THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

by Ginna Gray

  Dan stood with his feet braced wide, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans, watching her. "Damned screwy woman," he muttered under his breath. First she's bursting with confidence and sass, then she's bawling like a lost child. Then she has the nerve to get pissed off when he tries to help.

  He watched her until the elevator doors closed, then he shot a hard look at the door. If Jacob was doing okay, what the hell had brought on that bawling jag?

  The instant Dr. Sanderson left the room, Lily turned sad eyes on her husband. "Oh, Jacob, how could you? Maggie came all this way, hoping to heal the breach between you two. How could you treat her like that?"

  "Lily, we've been over this before. Let it go."

  "No. I can't." Her soft voice quavered, but she forced herself to go on. "I've let it go too many times in the past. And that makes me partly to blame."

  "The blame is Katherine's, not yours or mine."

  "Does it really matter? Oh, Jacob, you must make peace with her while you still can. Surely you know that. For your own sake, and for Maggie's."

  He closed his eyes and gave a weary sigh. "Lily, please. I'm just not up to this right now."

  Instantly terrified, she grabbed his hand. "What is it? Are you in pain? Are you having trouble breathing?" She laid the back of her free hand against his forehead.

  "I'm just tired," he said weakly. "So very tired. Seeing Katherine was a shock."

  Lily studied her husband's face. Was he faking fatigue to bring an end to the discussion? He often used diversionary tactics with her to avoid unpleasantness. Not that he shied from confrontation normally. Though it was almost never directed at her, Jacob had a formidable temper. He could bellow and rage with the best of them. However, he headed off any arguments between the two of them for her sake, knowing how much disharmony upset her.

  And, God help her, she had always taken the coward's way out and let him.

  He did look pale and exhausted. But then, lately he always looked that way. Lily gnawed at her lower lip. They really needed to talk.

  She shifted uneasily, torn between letting him rest and doing what she knew was right. What she should have done long ago.

  The matter was taken out of her hands when the door opened and Dan walked in.

  Maggie was so upset and angry she had no trouble staying awake on the drive back to Ruby Falls. She even shaved another two minutes off the trip.

  Approaching the house, she was relieved to see that no vehicle was parked in the long driveway. All she needed was to run into Martin again. She'd just about used up her supply of civility those few minutes in her father's hospital room.

  She parked her spiffy little car in the circle before the front entrance.

  Bone-weary and emotionally drained, she wanted only to escape to her old room, curl up in bed and pull the covers over her head, but after turning off the engine she didn't move. She simply sat there, gripping the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on her childhood home. Remembering.

  Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. No. Don't go down that road, Maggie told herself. It doesn't matter anymore. Remember? You've made a new life for yourself, a good life that's given you success and fame and wealth beyond anything you ever imagined. Poking at the past will only bring more pain.

  It was too late. The meeting with her father had reopened all the old wounds, and memories began to surface, fresh and painful as ever.

  Why? Maggie's throat tightened, her heart squeezed. Why couldn't her father love her? What was it about her that was so terrible? So repulsive? So unlovable?

  As far back as her memory went, she had known, or at least sensed, that Jacob merely tolerated her. It was nothing overt or dramatic. He had never been mean or abusive or even too strict. Just … distant.

  He had provided her with a good home, an education and all the material things she'd needed, the same as he had Laurel and Jo Beth.

  But those things had been given to her sisters with love and warmth. Jacob doted on his two younger daughters, showering them with love and attention, but all of Maggie's life he had been remote and stern with her.

  And she didn't know why. She never had.

  As a little girl she'd thought Jacob ignored her because she didn't have Laurel's delicate beauty or Jo Beth's pixie cuteness.

  The irony of that tugged Maggie's mouth into a crooked smile.

  Today she might be one of the top five models in the world, but during those years, whenever she'd looked into a mirror all she'd seen was a too-tall, skinny girl with freckles, horrid red hair and a mouth that was much to full for her thin face.

