by Janet Dailey
A chilling portent shivered through her. "No, he isn't. Who's calling, please?" She knew what the answer would be."
"This is Belinda Hale. Are you … Maggie?" the polite but falsely friendly voice inquired.
"Yes, I am."
She was stiff, on guard, disliking intensely the cultured, musically pitched voice in her ear.
"Has Wade … mentioned anything to you about me?"
Again there was an infinitesimal pause, calculated to be secretive.
"About your engagement? Yes, he has, Miss Hale. Congratulations." Her teeth were grinding against each other, but Maggie was determined not to sound like a bitchy ex-wife.
She would be pleasant and nice, even if it killed her.
"Thank you," Belinda answered, so very graciously that it grated. "Wade had said he was going to speak to you about us before he told Michael. But I wasn't certain if he'd had an opportunity.
"He also mentioned some baseball game or other that Michael was playing in, so I didn't know whether he'd talked to you privately yet."
"Yes, we spoke before the game started." Maggie's fingers tightened around the receiver.
If it had been the woman's throat, she would have been strangled by now.
As it was, there was little Maggie could do to silence her, short of hanging up.
Wade had said his future wife was blond. Hearing her voice, Maggie could almost picture her. Blond, probably with blue eyes, always wearing the right clothes with just the right amount of makeup, always poised and prepared for any contingency.
Wade would never find his Belinda with rollers in her hair, wearing an old bathrobe, on her hands and knees.
He had said Belinda was the opposite of Maggie, and listening to the cool, unflustered voice, Maggie believed it.
"Oh. Is the game over?" Belinda Hale asked smoothly, with the proper note of innocent surprise.
"Yes." Maggie's answer was curt.
"I imagine Wade is on his way home, then, and it was needless for me to call."
Maggie wondered if the other woman knew how stinging it was to hear Belinda's home referred to as Wade's. She decided it had been deliberate.
"As a matter of fact, I don't believe he is," she said with a trace of smugness.
"Oh?"
"Mike's coach is treating the team to some ice cream, and Wade went along. He promised to bring Mike home afterward. Shall I have him call you when he does?"
"Would you, please, if it isn't too much trouble?" So polite, so courteous, so pseudowarm. "One of my very dearest friends stopped by this evening. I'm hoping that Wade will come back in time to meet her."
"I'm sure he will if he can."
"Yes. Wade can be such a darling at times, and," Belinda added with a throaty laugh, "so infuriatingly stubborn at other times. But, of course, I don't need to tell you that. You were married to him."
Again Maggie felt the prick of a sharp blade, jabbing at her while her assailant smiled benignly. "Were married" — but no longer.
"Yes, I was married to him, but that was a long time ago."
It didn't seem that long. Maybe because it hadn't been very long since he'd held her in his arms and kissed her and all that old magic had come racing back, more potent than before.
"I really am looking forward to meeting you, Maggie. I know that must sound strange, but I do mean it. It's just that I don't see any reason for there to he any enmity between us. Obviously we aren't in competition for anything. Both you and Wade wanted the divorce. For Michael's sake I think it would be very important for us to be friends."
"I'm looking forward to meeting you, too, Belinda." There was a saccharine quality to her tone. For once, Maggie held her usually candid tongue and didn't voice her opinion about becoming friends with Wade's future bride.
A suspicion was beginning to form. Open-minded, Wade had described her. Almost ridiculously so, Maggie concluded.
Not for a minute did she believe a hand of friendship was being extended to her.
More than likely the gesture was part of Belinda's act to impress Wade with her unselfishness, her lack of jealousy and possessiveness.
While it cemented her relationship with Wade, it put Maggie on the defensive. If she rejected the attempt at friendliness by Belinda, Wade would view it as spite and ill temper on Maggie's part. The woman was clever, very clever.
"Wade has promised we'll meet sometime soon," Belinda informed her. "And I can hardly wait to meet Michael. Wade has talked about him so much that I almost feel I know him already.
"After Wade and I are married, I naturally want Michael to continue to visit us, just as he always has visited his father in the past."
"Mike has always enjoyed those visits," Maggie returned.
"You and I should get together for a private little chat. I want to learn what Michael's favorite foods are and the things he likes to do, his pet peeves, and so on."
The woman was determined to be the perfect wife and stepmother, Maggie decided. It was an admirable thing, unless all this interest was forced.
That was something difficult to judge over the telephone.
"Mike is a very normal boy, easier to please than most."
Maggie wasn't certain if she knew his favorite foods.
They tended to change with his mood and age. She knew his pet peeve — his mother's always being late. And it was one Maggie had no intention of relating to Mike's future stepmother.
"I'm certain he's a darling. Every photograph I've seen of him, Michael has had a striking resemblance to Wade."
"Yes, he has Wade's dark coloring," Maggie agreed. "His personality is very much his own, though."
"After Wade formally introduces us, we shall have to get together and have that little chat. You can sort of forewarn me about the things that irritate Michael … and Wade, for that matter.
"I don't mean any offense, but I don't want to make the same mistake you did in your marriage to Wade. Perhaps you can steer me right."
