Can't Stop Loving You (4 page)

He patted her shoulder. “You've worked hard to make this happen. Can't say I'm not gonna miss you 'cause I will. Like I'd miss my right arm. But I'm happy for you, sweetheart. You're gonna take that city by storm.”

He raised a hip and tucked his hanky into his back pocket. “Looks like we've got ourselves some major celebrating to do tonight.”

“Is Dottie coming to dinner?”

“She'll join us a little later, but we figured I should be alone with all of you when I dropped the bombshell. Give you and your folks some time to settle into it. Little bit of chicken in her, maybe. What do you think?”

“I think she's a smart woman. Very smart. And very, very fortunate.”

Still more than a little shell-shocked, Maggie parked the car in the Roadhouse's dusty lot. She spotted her dad's big truck under an oak, so they were already here.

After nearly smothering her grandfather in a hug, she and Fletch crossed arm in arm to the ramshackle building. Bubba'd hung a few early plants on the wide, wooden porch. Several Texas redbuds struggled to brighten the sides of the restaurant. But even at that, the place looked a little worse for wear, the siding weathered, the railing in need of stain.

They walked up the stairs, and Pops, ever the gentleman, held the door for her. She stepped inside, half-blinded by the comparative darkness, and straight into Brawley Odell's arms.

“Hello, sweetheart. Didn't expect you here tonight.”

She yelped and would have backed away had he not reached out and clasped both her arms.

Pops, who didn't seem to notice her discomfort, nodded at Brawley. “Heard you were in Lone Tree today.”

“Yes, sir, I was.”

Pops turned his attention to Maggie. “Your mom and dad are already here. I'll go on over while you two chat.”

With that, he left her alone with her nemesis.

“Let go, Brawley.” She kept her voice low.

He dropped his hands to his sides.

“What are you doing here?” she bit out.

“I might ask you the same.”

“I came for dinner. With my folks.”

“And I came for a beer. Cash is at the bar. He's gonna help me draw up plans for a few renovations at the clinic. We decided to do it over a cold one.”

“Renovations?”

He nodded. “Doc hasn't made a single change to that place in way too many years. It's long overdue for a face-lift.”

Even at five-eight, she had to tip her head to meet his eyes. “Why are you doing this, Brawley?”

“I told you. Doc hasn't—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I'm not talking about remodeling. Why are you really back here? Why this pretense?”

“Pretense?”

She made a sound low in her throat. “We both know you're not Maverick Junction. Not small-town Texas. You belong in the big city with all its money and nightlife. The social niceties. The socialites. You're at home there. Go back to Dallas, Brawley, and leave us alone.”

Us
, she thought. She wouldn't use
me
. That would make it too personal, feed his already inflated ego.

She shrugged off his hand but hadn't taken two steps before he was beside her again. He leaned into her, trapping her between the solid wall of his body and the building's rough wooden one.

“Brawley!” She shoved at him. “People are looking.”

“Let them.”

“My parents are here.”

“Yep. Saw them come in.”

“What do you want?”

His eyes darkened to the color of midnight. “You.”

“Bullshit!” She shoved at him.

“You look good tonight.”

“Really? Personally, I prefer seeing the backside of you—while you're walking away. And it is, after all, what you do best.”

He shook his head, straightening. “Maggie, sweetheart, God broke the mold after he made you.”

“Go to hell, Brawley. And I'm not your sweetheart.”

His face took on an edge. “You know, you accuse me of being big city, but who's heading to New York, the biggest of them all? Have you told your grandpa?” His words stopped her. “It's really not much of a secret, you know. Somebody's bound to let it slip tonight.”

“I told him. On the way here.”

“Good. 'Cause secrets have a way of turning on you.”

For one awful second, she wondered if he'd uncovered the secret she'd buried years ago. No. Brawley didn't talk in riddles. He said what he meant and meant what he said. It was that simple.

Without another word, he left to join Cash.

She hadn't been lying. She did enjoy the backside of him. Watching him walk away, she swore the man wore a pair of jeans better than any male alive. The sight was enough to make a grown woman drool.

