House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 (8 page)

So Maggie was quiet and shy, tended to stick close to home and kept to herself.  Had he not seen her house, spent some time with her this morning, it would have been difficult to reconcile those facts with the harem-girl seductress he’d met last night.  Such a huge deviation from what appeared to be her normal, everyday life.  It begged him to ask the question – why?

“Ah, here’s something.  One credit card – personal, non-business, with accounts at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.”  Ian chuckled.  “Judging by her order history, she’s a big fan of Salienne Dulcette.  You could arrange an intro, get in her good graces.  Maybe that will help her overlook the whole doctor thing.” 

Salienne Dulcette, New York Times bestselling author of erotic romance nearly ten years running, was well known to the Callaghans as Stacey Connelly, the wife of one of their cousins in the next town.

“Oh,” he continued.  “And she’s purchased at least a dozen exotic dance DVD’s – everything from belly dancing to Zumba.”  Ian sat back, taking a long pull from his mug and eyeing the cookies longingly.  “So how’d you meet her anyway?”

“She’s the redhead that danced at your bachelor party last night.  Ended up doing a header off the stage right afterwards, gave herself a nice little concussion in the process.”

“I’ll be damned.  Let me guess - you played the role of the concerned physician.”  Ian’s eyes glittered.

“Something like that.”

“Did she give you those cookies?”

“Maybe.”

Ian’s eyes grew almost lusty with longing.  “They smell awesome.  You’re going to share, right?”

Michael pointed to the empty Thermos.  “I already paid.”

“For this,” Ian said, waving his hand in front of the computer screen.  “Public info, and pretty vanilla stuff at that.  You probably could have discovered that all for yourself through Google.  But for some of those - ” he pointed at the cookies, “ – I can tell you what you won’t find online.” 

Michael considered it.  Ian was probably going to do that anyway, but far be it from him to forego such an opportunity when it presented itself; that was just Ian.  And there was no better source of personal, local information than his roguish brother.  Ian was always plugged in to the local news and gossip.  As a general rule, people tended to bare their souls to bartenders, but Ian had turned it into an art form.  If there was anything to be learned here, it would most likely come from Ian. 

“Six cookies.  If it’s worth it, I’ll give you six more.”

“Mick, it’s worth it, trust me.”  Ian stuffed one of the cookies into his mouth and chewed, letting his eyes roll back in his head.  “Holy shit these are good.  What is that... coconut mixed in the dark chocolate?  I should take a few of these to Lexi.” 

Ian’s bride-to-be, Alexis Kattapoulos, was currently the head chef at one of the hottest restaurants along the East Coast.  She coveted traditional, passed-down-thru-the-ages type of recipes.  Maggie’s cookies would be right up her alley.

Michael waited patiently while Ian wolfed down a few more and took another gulp of coffee. 

“Okay, so you saw that Maggie worked for Dumas Industries, right?”  Michael nodded.  Half the town worked for Dumas at one point or another; it was easily the largest employer in the county. 

“Well, apparently Maggie caught the interest of the golden boy himself, Spencer Dumas.”

Michael scowled.  He knew Spencer Dumas.  The man was the epitome of the wealthy playboy.  Never did an honest day’s work in his life, had to be pulled out of more than a few scrapes by his rich father.  Made a point to be at every newsworthy event with at least one centerfold-worthy female on his arm. 

“Maggie doesn’t seem to fit his usual type.”

“No,” Ian agreed.  “But, rumor has it that Maggie’s land
is
.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.  Dumas wined and dined her for months until she finally said yes.  Shortly afterward, she caught him doing the nasty with his personal assistant, overheard him bragging about how slick he was in seducing her, how once they were married, the land would become part of the Dumas Industries assets.  Apparently he wasn’t too complimentary in the process, either.”

No wonder Maggie was skeptical of his intentions.  That must have been what Sherri had been alluding to.  It certainly explained a lot.  Michael had a sudden, fierce urge to make Spencer Dumas pay for making Maggie doubt herself.

“Maggie broke off the engagement and quit on the spot, leaving Dumas to explain to daddy how he fucked up royally.  Apparently the company had been depending heavily on acquiring her land.  Immediately after she showed Dumas her backside on the way out, the shit hit the fan.  Several partner companies backed out of a few key projects and DI stock took a decent hit.”

