by C. C. Koen
He reminded her of an untamed mustang. Both had a compact and natural muscular appearance that moved with commanding, swift elegance—an unrestrained wildness. Between his confident strut, determined attitude, and the force of his unyielding grip, the similarities couldn’t be denied. Ever since they met, she had the hottest, most orgasmic fantasies about him. As much as she needed to forget him, she couldn’t. It would take time. Lots and lots of time, but she’d get over him. She had no choice.
After the way she acted, he’d stay away for sure. The mockery she’d made of their intimacy twisted her up inside so much, she had to get out of that lounge as quick as possible. She’d been beating herself up ever since. If he said those things to her, she would have crumpled into a heap. Since she’d fallen madly in love with him. As awful as she’d been, at least she knew he couldn’t feel the same. He never showed any interest other than lust and wanting to get her into bed. Although, now that she thought about it, he never implied he’d take her there either.
The doorbell rang and she slammed the fridge shut, stumbling into a jog. “Don’t open it.” As if in a stampede her daughter ran in the same direction. She scooped Cece into her arms and held the squirming bundle in position to look through the peephole. One of her favorite things to do.
“Who is it?”
Cece clapped and shouted, “Miss Em, Miss Em.”
What the heck? Sure enough, on the porch stood Rick’s mother. She had a pink bucket with books sticking out of it pressed to her chest.
“Hi, um, hi,” Maggie sputtered.
“Surprise.” Emma came in as Maggie took a step back.
Cece leaned over. “Let me see.” With her nose stuck in the bucket, she yanked a coloring book and crayons out, shoving them in Maggie’s face.
“Whoa, young lady. That is very rude. Put them back.”
Both of the items were dropped into Cece’s lap. She pouted and turned around to return them. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. They’re for you anyway. Do you mind? Can I set it down?” Emma pointed her thumb toward the coffee table in the living room.
“Sure, sure, go ahead.” After putting Cece on the wooden floor, she prodded, “What do you say to Miss Emma?”
“Thank ya.” Cece hopped onto the couch next to their guest, folding her legs under her bum, the coloring book already open on her lap and crayons dumped onto the cushions.
Emma brushed a hand down Cece’s arm. “I wanted to check on you. How you feeling, sweetie?”
“'Kay.” Once Cece had something new to play with, little could distract her. She’d keep herself occupied for the next hour at least.
Maggie shuffled closer and perched a leg on the arm of the sofa near Emma. “I guess Rick told you.”
When Emma turned toward Maggie, her brows scrunched. “Uh, yeah, he did.” She patted Cece on the knee. “She came to see us in CCU. Didn’t you, sweetie.”
Cece’s head popped up from the princess dress she’d been shading in turquoise, shaking her head side to side, eyes bugging out. Oh, Maggie knew that caught-with-her-hand-in-the-cookie-jar-and-deny-it expression well. In this case, what Cece and her idiot sister had done was far worse than sneaking sweets. Their actions thrust her into damage control mode, racking her brain with the potential repercussions. “How is your father-in-law?” She didn’t give a damn about his recovery. Her concern had to do with how soon he’d strike.
“He’s in step down, getting better. Strong as an ox, that man. Shocked us when he had a heart attack.” Emma squeezed her hand. “Thanks for asking, that’s so nice of you.”
Shame rushed through Maggie for deceiving the kind woman, and she jumped up from the arm of the couch. “Can I get you some tea?” She already made it halfway to the kitchen before Emma confirmed she did. The soapy suds in a metal pail reminded her about the person she’d been thinking of while doing chores, causing her cheeks and neck to warm. Bent over, she shoved the casserole and veggies into the fridge and moved the bucket out of the way. As she turned to put it on the counter, she rammed an elbow into Emma’s stomach and the water sloshed over the side, dampening her white blouse. “Oh my god, I didn’t know you were behind me. I’m so sorry.” Swiping a stack of napkins from a basket on top of the microwave near the fridge, she patted the wet spot, apologizing over and over.
“It’s okay. Just water, no big deal.” Emma sat down in a chair and laughed as she brushed a curly brown lock out of her eyes.