With her next breath, she cursed the day she'd met him. Every time she figured she'd exorcised him, he showed up again, proving her wrong. Unfortunately, like most things that tempted, Brawley was bad for her.

She was strong, though. She could resist. At some point, he would become yesterday's news. And even though she longed to put him out of her mind, out of her heart, that idea saddened her.

Around her, everyone quickly looked away, pretended they hadn't been indulging in a little harmless voyeurism. They slipped easily back into their own conversations and dinners. Maggie doubted there was a person in the room who didn't know her history with Brawley. That he'd left her high and dry.

Her dad waved from the corner table beneath the Lone Star flag, and she returned his greeting. Pasting a Miss America smile on her face, speaking to friends and neighbors as she passed, she sauntered across the room to join her parents. The entire time, she felt Brawley's gaze follow her.

She would not look back. She'd already spent way too many years doing exactly that.

The chrome Wurlitzer played a song about a man with wandering eyes and a cheating heart. Maybe she should buy a copy of it and play it till it seared itself into her memory bank. She snorted. As if she needed a reminder.

S
teaming mug of coffee in hand, Brawley stepped out onto the second-floor landing of his new apartment. He fought the temptation to leave the door unlocked. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, somebody'd come by and steal all the fussy doodads Annie'd left behind. Annie, then Sophie, he amended.

Both cousins had lived here in Dottie's second-story apartment when they'd come to Maverick Junction. Both planned on a short stay, and each had ended up marrying one of his best friends. Darnedest thing.

He propped his elbows on the railing, drinking in the early morning calm. A couple birds twittered from high in the trees. Below, Dottie's garden was springing to life, bright blooms sprouting in patches.

Dottie Willis. He loved the woman. She…and her cookies…had been a part of his life forever. Her son Wes had been a couple years ahead of him in school. He'd played basketball, a damned good point guard who now lived in Albuquerque, where he had a law practice. Her daughter Lacey, a pretty little dark-haired thing, lived in San Diego.

Too bad. Miss Dottie would make one heck of a hands-on grandma, and both Wes and Lacey had kids. He often wondered why she didn't move close to one of them.

She'd surprised him when she'd shown up at the roadhouse last night. All dolled up in pink silk pants and top and smelling heavenly, she'd given both him and Cash a quick peck on the cheek, then joined Maggie and her family. Old Fletch had a grin the size of Texas on his face and had even kissed Dottie's hand. The man was a true gentleman.

Kisses and hugs had flowed freely at the Sullivan table.

He'd nursed his beer and wondered how long it would take all that to dry up if he moseyed over to say hello. Once welcomed by the family, he'd become a persona non grata.

His fault. His bed to lie in.

Carrying his coffee, Brawley hustled down the stairs. He'd stayed longer at Bubba's than he'd intended last night. He and Cash had planned to grab a single beer and play with ideas for the clinic's renovations. Brawley had hoped it would kill two birds with a single stone—get the plans under way and, at the same time, take his mind off a certain woman he couldn't get out of his head.

Then, he'd walked over to say hello to a friend and the door opened. Maggie waltzed through it, right smack into him.

Damn his luck anyway.

He unlocked the door to his Chevy Tahoe, set his coffee mug in the holder, and slid behind the wheel. Turning the key, the vehicle rumbled to life and he backed down the drive.

All things considered, he supposed last night could have turned out worse. A lot worse, actually. He wasn't really sure who'd come closer to losing it—him or Maggie's dad. Sean Sullivan had considered Brawley a son back in the days when everyone assumed he and Maggie would get married.

Not so now. Man, if looks could kill, his mama would be planning his funeral this morning.

After his initial shock at finding Maggie in his arms, he'd felt more than seen Maggie's dad go on full alert. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he'd watched Sean Sullivan come halfway out of his seat when he'd touched Maggie during their heated conversation.

No doubt about it. He'd walked a thin line.

Maggie's mom, though, had managed with a single touch to Sean's arm and a few quiet words to get him to sit back down. Sean hadn't taken his eyes off him and Maggie, though, and Brawley knew that one wrong move, the man would be all over him.

