The Heart Remembers (7 page)

So she had been stunned and unsettled to discover that the powerful attraction between them hadn't died after all. It had simply lain dormant—and undiminished. She felt it spark to life every time he was near her. She sensed that he did, too. And she didn't like it. Not in the least. But she didn't know what to do about it.

Maggie glanced up and realized that Howard was still waiting for an answer. “I don't know, Pop.”
She stood and gathered up their cups. “I'm still trying to sort it out.” She deposited the cups in the sink and turned on the faucet. “I suppose I'm still in…” She paused and peered down. “Say, did you know your sink isn't draining too well?”

He rose and joined her. “Yeah. We called the owner but he hasn't done anything about it yet.”

“This could back up anytime. Let me take a quick look in the garage. There might be a few tools.”

Howard showed her the way, but after poking around between the boxes Jake had shipped from his father's house, she gave up. “I don't see anything. But I have a wrench in the… Pop, what's this?” She leaned close to examine a label on a box. “Do you still do woodworking?”

Howard peered at the box. “Haven't in years. Not since Clara died. Hmmph. Can't imagine why Jake brought all that stuff. Guess I ought to look around and see what else he dragged up here.” He surveyed the small accumulation of boxes, and his shoulders sagged. “Not much to show for a lifetime, is it? A couple dozen boxes of junk.”

Maggie reached over and touched his arm. “Pop, you know the important things aren't in boxes. They're here.” She laid her hand on her heart.

He nodded. “You're right about that. But I haven't done too well on that score, either, I guess.”

“It's never too late.”

He considered that in silence for a moment, then turned to her and planted his hands on his hips. “But first things first. What about my clogged-up sink?”

She smiled. “I have some tools in the car. Let me run out and get them.”

A few minutes later Maggie was wedged under the sink, Howard standing over her. “Can you hand me the wrench?” Her voice bounced back at her, muffled in the confined space.

He rummaged around in her toolbox and passed it to her. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

She grinned. “Trust me. Now, do you think you could round up some rags or old towels? There's probably water in here that will run out when I loosen the pipes.”

“I'm pretty sure there are some rags out in the garage. I'll check.”

Maggie shifted into a more comfortable position as she waited. It was too dark under the sink to get a clear view of the pipes. When Howard returned she'd ask him to hold the flashlight while she worked. In the meantime, she might as well see how tight the corroded connections were.

Reaching up, she clamped the wrench onto the pipe.

 

When Jake pulled up in front of the cottage, he was pleasantly surprised to discover Maggie's car still parked in front. He had expected her to be long gone by the time he returned. He had no idea how his father had convinced her to come inside, but he owed the older man one for that coup. Just seeing her would brighten his otherwise mundane day.

Jake strolled into the house, pausing in the living room to listen for voices. But the house was silent. Maybe they were sitting out back.

Jake strode through the living room, heading toward the back door. But he came to an abrupt halt when he reached the kitchen doorway and his gaze fell on a pair of long, feminine legs, in slim fitting tan slacks, extending out from under his sink. Maggie, of course. But what in heaven's name was…

“Pop? Could you hold the flashlight for me? It's pretty dark under here. And hand me the rags. I think the wrench did the trick. It's starting to give.”

Silently, Jake walked over to the sink, sorted through the items in the unfamiliar toolbox on the floor and withdrew a flashlight. He clicked it on, then squatted beside the prone figure, impressed by her deft handling of the wrench. She was full
of surprises, that was for sure. As he recalled, she didn't know pliers from a screwdriver in the old days.

With a smile he pointed the light toward the tumbled mass of red hair. “Sorry. I don't have any rags.”

Maggie's startled gaze flew to his, and she tried to sit up, whacking her forehead on the pipe in the process. “Ouch!” She clapped her hand to her head and let the wrench drop to the floor.

Biting back a word that wasn't pretty, Jake reached under the sink, circled her slender waist and with his hand gently tugged her into the open until she sat on the floor in front of him, her head bowed.

