by C. C. Koen
Caution should be Kat’s middle name, because she accompanied them the next day after he found the place, checking it out with a critical eye. During Cece’s introductory warm-up and stretching routine, he settled on the designated padded chairs, shoulder to shoulder next to inspector Kat and a swarm of other female spectators. Tucked into a corner in the warehouse-sized studio, he inquired about how Kat would handle Maggie when she found out. Her eagle eyes remained trained on her niece as Cece’s leg flexed on a bar fixed to the mirrored wall while she threw out a response. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I already told the rugrat mum’s the word. She won’t say peep.”
Five-year-olds weren’t known for their restraint, and he doubted the secret would stay under wraps for long, so he pushed her a little more. “Your sister doesn’t want anything to do with me. Why are you doing this?”
Kat’s critical, scrutinizing response came swiftly and targeted at him. “You love my sister?”
His chest started to spasm and his winded gasps kept him from responding. The woman had no filter, just blurted out anything at any time. The high-pitched and amplified level had every female head in the room spinning and gawking at him as if they were all waiting with bated breath. Classical music consumed the space, and the ladies nearby shifted their chairs closer. All eyes were on him. They darted peeks between him and the brash woman tapping her finger against her lip like a time bomb ticking off and nearing detonation if he didn’t answer her in the next ten seconds.
As he often did in tense situations, he examined the sides, constructed a perspective, and then responded. Since he had to do that before Kat hauled off and slapped him silly, he reached out to her. He took her hand in his and settled them on his lap. Then he used a gentle and mellow tone to relay his dream. “I never pictured myself as a family man.” Kat tried to pull her palm out of his, but he tightened his grip and quieted her with a shake of his head. “But when a woman like Maggie seeps into your soul, you can’t picture anything else.” Kat’s clenched jaw eased and lips parted. “Her simmering sexiness attracted me. She’s not the flashy, whiny, needy type. Her independence is off-putting, and her temper fires a guy up enough to drive him crazy.” He glanced at Kat’s hand, his thumb brushing against it, and envisioned the little things that made Maggie special, endearing. “She has this cute little pockmark right here.” He pointed to the ridge of his jaw, under his chin.
Kat murmured, “Chickenpox scar.”
He nodded, confirming, but hadn’t known the origin. “She smothers her smile, doesn’t let it show the cute, teeny gap between her front teeth. Self-conscious?”
“Yes.” Kat didn’t hold hers back though, showcasing a pearly white, narrow, and straight grin. “She’s done that since kindergarten. Kids teased her.”
He grunted at that fact. “Her soulful, jazzy rasp makes a man salivate, yet she can’t carry a tune, and her momma bear growl thrusts a guy to his knees, begging her to rough him up.” Kat snickered and the female peanut gallery cackled around him, adding fuel to the flame. “When we put Cece’s swing set together, I about had a heart attack when she peeled off her sweatshirt and didn’t have a bra on.” Hilarious claps, high fives, and chants buzzed in his ears: “That a girl,” “Free them babies,” “God, I wish I could do that.”
“And none of that scratches the surface and begins to express the natural beauty that Maggie has, and there’s no way to explain how truly, deeply, madly in love I am with her.”
Sniffles and twittering ensued: “Oh my,” “Holy shit,” “Do you have a brother?” echoed in a round-about fashion.
Kat leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. “That’s why.” She winked and crossed her arms along her chest, watching her niece perform a plié.
Cece’s joyous, illuminating glow shined through after the flawless execution of her first ballet maneuver. At least he thought so, and shuffled in his seat, growing anxious to jump out of it and clap at her brilliance. Since he didn’t want to embarrass her, he waved and smiled instead, and she had too. His heart filled with pride and happiness from an extraordinary chance to experience this with her. After that, Kat’s approval came from a couple pounds on his back, permitting him to take Cece the rest of the week without a chaperone.
“Who was that?” Rick thought Grandfather had fallen asleep. His attentive eyes showed otherwise.
“Huh?”
Grandfather jerked his chin toward the phone still clenched in Rick’s hand. “Who’s sick?”