  Just when she'd become absolutely convinced that she couldn't be any more unappealing, she'd grown to be six feet tall and so damned gangly she'd been all arms and legs and knees and elbows.

  Remembering those days and the lengths to which she'd gone trying to compensate for her shortcomings brought a painful heaviness to Maggie's heart.

  She had gotten it into her head that maybe, if she were really, really good, Jacob would be proud of her, and then he would love her.

  It had been a child's foolish quest from the start. Looking back, Maggie doubted that Jacob had even noticed.

  By the time she reached her teens she finally accepted that it wasn't going to happen and said "to hell with it." After that, she'd set about breaking every rule she could think of, thumbing her nose at not only her father, but all the small-minded busy-bodies in Ruby Falls, as well.

  She hadn't done herself any favors, of course, but after years of battened-down emotions, Lord, it had felt good to cut loose at last and kick up her heels.

  Still, despite getting into one scrape after another during her early teens, she'd loved school too much to neglect her studies. By age sixteen she'd managed to graduate from Ruby Falls High School with a perfect four-point average.

  The achievement hadn't impressed her father, but it had gotten her accepted at Harvard. Her first semester there, distance and maturity had ended her rebel phase. Thank God.

  She'd worked her tail off in college, and in just under four years, at not quite twenty, she'd graduated with top honors and returned home with both her bachelor's and master's degrees in business, flush with success and full of dreams.

  Remembering, Maggie snorted. Fat lot of good it had done her.

  Her achievements didn't mean zip to her father—not then and not now.

  After that delightful reunion at the hospital, it was obvious that no matter what she did or how successful she became, his heart would always be closed to her.

  "Face it, Maggie. To him, and probably most of the people in Ruby Falls, you'll always be that wild, teenage hell-raiser, Jacob and Lily Malone's no-account oldest daughter."

  She pushed the button that raised the car's roof. When it had settled into place she unfolded her long length from the car, snatched up her leather tote and headed up the walk. There was no sense bothering to unload the rest. Tomorrow morning, as soon as she hashed things out with her mother, she was outta there.

  Now that Maggie was on her feet, fatigue hit her like a semi going ninety. She was so exhausted her legs wobbled.

  She'd hoped to have a talk with her mother tonight, but there was no chance of that. Lily would stay by Jacob's side until the nurses ran her out, and the way she drove it would take her an hour to get home. Even if Maggie could somehow manage to stay awake that long she would be too wooden-headed to think, much less engage in a head-on confrontation.

  It was barely twilight, but all she wanted to do was fall into the nearest bed and sleep the clock around. She wasn't even sure she had the strength to undress and get into her nightgown.

  The windows and doors of her parents' home were all still open, the front screen door unhooked. Anyone could walk in. To Maggie's knowledge, the locks on the doors had never been used. She doubted that anyone in her family even knew where to find the keys. Growing up in Ruby Falls, where almost no one locked their doors, she'd never thought anything about it, but seven y
ears in New York had imbued her with a healthy sense of caution.

  Maggie shook her head and stepped inside. Her friends back east would have a fit if she told them.

  New Yorkers tended to barricade themselves in their homes behind steel doors with multiple locks, bolts and chains.

  Light and television sounds spilled into the long central hallway from the family room at the back of the house.

  Jo Beth.

  Maggie grimaced. She probably ought to go say something to her little sister, but she was angry and sick at heart and too punch drunk to go even a few rounds of verbal sparring with a seventeen-year-old with attitude.

  Hefting the tote bag's strap a little higher on her shoulder, she trudged across the entry hall and started up the stairs.

  "Oh, it's you. I was hoping it was Ida Lou, coming home from bingo."

  Maggie stopped with her foot on the fourth step. She looked down at Jo Beth and did her best to smile.

  "Nope. Just me." She glanced up toward the second floor. "Is my old room still available? If Momma's using it for something else these days, I can take one of the guest rooms."

