Some Enchanted Season (33 page)

Maggie remembered all that, but for the life of her couldn’t remember the woman’s name. She offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Maggie. We met Saturday.”

“I remember. I’m Leanne. What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for Shelley—for a gift for Shelley.”

“Who isn’t? I think my last two dozen customers have been here for her. Let me show you some of my favorites that haven’t been snapped up yet.”

Maggie followed her toward the more subdued side of the store, where the furnishings were pastel, the effect restful. A glance over her shoulder showed that Ross had decided to wait by the furniture.

Leanne showed her dresses, quilts, blankets knitted by a local crafter. There were leather-bound storybooks, one-of-a-kind stuffed animals, and a whimsical sculpture that she recognized as Dean Elliott’s work. She chose a stuffed rabbit, easily twice the size of any newborn, of white mohair, with floppy pink ears and eyes her favorite shade of blue. On impulse, for herself, she picked up the sculpture too, and carried it to the counter at the back.

As soon as Leanne circled behind the counter, there was a soft, delighted gurgle. Leaning forward, Maggie saw the playpen set up in the small space and the bright-eyed baby it corralled. “What a doll,” she said softly. “Is he yours?”

The smile Leanne gave him as she picked him up was full of love. “All mine. Being able to bring him to
work with me is one of the benefits of being the boss and sole employee.” One-handed, she rang up Maggie’s purchases, then accepted her check without even a glance. “I don’t think I have a box that’ll fit Flopsy here, but I can fix a big bow around his neck. It’ll take only a minute, if you don’t mind watching Danny. He’s good with strangers.”

One part of Maggie wanted to refuse. Another part was literally aching to feel his soft, sturdy little body in her arms. That part won out as she circled the counter and took the baby from his mother.

Across the room, Ross saw the baby in Maggie’s arms, and something sharp and intense swept through him. She was looking down at the baby as if she’d never seen such a creature before, and the baby gazed up at her as if she were the most fascinating thing in his world.

They looked incredibly right together—the perfect picture of beauty, love, life. Was there a place in that picture for a man who had no desire to be a father? For a man whose only desire was to get as close as possible to the mother?

Could he ever love a child? He didn’t know. He’d spent so many years not wanting kids that he honestly didn’t have a clue whether he could ever want a baby for the baby’s sake, for his own sake, and not just for Maggie’s sake. He doubted that he had the capacity to be a good father—after all, look at the role model he’d been given—but how could he ever find out? Practical experience seemed the only way, but, having grown up with a bad father of his own, he could never agree to
that. If it turned out that he
didn’t
have what it took, it was the child who would suffer, and that was too cruel.

And if he didn’t have what it took, what would Maggie think of him then?

He tried to study the scene outside the window, but couldn’t. Instead, something drew him across the shop to Maggie’s side. He’d never been so close to a baby before. He’d never held one, had never noticed how sweet they could smell or how solemn they could be.

He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined that the sight of Maggie holding a baby could turn him on, but it did. That was all that ache was—lust. Longing. For Maggie.

She looked at him—he felt her gaze—but said nothing. He avoided looking back. He didn’t want to see the yearning in her eyes, didn’t want her to see whatever might be in his own eyes.

The clerk returned, carrying a floppy white rabbit with a giant pink bow looped around its neck. She exchanged small talk with Maggie, gave the rabbit to Ross, and reclaimed her baby.

He and Maggie left the shop and walked to the car in silence. They didn’t say anything on the way home either, or as they walked into the house. She headed up the stairs, and he watched from the hall, unsure of her mood, aching to follow her but not sure she would welcome his company.

At the top of the stairs she smiled down at him. “It’s later, darlin’. Come upstairs and make me tremble.”

He needed no further invitation.

Their kisses were frantic, their caresses desperate, their bodies ready. As he buried himself inside her, he
acknowledged the small, brief regret that their love-making would bring pleasure and satisfaction but nothing else. No hope for their future, no answer to her prayers, no baby to cherish, because the time wasn’t right. The right time
would
come. She was convinced of that.

