Her reply raised more questions than it answered. “Why you?”
She shrugged, wishing the girls would return. “I was the oldest.”
He wanted to understand. “Doesn’t seem like much of a reason.”
She sighed, remembering how many times she had ached for her brothers, ached for what they were deprived of. “It is if you care.” She looked up at him sharply. “You’re doing it again.”
He set Jennifer’s sneakers on the floor, dropping the socks next to them. “Doing what?”
Maggie picked up the socks and tied them together so they wouldn’t be separated in the wash. It was an old habit. “Wheedling information out of me.”
“I thought that I was making conversation.”
She knew better and saw through his innocent pose. “You’re a writer. You don’t make conversation, you gather information.”
When she tried to sidestep him, he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. “We all gather information, Maggie, about people who interest us. Or, in this case, fascinate us.”
She looked over her shoulder at the little girl on the bed. “I’d say you had a lot on your plate already.”
Why was she afraid to explore what was so obviously simmering between them? “I can always get a larger plate.”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m afraid it would never be large enough.”
Like the cavalry, Sandy and Christine returned, unwittingly coming to her rescue. Christine fairly bounced into the room. Only the telltale droop of her eyelids gave any indication that she might be ever so faintly tired. “We’re ready!”
“Shh,” Maggie chided, moving over toward them. “Jennifer’s sleeping.”
Jennifer’s long lashes fluttered open. “No, I’m not.”
Maggie laughed. “You little faker. You just didn’t want to get undressed for bed, did you.”
Jennifer gave her a sheepish smile. “I can’t get the buttons right.”
Maggie sat down beside Jennifer. The others clustered around her. “You only do that,” she said, gathering Jennifer to her, “by practicing. Nobody ever gets things right the first time around.”
Joe had his sincere doubts about that. He’d wager that Maggie got a great many things right the first time around. Just like the kiss they’d shared.
The one that was still inexplicably making his lips pulsate.
Chapter Six
Maggie slowly rose from the edge of Jennifer’s bed, her eyes on the sleeping figure beneath the floral sheet.
Not a sound.
Carefully, she crossed to the bunk beds and looked at each occupant. Sandy and Christine were sleeping, as well. Maggie smiled to herself. Mission accomplished.
Setting the storybook down on top of the toy box, Maggie eased quietly out of the room and closed the door behind her. It had been years since she’d had to read anyone to sleep. Nostalgia nudged memories awake.
Almost like old times.
Maggie quickly shut the comfortable feeling out like a woman closing the blinds to block out the glaring sunlight. It seemed as if nostalgia was bent on tripping her up tonight. Every time she turned around, she was reminded of the past. She had no idea what had come over her.
Just what was she feeling nostalgic about? A time in her life when she had felt hopeless, trapped and alone despite her brothers? Or rather, because of her brothers? Because she was the only one who actually cared about them? They had been isolated, floating adrift. And she had been the bewildered captain whose responsibility it had been to somehow navigate them to a friendly port.
There were a million miles between then and now. A million hard-crossed miles. She wouldn’t have returned to that period of her life for any amount of money and she knew it. If, once in a while, she missed the closeness that time necessitated, it passed.
Besides, she still had a long way to go before she could even consider becoming involved in anything remotely domestic again.
Maggie turned from the closed door and almost bumped into Joe. He was standing in the hall, obviously waiting for her to come out. He had two glasses of white wine in his hands. She wondered how long he’d been there.
She nodded at the glasses he was holding. “What’s this?”
“Wine.” Joe handed her a glass. He inclined his head toward the closed door. “Well, now that it’s all quiet on the western front, I thought we might settle down for that interview.” He threaded his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the living room.
Maggie felt every nerve ending was at attention. Waiting. “With wine?”
He took a sip, watching her over the rim. “I wouldn’t want your throat to get dry.”
Maggie set the glass on the coffee table. “Small chance of that happening.” She’d changed her mind. That little session in the kitchen had shown her that she was feeling much too vulnerable to do any more talking tonight.
He saw her looking around and guessed at the reason. She was looking for her purse. “You’re reneging on your promise to do the interview, aren’t you?”
She saw her purse peeking out from underneath the coffee table and stooped to pick it up. Rising, Maggie slipped the strap on her arm and then faced him.
“Not reneging,” she corrected him. “We already had it, remember?”
If they had, he had slept through it. “When?”
He was crowding her again. Just by standing there, not even taking a step closer, he was somehow crowding her. She’d never known a man who could make air evaporate the way Joe seemed to be able to.
“During dinner.”
He remembered every shred of the conversation they’d had over dinner. That had been far from an interview.
“Those were bits and pieces,” he pointed out. “Mainly mine. You learned more about me than I did about you.”
He had told her about his parents, now both gone, and the friendly rivalry that he and his brother had shared while growing up. He’d even told her about his work and been coaxed by Christine to show her the “shiny statue” he’d been awarded when one of his articles had been singled out as Most Insightful Magazine Interview of the Year. Joe had thought that talking about himself would put her more at ease and encourage her to exchange information in kind. It hadn’t worked.
