A Ring for Rosie

by Maggie Wells

  There was a triumphant gleam in her silver eyes. James scowled at her. “What do you mean? What are you into?”

  “Into?” she repeated derisively. “Oh, come on, James. What do you think I’m doing, hooking?”

  He kept his expression flat and neutral, as nonjudgmental as he could manage. “Megan, if you need help—”

  She cut him off. “Oh, spare me.”

  “I’m concerned. Mike is, too.”

  She raised her hand palm-up. “Don’t invoke the name of the Almighty brother. Where was he when I needed him? Where? Why didn’t he help me?”

  “Megan, you know things are more complicated—”

  “No, they aren’t. Life is not complicated, James. You guys always make things complicated, but life is not all that hard. It’s easy.” She shook her head dismissively. “You’re easy. Too damn easy. All of you.”

  James stared at her, perplexed. “How do you mean?”

  “I needed a place to stay while I gathered information.” She drawled the last word, and his skin prickled.

  “Information? On what?”

  “God, you’re dumb. How did you get through school? Did you pay Mike to do your papers or something?” she asked snidely.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” James asked, his patience running bone-dry.

  “I was gathering information on Georgie. You know, the mayor’s sister? The booby baker,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest and giving one of those annoying head wiggles. “Granted, things would’ve been easier if Mike had given in and let me live with him, but I got when I needed.”

  “Got what you needed,” he repeated slowly. “You’re the one who sold the information to the tabloids about Georgie and Gerry,” he concluded at last.

  She let out a shrill laugh that sounded like pieces of shattered glass falling to the floor. “See? Dumb. Don’t think small, Jimmy.” She put the much-hated nickname to expert use. “I sold the information to the opposition, then I resold it to the tabloids,” she apprised him, lifting her chin a notch. “A classic double dip.”

  “Why would you? To your own brother?”

  “Not my brother,” she corrected. “My brother’s piece. As in Getta Piece. Get it?”

  James stared at her with all the loathing he’d been suppressing for five long years. “That’s disgusting.”

  She nodded emphatically, deliberately misinterpreting his words. “I know. Carrying on together out of wedlock…and with children involved.”

  She tsked, and he wanted to punch her. But he lived by the same simple rules he taught his sons. No hitting, no kicking, no throwing rocks.

  “I’ve been dining out on this super-secret secret of mine for weeks.”

  His eyes narrowed as he took her full measure. “You know, you really are an asshole,” he said in hushed disbelief. “I used to think you were confused, but now I see you’re a full-on asshole.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Megan shot back.

  “No. Not me. I know how a person treats their friends, their family…the people they are supposed to love.”

  “Oh, God, love.” She groaned as she gave an exaggerated eye-roll.

  “I’m not your soft place to land, Megan. You’re going to have to find some other sucker from here on out.”

  “What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to do?” She jerked her chin toward the crowded ballroom. “Christ, what a bunch of stiffs. I thought politicians were supposed to be easy and sleazy.”

  “Is sleazy really what you’re looking for in a guy?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m not looking for,” she spat. “I’m not looking to be the perfect friggin’ family, wearing matching shirts, and eating mac ’n cheese.”

  “But you keep turning up.”

  “Only because I didn’t have any better options.”

  “You don’t even care about your kids. You don’t care about me, or your brother, or your parents. You are an asshole, Megan. An asshole who only cares about herself.”

  The ugly words hung between them for a moment. Megan’s gaze darted to someone or something past his shoulder, but he was beyond caring.

  Finally, she tossed her head and lifted her shin, her eyes glinting with malice as she zoomed in on him again. “At least I’m not the asshole who gets all gooey and shit. ‘Let’s get married, Megan,’” she mocked. Spinning on one toothpick heel, she threw her head back and laughed as she grasped the banister of the sweeping staircase. “As if.”

  “I want you out of my house,” he called after her. “Tonight.”

  Megan didn’t even turn around. She only lifted a hand in a carefree wave. “No problem. I planned on ditching this weekend anyway.”

  James stood at the head of the stairs watching in a mix of wonderment and disbelief as Megan Simmons finally walked out of his life. He’d never let her in again. Even if restraining orders became necessary. Hell, he’d even hire Rosie’s new boyfriend to make sure she never came near them again.

  Shaking his head, he turned to walk back into the party. As if he’d conjured her through sheer force of will, he found Rosie standing still as a statue outside the ladies’ room door, her purse clutched in both hands and her mouth agape. James came to a stop in front of her. She looked lost, confused, and he had to shove his hands deep into the pockets of his suit pants to keep from reaching for her. The drone of someone speaking into a microphone seeped through the ballroom doors.

  “I suppose you heard.” His voice creaked, but he didn’t think Rosie heard it over the muffled roar of approval coming from the ballroom. When a door opened, the applause washed over them like a wave. Still, they stood locked in this silent standoff.

  “You asked her to marry you?”

  “I, uh…” He glanced over his shoulder at the staircase. How he could possibly explain the convoluted reasoning behind the plot to remove Megan from his life to a woman as excruciatingly logical as Rosie? He had no clue. “I…yeah. I did, but not—”

  James never got to finish the sentence because Rosie Herrera, the woman who’d once loved him, and the woman he might possibly love now, slapped the words right out of his mouth.

