Can't Stop Loving You (11 page)

“Let me grab them.” Dottie stepped inside, and Maggie heard a drawer open and close. “Here you go.” She handed Maggie a baggie.

“Thanks, Dottie. This is a great idea.” She nodded toward the living room where light flickered from the TV and a battle cry rang out. “Everybody got in okay today?”

“Yep. They're all in the living room watching an old Star Wars movie Wes left behind.” She grinned. “Sure is nice having them all here.”

“Enjoy them. Maggie hugged her tightly. “Night.”

“Night. Night, Brawley.”

“Night, Dottie,” Brawley called out.

Maggie started to the SUV, but he crooked a finger at her. “Come upstairs with me.”

“No.”

“Geez, don't get all prickly. Thought you might want to see the apartment now that my furniture is moved in.”

“Maybe another day.”

“Aren't you the least bit curious?”

Damn him. She was. He knew her too well. Knew which bells to ring. “Just a quick peek, then I have to go.”

He hustled up the stairs, and she followed more slowly. By the time she reached the landing, he had the door unlocked and the kitchen light on.

She stepped inside. Wow. She wouldn't have recognized it. Annie had turned the place into a very eclectic Tiffany blue jewel box. Very feminine, fun, and colorful.

Brawley had gone sleek and modern. White leather and dark fabrics. Masculine and sophisticated against the gray walls.

She turned to tell him she loved it and found him all but plastered to her. Her hand came up to rest on his chest. “Back up, Brawley. Give me space.”

“Can't we talk?”

“Not now. Not tonight.”

“When?”

“Talking won't change anything.” She stopped. “What's this?” Crossing the room, she picked up a battered copy of
Where the Red Fern Grows
. Opening it to the title page, she read the message her sixteen-year-old self had written.

“I couldn't throw it away,” Brawley said.

“Do you keep trophies from all your girls?”

“That's both unfair and out of line.” Anger rang in his voice.

“You didn't answer the question.”

His jaw tightened. “No, Maggie, I don't. Just one.” He pulled her to him and backed her into the wall.

Before she could utter a sound, he was kissing her. He took her breath away. Her legs went rubbery, but he held her in place. Oh, God.

When he finally lifted his head, he said, “I won't apologize for that.”

“Good. Then I won't apologize for this.” She wrapped a hand around his neck and drew him close for another…and another.

Breaking contact, she found herself more shaken than she'd imagined possible.

“Stay tonight, Maggie.”

“I can't.”

“What are you doing? You run hot and cold.”

She pressed fingers to her forehead. “I know! And I
will
apologize for that. I'm trying like hell to avoid you, but you won't let me. This physical thing between us—it just takes over. Makes me forget what I want, what I don't. But it's chemistry, Brawley, pure and simple.”

“It's more than that and you know it,” he growled.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Oh, he was pissed. Time to call it a night.

“Do you want to drive me to my car, or should I ask Dottie for a ride?”

“I'll take you.” He grabbed his keys from the counter and jerked the door open with so much force she was amazed it didn't come off the hinges.

The silence took on a hard edge as they drove through Maverick Junction. When he pulled up to her car, she hopped out before he could move around to get her door.

Without a word, she slid into her Chrysler and started the engine. Brawley idled in his black SUV as she drove off. His headlights shone in her rearview mirror, almost daring her to outrun them.

She'd come so close to giving in—to him, to herself.

What had she been thinking?

S
aturday morning dawned bright and clear. Down the hall, Maggie heard the shower start. Good. Pops was awake. She hoped he'd slept well last night. Today was his wedding day.

Slipping out of bed, she padded to the window. She fingered the drape aside, raised her eyes to the sky, and imagined Grandma Trudy on one of the clouds in the sea of blue.

“Grandma, I hope this is okay with you,” she whispered. “Pops still loves you, and he always will. We all will. But he's lonely. Dottie will take care of him for you.”

A single tear plopped onto her hand. Sniffling, she swiped at her eyes. Enough. The only tears allowed today were happy ones. They had a wedding to celebrate.

She rested her forehead against the glass pane. White pickets fenced in the yard below, and a rabbit nibbled at tender new shoots of grass along the driveway. A weathered picnic table huddled in the shade of an oak.

As a child she'd played for hours in this yard. Pops and Grandma taught her to ride her bike without training wheels on the paved drive. She and her parents had picnicked at that table many Sundays after church. Her grandmother's potato salad couldn't be matched.

Today marked a beginning…and an end. A realist, she understood nothing would ever be quite the same. Come tonight, Dottie would be part of the family, the Sullivans and the Willises joined.

Maggie tried to imagine how Pops must be feeling, what he was thinking this morning. He'd loved his Trudy with all his heart. But he also loved Dottie Willis, and this afternoon, in her lovely garden, surrounded by friends and family, he would take her as his bride.

Was he looking forward or back? Maggie guessed a little of both. He couldn't help comparing this day to a long-ago day when, as a young man with his entire life in front of him, he'd taken another woman to wife.