  "It's just the same. Like some kinda freakin' shrine." The teenager crossed her arms over her chest and gave Maggie a sullen look. "Don't tell me you're actually going to stay here with us peons?"

  "This is my home. Of course I'm staying here." For tonight, anyway. Even if she had the energy to drive back to Dallas, she doubted there were any flights available until tomorrow.

  "Well aren't we the lucky ones. The princess is going to honor us with her presence," Jo Beth jeered in a singsong voice. "I'm all aflutter."

  Maggie sighed and started trudging up the stairs again. "Not now, baby sister. I've hardly slept in four days. I'm not in any shape to take you on just yet."

  "Are you sure the accommodations are up to your standards? We don't have any silk sheets, you know," Jo Beth called after her.

  Maggie kept going.

  "And I'm not a baby!"

  * * *

  Four

  « ^ »

  Maggie slept for thirteen hours. She awoke a little after eight, rested and ravenous, but still sick at heart.

  After showering, she applied a minimum of makeup, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt and denim-and-leather vest and went downstairs in search of coffee, food and her mother, preferably in that order.

  Following her nose, she poked her head into the kitchen and sniffed appreciatively.

  "Mmm, something smells heavenly in here."

  The woman at the stove spun around, her stern face lighting up. "Maggie!" She bustled across the kitchen with her arms outstretched.

  "Oh, Maggie, child, it's so good to see you."

  Ida Lou Nettles had worked for the Malones ever since her husband died more than twenty years ago. She and Barney had been childless, and she treated Maggie and her sisters as though they were her own.

  A tall, rawboned country woman, Ida Lou stood barely an inch shorter than Maggie. She had gray-streaked, mouse-brown hair, which she wore scraped back in a bun, broad shoulders and even broader hips, and she was strong as an ox. She snatched Maggie into a bear hug, nearly knocking the breath right out of her.

  "No one told me you were coming home. I just found out from Miss Lily this morning that you were here. Why, if I'd known, I would've stayed home yesterday and cooked a feast to celebrate."

  She backed up a step, holding Maggie by her shoulders, and gave her a critical once-over. "Lord knows, you could use fattening up. Lord'a' mercy, child, you're skinny as a stick. Don't those folks up in Yankee land eat decent food?"

  Maggie grinned. "Not the kind you cook." She sniffed. "Is that biscuits I smell?"

  "And what else would I cook your first morning home, I'd like to know? Soon as I heard you were back I whipped up a double batch. I haven't forgotten how you used to put away my biscuits. Gonna whip up some eggs and sausage and hash browns and sausage gravy to go with 'em. I was just waiting for you to wake up to start 'em cooking."

  "And your boysenberries and honey? And fresh-churned butter?" Maggie asked hopefully, practically salivating.

  "Of course. Now, go on out to the terrace while I finish up. The table's all set for breakfast and there's juice and coffee on the cart. Your momma and Jo Beth have already eaten. Miss Lily's in the study right now, talking to the folks at the hospital. I expect she'll join you for coffee when she's done. Here, you can take a biscuit to tide you over," she said, lifting the cover on the bread warmer.

  "Why don't I take two?"

  Ida Lou chuckled. "Lord'a' mercy, I never saw the like. Always did eat like a lumberjack. By rights, child, you oughta weigh three hundred pounds. Instead you're so skinny you look like a good puff of wind would blow you away."

  Maggie didn't argue the point, but she knew she wasn't that thin—especially not by model standards. She ran three or four times a week and was slender and well-toned, but she wasn't emaciated like many models were. But Ida Lou had her own ideas on what constituted beauty. "Men like a woman with a little meat on her bones," she was fond of saying.

  "I know, I know. I just can't seem to gain weight, no matter how much I eat."

  Maggie took her biscuits and went out to the terrace. The glass-topped table and serving cart sat in the shade of the wide pergola alcove. Morning glory vines twined around the posts and draped the lattice roof with swags of green leaves and blue trumpet flowers, still glistening with morning dew.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a sip and closed her eyes. Heaven.