  * * * *

  She’d never struck anyone in her life. Not accidentally, not on purpose. Rosie’s hands tingled as she yanked open the door to the ballroom and fled into the mass of people inside. She had sisters, for chrissakes. Sisters fought, but they didn’t slap or punch. When she was angry, she took her vengeance out by swiping somebody’s favorite lipstick, or snagging a favorite sweater. Maybe, if things escalated to a fever pitch, someone might have pulled someone else’s hair. But she never hit people. She certainly didn’t slap men. And she never, ever, ever thought James would be her first victim.

  Elbowing her way through the jostling crowd, she searched the dark-suited men for Devin. For one panicked moment, she was afraid she might not recognize him among the throng. After all, this was their third date. How much did someone really memorize about somebody by their third date? Did she even know what color his eyes were?

  She closed her own, trying to block out the image of the utter shock and sadness in James’s eyes as he held his hand to his cheek.

  No. She wouldn’t think of James.

  She popped her eyes open and zeroed in on the people gathered in front of the stage. Wasn’t the third date supposed to be the magic date? Wasn’t the third date the magic one where people fell into bed together? Rosie gave a half-snort, half-sob, then pressed her knuckles to her mouth to prevent any other sounds of distress from escaping.

  She wasn’t about to fall into bed with Devin Wallace, no matter how nice he was. At least, not yet. She liked him. She liked him a lot. But she wasn’t ready to make love with him. Not when her head was reeling from what she’d heard, and her heart… Her heart was cracked clean in two, right down the middle.


  James asked Megan to marry him. James let Megan move into his house. He’d wanted her to be a family with him and their two boys. The two boys Rosie had loved and cared for from the moment she first laid eyes on them. The two boys Megan couldn’t care less about if she tried.

  Every molecule of the intuition called her. Something wasn’t right. There wasn’t a damn thing right about the situation.

  She sidestepped a woman who’d clearly had too much wine and slinked around a circle of big-bellied men with graying hair and tumblers full of whisky. Still, she couldn’t spot her date.

  After all these years. After all the ways Megan had let them down and Rosie picked up the pieces, James had asked Megan to marry him. And there was no way Rosie could forgive him for not asking her.

  Inching in the direction of one of the bars, she caught a flash of Gerry Carson Jr.’s profile and stopped to survey the crowd around him. Georgie would be somewhere in Gerry’s general orbit. Heartened, Rosie headed in in their direction. But before she could reach the safety of her girlfriends, Devin suddenly materialized. He stepped from the crowd of navy-suited men as if peeling himself from the background of a painting, and stood directly in her path.

  “There you are.” His welcoming smile faded as she searched her face. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied automatically. Then, she changed her story. “Actually, no, I’m not fine. I have a splitting headache. I think too much champagne.”

  Devin’s expression melted into one of instant concern. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Would you like to go home?”

  Guilt tore at her. This was a big night, a high profile party, and potentially an excellent networking opportunity for a guy like Devin. Aside from the dating aspect, she felt bad for robbing him of the opportunity.

  But when she looked up, she met Colm’s gaze in the crowd and saw him tilt his head questioningly. Rosie shook him off.

  “Would you mind terribly? I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble getting dressed up like this and all, but I… It’s too loud.”

  Devin nodded understandingly and took her arm. “No, no problem at all.” Then, he leaned in close. “As long as you promise me a do-over on a night when you’re feeling better. Maybe someplace quieter? Dinner? The two of us?”

  She exhaled her relief and gratitude. “Dinner would be great.”

  Devin leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  Rosie bit her lip and cast a glance over to the area were Colm, Monica, Mike, and Georgie stood talking with some friends of Gerry’s. “I really should go tell them good-bye, and congratulate the new mayor, but I don’t know if I have the energy to fight my way through.”

  “I’m sure you can call them tomorrow and explain.” Devin placed his hand in the small of her back and started to guide her to the door.

  Rosie’s heart rose in her throat and panic surged inside of her when she realized there was a good chance they might run into James on their way to the exit. She craned her neck from side to side scanning the crowd as steadily as Doppler radar searching for the next aggressive weather system. She’d had years of experience keeping tabs on him; she had to have developed some kind of sixth sense where James was concerned.

  To her relief and frustration, she saw him heading for the bar on the far side of the room. Her palm itched. The urge to take another swing at him swelled inside her like a water balloon filling to capacity.

  Rosie picked up her pace, trusting Devin would keep up as she beat a retreat as quickly as she could. She had to get out before the security team’s loose cannon ended up starting a barroom brawl in the middle of the new mayor’s hard-won victory celebration.

  Chapter 12

  He shouldn’t be there. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but knowing better didn’t make any difference. The minute he saw Rosie leave the ballroom with Devin, James wasn’t long for the party. He informed Mike of Megan’s imminent departure without imparting the ugly details, before working his way around the edge of the crowd to the exit.

