The Secret Wife
Carrie Weaver
How did this nice girl end up as the other woman? Even worse, how did she end up the other wife?Until she met Eric, Maggie McGuire had been above reproach. Now she's been forced to drive cross-country to ask for help–for her child, not for her–from Eric's family. And there, to her horror, she discovers that Eric is already married.J. D. McGuire is used to cleaning up his brother's messes, but this is the worst one yet. Before he can even start, Eric is killed and Maggie is under suspicion. Even though he'd like to walk away, he finds he wants to help her. But how can he believe Maggie is innocent when he knows she's lying about his brother being the father of her child?
“There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”
Wife?
The word bounced around Maggie’s head, slid down her throat and swirled in her stomach before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at Wal-Mart.
“Th-that’s impossible, I’m his wife.”
“Look. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”
“At least we agree on something.”
Eric had been a jerk occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk. She couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.
But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. And when she told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he'd just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently.
No. He wouldn’t be that cruel.
“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman.”
“Nope. I was their best man. And if there had been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”
That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.
Dear Reader,
You may find The Secret Wife a slight departure from my previous books. Like many of my stories, the family theme and a journey of discovery are still present. But The Secret Wife also contains an element of suspense.
Maggie McGuire’s arrival in her estranged husband’s hometown sparks a chain reaction of conflict and intrigue, with her nine-month-old son at the center.
As in real life, the opportunity for greatest personal growth sometimes arises from difficulty and heartbreak. Maggie and her new champion, J.D., certainly find this to be true as they search for meaning in a senseless tragedy.
I hope you enjoy my foray into romantic suspense. I found it both challenging and rewarding to write—so much so that I gave one of the characters an important role in my next book.
I love hearing from my readers. Feel free to contact me by mail in care of Harlequin Enterprises, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada. Or I can be reached via www.SuperAuthors.com.
Happy reading,
Carrie Weaver
The Secret Wife
Carrie Weaver
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to the real Tinker brothers, Jack and Alex (aka Dad and Uncle Alex), along with their wives, Mary Ellen and Patty (Mom and Aunt Patty). Thanks for all your love and support.
P.S. I promise the ladies will receive top billing next time.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
FOURTEEN DOLLARS, thirty-seven cents—all that stood between Maggie McGuire and destitution. She slid the change into her pocket, along with the damp crumpled bills.
The Oklahoma rest stop was unusually desolate for a Friday morning. Or so she guessed. Maggie had rarely ventured beyond the Arizona borders.
Peeking through the open car window, she watched David squirm in his sleep. The car seat was too confining. The baby needed room to stretch out and roll.
What kind of mother hauled an infant clear across the country to Arkansas? And for what? The off chance that Eric would surface at his family reunion? Eric, who thought family was an unnecessary drag on his life?
Maggie had told herself it wouldn’t come to this, that losing her job wasn’t the end of the world. But she’d quickly discovered there weren’t many jobs where she could take her baby along, especially working nights. The child-care center where she’d been employed for the past six months had been ideal. But the building was scheduled to be demolished and replaced with a strip mall.
Brushing her hair off her forehead, she figured her ponytail had come undone somewhere in New Mexico. Now it was loose and wild, a copper-colored reminder that she couldn’t afford haircuts.
Eric.
She leaned against a primer-gray fender, glancing up at the clear sky. The air was fresh and warm. Innocent.
She’d been innocent once. A long, long time ago.
David whimpered.
Maggie let her eyes feast on the glorious sight of her child. Her David. A wave of protectiveness washed over her.
Eric had sidetracked her dreams, but he’d left her with a precious gift.
A gift that was nearly out of formula and diapers.
Panic hit as she inventoried the contents of the thrift-store diaper bag. Four diapers, four scoops of formula. Her eyes burned as her fatigued mind did the math.
That bought her six hours, tops.
And it was at least eight more hours till McGuireville.
As if on cue, the baby’s hungry wail echoed through her head. Huge blue eyes beseeched her. As if maternal guilt wasn’t enough, she was certain, somehow, some way, the authorities would know the minute the last drop of formula passed David’s sweet lips. And they’d take him away. Just like they’d taken her niece, Emma.
Maggie straightened her shoulders and shook off the specter of losing her only child. Nobody would be able to say she was an unfit mother once she had a degree in hand and a decent paying job. But until then, the rent was behind, her tuition was due and only fourteen dollars stood between Maggie and the nameless, faceless authorities who haunted her dreams.
David’s hungry cry galvanized her into action. She opened the car door and unbuckled the restraint harness. He stilled, waiting expectantly.
She kissed one tearstained cheek, then the other. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to make everything right. Soon.”
Only eight more hours to McGuireville.
CHAPTER ONE
MAGGIE SQUARED her shoulders and prepared to do the impossible. Make a scene.
The door to the Grand Ballroom wavered before her eyes. A hunger headache and David’s cries made it nearly impossible to think.
“Shhh.” She bounced the baby on her hip. “Mama’ll make it better, sweetheart.” Her voice lacked conviction, and only made him wail louder.
It had to be done. There was no other way.
She flung open the door before her stomach could rebel at too little food and an abject fear of confrontations. A wave of air-conditioning and escalating conversation washed over her.
Lush aromas taunted her. Beef, catfish, potatoes, vegetables. It all made her mouth water, her stomach growl. Even David seemed mollified by the plenty.
She hesitated, but only for a second.
Her gaze swept the room. Searching. She’d know him anywhere. She could be deaf, dumb and blind, and she’d still know if he was near. The mere electricity of his presence was enough to send prickles down her spine.
Nothing.
She eyed the lovely dresses, the summer suits. Her tattered pair of denim cutoffs and worn out tennies didn’t even come close.
“I think I’m underdressed,” she whispered against the baby’s downy hair. “Wish me luck.”
It seemed like it took years to traverse the ballroom, even though she knew she must look like one of those racewalkers, elbows flying, intent on the finish line.
Finally, she reached the raised dais at the front. She turned, facing the room full of lovely people.
“Excuse me.” Her voice didn’t carry to the first row of round dining tables.
“Excuse me.” A little louder this time.
They barely paused in their conversations.
Her face burned. She didn’t belong here. And if she were really, really lucky, the ground would swallow her up whole.
Then she looked down into her son’s bewildered eyes and decided the old Maggie would have to learn new ways.
She would stuff away what little remained of her pride. And she’d make the biggest, noisiest, nastiest scene she could. Until Eric crawled out from under his rock and accepted responsibility for his son.
What she needed was a megaphone. Her gaze swept the dais.
A podium stood nearby, complete with a microphone. Probably for long-winded dissertations on how the saintly McGuires had founded the town. Single-handedly prodded the economy. Provided scions of business.
Except Eric, of course. The black sheep.
She scanned the crowd one last time, hoping to settle this quietly, discreetly. But she didn’t see him anywhere.
Probably at the hotel bar, picking up a cocktail waitress.
Well, she’d make darn sure he heard her. Even in the lounge.
The new Maggie stalked over to the microphone and grabbed it off the stand. An earsplitting squeal startled David.
Silence descended on the high-ceilinged room. Except for David’s offended screech.
She jogged him on her hip as she tried to attract attention.
“Sorry to interrupt all you nice folks during your dinner. Can you hear me there at the back of the room? No, well let me speak a little louder.” Maggie raised her voice until it bounced off the walls and tinkled the crystal chandelier.
“Good. I’ve got your attention. Just tell me where that lowlife Eric McGuire is and I’ll let you get back to your meal.”
Her only response was a room full of gaping mouths. Maybe they were all mentally deficient. Maybe Eric had been the sharpest knife in their family drawer.
The thought made her speak very slowly and distinctly, as if they didn’t understand English. “I said…where is that lowlife, scum-sucking, lazy, no good SOB, Eric McGuire?”
They must’ve heard her this time, because they gasped in unison, every set of eyes as big as half dollars.
“You can’t hide from me, Eric. I know you’re out there. So get your hands off that waitress and come out here and face me like a man.”
She watched the double doors, but no lowlife, or anyone else for that matter, entered the room.
An elderly woman in the second row of tables gasped for air. Some guy with a shaved head and shoulders the size of Mount Rushmore handed the woman a glass of water and patted her hand solicitously.
David suckled on her shoulder, leaving a big wet ring on her last clean T-shirt. The baby was hungry and patience wasn’t one of his virtues. Just like his daddy.
