by Vicki Hinze
Maggie, the truth!
All right! She answered telepathically, as she had on the cliff. All right. I want to be with him too much, and that scares the socks off me, okay? That’s the truth.
It’ll do for now.
Tony—if you are Tony—
I am.
Well, you’re really being pushy here, and I don’t much appreciate it. I don’t like nagging. I’ve never liked nagging. Why are you making me tell you things that I just plain don’t want to tell you? I don’t like it.
The whisper grew to a clear voice. One tinged with sadness. You don’t have to like it, Maggie. You do have to accept the truth. I’m never going to let you lie to yourself again like you did with Sam Grayson.
Sam Grayson? 1 didn’t lie to myself about him.
You told yourself you hated him.
She had. He hurt me, Tony. Maggie stared at the porcelain daffodils, wishing she could shrink down and curl up inside one of the petals. I didn’t mean it, and I knew I didn’t. I was just hurt.
Pain is a part of life, but it’s not a license to lie. And you’re lying to yourself about Tyler now just as you lied to yourself about Sam then. It’s time you faced that truth, Maggie. It’s time you stopped running.
I’m not!
Right.
Sarcasm. Couldn’t she even get a ghost without an attitude? A man was bad enough.
He laughed.
Maggie frowned. Okay, maybe 1 am running. But, geez, Tony, I know how men are about things. Are you forgetting about my father? What do you expect from me? That I just forget all the lessons I learned there?
Are you like Carolyn?
No! But what’s she got to do with—
Then why do you insist Tyler is like your father?
Maggie grimaced, hoping Tony would see it—wherever he was. Don’t be absurd. MacGregor is nothing like my father. I see where you’re headed here, but you’re mistaken. They’re both men but nothing alike, just as Carolyn and I are different. But the lessons are the same, Tony.
Are they?
Were they? Was she doing the same thing with MacGregor about the lessons as she had about Carolyn? No. She couldn’t be. You’re wrong, Tony. Look, why don’t you go pick on MacGregor? You’re supposed to be his entity. I just kind of stumbled into this mess.
No, you didn’t. I brought you here.
Surprise shafted up Maggie’s spine. What? She looked over at MacGregor. Still cooking. Still humming. Still blissfully unaware, damn him.
The lure at Lakeview Gallery—when you looked at the Seascape painting. You felt it?
That was you?
Nice touch, eh?
And was that you on the staircase, too—with Cecelia’s portrait?
No, sorry. Can’t take credit for that one, though it’s been me you’ve sensed watching you.
Good grief! Are you telling me there’s more than one ghost in this house? Her heart nearly exploded in her chest.
Calm down, will you? I haven’t told you there are any ghosts in this house.
Well, if you’re not a ghost, then what the heck are you?
What’s the difference? That isn’t the question at hand, Maggie. The question is... what are you?
She blinked, then blinked again. Last check I was sane and human, but I’d be scared to bet on either anymore.
He laughed. You’re sane and human, Maggie. Never doubt it.
Tacky, Tony. And I sure can put a lot of stock in your conclusions. I’m sitting here having a telepathic conversation with a ghost who doesn’t know—or won’t admit he’s a ghost—worried sick about my sanity because I don’t believe in ghosts, and you’re laughing and reassuring me that this is oh-so-common? Geez, I can’t figure why I’d even think something was odd here. She frowned, deeper. And, while we’re on the subject of you, you’re as arrogant as MacGregor.
Thank you.
That wasn’t a compliment.
Sounded like one to me.
I definitely see where you’ve been influencing him.
He’s a man. Not so easy for him to discern my voice from his own conscience. Tyler and I have had a lot of conversations since he came here. I’ve been worried about him.
But you’re not worried anymore.
We’re not out of the woods yet. But we’re on the right path. I’m... hopeful.
MacGregor put a plate down near her elbow. “Here you are.” Then he sat down beside her and stopped humming. “You look peeved.”
“I am.”