Maggie set a roll of paper towels on the table in front of Emma. “Here. These might do a better job.”
Unraveling several sheets and folding them in a pile, Emma tucked the bundle under her shirt and patted the tiny bump. “All good. It’ll dry while you make tea.”
“Oh, yeah.” Maggie filled the kettle with tap water and placed it on the stove. The wooden tea box sat on the counter. She propped open the top and asked, “What would you like?”
“Hmm . . . so many choices.” Emma picked up three packets in different rows before deciding on wild orange wulong oolong.
“That’s a good one.” Maggie selected a couple mugs from the stand next to the stove and placed them on the Formica counter. “I’ll have some too.” Full of nervous energy, imagining Emma could read her previous thoughts, she leaned against the counter, hands twisting. “Can I get you something to eat?” Good old hospitality and preparing food would help settle her down. She’d seen Emma a little over a week ago and even though the catering went well, she didn’t expect a visit. Being on her own turf didn’t reduce the jitters. Neither did Emma’s scrutinizing glances, like she had something to say but wasn’t ready to reveal it yet.
“I um, I can uh, make you a sandwich if you like.” She grabbed a Tupperware container off the table, removing the lid. “Homemade biscotti. Would you like some?”
Emma leaned over, placing her hand on Maggie’s arm. “That would be fine. Nothing else though, thank you.” She tilted her head to a chair next to her. “Would you mind sitting, relax a little?”
The sweet and hopeful tone in Emma’s voice had her doing as asked, but Maggie sat in silence, concentrating on her thumbnail rubbing along the rim on the plastic container.
Emma cleared her throat. “I thought maybe I could sign that book while I’m here.”
More at ease, Maggie looked up and smiled. “I’d love that. I’ll get it before you go.”
Nodding, Emma’s gaze drifted over to the fridge, scanning the photos. “You have a beautiful family.”
“So do you . . .” She couldn’t believe that came out. “I, uh, um, I . . .”
A smirk tilted up one side of Emma’s lips. “It’s okay. I agree. I always wished I had more children.”
“Why didn’t you?” Her hand thrown over her mouth, she couldn’t understand why she’d blurted the question. “Oh god, jeez, just ignore me,” she mumbled through her fingers.
Emma laughed. “It’s okay.” She shrugged and glanced at the pictures again, but her eyes seemed unfocused, reminiscent. “I was twenty-five when Max and I got married. A year later, I had Rick. I was a stay-at-home mom and took full advantage, writing several manuscripts. He was five when I got my first publishing contract. That’s when the rat race began. Part of the agreement was traveling to conventions, doing book tours. I didn’t mind. I wanted to connect with readers. Before I knew it, four or five novels a year, raising Rick, and jet-setting across the country, time got by me.”
When the kettle whistled Maggie hopped up again, filled both mugs, and set them on the table. “Would you like sugar, cream?”
“You have honey?”
Maggie grinned; she liked her tea that way too. A natural sweetener. After they had their drinks fixed, she took a sip and sighed. While she dunked the biscotti and munched away, she gulped small mouthfuls to wash it down.
“I was wondering . . . about you and Rick.”
Spewed tea with chunky bits flew onto the table and on Emma’s thumb looped through the cup handle. Her choking gasps ha
d Emma leaping from the seat and rubbing her back. Maggie covered her mouth with a clump of paper towels, muffling the gagging and crumbs that lodged in her throat. From the living room, she heard Cece shout, “Hands up, Mama.” Which had always been her advice when Cece had a similar experience. After several swallows and deep breaths, the gag reflex stopped, and she took a swig of tea. Her eyes were watery, and she swiped them with the backs of her hands.
Emma returned to her chair and propped her chin in her palm. Using a gentle approach, she asked, “You okay?” Maggie ripped the paper towel to shreds. Quiet a long while, Emma watched and waited, her mother’s X-ray vision switched on. Even so, Emma took considerable time in her examination, no doubt figuring out the real reason for Maggie’s frantically beating heart.
The all-knowing stare got to Maggie. She closed her eyes and squeezed them tight.