“Look. This is David. He’s Eric’s son. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just need some…help.”
It was nearly impossible to spit out the last word. To beg for what should have been hers.
The old woman gasped, fixed her with a weird stare. The Vin Diesel look-alike whispered something in the woman’s ear, squeezed her shoulder and headed for the stage.
The guy was pure enforcer. From the top of his well-shaped head to the toes of his size-twelve dress shoes. He tugged at his crisp, white collar as he ambled toward her. His jacket fit, but just barely.
He moved with graceful control, like the guys she’d seen on televised bodybuilding competitions. The evil glint in his eye told her he’d take great pleasure in throwing her out on her rear.
The man stepped up on the dais and stood in front of her, his shoulders effectively obscuring her view of the assembly and vice versa.
He seemed ready, willing and able to block her only chance at making a better life for her child.
“Eric,” she yelled. “All I want is to talk to—”
Her jaw dropped as the enforcer produced a cracker and handed it to David. His baby sobs were muffled by the ecstatic gumming of salt and carbohydrates. Then the man pried the mike out of Maggie’s hand and grabbed her by the upper arm.
“But—”
“You wanna know about Eric?” His voice rumbled low in his throat.
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Then come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not till I talk to Eric.”
The man ran a hand over the black stubble on his head and took what looked like one of the deep cleansing breaths she’d learned in her childbirth class. She half expected him to start the hee-hee-hee breaths through clenched teeth.
Instead, he fixed her with a bright, white smile. One that didn’t come close to easing the tight lines around his eyes.
“You’ll talk to Eric.” His voice was soothing. And totally insincere.
She stood her ground and glared at him. He intended to trot her out the door and hand her over to security.
“Everyone’s been through enough.” He gestured toward the roomful of silent onlookers. “They don’t need this—” His eyes narrowed as he turned to survey the baby. “And neither does the kid.”
“He has a name. David McGuire.”
The man stared long and hard. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the old woman. When he addressed Maggie, his voice was low, desperate.
“Please. We’ll go somewhere, get a bite to eat. There’s a diner nearby. The baby…David, is it? He’s gotta be tired and hungry.”
Her tummy rumbled at the mere mention of food. Her son squirmed on her hip. Dampness saturated her shirt where it was wedged between her body and the baby’s. Warm and pungent, it would be only a matter of minutes before the odor of baby urine spread across the stage.
“Only if you promise to tell me about Eric. Promise?”
“Of course.”
David cast his vote, by way of an angry screech. The cracker was gone and he demanded more. Now. And a dry diaper, too.
“Okay. But this better not be a trick.”
He held out his hands to the baby. David smacked them away. If the man didn’t hold crackers or a bottle, he wanted nothing to do with the stranger.
“Follow me.”
She nodded, but apparently he didn’t believe her. He grasped her elbow and hauled her out of the room. She could feel two hundred sets of eyes follow their progress out the double doors.
Pandemonium broke out before the doors swished shut. Everyone babbled at once. She’d succeeded in making quite a scene.
As she followed the enforcer through the lobby, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how she’d gotten to this point. The point where she’d sacrificed her self-respect and values.
But it really wasn’t a mystery. It all came back to Eric. She hadn’t had a chance. Not from that first glance.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN HESITATED, then held the lobby door for Maggie. His tight expression said he wasn’t sure she merited the courtesy.
Maggie held her head high as she passed. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.
“Where’s your car?” he asked. His long strides put him ahead of her in no time.
“East lot. Why?”
He turned and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a car seat, I presume? My truck isn’t exactly equipped for kids.”
“Oh.”
To his credit, he didn’t even blink a few minutes later when they arrived at the poor, tired Toyota with the mismatched fenders. He simply waited while she tried to get David into his car seat.
But the baby had fury-induced rigor mortis. His face was squinched up and red; his arms and legs were stiff as boards.
“Do you have any more crackers?” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she begged for food. No decent mother let her child get this hungry.
He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”
“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”
“Not on your life.”
She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.
“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.
David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.
Or was that simply what she wanted?
They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.
The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.
The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.
“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.
“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”
“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”
“Nope. Couple miles.”
“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.
He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.
He shook his head and grunted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”
“I don’t need gas—”
“Like hell you don’t.”
“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”
“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”
Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.
She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”
“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”
J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.
Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.
Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.
He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.
As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.
The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.
Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.
Nope. This woman was different.
But the same.
Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.
J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.
“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”
David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.
The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.
Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.
“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.
Nothing, just more screaming.
He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.
That only made the kid madder.
Then inspiration hit.
He ripped open the box of baby biscuits and offered him one.
The kid gave him a look that said, “It’s about time, stupid,” and snatched the cookie from his hand.
Furiously gumming the goody, he surveyed J.D. with interest. Waving a little fist, his squirming changed to a happy wriggle. Legs and arms bounced, never still. David cooed his approval.
It kinda made J.D. feel good.
He twisted and withdrew from the back seat, sure he’d need to see a chiropractor the next morning. Straightening, he grinned at the woman.
“I got him to stop crying.”
She nodded her head but didn’t meet his eyes.
His accomplishment left her monumentally unimpressed.
Silence surrounded them as she replaced the nozzle. Crickets tuned up for their evening encore.
Then she looked up and met his gaze.
Something about her eyes disturbed him. They were green. Deep. Sincere.
“Thank you.”
He grunted some sort of reply, Lord only knew what, and got back in the car.
They headed to the diner in silence, broken occasionally by a contented gibberish from the baby.
When they pulled into the parking lot, he gestured toward the back seat. “There’re diapers in the bag, if you think he might need a change.”
The woman looked away for a moment, brushed her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged.
Charity. Might as well get it over with in one big horse pill to swallow. He didn’t like to give it, couldn’t imagine taking it and completely understood how hard it was to accept. For a gold digger, Maggie seemed unusually sensitive about asking for help.
“There’s formula and some other stuff, too.”
Her eyes locked with his, her pretty little mouth turned down at the corners.
He held up a hand forestalling her protest.
“Now that’s the way we are around here. Southern hospitality, nothing more. And you can pay me back when you find your debit card.”
“Yes. I’ll pay you back.”
A cold day in hell.
“Why don’t you change the baby. I’ll go on ahead and order us some food. Burgers okay?”
She nodded. He watched as she flipped the seat forward, contorted her spine and reached for the car-seat latch. Her faded T-shirt inched up toward her ribs. A ribbon of skin peeked out of the gap, pale and vulnerable.
J.D. turned and headed for the restaurant before he did something stupid. Like placing his palm against the warm, bare small of her back. Somehow he didn’t think she’d buy his pretext of helping.
He found a booth and watched her lumber toward the restroom door, her child on one hip, an enormous diaper bag banging against the other.
She was thin. Way too thin. Eric didn’t normally go for the anorexic type, though J.D. had to admit there was a certain charm to her wide-eyed, heart-shaped face.
He accepted the menu from the waitress while mentally castigating his brother. Disgust and disappointment got all tangled together in one messy package.
Damn him.
Damn Eric for lying. For saying he’d changed. Damn him for putting their grandmother through this. For being the favorite, whether he deserved it or not. And damn him for dumping one more mess in his half brother’s lap.
J.D. didn’t realize he’d been brooding until the waitress cleared her throat.
He looked up and she flashed a smile. She looked familiar. She’d graduated with Eric. What was her name?
“Darlene,” he read off her name tag. “Sorry, guess I was daydreaming.”
“No problem, J.D.”
How’d she know his name when he couldn’t remember hers without reading it?
It was simple really. He was a McGuire, even if only by name and not blood. The McGuires stood for something in this town—they were respected, if not revered. Their money bought a lot of goodwill.
He made a mental note to leave her a generous tip, then ordered cheeseburgers for himself and the redhead. French fries. Coleslaw. Two large sweet teas. Eric’s latest mistake looked like she could use some protein. That, carbohydrates and caffeine might get her through what he had to tell her.
J.D. watched her make her way to the table. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked like she might blow over with the slightest breeze.
Maggie swallowed, forcing herself to meet J.D.’s gaze as she made her way around the tables. It wasn’t a crime to be poor, but the pity on his face said it sure was sad.
Smoothing her hair, she wished she’d had a place to shower and change before confronting the McGuires. Despite splashing her face with cold water and finger-combing her hair, she knew she looked like hell. Her mother would have disowned her.
