouth could be stripped away if he said the wrong thing, opened the wrong door, wore the wrong clothes.
The automatic garage lights blinked out and Axell hit the switch restoring them. The action apparently bolstered his decision. He turned and faced her with no expression.
"Children adapt," he snapped. "You're the one with the problem. If you want that school of yours to survive, you'd better learn to start working with others."
This time, he didn't offer a helping hand. He strode into the house, leaving her sitting in the enormously expensive car, staring at a wall of gleaming, unused garden tools. He didn't even tend his own yard.
Well, he'd given her a choice, of sorts. She could sit there until he got tired of looking at her and took her back to the school. She could borrow the money from Selene and go back to California with Matty. It would mean living off friends until the baby was born since she'd never find a job in this condition.
Or she could get up and follow Axell Holm into the world of the wealthy, a world she'd never known, frequently despised, often envied, and always feared.
Maya pinched her eyes closed. Either way, she lost her independence. Why not wait until after she was well rested to decide between a rock and a hard place?
* * *
Removing cash from his pocket to pay off the baby-sitter, Axell curbed his impatience as Maya occupied the woman with chatter, drew Constance into the conversation, and appeared in no particular hurry to accept the shelter and comfort of the room he offered. As far as he could see, Matty had settled quite comfortably into a fascinated trance in front of the television.
No matter what Maya thought, he wasn't offering charity. He'd simply grabbed the most expedient method of installing a mother figure in the house for Constance and stalling Sandra a while longer.
Somewhere on the ride here, his good intention of offering a night's shelter had developed into the insane idea that he'd been handed the golden opportunity to solve all his problems. With the schoolteacher in residence, Constance wouldn't need Sandra.
He was a quick study. Maybe he could learn how Maya drew words out of his noncommunicative daughter. He would give anything, do anything, to have the same rapport with his daughter that Maya had.
He was a desperate man.
So, watch and learn, he told himself as Maya stroked his daughter's hair, talked about the video Constance had popped into the VCR, and pried a reluctant smile out of her as the schoolteacher compared the dragons on her toes with the one in the movie. A minute later, Constance was begging to have her new Nikes painted and was clinging to Maya's hand as if she wouldn't let go.
He still didn't see how she did it.
Instead of lingering in the family room doorway, Axell strolled in and sat on a massive leather footstool near Constance. He took the unadorned Nike from his daughter's fingers, held it up to the TV dinosaur, and tried to join the conversation. "Purple and green?" he asked facetiously, while Matty ignored them in favor of the video.
Constance drew closer to Maya, whipped her long hair back and forth, and held out her hand for her shoe. She didn't say a word.
Exasperated, he handed the shoe back. "Will you show Maya and Matty to the room next to yours?"
For a moment, her thin face lit from within. Then it shuttered and she nodded warily. Still, not a sound.
"Give your daddy a hug," Maya whispered in tones he could hear. "He has to go back to look after all your friends in the kitchen."
That was a hell of a way of looking at it, but Constance willingly turned and grabbed his neck for a swift hug before retreating to Maya's side. Maybe it was a female thing. Maybe little girls needed mothers at this age more than they needed fathers.
Anguish seared his heart as he watched Constance cling to a virtual stranger, leaving him more alone than ever. He didn't know why he kept trying, except he didn't know the meaning of the word quit.
He'd always thought fathers worked to provide food and shelter and earned love and respect in return. What had he done wrong?
"I apologize for my lack of hospitality, but I've got to ge
t back to the bar." At least, at the bar, he knew where he stood. He provided the executive decisions. His employees provided the friendly atmosphere. "Make yourself at home as best as you can. I think the housekeeper keeps up the guest room, but you can ask Constance for anything you need. She knows where everything is."
"Of course she does." Maya slipped her arm around Constance's shoulder. "She's an excellent hostess. You can leave us safely in her hands."
She threw him a veiled look he couldn't interpret. Axell suspected he was supposed to do or say something now but he didn't know what it was. His father might have punched him in the arm and said "Come on, Tiger, let's you and me go to the bar," but that didn't seem the appropriate response in this case. He patted Constance's head awkwardly. "You look after Miss Alyssum and Matty for me. I'll see you in the morning."
