Maggie's Way (Montana Bound Series Book 1)

by Bradley, Linda

  Brook lifted her gaze from her phone. A thin smile crossed her full lips. “Yes, I’ve done commercials and I model. Maybe you’ve seen them. I did a campaign for Garnier hair color. The ads ran in Good Housekeeping, Redbook, and Cosmo.”

  Chloe reveled in her mother’s presence. Her expression clearly defined. Pride. She loved her mother. Plain, simple, unconditional love, regardless of the circumstances. Chloe’s faith ran deep. “Isn’t she the most beautiful woman?” She asked, turning to me for validation.

  I smiled. “Yes, she is. All mommas are beautiful,” I said, patting my mom’s hand.

  “I bet Bradley thinks you’re beautiful.” Chloe gave her mom a toothy grin. She leaned in closer to Brook with arms stretched upward. Brook scooped up her daughter with amazing strength. Chloe clung to her mom as she balanced on her mother’s hip.

  Bradley was six when I’d last hoisted him up. I could barely lift him. He ran into the kitchen seeking out chocolate chip cookies he’d smelled baking. He wanted a better view into the oven, and as I straddled him on my hip, I thought, I’d better remember this moment. He’s so big and I don’t think I’ll be able to pick him up like this anymore. Grateful for the intuition, the memory remained preserved in my mind like it had happened yesterday.

  “Mom, Maggie has a son. He’s old. He’s past college,” Chloe announced. Her voice softened as her mother rocked her back and forth gently.

  Bones’ eyes fluttered then closed as his head rested on my lap. His drool seeped through my skirt, but I didn’t care.

  “Momma says she is staying for a while,” Chloe said. “I’m so glad.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, squeezing tight.

  “That’s sounds lovely,” I said, truly happy for Chloe. All children need their mothers. Daddies are special, too, but there is something sacred about a child and a mother’s bond. I watched Brook’s face. Something in her eyes told me she wasn’t staying long.

  Chloe snuggled her head into the crook of her mother’s neck. She was patting Brook’s perfect hair. Focused on Brook’s dark and ominous expression, I questioned her true intentions when her eyes met mine.

  Chapter 18

  I answered the door on the third knock. I’d hoped that the person on my porch would go away, but no such luck. Prepared to see Chloe, I opened the door hastily.

  “Am I interrupting something?” John asked politely. “I can come back.”

  “No, I was just reading. I thought you were someone else.”

  “You thought I was Chloe, didn’t you? I can tell by your expression. I’m sorry she’s over here all the time,” he said, rubbing his chin.

  “To be honest, you could have been my mother. She has the same effect on me sometimes.”

  His green eyes softened and he chuckled.

  I relaxed. “It’s okay. And yeah, I thought it was your daughter. Chloe can be one tough customer.” I opened the door wider. John stood on the other side of the screen door in jeans and a black T-shirt. Transfixed on the way his shirt hugged his chest I forgot my manners. I thought about the horseshoe tattoo on his left shoulder and his crooked smile.

  “I just came over to check your stitches.” He held up a black leather bag. “They probably can come out.”

  I pushed open the screen door a crack. “Please, come in.”

  John reached for the handle and let himself him.

  “Sure is beautiful out tonight,” he said.

  I hadn’t noticed it was dark. Stars twinkled overhead while crickets sang night songs. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.” I stepped back. It had been years since a man had made me come so unglued.

  “If we go into the kitchen, I’ll take a look. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  As I gazed into John’s rugged face, all I could think about was kissing him. “That’s awfully kind of you, but you really don’t have to do that.” I balked at his proximity then showed him to the kitchen. I sat on the stool at the counter as John prepared to remove the stitches from my left temple. He swept my hair back to inspect the gash. My insides rolled over as his cologne washed over me. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to collect my thoughts, begging myself to not say or do anything stupid.

  “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  “No, just a little squeamish.” I opened my eyes to see a grin cross his lips. I liked the stubble on his face. “Are they coming out or staying in?”

  His hand directed my chin so we were eye-to-eye.

  I felt my shoulders slump. What was he doing? I knew what he was doing. He knew damn well what he what he was doing.

  John opened his leather bag. “I like your Marcus Welby bag,” I muttered. When he smirked, my eyes traveled to those sexy creases at the corners of his eyes that told me he must have spent most of his life smiling or joking around. He took out a pair of tweezers and a pair of medical scissors.

  “Marcus Welby, huh?”

  “Yeah, my dad watched the show all the time.”

  We were eye-to-eye.

  My stomach rolled over again as a wave of heat rushed through my core. Analyzing the origin of my hot flash, I was pretty sure it was physician induced and wished John would hurry up.

  “Stop fidgeting and hold still.” John said. “Relax. These will be out before you know it.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Nice gesture of appreciation. I bet you make a lot of friends this way.”

  “Hey, I didn’t ask you to come over and do this.” The intensified heat scorched my veins. I forced myself not to take off my sweater or wipe my forehead.

  “What’s wrong with you?” John asked.

