by Lois Richer
“You should be thankful for a lot more than that,” he growled, moving toward the door. He stopped a moment and then turned toward her as if he just had to say the words that were bottled up inside. “You should be very thankful, Maggie McCarthy. You have a place to call your own. A place full of memories and history. You have your parents to lend a hand when you need it.” His almost black gaze bored straight into hers.
“You’ve known the love of a man and you have two wonderful daughters who think you’re the best mother around. They are happy, well-adjusted girls who live comfortably. That’s far more than most people ever get in this lifetime.” A second later Grady had disappeared through the door and Maggie was left wondering what was behind the stark raw pain she’d seen in those eyes.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered, getting up to stare out the window at the lowering gloom. “All I really need is You and You are always there. Help me to keep on keeping on. Amen.”
Then with a resolute determination, Maggie picked up her large shears and began cutting out the pieces she intended to use for seashells, completely losing herself in her work until the old cuckoo clock chimed nine and she rushed out to send the girls to bed.
Grady O’Toole perched on a folding chair on a patch of lush green lawn and stared at the big old farmhouse.
“Why me, God?” he demanded. “Why did You give me everything I thought I wanted and then yank it all away? What have I done wrong?”
The girlish giggles coming from inside the house pricked at his mind until he could tolerate it no more. With a grunt of dismay he stood and began walking toward the thick grove of trees behind the house.
In his mind’s eye he could see Fiona—beautiful, elegant Fiona who thought you could deal with the problems life handed you by buying someone off. He remembered the night he’d proposed and the way she’d cooly accepted his kiss on her cheek.
Funny, he thought to himself. I hadn’t remembered that cool, chilly kiss until today. He sifted through the memories and his mind zeroed in on another. She hated the ring I chose. The thought was traitorous, but try as he would, he couldn’t ignore it. She wanted something more showy, something that would be suited to her position in the firm. She hadn’t cared that his diamond had been nearly flawless. Size and one-upmanship, that’s what Fiona was all about.
“I shall expect to travel, Gradin,” she’d told him that evening, straightening the red silk dress with her polished fingernails after he’d tried to hug her. “And I think we’d better start looking at houses soon. You can afford better than this.” Her piercing glance tore apart the small apartment and its understated furnishings. “After all, we shall want to entertain.”
Grady approved wholeheartedly of entertaining. He’d gone along with her plans quite happily until he’d discovered that Fiona had no intention of including anyone in the invitation who didn’t have substantial power or influence in the business community. Her choice of guests was strictly limited to those people she could use to get ahead.
And still he hadn’t seen through her.
Grady walked slowly through the bush, only half hearing the twitter of birds in the treetops. The land sloped down here and he followed it gladly, thankful for the energy it required to find a way through the thick undergrowth. If only it were so easy to take away the words in his head.
The engagement party had been a disaster that no one could have predicted.
“We want only those people who are really glad for us.” Fiona’s voice had been harsh. “I don’t think that includes every little secretary and typist from your company, Grady.”
“You don’t understand, dear,” he’d told her, half smiling at her wish to have everything just so. “A lot of these folks helped get the company where it is now. I want them to share in our happiness.”
She had shaken her head with determination. Her hazel eyes had flashed daggers at him. “This event will be reported in the society columns,” she hissed. “I will not be embarrassed by some snippy little underling trying to ingratiate herself into our lives.”
There should have been misgivings then. Especially when his parents had shown up. His mother had never been one for society events and she’d stayed glued to her husband’s side all night, afraid to say anything that might reflect badly on him. His father, Grady remembered, had been much the same. Only later had he found out Fiona’s part in their discomfort.
The gloom of the thicket suddenly gave way and Grady realized that he was at the edge of the river. A small one, it was true. Still, it gurgled and ran along at a good speed. Crouching at the side, he stuck one hand in and smiled at the chilly temperature. Just what he needed to take his mind off the past.