Maya shook her head and watched him hurry away. The poor man didn't have a clue. She could almost sympathize with him. Almost. But years of experience told her that men were a self-centered lot when it came right down to it, and just because Axell was older and wealthier than most she knew, he wasn't any different.
She let both Constance and Matty wind down by watching the video. She doubted if Matty had ever seen a video, or that he had any idea how it operated. Cleo's ancient television didn't have cable. Matty watched a few cartoons on Saturday morning but nothing else. Maya preferred it that way, but she didn't have the heart to tear him away from this fascinating entertainment after seeing his home reduced to a crumbled pile of brick.
Homeless. Maya fought off another slam of panic as the baby kicked.
Matty wasn't the only one who needed diversion. Bubbles of pure fear percolated through her veins. She needed her tea. She should have insisted on rescuing her cups.
After the video ended, Constance led them through the darkened corridors of the house. The unlived-in decor didn't ease her fears. Dining room furniture gleamed with wax, vacant of any hodgepodge of sugar bowls or salt cellars or placemats. The beautifully decorated living room with its plush white rugs could never have seen a child's toy. The lovely apricot walls sported no dirty fingerprints. Against the silver sofa, charming pillows lay in perfectly symmetrical patterns that could never have held a human head.
Maya rolled her eyes and with a spurt of humor, imagined what this place would look like if she let Matty and Muldoon and herself loose in it for a few days. Axell would never recover from the shock.
Maya shuddered at the first sight of the guest room. It looked like a hotel with its prints of English gardens and heavy draperies in polite mauve and blue pinstripes against a beige background. She supposed the cherry furniture was expensively tasteful but not the kinds of things one would let a child jump on.
"This was gonna be the baby's room," Constance said matter-of-factly as Matty stared in awe at the big bed with its stacks of pillows.
The baby's room? Maya would rather not get into that one.
Looking around at Axell Holm's ice palace, she could see rules and regulations written all over. No sirree bob, she was out of here first thing in the morning.
Constance tugged shyly at her hand. "I made a picture," she whispered.
Unable to accomplish the feat of crouching again, Maya sank onto an upholstered chair and turned Constance around to face her. "What kind of picture? May I see it?"
Constance nodded, pulled her hand free, and opened a dresser drawer. Maya caught a glimpse of a hidden treasure trove of childish objects: a battered stuffed rabbit, broken crayons, and chunks of what appeared to be plaster. Constance neatly closed the drawer before Maya could see more.
The child handed her a rumpled sheet of drawing paper. Maya could discern a baby's crib, a bassinet swaddled in lace, and a corner full of colorful toys. "How wonderful!" she cried in all honesty. For a child of Constance's age, it was a marvelously accurate piece of workmanship. "Is this what this room used to look like?"
Constance nodded.
The baby inside Maya's womb kicked in approval. Wistfully, she wondered what it would be like to have a sanctuary like this for her child. She'd hang a mobile of fairy-tale creatures over the crib, paint stars on the ceiling, stack wonderful books on the shelves...
Someday. She would do it someday. Smiling, she held the picture up against the cream-colored wall. "I think it would look good hanging right here, don't you?"
Constance's thin dark face beamed with relief. "I got tape." She ran to fetch it.
Matty crept over to hug her knee. "We gonna stay here?" he asked in awe.
She didn't believe in children sleeping with adults, but she didn't see an alternative for tonight. The bed was certainly big enough for two. She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled as bravely as she could. "Looks that way, buster. Do you think that bed's big enough for you?"
He eyed it with some trepidation but nodded slowly. "Can Muldoon sleep with us?" he asked. The cat had been sleeping in his room ever since she'd brought it with her from California.
How would she explain it to him if Muldoon never came back? How could she explain it to him if the social workers took him away?
"Muldoon's probably guarding your old room to make certain your toys don't get lonely. You're stuck with me tonight." She hugged his small body close, making mental promises to fix everything in the morning.
She wasn't a fixer by nature. That had been Cleo's role. The ever-present burden of doing everything herself swamped her, and loneliness slipped through all the cracks in her defenses.
She just needed to be strong. She had Cleo's child and the one about to be born to fill the emptiness. A life filled with children would be plenty more than enough.