Pops, who'd been friendly enough when they'd come in, didn't look any too happy, either. Papa bear with his cub, both of them.

Brawley turned onto Main Street. He'd grab breakfast at Sally's. The truth? He deserved anything Maggie's family could throw at him—and more.

The memory of her eyes bothered him most. Those spectacular green eyes had been bruised with hurt as they'd met his. Hurt and anger. The lady wasn't one to pull punches. Nothing about Margaret Emmalee Sullivan came close to lukewarm. If she was involved, she was in it up to her eyeballs. And you never had a lick of doubt about how she felt, because she had no problem telling you.

As spitting mad as she'd been at him, though, she'd worked the room as she crossed to her parents' table, stopping to talk to friends, kiss someone's baby, laugh at a joke. By the time she made it to her folks, her anger seemed to have dissipated.

She'd put him out of her mind.

He'd been working on doing the same with her for over a decade now and still hadn't managed it.

The rest of last night had been hell. Straddling the cowhide bar stool, pretending she wasn't there, pretending she didn't matter. He'd sipped his beer and half-listened as Cash dissected the Rangers' game that had just ended.

All the while, he watched Mags. She'd leaned down to kiss both her parents, dropped another kiss on her grandfather's cheek, and took her seat—back to him.

Despite the rocky start, the Sullivans appeared to be in a celebratory mood. They'd even broken out the champagne after Dottie arrived—if you could stretch the stuff Bubba stocked to fit the category. No doubt Maggie's parents were proud as hell of their little girl and applauding her achievements.

Little girl, his foot. Hah. Mags was a woman. All woman. Maybe she always had been. Brawley couldn't remember a time when she hadn't gotten him all churned up.

Maggie's mom surprised him, though. He'd have thought she'd be all teary-eyed at the idea of her baby leaving. Instead, Rita Sullivan, her hair a short, curly bubble, the same vivid red as her daughter's, was all smiles. But come time for Maggie to hop on that New York–bound plane, no doubt Rita would turn on the waterworks.

Pain seared his chest.

Good thing he didn't still love her, or he'd sit right down and cry, too.

Heaven on the eyes, hell on the heart. Oh, yeah, that was Ms. Maggie Sullivan. The man who'd written that song must have met her.

Odd. While he hadn't been surprised to see them break out the bubbly, the toasts seemed aimed at Pops. And Dottie. What was he missing?

He'd finally turned his back on their table and gotten down to business with Cash. By the time they'd finished their second beers, they'd come up with a fairly decent plan for the office renovations.

Then Cash had gone home to his wife, and he'd gone back to Dottie's, to his frilly, girly apartment. Not quite what his life had been in Dallas. But then he hadn't wanted all that anymore, had he?

Still, he'd lain awake half the night rehashing things in his mind, hoping he hadn't made the second biggest mistake of his life by moving back to Maverick Junction.

He parked his Chevy outside of Sally's and spied Mel heading into the
Maverick Junction Daily
.

“Hey, Mel.”

“Brawley.” Mel stopped, key in the newspaper office door. “You're up and around early today.”

“I am every day. You had breakfast?” He tipped his head toward the café.

“Yep. Ate at home.”

“Want another cup of coffee?”

Mel shook his head. “Too much to do. I'm on deadline.”

“Okay,” Brawley said. “I'm gonna grab a bite, then I'll come over, talk about what I had in mind for that ad I want to run.”

The minute he walked into the restaurant, he knew something big was in the air. The place buzzed with excitement. He'd barely sat down at his usual table by the front window when Sally, her frizzy blond hair pulled into a ponytail, hurried over. Whatever the latest gossip, it brought heightened color to her cheeks.

“You hear about Dottie?” Then she swatted him with the menu in her hand. “'Course you have. You're renting from her now, aren't you?”

Brawley frowned. “Yeah, I am, but no, I haven't. What's going on with her?”

“She and Fletch Sullivan are getting married.”

“What?”

“Dottie and—”

He shook his head. “I heard you, Sally. I'm just trying to decide if my brain processed the words correctly.”

“Can you believe it?”

Struck mute, he simply stared at her. Guess that accounted for the champagne last night. Maggie's grandpa and Dottie Willis? And nobody'd told him?