In a soft and soothing tone, a technique Maggie often used when Cece had a nightmare, Emma spoke with comfort and understanding. “He has his faults . . .”
A sudden smirk tugged at Maggie’s mouth and in order to hold in a giggle, she clenched her teeth and pinched her lips.
“He’s stubborn.”
Maggie’s eyes popped open, and she snickered a little. She couldn’t believe Emma would say something bad about her pride and joy.
A warm and placating smile flashed across Emma’s lips. “Has to control things, dots every i, crosses each t a thousand times over, driving everyone insane.” Reaching across the table, Emma took hold of Maggie’s hand, which came to rest when the scraps were too small to tear apart anymore. “Max . . .” Emma paused. The mention of her husband brought a faraway look for a second, and after a glance out the back door and an inhale, she continued. “Was a devoted father. Doted on Rick from the time he was born. Even though he was a busy executive, he put Rick first, providing the love and support essential to a young boy and man. Like you do for Cece.”
Maggie’s heart leapt for a different reason. She took pride in raising her daughter, and even though she didn’t need someone else’s praise, she appreciated the recognition. Especially after her gloomy conversation with Kat. She nodded, squeezing Emma’s fingers, a gesture that had been returned.
“For reasons I don’t understand, Rick doesn’t think he’d make a good father.”
Her mouth fell open, and Maggie attempted to correct his mother, but she wasn’t sure how to verbalize it. It didn’t matter. Emma had more to divulge.
“When his father passed away, instead of withdrawing or becoming depressed, he went full steam ahead. His dad’s company was his driving force. He put everything into his studies and gained experience so he could take over. That’s all he’s done since.” Emma looked over her shoulder toward the living room and spoke while Cece rifled through the bucket and then dumped the contents on the couch. “I’ve seen him with your daughter a few times now.” When she turned toward Maggie, Emma had tears in her eyes. “He loves her very much.”
Maggie didn’t need Emma to tell her that, but all the same, hearing it lodged an enormous lump in her throat. For so long, she hoped Jake would feel that way, yet Rick, a total stranger, had instead. No, she couldn’t call him that. He hadn’t been an outsider since the day they met. She could admit that now.
“And when he’s with you . . .” While Emma took several sips from her cup, she scrutinized Maggie’s face again.
The phone lying next to the chore list rang. She snagged the cell and smiled at the number displayed. “Daddy, hi.” She could breathe easier now. His cheery and loving voice always calmed her. “What?” But that feeling was short lived. “When?” She paced to the door and stove, over and over. This time, chills rushed through her as she listened to him relay news that Jake had been released today. Overcrowding and good behavior, blah, blah, blah. The buzzing in her ears blocked out everything else he said. She pressed her forehead against the doorjamb, sniffling as her nose ran. He kept asking if she heard him, was she okay, but she couldn’t talk.
A hand on her shoulder caused her to whip around as if Jake had snuck up behind her. Fear slammed into her, freezing her in place. Emma’s eyes searched hers, and the longer she did, the pinched frown at Emma’s mouth grew.
Her dad, yelling her name, jolted her out of her trance and into action. She dashed around Emma and over to the notepad, tearing off the top sheet. “What’s his parole officer’s name?” Jotting it down, she asked, “Do you have his number?” After he provided both, she closed her eyes and dropped her throbbing head into her chest. Several deep breaths later, her trembles lessened. Her dad launched one question after another, but she refused to answer. The pencil snapping in half in her hand and shards flying across the counter had her examining the mess along with the scattered fragments of her past and present choices. God, why hadn’t she listened, done something?
“Dad, can I call you back? I can’t talk right now.” His police officer alertness had been replaced by fatherly concern. If she didn’t call him back in fifteen minutes, he’d be on a plane and at her front door by dinner. She hadn’t doubted him for a second and reassured him she would. After she hung up and blew her nose, she looked toward the living room. Cece had stretched out on the cushions and fallen asleep. Her watch showed one fifteen, a little after nap time. Before Emma arrived Cece had lunch, so she wasn’t sleeping on an empty stomach. At least Maggie did one thing right today.