A minute later he was fully immersed in the cool water. Its revitalizing freshness washed over every part of him better than the dinky shower in his camper ever could. He swam around for several minutes, letting the chilly temperature lower both his temper and his body heat. When at last he emerged, Grady grinned at the feel of the breeze caressing his skin.
“What can compare with Your creation, Lord?” he asked, staring at the huge moon overhead. He donned his clothes quickly and then found a huge warm stone to sit on as he stared out at the lush valley around him.
There was no doubt that Maggie’s farm was demanding and she wore herself out trying to cover all the bases, but it was a lovely area and he couldn’t imagine that she would ever really want to leave such peace.
“I don’t know why I’m here, Lord,” he mused, chewing on a stem of wild oats. “I should be at home, trying to save what little there is left of my business.” But the words rang hollow. Now wasn’t the time. Hadn’t Harvey told him that over and over again only this morning on the phone?
“You can’t come back, Grady, old pal. We haven’t got things in place yet. I’ll let you know when. Just relax and get yourself healthy. There’s always another empire to be built, you know.” Grady remembered grumbling about the slow hand of justice and Harvey’s laugh of derision. “For some people there is no justice,” he said with a snort. “And I’m very much afraid that your ex-wife falls into that category, my man. The best we can do is salvage what we can and move on.”
Grady had hung up, fury making it impossible to speak. But the words rang round and round his head like a bell that wouldn’t stop bonging.
“Nothing can salvage my child. Nothing.”
With a sigh of despair for a past that was too painful to dwell on, Grady clambered back up the hill, thankful for hard work and early mornings that made it nearly impossible not to sleep at night. He needed sleep. It was the only way he could forget.
Chapter Four
“Why, Margaret Mary McCarthy! My word, girl! I haven’t seen such a handsome man in a month of Sundays! Wherever did you find him?” Minnie Hugenot flapped her two-inch, black, paste-on spider lashes provocatively at Grady, who was standing some distance away. “And such muscles, too. Oh, my!”
The obvious stare at Grady’s biceps made Maggie blush. She’d never been so happy to have church over.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Katy muttered, kicking her toe against the carpet of the church’s foyer. “What a lot of fuss!”
Keeley elbowed her. “Hush up, Katy. Maybe Mom’ll take the hint and see how cute Grady is.”
“I thought you said she was going to marry Brian?” Katy glared at her sister in frustration. “Why does it matter what she thinks of Grady?”
“It just does, that’s all. Anyway, Brian’s away right now and Grady’s here!” Keeley’s voice dropped. “But we’ve got to get them together. I told you. That’s how they do it in all the best love stories.” Her smooth forehead wrinkled in thought. “I’ve got it! Let’s ask Mom if we can go for a picnic when we get home. Then you can ask if Grady can come. You and I’ll go butterfly hunting and they’ll be left alone. Grown-ups like that.”
“I don’t know,” Katy began, and stopped when she had to move out of the way of Minnie’s burgeoning hips. “I don’t
think Mom would like it much.”
“Mom isn’t supposed to know, silly.” She tugged her twin over between the now-empty pews, and after casting a look to make sure no one could overhear, showed Katy the computer printout sheet she’d tucked into her white patent purse. “I got this off the Internet,” she whispered, grinning. “I asked a question on this romance bulletin board and got a whole bunch of answers from a bunch of different people. I picked the ones I wanted.”
“Keeley! If Mom knew, she’d…” Katy’s voice died away from sheer shock.
“Well, she’s not going to know unless you tell her.” Keeley glared, advancing forward menacingly. “And you’re not telling. Are you?”
“N-n-no. That is, not unless it doesn’t work.”
“If it doesn’t work, we move on to step two.” Keeley refolded the sheet and tucked it away again. “Let’s face it. We have to do something. Otherwise our mother is going to make us move to Calgary!”
“Good! When are you leaving?” Johnny Applebaum’s dirty face peered up at them from under the edge of the pew. “I can hardly wait!” He burst out laughing at their furious looks and dashed underneath the bench and out the other side. “I’m going to tell everybody you’re going,” he called.