But would it include him?

“W
hat time are we supposed to be at the Walkers?”

Maggie looked up from the tray she was fixing. “Seven o’clock. Everyone’s bringing a dish, so, since I got rather dis—disturbed … No. Dis—”

“Distracted.”

She gave him an appreciative smile. “Yes. Thank you—for both the word and the distraction. Anyway, I thought I’d take the candy I made with Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna.”

“
You
got distracted?” he repeated. “Who gave whom that take-me-I’m-yours look on the way upstairs?”

“I don’t even know what a take-me-I’m-yours look would be,” she teased.

His voice lowered, and his expression turned serious. “Of course you do. It’s that look I get every time I see you.”

Her hands stilled, the platter of candy forgotten.
Was
he hers? Right then, yes. But for how long? A few weeks? A few months? The rest of their lives? She wanted very much to know—too much—and for that reason she was afraid to ask.

“Well, whoever distracted whom, I’m glad. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon.” After pressing a kiss to his jaw, she turned her attention to the tray. In the center were balls of nougat glazed with honey, and piled around them were chunks of fudge, chocolate-coated peanuts, caramel-almond clusters, and white chocolate turtles. All she needed was a handful of red and green butter mints, and the tray would be ready.

“I’m going to get the rest of the candy from the office,” she said. “Will you get the red plastic wrap from the cabinet beside the refrigerator?”

The office was dark, but enough light spilled in from the hallway to see. When she picked up the plate, she caught the edge of the file underneath it, dropped the papers it contained to the floor, and bent to scoop them up. Her gaze skimmed over the top page, and, with a chill, she became suddenly still, barely breathing, barely able to understand the words she was reading.

Slowly she turned on the desk lamp, sank down in a chair, and read the page again. It was addressed to Tom, detailing the action the following pages required. The rest was a neat list of property, stocks, and cash, and the lucky recipient—or
un
lucky, depending on the viewpoint—was Maggie.

This was Ross’s proposed divorce settlement—the price he was willing to pay to get out of her life. This was why Tom had come to Bethlehem on Monday, why Ross hadn’t told her that he was expecting the lawyer. Was it also why, in the two days since, he’d paid more attention to her than she’d ever hoped for?
Because he felt guilty for moving forward with the divorce without telling her?

She wasn’t hurt so much as disappointed, she told herself. She’d had such hopes, such dreams.

And finding out that there was no hope
did
hurt, she admitted bleakly as the words blurred and the tears stung.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she put the file back on the edge of the desk, switched off the lamp, then returned to the kitchen. The red plastic wrap was on the island, and Ross was standing at the sink, gazing out into the night. He turned when he heard her, his smile ready.

For one painful moment she felt so betrayed. How could he tell Tom to go ahead with the divorce without discussing it with her first? And how could he smile at her like that—how could he make love to her?—knowing that Tom was going ahead without her knowledge?

Because it was what they had agreed to. Wasn’t she the one who had offered the bargain—who had said, “Come stay with me, and when we’re sure I can live on my own, we’ll get a divorce”? Wasn’t she the one who had initiated their lovemaking even knowing that the marriage was over? And wasn’t she the one who had broken their bargain by falling in love with him all over again?

If she felt betrayed, she had no one to blame but herself.

After giving him the best smile she could muster, she forced her attention to the candy. Once she
was finished, she cleared her throat. “I guess we should go.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic. Would you rather stay home?”

“No.” She answered too quickly and covered it with a smile. Though she’d wondered if having to watch Shelley with her beautiful little girl might be more than she could bear, she knew that the alternative—staying home with Ross and her disappointment-would be worse. “Why don’t you get our coats and the rabbit and I’ll bring the candy.”

He did as she suggested, meeting her at the side door. The floppy white bunny should have looked silly cradled against his overcoat. He was, after all, one of the most powerful, most ruthless men around. Instead, he looked charming. She didn’t want him to look charming just then. She didn’t want to wonder if he would ever carry a similar gift for his own child, didn’t want to agonize over who that child’s mother might be.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be her was sorrow enough.

