by Karen Woods
“Hank,” Helen said softly.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
“You want to talk?” Hunt asked quietly.
“We haven’t had much of a chance all day to talk, have we? Come on in for a while.”
A pair of chairs and a small table sat on one side of the fireplace that had been retrofitted for a gas log.
“Would you like a fire?” Hunt asked.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
“This is one of the few bedrooms in the main building with a fireplace. Mom and Dad usually keep this room in reserve for visiting VIPs,” Hunt said as he sat on his heels while lighting the fire.
“I’m honored.”
“You feel like sitting on the floor in front of the fire for a while?”
“I’m too stiff to get down and up without pain,” she answered. “I hate this. Every time that I move, I hurt.”
Hunt smiled at her. “Of course you do. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. And I know how you feel. I broke two ribs once in a motorcycle accident.”
“I didn’t know that you rode motorcycles,” Maggie said, smiling at him.
“A remnant of my young and foolish days,” he replied. A trace of wistfulness was in his voice as he watched to make certain that the fire was all right.
“We all have those sort of things in our pasts,” Maggie replied gently.
“You look tired. I’ll just get out of here and let you rest.”
“Stay for a while, please. I really don’t want to be alone.”
Hunt took the few steps to where she stood. He kissed her forehead. “I know, Maggie,” he said tenderly.
“Oh, Hunt . . . .” she replied on a ragged sigh.
He touched her face. “Maggie!”
Stepping closer to him, she buried her face in his shoulder.
“You know, I could get used to having you around,” she said lightly.
Hunt stroked her hair that was still bound in a braided chignon. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. Maggie, do you know how much I want you?”
“Let’s give this some time, Hunt. Please?” she asked in a much less resolved voice than she would have liked to use.
Hunt smiled at her. “Do you know how much I love you, woman?”
Maggie only sighed in reply.
“I remember how it hurt to lift my arms. Would you like for me to unbraid your hair and brush it for you?” Hunt offered.
Maggie pulled away from him slightly. She looked at him and smiled. “That seems awfully intimate,” she whispered.
Hunt smiled broadly. “Don’t stand on pride, Maggie. Let me help you.”
“My brush should be in the cosmetic case.”
It had been years since anyone had brushed her hair for her. Hunt’s hands in her hair, however, created a measurably different set of emotions than her mother’s had.
Maggie watched Hunt’s mirrored reflection as he worked through her hair with the brush. His strokes were gentle, firm, gentle, almost hypnotic in their regular rhythm.
“You’ve never cut your hair?” Hunt asked quietly.
“No. Never.”
“Don’t ever cut it, Maggie mine. It’s beautiful.”
“Short hair does tend to be more practical,” Maggie replied quietly, with a short moan, as she felt Hunt lift her hair and lightly kiss the nape of her neck.
Hunt straightened. He began brushing her hair once more. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Do with what?” Maggie asked hoarsely.
Hunt laughed. “With your hair. Surely, you don’t sleep with it loose. You’d never get the rats out of it. What did you think that I meant?”
“How my mind functions when you are around scarcely qualifies as thinking,” she replied quietly, with an edge of self-deprecation in her tone.
“Baby, don’t say things like that to me. I’m on the edge of my control now.”
“I think that you had better go now, Hunt. Thanks for everything.”
Hunt smiled at her. “Spoken quite properly. Tell me, Maggie, who put you in that straitjacket of propriety?” he asked gently.
Maggie’s face lost all it’s color, just before she turned around on the vanity bench to face him. “I can only be who I am, Hunt,” she replied. “Either you can accept me as I am, or you and I can forget about any future we might have.”
Hunt sank down on his heels, so that he could look at her face. “Maggie,” he said gently, “I’m not trying to change you. I like you just the way that you are.”
“But, do you know who I am, Hunt? Or are you seeing the woman who you think that I am? The woman whom you want me to be?”
Before Hunt could answer, the telephone rang. Maggie crossed the room to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Maggie,” Helen’s voice came over the receiver. “There is a call for you. The man says that he is your brother, John, calling from London. Should I put this call through to you?”
“Yes, please, Helen. I’ll talk with John. Thank you.”
“Connecting you now,” Helen said.
“Magpie?” John asked in a connection that was surprisingly clear.
“Hi, Johnny,” Maggie replied with a smile.
“Don’t ‘Hi, Johnny’ me, Margaret Mary. What’s this about someone taking a couple of shots at you?”
“Bad news travels fast, even internationally.”