She smiled as she moved toward the front door. “That’s how I do it.”
He followed, mentally casting about for ways to make her remain a little longer. Her answer confused him. “You lost me.”
He wanted to know about her. All right, she’d give him some more of her work ethic. “I learn all about the people I come in contact with. The people I work with. Getting personal helps them feel as if they’re working for a friend. Most people try harder for friends.”
He’d buy that, but her reasoning was flawed. “How can they feel as if they’re getting personal if you won’t tell them anything about yourself?”
Joe wouldn’t understand. He’d told her about his family. He had had a mother who had opted to remain home to raise her sons and a father who had worked as a senior engineer in one company for twenty-six years, until he finally retired. Joe had no idea what it meant to come home from school and find your mother slumped over in a drunken stupor, her head pressed against a scarred kitchen table someone else had thrown out. Or to stay up late into the night, wondering when your father was coming home. If your father was coming home.
His parents had built up his self-esteem. Her parents had torn hers down. Maggie had given him as much of her background as she was going to give.
“I tell them enough.” Her eyes warned him to retreat. “What I told you.”
Seatmates on an airplane flight exchanged more intimate details than she had given him. There were huge gaps of her life that she had left out. What had inspired her? What had she been like in school?
“You should know better than to challenge a writer, Maggie.” He set his glass down next to hers. “What’s in your past that’s such a big secret?”
A lit
tle of her smile faded. She raised her chin. The stance reminded him of Christine when she was being stubborn. “I’m not challenging you and it’s not that big a deal. But it’s my deal and I’d rather keep it that way.” Maggie turned on her heel and crossed to the front door.
Joe followed her. “You don’t have to leave, Maggie.”
Wrong. “I’m afraid I do. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
There was nothing to be gained by making her remain tonight. She wouldn’t tell him anything. Her mind was made up. All he could do was try again tomorrow. Maybe she’d have time to think it over by then. “All right, how about dinner again?”
Maggie shook her head as she reached for the doorknob. “No.”
Like the loud explosion of a firecracker, her flat refusal momentarily stunned him. Joe placed his hand over hers. He wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Not that I don’t think you’re a fantastic cook. You are. But this time, I promise dinner will be in a real restaurant.”
She shouldn’t have come tonight in the first place. “Sorry, no.”
In his own way, he was as tenacious as she was. “Lunch? I’ll even make the sandwich.”
She couldn’t help laughing, but it didn’t change anything. Maggie opened the door. “Tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
Though she could always find ways to squeeze a few extra minutes into the day for something that needed doing, she knew that seeing Joe again just wouldn’t be wise. She’d felt something when he’d kissed her earlier. Something she didn’t want to feel again. Not because it wasn’t wonderful, but because it was.
Maggie had her life all mapped out for the next few years. Nowhere on that map was there a detour that involved extensive socializing. Or extensive entanglements. And that was just what would wind up happening if she saw Joe Sullivan again. She’d be entangled. With him and his life. Look what had happened the two times she had been in his company. She’d cared for his sick niece, made dinner for him and read three little girls to sleep. That wasn’t her. Not anymore. That wasn’t part of the self-image she was trying to propagate.
Sullivan had a very persuasive manner and a very persuasive mouth. And she was not about to be seduced out of her senses and become involved with a man who had three children in his care. That was the kind of life she had left behind her. That was not the kind of life she wanted in front of her.
“There’s no way I could change your mind?” he prodded, playing with the hoop at her ear.
Her mouth went dry. Maggie took a half step back, bumping into the doorjamb. She shook her head.
“This was the only free evening I had. Starting tomorrow, I’m teaching a six-week business course at the local college at night.” She gained steam as she spoke. Initially, when she’d agreed to teach the course, she had had her doubts about taking on more work. Now she was glad of it. It gave her an excuse to turn him down. “Between that and my already tight schedule, I’m afraid that you are just going to have to make do with the details you already have.”
Feeling in control again, she smiled and extended her hand to him. “It’s been a very interesting evening, Mr. Sullivan.”
He took her hand, enveloping it between his own. His eyes held hers. “It still doesn’t have to end right now.”
Maggie extricated her hand. She hated the feeling that she was fleeing, but it was very clearly there. “Oh, yes it does.”
With that, she turned away and walked to her car, trying not to look as if she was hurrying.
Joe stood and watched Maggie disappear down the driveway. He sighed and shook his head as he closed the door. She was right. He could actually make do with what she’d given him. He was certainly skilled enough and creative enough to write an entertaining fifth installment using the sparse information she’d given him. There were ways of embellishing without resorting to fabrication.
The trouble was, he didn’t want to write a piece like that. Not anymore. He wanted to forget about making this just the final installment in a well-received series. Instead, he was beginning to envision it as something more. A full article that could stand on its own, something that did more than just pay tribute and cite accomplishments. An article that told the public what made Maggie McGuire run.
He stared at the closed door, thinking of the woman who had all but flown out of his house.
What did make Maggie run? And why?
