“I’m not
looking for you to carry my bags or draw the bath water,” she said when he
didn’t respond.
His laugh was
rich and hard and he dipped his gaze beneath his dusty leather hat, shaking his
head. When he lifted his head again, she saw them. He had dimples. Deep, and
completely adorable. Her heart betrayed her confidence and fluttered wildly.
“Good, because
you’d be sadly disappointed.”
She forced air
into her lungs and placed her hand on her chest to steady her rampant
heartbeat. “I’ve checked out the prices the other outfitters are charging for
extended trailing. It’s only right that I pay a little more since I’m asking
for a personal guide. This isn’t a handout, just a fair business arrangement.
I’m prepared to make the same offer to one of the other outfitters, too. That
is if you’re stubborn enough to decline.”
He took a long
appraising look at her, much like a man does when he finds a woman attractive,
as if he was weighing the option to pass her by or dip his head and kiss her
waiting lips. It filled her with a strange sense of longing she couldn’t
define.
“I may be
stubborn, lady, but I’m far from dumb.”
Her eyes
widened, almost afraid to believe her good fortune. “So what are you saying?
Will you help me?”
He rolled his
dark eyes, kicked his dusty cowboy boot in the hard, dry dirt, and said almost
under his breath, “I’m gonna live to regret this.” Then looking at her
straight on with sapphire eyes as dark as a moonless night, he said, “You’ve
got yourself a guide.”
# # #
Excerpt from THE KNIGHT AND MAGGIE’S BABY
There were more
digits in his bank account than most corporate portfolios saw in a lifetime of
business. But right now, for the second time in his life, Jonah Wallace had
empty pockets.
As a flurry of
people swirled around him, he stood on the crowded Harvard Square sidewalk,
roasting in the blistering sun, contemplating his options, such as they were.
Dragging a deep breath of humidity into his lungs, he decided it was no use.
He was going to have to swallow a mammoth lump of pride to get out of this
pickle.
The first time
he'd been forced to admit his failings he'd been thirteen, alone, and on the
run. He had made an oath then it would be the last time he found himself in
such a scrape. The fact that he was standing there penniless, wearing a
satin-lined tuxedo in the middle of an August steam bath of an afternoon, the
sun unmercifully beating him into the concrete, only magnified his current
predicament.
How had he
managed to let this happen again?
A taxi horn
whined loud and long at his back, signaling the driver's unrest over the hordes
of people jaywalking through the Square. Every one of them was in a hurry to
go somewhere. At this time of the day, they were probably all heading home,
which was where he intended to go.
But first...
He dragged his
gaze back to the coffee shop door. It was his last hope. Tugging on his bow
tie to give him some needed room, he reasoned the fastest way to make it home
and deal with his disastrous day would be to swallow what was left of his
stolen pride.
That is if he
didn't choke on it first.
As his hand
connected with the door handle, the heated metal bit into his palm. Jonah
yanked open the door in front of which he had just spent the last ten minutes
standing, hoping there was no one other than the owner inside. If he had no
choice but to grovel, he'd prefer it be without audience.
As he swung
through the doorway, the cool air from the air conditioning bathed his face,
giving him immediate relief from the heat.
He drew in a
deep breath to gather some courage and scanned the empty diner as his eyes
adjusted from the sudden change of light. The room smelled of sugar and
cinnamon and gravy. A strangely appealing combination, he thought. But at
this point, anything was appealing. His stomach protested loudly at the scent
of food assaulting his nostrils. Yeah, he was starving, but first things
first.
Jonah had never
stepped foot inside the small coffee shop, despite the fact that he practically
lived at his office, located just across the street, for the past three years.
The diner was compact; just a few booths lined the outer-glassed wall. A few
more tables with red and white checked vinyl tablecloths occupied the center of
the room. It reminded him more of something he'd see in the North End of
Boston rather than Harvard Square.
Clusters of
white spotlights shone against the brightly colored walls, and it took a moment
for his eyes to register the color fully. Behind the counter were rows of
parfait cups lying upside down on a glass shelf along with glasses and
dinnerware.
A picture on
the wall by the kitchen door caught his attention. Since the restaurant was
empty, he took a few steps toward the counter for a better look. The photo was
of two women, one elderly and one much younger, maybe even in her early teens,
standing on the sidewalk from which he'd just come, arm in arm, smiling
affectionately. Draped around the frame was a tiny cross of gold on a delicate
chain.
A swish of cool
air blew into the room. Instinctively, he glanced up toward the source.
That's when he noticed the woman standing in the kitchen doorway, one arm on
the door, the other in the pocket of her apron. She let go of the door and
breezed into the dining room, slipping a psychedelic purple pencil from her
apron pocket, and reaching for a small notepad at the same time.
“You caught
me. I was just about to close up the shop early. I think the heat has been
keeping people away.”
Her voice was
smooth as velvet and her smile seemed genuine, not just pasted on for show.
Her rich dark hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail, resistant tendrils
curled around her face, framing high cheekbones.
The woman
motioned with her hands toward the vinyl-covered stool at the counter. “You
can sit wherever you’d like.”
“I'm not here
to eat. I was hoping I could ask a bit of a favor.”
She stopped
short, a slow grin lifting the corners of her lips. Not the genuine smile of
courtesy. This one was different, a hint of...something, perhaps mixed with a
bit of surprise. Jonah wasn't quite sure.
“You're not
from around here, are you?” she said, fiery blue eyes wide with interest. They
were uniquely lit, not just by the canned lights positioned on the ceiling
above her, but with gold streaks set into their deep sapphire color.
“Well, actually
yes. My office is in the building just diagonal from you.” Jonah motioned out
the window toward the street and beyond the honking horns and bumper-to-bumper
late afternoon traffic. When he looked back, her gaze was fixed on him.