“Why?” He shook the folds from his napkin then dropped it onto his lap.
“Because Tony’s got his warped sense of humor and your attitude.”
MacGregor frowned. “What?”
Maggie sighed and shoved back her chair. She’d had it with both of them. “Just get your paint gear ready in time for the picnic, MacGregor.”
“Maggie, I said I’d try painting again, but I didn’t say that I’d try today.”
She leaned toward him, her thighs bumping against the edge of the table. “Today, darling,” she whispered the warning. “Or you’ll be old and gray before you ever so much as touch a drop of hot water again.”
“You can’t do that.” MacGregor narrowed his eyes. “We made a deal.”
“Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures.”
“You’re welshing.”
“Yeah, I’m welshing.” She pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose, straightened up, grabbed the sandwich off her plate, then turned and walked out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” He shouted to her, now in the gallery.
“To take a bath.” She stopped and glared back at him. “And don’t you even think about interrupting me, MacGregor. You’ll lose fifty redemption points and you will never get that bath—and that’s a promise.”
The fifteen-minute boat ride went quickly, and Aaron dropped T.J. and Maggie off at a dilapidated wooden pier on Little Island. “Don’t be late getting back here,” T.J. told the boy.
“No, sir. Five o’clock sharp.” He grinned. “I’ll be here, sure as spit.”
T.J. nodded, his paint gear in one hand, the picnic basket Miss Hattie had prepared in the other. Aaron sped away, his boat leaving a wake that broke the whitecaps.
A sinking feeling hit T.J. in the stomach, and he looked at Maggie. If her expression proved an accurate gauge, the woman was still ticked to the gills. What had happened to her in the kitchen? Tony had a warped sense of humor and T.J.’s attitude she’d said, but what the hell had she meant by that?
Whatever it was, it had to be bad. She’d stayed in the tub two hours.
Maggie at his side, they walked down the pier in silence, and he looked around the isle. A rocky face, not too big, sandy and lush with winter foliage. Pretty in its natural state.
“I can see why Beaulah comes here.” Maggie stepped over a patch of wild lilies that had fallen to winter weather. “It’s got a serene feel to it, doesn’t it?”
Finally, a civil word. “Yeah, it does. There’s a clearing over there—four o’clock, by that big oak.”
She looked to where he’d semi-pointed with the basket, nodded, then headed in that direction. “Does anyone live out here?”
“No. There aren’t any utility services. Until a couple years ago, the island belonged to Miss Millie. She donated it to the villagers.”
“Mmm, not to the village, but the villagers. Interesting.”
She was interesting. A beautiful bundle of contradictions that he adored. T.J. stepped around a sharp-edged rock. “That way the Planning and Zoning Commission can’t do anything out here, like build. The villagers have to vote and approve any change.”
“So only locals are supposed to be out here.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, how come Miss Hattie sent us, do you think?”
“I’m not sure. According to Hatch, the whole reason Miss Millie donated the island was because the villagers were complaining that Sea Haven Village was getting ‘too
touristical.’”
Maggie spread a red-and-white-checked quilt out on the ground, just beyond the oak’s gnarled roots. “Mmm. The locals and tourists—it’s kind of a love-hate relationship, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” T.J. set down the picnic basket then his paint gear. “Maine depends heavily on tourism. The locals know they need those dollars—they’re a big chunk of the economic base—but at the same time, they know that tourists don’t hold the same respect as the locals for the land and resources.”
Maggie chuckled. “Maybe they should put a sign beside the ‘Welcome to Maine’ sign. One that says ‘Send Money But Stay Home.’”
T.J. laughed and sat down on the blanket. “Hatch would love that.”
“I’ll bet he would.” Maggie eased off her shoes and used them to anchor down the edge of the blanket. “Amazing how warm it is when it was so cold this morning.”