  Embarrassed, I let my shawl drop from my shoulders when he pulled back to inspect me. I lowered my gaze and barely answered him. “I’m just hot.” I rolled my eyes again at his grin. Another wave of heat rushed through me as he felt my cheek with the back of his hand.

  “You really shouldn’t roll your eyes. People will get the wrong impression. Besides, you’re too pretty for such antics.”

  “Chloe already gave me a lecture about this,” I said.

  John’s green eyes twinkled with pride.

  He thought I was pretty.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, looking down then back to me.

  “Oh, crap,” I said as the inferno blazed within. I rolled my shoulders trying to loosen the building tension then took a deep breath.

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Hot flashes are normal.”

  His expression reminded me of Dr. Akin. “Now I really am embarrassed.” I felt my shoulders tense. How could this guy want to kiss me? How could he think I was beautiful? How did I get to be middle-aged? When did my life veer off course and I missed it? He had a beautiful wife, wait ex-wife, but she was back now. I narrowed my eyes contemplating his motives. Shit. He probably can read minds. I forced a smile. In two minutes, I had accomplished everything I had hoped not to. I was a dork.

  “Nice smile. I prefer your regular face. You are one big mystery, Maggie Abernathy.”

  “You know my last name,” I said.

  “What?” John questioned.

  “You know my last name,” I said a little louder.

  “Of course I do.” He paused then took a deep breath. “I also know that you are struggling with life just like the rest of us. I also happen to know that you will survive and your eyes are the color of emeralds. You can still go to your doctor, but I don’t think you need to. Do you have any salve to rub on that?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. Soon the hot flash subsided. I felt a little tug.

  “Almost done,” John reassured.

  I felt another little tug. This time it was my heartstrings.

  “Rub some on this scar a couple times a day and you’ll be good as new,” he instructed like a true physician.

  I felt another little tug. John’s hand was warm as his finger caressed the tender scar. He turned my face back in his direction. He caressed my cheek, his eyes blazing.

  “There. Try and
stay away from reckless seven-year-olds,” he said, leaning into me.

  I closed my eyes as his lips touched mine.

  Our tongues lingered and the world stopped when John held me close. Beckett had never kissed like that. I pushed Beckett out of my head and let John’s lips linger a bit longer. His firm hands cradled my face. My body went limp, not wanting the moment to end.

  He leaned back. “You’ll be good as new.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, swiping at the corners of my eyes.

  “Now, now, what’s all this?”

  Why did he have to be so nice? Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did he have to live next door and have a daughter? Why did his ex-wife have to be here, too?

  “I know you’re not crying because I kissed you.”

  I gulped for air hoping to swallow the ball of emotion consuming me. I shook my head. “No,” I managed to get out. There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in anyone’s before, most likely because I was too afraid to look. I touched the side of my head where the stitches were. “Thanks. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because I like you, Maggie, because I like you. Is that so bad?”

  The front door slammed. I jerked my head in the direction of the bang. John went to the front door. When he returned, he was rubbing his head with one hand and holding a purple cat in the other.

  He held Voodoo out in my direction. I raised an eyebrow at him. “I know, I know, I felt myself do it. Rome wasn’t built in a day,” I reiterated, realizing I had rolled my eyes at him.

  “Shit.” John packed up his doctor bag without haste.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t sure why. It just seemed like the proper thing to say.

  “Why?” John closed his Marcus Welby bag.

  I weighed my brewing sarcasm. “I guess my mother had a point when she told me to always lock the door.” The disgust on John’s face scared me.

  “How did we not hear her?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

  I had a choice here. I could be honest or just fill the air with empty conversation. I stood up, breathed deeply, and chose to be myself. “I’m going to go out on a limb here.” I walked around to the other side of the counter then pulled out a wine glass and poured myself a glass knowing he was would be heading home in a heartbeat and I would be left here thinking about the heat that steeped between us. “She’s pretty sneaky.” His eyebrow rose toward the ceiling in a split second. “She’s seven. She lives for hiding in my bushes. Adventure. She wants to know what’s going on.” In fact, I did too, but I’d save that thought for another time. I sipped at my wine.

  John came closer. He took the glass from my hand and took a long drink.

  “Look, you’re over here kissing me and Chloe’s at home probably crying her eyes out because now she thinks she has to compete with me for your attention or you’ve just played right into her hand and she’s back at your house telling your ex-wife all about what she just saw.”

  “She knows that I am not getting back with her mother.” John drank the rest of the wine then refilled the glass and handed it to me. “And I’m pretty sure I’m not playing into her hand.”

  This time, I raised my eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Damn it, Maggie,” John said, “why the hell did Brook have to pick now to do the responsible thing and visit her daughter?”

  I sipped at my wine wondering the exact same thing. His deep tone suddenly put us on parallel planes. In that moment, it was as if John and I had known each other for eons. “I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything?”

  John took another swig of my wine. I watched his Adam’s apple twitch as he leaned against the counter rubbing his chin. “I’m sorry, Maggie.” He picked Voodoo up from the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said as he left in a hurry.

