The Women in Joe Sullivan's Life

by Marie Ferrarella

  What did come through was that, though she could be domineering at times—something Joe had more than suspected—Maggie was well-loved by everyone she came in contact with.

  At the tail end of the interview, when Joe asked, Ethan had told him the name of the college where Maggie would be teaching that evening. Joe felt as if he’d struck pay dirt.

  And then, to top it all off, an angel of mercy by the name of Mrs. Edna Phelps had turned up on his doorstep in answer to his ad for a nanny. She came with impeccable references that checked out and a grandmotherly manner that disarmed the girls.

  She started tomorrow.

  Tonight, she and the girls were getting acquainted, freeing Joe to pursue his skittish quarry. Luck was finally looking his way and smiling down on him, he thought, whistling.

  Now, if it would only continue that way.

  Joe walked to the far end of the hall. The door on his right was marked room 210. Number 214 was only two classrooms down. His fingers curved around the registration card he held in his hand. He had managed to get a late-admission slip for the adult education course Maggie was teaching.

  He wondered how Maggie would feel about having an extra student in her class. If nothing else, observing her teach would give him further insight into the woman. And maybe he could finally get her to open up.

  Joe stopped before 214. The door was closed. He opened it a crack. Maggie was standing in front of the room, writing something on the chalkboard. Joe opened the door and quietly slipped inside the room.

  Maggie turned to greet the latecomer. The welcoming smile she wore froze and then melted, dripping away like an icicle in the spring sun.

  Just what the hell did he think he was doing in here?

  “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong room.” Her tone was frosty, accusing. A slight murmur went up in the room, but she ignored it.

  Joe looked down at his registration card, then at her. He was the soul of cooperative innocence. His smile was almost beatific.

  “No, room 214,” he recited, reading his card. “New Business Opportunities for Women.” He raised his eyes to hers. “This is the right place.”

  A wave of amused laughter met his assertion. Joe looked at the other people in the class for the first time and saw that, except for the picture of the president on the back wall, his was the only male face in the room.

  Maggie raised a brow as she regarded him. “This is a class intended for women, Mr. Sullivan. Was there something that you failed to mention to me the last time we spoke?”

  He waited for the laughter to die down. “No, but there was something that you didn’t mention.”

  What? That she was entertaining notions of justifiable homicide? Maggie struggled to hold on to her temper. Instead, she maintained a calm facade. “What?”

  “That you were prejudiced.”

  Maggie’s eyes grew huge as she stared at him. “What?”

  He spread his hands as if the issue was self-evident. “Well, you’re ready to exclude me from the class because of my sex.”

  Maggie bit her lower lip and then pointed to an empty desk in the rear of the room. “Take a seat, Sullivan.”

  Joe inclined his head and made his way to the back. She had ceased to address him formally. Looked like things were heating up, he thought, pleased.

  He nodded at the two women on either side of him as he took his seat. Settling in, he focused his attention on Maggie.

  The look she gave him could have ignited the logs in three different fireplaces simultaneously. He didn’t bother hiding his grin. If he aroused her anger, she might not be so tight-lipped around him. Angry people were less inclined to think their words through.

  It didn’t surprise Joe that Maggie gave a good lecture. Nothing, he was discovering, would really surprise him about Maggie McGuire as far as ability and determination went. Even without knowing her background, he could see the kind of woman she was. What he wanted to know was what sort of roots had prompted her to forge these paths for herself.

  Was she taking after her father? Had he been someone who had encouraged his daughter to be all that she could be? Or had she done this to show him that women could succeed in the world just as well as a man? Had she had a strong female role model instead? Her mother? Her grandmother or a favorite aunt?

  Or was she emulating Barbara Stanwyck from some old black-and-white movie she might have seen on television in the wee hours of the morning? These were the kinds of things he had to know.

  She’d said that she had a lot to make up for with her brothers. Just what did that mean? Was she being philosophical? Or had there been something more to her comment?

  Joe made a note to himself to talk to several people at the plant and get a few quotes to round out the article.

  Shuffling noises brought his attention back to the classroom. Women were rising all around him, preparing to leave. Class was over.

  Joe remained in his seat, waiting for the room to clear. It took a while. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a word with Maggie. Finally, the last woman walked out, leaving them alone.

  The ease that Maggie had felt while she was teaching was instantly stripped away. She felt uncomfortable alone with Joe. Uncomfortable with herself, she realized. She began shoving her notes into her briefcase.

  “You have enough time to talk to other people, I see. Why not me?”

  “They’re students,” she pointed out. “And I allowed for that.”

  He nodded, accepting her reason. “Then you can talk to me.”

  Maggie glanced at the open door. “No, I—”

  Joe held up the registration card. “Student, see?” He tucked the card back into the slim notebook he’d brought. “I’m one of those people you made an allowance for, remember?”

  Maggie felt her anger flaring. “Why are you pursuing me like this?” She slammed the briefcase lid shut. “It won’t be worth your while.”