"I doubt very seriously that you would make the 'mistakes' I did," Maggie dryly answered the suggestion.
From the limited information she had been able to glean, Belinda didn't seem the type to let her emotions run away with her tongue, as Maggie was prone to do.
"I hope not." Belinda laughed, and again it was that practiced laugh that sounded in the throat, rich and husky like velvet. "But you probably do know more about Wade's darker side than I do. I'd be grateful for any tidbit you would want to share."
"Of course." Maggie couldn't tolerate any more of the phone conversation. "I'm sure you want to get back to your friend. I'll have Wade call as soon as he brings Mike home."
"Thank you, I do appreciate that. I hope I'll be talking to you again very soon, Maggie."
"Yes — me, too, Belinda," Maggie lied through her teeth, and waited until she heard the disconnecting click before she slammed the receiver onto its cradle out of sheer frustration and jealousy.
There was no solace in the fact that she hadn't lost her temper. All she felt was a growing sense of despair.
The only way to cope with the situation seemed to be to get through it with as much grace as possible, which wasn't one of her fortes, and to take each day after that as it came.
A CAR DOOR SLAMMED outside. Maggie guessed it was Wade bringing Mike back.
Remembering the last time when he had simply dropped Mike off and left, she was tempted not to go to the door and tell him about the telephone call he had received.
She had to, of course. She didn't want to be accused of being too mean to pass on messages from his fiancée.
Wade was just stepping out of the car when Maggie opened the front door. "There was a telephone call for you, Wade."
An absent frown creased his forehead. "Was there a message?"
Maggie hesitated for a fraction of a second, aware of Mike slowly making his way up the sidewalk to the house. "Miss Hale asked you to call her."
"May I use your phone?"
To call your
fiancée? No! Maggie wanted to scream, but she controlled the impulse and nodded. "Of course. Come in."
At that moment Mike ducked under her arm and slipped into the house. Automatically she prompted him, "Change out of your uniform into some everyday clothes."
"I will," was his desultory murmur.
Her nerves grew taut as Wade drew closer, his nearness vibrating them like a tuning fork when he walked past her into the house. She closed the door, fighting the weakness in her knees.
"You may use the extension in the kitchen if you'd like some privacy," she offered, but Wade was already walking toward the beige phone in the living room.
"It isn't necessary." He picked up the receiver and began dialing the number with an economy of movement. Maggie wanted to make herself scarce, but his indifference trapped her into listening to a one-sided conversation.
"This is Wade. I want to speak to Belinda," he said into the mouthpiece.
While he waited, his sharp gaze swerved to Maggie. "Did she say why she called?"
"Something about a friend she wanted you to meet." Her answer was deliberately vague.
His gaze narrowed briefly as if he sensed Maggie's resentment. Then his attention was diverted by a voice on the other end of the phone.
"Hello." He was returning a greeting, his voice intimately quiet.
A pain twisted through Maggie at the sensual softening of his mouth, almost into a smile. "Yes, she did," Wade replied to a question put to him. "I'm here now —" he glanced at his watch "— about twenty minutes, depending on the traffic." With penetrating swiftness his gaze slashed back to Maggie. "You did? I'm glad."
There was a skeptically mocking lift of one eyebrow, and it didn't require much deduction for Maggie to guess they were talking about her. "Yes, I'll he there as soon as I can, darling."
Her fingers curled into her palms at the parting endearment. Waves of jealousy and envy washed through her, nearly swamping her control.
She turned her back to Wade, her stomach a churning ball.
"Belinda said she had a 'nice' conversation with you. The adjective was hers, not mine," Wade commented.
"What did you think I would do? Hang up on her?" Maggie snapped.
"I wouldn't have been surprised if you had," he countered dryly.
She spun around.
Her temper had been held in check too long, and it flared now as fiery as her red hair. "That was one thing I could always count on, wasn't it? Your unwavering support."
"You've never been known for your tact."
"Neither have you. But your darling Belinda is diplomatic enough to make up for it," Maggie declared with decidedly biting emphasis on his fiancée's name. "She sounds too good to be true. You'd better hang on to her."
"A compliment like that, coming from you, always makes me suspect it's an insult."
The remark was totally unfair because h was the closest Maggie had come to sincerity since she had learned of his approaching marriage.
She didn't like Belinda; she never would, but she didn't doubt that the woman was going to attempt to be all things to Wade.
"Did it ever occur to you that you're the only one who brings out the worst in me?" Maggie retorted in self-defense.
A nerve twitched convulsively in his jaw. "I bring out the worst in you?"
The ominous black of anger was in his eyes as he took a step closer.
Although intimidated, Maggie held her ground. "Then explain why you're still single. I don't see anybody beating a path to your door. From all that Mike has said, you date men very infrequently. Why? Because they know a shrew when they see one. I was too blind!"
"I have as many dates as I want, when I want them and with whom!
"After wiggling out from underneath your thumb, I value my freedom."
"No commitments, is that it?" He towered above her, male and dominating.
"That's it!"
"Men like Mike's coach must like that. You make it easy for them."
Maggie was trembling with rage.