Joe spent most of the night thinking about the question he’d posed to himself. By morning he was no closer to an answer and no closer to how to make her talk to him, really talk to him.
After going through what had now become the morning routine with the girls, getting them dressed, fed and hopefully occupied, he faced his computer like a man who was drugged.
At least his brain felt that way.
He didn’t need this.
He didn’t need to go chasing after a woman who bulldozed her way through life, no matter how great her legs were. No matter how provocative her mouth had been beneath his.
Joe scrolled down the page, dissatisfaction nibbling at him. He’d been at this for half the morning and what he had down still didn’t look good enough. Anyone could have gleaned as much from reading one of her brochures. It didn’t begin to capture the essence of the person, both the driven business executive and the woman who had held his littlest niece in her arms while she gave an animated rendition of Beauty and the Beast.
No question about it, she was getting under his skin. That wasn’t good.
Maggie had been right last night. He did have a full plate. An overflowing plate. He had three little girls to care for, provide for and raise. His brother and sister-in-law had left a sizable trust fund for the girls, but that didn’t begin to cover their emotional needs. He certainly didn’t want to get involved with someone now, especially someone who wasn’t even receptive to the idea.
But if she wasn’t receptive to the idea of becoming involved with him, why had she kissed him like that?
Damn, women should come with road maps and a book of instructions. Joe sighed and blew out a breath as he pushed himself away from his desk.
“Are you having trouble, Uncle Joe?”
Joe turned to see Sandy standing in the doorway. She looked hesitant about coming in, as if she was unsure whether or not she was welcome. A large stuffed rabbit, its body weakened from hours of hugging, was tucked under her arm.
He motioned his niece over to him. Joe had no doubts that Sandy was here seeking refuge from Christine’s high-handed manner. “Yes.”
A small smile spread over her lips as she crossed to him. Joe tucked one arm around her waist and drew her to him, settling her on his lap.
Sandy looked up at the computer and saw Maggie’s name at the top of the screen. “Is this about Maggie?” She pointed to the article.
“Yes.”
Sandy was silent for a moment, wondering if what she had to say would hurt her uncle’s feelings. “Doesn’t look like very much.”
She was only looking at thirteen lines on the screen, but she’d inadvertently gotten to the heart of the problem, anyway. He nodded, looking at Sandy. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Sandy knew her uncle had asked Maggie questions last night. Maybe he didn’t ask her enough questions. “Are you going to invite her over again?”
A screen saver blanked out the monitor. Within moments, there were tiny tree frogs leaping over one another. Sandy stared at the screen, fascinated.
Joe curbed the urge to hit a key and banish the frogs. They were entertaining Sandy, and right now, they looked better than his article did. “I already did.”
Sandy tore her eyes away from the frogs. “When is she coming?”
He made a note to himself on the pad he kept beside the computer. “She’s not. She said she was too busy to come over.”
“Oh.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Then why don’t you go see her?” Sandy wiggled around on his lap to look at him. “You could wait until
she was finished and talk to her then.”
“No, I—” The protest died on his lips. He looked at Sandy and grinned. Some times it took a child to untangle things. “You know, you may have something there.”
The smile that had been hovering on her lips bloomed. “Did I help?”
Joe kissed the top of her head. “Sandy, you always help.” He scooted her off his lap and reached for the telephone. Sandy remained where she was, obviously torn between retreating and remaining. Joe saw her expression out of the corner of his eye. “Would you like to stay in here for a while and play?”
She nodded shyly.
Poor kid, Christine must have really given her a hard time today. Joe gestured widely around his cluttered bedroom. He had brought his desk in here when he had turned his den into a second bedroom for the girls. Between that, his bedroom furniture and the clothes that were strewn around—a showcase of his pitiful housekeeping abilities—there wasn’t much room. She would have had a lot more space to play in either the family room or the living room.
Still, he knew that what she needed was to be away from the others. “Make yourself at home.”
Sandy smiled and sank down on a pile of shirts he’d worn during the week that had yet to make it to the hamper. Within a few moments, she was talking in a hushed voice to the stuffed rabbit she’d brought with her, retreating happily into a make-believe world where there were no little sisters to make her feel inadequate.
Smiling to himself, Joe made the first of his telephone calls.
It had been one hell of a day. Joe mentally recapped it as he walked down the brightly lit second-floor corridor of the Humanities building at UCI. He scanned the numbers over the doorways.
With little effort, he’d managed to talk his editor into letting him expand the article on Maggie. That gave him more time and more of a reason to see her. It gave him the excuse he needed, not for her, but for himself. It assuaged that bit of his conscience that protested his even entertaining the idea of becoming involved with her at a time in his life when everything was unsettled.
Following his editor’s stamp of approval, Joe had called Ethan and arranged for a telephone interview. Ethan had told him to call back in an hour. When he did, Ethan had been generous with his time. The information, though, was just as sparse as when Maggie had volunteered it. Joe had a feeling that Maggie might have cautioned him against saying too much.
The Women in Joe Sullivan's Life Page 8