  He snapped the locks for her, then smiled. “I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, I find you very intriguing. You run a company, almost single-handedly according to your brother—”

  She looked at him sharply. So that’s what he was doing here. Ethan had told him where she was. “You talked to my brother?”

  “Why?” He picked up her briefcase, intending to carry it for her to her car. “Is that forbidden?”

  Maggie reclaimed it, annoyed that he was barging into her affairs this way. “No, you can talk to whomever you like. He can talk to whomever he likes—” She was going to add, “—just not about me,” but he didn’t give her the chance.

  “I’m sure the signers of the Constitution will be very happy you agree with their little notions about freedom of speech.”

  Maggie turned and, without another word, walked out. He hustled after her and caught up within a couple of strides.

  “Funny thing, when I talked to Ethan, he left the same gaps that you did.”

  Maggie stopped and looked at him. “Gaps?”

  It was time to stop playing this mental chess game. “Don’t play innocent with me, Maggie.” His voice echoed in the empty hall. “Unless you’re all aliens from another planet, you didn’t just ‘happen’ on the scene, full grown, five years ago.”

  “Ten,” she corrected him. “It took ten years to get to this position.”

  “Ten,” he repeated. “And since you’re twenty-eight, that leaves eighteen years unaccounted for.”

  From the looks of it, they were the last two people in the building. It added to the nervousness forming in her stomach. Maggie began walking toward the stairwell. Joe remained at her side.

  “I was born, I went to school, I grew up, I went to college. You already know which one. End of story.”

  He wasn’t buying it. “If that was the end of the story, you would have said so to begin with.”

  Maggie opened the door and hurried down the stairs, the staccato beat of her heels on the metal stairs underlining her words. “I’m saying so now.”

  Encouraged by her te
mper, Joe pressed on. “Who were your parents?”

  “They were two people who met and married.” She reached the first floor and yanked the door open. She didn’t bother holding it for him. “They’re dead. Can we leave them be?”

  That sounded as if she was covering for them, not herself. He grew more curious. “You’re too young to be a product of the Rosenbergs.” Joe beat her to the front door and turned around to block her exit. “What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything.” She pushed past him and stepped out into the night air. It felt cool against her hot cheeks. She didn’t stop to savor it. “It’s just something I’d rather not remember.”

  Her car was parked a few feet away and she hurried toward it. For the time being, Joe let her go. He had enough material to use for tonight.

  And there was always tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  Three weeks into teaching her course, Maggie began to feel that there were two things that she could definitely count on. Dusk would fall and Joe would turn up in her classroom.

  Contrary to her hopes that he would abandon attempting to get that “extra something” for his article, Joe didn’t miss a session. The class she gave was held every Tuesday and Thursday evening from six-thirty to nine. Sullivan was always the first to appear.

  Though she had to admit that she looked forward to seeing him, Maggie was convinced that Joe was playing some sort of a mind game. He didn’t hang around after class and ask her questions. Instead, other than nodding at her in passing, he didn’t even stop to talk.

  It was as if he had decided to wait her out.

  He had a long wait ahead of him, she thought as she looked at him. Joe’s head was bent and he was writing down something she had just said. If it was a matter of tenacity, she could hang on with the best of them.

  After all, hadn’t she done just that when everything looked bleak? When there had been no money for her to go to college and she had been faced with the very real task of finding a way to provide for her brothers, hadn’t she managed to hang on? She’d found a way to make it all work. She had never let go of her dreams for them. Or for herself.

  It had been far from easy. Maggie figured that she was approximately five years behind in her sleep, but that was something that she could always catch up on when things slowed down.

  So far, that didn’t look like anytime soon. Success had just as busy a schedule as poverty had. She was always hurrying on to the next project, always trying to get two things done while thinking of a third. Then she had done it to get a foothold; now she did it to maintain and nurture that foothold. And to make it grow.

  True, she didn’t stop to smell the roses, but there would always be more roses. There wouldn’t always be more opportunities, not if she didn’t make use of them when they occurred.

  Which left her zero time for a personal life. That, too, would come later. Like the roses.

  She glanced at her wristwatch and realized that she had gone over the class time by seven minutes. No one was rising. She supposed that it was a compliment on the fact that she had sufficiently captured their attention.

  Either that, or they had all fallen asleep with their eyes open, she mused.

  Maggie closed the folder that contained her notes. “That’s it for tonight, class. I’ll see you all next Tuesday.”

  As usual, several of the women came up to her with questions after class. Answering them, Maggie was very aware of Joe hanging back the way he had the first session. She felt herself tensing.

  When the last woman had grasped her hand, telling her what an inspiration she was to them, Maggie barely murmured her thanks. Her eyes were on Joe.

  As he approached, Maggie busied herself with gathering her things together. For once she wished that she weren’t so organized and neat. There wasn’t much for her hands to do.