“I can't believe I did that.” Huffing out an exasperated breath, she rubbed her forehead. “After all the sinks I've been under, to pull a stupid stunt like that…”

“I shouldn't have startled you. Let me check the damage.” He pried her hand off her forehead and frowned at the rising lump. “This needs ice right away.” He rose and reached for her hand, drawing her to her feet in one smooth motion, then guided her to a chair. “Sit tight. What were you doing under there, anyway?” He headed toward the freezer and pulled the door open.

“Pop said it was clogged. I figured I could fix it. I was checking it out when you walked in.”

“I found some rags, Maggie. They were right where…” Howard stopped at the garage door to take in the scene. “What happened?”

“I hit my head. No big deal.” Maggie waved aside his concern. “Jake is fixing me an ice pack.”

“I knew I shouldn't let you tackle that plumbing. That's not woman's work,” Howard fretted.

“Oh, Pop, don't be silly. I do this all the time at home. Women are liberated these days, you know.” Jake handed her the homemade ice pack—ice cubes in a plastic bag wrapped in a dish towel—and she clamped it against her head, wincing as the cold made contact with her tender skin. “Thanks. I think.”

Howard snorted in disgust. “Liberated! You mean free to do all the dirty work? Doesn't sound very liberating to me.”

Maggie chuckled. “I've never heard it put quite that way, but you have a point.”

“We seem to be in short supply when it comes to tools around here, Maggie, but if you'll let me borrow a couple of these, I'll fix the drain,” Jake said.

“Are you sure? I really am pretty good at this. I don't mind finishing up.”

“Let Jake do it,” Howard told her. “He should have done it in the first place anyway.”

Maggie looked at Jake, saw his lips compress into a thin line at the criticism, and decided that this was a good time to make her exit. “Well, in that case, I'll head home. We have a full house tonight, and I need to be on hand to greet the guests.”

“I'll bring the tools back in a day or so,” Jake promised as he walked her to the door.

“No hurry. Hopefully I won't need them before then anyway.” She turned and smiled at his father, who had followed them. “Goodbye, Howard.”

“Goodbye, Maggie. Thank you for the tour. And lunch. It was real nice.”

“You're very welcome. I enjoyed it a lot.”

Maggie turned to go, only to find Jake's hand at her elbow.

“I'll see you to your car.”

“Suit yourself.”

They walked in silence, and even though Maggie's head was starting to throb, she was acutely conscious of Jake's nearness, of the warmth of his hand and the faint, woodsy scent that was his alone—and achingly familiar. She had all but forgotten that scent. But standing so close to him now, she was reminded with startling intensity of all the times this man had held her in his arms, had caressed her face, had claimed her lips. But how
could she still find him attractive after what he'd done to her? She'd been burned once. Shouldn't she be immune to his appeal?

Jake glanced down at Maggie's bowed head as they approached the car. She seemed lost in thought.
Where are you, Maggie? Are you remembering, as I am?

As unobtrusively as possible, he rubbed his thumb over the soft skin on her arm, recalling a time when she'd welcomed his touch. His happiest memories, his times of greatest contentment, were linked with this woman, he realized.

His gaze lingered on her glorious hair, as beautiful as ever. It was the kind of hair a man could get lost in—full and thick, and inviting his hands in to play. But those old, sweet days were gone. And yet…he felt the same as he had twelve years before. The astounding attraction—physical, emotional and intellectual—was still there. Did she feel it as intensely as he did? And was it real? Or was it just fed by memories of what had once been, reawakened temporarily by the strange coincidence of their reunion?

“I'll hang on to the ice bag, if that's all right.” Maggie interrupted his thoughts when they reached the car.

With an effort, he forced his lips up into a grin as he opened her door. “Such as it is. And thanks
for taking time for Dad today. I know he appreciated it.”

“It was no effort. He's a good man, Jake. He's just dealing with an awful lot right now.”

“I know it's tough for him. I wish I could make it easier. But I can't reach him, Maggie. He shuts me out.” He sighed and raked the fingers of one hand through his hair as he glanced back toward the cottage. “I had hoped that if we lived under the same roof he might come around. But I'm beginning to lose hope.”

“Give it some time,” she urged, laying her hand on his arm. “You and he have been apart for so long that you need to get to know each other again before you can feel comfortable together.”