“Oh.” Staring at Maggie’s number, Rick plopped down on the cushion, wondering if he should call back. “Cece.”
“The little girl from the hospital?”
“Yeah.” Depression or exhaustion, Rick didn’t know which, had him sprawling into the position he’d been before, legs stretched out, and an arm under the pillow. “She has a tummy ache.”
“Probably playing hooky like you.”
He rolled onto his side and shot a squinty be-quiet glare across the room. “She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t do that.”
A belly rumble rolled out of Grandfather, a rarity and unlike his stuffy reserve. “Kids are schemers. You were.”
“Hey, I was a good kid.” He repositioned the pillow a little higher to get more comfortable.
Grandfather snatched a folded newspaper and flung it at him, hitting the tip of his loafer. “You were a snot.”
Rick shrugged and antagonized the old man. “Were.” And shot him a cheesy grin thinking that would shut him up.
“Now you’re a pain in the ass.”
Sick or not, Rick would never get a leg up from the elder Stone. They’d played this same tune since Dad died. Before that, Horatio Stone had been a doting grandpa and his grandson could do no wrong.
“Is she okay?” Grandfather’s kindhearted and gentle question had Rick’s drooping eyes popping open.
“I don’t know. It sounded like she went outside and ran around. Her mom chased her and yelled at her to come inside.”
“Told you, schemer.” But for once there wasn’t a bite in his retort. Grandfather’s crooked grin displayed considerate affection. “Tell me about her.”
Whether it had been Rick’s weakened, at-odd-ends state, or Grandfather’s, he wasn’t sure. Either way, he succumbed to the request and revealed everything, from the time he met Maggie and Cece, until today’s phone call. At times his story sped up from excitement; he couldn’t relay the recollections fast enough. Cece’s bubblegum chomping, red pigtails stumbling into his office in search of Herbert. Maggie showing up with her wild Irish temper flaring because her daughter brought along the mouse, and then again when Cece insisted he join her for a hot dog. And how attractive he found Maggie’s fire-breathing spirit.
Spurred on, he relayed the joy and pride that came from the unique opportunity to accompany Cece to ballet lessons. Then altered the pace of his tale to slow and sensual. The passion consumed him as he recalled stolen moments with Maggie: in Matt’s hallway—their first sensual kiss; in her backyard—a titillating embrace; and in his mom’s kitchen—an erotic dance.
Through some of the more painful memories, Rick halted numerous times, his monotone, grim report catching in his throat. Jake pointing a gun at Maggie and the possibility of losing her forever. How Cece’s father never wanted anything to do with her, and how Rick saw her as nothing but a blessing and would be so grateful to be her daddy. And the fact that Maggie didn’t want anything to do with him and continued to push him away.
When he finished spilling his heart out, Grandfather’s reclined and relaxed state didn’t correspond to the gruff reaction. Over the wisp of shifting gears, the power chair inclining, Horatio Stone demanded, “I have something to tell you, Rick. Don’t interrupt, just listen.”
His sports car came in handy once again. Rick rammed his foot onto the accelerator, and the highway flashed by in a blur. In under a half hour he arrived at his destination, fired up and fit to be tied. His fist hammering on the front door reflected his mood.
The booming bangs rattled the solid wood. When Kat answered, she threw her hand out, restraining him in the middle of his chest.
“What the hell, Stone?”
“Your sister home?” His commanding question didn’t keep Kat from standing aside and giving him entry.
“Out back, making a mess in the garden.”
“Cece?” His expanding temper fueled his trotting gate. Kat stepped up her pace and remained on his heels.
“Aw, can I watch?”
“VIP section,” he quipped while he threw open the screen. The broken hinge and door crashed into the metal stair rail, announcing his arrival with a bang.
“Max, I gotta show ya somefin.”