“That’s Maine.” One day, he’d paint her feet. Just her feet. Well, maybe her feet and her calves. Maybe her legs. The woman had gorgeous, long legs.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Maggie?” He heard his hesitancy in his voice but couldn’t bury it. “Are you going to tell me what happened in the kitchen today, or are you just going to let me guess forever?”
She shrugged and held her smile, but it was forced. “It wasn’t anything important.”
“I could tell. The Head Hot-Water Hoggett—who said she never welshes on a deal—welshes over nothing.” He opened the picnic basket lid. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
Maggie held out a hand. “Hush and pass the pickles.”
He handed her the jar but didn’t turn it loose. “You want a pickle? Then you tell me what happened.”
“That’s blackmail, MacGregor.” The sun streaked through the oak’s branches and onto her face.
“Yep, sure is.”
“Charming.”
“Thanks.” He smiled. “MacGregor’s rendition of subtle revenge.”
She shifted her gaze to the tree. “I guess I deserve that.”
“That’s about the way I see it.”
“You would. You do good nag. Unfortunately—”
“You don’t have to like it, honey, just accept it. I’m going to nag until you’re honest with me.”
“Figures.”
“I gave you my promise to always believe in you, Maggie.”
He’d said he loved her, too. But he didn’t.
“I meant it.”
Well, spit. What difference did it make in the long haul? She looked back at him. “Tony gave me a hard time.”
“In the kitchen?” T.J. asked only to verify. Getting her to give in had been easier than he’d expected. Obviously, she’d really wanted to talk about this, but still had been afraid to leave herself vulnerable.
“Yeah.”
That she was looking at him as if she feared he’d call her crazy had his heart aching. “Did you see him?”
“No. I just heard him—inside my head.”
“You’re sure it’s him?” T.J. let go of the jar. “Could’ve been your conscience again.”
“He said it was him.” Maggie unscrewed the cap, her hand trembling. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
T.J. passed her a sandwich. “Glazed ham on wheat.” When she took it, he asked, “What did Tony give you a hard time about?”
She took a bite of the sandwich and chewed slowly, as if engaged in a debate with herself about whether or not to tell him. T.J. girded his loins for the battle. He really hated nagging at her, but if push came to shove, he would do it.
She swallowed and lowered her gaze to the dill pickle. “Not being honest with myself about you.”
“He knew that?”
“Yeah, he did.” She bit off the pickle tip then crunched down on it. “And he sure didn’t hesitate to let me know it.”
When she had headed for the bath, T.J. figured this was serious. But with that fifty-point threat, what could he do? She’d needed space to work this through, and so he’d given it to her.
He stretched out beside her on the thick quilt. “I have to say, you seem pretty calm about this.”
“Calm? Don’t be absurd, MacGregor.” She finished her sandwich and finger-fished a second pickle out of the jar. “I figure I’m either having a very long nightmare, a complete nervous breakdown wherein I’m suffering delusions, or I’ve gone totally insane.”
He put a hand on her jean-clad thigh. “Sounds like losing situations.”
“Boy, you’ve no idea just how right you are.”
He’d known from the start that she had a hidden agenda here. What he didn’t know was if she’d ever be honest with him about the nature of that agenda. Just above her knee, he rubbed a little circle on the rough fabric with his fingertip. “Why don’t you tell me, then?”
“I can’t.”
He met her gaze. “Can’t or won’t?”
She licked at her lips. “Can’t.” Sending him a pleading look, she put her hand on top of his at her thigh. “I wish I could, Tyler. I swear I do. I’ve wished it a thousand times. But—”
“You can’t.” He turned his hand over and clasped her fingers. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to tell me, Maggie?”
“I hope so. I really, really do. But I can’t say for sure.”
Why did he have the feeling that this was out of her control? Or maybe it wasn’t out of her control, but something that would keep them apart? For a week, two questions had nearly driven him out of his mind. And this seemed the perfect opportunity to ask them both.
“Maggie, are you already married?”
“Geez, MacGregor. I can’t believe you’re asking me that. The way—”
“Are you?”
