"Maggie, I didn't mean to insult you."
"Oh, I'm sure.” she said, and tore her gaze from Dolly's to fix him with a steady stare. "But before you go picking out what color you want for the restaurant. I think you should see something." Then shooting her friend a glare, she grabbed hold of Gabe's arm, turned him around to face the front door and said, “Come on."
She let go of him as soon as they left the store, but obviously expected him to follow her. He did. Across the street, into the restaurant, through the dining room and then the kitchen right to the foot of the steep staircase that led to her living quarters.
Her home.
There she stopped, glanced at him, and looked as though she had something to say and then thought better of it. "Never mind," she said softly. "It'll be easier just to show you."
She started up the steps and Gabe was just a pace or two behind her. His gaze strayed to the swell of her hips and the wonderful way she had of swaying when she walked. And when she was angry, that sway tripled in strength and at the same time turned his insides into a swirling pool of heated liquid. He told himself a decent man wouldn't stare, but then, he was a sinner, wasn't he? And who could blame him, if on the road to Hell, he paused now and then to admire the scenery?
Then they were on the standing and she opened the door to a world unlike anything he'd ever seen.
Chapter Eight
Maggie stood back, held her breath, and watched him.
His jaw dropped as he walked slowly into the middle of the main room, turning his head this way and that to take in everything. And there was plenty to see.
Her breath slowly slipped from her lungs as she tried to look at the parlor of her home through someone else's eyes. The wood walls had been painted a soft meadow green and the sunset-gold color she'd only just gotten from Dolly decorated the windowsills. Along the bottom half of the walls grew a painted flower garden, with every kind of flower she'd ever seen, caught forever in full bloom. The highly polished floor glistened in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting back a muted rainbow of color. In fact, splashes of color filled every corner of the room, from a small, round table in the far corner on which stood a vase filled with paper flowers, to the fireplace screen that boasted a landscape scene of a lake in midsummer.
In front of the hearth, a semicircle of overstuffed furniture sat clustered together, inviting people to come and get comfortable. She'd covered the sofas and chairs herself with gaily striped fabric in shades of green and blue. And small, round pillows in contrasting shades of each color dotted their surfaces.
At the wide windows, blue and white gingham curtains, stiff with starch, rattled and snapped in the breeze slipping beneath the window sash.
“Maggie…" he said in a hushed tone and then snapped his mouth shut and shook his head as if he couldn't think what else to say.
She laced her fingers together at her waist and squeezed tightly. Only she, Jake, and Dolly had ever been in these rooms. Until today. And this was why. It was horrible, standing here, waiting to be judged. Waiting to see if he would laugh at her. Or worse yet, look at her as though she were crazy. She knew only too well that most people would never understand what she'd done here. They wanted their worlds to be in dignified shades of white and gray and brown.
But Maggie would suffocate in a world without color. She'd made up her mind to fit in in Regret. She'd spent her early years being "different." Now she was determined to be just like everyone else. And it was a safe bet that no one else in town had painted the insides of their homes like she had.
But here, in these rooms, she could be herself. Be who she really was.
Her painted flower garden certainly wasn't the same as the garden she'd had to leave behind for her son's sake, but it was better than nothing. And sometimes, she almost convinced herself she could smell the sweetness of the blossoms and hear their stems brushing together in a breeze.
Oh my, maybe she was crazy. Her fingers tightened around each other and still she waited for Gabe to speak.
Was he horrified? she wondered and tried to judge his feelings by his expression. Frankly, she thought, he looked as though he'd been hit on the head with a stick.
But she couldn't tell if he was stunned in a good way or a bad way. Her stomach knotted up and the palms of her hands went damp.
Maggie had moved into town for Jake's sake. And she'd determined to keep the restaurant as plain as anyone could possibly wish. But here, she told herself as she let her gaze drift lovingly around her, here, she indulged her passion for color and warmth and…individuality. In these few rooms, she could be herself and no one would ever know that the now always proper Widow Benson loved nothing better than to sit barefoot in front of an open fire and dream to the crackle of the flames.
She inhaled again and shifted her gaze back to Gabe, who was watching her with wide eyes and an amused smile on his face.
“I don't believe this," he said finally.
Well, he hadn't laughed. Still, that didn't tell her if he thought it was hideous or beautiful. And suddenly, she wanted him to like her home. Because in liking what she'd done to this small corner of the world, he would be liking her as well.
She didn't even want to consider why his liking her now seemed so important
“You did all this yourself?” he asked.
She nodded, smiling to herself. "Jake helped when he could, but most of it, yes."
He looked at her solemnly for the length of several heartbeats. Then he smiled. "It's beautiful."
He said it simply, but in his eyes she read admiration. Relief swept her and on its heels came a kind of happiness she hadn't felt in far too long. He hadn't laughed. He hadn't looked at her as though she belonged in someone's attic. For the first time in a long time, she felt… accepted.
"I feel like an idiot," he said and shoved both hands into his pockets.
“Why?" Here was a reaction she hadn't expected.