His arms opened wide. Cece skipped across the lawn and into them. A Ziploc baggie got smashed to his nose as she shouted, “I plantin’ pum’kin seeds.” Way to go Maggie, so much for her daughter staying inside. He’d have to store that in his reserves and pull it out later when he needed an advantage. Through the clear plastic he caught Maggie’s silhouette, hands on her hips, pink polka-dot gloves covering her fists. A skimpy, neon-yellow tank top, cut-off and frayed at her midriff, outlined the swell of her braless breasts. He tipped his chin up and peeked over top of the zipped bag, examining every square inch of her. His brain charted a course, planning and marking the exact spot he’d bite and lick first.
He whispered a secret in Cece’s ear and set her on her feet. Hair prickling on the back of his neck, he could picture Kat behind him, arms crossed, tapping her foot, awaiting the action. Every nerve under his skin was primed and readied as he honed in on his target. He anticipated his reward, but it wouldn’t come without a lot of pain. Maggie would not surrender easily, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Cece dashed around his legs, her murmurs and giggles joining her aunt’s.
“Maggie, you’ve been a bad girl.”
More giggling, snorts, and huffs coming from the onlookers over his shoulder.
Maggie kicked out her right leg, tapping her bare foot along the grass.
“You ready?”
“For what?” she sputtered, puckered lips showing her dissatisfaction.
“Your punishment.” Before his warning, he’d already taken off, sprinting in a football-charging pose, and driving into her. She didn’t have a chance to dash away. He scooped her legs out from under her and tossed her over his shoulder. As he spun around, he smacked her once, hard, on her gorgeous ass, exposed by her slack nylon shorts.
The first of many she deserved.
“Hey, put me down right now.” Her snarls went unanswered.
Kat threw her arm out in a bowing wave, twirling it toward her toes and announcing, “After you, my king.”
“Traitors,” Maggie grumbled.
Cece’s clapping and jumping up and down in frog leaps tracked his path to the side gate and front yard as Maggie continued her protests and bucking wiggles. All his willpower waned. Her butt eye level and pelvis rubbing along his pounding chest turned him on that much more. He couldn’t wait to put a blush on that bottom. She spewed several foreign phrases he guessed weren’t encouragement and were most likely rude suggestions that relayed paybacks momma bear would unleash soon.
Bring it on, Maggie. Bring it on.
In a blink, he had her pinned in the passenger seat of his car, squirming and fighting the seat belt he used to contain her fury. He silenced and drained out her protests with a deep, penetrating kiss that left both of them huffing and puffing. Her sparking, dilated pupils and flaming green eyes met his unrepentant stare.
“I love you,” he announced, bold and unequivocal.
He nipped at her gaping lower lip. “My grandfather told me everything. I’m more than ticked off at you for not telling me, but we’ll deal with that later.” On edge and reeling from that fact, his request came out louder than he intended, but then softened as hope and anticipation consumed him. “Take a chance, Maggie.” He held his hand out to her, waiting to see if she’d leap and overcome whatever reservations held her back before. “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you or Cece ever.”
The family-crammed neighborhood could almost be mistaken for a serene countryside from the deafening silence. Birds didn’t chirp, cars didn’t pass by, and no one other than Cece and Kat were outside. The longer Maggie remained quiet, the harder it became to resist the nerves of defeat that started inside of him.
Instead of her hand taking his, she placed it below his chin, brushing her thumb along the stubble. Her lips kissed his jaw and drifted to his cheek, pecked his temple, and then dragged down the center of his nose, coming to rest at his mouth. Beautiful green eyes and a hundred freckles took him back to their first encounter, a brief flash and memory of her standing in his doorway. Determination and apprehension evident in her expression then and now.
“You got me?” she whispered, her underlying message loud and clear. A firm statement, but communicated she needed assurances.
This would be a whole new territory for him. Relationships weren’t his strong suit. If it weren’t for Matt’s guidance, he wasn’t sure he would’ve gotten this far. He’d make mistakes along the way, but he’d learn and adapt, as he’d been doing all along. As if his mind and heart already knew what to do, he knelt down on the cement, and gave her what he thought she needed. “I’m gonna screw up.” Her lip twitched up on one side, replaced by a smothered laugh. “I’ve never been in love before.” Her repressed grin and smirking gaze softened. She leaned against the seat, tilting her head and brushing her hand through the floppy cowlick on his forehead. A gesture he recognized, and she often used to soothe and encourage Cece. “You got me, Maggie? Because I need you.” He glanced behind him at the little pigtailed girl who had stolen his heart too. Cece’s support came from her toothy and chubby-cheeked smile. Kat’s expression identical to her niece’s.