  James had slipped out not far behind Rosie and her date, and now, he was parked outside of her apartment complex, wondering whether he had the balls to ring her bell. He was pretty sure the lawyer guy was long gone. James recognized every snow-covered lump up and down the street and didn’t see any clean, shiny lawyer car parked in the vicinity. Still, he couldn’t be positive. There was always the possibility Devin was one of those schmucks who drove around for blocks to find one open space to wedge his car into. Kind of like he was wedging himself into Rosie’s life.

  James shook his head. He wasn’t being fair. The guy saw an opening, and he took it. James couldn’t blame him. Lord knows he’d done the same dozens of times. But never with Rosie. When he always should’ve been with Rosie.

  There he sat, shivering in his SUV, afraid to go home because he dreaded another run-in with Megan, and wishing he had his kids with him. Not that four-year-olds made the best security blankets, but if he had the kids, he’d at least have someone to talk to about something other than all the crap rattling around in his brain.

  Of course, he would never in a million years unload all of Megan’s mayhem on her children. He wasn’t even sure he would tell Mike and Georgie about Megan tipping off the opposition. What was the point? The connection made for a sensational news story for about five minutes, but her shenanigans had no impact on the outcome of the campaign.

  Nor did there appear to be any damage done to Georgie’s relationship with her brother. If anything, Megan had done them a favor. Georgie and Gerry seemed to be more openly affectionate with one another in the wake of the supposed scandal than they had been prior. Maybe by outing them, Megan had made it possible for Gerry and Georgie to have what James imagined to be a normal sibling relationship.

  He was an only child, but he’d seen Rosie with her sisters. They taught him what a sibling relationship should look like. Seeing it made him ache inside. He hoped Jamie and Jeff would continue to be close as they grew up. He’d read every book on raising twins he could get his hands on, but he understood their closeness wasn’t a given. He made a point of allowing each boy to assert his own personality in his own way. No way in hell he was ever going to try to force his kids into some kind of preconceived mold.

  Gripping the steering wheel, James leaned forward until his forehead rested against the top. He stared through the windshield but paid scant attention to anything beyond in the darkness. The only certainty was his relationship, or lack thereof, with Rosie had to be decided. Now. Before either of them could do anything more to hurt one another.

  Resolved, James yanked the key from the ignition and took hold of the door handle. The wind sliced through four layers of clothing—topcoat, suit coat, shirt, and undershirt—and embedded itself in his chest like a spear. Carefully avoiding the patches of ice on the sidewalk, he walked as quickly as he dared in his slick-soled dress shoes. Her door was the far door. He figured the distance from the street made her safer from any random violence, and had been glad for the distance. Now, he cursed with each step, wishing he’d remembered to wear a hat like Rosie always told him to.

  Huddled inside the tiny alcove provided by the entryway, he pressed his thumb to the button beside the name Herrera. Endless seconds ticked by before Rosie’s voice drifted from the speaker.

  “Hello?”

  “Rosie, it’s me. James. Let me in?” He cringed at the doubt in his voice. Suddenly, his simple request became a plea.

  “James?”

  The stunned bewilderment in her voice made him feel twice as guilty as he had mere seconds before. He didn’t come to her place often. Mostly, just to drop her off. For the first time, he worried she might not let him in. She may not be willing to hear what he had to say. His gut twisted into a knot as he leaned closer to the speaker.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he repeated. “Can you let me in? At least into the v
estibule? It’s freezing out here.”

  Rosie didn’t respond right away. Time stood frozen in the icy temperatures. Finally, a deep, stuttering buzz signaled the release of the catch on the outer security door.

  James pushed through and stumbled into the narrow foyer. A wall of gas-forced heat smacked him in the face. The temperature change was shocking. Pulling his hands from his jacket pockets, he rubbed them together to get the circulation flowing again, then started for the stairs. His foot had barely touched the bottom tread when Rosie appeared on the landing above him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  James stared up at her, and a hot rush of relief pulsed through him. She wore yoga pants and the stretched-out Chicago Bears jersey. She clearly wasn’t entertaining the attorney. Knowing he was already behind the eight ball, James tested out his most winning smile. “Hey, I saw you leave the party. Are you okay?”

  Rosie didn’t buy his innocent concern for one second. “Am I okay?” She tilted her head to the side and glared at him. “Am I okay?” she repeated slowly, this time emphasizing each word with the sharp point of accusation.

  Sighing, James rubbed his hands one more time and let them fall to his side. “Listen, what you heard at Carson House—” he began.

  Rosie held up a hand to stop him. “Not my business.”

  “But it is your business,” he insisted. “Rosie, the last few weeks have been…weird for me.” When she lifted one imperious eyebrow, he had to chuckle. “I know. Lame excuse, but they have been, and I had to do something.” He raised his hands, palms up, indicating how helpless he’d been feeling since Megan walked back into his life. “I don’t want her in my life, but what was I supposed to do? She showed up out of the blue, like she always does, and the boys were ecstatic. And they wanted her to be there. They wanted to know her. And I,” he hesitated for a second. “I always hope for the best,” he concluded dully.

  Rosie crossed her arms over the Bears logo. “Yes, I know you do. And I understand why you continue to…have a relationship with her.”