And they hadn't called him over, hadn't shared the news, the excitement, with him. Time was they would have. And Dottie. She hadn't told him. Family first. He knew that. Still, it hurt.

Maybe he had stayed away too long.

After downing an egg-white omelet as penance for yesterday's steak, he loped across the street to the newspaper office and pushed through the door. “Hey, Mel. I've got the copy written for that ad. Time to let the town know I'm taking over for—”

Maggie leaned into the counter, her head close to Mel's blond one. At the sound of his voice, she turned, cocking a hand on that curvy hip. “You do insist on a grand entrance, don't you? This makes two days in a row you've come barging in on me.”

He frowned. “Difference is that yesterday I meant to. I didn't expect you'd be here today. Shouldn't you be in Lone Tree?”

A wise man, Mel said nothing. He simply straightened and watched the two, a half-smile on his lips.

Today, fire-engine-red colored Maggie's nails. She tapped one on that full bottom lip, drawing his gaze. “Are you stalking me, Brawley Odell?”

“Hah-hah. Very funny. I was about to ask you the same,” he returned easily.

Those perfectly manicured brows rose in disdain. “I was here first.”

“Yeah, you were. But I was at Bubba's first last night.” He turned to Mel. “Did I or did I not tell you I'd be in after I ate?”

“You did.”

Brawley swiveled back to Maggie. “You were outside, heard, and waited for the right moment. So you'd get here before me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You arrogant—”

“Hey, you accused me first.”

She glared at him.

“Doesn't matter,” Brawley said. “Not in the least. I came to do business.”

“Me, too. I'm placing an ad. I need to hire someone to run the shop while I'm gone.”

His heart, damn it all to hell, gave a frantic leap of joy. “While you're gone? So this move to the city isn't permanent?”

“Of course it is. But…well, I'd like to keep the boutique open for a while yet.”

Crestfallen, his idiot heart stopped its happy frolic and collapsed. Still, his voice sounded steady when he said, “That's probably smart.”

Maggie, rather than answer, returned her attention to Mel. “So we're good to go here?” She tipped her chin at the paper between them.

“Yep.”

“And it'll run starting this afternoon?”

Mel nodded.

“Okay. Thanks a bunch.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and swung around to leave.

Brawley caught her arm.

She stared at his hand, then up at him. “This seems to be a habit of yours, so I feel compelled to say it again. You're going to want to let go of me.”

He did. When she took another step toward the door, he said, “Wait a minute, Mags. Why didn't you tell me about Fletch and Dottie yesterday?”

“They weren't the subject of our conversation. Besides, when we talked earlier, I didn't know. He told me on the way to Bubba's.”

“Seriously?” He whistled softly. “That must have been some chat the two of you had last night. Both of you with big news.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “I almost drove off the road when he dropped his on me.”

“Bet you did.” He grinned.

“It made my announcement a whole lot easier.”

Brawley nodded. “Pops won't be alone. That matters to you.”

She met his eyes. “It does.”

“I'm pleased for you, Mags. For you, for Fletch, for Dottie. They're great people. They'll be happy together.”

“Yes, I think they will. I still haven't had time to really wrap my head around the whole idea of them as a couple. And I don't know how I was so blind.” She slapped her forehead. “I never saw it coming.”

“Things sneak up on us sometimes.”

“They do. Between Maverick Junction and Lone Tree, the Sullivans have about cornered the good-news market.” She looked at Mel. “And you can quote me on that, Mr. Newspaper Editor.”

“You bet.” Mel saluted.

“When do you leave?”

“In two weeks.” She reached for the door.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Brawley blurted.

She looked down at the floor. “I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Does it matter?” She met his gaze.

“Yes, actually, it does.” A muscle worked in his jaw. It did matter to him. A whole hell of a lot.

“I won't.”

Those two words, delivered so succinctly, sucker-punched him. Still, he tried. “Maggie, all that was a long time ago.”

“Yes. It was. And I need to keep it that way.” She closed the door quietly behind her.

Yep, he'd been right. He'd waited too long to come home.