He chuckled, looked around again, and then locked his gaze with hers. Maggie felt the power of that stare go right to the tips of her toes.
"Because," he said, “just a few minutes ago, I believe I said something about your no having any idea how to decorate a place."
Now she laughed.
"Why," he asked, "if you can do things like this, do you keep the restaurant so plain and lifeless?"
Maggie relaxed for the first time since letting him into her private domain. Walking across the floor, she sank down onto the sofa cushion and curled her right leg up under her. Looking up at him, she said, "Because it's important to me that Jake and I fit in around here. And to do that, we have to be like everyone else."
"I don't understand," he said and took a seat on the sofa near her.
Maggie picked up a small, green pillow and hugged it to her chest as if it was a magic shield. Looking up at him she said, "People don't like 'different.' They gossip about 'different.' I don't want Jake to have to hear that sort of talk."
Realization dawned on his features. "Like you did, you mean?"
A rueful smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she began to pluck at the ribbed edge of the pillow. “Yes, like I did."
Moments passed quietly, almost comfortably, until he asked the question she knew he would.
"What did they gossip about?"
Maggie inhaled sharply and stared at the fireplace screen. As she always did when she was troubled or worried, or just plain fractious, she imagined herself floating in that lake, lying on her back, with the cool water enveloping her. And while that image was detailed in her mind, she said, “They talked about my father. My mother. Me."
"You?” he asked. "When you were a child, you mean?"
She nodded.
"What could people have said about a child?”
"You'd be surprised," she whispered as old memories poked at the edges of her mind, demanding to be recognized.
"Tell me," he said softly.
And just for a moment, she was tempted. But Gabe had already sl
ipped too deeply into her personal life. Inviting him in even further would only cause more problems than it would solve. Wasn't it difficult enough now to fall asleep without the image of his face in her mind?
“It doesn't matter anymore," she said and stood up to walk toward the front windows, still clutching the pillow to her chest. Better to keep a safe distance between them, she told herself, especially when she was so tempted to close that distance and allow herself to be held, if only briefly. "It was a long time ago," she said, refusing to stroll down old paths. "The only thing that matters to me now is Jake.”
"He's a nice kid," Gabe said.
She half turned and smiled at him, wondering if he knew that the fastest way to a woman's heart was to praise her children. But of course he did. Even Dolly had called him a smooth talker. As Kersey had been. Her spine stiffened. "Yes, he is."
"I've never really been around kids much," he said as he moved toward her. “But I like him.”
"Then you understand why the restaurant's success is so important to me," she said, steeling herself against reacting to his nearness.
"Yeah, I guess so." He leaned one shoulder against the window jamb and looked at her. "But why a restaurant, for God's sake?”
"Good question," she said softly. "And there's an easy answer." She shot him a sidelong glance. "It was my father's idea, really. He bought this restaurant for me. Said it would be good to live in town now that Jake would be going to school. Easier on me, better for him." Maggie wrapped her arms tighter around that pillow and went on. “It was a good idea, moving off our little farm. Help Jake make friends. Help him to be accepted in Regret like. I never was.”
"But…?” he asked.
She looked up at him and shook her head. "But belonging isn't as easy as I'd thought it would be."
"Sure it is," he said. "All it takes is closing up your mind and giving up everything you are."
Obviously, he disapproved, she thought and wondered why that irked her so. "If that's what I have to do, fine."
"Why don't you just leave Regret?" he asked. "Start somewhere new?”
He didn't understand at all. "What makes you think any other town would be different than Regret? People are people wherever you go. Faces change, but human nature is the same all over." A flicker of anger snapped into life in the pit of her stomach. "Do you really think I didn't consider moving? But where would I go? This is my home, for better or worse."
“Jesus, Maggie, the world is wide open. Regret is your home only if you're too stubborn to think otherwise."
Disappointment warred with the anger still struggling into life inside her and the disappointment in him won. Why had she begun to think of him as a kindred spirit of sorts? She shook her head and stared up at him. "Why did I think you'd understand?"
"Oh, I understand plenty," he said.
"No you don't," she said and turned away from him to look out at the town again. "How could you?”
He grabbed her upper arm and turned her around to face him. His features were tight and a light blazed in his blue eyes. "I know all about trying to live down your parents," he told her and then rushed on when she might have said something. "And I know firsthand the sharp sting of a harpy's tongue. I've come damn close to being tarred and feathered by upright stalwart citizens, which is something I'll wager you've never experienced. And the feel of a rope around your neck—“ He broke off suddenly.
"A rope?"
His expression told her he hadn't meant to say that.
He cleared his throat, let go of her and took a half step backward. "A uh…friend of mine almost got himself hanged one time. Said it was downright unpleasant, and I've no cause to doubt him."
A friend? Thoughtfully, Maggie's gaze dropped to the red bandana Gabe always wore tied tightly around the base of his neck. And she wondered.
"The point is," Gabe said, distracting her, "that 'fitting in' isn't always worth the effort."
“It has to be," she argued, thinking of her son and the future she hoped to give him.
"Only if you're willing to become the same kind of person you've been complaining about."