  I drained the wineglass. “What the hell?” I refilled the glass again testing my weakling’s limit. I didn’t jump when the front door banged upon John’s exit. I went out to the patio to lie in the chaise. Stars dotted the sky just below the tree line. My tomato garden was naked, my love life in shambles, and my silly self, dodging the unknown, not brave enough to reach out and grab the brass ring. I counted on my fingers the weeks I had left for radiation, three if I wasn’t mistaken. I kicked off my sandals, leaned back, and closed my eyes. The blow to my stomach startled me. I sat up. I opened one eye knowing what, more like who, I would see. Before I could speak, a wet dog tongue licked my face. I couldn’t help but laugh. Bones wiggled his way into my chair as I patted his head then he jumped down, ran into the yard, and picked something up between his teeth.

  I squinted, not able to make out what was between his teeth. Trotting back to the chaise, Bones put his front paws up on my chair then dropped a purple book into my lap. I touched the wet cover.

  “Shit,” I mumbled. “Bad dog, where did you get this?” I wiped off the smudge of dirt. Chloe’s name was printed on the cover in fancy silver letters. I waggled my finger at Bones. He whimpered. “Bad dog,” I said again, scratching his head, an oxymoron no doubt.

  I took a sip of what would be the last glass of wine as my fingers started to tingle. I was feeling all too lightheaded, too quickly. I knew I shouldn’t open the book, but nosiness got the best of me. I was surely going to hell.

  Chapter 19

  Paul Mitchell, interior designer, sat across from me drinking his tall iced Mocha Latte from Starbucks.

  “Is that coffee that special?” I asked, pointing to his cup. “Whatever happened to a cup of black coffee in a clunky china cup whether it was winter, spring, summer, or fall? Now they have a flavor for every season and size for every occasion. What’s that all about?”

  Paul laughed. “You’re funny.” He reached across the table and patted my hand.

  “Thanks. I don’t feel funny,” I replied. “So are we about done with the library?”

  “Yup. I think your rug looks great. You have a great eye.”

  “Thanks.” He kind of looked like Beckett, well-manicured, charming, perfect hair, less gray, maybe a little younger. “Did you order the sofa I picked out for the living room? And the painters are painting tomorrow?”

  “Sofa, ordered. Painters will be here tomorrow. It will be done before you know it.”

  “Good. I hate being out of order.” I pushed away the itching sensation from my seared armpit. “I just want it to be done.” I wanted more than just this redecorating thing to be done. I wanted the irritation with Beckett to be done. I wanted the infatuation with John to be done. I wanted radiation to be done. I picked up a windmill cookie from the plate and nibbled on the corner.

  “What’s this?” Paul asked, investigating Chloe’s purple diary from the table.

  “It’s Chloe’s. Bones stole it, more like found it in my yard.”

  “Did you read it?” he asked sheepishly, hooking the latch on the front cover.

  “What? Those aren’t my teeth marks,” I added as Paul rubbed his fingers over the indentations near the latch.

  “You did, didn’t you? I know that look.”

  I shoved the rest of my cookie in my mouth, making it impossible for me to answer.

  “I’ll wait. You enjoy that cookie.”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t going to be able to ditch the habit. Besides, it was part of my charm and personality. “Let’s just say it was a short read.”

  Paul waggled his finger at me. “That whole rolling your eye thing. Not very ladylike.”

  “What are you? My mother?” What was I doing? “You’re here to make things look pretty, not criticize.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Your ex-husband hires me to help you out cause that’s normal. Most exes I know have it in for their ex-partner. Let’s go check out the living room.”

  Geez. I picked up another cookie, broke off the corner, and plopped it in my mouth. I scooted my chair back and left the table. Paul seemed awfully comfortable being so personal with me, but I really didn’t min
d anymore, I was getting used to it. Chloe was doing a fine job breaking me in. I fingered the hem of my shirt. “I like it,” I said inspecting the empty room. It felt good to purge old furniture and dusty plants. I’m not sure who thought those were a good idea in the first place.

  “What are you mumbling about?” Paul asked.

  “Nothing. I might just keep this room empty.”

  “You’re a mystery, Maggie. It will already be pretty empty with only a sofa.”

  I scowled at him. “Oh come on, there’s going to be a rug and I’m keeping my grandmother’s antique coffee table. It will get filled over time. Space always does. I just don’t want to rush it, this time.”

  “This time?”

  I didn’t expect him to understand. In hindsight, I was in love with the idea of marriage, which made Beckett perfect. Of course I loved him, and I couldn’t turn back the hands of time, but I rushed it. “Never mind, just sputtering.” I allowed him to fill my heart before fulfilling my needs.

  “We can get you new plants. I can get you the perfect chair. I found an oversized leather chair and ottoman while surfing the net this morning. Perfect for this room.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “No, thanks. I think I just want to put my feet up, and get a feel for how things should be before making any more decisions.”

  “Have it your way, but when you change your mind, give me a call.”

  “I’m not changing my mind.” I looked over to Paul who was standing with his arm propped up on the mantle. I loved the exposed, natural carved wood. “Why do people insist on painting wood?”

  “Not sure. Why do people insist on anything?”