The Walkers lived on the southwest side of Bethlehem in a newer section of town—new being relative, Maggie thought as Ross turned onto their street. Each of the fifties-era houses sat in the center of its own neat square of lawn, with driveways on the left and porches across the front. The trees were giants and would provide leafy shade in summer and gorgeous color in autumn but now were a stark reminder that summer was a long way away.

Ross held on to her hand as they walked up the
sidewalk to the porch. Genuine affection? she wondered. A proprietary gesture? Or an act for her friends? An hour earlier she would have voted for the first. Now she had no clue.

The party was at the back of the house, in a large family room. Shelley was holding court from the sofa, with Rebecca cradled in her arms and fast asleep.

Maggie made the appropriate remarks, then, as quickly as possible, she retreated to the kitchen. It wasn’t the longing for a child of her own that drove her away, though, but a need for distance from Ross.

“Coffee?” Melissa asked.

“Sure.” Maggie accepted a cup and poured the last of the coffee into it, then automatically set about making a new pot. She was tucking in the filter she’d taken from a box in the cabinet above, when Melissa quietly spoke again.

“Did you know the filters were in that cabinet, or did you assume it was the logical place to keep them?”

Maggie became still. She hadn’t given it any thought—had simply opened the cabinet and pulled out the box. Had she known or guessed? She honestly couldn’t say. Giving a shrug, she spooned out coffee grounds from the tin pushed against the backsplash. “I guess it was logical.”

“Is it also logical to keep the coffee in a tin labeled
COCOA
?” Melissa paused. “
I
knew it was there because I’ve been here before—because I’ve sat right there on a stool and watched Shelley make coffee after lunch. So have you. We even commented on the tin—asked her if she kept tea in the one labeled
COFFEE
.”

Maggie looked down at the tin, then her gaze
shifted past Melissa to Ross, standing motionless a few steps behind her. He’d caught the entire exchange and looked—she wasn’t sure exactly how he looked. Startled? Tense? Less than pleased? Did he think that Melissa was making too big a deal out of the incident, perhaps giving her false hope that her memory was starting to return? Or, now that he’d officially begun the legal process of ending their marriage, had he decided that it was to his benefit—his financial benefit—that she couldn’t remember their last few months together?

Had he done something so terrible in that time that he feared she would use it to punish him by demanding more than the already-generous settlement he’d suggested? Impossible. He was too decent, too honest, and too consumed by business. Work had left him no time for a life or his wife and certainly no time to do anything that might be used against him.

More likely, it was that damned guilt he insisted on bearing. He blamed himself for her accident and probably thought, if she remembered, that she would blame him too. But he was wrong. Falling down the mountain was no one’s fault but her own. She’d done something stupid, and they’d both paid the price.

Swallowing hard, she put on a smile and brushed off the incident. “I didn’t even look at the label until you pointed it out. I keep coffee in a canister on the counter near the coffeemaker, and I just grabbed the nearest thing here.” Her smile wavered, but she held it in place by sheer will as she offered the coffee she’d poured to Ross. “Here, take this. I’m going to stand
here and talk to Melissa. I’ll get the first cup out of the new pot.”

He tried to hide the wary look in his eyes as he accepted the cup and walked away without sugar or cream. She watched him until Melissa laid her hand on her arm.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Looking at her friend, she grimaced. “No, not at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But things will work out. Sooner or later.” Probably much later—a couple of years. A couple of decades. She’d fallen out of love with him once. She could do it again. For the sake of her future—her unborn babies—she had no choice.

As soon as they could graciously say good night, they did. Ross made no effort to draw her out of her silence on the way home. The phone was ringing when they walked in the door. She seized it as an excuse to find a little time to herself. “If Tom’s calling this late, it must be important. Why don’t you get it while I go upstairs?”

He hesitated, then, as the answering machine picked up, nodded. “I’ll be up in a minute.”