All Mine

by Tamrie Foxtail

  Chapter Three

  Maggie sat on the edge of her bed and slipped the high heels off. Cinnamon, her Siamese cat, rubbed along Maggie’s back before crawling onto her lap. She stroked the cat, letting herself be soothed by Cinnamon’s purr.

  When the house phone rang, she hesitated to answer, not wanting to talk to either Logan or Marlie. Marc’s name popped up on the caller id and she relaxed.

  “Hey, sis,” he said. “Happy New Year.”

  “You, too.”

  “I tried calling you at midnight since you said you didn’t have any plans. Then I tried calling your cell.”

  “I was at a party. I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”

  “Did you have a date?”

  She hadn’t told Marc she was marrying Logan Fredericks. He’d know she wasn’t in love.

  “His name’s Shamus. You don’t know him.”

  “Anything serious? I mean, you are turning thirty next month. Shouldn’t you be thinking about marriage and babies?”

  “Don’t worry about me. How are you? You sound good.”

  “Yeah. Pain’s not as bad. Physical therapy’s a bitch.”

  Notes of a different kind of pain drifted through the phone with his voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t make me play the big sister card.”

  He chuckled, but the sound rang false.

  “I had to let my apartment go.”

  “Marc—”

  “It’s okay. I won’t be out of here for another month. When I do get out, I can’t climb the stairs. Friends of mine packed up my stuff for me and put it in storage.”

  “I wish you’d called me.”

  “How much money have you forked over because of me? You’ve paid on my doctor bills. You’re paying my cell phone bill.”

  A motorcycle crash in the beginning of November had put her younger brother in the hospital with two crushed legs. After seven weeks in the hospital and multiple surgeries, Marc was learning to walk again. It’d be months, at least, before he could even think about returning to work.

  “I don’t want you to worry about anything but getting better.”

  “I’ll pay you back someday, Maggie.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Marc cleared his throat. “I should let you go. I’m sure you’re tired. I’m glad you had a date. I hope you had a good time. You deserve it. You’re too sweet to be alone.”

  She hung up the phone. Marc needed her. She needed money to help him. And that meant she had to marry Logan.

  ****

  Maggie stood in front of the coffee pot, her favorite cup in hand. Cinnamon wove around her ankles. The doorbell rang. “You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered. Empty cup still clutched in her hand, she headed for the door. She checked the peephole, heart stuttering when she saw who stood on the other side. She took a deep breath, then opened the door.

  Shamus smiled at her. “Good morning.”

  She stared at him, half convinced she’d conjured him out of thin air. After a restless night spent thinking about her attraction to Shamus and her obligation to her brother, Maggie’s plan was to never set eyes on Shamus again. She had to marry Logan. She needed the millions the marriage would bring her.

  Shamus took the empty cup from her, looked inside, and handed it back. “Air coffee? Too weak for me.”

  His teasing coaxed a reluctant smile from her.

  “I’m still waiting on the first cup. Would you like some?”

  “Sure.” He followed her into the apartment, bending to scoop up Cinnamon along the way.

  The Siamese rumbled a rare purr. Great, even her cat liked him.

  Maggie came to a halt in the kitchen, turning as a thought occurred to her. “How did you know where I live? You picked me up and dropped me off at my sister’s.”

  “And I went there this morning looking for you. Apparently, Marlie is not an early riser.”

  “Actually, she usually gets up early to run. She just had a late night.” She pulled a mug from a hook under the cabinet and handed it to him.

  “Winnie-the-Pooh?” he asked.

  “I love all things Winnie-the-Pooh.” She pointed to the set of six mugs, all characters from the beloved series. Logan had brought the set back from England for her as a birthday gift years ago.

  He pointed to the cup she carried. “Can I at least use Tigger? I’m not a teddy bear kind of guy.”

  “Nope. Tigger’s my favorite.” She took the Winnie-the-Pooh and exchanged it for a different one. “You can have Owl.”

  He tapped the paper heart she’d put on the refrigerator that morning. “I hope that’s a keepsake of last night and not a declaration about the contents of the fridge.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I figured I wouldn’t lose it if I stuck it there. Our prize is on the back.” She wasn’t about to admit that the heart’s declaration of ALL MINE felt like a warning—all the things she wouldn’t have when she married Logan.

  “Don’t worry. Steph will make certain you and I collect our drinks on Valentine’s Day.”

  Except she’d be marrying another man days later.

  She filled both mugs with coffee and sat at the bench in the breakfast nook.

  “So what brings you out on New Year’s morning?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “You want me to fix you breakfast?” She’d only met the man the night before.

  Shamus laughed. “No, I want to take you to breakfast.”

  “Is anything open?”

  “Gemstone Café.”

  She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

  “My aunt and uncle own it. It’s in one of the hotels downtown. Good food. Irish soda bread and drisheen.”

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  “Blood pudding.”

  “Irish soda bread—yes. Blood pudding—no.”

  ****

  Shamus held open the door for Maggie, then followed her into the café. They settled into a booth in front of the windows. Faye walked over carrying a coffee pot. She leaned down and kissed Shamus on the cheek.