  Breaking open a steaming biscuit, she added a generous dollop of butter and heaped on the satiny lavender puree of boysenberries and honey. With the first bite she gave a sigh of ecstasy and closed her eyes again as melted butter dribbled down her chin.

  Nobody made biscuits like Ida Lou.

  She had barely finished the snack when the housekeeper bustled out with a plate piled high with steaming eggs, sausages, gravy and potatoes and a basket of warm biscuits.

  "Now, see that you eat every bite," the older woman said, plunking down the plate in front of Maggie.

  "Yes, ma'am." Grinning, she picked up a fork and dug in. As always, Ida Lou had given her enough for two men, but after days of nothing but airline food, Maggie was ravenous, and she polished off the gargantuan meal without the least effort.

  When finished, she took her cup of coffee and strolled over to the edge of the terrace. Her gaze softened as she drank in the familiar scene with longing and sadness. How she wished she could stay forever.

  The tall pines and ancient oak and pecan trees dotting the grounds had stood sentinel for hundreds of years, long before the present house was built. The backyard, surrounded by a waist-high white picket fence, flowed down a gentle slope. The orchard butted right up to the fence all around, the smaller peach trees marching away over the rolling land in precise rows.

  The sun had not yet cleared the tops of the tall trees, and the grass still glistened wetly. One set of big footprints tracked across the dew-drenched lawn, leading from the back gate up to the terrace, then back out again, disappearing through the gate and into the orchard.

  Dan Garrett? Had he already paid her mother a visit? Maggie wondered.

  Birdsong trilled from one of the oaks, and Maggie smiled, the sweet ache in her heart expanding. Lord, how she loved it here. How she missed her home, she thought bitter-sweetly.

  Then her gaze lit on the gazebo to the right of the terrace, and she clenched her jaw. Bitterness nearly overwhelmed her.

  While she was growing up, the gazebo had been her special place. With its white latticework railings and gingerbread trim, the sweet smell of honeysuckle drifting from the vines that twined around the posts, the rhythmic squeak of the old fan hanging from the cone-shaped ceiling, the small bower had seemed like a magical place to her.

  As children, she and her sisters had played with dolls and had tea parties there. In her teens it had become her special place, the spot where s
he could be alone, where she went to think or simply to daydream, or sort through whatever was troubling her.

  Then the events of that fateful evening seven years ago had forever stripped her favorite spot of its magic and tranquility, and changed her life forever.

  A terrible fight with Laurel had driven her to seek the sanctuary of the gazebo on that balmy June night so long ago. Maggie closed her eyes, remembering the frustration and despair and utter helplessness that had caused her to pace the octagonal wooden floor.

  She had returned home from Harvard just a week earlier, so happy and proud, full of plans to join her father in the family business. Jacob had resisted the idea at first, but she had expected that and had been prepared to convince him otherwise.

  What she hadn't expected—or been prepared to accept—was to find her sister engaged to marry Martin Howe in a ceremony that was to take place the following Saturday.

  To her further horror, Laurel had expected Maggie to be her maid of honor. The dress had already been made and was hanging in her closet. At Laurel's request, no one had contacted Maggie at college to inform her of the engagement. Her sister had wanted it to be a surprise.

  It had been that, all right.

  Maggie could not believe it. Throughout their school years Martin had been a bully and a sneak, and both she and Laurel had despised him. What had happened while she'd been away to change her sister's opinion?

  Maggie had tried every argument, every bit of logic, every cajoling plea she could think of to get Laurel to reconsider, but that only resulted in them getting into a terrible shouting match.

  It had ended when Maggie stormed out of the house. She'd raced across the back lawn, straight to the gazebo, where she'd paced and railed and shaken her fists at the heavens. She couldn't abide the thought of her sweet sister married to that asshole, Martin. She couldn't!

  Ten minutes later, she was still cursing and pacing the gazebo when Martin stomped inside looking like a volcano about to erupt.

  "There you are! I thought I'd find you here."