Maggie threaded her fingers through his, their hands joined, resting on her thigh. She stared at them for several too-quiet seconds, and then squeezed them tight. “You can depend on me . . . to tell you what to do and not.” Her teasing, happy-go-lucky response released the tension and vise grip around his chest so he could finally breathe a little.
He leaned into her, leaving just a scant inch between them. Using his confident boardroom tone, he said, “Where, when, how, it wouldn’t matter, just say yes . . .” He pulled their hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. His eyes never left hers while his voice grew soft and tender. “You want me?” Now he was the one who needed reassurances.
“Always,” she admitted, right before grabbing hold of his neck and sucking him into a knock-him-down-on-his-knees kiss. Good thing he’d already been in that position, because as she’d done from the start, he fell hard for her all over again.
And he’d gladly remain there if he could have her in his arms forever.
TOGETHER, MAGGIE AND RICK STOOD on the stoop of his grandfather’s porch. Rick’s confidence bolstered and calmed the jumping jacks in her stomach a little. He swung the door open, and she put her best foot forward, entering the domain of her nemesis. Even though Rick assured her multiple times there would be nothing to fear, she couldn’t suppress her growing anxiety. The only way out of this nightmare would be to get it over with. Avoidance had been her tactic with Jake, and that didn’t fare well. She wouldn’t back down any longer. Fear or not, she’d face challenges that came her way, head on. No more ducking, hoping her problems would just go away. That wasn’t realistic. Better to deal with them than let things get out of hand. She wouldn’t exist in a protective shell any longer.
If she’d envisioned anything about the domain of the stern and cold Horatio Stone, the surroundings didn’t match her previous interactions with him. On every wall and shelf were framed images of a loving and adored family. A mothball aroma, crocheted afghans folded neatly atop an antique settee, and lace doilies on coffee and side tables weren’t what she would have expected. A woman’s touch evident in every nook and cranny, she barely recognized or noticed the fragile man
rising from a recliner. He didn’t approach her, and she hadn’t gone to him. Instead, she felt an overwhelming, internal tug of war that pulled her around the living room. Black-and-white photographs to color provided a visual history and shrine of Mr. Stone, Rick, and his father’s life. A devotion to family she could understand and relate to. And in that moment she realized maybe they weren’t as different as she thought. A sense of calm came over her as she examined baby pictures to adulthood, learning a little more about the man she loved and a grandfather who would protect him at all costs. She sensed someone come up behind her, followed by a wrinkled, age-spotted hand, pointing to a wedding photo. “My wife, Olivia.” His finger caressed the face in the picture, and his endearing, sad tone crushed her heart. “I miss her so much.”
With tears in her eyes, she asked, “How did you meet her?” How couples came together always intrigued and fascinated her. No two stories were quite the same.
“She was a nurse, and I was a soldier in Vietnam. During a skirmish, I was wounded, shot in my hip and thigh. I had surgery and developed an infection. I’d been unconscious several days, and when I woke up, there she was, reading D.H. Lawrence. There was no way she could have known I had the same book in my footlocker at base camp. I’d never seen her before.”
Small similarities and connections linking two strangers, a commonality she’d heard before. Brief encounters and windows of opportunity that had longstanding effects. Fate? Destiny? She wasn’t sure how or why love happened when it did, but there was always some unique event, timing, location that brought a couple together. So perplexing, yet beautiful, no matter the situation.
Softly, as if unsure whether he might offend her, he claimed, “A woman was made from a man’s ribs for a precise reason.” Once again, he surprised her, a spiritual admission she hadn’t thought possible from the man who’d threatened her welfare. “They’re protectors, providing a foundation for a man’s entire being, shielding vital organs, yet flexible and yielding. Without her, he’s nothing but loose flesh, wandering existence alone. God ensured the idiot males of the world would recognize what was made from him.”