Jake glanced down at her hand resting on his arm, then covered it with his. “You know, when I talk to you, I don't feel quite so hopeless. Why is that?”

Her gaze locked with his, and for just a moment, the tender look in his eyes, the warmth of his voice, made her feel sixteen again. Made her want to
be
sixteen again. Which was bad. What was past could never return. She needed to remember that. She was not going to get caught up in the romantic fantasies that Abby and Allison were weaving. They were eighteen. She was almost thirty-seven—far to old to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.

Pulling back her hand, she tucked it in the pocket of her slacks and stepped away.

“I don't know. But maybe I should bottle it. Call it Dr. Maggie's elixir. See you later, Jake.” She slid into the car, started the engine and drove away without a backward look.

Jake watched her go, then slowly walked back to the house. His father met him at the door.

“She going to be all right? That was a nasty bump.”

“She'll be fine, Dad.” Physically, at least. Emotionally, he wasn't so sure.

About either of them.

G
reat. Just great.

Maggie stared down in disgust at the flat tire. Of course this couldn't have happened in town. That would be too easy. It had to happen in the middle of nowhere—namely, an isolated spot on the remote Cape Rosier loop.

A drop of water splashed onto her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a sigh of resignation. Now it was raining. That figured. And it only made sense that the air would take a turn toward the chilly side. Where was the warm sun and golden light she'd had earlier while she was painting?

Gone, she thought with a disgusted glance at the darkening sky. As were her hopes of getting cell reception or of anyone appearing along this stretch of deserted road. Other than walking two
or three miles to a house, her only option was to change the tire herself.

A sudden sneeze caught her off guard, and she groped in her pocket for a tissue. On top of everything else, she seemed to be coming down with a bug of some kind. What else could go wrong today?

Maggie climbed back into the car, allowing herself a moment to regroup before tackling the job ahead of her. She put her forearms on the wheel and rested her cheek against them, angling her head away from the bruised spot on her temple that was a souvenir of her plumbing adventure the week before. She hadn't seen Jake since then, although Howard had called once in the middle of the week. He said he was just checking to see how she was, but she suspected that he was simply lonely. It was so sad, the two of them sharing a house, yet both so alone. Jake was trying—she knew that. But his attempts at reconciliation were rebuffed at every turn. In a way she felt sorry for him.

It was odd, this feeling of sympathy she had for Jake. And it was certainly a surprising—and ironic—twist, considering their history. But what surprised her even more was the spark between them. How could her response to him reactivate at warp speed after lying in disuse for so long? One smoky look from those deep brown eyes was all
it had taken to make her feel sixteen again. It has been so long since she'd felt the tremulous, breathless sensation of physical attraction that she'd even forgotten how to handle it. And she didn't want to relearn that lesson. What she
wanted
to do was turn those feelings off. That, however, didn't seem to be an option. But she could choose not to act on them. And she so chose.

For the moment, though, she would do better to focus her attention on a more pressing problem. The flat tire wasn't going to fix itself, after all. So, with a resigned sigh, she got out of the car and opened the trunk.

Maggie eyed the spare tire and jack uncertainly, psyching herself up. She'd changed a tire before. Once. A long time ago. In a basic car-maintenance class she'd taken. Under the watchful eye of the instructor. The procedure was a bit hazy after all this time. But it would come back to her. She was sure of it.

Maggie removed the spare tire without too much difficulty, then got down on her hands and knees to look under the car, trying to figure out where to put the jack. She was so intent on her task that she didn't even realize a car had stopped until she heard a door shut. Before she could fully extricate herself from under the car to check out the new arrival, an amused voice spoke beside her.

“How is it I always seem to find you repairing things?”

Maggie scooted back and blinked up at Jake. “What are you doing here?”

“I think the more important question is, what are
you
doing here?”

“At the moment, changing a tire.”

“I can see that. What I meant was, what are you doing on this road? It's pretty isolated.”

She shrugged. “I come here to paint. There are some lovely coves out this way.” Another sneeze snuck up on her, and she reached into the pocket of her jeans for more tissues.

Jake frowned. “Are you sick?”