“Come on, Keeley,” Katy urged, ducking between Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Anderson. “We’ve got to catch him before he squeals!”
“And then what?” Keeley gasped, lunging down the stairs. “You’re not going to beat him up again, are you? Katy, you’ve got your best dress on!” In a desperate attempt to avert tragedy, Keeley followed her sister across the churchyard and into the Caragana hedge.
Maggie’s anxious gaze followed her daughters out the door. She turned back to find Minnie watching her speculatively. “I expect Grady will be leaving before too much longer.”
“You do rather seem to have a problem hanging on to the male of the species, don’t you, dear? I hear Brian Dalgleish is away now, too.” Minnie’s voice was soft but the meaning was there, and Maggie felt herself flushing. “Now tell me, Maggie. Is my suit finished?”
“Yes, nearly,” Maggie murmured, watching as the steady stream out the door lessened. “I wouldn’t mind one more fitting before I do the finishing though. Just to make sure.”
“I’ve never had a dressmaker who had to have so many fittings,” Minnie said, looking down her long knobby nose at Maggie. “Perhaps when you get some more experience, you’ll be a bit quicker at it.”
Maggie stifled the words that rose in her throat, trying to remember that she was in the house of God and this was no place to make snappy replies. “It’s only been two weeks, Minnie. And I did have some seeding to do.”
“Yes, well—” Minnie searched through the crowd and began moving past Maggie “—just make sure I get all the remnants back. I don’t want to find my suit as part of one of your little projects.”
As her best paying customer sidled down the stairs, Maggie gritted her teeth. “One of my little projects indeed,” she muttered angrily.
“Are you talking to yourself now, too?” Grady stood behind her, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“No! I was just…” Maggie searched for the right words as she gathered up the girls’ Sunday school papers and her Bible. “Never mind.” She sighed and then peered around, remembering. “Minnie Hugenot went looking for you.”
“Yeah, well fortunately for me, she’s hard to miss and I avoided her.” He looked very satisfied with himself. “Are you ready to go? I told the girls I was going to ask you if we could have a picnic. Since it’s such a nice day and all.”
Maggie searched his features, wondering what had prompted this sudden invitation.
“I could pick up a barrel of chicken. You wouldn’t have to do anything. They come with plates, cutlery—everything.”
He sounded almost desperate, Maggie thought. Maybe he was lonely. And the girls would love to have a picnic. Anything to get out of clearing the table and loading the dishwasher.
“All right,” she agreed finally. “I was going to go to my parents’, but I’ll bet they’d enjoy the rest just as much, Mom’s been out at my place so often lately, I’m sure she’d like to relax in her own garden.” She felt his arm go under her elbow as they walked down the steep stairs. It had been a long time since she felt so protected. “I’ll pay for half.”
His hand fell away immediately once they reached the sidewalk and he whirled to face her.
“No, this is my treat.” Maggie started to argue, but he stopped her with an upheld hand. “Please? Let me do this.”
There was no time to say anything for Minnie bore down upon them like a two-ton truck, removing all obstacles in her way. Maggie nodded at Grady and turned her glance away as the other woman spoke.
“Mr. O’Toole,” she cried in a loud, peremptory voice. “Welcome to our little church! As head deaconess, I would be delighted to welcome you to my home for lunch.”
Maggie watched as Minnie waited breathlessly for Grady’s answer.
“Thank you very much,” he replied solemnly, although Maggie could see the glint of merriment dancing in his eyes. “But Mrs. McCarthy and her daughters have agreed to a picnic lunch with me.”
“A picnic, eh?” Minnie’s eyes were speculative. “It’s too bad that I’ve already been asked to practice with the choir this afternoon,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Otherwise I might have tagged along.”
Maggie had to hide her grin at the obvious relief covering Grady’s handsome face.