Maggie stifled a hysterical chuckle as she slid into the booth. Her mother had disowned her. But for crimes much more serious than a lack of personal grooming.
The man watched her bounce David on her knee. The cookie was long gone and he started to fuss. Poor thing, it had been a long day for them both.
Pulling the bottle from a side pocket, she said, “I mixed it with warm water in the restroom.” Help, so rare and unaccustomed, left a lump in her throat. How different things might have been if… She refused to go there. “Thank you. For the formula and the other stuff.”
“No problem. Southern hospitality.”
She could get used to this Southern hospitality. And it scared her.
“Give me the receipt. I’m a student and I’ll pay you back when…”
When?
When she paid the rent? When she had cupboards stocked with food and wipes and diapers? When she graduated from college, her mortuary-science degree in hand?
That was the only chance she might have of repaying the man.
“Here. You pay me when you can.”
She accepted the folded slip of paper and just about drowned in the kindness in his eyes. Slipping the paper into the diaper bag, she didn’t even look at the amount. Didn’t have to. She could tell to the penny what he’d spent, allowing for regional differences. Doing without had made her a great comparison shopper. And she knew convenience stores charged an arm and a leg for this stuff. Including the cheeseburger, she owed the guy close to forty bucks.
“You know babies pretty well. You have children?”
He seemed startled at the suggestion. Why? He looked to be in his midthirties. Solid. Kind. Good-looking, in a rough sort of way. A man who should probably have a wife and a few children at home.
“Nope. Couple of my friends do, though. Once they get to that age—” he nodded to David cradled in the crook of her arm sucking greedily on the bottle “—a cracker’ll get them to quiet down if they’re hungry or bored.”
“An astute observation, J.D. I didn’t catch your last name? Though with the reunion in town, McGuire would be a safe guess.”
His lips twitched. So, he had a sense of humor.
“Yep. You nailed it. McGuire, J.D. McGuire. And you are?”
“McGuire. Maggie McGuire.”
His eyes widened at that. Then the frown was back. As if she’d uttered the most despicable thing in the world.
“That’s not funny,” he said.
“It’s not intended to be.”
“Passing yourself off as his wife won’t help.”
Maggie straightened her aching spine. She wasn’t ready for this kind of confrontation. Eric, yes. She’d had several thousand miles to prepare for dealing with Eric. But this guy? He made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Something immoral.
“I’m not passing myself off as anything. I’m merely being polite and introducing myself. You draw your own conclusions.”
“My conclusions have nothing to do with this. There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”
Wife?
The word bounced around her head, slid down her throat and twirled in her stomach, before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at the Wal-Mart store.
“Th-that’s impossible. I’m his wife.”
“Look, lady, I don’t know you. But you seem like a nice enough person. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”
“At least we agree about something.”
Eric had been a jerk occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk most of the time. She simply couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.
But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. Their argument over his paternity had been intense. She’d started spotting immediately and feared she might lose the baby. After that, Eric had neither accepted nor rejected paternity. He had simply humored her, made sure she ate right, got enough rest, suggested a few names for the baby.
And when she’d told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he’d just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he’d taken the newborn from her arms and settled into the hospital rocking chair.
No, he wouldn’t be that cruel.
“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman?”
“Nope. I was best man at their wedding, right after Eric graduated high school. And if there’d been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”
That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.
“Look, is this some sort of sick practical joke?” Maggie held her breath, waiting for a camera crew to come out of hiding, hoping against hope that this was a new reality TV show designed to humiliate the unsuspecting.
“Is it? A joke?” she asked.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared off in the direction of the door. As if he would rather have been anywhere in the world but here, breaking bad news to a stranger. “No, it’s not a joke.”
“If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, squeezing the baby so tightly he protested, “that means I’m not married. And David is—”
“A beautiful, healthy child.” He leaned forward. “That’s all that matters.”
“Why are you being so kind?”
The man ran a hand over his head. “I’m not being kind. I’m just stating a fact. My brother is a real asshole sometimes and innocent people get hurt.”
Now she realized the man had said he was Eric’s brother, not once, but twice.
She slumped against the back of the booth. “You’re Jamie?”
“Only to my grandmother. And Eric, if I’m not too pissed off at him.”
Maggie eyed him. “You don’t look anything like him.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Same mother, different fathers. Eric’s dad was my stepdad.”
“J.D.—James David?” She tried to reconcile the man before her with her preconceived idea of what Eric’s brother would look like. She’d never even seen a photo of the man, but she’d assumed he would be fair like Eric. Blond hair, blue eyes.
“Yes, that’s me. I prefer J.D. though.” He nodded toward her son. “Is it coincidence, his name?”
“No coincidence. Eric wanted David named after you. He talked about you a lot. Kind of like you were a superhero.”
But it hadn’t always been a nice comparison. Sometimes, usually when he’d had one beer too many, the resentment would creep into his voice. The great Jamie, always doing the right thing, always thinking he was better.
“I doubt that. We don’t get along very well.”
She was silent, watching David’s eyes flutter. His daddy had a lot of faults. She only hoped her son inherited the good qualities. His generosity, his zest for life. The way he reached out and grabbed what he wanted.
“I need to talk to Eric. Sort all this out.”
J.D. glanced at his watch.
“It’ll wait till morning. That way you’ll be…um…refreshed before you see him.”
“That way you can warn him I’m here.”
He rubbed his chin. “The thought crossed my mind.”
“No way. I want to see him now.”
“Can’t. He’s racing just outside of town. That’s why he missed the reunion dinner. His priorities are kinda mixed up.”
“No kidding.” Maggie glanced meaningfully at David. “You said racing?”
“Yeah, you know the stuff. Where the guys drive round and round the track until all of them are wrecked or somebody wins.”
“Of course I know racing. It’s where I met Eric. But he’d given it up. He told me—”
“And you believed him?”
Shifting in her seat, Maggie couldn’t decide which was worse, the guy knowing how completely gullible she’d been, or the extent of her desperation.
“No, not completely. I tried to call him when I didn’t receive divorce papers, but couldn’t reach him at any of the emergency numbers he’d left in the past. Then I checked the Internet at the library. He wasn’t registered anywhere on the amateur stock-car circuit.”
“And you didn’t find him under Eric MacGuire, with an A?”
“No.”
“How about Johnny Bravo?”
Bingo. His favorite cartoon character. J.D. had just handed David’s lovable, lowlife, scum-sucking, no-good jerk of a father to her on a silver platter.
CHAPTER THREE
MAGGIE SURVEYED the cramped lobby while she swayed from side to side, David’s head growing heavy on her shoulder. The motel was neat and clean. Not luxurious, but certainly not a dive—and way off the beaten track.
She watched J.D. set down her suitcase to pull a wad of bills from his pocket. He peeled off several and tossed forty bucks on the counter like it was pocket change. Maybe for some people.
The room was paid up for one night, and one night only. Noon checkout, and Eric’s brother expected her to be long gone by then.
He had a lot to learn about her.
What she might lack in worldly knowledge, she more than made up for with grit. How else would she have survived till now?
J.D. handed her the key card. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her face.
She kissed the top of David’s downy head, avoiding J.D.’s questioning gaze.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
God, she was getting tired of saying that. Tired of depending on a stranger. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d get her mortuary-science degree, become the best damn funeral director in Phoenix and then she’d never have to rely on anyone again.
“Go get some rest. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning and take you to see Eric. They serve juice and doughnuts right here in the lobby, so you don’t have to go anywhere for breakfast.”
The threat was implicit.
He didn’t want Eric’s second wife parading around where anyone could see her. Just wanted her to disappear like a wisp of smoke. No ugly scene. No smudge on the sainted McGuire name. Sure, she’d let him savor that little fantasy a while longer.
“Oh, good. I’m really beat. We’ll just get settled in, get rested up….”
“Do you need me to carry your suitcase to your room?”
“No, I can handle it.”
“I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.”
She nodded.
He turned and strode out the door without a backward look. Problem solved. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see him dust his hands.
Maggie slid the key card into her back pocket and watched him get into his candy-apple-red pickup. She’d dropped him off to get his truck, then followed him to the roadside hotel. When she’d lagged behind, so had he. There was no way her little Toyota could outrun him, so she’d had to wait for an opportunity to ditch him.
Shaking her head, Maggie had a hard time believing J.D. and Eric came from the same family. He was everything Eric wasn’t—solid, dependable, controlled. An accountant hiding out in a football player’s body. The kind of guy who should have a four-door sedan, a Volvo station wagon even. Something safe, reliable. Boring.