"I don't have to be one of them to be accepted."
He threw his hands high in the air and let them drop to his sides again. "Of course you do," he said shortly. "Why else would you be holed up in a restaurant you're no good at running?”
“Well thank you very much," she snapped.
“Damn it, Maggie, you know yourself you can't cook worth a damn."
"You're supposed to be teaching me,” she reminded him.
"Yeah, but I'll only be here two months, and from what I've seen, it'll take years.”
She sucked in an outraged breath and glared at him. All of those tender, somewhat yearning feelings for him disappeared in a red cloud of anger.
"If you can't do the job, say so now," she told him hotly. "We'll end this partnership and I'll go cancel that order with Dolly."
"And if you do that, you'll be out of business before you can burn another pie.”
"You son of a—“ Holding the pillow tightly in one clenched fist, she slapped him in the head with it and had the satisfaction of seeing surprise flicker across his eyes. She knew how he felt. She'd never hit anyone in her life. Surprising, really, how satisfying it could be.
"I think you should leave."
Slowly, calmly, he reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Because you can't win the argument, you're throwing me out?"
“There is no argument."
"Really? Felt like one to me."
Maggie straightened up lifted her chin, and said, "That shows how little you know me. Ladies don't argue."
"Yeah," he said, one eyebrow arching high on his forehead, “they slap people with pillows."
She dropped the pillow to the floor and didn't even glance at it. Instead, she looked deeply into his eyes and deliberately disregarded the flutter of something warm, unfamiliar, and intriguing simmering inside her. This was a mistake. All of it. She never should have offered Gabe a partnership. Never should have hired him in the first place. Clearly, they weren't going to be able to work together. And it would be better for both of them if he left town as quickly as possible. She couldn't even imagine being around him now for another five weeks or so.
Instincts be damned, she thought "You know something, Mr. Donovan?” she said. "I believe I’ve reconsidered our partnership."
His sharp blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked at her. "Somehow, Mrs. Benson, I’m not surprised."
That stung. "I no longer want a partner," she said, trying to be as clear as possible.
"Too bad."
"What?”
"You offered the partnership, I accepted," he said shortly. “That's a done deal."
"But I've changed my mind," she countered.
"I haven’t," he argued.
"Damn it, Gabe…"
He wagged an index finger at her and smiled. "Tsk, tsk. Ladies don't say 'damn,’ remember?"
Furious, she bent down, snatched up the pillow and swung her arm back. He stepped forward, grabbed her arm, and held it pinned to her side.
"Don't do it," he warned silkily.
"Why not?" she demanded, trying to jerk free of his grasp.
With his free hand, he tipped her chin up until their gazes met and held. Then he smiled wickedly and said, "The only time I indulge in a pillow fight is when I’m in bed."
She gasped and dropped the pillow.
Gabe knew he'd shocked her. And maybe he'd wanted to. Maybe he wanted her to know that he thought about her far more often than was wise.
Staring down into those chocolate eyes of hers, Gabe told himself he was being a fool. Nothing could come of a connection between him and Maggie. She was warmth and life and sweet promise. He was dead and on a short road to Hell. Damn it, he should have left when she asked him to.
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't be leaving Regret a moment before he absolutely had to. If he
couldn't have a future with Maggie, he at least wanted the present. He wanted to fill his mind with images of her so that when he was standing hip deep in flames, he could…what? Bring them to the front of his brain to torture himself further?
Yes, damn it.
If all he could have of her was memories…then he wanted them. Wanted as many of them as his mind could hold.
Gabe released her abruptly and stepped away from her, uncertain whether or not he could trust himself that close to her.
"Look," he said tightly, keeping a firm rein on the want invading him, "for the time being, we're stuck with each other. Let's make the most of it, shall we?"
She folded her arms across her breasts and he wanted to thank her for hiding her curves from him. Twin spots of color flagged her cheeks as she asked. "Fine. What first, partner?"
The tone of her voice scraped against his nerves. Well, this should be fun, he told himself and let his head fall back on his neck. He frowned to himself and let his gaze drift across the painted surface, then, staring straight up, he asked, "Why is your ceiling sparkling?”
"It's the quartz dust," she told him.
“What?" He looked at her again, silently demanding more of an explanation.
Taking a deep breath, she blew it out again in a rush and said, "I ground up quartz crystals, then mixed it in with the lavender paint.” She tipped her head back and couldn't help smiling up at her ceiling. "In the evening, with the oil lamps on, it looks like stardust on a twilight sky."
Even in sunlight the ceiling had a special, unearthly appearance that made a person think of dreamscapes and fairy tales. Gabe looked at her for a long moment and was still looking at her when he said, "It's beautiful."
She shifted her gaze to him and shifted uncomfortably beneath his steady regard. “Thank you."
They stared at each other for several long moments before Gabe intentionally broke the spell growing between them. What in the hell was happening here? How could they go from being at each other's throats to hot, yearning glances in a few seconds' time? Getting a grip on his own desires, he asked, "Could you do this again? For the restaurant, I mean?"
Catch a Fallen Angel Page 10