“That had to hurt.”

Ian laughed.  “Yeah, a little.  Spencer’s been trying to cozy back up to her, saying he’s seen the error of his ways, he’s a changed man, blah, blah, blah, but she’s having no part of it.  Actually threatened to slap a restraining order on him if he didn’t leave her in peace.”

Michael’s chest swelled with pride while a possessive fury burned simultaneously in his blood.  He barely kept his lip from curling back in a snarl.  There was no way in hell Spencer Dumas – or any other man for that matter – would be cozying up to Maggie again. 

The unfamiliar surge gave him pause.  He had met Maggie less than twenty-four hours earlier, and knew next to nothing about her.  Michael was neither impulsive nor prone to such strong, visceral emotions. 

“So what is she doing now?” he asked, trying to inject some note of rationality into his voice.

Ian swiveled back to the computer, his fingers a blur.  “Looks like she picks up some consulting jobs on the side.  She’s building up a good reputation, but that takes time, especially if you don’t have a lot of connections.  Ten to one Dumas isn’t stoked about singing her praises, and I doubt she’d use him as a reference anyway.  If her last tax return is accurate, she’s barely making ends meet.  The property’s hers, but the taxes alone on that much acreage are substantial.” 

“How much are we talking about?”

Ian’s fingers danced over the keys. “Two hundred acres at least, all prime agricultural land on the south-facing side of the mountain,” he reported.  “Maggie’s family has been acquiring the land quietly in parcels over the better part of the last century.” 

Ian paused, looking thoughtful.  “Hey – I know that place.  Mom used to take us there when we were little to pick our own apples and shit.  Had the biggest goddamned pumpkins for Halloween carving, too.”

Michael remembered that, too.  “Older couple?  We used to go on hayrides there every fall.”

“Yeah!  Man, that property has got to be worth a fortune.  Southern exposure, overlooks the lake.  No wonder Dumas wants it.”

Well, at least now Michael understood why Maggie had agreed to dance – she needed the money.  It was the one thing that he just couldn’t reconcile.

“Thanks, man,” he said, pushing the last few cookies toward Ian.

Michael looked up to find his brother watching him intently.  Ian whistled softly.  “So it’s like that, huh?”

“Like what?”

Ian grinned.  “Right.  The denial stage.  I remember it well.”

––––––––

T
he snow started falling somewhere around noon.  Michael was already showered and dressed, hanging downstairs in the bar room with Jake and Ian.  The crowd was small, consisting mostly of a few of the locals, grabbing a few and talking about the impending storm.  What was originally supposed to only be a few inches from a quickly moving clipper was now forecast as an all-out blizzard.  Eyes were drawn toward the mounted flat screens as each subsequent weather update seemed worse than the last. 

By four o’clock Michael couldn’t sit still any longer.  He still had two hours before he was expected at Maggie’s, but simply waiting, biding his time wasn’t working for him.  He felt anxious, and news of the powerful nor’easter bearing down on them was doing nothing to ease that.  Everything Ian had told him was weighing heavily on his mind as well.  All he could think about was Maggie.  In the house, alone, injured.

“I’m heading out,” Michael said, convincing himself that there really was no good reason to delay any longer.  He’d already thrown an overnight bag in the back of the truck, temporarily exchanging his Jag for one of the many vehicles they kept at his brother Sean’s garage.  If things went the way he wanted them to, he wouldn’t be back this evening. 

He was glad he left when he did.  What should have been a thirty minute drive quickly surpassed an hour before he’d even gone halfway.  Clearly the reporters urging people to get their errands done before the bulk of the storm hit were not broadcasting from the mountain, where the roads were fast becoming treacherous, the visibility measured in mere feet instead of yards.

Michael breathed a sigh of relief when he brought the truck to a stop in front of Maggie’s house.  The snow was already piling up in drifts along the porch.  The weather didn’t bother him as much as the thought of breaking his promise to Maggie.  At least he was only a few minutes later than he’d said he’d be.

He’d barely stepped one foot on the porch step when the front door flew open.  Maggie stood there, her red hair fanning around her like some kind of ruby halo, her green eyes wide and filled with – worry?  Michael felt that odd tingling in his chest again.