If J.D. was a station-wagon kind of guy, then Eric was definitely meant for sports cars. Lots of flash and excitement, but never dependable. And her Toyota, where did that fit into the scheme of things?
A little battered, but reliable and good on gas. But underneath the hood, the little import longed to be a sports car.
David shifted in his sleep, settling against her shoulder with a sigh.
But sports cars weren’t conducive to children. And if she were one of the little Toyotas in a world of sports cars and SUVs, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be as successful as the next person. It would simply take more work.
Maggie fought a wave of loneliness as she watched the taillights fade into the distance. J.D. wouldn’t be back until morning. Lifting her chin, she shook off the pressure in her chest. Getting sappy wouldn’t pay her tuition.
Maggie waited a good fifteen minutes after J.D. left. When she was sure he wasn’t coming back, she settled David in his car seat and continued her mission.
The racetrack wasn’t hard to find once she stopped at a convenience store for directions. Straight through town, five miles on the other side, just where the clerk had said.
She swung the little car into the dirt parking lot and wedged the car into a space at the end of a row. In Arizona, the dust would’ve choked her. But here, it was the mosquitoes. They swarmed around her as she exited the car, ravaged her bare legs when she reached in to remove the sleeping baby from the back seat.
She wrapped a lightweight cotton blanket around David to protect him from the cloud of insects.
Unfortunately, her shorts left plenty of bare skin for the little bloodsuckers. One voracious mosquito died from her stinging smack, only to be replaced by ten more. Finally, she gave up.
Glancing around, Maggie was glad to note that she wasn’t late. People streamed toward the entrance gates. She let the crowd swallow her until she neared the ticket booth. There, she split off to the left, following the chain-link fence that separated her from her destiny.
Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the pit entrance. Her face warmed with embarrassment. It wasn’t right to avoid paying. But it was the only way.
Maggie raised her chin as she passed the big-bellied guy checking passes. Juggling the baby and the diaper bag, she worked on an innocent fluster—as opposed to a guilty one. The blanket inched down to reveal David’s face.
“Aw, shoot. I must’ve left my pass in the car. Bobby’ll skin me alive. He’s pittin’ tonight and I promised I’d kiss him for good luck.”
She didn’t know if it was her winsome smile, or the sight of the sleeping baby, but the guy nodded and let her through.
Maggie released a breath. Hurdle number one.
Shielding her eyes from the glare of the stadium lights, she searched the pit area. No number fifty-three. That had always been Eric’s lucky number. But number eight was a spanking clean white-and-kelly-green. Eric’s colors.
Familiar sights and sounds brought a lump to her throat as she made her way through the pits. People jostled her, the stands seemed to close in. She jumped as an air tool hammered in the area to her left. The din was strange, no longer music to her ears. She didn’t belong anymore.
But like his father, David could sleep through it all, the noise a familiar lullaby from the womb. She’d been at the track so much when she was pregnant, it probably seemed reassuring to the baby.
Maggie eyed the green-and-white car. Was number eight Eric’s? She cautiously approached, afraid someone would haul her out by the arm. But nobody noticed. They were too busy with their respective jobs, readying the car for the race.
A familiar crouched figure seemed oblivious to the whine of the air gun as he tightened lug nuts. He turned and the light fell on his face. Randy, Eric’s buddy and leader of the pit crew. If he were here, then so was Eric.
But there was only one way to be absolutely sure it was Eric’s car. Her heart hammered as she scooted behind Randy. She used the surge of the crowd as a shield so he wouldn’t see her.
Leaning through the window of the car, she surveyed the dash. Amid all the dials and stuff was a small photo taped to the dash. A wedding photo, circa the late sixties. Eric’s mom and dad, or so he’d said. He never started a race without touching the photo for good luck.
Number eight was Eric’s car all right.
The battered motor home parked fifty feet away had to be his, too. He insisted on sleeping at the track to be near his car. It looked like a few months hadn’t improved Eric’s financial position any more than it had hers.
When she’d met him, he’d had only the best—a shiny new motor home and only the finest gear. But he’d dipped into the sponsor’s pocket one time too many for bogus supplies and the gravy train had run out. Even an old family friend had a limit to how much he would allow himself to be cheated.
Though the conditions weren’t lavish like before, Maggie knew how Eric prepared for every race. He’d be reading his Bible. Maybe on his knees praying.
Funny, he might be a self-centered SOB most of time, but right before a race he always found God.
Maggie sauntered over to the motor home, acting as if she belonged. As if entering Eric’s motor home were the most natural thing in the world.
Regret flared, then died. There had been a time when she’d revolved in Eric’s orbit. Absorbed his reflected excitement and glory.
Her hand froze on the knob.
Maggie couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t.
She had vowed never to ask him for anything, but for her son’s sake, she’d always accepted the small money orders he’d sent from time to time. Now she was about to beg for regular child support. And have him explain the twisted mess of their “marriage.”
Maggie swallowed hard. All she wanted to do was turn around, get into her car and head back to Phoenix. But she deserved answers and a whole lot more.
A chubby little hand patted her cheek.
David certainly deserved more. “Hey, little guy, are you my moral support?” She hoisted him under the armpits so they were eye-to-eye. His wide smile told her she was the most important person in the universe. David planted a wide open baby kiss on her nose.
Pulling him close, she hugged him tightly. Her throat prickled with the enormity of her love for this child. For David, she would do anything: beg, plead, demand.
She grasped the doorknob before she could lose her nerve. The door opened easily, without even a squeak. Tiptoeing inside, she hesitated, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The tiny light above the stove gave off a weak glow.
The motor home was strangely silent.
Maggie observed the usual mess Eric left behind. Racing magazines, gloves, a sweating bottle of blue sports drink.
But no Eric.
Strange.
He was a creature of habit. And supremely superstitious. He had an unchanging ritual before a race. First, a Bible reading, then prayer. But his Bible wasn’t lying open on the table.
She rummaged through what had always been the junk drawer in the other motor home. Her fingers folded around a slim volume of the New Testament, the corners accordion pleated from jamming the drawer so many times.
Weird.
Had he changed that much in the six months since she’d seen him? Two since she’d heard from him?
The bathroom door was closed. Maybe a last-minute bout of nerves?
She tiptoed to the door and tapped.
“Eric?”
No answer.
Opening the door, she leaned in to peer around. Light trickled in through the bathroom window, casting everything in varying shades of gray. The shadows were barely discernible from the objects that created them.
David snuggled close, resting his cheek against her chest. His breathing slowed. Poor baby. They were both exhausted.
The white of the sink glowed pale against the gloomy backdrop. The faucet dripped.
Terrible waste of water. Maggie turned it off.
Black splotches decorated the otherwise pale sink rim, kind of like a Rorschach test, dribbling down the side, to leave tiny specks on the floor.
It was something dark, something liquid.
Oil maybe? It had splattered too much to be grease.
Maggie ran her fingers through it. Thick, crusty and drying around the edges. Definitely not oil. It almost looked like…no, her brain rebelled at the very thought. Not blood.
She searched the gloom for a roll of toilet paper, but came up empty. Typical. Eric could never remember to put out a new roll.
Sighing, she adjusted the sleepy baby a bit higher on her hip and wiped her hand across the leg of her shorts. They’d need washing later in the hotel sink.
The silence surrounded her, intensified by the muffled clanking, banging and hammering outside.
Maggie backed out of the bathroom.
She would come back after the race. If she waited any longer than that she might lose her nerve.
David squirmed in his sleep and made one of his puppylike snuffling noises. He deserved a good night’s sleep. In a real bed. And so did she.
Maggie stifled a yawn and headed for the door.
As she grasped the knob, she turned to take one more look at her past. What had once appeared dangerous and exciting, now simply looked sad.
She shook her head. Something white on the lower bunk caught her eye.
There was a lumpy sleeping bag, as usual, tossed over Eric’s belongings, as if no one would be smart enough to look there for his valuable stuff. His guitar, his pistol…
The light-colored thing took on eerie dimensions as she stepped closer to check it out. Almost like a—
Hand.
She jostled what she figured had to be his arm under the sleeping bag.
“Eric,” she whispered. She didn’t want to wake the baby.
She shoved a little harder.
No response.
“Come on, Eric, this isn’t funny.”
David whimpered in his sleep.