“Oh, that is too bad. Are you and the girls ready, Mrs. McCarthy? We should be on our way.”
Maggie felt the warmth of his palm cup her elbow again and moved along at his bidding.
“I wish you’d stop Mrs. McCarthy-ing me,” she grated when they reached his truck. “My name is Maggie to everyone around here. It has been since the day I was born, and I don’t like to answer to anything else.”
She stepped up awkwardly, hiking her slim straight skirt up in order to reach the high step of the truck. She’d had to beg a ride because the car had a flat this morning and she had no time to change it. Maggie just caught his assessing look at her bare brown legs and hastily smoothed the navy fabric over them.
“I know,” she muttered defensively when he got into the cab of his truck. “I should have worn hose. But it’s so hot! I don’t think God cares about that stuff anyway. Especially not way out here in Willow Bunch!” She stopped the torrent of words just in time to notice the tic at the corner of Grady’s mouth as he turned his dark head toward her and smiled politely.
“No,” he agreed mildly. “I don’t suppose it matters to God what’s on your legs.”
“Believe me,” she mumbled, searching her purse for a tissue and mopping the moisture from her face, “if Nettie Fitzgibbons had noticed, I’d have had to listen to a decorum lecture. She used to measure my skirts when I was in fifth grade. I had to kneel on the floor, and if the fabric didn’t graze the tiles, I was in big trouble.”
“Such as?”
He actually sounded interested in her small-town history, Maggie noticed. She took another breath of the air-conditioned breeze shooting out the vents.
“Her favorite punishment was writing lines. I think she picked it because I had such terrible handwriting. Still do.” She grinned, noticing the tiny flecks of silver that hid themselves in the rich chestnut darkness of Grady’s hair.
He sat staring at her, his eyes full of something—longing? Maggie told herself not to be foolish. Nobody in their right mind would envy her dull, boring life!
“You must have had a wonderful childhood,” he said, tilting his head to stare at the groups of people who still stood laughing and chatting on the lawn. “Everyone knows everyone else. There aren’t any terrible secrets you have to hide.” His voice dropped to a quiet hush. “I envy you your life, Mrs. McCarthy.”
“Maggie,” she corrected automatically, frowning up at him across the small space. “Why would you envy me?” She held up one hand and
counted off each finger as she spoke. “I’m up to my ears in debt, doing something that is dirty and thankless and has a very poor return. My best horse has gone lame. It doesn’t look like the wheat will be doing much unless we get some rain, and I can’t sell what little I’ve got in the bins because I didn’t get enough quotas last year.”
“Still,” he murmured, staring at the lush greenness around him with that starry-eyed gaze Maggie had seen before. “Just look around.”
“I did,” she told him succinctly. “Last night.” She shook her head in disgust. “The pressure system is broken again, which means it’s going to be another long, dry summer. The crops need to be sprayed within the week or there won’t be any point and Buster McLean is all booked up. And the only thing that’s doing really well in the garden is zucchini. Do you know how sick I am of eating zucchini?” Maggie lowered her brows and visually dared him to comment on how wonderfully versatile the vegetable was.
“Oh.” He changed tactics. “Think of yourself then. Think of how…”
“What? Think of what? My fingernails, which are chipped and broken all the time, no matter what I do,” she added in frustration. “That I haven’t had a professional haircut in years? Or maybe I should remind myself of how wonderful it is to have clothes I’ve made myself. I mean, who wants to wear those designer silks and cashmeres anyway!” She felt the heat warming her cheeks but ignored it to focus on Grady and her pent-up wrath.
“As for a nice steady paying job in clean surroundings, doing something other than fighting the land or making pretty useless things for other people—well, how utterly boring!” The silence yawned between them as Maggie realized exactly how self-pitying she had sounded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring at her rough, reddened fingers. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“Why not, if it’s the truth?”
Her head jerked up of its own volition and Maggie stared at him in surprise. “Of course it’s true,” she told him. “But it’s not your problem.”