Why then, did tears fill her eyes as she gazed around the antiseptic guest room and wondered how her life had come to this?
Chapter 7
I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it.
Maya stared at the enormous stainless steel double doors of what had to be Axell's refrigerator. It looked as if it belonged in his restaurant. Where were the colorful magnets, the childish drawings, the memos of doctor appointments and whatnot that should clutter this magnificent expanse of empty steel? Her fingers itched to fill the space with color and life almost as much as if the doors were a piece of drawing paper.
All she'd wanted was a glass of milk to stave off the predawn lonelies. Painting a refrigerator wasn't on the agenda. Biting her thumbnail, she eased open the wider of the two doors. A brilliant white light illuminated the gloomy kitchen. She hadn't bothered turning on the overhead fixture because in her experience, with unexpected light creepy crawly things scattered across the floors. She preferred they scurry out of sight before she had to look at them. The refrigerator bulb, however, was almost blinding.
Probably because nothing blocked its glow.
Maya stared in fascination at the shelves of shiny—empty—glass. A half-gallon of milk, some eggs, and butter hid in the distant corners of the vast interior. It almost reminded her of home. Almost. In Cleo's ancient appliance, just the milk would have filled a shelf, if they'd had any.
"Miss Alyssum, are you fixing breakfast?"
The soft voice nearly startled her into jumping into the refrigerator. She'd probably fit, belly and all, Maya decided with amusement as she peered around the door to see Constance in her flowing nightshirt. The child had crept up quieter than any mouse.
"Well, it's a mite early, and our options look limited. Would you like something?"
"Daddy's other ladies usually fix French toast." She watched Maya cautiously.
Daddy's other ladies. Right. Rolling her eyes and biting her tongue on that one, Maya eyed the refrigerator contents skeptically. "Well, if you know where to find bread and syrup, we could do that. Or maybe even bread and cinnamon. Or jelly?"
"You and Matty slept on my side," Constance replied irrelevantly.
Maya had enough psychology courses to know when a child had something on her mind. She just didn't want to contemplate this particula
r topic at this hour of the morning in the house of a man she scarcely knew. By "side," she assumed Constance meant her wing of the house. She'd already figured out Axell had a wing all to himself, since she hadn't heard him come home.
"Well, I guess that makes us your guests," she replied brightly, closing the refrigerator and opening a cabinet. Dumb move. Now she had no light.
"Sometimes Daddy's ladies don't stay for breakfast."
All right, so the kid had a one-track mind. Deal with it.
"Constance, what are you—" The kitchen exploded with light.
Maya blinked. The sleepy man standing in the doorway did the same, then rubbed his eyes in the glare of the overhead fixture. Fixtures. The kitchen had track lighting all over the blamed room.
Axell Holm stood there in only his pajama bottoms. A soft brown fuzz nicely delineated his rounded pectorals and descended into washboard abs before dropping beneath the elastic falling over lean hips. Maya thought her eyes might pop out. Surely pregnancy prevented hormonal outbursts. Lean, hungry, artistic types did not have chests like that. She didn't think yuppie businessmen should either.
She closed her eyes and pretended she'd imagined the whole thing. "Don't you have anything dimmer?" she pleaded.
Hitting the dimmer switch, Axell lowered the confounded lighting while trying to assimilate the image of his elfin daughter standing beside a hugely pregnant fairy godmother in chaotic auburn curls and... He peeked from behind his hand. The shimmering turquoise nightgown nearly blinded him as much as the kitchen lights.
"What are we doing out here in the middle of the night?" he asked cautiously. Actually, he'd come home in the middle of the night. It must be closer to morning. He blinked again at the vision in turquoise. Why did she remind him of a particularly striking bouquet of fresh flowers as she stood there against his steel and porcelain kitchen?
"I'm after warm milk. I believe Constance is checking on my sleeping habits."
Axell heard her humor and regarded his daughter's innocent expression with suspicion. Maybe his fault lay in believing an eight-year-old hadn't yet developed the twisted mind of all females. "Constance, go back to bed. It's Saturday. You don't have to go to school."
Dixie Rebel (The Carolina Magnolia Series, Book 1) Page 6