Losing patience with Eric’s games, she grabbed the sleeping bag and flung it back.
Time froze, Maggie froze.
She scrambled for the hand she’d seen, grasped the wrist. It was warm.
The wild thumping of her heart eased.
Until she looked at his face.
And knew, without a doubt, her searching fingers wouldn’t find a pulse. She’d been around enough corpses in her embalming class to recognize death.
Her eyes widened at David’s shrill screech of baby rage. It rang in her ears, bounced off the fake wood-grain walls, slashed through her to the very core. Only when she slapped a hand to her open mouth did she realize the screams came from her. Then, and only then, did the baby join in.
MAGGIE SHIFTED in the cold, metal chair, David’s cries echoing in her head and in her heart.
She could almost feel his terror as he’d been taken from her arms. His little hands had clutched at her shirt, his eyes wide with panic.
And she’d been forced to let him go. Hand him over to strangers. It was her worst nightmare come true. Nameless, faceless authorities taking her son away because she wasn’t a fit mother.
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she brushed them away. This was all a big mistake. They would figure out she wasn’t capable of hurting Eric, wouldn’t they?
She eyed the two deputies as one set down a foam cup of coffee for her. Both wore bland expressions.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
A half truth. Used to drink the stuff by the bucketful. Back before David, when she’d been a college student with ample scholarship money. These days, generic cola was much cheaper and did a decent job of keeping her eyes open.
But now her nerves jangled and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to close her eyes again. When she did, all she saw was Eric. And blood. So much blood.
She should be used to it by now, or she had no business pursuing a profession where it was such an integral part of the process.
“How about a pop?” The scrawny deputy did most of the talking. He wasn’t a bad guy, all in all. It was Deputy Wells, the big, beefy, quiet one who made her nervous.
“No, thank you. I just want to get back to my baby.”
“He’s fine. A caseworker’s watching him while we talk.”
“There’s no need for a caseworker. We’ll clear this up, then I’ll take care of David.”
“Hmm. We’ll need your story, from the top.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“That was an initial interview at the scene. We need your complete story. Details.”
Maggie didn’t like the way Wells kept calling it her story. As if her version were obviously fictitious.
She drew in a deep, calming breath. This guy held her future, as well as her son’s future, in his big, square hands.
“Your relationship with the victim was…”
“You know darn well—”
Warning flashed in the deputy’s eyes.
“I mean, uh, Eric and I were…”
What were they? Estranged husband and wife, or so she’d thought, until she’d found out about Nancy.
“Lovers,” she ended lamely. That at least wasn’t in dispute. David was living proof of their intimacy. At least it had been intimacy for her. What it had meant to Eric, she could only guess. And none of the guesses were very flattering.
Anger bubbled up inside and made her face feel hot and swollen, as if her skin might split right open.
“Eric is…was…the father of my child.”
“And?”
“I came to talk to him about setting up some sort of agreement about David’s care. Child support.”
“Yeah, I heard about that little scene at the banquet. It’s all over town.”
The guy dragged over a gray metal chair and parked his big butt. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Eric wasn’t what we’d call the responsible kind. What’d he do, laugh in your face? I could see where that might make a woman mad enough to grab a carving knife—”
“I didn’t grab a knife. I didn’t stab him. He was dead when I got there.”
“We’ll see what the medical examiner says about that. They can determine right down to the minute when a person died, you know. So there’s no use lying.”
“I’m not lying,” she said through clenched teeth. But he was. She knew damn well how many variables there were in determining time of death. There wasn’t a decent doctor or coroner alive who would claim to be one-hundred-percent sure. A window of several hours was more likely and that didn’t help her a bit.
“Look, lady, you breeze into town and all of a sudden Eric McGuire is murdered. My guess is you didn’t know he was married. You got all worked up about it and went out to the track. Eric always was a sweet talker with the ladies. But this time he couldn’t worm his way out of it.”
“That’s not true! I never even talked to him. He was dead when I got there.”
The scrawny deputy slipped into the room, his face beet red.
“Uh, there’s some guy out front. Says he’s—”
“Her lawyer.” A tall, silver-haired man pushed his way into the room. He extended a tanned, well-manicured hand to her.
She shook his hand, bewildered. She’d never seen him before in her life. And judging from the cut of his gray summer-weight suit, he looked expensive.
The man handed a business card to the big deputy and motioned for her to follow him.
“We’ll discuss the details later, darlin’. First, we get you out of this hellhole.”
“But—”
“No buts. Your child is right outside waiting for you.”
That was all the encouragement she needed. She followed the authoritative suit out the door without giving the deputies a second glance. For David, she would follow a stranger through the fires of hell.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that the devil himself stood on the other side of the door, holding her baby.
“J.D.”
He nodded in response. “We’re getting you out of here.” Turning to the men in uniform, J.D. said, “Deputy, any more questions should be routed through Maggie’s attorney.”
Her head whirled with unanswered questions. But the most important one had already been answered. David was here, safe and sound, if not totally content.
She held out her arms to him and he broke out in a big, nearly toothless grin. He leaned away from his captor, leaving no doubt where he’d rather be.
J.D. handed David to her and folded his arms over his chest, watching their reunion.
Maggie didn’t care who watched. She hugged and cuddled and kissed the soft little boy until he squirmed in protest.
“You done yet?”
J.D.’s voice was harsh, impatient, but his eyes were just a little too understanding.
She nodded.
“She’ll be staying at my house, Belmont, if you need to talk to her.” J.D. shook hands with the attorney. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
The distinguished gentleman winked. “It’ll cost you, J.D. You know that gazebo my wife’s been talking about…”
“Yeah, I know.” J.D. winced. “You name the day, I’ll be there for measurements.”
He shook hands with the attorney, then took her elbow to escort her out of the county jail. As if she needed any encouragement. Intent on putting distance between David and the uniforms, she broke into a jog.
But once outside, her steps faltered.
“Your house? But, the hotel—”
“The hotel isn’t an option. Anything you need there?”
“All our stuff is in the car.”
J.D. hesitated, “There’s someone who insists on meeting you. It’s against my better judgment, but…”
CHAPTER FOUR
MAGGIE DIDN’T BOTHER to protest when J.D. asked for her car keys. Her knees shook and her hands were unsteady as she buckled David into his car seat.
J.D. steered her little Toyota out of the parking lot, adjusting easily to the loose clutch and intermittent hiccup on acceleration. Soon, they left the downtown area and houses were fewer and farther between.
Fighting nausea, Maggie closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. She had no doubt that J.D.’s attorney had saved her from an overnight stay in jail, if not longer. The attorney had also made sure they immediately returned her child.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
When she didn’t hear a polite response, Maggie opened her eyes and glanced at J.D.
His profile was rigid, his jaw set. “Belmont owed me a favor.”
“And now you owe his wife a gazebo. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
He nodded.
“Really. I will.”
“Look, I didn’t do it for you.”
“Then who did you do it for?” She doubted he’d considered David. He didn’t seem eager to take on the role of uncle.
“It’s…complicated. But the last thing any of us need right now is you jailed and the little guy in foster care.”
“I won’t let them take David.”
J.D. glanced in her direction. “I hope you’re not thinking about doing something stupid. Like running.”
That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Grabbing up David and driving off somewhere, anywhere but here.
“Because that will only make things worse. We were damn lucky they released you today. And that was partly because I vouched for you.”
Maggie swallowed her surprise. The car seemed to close in on her. Another debt she owed to J.D., another thread tying her to McGuireville. “I’ll try not to get you in trouble.”
Avoiding his gaze, she looked out the side window.
But against the backdrop of green, green grass and thick stands of trees, she saw Eric’s lifeless body. He was gone, truly and totally, from her life forever. A part of her ached for her first love and all the might-have-beens. All the shared memories that it would be her sole responsibility to pass on to their son.
It was a hard idea for her to accept.
And what effect would David’s death have on their son? One of her psychology professors once said that a bad father was better than no father at all. Somehow, she’d hoped that Eric might mature and take an interest in David. Maybe even act like a real father. Now, there was no chance of that ever happening.
“You’ll notice we’re only a couple miles out of town, but it feels like we’re in the country. There’s more open space.”
Maggie wondered if J.D.’s change of subject was intentional. As if they could pretend she were just another guest in town for the reunion.