She wiped her nose and shook her head. “Of course not. I never get sick.” He reached for her hand then, and before she could protest he drew her to her feet and placed a cool palm against her forehead. His frown deepened.

“You have a temperature.”

“No, I don't. I'm fine.” She pulled away, disconcerted by his touch. If her face hadn't been flushed before, it was now. She walked around him toward the trunk and started to reach for the jack, but his hand restrained her.

“Yes, you do. And standing out here in the driz
zle isn't going to help matters. Go wait in my car while I change your tire.”

“I can handle it.”

He blew out a breath. “Just accept the help, okay? I would have stopped no matter who it was.”

In all honesty, she wasn't feeling that great. In fact, she was fading fast. With a sigh, she capitulated. “All right. Thank you.”

Maggie couldn't believe that she actually dozed in Jake's car while he changed her tire, but he had to nudge her shoulder to wake her up when he finished. Her eyelids felt way too heavy as they flickered open.

“All done.” He settled in beside her and angled in her direction.

The drizzle had escalated into a steady rain during her brief nap, producing a soft, rhythmic cadence on the roof. Her gaze flickered to Jake's blue shirt, which had darkened in color with moisture and now clung to his broad chest, and stuck there as her pulse accelerated.

“Your shirt's wet.” The inane comment was out before she could stop it.

He shrugged her concern aside. “It'll dry. I'm more worried about you. Are you okay to drive?”

With a supreme effort, she transferred her gaze to his face. “Sure. I—I guess I picked up a bug or
something. I felt fine this morning. This just came over me in the last hour or two. I'll be okay by tomorrow.”

“I don't know.” He cocked his head and appraised her. “You look pretty under the weather.”

“As opposed to under the sink? Or under the car?”

Her attempt at humor drew a brief smile in response, but then he grew more serious. “You don't have to put on an act in front of me, you know. I can tell you're feeling rotten. You always got a certain look when you were sick. Something in your eyes…” His gaze locked on hers, and for a moment her heart stuttered. Here, in this cocoon of warmth, sheltered from the rain, she felt as if they were alone in the world. He was only a few inches away, close enough to touch, to lean on, to kiss…

Her breath caught in her throat as the impulse to do just that intensified. This was all wrong. She didn't want to feel this way, not about Jake. How could she even consider letting herself get involved with him again? Yes, he seemed different. More responsible, more mature. But it was too soon to know. Far too soon. But even though her mind accepted that logic, her heart refused to listen.

Jake watched Maggie's face, his perceptive gaze missing nothing. She had always been easy to read.
She wanted him to kiss her just as badly as he
wanted
to kiss her. But it was too soon. One of the things he'd learned in the navy was to control his impulses, think things through. An impulsive move in battle could cost you your life. And an impulsive move right now could cost him Maggie. Intuitively he knew that, and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

Using the weather as an excuse, he turned to check out the road, now partially obscured by fog. He took a deep breath, willing his pulse to slow down, struggling to control his erratic respiration. He didn't want to scare Maggie away by revealing the depth of his feelings.

“I think we'd better head back or we might be marooned here. Not that I'd mind, you understand, but I think you need to change into some dry clothes and get some rest.”

“You're right.” She started to push the door open, then turned back to him. “By the way, you never did tell me how you happened to be out here today. It's not a well-traveled route.”

He gripped the wheel. “Dad and I had an argument. Again. I decided to go for a drive until I cooled down, and this road caught my eye. Lucky for you, I guess.”

“I take it things haven't improved much in the last week between you two?”

“That would be a fair assumption.”

“I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

He shrugged. “We'll just have to work it out between the two of us. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Well, tell Pop I said hi. And thanks for your help.”

“You're welcome. Now go home and get some rest.”

“I'll try, although I do have a business to run. But Eileen—you met her the night Allison was in the hospital, remember?—she comes by to fill in when we need someone, and she helps with the cleaning every day for a couple of hours. So I don't have to do much when I get home. Since I don't take guests on Sunday night, I'll actually be a lady of leisure until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good. Take advantage of it. The best way to fight a virus is to rest.”

“Aye, aye, Doctor.” She gave him a mock salute.

“Hey, I learned a lot in the navy. One of my best buddies was a medic.” He reached across to push her door open, and as his arm brushed against hers her heart lurched.