  “My cousin, Faye. And this is Maggie,” Shamus said.

  “Keeping secrets?” Faye raised one eyebrow.

  Shamus made a shooing motion. “Pour the coffee and go away.”

  Faye poured the coffee but didn’t leave. “And how long have you two been going out?”

  “It’s not like that,” Maggie said.

  “We barely know each other,” Shamus said, already regretting the impulse to bring Maggie to the café. Faye was the family gossip. By dinnertime everyone would know he’d started the New Year having breakfast with a pretty redhead. Steph would gloat, especially after his reluctance to go on a blind date in the first place. He’d have to suck it up, admit Maggie was attractive and nice and they had quite a few things in common.

  The door to the café opened, and Faye glanced that way. “Tramp alert,” she grumbled.

  Every muscle in his shoulders hardened to stone. The last person he wanted to see turned in his direction.

  For a moment, he thought Paris would settle for sticking her nose in the air and walking past. He didn’t have that kind of luck.

  She stopped next to their table, ignoring Maggie and Faye. “Starting the year off with your family, I see. That’s so sweet.”

  “At least he’s not starting it off alone,” Faye said. “That’s so pathetic.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Faye.”

  His cousin rolled her eyes.

  Maybe they should get their breakfast to go.

  Maggie’s gaze moved back and forth between him and Paris. He hoped this wasn’t an indication of how the rest of the year would go.

  “Have you met Shamus’s girlfriend?” Faye asked.

  Paris pressed her lips together.

  Across from him, Maggie squirmed but didn’t correct her.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” Paris said, her voice dripping ice. S
he glanced at Faye. “I’ll take a cup of coffee. To go.” She stomped off toward the register.

  Faye shook her head, ponytail swinging from side-to-side. “Piece of work as Gran used to say. Watch yourself Shamus. I’m thinking she wants you back.” She looked at Maggie. “Everyone knows Shamus always eats breakfast here on New Year’s Day.”

  He shrugged. “Gran’s Irish soda bread and drisheen. She made it for New Year’s Day breakfast the whole time I was growing up.”

  Faye patted his shoulder and walked off.

  Maggie smiled gently. “I take it your relationship was more than just casual dating.”

  “It was. It’s also over.” He tapped his coffee cup to hers. “To the New Year and new relationships.”

  Chapter Four

  Shamus walked her to her door, one hand resting on the small of her back.

  Maggie fished her keys from the bottom of her purse. Don’t ask him in, don’t ask him in.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. “Just for a minute?”

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage. The word “no” refused to emerge. She nodded.

  “Coffee?” she asked as he closed the door behind them.

  Shamus laughed. “I had four cups at the restaurant. I’m good. I can’t stay long. I promised Jason I’d come over for a bit and help him put up some shelves.”

  “On New Year’s Day?”

  “My grandfather always told me if you worked a few hours on New Year’s Day you’d be employed all year.”

  “You were close to your grandparents?”

  “My father died when I was six and Steph was nine. My mother moved us here, and we stayed with our grandparents for a while, until Mom found an apartment. Even then, we went to my grandparents’ after school, until Mom got off. Gran would fix dinner, and we’d eat there.”

  She dropped onto the couch, half-relieved, half-stressed, when he sat next to her.

  “Our parents were killed in a small plane crash when I was twenty. I was able to get custody of Marc and my sister.” She brought her eyes to his. “I don’t usually tell my life story to people I barely know.”

  His hand touched her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to tell me.” He wrapped a lock of hair around his finger. “Twenty. You were just a kid yourself. How old were they?”

  “Marc was fifteen and my sister was eleven.”

  “Put an end to college?”

  “No. I finished. I have a degree in hotel motel management with a minor in accounting.”

  “You work at one of the hotels?”

  “The Matlock. My sister works there too.”

  “You busy tomorrow?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have dinner with me?”

  “Okay,” she said, while the practical side of her brain screamed, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He gave her a quick kiss and let himself out.

  ****

  “I have to tell him,” she said to the cat. Cinnamon jumped from the bed to the dresser, reaching out a brown paw to swat at the necklace dangling from Maggie’s hand.

  She fastened the silver chain around her neck, the amethyst stone gleaming softly in the bedroom light.

  Cinnamon tilted her head to one side, round blue eyes studying Maggie.

  “I’ll tell him,” Maggie said.

  The doorbell rang, and she hurried to answer it.

  Shamus wore jeans and a black sweatshirt. He raised one dark eyebrow, gesturing to Maggie’s purple sheath and heels.

  “One of us is going to have to change,” he said.

  Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t know what restaurant.” She took a deep breath, searching for courage. “I have to tell you—”

  He held up one hand. “It’s okay. Why don’t you change into jeans for tonight, and our next date I’ll take you some place dressy. In the meantime, since I doubt you’re ready to let me watch you change, maybe Robin can be my voyeur.” He brought out the hand he’d held behind his back.