Whatever his reasoning, Maggie was relieved to pretend for a few moments that everything was right with the world. She focused on the expanse of green beyond the glass—every conceivable shade from sage to hunter. Once in a while, there would be a cluster of two or three brick ranch houses. Even more rare were elegant-looking two-storied homes that had great white columns creating a front porch. The yards were huge by Phoenix standards and unbelievably green. Some sported large vegetable gardens.
Despite his complaints about the simple life here, Maggie half suspected Eric had made McGuireville his safe haven between adventures. There was something timeless and comforting about the place—or at least she supposed it might seem that way under different circumstances.
“We’re almost there.” J.D.’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“It’s a nice neighborhood.”
“Yes, it is.”
J.D. steered into a long, circular drive made up of cinder rock. “Here we are.” His voice was light, but she could feel his gaze on her face, as if assessing her reaction.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. J.D.’s eyes sparked with pride. “I bought it as a repo. The owners defaulted on the mortgage and it stood vacant for a couple years. It’s one of the few colonial reproductions in the area.”
“The two-story houses with big pillars? Those are colonial reproductions?”
“Yep. I’ll grab your bags while you get David.”
Maggie got out of the car and stretched her cramped muscles. She felt as if she had walked into a dream. The house, J.D., Eric’s murder, it was all surreal.
David rubbed his eyes and yawned when she opened the car door.
“Come on, sweetie. We’re going to stay at Uncle J.D.’s house for a while.” How long, she had no idea. Maggie tried to pretend this was a normal visit and not the living nightmare she knew it to be. There was no use upsetting David. “And you and I will have a real bed to sleep in. Won’t that be nice?”
The baby waved his approval.
Maggie settled him on her hip, pulling the hem of his shirt down over his tummy. She inhaled deeply. The air carried the scent of honeysuckle. It seemed like years since she’d been in Arizona, yet it was only a matter of days. The slow, sleepy pace of the South wasn’t all that different from the laid-back Southwest.
The trunk slammed and J.D. came around the side of the car with her suitcase. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The cool shade was a welcome relief as she climbed the steps to the porch. The atmosphere of old-fashioned homeyness surprised her. Several rustic rockers were grouped together, a perfect spot to watch the sunset and chat.
It was somehow easy for her to visualize J.D. relaxing and enjoying the view, but she doubted Eric had ever joined him. Eric couldn’t sit still long enough.
Maggie swallowed hard. Eric had been very, very still the last time she’d seen him. She just couldn’t reconcile the body she’d seen with the larger-than-life father of her child.
J.D. opened the screen door and then the simple carved oak door, holding it wide for her to pass.
Stepping over the threshold, Maggie stumbled. Fatigue made her clumsy.
J.D. grasped her arm to steady her. “You okay?”
Maggie managed to right herself by sheer force of will. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Glancing at his face, she tried to assess his mood. His expression was remote, polite, not that of a man grieving for his murdered brother. Did he not feel, or did he just not show it? “How are you, um, holding up?” she asked.
Surprise sparked briefly in his solemn eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. But, um, thanks for asking.” For a split second his shoulders sagged. Then he straightened, tall, strong, in control. He gestured toward the living room. “Make yourself at home. I’m hoping Belmont can get this mess straightened out quickly. Confirm your alibi with the hotel staff.”
“I hope so.”
Though Maggie was exhausted, David seemed recharged by his nap in the car. He squealed his approval of the place, wiggling to get down.
Maggie eyed the floor, her protective instincts overriding her exhaustion. Hardwood gleamed, a burgundy Oriental area rug gave a splash of color. But not nearly enough padding should David bump his head. She held him close, which only infuriated him. He screeched and squirmed.
“Go ahead and put him down.”
Maggie hesitated. Sighing, she placed her son on the rug. “He’s probably too wound up to nap now.”
J.D. nodded. “Looks like he’s raring to go. How about if I put your bags in the guest room and then we head on over to my grandmother’s house? She’s very eager to meet you.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe after I’ve had some sleep—”
“I imagine you’re exhausted, but she was very insistent about seeing you. Immediately, if not sooner.” He frowned. “Patience isn’t one of her virtues.”
“You love her very much.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I don’t think this meeting is a good idea, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. Eric was her favorite. I hope you won’t upset her.”
“I’m not a monster, J.D. I wouldn’t even think of broaching the subject of David right now.” Maggie’s heart ached at what the woman must be going through. “You said favorite? Eric always swore he was the black sheep.”
“Beloved black sheep, maybe. My grandmother adores him. Always did, no matter how much trouble he made.”
“I didn’t intend to cause trouble for you or your grandmother. If there had been another way…”
“Why now? Why not right after your baby was born?”
Maggie sighed. “I was in love and I was foolish. Eric was with me the first month or so. He left, but I kept expecting him to come back. It took me a while to realize he wasn’t going to.”
“If you thought you were married, why didn’t you divorce him?”
“Attorneys cost money, Mr. McGuire. I figured he’d file. Maybe I was hoping he’d reconsidered.”
“At least you have an alibi. All the sheriff has to do is confirm it with the hotel staff.”
Maggie was confused. “I was there. At the track. They didn’t tell you?”
J.D. froze. His eyes narrowed. “They didn’t tell me anything. Just that you’d been brought in for questioning and had asked them to call me. I figured the only reason you were being questioned was the fiasco at the banquet. I thought you’d agreed not to leave the hotel.”
“No, I didn’t agree. You assumed.”
“Semantics.” He grasped her arms, his voice harsh when he said, “Tell me the truth. Did you kill my brother?”
“No, I didn’t. He was dead when I got there.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Why shouldn’t you? There were certainly enough other people who might want to see him dead.”
He glanced down at her arms, where his fingers dug into her flesh. He dropped her arms as if he’d been burned. “But I know them. I don’t know you.”
“If the sheriff really thought I did it, he wouldn’t have released me. Can we argue this another time? I’m about ready to drop.”
“No way. We’re gonna hash this out before I let you anywhere near my grandmother. Tell me what happened and I’ll judge for myself.”
Maggie drew a breath and counted to ten. Then she told him everything.
“Okay, your story is plausible. But my bet is that you were hopping mad when you met with Eric. He’d made a fool of you.”
Maggie winced.
“Maybe things got out of hand and you grabbed the knife….”
“I did not kill Eric. I didn’t even get the chance to talk to him. He was already dead.”
“So you say. Just like you claim he married you.”
“Of course he married me. I have the wedding license to prove it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So prove it.”
“The license is safe at home. And filed with the State of Arizona. Check it out if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I will. I’ve already contacted a private detective.”
“You did what?”
“Look, sweetheart, this isn’t anything new. You aren’t the first woman to breeze through town claiming to have a romantic involvement with my brother. Although, I hope you’ll be the last, God rest Eric’s soul.”
Maggie saw red. “I can prove I’m his wife. And I’m not going to let you brush us away as if we were dirt. David deserves better than that. I deserve better than that.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Documents can be altered. But one way or the other, I’ll figure it out.”
“And what if I’m telling the truth? What then? Are you going to welcome me to the family with open arms?”
His mouth tightened. “Sweetheart, if your story holds up and that kid is my brother’s, I’ll be the first in line. But that doesn’t change the fact that both my grandmother and Nancy are going through a difficult time.” His voice grew rough. “Eric’s death hit us all pretty hard. The last thing we need is you running around telling wild stories.”
“Isn’t that why you brought me here? To make sure I don’t run around telling stories about the sainted Eric McGuire?”
“He wasn’t a saint. But he was my brother. And I won’t have you upsetting my grandmother. If that means I have to babysit you for a couple days, I’m willing to do it. My grandmother and Eric’s wife, his real wife, deserve to mourn his death in peace.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m his real wife. In here.” She tapped her index finger on her breastbone as her eyes filled with moisture, blurring her vision. “And I’m the mother of his child. Yes, it’s despicable if he married me while he was still married to another woman. But it’s not my fault. And it won’t change the fact that he’s dead. Or the fact that his son will grow up fatherless.”
J.D.’s eyes reflected the loss she described, but only for a second. Then his expression grew closed, as if he were afraid to let anyone see inside.
Her throat tightened. Wiping her cheeks, Maggie drew in a shaky breath. She gestured toward David, sitting near a burnished coffee table. “How can you hold it against an innocent child? He didn’t ask for any of this.”
J.D. folded his arms over his chest, but his face softened as he watched the baby scoot across the floor on all fours. David’s tiny hands made little slapping sounds against the wood as he made a beeline for a corner shelving unit, where some old, rusty tools were displayed. Several had sharp edges.