“I'll follow you until we get to the main road. And don't worry about my problems. I'll deal with
the situation. I'm sure you have enough problems of your own to handle.”

He was right, she conceded, as she dashed through the rain to her own car. She did have her own problems.

And a glance into the rearview mirror revealed her biggest one.

 

With a sinking feeling, Maggie played back the answering machine again. As she listened a second time, her spirits nose-dived. Eileen had the flu, too, and wasn't going to be able to come over in the morning to help with the cleaning.

Maggie hit the erase button and pushed her hair back from her face. This had most definitely
not
been a good day. A flat tire, a flu bug and four guest rooms plus the cottage to clean before two o'clock tomorrow. If the twins were here it would be manageable. But they had signed up months ago to volunteer for a week at a camp for disadvantaged children, and they wouldn't be home until tomorrow afternoon. Which meant the housecleaning chores fell squarely on her shoulders.

She trudged into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, detouring for two aspirin on the way. For the most part, she was able to overlook minor aches and pains and work right through normal fatigue. But this was different. She had a feeling if
she didn't lay down, she might fall down. Maybe Jake was right. A little rest might help. Perhaps if she gave herself an hour or two she'd feel good enough to tackle a couple of the rooms tonight. Then she could finish up in the morning.

Maggie dragged her protesting body up to the third floor, which had been divided into two dormer bedrooms—one for her, one for the girls. She sank down onto her bed, too tired even to remove her shoes as she stretched out. The twins would give her a hard time about that, if they were here. She'd always been a stickler about keeping shoes off beds and furniture.

But the thought didn't linger long. In less than fifteen seconds she drifted into oblivion.

 

As consciousness slowly returned, Maggie lifted her heavy eyelids and stared at the ceiling, disoriented. Then she turned her head to look at the clock on her bedside table. When it came into focus at last, she frowned. Eight o'clock? She'd slept for two hours? But no, the light coming in the window wasn't right. It was at the wrong angle.

With a sudden jolt, the truth hit home. It was
morning!

Propelled by panic, she sat up quickly, and swung her legs to the floor. Too quickly, the room
tilted, and she dropped her head into her hands as she waited for everything to stop spinning.

The sudden ringing of the phone on her nightstand made her jump, and she groped for the receiver with one hand.

“Hel…” Her voice came out in a croak and she tried again. “Hello?”

“Maggie? Is that you?”

“Yes.” she cleared her throat. “Hi, Jake.”

She could hear the frown in his voice. “You sound awful.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“How are you feeling?”

Bad. The numbing lethargy still had a grip on her body, and her aches hadn't dissipated much, if at all. But she tried for a nonchalant tone. “I'll live. It's just a flu bug or something. And in this business there are no sick days. The guests just keep coming.” She reached for a tissue and tried to discreetly blow her nose.

“I never thought about that. The few times I was under the weather in the navy I just went on sick call.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, but the girls can help, too, can't they?”

There was no way to avoid such a direct question. “They could if they were here. But they've
been gone all week and won't be back until late this afternoon. So I'm the official greeter today.”

“Your cleaning woman is coming today, though, isn't she?”

“Monday is one of her regular days to come,” Maggie hedged.

“Well, try to take it easy, okay?”

“I'll try.” But no matter how hard she tried, the house still had to be cleaned. It was a daunting task when she was well; “impossible” was a more appropriate descriptor today, considering how she felt. But she'd manage somehow. She always did.

“I'll check back with you later.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling, Jake.”

Slowly she replaced the receiver. Then, summoning all her reserves of energy, she forced herself to stand. At least she was already dressed.

Hands gripping the railing, she made her way unsteadily down the stairs to the utility closet.
You can do this
.
The girls will be back to help later today. Just make it through the next few hours, take it one room at a time, and you'll be fine.

And with that she reached for the mop.

By the time Maggie started on the third room, she was on autopilot. She went through the motions mindlessly, every movement more of an effort than the last. In fact, she was so out of it that it took several rings before she realized someone was at
her front door. Her eyes widened in panic as she stiffly descended the steps.
Please, not a guest. Not yet. Not this early.