He offered an apologetic smile as she ushered him inside.  “Sorry I’m late.”

S
he’d been watching the news reports on and off all day, waiting for the call she was certain would come, informing her that he wouldn’t be coming after all.  But he hadn’t called, and she vacillated between worry and hope that he might actually try to make it and certain disappointment that he wouldn’t.

As the clock had drew closer to six, Maggie cleaned up the kitchen and went to the living room to wait.  The large window looked out onto the driveway, now already covered with several inches of heavy, wet snow.  It was dark as pitch beyond the meager reach of the porch light; all Maggie could see were the wicked whirls of white whipping around the porch railings.

Minutes ticked by, the howl of the wind and the rattle of the windows doing nothing to ease her anxiety.  As weather and road conditions rapidly worsened, the certainty that Michael would not be coming grew.  Even George was anxious.  He didn’t particularly like storms, and stuck close by Maggie.

For the hundredth time, Maggie looked at the silent phone, then picked up the receiver to make sure she still had a dial tone.  Maybe she should call the Pub and tell Michael not to bother.  She would have felt horrible if something had happened to him while he was trying to come to check on her.

Assuming he still planned on coming, that was.

It seemed like an eternity later when she finally saw the slash of powerful headlights cutting through the darkness.  With a rush of profound relief, Maggie limped her way to the front door as fast as her aching body would allow. 

“You came,” she said in a sudden rush of breath.  It was about all she could manage as she helped him off with his coat.  Michael had come, just like he said he would, despite the weather, and he was safe.  Maggie didn’t know whether to hug him or beat him over the head with a log from the fireplace for risking the treacherous roads.  

“You doubted me?” he asked, half of his mouth tilted upward in that crooked smile.

* * *

T
he smile she returned lit a fire in the center of his chest.  And the look in her eyes – the one that told him how genuinely happy she was to see him when she clearly expected not to – made him infinitely glad he’d left early.  Any later and the roads might have been closed.  That wouldn’t have stopped him from keeping his promise, but it would have slowed him down considerably.

“I guess I shouldn’t have, huh.”

“Never doubt me, Maggie,” he said, his blue eyes intense as he gazed down at her.  Her lips parted slightly in response, and Michael fought a very strong urge to kiss her right there in the foyer.

“I’ll try to remember that.” 

Impulsively she took his hand and led him toward the kitchen.  Warmth spread through him from the point of contact.  “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”  It would have been rude, he thought, to say that his mouth was literally watering from the heavenly aromas that hit him as soon as she’d opened the door, rivaled only by Maggie’s own soft scent.  “But first things first.  Sit down and let me take a look at you.” 

Maggie flashed her green eyes at him, the hint of a pout on her face, but she did as he asked, and Michael silently acknowledged the small victory.  Sitting dutifully at the kitchen table, she allowed him to examine her.  Her eyes never left his, making it difficult for him to concentrate.  Something told him she knew this.  But when she leaned slightly forward and he realized she was inhaling discreetly, he almost lost his train of thought completely.

“Do I pass?” she asked when he finished.

He hesitated to answer.  On the surface everything appeared alright, but something was nagging at him.  It was more of a gut feeling than anything he could put his finger on, and Callaghan men put a hell of a lot of trust in their instincts. 

“How’s the headache?”

“Not too bad.”  The way she averted her eyes led him to believe she wasn’t being entirely truthful, and the feeling in his gut intensified. 

“You should be about due for another dose of meds.” 

“I’m fine.”

He sensed the truth with such certainty it was almost scary.  “Maggie, you did take the pain pills I left for you this morning, didn’t you?”

She stood and walked over to the stove where a huge Dutch oven sat, her limp no less pronounced than it had been this morning.  Had she stayed off of it as he advised, there should have been some improvement. 

“I made some stew.  Would you like some?”

“Maggie, you were supposed to take the pills and stay off your feet today.”

“I don’t like pills.”  She pulled two ceramic bowls from a nearby cupboard and began ladling the stew into them.  She placed one bowl in front of him, and one adjacent to him, avoiding his eyes.   “And I get bored easily.”