She turned from the window to the picture on her dresser of a very young Trudy and Fletcher Sullivan. Her father sat on Grandma's lap. Maggie missed her grandmother. Missed her gentle touch, her often acidic remarks. Her down-to-earth practicality. Most of all, she missed her unconditional love.

Okay. She blinked rapidly. Hadn't she promised not to cry?

Grabbing her robe, she tossed it on. Running fingers through her disheveled hair, she hurried down the hall and knocked at the bathroom door. “Pops?”

“Yeah?”

“Want some coffee?”

“Love some, honey.”

“It's a big day, Grandpa.”

“Yes, it is.” He cleared his throat. “Been thinking about your grandma.”

“Me, too.”

“I'm not making a mistake, am I?”

“No.”

The medicine chest door opened. “I'd like to think Trudy's happy for me.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I'm sure she is, Pops. She wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

When he didn't respond, she said, “I'll start that coffee and put together some breakfast. I picked up a nice ham steak at Sadler's. You'll need the protein today.”

“And then some,” he mumbled.

Coffee. Priority number one. Once she had it brewing, she started the ham and eggs, then opened a jar of Rosie's jam for their English muffins.

Rosie and her husband Hank would be at the wedding this afternoon. Hank had worked for Cash's grandpa and had been foreman at the Whispering Pines Ranch for years. Inside the house, though, nobody questioned Rosie's authority. Together, the older couple practically ran Cash's ranch.

Because Hank was getting on in years, Cash had decided to hire a new hand, and that's when he met Annie. That had been an interesting series of events.

Although Cupid's arrow had wobbled a bit, it had finally hit home, and Cash and his Annie had tied the knot.

And today, her grandfather was tying that knot. Deciding the day called for more than English muffins, Maggie mixed up some pancake batter. Upstairs, Pops's electric razor buzzed. She poured batter on the old cast-iron griddle and watched the edges bubble.

Her mind bounced to Brawley and last night's disastrous dinner with him and his parents. That wasn't fair. The dinner itself hadn't been disastrous. In fact, she'd enjoyed her time with Karolyn and Trace. But afterward. Geez, talk about an avalanche. One kiss, and she'd lost her mind. Almost. Fortunately she'd come to her senses in time. Best to put it—and him—out of her mind.

And she'd done that—sort of. So why was she thinking about it now? Disgusted, she flipped the pancake.

This last week had sped by. Between training Ella, stocking the shop, and taking care of the thousand details for Pops and Dottie's wedding, there hadn't been enough hours in the days. And packing for New York? She hadn't even started.

From all accounts, Brawley, too, had his hands full, scrambling to deal with the contractors, plumbers, and Sheetrockers he'd hired to finish the renovation job at the clinic.

And in between hanging doors and laying floors, he'd made emergency trips to care for sick horses and cows. Maggie refused to admit she'd held out the teeniest hope one of those calls would have him close enough to Lone Tree that he'd stop in.

Whatever else he might be, Maggie had no doubt he was one hell of a vet. He cared too much to be less.

Her grandfather came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “How do I look, Maggie, honey?”

She turned and took his gnarled hands in hers. “Oh, Pops, I've never seen a more handsome groom in my life.” Then she squinted at him. “You're not wearing those old jeans, though, are you?”

He chuckled. “No, sirree. My tux is safely zipped in my garment bag. I'll change at your folks' place.”

“Okay. You have a shirt?”

“Yep.”

“Shoes and socks?”

“I've got everything I need, including my cuff links. And before you ask, my suitcase for this coming week is already at Dottie's.” His voice grew gruff. “The woman insisted I take dress clothes along. Don't know why we need to fuss.”

“She wants her new husband to look dapper when he takes her out on the town.”

Pops's ears turned red. “You gonna stand there yapping or you gonna feed me?”

She kissed his cheek. “Sit. I'll wait on you this morning.”

Her grandfather might have been nervous, but it didn't interfere with his appetite. When he reached for a third pancake, she said, “There will be food at the reception.”

“I know that. Heard you gals talking about the menu enough, didn't I? Can't a fellow be hungry?”

“Yes, a fellow can.” She tucked into her own pancake, savoring the pure maple syrup and wondering why she didn't make them more often.

Breakfast finished, the dishwasher loaded, and the car packed, they headed to Maverick Junction.

Forty minutes later they arrived at her parents'. “One step closer, Pops.”

“Yep.”

When her phone chirped, she checked the message. Brawley.

Looking 4ward 2 wedding. C U soon, beautiful.

What the heck?

Not if I C U 1st
, she texted back.

She hit send, leaned her head against the seat, and closed her eyes. What was she? Ten? Why did she let him get to her? They were too old for games.

“Everything okay?” Pops asked.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Sure is. You ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

They'd hadn't even stepped inside the door before all hell broke loose.

“Maggie, I'm so glad you're here.” Her mother met her with a quick cheek kiss. “The caterer had trouble with his van. I called Ty, and he's making a run in his to pick up Emerson and the food.”

“So it's under control.” Maggie switched the dress bag she carried to her right hand and handed Pops the garment bag with his tux. “Why don't you take this upstairs? You might want to start getting ready.”

Her mother remained in the doorway.