Her eyes
widened, twinkling with a hint amusement. She flipped an errant lock of hair
that had fallen from her ponytail neatly behind her ear and just stared at him.
“You may work
in town, but I know for sure you're not from around Cambridge, Massachusetts.”
Jonah glanced
down at his black tuxedo as he slid into the stool by the counter, brushing his
hand absentmindedly across the smooth, clean Formica countertop.
“I know I look
rather odd given the fact that it's about a thousand degrees outside.”
“One hundred
and two if you want to be technical,” she said, cutting in. She thumbed back
to the double doors at the end of the counter. “I had the radio on in the
office.”
Jonah pulled at
the collar of his wilting white tuxedo shirt until the top button popped free.
“It feels every bit of it,” he said, forcing a smile.
And it was
getting a whole lot hotter. It had already turned out to be the worst day of
his life. Making a fool of himself couldn't possibly make it any worse.
As Jonah drew
in a deep breath, he watched the smile play at the corner of the waitress's
mouth. Her full lips were bare of color, and he wondered if she'd chosen not
to wear any lipstick or if working a full day and conversing with customers had
chewed off what color she'd applied earlier. His mind instantly pictured her
full lips in ruby to compliment her dark hair.
He silently
berated himself for thinking along those lines. If the day had gone as
planned, he'd be on a flight to Aruba with his new wife at his side.
The best laid
plans...
“Well,
regardless of where you're from, you look a little lost,” she said. “I don't
see many tuxedos here at the
Coffee Drop
. Everyone who's been in here
today was wearing shorts and shirts that barely meet proper dress code.”
“The clothes.
Is that what gave me away?”
“Actually, it
was your accent,” the woman said, dropping the notepad on the shiny counter
top.
Heat crept up
his skin from beneath his collar. He'd naturally assumed she'd been referring
to his clothes when of course, his British accent would be a dead giveaway no
matter what he was wearing. All he'd managed to do is draw more attention to
himself.
“Now, since
you've already informed me you're not here to eat, how about a coffee? I have
to warn you though. Despite the name, I don't serve any of the fancy stuff
here. No special blends, no cappuccino or espresso delights. No latte or
chai. Only thing on my menu is old fashioned regular and decaf.”
It was now
or never.
“I'm afraid I
don't have...” He shook his head. It was never a good day for humiliation and
it was something he didn't do well even if it was. If Catherine had at least
left him with his keys when she fled the courthouse, none of this would be
happening. “Never mind, it doesn't really matter.”
She appeared
completely oblivious to his bumbling. “Oh, that extends to iced coffee, too.
Given how oppressive it is outside, I'm sure you'd prefer that over something
hot.”
She turned and
pulled a clean white coffee filter from a plastic bag tucked to the right of
the coffee machine and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.
“No, that won't
be necessary...” As she turned around, Jonah took the opportunity to glance at
her nametag. “Maggie. Yes, what I really wondered is whether I could use your
telephone.”
She stopped
spooning coffee into the filter and propped her slender hip against the
counter. She stated the obvious. Obvious to anyone who'd stepped one foot on
either side of the coffee shop door.
“No cell phone?”
“It’s in my
other coat, I’m afraid.”
“There are pay
phones lining Harvard Square.”
“I know.”
He dipped his
head, embarrassment burning its way to the surface of his cheeks more than the
blazing sun he'd escaped outside. If only he hadn't agreed when Catherine
insisted they take the car instead of having his driver take them to the
airport after the ceremony. Unfortunately, when she walked out on him moments
before the ceremony began, she'd taken flight with his car and luggage as
well. Since the clerk at City Hall was less than thrilled with the idea of
allowing him to call his driver from her phone, given the scene that had
erupted in the City Hall lobby, he'd taken the next step and pulled out his
pockets.
Only to trip
over them.
“I don't have
any change and...I'm afraid I'm without my billfold at the moment as well.”
Her eyes grew
impossibly wide, the fine features of her face registering panic. “Oh, I see,”
she said, quickly lifting an empty cup from beneath the counter and placing it
in front of him as if she were suddenly on automatic pilot.
“Are you hurt?
Do you need some water or--”
He shook his
head.
“I can call the
police for you. Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” She was already heading
toward the kitchen when he realized she had misunderstood.
“I wasn't
robbed,” he called out to her.
“You weren’t?
You don't need to call the police?”
He let out a
staccato breath and shook his head.
With a slow
gate, Maggie quietly walked back to the counter and resumed the task of filling
the coffee filter with coffee grounds. She popped the filter into place and
turned on the coffee machine before swinging around to him again.
“I must admit
I'm a bit confused now.”
“Look, it's a
bit of a long story. I would have preferred using my office phone, which, as I
said earlier, is just across the street-”
“Let me guess.
You don't have your keys to the building with you, either, right? And there’s
no one there to let you in?”
“I gave them
all the afternoon off.”
“Oh, how nice
of you.”
He shook his
head, wishing to God he'd wake up and this nightmare of humiliation would be
over. It had been bad enough when he was thirteen and discovered on the run
from the London boarding school he'd attended. Now nearly twenty years later,
he wished the tile floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“I just need to
use your phone to call for a ride.”
She nodded.
“From the look on your face, this looks like it's one heck of a story.”
“You have no
idea,” he grunted.
Maggie raised
her eyebrows. “People tell me their troubles all day over a coffee and pie.
Take a load off. I’m all ears.”
He was just
about at his wits end when he saw the corners of her full lips tilt up to a
teasing grin. “Look, this has been a horrific day and... I'll reverse the
charges.”
She smiled
again. This time it was full blown and when the light twinkle reached her
eyes, he knew he was home free.