"You above all people should know I'm not easy!" she hissed.
"No, you're not easy," Wade agreed, his hand shooting out to imprison her wrist and twisting it behind her back.
The sudden physical contact changed the volatile atmosphere to something as elemental as time eternal. Maggie was trapped by that searing desire and couldn't escape its velvet snare. The black coals of his eyes burned over her face, catching that breathless look of expectancy in her expression.
"I may have brought out the worst in you," he growled, "but I also brought out the best."
"Yes."
The admission crumpled some inner defense mechanism and Maggie's head dipped in defeat to rest against the solid wall of his chest. "I never meant to argue with you, Wade. How do we always manage to start shouting at each other?"
His hand released her wrist and hesitated on her back, his touch not quite a caress nor totally impersonal. All she wanted was for Wade to hold her in his arms for a little while.
But in the next second he was withdrawing his hands and walking away.
"I have no idea how any of our arguments have started."
The indifference of his tone said it didn't matter. His gaze was hooded when he glanced at her, the fires banked or out completely. "Belinda is waiting for me — I have to leave."
Her backbone stiffened. "Of course."
Wade started for the door and paused. "I was late bringing Mike because we stopped somewhere to talk. I told him about Belinda."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing. Not a word. He didn't say he was sorry or glad. He didn't ask when I was getting married. Nothing." Wade breathed in deeply. "Absolutely nothing."
"It was a shock."
She, too, had been speechless when Wade had first told her.
She'd had time to recover.
"I hadn't realized what a shock it would be," he murmured.
"I'll talk to him," said Maggie.
"Tell Mike I'll call him tomorrow afternoon. If it's nice, we'll go boating. I've arranged … oh, hell, what does that matter?" Long, impatient strides carried him to the door.
Without glancing back, he repeated, "I'll call him tomorrow."
The door slammed shut before Maggie could find her voice to acknowledge his statement. She stared into the emptiness of the room, still filled with the ghost of Wade's presence.
When the powerful engine of the Mercedes growled outside, she slowly turned toward the bedrooms of the house.
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Chapter Seven
MIKE'S BEDROOM DOOR was closed. Maggie hesitated outside, then knocked once.
Silence was her only answer. She knocked again, more loudly the second time. Several seconds later she received a reluctant response.
"Yeah?"
"It's me. May I come in?" She waited, holding her breath, dreading these next few minutes probably as much as Mike was.
"Yeah."
Turning the doorknob, she pushed the door open and walked in.
Mike was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the flat white of the ceiling. He was still dressed in his baseball uniform, the cap on his head, dirty tennis shoes on his feet.
He didn't glance at her.
"I thought you were going to change your clothes," Maggie reminded him.
"I forgot." Mike didn't make any move to correct the oversight.
Maggie didn't want to force the subject, not yet. She walked to the foot of the bed. "The uniform can wait, but these shoes have to go." She began untying the laces.
"You already know, don't you?"
His gaze ended its study of the ceiling to dart accusingly at her.
"If you mean do I know that your father is planning to get married — yes, I do." She kept her voice calm with effort. "He told me before the game. That's why we were late."
"Why? Why does he have to get married? Why can't things stay the way they are?" Mike protested.
"You
don't want things to stay the way they are."
"Yes, I do!"
"If they did, you'd never be able to improve your hitting," she reasoned. "You'd never grow up. Everything changes, people, places and things. That's part of growing up. So is accepting those changes."
"He doesn't have to get married. You haven't."
"That doesn't mean I might not someday." She pulled off the tennis shoes and set them on the floor at the foot of his bed. "Your father has met someone he loves very much, so it's only natural that he would want to marry her."
"I don't care!"
"You want your father to be happy, don't you?"
"Getting married doesn't mean he's going to be happy. He was married to you and neither of you were happy," Mike reminded her, a low blow in Maggie's book.
"It isn't fair to assume that if your father and I weren't happy, neither will he be happy with his new wife. It isn't all that much of a change."
Maggie diverted the subject. "It only means there'll be a woman living all the time with your father. You might even like her after you meet her."
"Have you met her?" Mike wanted to know, skeptical.
"No."
"Do you think you're going to like her?"
"How do I know? I haven't met her." Maggie avoided the question, knowing that she, too, was already prejudiced against the woman.
"Dad says she's young and pretty. They might have kids of their own," he speculated. He stared again at the ceiling, eyes troubled and increasingly dark. "They'd be living with him all the time."
Maggie was beginning to understand some of Mike's uncertainties.
"Your father would continue to love you, no matter how many children he and his new wife might have." That, too, was a thought that didn't bring joy into her heart.
"Besides, when you go to visit him, you would have a brother or sister, or both, to play with. When they get older, you can teach them how to play baseball and things like that."
"Aw, mom, that's boring!"
"How do you know? It might be fun," she argued.
"I just wish he wasn't getting married."
"He is, so you might as well accept that." So had I, Maggie thought.
"I don't have to like it, though." There was a stubborn set to Mike's chin as he unclasped his hands from behind his head and sat up, curling his sock covered feet beneath him.