Unable to get her brain and feet to connect, Maggie watched helplessly.
J.D. was quick on his feet and scooped up the boy in the nick of time. “Oh, no, you don’t, buddy.”
David giggled.
“You like that, huh?” J.D. grinned, tossing the baby up in the air. His smile grew wider as David laughed and clapped his hands. “You’re a little daredevil, aren’t you?”
“Just like his daddy,” Maggie whispered.
MAGGIE SIPPED HER ICED TEA and wished she were anyplace else but McGuireville. She sat in the sunroom of Eric’s childhood home watching his grandmother and brother argue over whether she’d told them the sordid truth about her pseudomarriage to Eric and the circumstances of David’s birth. It seemed surreal that the news had superceded Eric’s murder, but she supposed it was a way of coping.
Edna McGuire sat opposite Maggie on a wicker love seat and J.D. paced nearby.
“Paternity tests are ninety-nine point nine percent reliable,” J.D. said.
The old woman stiffened. Her nostrils flared with indignation. The slight tremor to her hand and bluish tint around her mouth was the only indication that she might not be as hale and hearty as she wanted to pretend. “Nonsense. It’s not seemly. No need to draw attention to the fact that Eric’s child is a bast…was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Your father must be rolling over in his grave. Anyone can see the baby is a McGuire through and through.”
J.D.’s face flushed like a reprimanded boy. His tone was slightly belligerent. “Not seemly? This whole thing isn’t seemly. It’s just like you to open your heart and your home to some woman with a hard-luck story and a baby she claims is Eric’s. You know as well as I do it’s not Eric’s child.”
Maggie swallowed hard. The two had apparently forgotten her presence. How could anyone even think of using such a despicable term as bastard to describe David? But J.D.’s insinuation stung as much as his grandmother’s assessment. It seemed like a betrayal coming from the man who had rescued her only hours earlier.
“Don’t you take that tone with me James David. I know my own flesh and blood when I see it. My great-grandchild will stay with me. Tests or no tests.”
“We’ve been over this before. There’s no need for you to undergo the added stress. The funeral will be hard enough. Maggie and, um, David will stay with me until the paternity tests come back. Then, if they come back positive, you can cuddle and fuss over the child to your heart’s content. Spoil him rotten for all I care.”
The old woman tried to stand, but sank back to the love seat. Her pallor was a pasty gray.
“The funeral,” she mumbled. Big, sad tears rolled down her cheeks and plopped onto her lap, leaving spots on her navy shirtdress.
The woman’s grief pulled at Maggie. It was an instinctive reaction that went back to her childhood. Grief touched something inside her, some well of empathy that made counseling the bereaved seem more like a calling than a job.
She went to the older woman. Holding David close to her chest, she knelt at Mrs. McGuire’s feet and gazed up into her stricken face. “I know this is a hard time and you don’t know me that well. I’m grateful that you’ve invited me into your home, considering, well, the circumstances.”
Mrs. McGuire waved her hand, as if she could wave away the pesky details like bigamy, murder and an illegitimate child. “Nonsense. I’m a good judge of character I don’t believe for a minute you had anything to do with Eric’s death. And you’ve obviously told the truth about the baby. Why, he could be Eric at the same age.”
“Thank you. It means a lot that you believe me.”
Maggie thought she heard a snort come from J.D.’s direction, but ignored him.
The woman grasped one of David’s waving hands. Blinking back tears, she said, “He is such a handsome boy. Eric was a treasure, too. Such a good, kind child with a smile that could light up a room.”
J.D. cleared his throat.
Maggie hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. Certainly not the bad stuff. Now wasn’t the time. “I know. That’s what I loved about him. Eric was always smiling, always telling jokes.” Her heart ached as she realized her words weren’t just empty platitudes. She would miss Eric, too, and that really made her mad. Mad that he could still tug on her emotions, even after all he’d done. Even when he was dead.
Mrs. McGuire sighed. “He had such a big heart.”
“Yes, he had a big heart.” Apparently big enough to love more than one woman at a time. She forced the thought from her mind. Maggie would untangle her marital status later. She rose slowly.
J.D. moved beside her. It made her uncomfortable having him so close. The warning in his eyes told her that was his intention.
Grasping her arm, he herded her toward the door. “We’ll get you and the baby settled at my place.”
His voice softened as he turned toward his grandmother. “Why don’t you go rest for a while? I’ll be back later to take care of the…arrangements.”
“I still think it would be better if we stayed at the hotel,” Maggie insisted.
“And let you out of my sight? No way.”
“We don’t need your help.”
“You’re thousands of miles away from home, no place to stay, no money, no food—”
He held up a hand to stop her protest.
“I know, I know. You lost your debit card. But for the sake of argument, if you were broke, without a roof over your head, no food to eat, how would that look to the authorities? To the Department of Children and Family Services? You know they’re going to keep a close eye on you. Wouldn’t it be better to show you have, um, friends in the community?”
Maggie swallowed her pride yet again. Nothing was worth risking losing David. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice. But I’m the best bet you’ve got.” The statement was made with the quiet conviction of a man accustomed to calling the shots.
She watched her son grab J.D.’s strong, condescending nose. The guy’s eyes widened as the little baby claws sunk in for a better grip. Then yanked, hard.
Instead of the yowl of outrage she expected, the man looked at the baby. The baby stared back. Then grabbed J.D.’s ear with his free hand and pulled.
A smile twitched at J.D.’s lips.
“Quide a grib.”
“I beg your pardon?”
J.D. gently removed the tiny fingers from the bridge of his nose.
“I said, quite a grip.”
Maggie tried not to smile at his comeuppance. The reserved, very respectable man had five tiny indented half-moons on his nose. She really had to clip David’s nails, first chance she got.
“You sure you’re ready for this? Us? At your house?”
He rolled his eyes and disengaged his ear from the small fist.
“Lord help me, I better be.”
CHAPTER FIVE
J.D. TUCKED HIS GRANDMOTHER’S hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the front pew. He steadied her as she sank onto the polished mahogany seat next to Nancy.
Nancy greeted him quietly. Then she patted Grandma’s shoulder and murmured what he assumed was some sort of encouragement.
He bowed his head and briefly prayed for the improbable—that Nancy wouldn’t notice Maggie sitting in the back row. Maggie’d almost begged for a ride to the service, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He hadn’t doubted the sincerity of her emotion, simply the logistics of keeping a heartbreakingly solemn event from turning into a circus.
He’d finally agreed to bring Maggie on the condition she entered the chapel late, left early and waited in the car for him when it was over.
J.D. resisted the urge to turn around and check to see that she’d honored their deal. Today was about Eric and family. He needed to focus on the important stuff.
So he quieted his worries and simply let the reality of Eric’s death pervade him. All around him, others seemed to be following his lead. The hush of restrained grief echoed in his head. The overpowering scent of flowers made him want to flee. He glanced at the flowers, the decor, his shoes, anything but the casket. Or the still figure inside.
His stomach lurched. His face flushed.
The past and the present meshed in his mind. His dad’s funeral had been horrible. The flowers, the heat, the odor of death, barely masked by talcum powder. The fear that life would never be the same again. The sickening knowledge that it would be J.D. and his mom on their own. What would they do without his strong dad to keep them safe?
An uncle had nudged J.D. toward the casket. He hadn’t wanted to see or touch his father. But his uncle had insisted. So the five-year-old boy had slowly approached the coffin and the stiff, gray figure inside.
“Give him a kiss,” his uncle had commanded.
So he’d complied. His lips had touched the chilled waxy surface of his dad’s cheek and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. There had to have been some mistake. This plastic, doll-like thing was not his father. It didn’t even smell like his dad. Maybe the funeral was all some horrible mistake and his dad was alive somewhere in a hospital or something.
He had to know for sure. J.D. tentatively reached inside the casket and touched the jacket sleeve. His dad had a mole on his right wrist. Pulling back the sleeve a couple inches, his mouth filled with hot saliva as he noted the mole. This…this thing was all that was left of his wonderful, laughing dad.
J.D. felt the room tilt and the past fell away, leaving him sweating profusely.
He tried to focus on the present, and paying his respects to Eric, the half brother with whom he’d shared a mother and a grandmother, but not much else in recent years.
Placing one foot in front of the other, J.D. moved beyond the flower arrangements, straight to the shiny wood box. Yellow satin lining, yellow satin pillow.