Emma came up behind her again, grabbing her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Maggie shook her head. No way would she get into something so personal with her. “I’m sorry, but I have calls to make. I’ll see you out.” Not giving Emma any choice, she walked straight to the front door, holding it open.
Before Emma stepped onto the porch, she faced Maggie. No anger displayed after the rude request, just a mother’s concern. “If there’s anything I can do, you have my number. Call me anytime, Maggie, day or night, it wouldn’t matter.”
Touched by her kind offer, she gave Emma a hug, thanking her for Cece’s gift and for coming by. As soon as Emma got in her car and Maggie waved goodbye, she began damage control.
First, her dad. She explained her reaction away as shock and didn’t get into any details about the threats. Simple yes and no replies kept her off his radar, for now at least.
Next, Kat, who yelled to high heaven about her stupidity, using every swear word known to mankind.
Last, the parole officer. No answer, just voice mail. Figured as much.
With age came wisdom, or in her case, more mistakes.
ROUTINE AND STRUCTURE WERE GOOD. Four days in and Rick almost caught up with the mound of paperwork left for him. He never missed any time before. His vacations were nonexistent. Most people looked forward to things like that. He didn’t. There wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go, and keeping his eyes on the prize all along made the company thrive.
Besides, traveling never felt the same without his dad. Throughout the year, his father reserved several weeks for vacations and established a tradition early on by having them each choose a place to visit. Since Mom toured often, she chose to stay closer to home. Their log cabin in the Catskill Mountains included seventy-five acres of pure heaven on earth and had become her preference. It had a private pond big enough for large- and small-mouth bass, a bunch of crappy, and bluegill, making it their favorite place to fish in Dad’s rowboat. Rick hadn’t gone there since Dad died, but Mom did. She wrote her latest novel there. She tried to get him to take time off and go for a weekend, relax. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
A big outdoorsman, Dad always chose a campground with a huge lake. His goal had been to see as many places as he could throughout the US. Since Rick’s birth, and even though he couldn’t remember the earliest years, they visited eighteen different states. His father said since he spent most days in an office, he wanted to be outdoors as much as possible.
Once Rick had been old enough, around four, he chose Disney World. What kid wouldn’t? Each year after that, he sel
ected a different amusement park, and even though he’d been too young and short to ride roller coasters, his obsession with them grew regardless. He’d never forget the day his dad took him on the first “real” one: The Prowler in Kansas City when he reached the critical height of forty-eight inches. The breakneck speed and thrill of the first huge drop followed by the wild twists and turns gave him a rush like no other. Except maybe hot and heavy sex.
Ugh, he didn’t need to think about that now. In a dry spell and sick of jacking off, he wanted to kick his own ass for his obsession—Maggie.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Quick to assess a situation, Matt would key in to his fucked-up head in seconds and strike fast. Instead of confronting him, Rick kept staring at the people rushing along the sidewalks and taxis lined up along the street. For the past half hour or so he’d zoned out, unable to work.
“I came bearing gifts.”
He already figured as much. His nose could never mistake O’Reilly’s Pub’s infamous hamburgers. The best on Staten Island and in New York, they had an amazing sweet pretzel bun, a pound of ground fresh sirloin and filet blend, topped with cheese, toasted onion strips, and a thick slab of hickory-smoked bacon under the patty. At least he had a different reason for salivating other than stripped nude images of Maggie. He hadn’t even seen her naked, yet his brain didn’t seem to give a damn, and conjured up one fantasy after another. Her tossing off a tank top, whipping down jean shorts, revealing no undergarments, bare breasts, and a shaved mound. Another of her in nothing but a lace bra and matching thong, in different colors and styles. The dreams appeared throughout the day and night, frequent enough to drive him insane and classify them as an obsession. He’d never been in a position where he didn’t get what he wanted, or anyone he desired, ever. And he didn’t like the jittery and anxious feeling it gave him either. He wasn’t the compulsive type, but this predicament left him out of sorts, and uncertain how to address it or her. Should he leave her alone or try to push? Do something, anything, other than what he’d done—nothing.