  He’d been hoping that she would come around, prompted by curiosity about his laid-back behavior, or perhaps even by a spark of desire. Neither had activated.

  Something about the mountain crumbling at Muhammad’s feet crossed his mind as he approached her. “I enjoyed your lecture.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t look up.

  He was going to have to go the whole nine yards. “Tuesday seems very far away, this being Thursday. Any chance of my seeing you Friday?”

  He was asking her out. For the last three weeks, she had wondered why he hadn’t said anything. Why he had given up his pursuit. It had frustrated her, making her feel deserted in an odd way. Now he was asking. It was like having the other shoe finally drop.

  On her foot.

  Maggie looked up as she snapped the locks on her briefcase shut. “No.”

  Obstinate as ever. “This isn’t for the interview.” He placed his hand over the briefcase. “This is for me, personally.”

  With a sharp snap of the wrist, she pulled the briefcase out from under his hand. Her smile was polite and distant. It would be a mistake to get involved. She knew that. So why was something wavering within her? “Even less of a chance, then.”

  He’d thought about her, fantasized about her and thrown all good sense to the winds. If she was going to turn him down, he needed to know her reasons. “Why?”

  “I don’t have the time.”

  The smile that rose to his lips, curving them sensuously, told Maggie that he felt he had caught her in a contradiction. “You just told the class to make time for the important things.”

  Maggie leaned back against the door and studied him, her expression incredulous. “Think a little highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I was thinking of that kiss we shared.” As soon as he said it, he knew he’d struck a nerve. Good. “That felt pretty important to me.” He cocked his head, his eyes holding hers. “Are you afraid of this, too?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she made him think of a warrior queen. A magnificent combination of sensuality, power and dignity.

  “What ‘too’?”

  He shrugged innocently. “Well, you’re afraid of the interview, afraid of letting anyone inside you. And now you’re afraid of feeling like a woman.” There was anger in her eyes. He fed the fire. “Your brothers say that you don’t socialize.”

  So now he was trying different approaches to get his information? She had an uneasy feeling that Sullivan would somehow twist things around, making them even worse than they were. She didn’t need adverse publicity. People who baked cookies came from pristine backgrounds, they didn’t grow up in dysfunctional families.

  “Leave my brothers out of this.”

  “They’re big boys, Maggie. can handle themselves. They don’t need a muzzle to keep them from telling tales out of school. Truth is, they didn’t tell me anything that I wanted to know, either.” It was as if, by agreement, the past was a complete blank for all of them. His eyes swept over her, the slow, sensuous gaze lingering on her body, making her want to squirm. “What are you afraid they’re going to tell me?”

  “Nothing.” She turned and walked out of the classroom. He was right beside her, the way she knew he’d be. So much for respites. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “That’s what they said.” His instincts told him otherwise. His instincts told him that her brothers weren’t talking out of loyalty to Maggie, which ran incredibly high. If nothing else, the last couple of weeks’ worth of interviews had shown him that everyone had a good word to say about Maggie. He must have spoken with fifty people, dealers and factory workers alike. There was genuine affection in their statements. And each came with some sort of personal recollection of her kindness. “My guess is that if you only had to get the votes from the people who worked for you, you’d be president of the country tomorrow.”

  She turned to look at him. “I don’t want to be president. I just want to be left alone.” Her voice echoed in the empty hallway. Turning, she continued walking down the corridor.

  “Talk to me and you might get your wish.” Although he doubted it. He’d
thought about her too much in the last few weeks. She was too fascinating a woman to just walk away from after he finished working on his article.

  She slanted a look toward him as she walked down the stairs. “You lulled me into a false sense of security, you know, not asking questions and biding your time. I really thought you were interested in what I had to say.”

  “I was. I am.” He moved ahead of her to hold the passage door open. The first-floor corridor was deserted as well and only half the lights were on. He was glad she wasn’t leaving alone. “I thought I’d see what there was to learn by watching you.”

  She didn’t care what he learned. “And?”

  “I learned a lot.” He took her arm as they walked through the shadowy corridor. Maggie didn’t want to like it as much as she did. “You’re intelligent, savvy, and a hell of an attractive lady who should have a social life.”

  She turned toward him just as they walked out of the building. There were stars out tonight, and a bright, full moon. She wondered if he had ordered ahead for it. “And you’re volunteering?”

  The grin was slow as it moved over his lips, taking in every part of him. And drawing her in.

  “Yes. Proximity has something to do with it, but I do seem to be the likely candidate.”

  Maggie looked at him as if he were giving himself too much credit. He used a different approach. One he knew was bound to get to her, even if she denied it. He was beginning to know her better than she wanted him to.

  “The girls are asking for you.” Which was true. If he hadn’t had the article to concentrate on and had actually tried not to think about Maggie, his nieces would have kept her very much a part of his everyday life. “They want to know when you’re coming back to read to them again.”

  She chose to ignore that. Maggie unlocked her car door. He’d parked, she noticed, almost next to her. “How are they?”