“Mom, you're going to have to move so we can get inside.”

“You can't stay.”

“What do you mean I can't stay?” Maggie shifted her weight to her other foot. “I have to get dressed.”

“They need you at Dottie's.”

“Why?”

“Seems our unflappable bride is having a meltdown over her shoes.”

“Her shoes?” Both Maggie and Pops echoed the words.

Rita nodded and waved a hand at Maggie. “Go. Reassure her. Do whatever you can. Take your dress with you and get ready there.”

“But her son and daughter are with her.”

“Wes is the one who phoned.”

Maggie threw her grandfather a pained look. “Pops, you sure you want to go through with this? Not too late to back out.”

“Margaret Emmalee, bite your tongue,” her mother shot back. “Now go. Fix this.” She trained her gaze on Pops. “And you. Go upstairs and make yourself even more handsome.”

Maggie gave her grandfather a big hug. “See you at the wedding!”

He grunted.

When Maggie arrived, she found Dottie sitting on her bed, surrounded by shoes. It turned out she'd bought a second and then a third pair and couldn't decide which to wear. On any other day, it would have been a trifling matter. But this was not just any day. This was her wedding day, and the problem had grown to gargantuan proportions in her mind.

“You'll look beautiful regardless of which shoes you wear.”

More tears welled in Dottie's eyes.

“Oh, Dottie.” Maggie sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her soon-to-be step-grandma. She glanced up in time to catch Dottie's son and daughter deserting ship. The rats.

She picked up one shoe, then another. “They're all beautiful.”

“Yes, they are.” Dottie sniffled.

“If you don't wear them today, you can take them on your honeymoon. Surprise Pops with them.”

Dottie smiled tremulously. “I can.”

Maggie walked over to Dottie's dress and held up the shoes one at a time. “Any of them stand out?”

“I love them all.”

Maggie smiled. “Then you can't make a bad choice, can you?”

Dottie shook her head.

“Here's my thought. Try on each pair, walk into the kitchen and back, and you'll know which is right.”

“Walk to the kitchen?”

Maggie nodded.

“Okay. I don't see how that will help, but…” She slid on a pair and left the room. When she came back, she changed to the second pair, then the third.

Stepping back inside the bedroom, she pointed at the second pair. “Those.”

“The most comfortable?”

Dottie grinned. “Yes. And I'm going to be on my feet a lot today.” She hugged Maggie. “You're a smart woman.”

Maggie grinned. “Yes, I am.” She let out a relieved breath. Peace reigned once again. “And now, I'm going to slip into the bathroom and change.”

When she stepped out, Dottie said, “The caterer's here. He and Ty have everything unloaded.”

“Then all's well.”

Standing at the kitchen door, Maggie found herself amazed. The backyard and gardens had been transformed into a fairyland of twinkling lights, tables, and flowers. A pole tent placed on one side would hold the luncheon spread. An arch draped in fresh flowers waited at the far end for the bride and groom. Bitsy, from Heaven Scents, flitted from table to table, fussing with the centerpieces.

Car doors opened and closed, and the seats began filling. Relief spilled through her when she heard her mother's voice, followed by Pop's.

“Dottie, Fletch is here. As much as I hate sending you to your room, that's what I'm doing. He can't see you before the wedding. We want to cut him off at the knees when you walk down that aisle to him.”

“You're right, dear.” With a small giggle, Dottie scooted off, her daughter and granddaughter hurrying behind her.

When her grandfather walked in, Maggie sighed. “Oh, Pops, you're gorgeous.”

“Men aren't gorgeous,” he grumbled.

“Sure they are. I like your tie.”

“Pink.” He fingered the silk.

“You'd better get used to it if you're going to be living with Dottie.” Maggie's father turned to her. “Where's Wes?”

“In the living room.”

“Think I'll join him.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Don't waste your breath arguing with her, Dad. She's stubborn as the day is long.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” Fletch disappeared around the corner behind his son.

“Where're the others?” Rita asked.

“Lacey and her daughter are with Dottie. Both her husband and Wes's wife are outside with the boys.”

Rita nodded, then she and Maggie followed the men into the living room. Maggie stopped in the doorway. Her grandfather walked the length of the room, then back. He made another trip.

“Pops, if you don't quit pacing, you'll have to buy Dottie a new carpet.”

“You're right. Can't seem to sit still.”

When the men started to talk baseball, she decided it was time to escape to the kitchen. The back door opened, and a flash exploded. She scowled at Brawley who stood, expensive camera in hand.

“You really are doing the photos?”

“Yeah.”

“You any good?”

“Sugar, I'm good at everything I do.” He shot her a sexy smile.

She rolled her eyes. “I'd think Dottie would want a professional for a day as important as this.”

“I am a professional.”

She rolled her eyes. “A professional vet. I meant a professional photographer.”

“I'm that, too.”

“Right. And I'm Miss America.”

“Maggie, Maggie. Always the cynic.”

“Much as I hate to stick up for this scoundrel,” her grandfather said, sneaking up behind her, “the boy does good work. Ought to take a peek at his website some time.”

“You have a website?”