Not Eric’s style. Maybe crimson or black silk, but never yellow. They should have presented him clutching a G-string or lace teddy. Then J.D. would be able to believe it was his little brother lying pale, still and silent in that box. A sad reminder of the little brother he’d watched over, protected and loved. The same brother he’d despised, and, on more than one occasion as a boy, tormented.
It was hard to believe that overgrown Ken doll in the casket was Eric. But he knew it was true.
Closing his eyes, J.D. hoped it was the room swaying and not him. Bright lights spun behind his eyelids.
He had to get out of here.
Turning, he stumbled down the center aisle. It took tremendous concentration to walk slowly to the foyer instead of breaking into a dead run.
Dead run.
J.D. shook his head at his own morbid pun as he entered the foyer and spotted the exit doors. It would be so easy to keep on going out those doors. No, he owed it to Eric to stay. He owed it to his grandmother to stay. He had to get himself together.
So he found a quiet corner and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Someone pulled at his elbow. A soft, sweet voice sent comforting vibes through the haze.
“Are you sick?”
Cool fingers pressed against his wrist.
He nodded, disoriented and unwilling to open his eyes. “I’m okay. But the guy in the box isn’t doing so good.”
Damn, more morbid humor.
“Eric’s not hurting. But you are.”
J.D. cranked open one eye. The woman’s features were blurry, ill defined. But she looked familiar, even in his fuddled state.
“Can you walk?”
Finally, the light-headedness dissipated and he opened both eyes to see copper hair and skin so fine it took his breath away. Freckles invited his touch, right there across the bridge of her nose. He reached out, but the angel’s voice interrupted him, her instructions gentle, but firm. “There are people here depending on you. Will you follow me inside?”
He shook his head.
“Listen, you can do this. Take a couple deep breaths. In, out.”
J.D. followed her instructions and was surprised when the sick feeling eased a bit.
“Ready?”
He straightened his spine and nodded.
“Okay.”
The gentle, compassionate woman tucked his hand in the crook of her arm, much as he’d done with his grandmother. She led him into the chapel, stopping a couple rows from the front.
“You can make it the rest of the way on your own. I’ll be in the back row like we agreed. If you need me, just signal,” Maggie whispered. Then she was gone.
She was right. J.D. was able to make it the rest of the way on his own. He sat next to his grandmother and drew strength from her. He could feel her beside him, back straight as a board, silent in her grief.
Damn. He’d been determined to see her through this the way she always had for him. How could he be her rock, her anchor, when he felt so lost himself?
He forced himself to think of a favorite place in the Smoky Mountains, but his mind turned to Maggie. She’d smoothed her thick, copper curls into some sort of looped braid. And her voice. Why hadn’t he noticed the perfect pitch of her voice before? He sighed.
He wished she’d come back and distract him some more. Run those cool hands over his face. Make it all go away.
But she couldn’t. Nothing changed the fact that Eric was dead. And no matter how much J.D. wanted to make it all better, it was beyond his control. Him. The big brother who made everything right.
Failure washed over him in waves. He should have been there. He should have protected his brother.
J.D. twisted in the seat, searching for an escape route. Then, in the very back row, a pair of green eyes held his gaze. Maggie’s presence reassured him. Calmed him. She understood what he was going through and expected no superhuman effort—just that he get through the funeral.
He idly wondered where she’d secreted the boy while she helped him. The kid was now happily ensconced on her lap.
Shaking his head, he decided the details didn’t matter. Knowing she was there made it possible for him to get through the service and even stay behind in the foyer, shaking hands, accepting condolences, making the appropriate responses. And every once in a while, he’d catch a glimpse of Maggie in the background, a constant source of encouragement.
It seemed like hours later when the last guest offered his sympathies and left.
J.D. looked up and saw Maggie.
Slowly, she nodded her approval.
It was humbling, letting a woman see his weakness, yet surprisingly liberating. As if she knew the worst, most cowardly part of his soul and didn’t judge him for it. The irony didn’t escape him. But it seemed right to have set aside his reservations and offered shelter to Maggie and her son. In turn, she’d offered him shelter when he’d needed it most.
“There she is,” his grandmother whispered, indicating Maggie. “I knew she’d come to pay her respects. She loved Eric. I could tell.”
J.D. swallowed a lump in his throat. “Yes, I guess she did.”
His grandmother called out, waving to her. “May I hold my great-grandson? It would do me good on such a sad, sad day.”
Maggie hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and handed the sleepy boy to the older woman. “Certainly. You’re always welcome to hold him.”
“Come here, precious angel,” J.D.’s grandmother crooned.
David studied her, frowning. Finally, he reached up and patted her lined cheek.
J.D.’s chest grew tight. It was the first time he’d seen his grandmother smile in several very long days. Hugging the child close, she said, “Yes, you’re a precious one.”
Then she turned, still holding the baby, and marched out the double doors. “David can ride with me in the limousine to the wake. Nancy is riding with Roy. J.D., you can follow with Maggie,” she said over her shoulder.
Maggie’s face paled. “No, I can’t. Wait, where are you taking my son? Come back. He needs a car seat. He needs me.” There was a note of panic in her voice.
J.D. touched her shoulder. “Apparently she’s taking him to her house. I bet the limo has a built-in car seat. Come on, I’ll drive.”
MAGGIE USED J.D. as a human shield as they made their way through the crowd of mourners, many of whom shot her dirty looks. Whispers followed.
Holding her head high, she tried not to think of how she must seem to them. Instead of seeing Eric’s estranged wife and mother of his child, they saw The Other Woman. A woman brazenly flaunting herself at Eric’s wake.
She grasped J.D.’s arm and halted his progress. “I have to get out of here.”
“Tough crowd, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes questioning.
“I don’t belong here.” She turned and pushed her way through the press of people, ignoring the hurtful whispers and the realization that no one met her gaze. The truth was, she didn’t belong much of anywhere, at least where family was concerned—Eric’s or her own.
Another funeral came to mind. Another person she’d loved dying too young. For a moment, it seemed as if she could feel Cassie there beside her, encouraging her to be brave, to fight for her son and her future. Ironic, because Cassie had committed the utmost act of surrender—she’d killed herself.
Maggie felt a hand on her shoulder and turned, half expecting to see her sister. But the person detaining her was very much alive and very much a threat, though he seemed genuinely concerned at times. He was still a McGuire and she’d best remember his loyalties would naturally be to the McGuires.
“Are you okay?” J.D. asked.
“I will be. Once I get my son and get out of here.”
Maggie pushed her way through the crowd to reach Edna. Holding out her arms to David, she said, “We have to go.”
David grinned at her through a mouthful of crumbs. He clutched a sugar cookie in each hand. But he didn’t move.
“He’s being such a good little boy,” Edna crooned. Raising her chin to address Maggie, her mouth thinned. “Stay just a little longer.” It wasn’t a request.
“A few more minutes,” Maggie murmured and stepped away from the crush of people.
There was a commotion near the front door, where a beautiful blonde dabbed her eyes and accepted sympathetic hugs and handshakes. A short, stocky man followed behind her, cupping her elbow solicitously.
Turning away, Maggie suppressed a pang of longing, wishing she could find comfort in the collective embrace of Eric’s friends and relatives instead of rejection and suspicion. Maggie longed for a safe, sympathetic resting place where she could give in to the confusion and grief lodged in her chest. But after that, she feared anger would follow. Anger, betrayal and envy. Emotions she could barely admit to herself, yet they simmered beneath the surface, demanding to be heard, demanding release.
Maggie felt firm pressure on her arm.
She looked up to see J.D.
He nodded toward the baby and his grandmother. “I take it she’s not about to give him up yet? At least not without a fight?”
Nodding, Maggie fidgeted with her purse. The room seemed to close in on her. Her breathing grew shallow.
“How about if we wander over to the kitchen? I’ll come get David for you in a couple of minutes.” His voice was reassuring in the midst of her anxiety. He, at least, was somewhat familiar.
“I—”
“Please? You look like you could use a break.” He glanced toward the blonde. “None of this is Nancy’s fault. She doesn’t deserve a scene any more than you do.”
Maggie hesitated, resisting the urge to understand what the other woman might be going through, the urge to understand her own conflicting emotions. Anger rippled through Maggie. Anger at a dead man for putting her in the position of feeling sorry for Nancy. Anger that she felt obligated to hide out because of his sins.
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