She stopped midsentence and glared at him. “No.”
He started breathing again and, until then he hadn’t realized he’d stopped. “I had to ask. With you not being willing to tell me what this is about, I can’t help exploring possibilities.”
“I can’t tell you.” Her voice went deadpan flat. “Can’t.”
He brushed at her thumb with his finger. “Are you a nun?”
Shock riddled her eyes. “Good grief! We’ve been to bed together, MacGregor.”
“I know.” He blinked hard.
“Would a nun do that?”
“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “They’re human, too. And, if you’ll recall, it wasn’t right. If you were a nun, or married, you likely would hold back.”
“I am not a nun.”
“Okay.” This wasn’t accomplishing anything constructive, except that her genuine responses had set his mind at ease on those two possibilities. Maybe it was time to just trust her. If he weren’t so damn concerned that his judgment was sorrier than hell, he’d have done that a long time ago. But she had told him about Tony. She’d definitely been afraid of that, afraid he wouldn’t believe her, and yet she’d done it. She’d earned his trust.
He kissed the back of her hand then looked deeply into her eyes. “You remember the legend, Maggie?”
She nodded, clearly offended and still smarting from his questions.
God, but he hoped he didn’t live to regret this. “You remember how Collin took a leap of faith and risked what he couldn’t afford to lose for Cecelia?”
Again, Maggie nodded.
“It worked for them, honey.”
Her hand trembled. He rubbed it in both of his. “I’m going to take a leap of faith, too.” He squeezed her hands gently. “I’m going to risk losing what I can’t afford to lose. For you, Maggie.”
“Tyler, don’t. You don’t love me. Collin loved Cecelia and that makes it different.”
T.J. swallowed a knot of pure fear from his throat. “You can tell me a lot of things, sweetheart, but you can’t tell me what I am and I am not willing to do. I’m taking the leap, Maggie. And I’m praying it will work for us, too.”
“Oh, Tyler.” Tears gathered on her lashes. “What am I going to do about you?�
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Love me! his heart cried. Just love me. He stretched up and whispered against her lips. “I have a suggestion, honey. Anytime you’re ready to hear it, you let me know.”
And, Lord, but he hoped she’d let him know soon.
Chapter 15
Miss Hattie had been right.
Panic surged through Maggie’s veins. God help her, she had fallen in love with the man.
How could she have been so stupid? So blasted stupid? She stared into MacGregor’s eyes, and regret washed through her as the waves washed against Little Island’s rocky shore. She would hurt him, just as Carolyn had hurt him, because from all signs, whether or not Maggie believed them, MacGregor really did love her, too.
He dropped his habitual emotional guard completely, and the truth shone in his eyes. “I’m going to trust you, Maggie.”
Trust. Not love, but trust. Had Tony been right? She’d considered the possibility before, but hadn’t drawn a conclusion. Had she really been like Leslie, seeing in MacGregor only what she expected to see?
More certain all the time that she had, she felt worse than rotten. She felt manipulative and underhanded, jammed by doubt and suspicion and fear into a lose-lose situation with no safe way out. Tell him the truth and lose him. Or don’t tell him the truth, and lose him because she’d really never had him. Definitely lose-lose. Boy, had MacGregor nailed that one.
And maybe Tony had, too.
She hadn’t seen it, hadn’t considered it so much as a remote possibility, but maybe she was like Carolyn, after all. Tears stung the backs of Maggie’s eyes, set her nose to tingling. She fought them. But in her mind, she imagined the cleansing and healing luxury of seeing one—only one— tear trickle down her cheek.
MacGregor sat at her side, his long legs bent and tucked. “You seem so... sad.”
“I am.”
“My trust isn’t worth you being sad, Maggie. I’d hoped to please you.”
It was worth being sad about. Few things in life were more worthy of sadness. She blinked hard and tried to steady the shake from her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s a big responsibility, you know?” And a big disappointment that she was unfit to carry that responsibility.