  “I love it!” She hugged the stuffed Siamese cat, who was dressed like Robin Hood in green tights, tunic, and a little hat with a feather in it. “Where on Earth did you find this?”

  “I’m doing some remodeling work at a place on Ninth Street. There’s a little business next door called Fairy Tales. I saw the cat in the window, and he reminded me of yours. I know it’s not Winnie-the-Pooh, but—”

  “He’s perfect.”

  “Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  Maggie shook her head, swallowing back the tears that tried to climb her throat. She wanted this one evening with him.

  “It wasn’t anything important.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll change.” She spoke to Robin Hood as she headed toward her room. “And no peeking.”

  ****

  The restaurant turned out to be a pizza joint with a jukebox and a foosball table. They talked and laughed like old friends, the conversation interspersed with quick touches and smiles.

  After a dinner of Canadian bacon and mushroom pizza, and two games of foosball, both of which Maggie lost, Shamus suggested a walk through the park.

  They circled the little pond, holding hands, falling into a companionable silence as comfortable as their conversation had been.

  His thumb caressed her palm, the gentle touch sending little zings through her veins. If not for her impending engagement, this might have been the best date of her life.

  For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to dance around images of a future with him…a future filled with his touch, with kisses, and with sleepy mornings spent together.

  She shook the images from her mind. Now would be a good time to tell him. Would he be willing to accept her friendship if he knew the truth? And could she settle for that when she wanted so much more?

  She cleared her throat. “I like spending time with you,” she said.

  He smiled at her, melting her heart. “That’s a good start. I know it’s in poor taste to bring up my ex when I’m with a beautiful, sweet woman, but Paris and I had a very nasty breakup. It’s taken a bit for me to feel I can risk falling for someone.”

  He stopped beneath the old-fashioned light, tugging her closer. His hands cupped her cheeks, and his lips brushed hers. “When I’m with you, I feel comfortable. I keep thinking about calling you, seeing you.”

  Her spirits sank, and her guilt rose. Wonderful. She could be the second woman in a row to hurt him, destroy his ability to trust.

  Icy drops burned her face as the January wind touched her tears.

  “Wait a minute,” Shamus said. “When you said you like spending time with me, that wasn’t a segue into ‘You’re a nice guy but…’ was it?”

  She shook her head.

  His thumb brushed the tears on her cheeks. “Then why are you crying?”

  Because I could love you. Because you just might be the one, but I have to marry Logan, so I can take care of Marc.

  “Because you said what I’m thinking,” she whispered, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

  ****

  Shamus sensed something more; a stiffness in her body, a hint of sadness in her voice. He reached for her hand again. They walked in silence. What could he say to get her to reveal what was bothering her?

  Maggie gave a little shriek, her feet losing purchase on an icy patch and her hand jerking free of his.

  “Maggie!” He dropped to his knees beside her in the snow. “Are you hurt? Did you slip?”

  She moved her head from side-to-side. A guttural sound caught in her throat. Was she crying?

  “I’m okay. Humiliated, but not hurt.”

  “That was a stupid question,” he muttered. “It’s not like you hit the ground to make snow angels.” He shifted his position, intending to slide his arms underneath her and lift her out of the snow.

  Her arms and
legs swished out, then in.

  Ignoring the frigid snow seeping through the knees of his jeans, Shamus threw his head back and laughed out loud.

  Maggie was making snow angels.

  Shamus dropped onto his back in the snow and mimicked her movements.

  Maggie turned her head toward him and laughed. “You’re crazy,” she gasped.

  “Hey, this was your idea.”

  The cold brought winter roses to her cheeks. Long auburn hair spilled across the snow, shining in the soft lamp light.

  He stilled his movements. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. He rolled onto his side, pressing one hand against her icy cheek. All evening he’d thought about kissing her again, although he hadn’t imagined the two of them lying in the wet snow, the cold and damp creeping through their clothes. He pressed his lips to her wintry ones, coaxing heat into them. His tongue slipped into the warm interior of her mouth.

  He felt a shiver travel the length of her body. He rose, extending a hand to her.

  Frozen fingers wrapped around his. He pulled her to her feet and folded her into his embrace. “I better get you home before you catch your death of cold.”

  She nodded.

  He squeezed her hand and started to tuck it into his pocket. She tugged free. He watched, puzzled, as she pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped three quick pictures of their snow angels.

  “To remember,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

  ****

  Ever the gentleman, Shamus walked her to her door.

  Don’t invite him in, don’t invite him in.

  A frigid gust slapped her. Her jeans, still damp from the snow despite the heater in Shamus’s car, felt frozen to her skin. Shamus still had to drive home in his wet clothes.

  “I can toss your clothes in my dryer,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  They were barely through the front door when he shed his denim jacket and pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

  Good heavens, the man had a beautiful chest, muscled and brushed with dark hair. The moisture left her mouth and traveled south.

  “I’ll get you a blanket,” she stammered, taking off for her room.

  She changed out of her wet clothes, pulling on dry jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt. She tugged the comforter from her bed and carried it to Shamus, closing her eyes while he undressed.