“Are you all right?”
“A couple of cracked ribs and some bruises. Nothing critical.”
“Then why didn’t you call me to put my mind at ease?” John demanded.
“Sorry, Johnny. I should have called. I just didn’t think that you would have heard about something this minor.”
“Minor? Minor! Are you out of your gourd? There is nothing minor about someone trying to kill my baby sister!” John his voice getting louder and louder.
Maggie held the phone away from her ear as John began to shout. Hunt took the few steps to close the distance between himself and Maggie.
“Don’t you dare shout at me, John Jacob O’Shay, III,” Maggie replied calmly. “I have had a hellish day. Your shouting at me doesn’t help my tension headache.”
John was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Magpie.”
“It’s all right. Today’s just been tough for me.”
“I’ll bet that it has. To change the subject slightly, what is this that I hear about you and Hunt Thomas?”
“I don’t know. What have you heard?” Maggie replied teasingly.
“Michael says that you are getting married,” John answered quietly, with a reservation in his voice only someone who knew him well would have discerned.
“I thought that you knew Hunt,” Maggie stated quietly.
“I do. He’s a good man. One of the best whom I know.”
“But?”
“You’re my sister,” John replied gently.
Maggie laughed slightly. Then she grimaced at the discomfort in her chest. “I see . . . .”
“Look, Magpie,” John said firmly. “I want you to consider coming to London. I can arrange for adequate security for you, here.”
“No thanks, John.”
“Stubborn woman!”
“That’s right. But, it’s a genetic trait in the O’Shay family,” Maggie replied easily.
“So, what are you going to do with yourself since you don’t have the job at Faulks anymore?” John asked quietly.
“I really don’t know. Somehow, it doesn’t seem as important right now.”
“I can understand that.”
“How’s Emily?”
“Fighting the flu at the moment.”
“Give her my love,” Maggie requested.
“Of course. You wouldn’t be able to transfer this call to Hunt would you?”
“He’s here, I’ll let you talk with him.”
“He’s in your room? At this hour of the night? Margaret Mary!”
“I’m twenty-six-years old, not sixteen. I don
’t need the heavy handed big brother routine,” Maggie said tightly.
“Let me speak with Thomas,” John ordered.
“Yes, sir! Colonel, sir!” Maggie replied sarcastically. She looked at Hunt. “My thoroughly charming big brother wants to speak with you.”
“O’Shay?” Hunt asked as he took the receiver from Maggie.
“I asked you to protect her. Not to let her get shot, then bed her.”
“You’re out of line, O’Shay,” Hunt said coldly.
“Did someone fire two .44 slugs at her today?”
“The police found the brass from two .44 auto mag shells.”
John sighed. “Any line on the shooter?”
“Not really. The police are looking for a man who was registered here, called himself Edwards. I doubt that is a real name. The man paid cash.”
“I see,” John replied quietly. “I know that I suggested that you might use the cover of a romantic relationship with Magpie in order for her to let you protect her. But, marriage?”
“Again, you are out of line, Colonel. Maggie and I are both adults. How we choose to conduct ourselves is none of your business.”
John was silent for a moment. “Are you going to marry her?”
“That is the lady’s decision,” Hunt said firmly. “She hasn’t given me a firm ‘yes’, yet.”
“You treat her right,” John said firmly.
“I have no intention of doing otherwise,” Hunt replied equally firmly. “I happen to love her.”
“Let me talk with my sister.”
“He wants to talk with you,” Hunt said quietly as he handed the phone to her.
“Johnny?” Maggie asked reluctantly as she took the phone receiver from Hunt.
“Magpie, take care of yourself.”
“I’m trying, Johnny.”
“Honey, we knew that. You are very trying.”
“Very funny, John,” Maggie answered dryly.
“Are you going to marry Thomas?” John demanded.
“I’m thinking about it. Any reason why I shouldn’t?”
John sighed. “He’s a good man, Magpie.”
“That’s my impression.”
“I’ve got to go, now, Magpie. How long are you going to be at the Inn?”
“I don’t know, John. I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“I guess that it will have to be. Love you, Magpie. Take care of yourself.”
Maggie blinked back tears. She could count on one hand the number of times that John had told her that he loved her. “Yeah, Johnny. I love you, too.”
Helen hung up, downstairs, after she had heard the connection break. The mute button on her handset had allowed her to stay on the line after the connection between John and Maggie had been made. All Helen had wanted was to make sure Maggie wasn’t being bothered by a crank caller. But, she couldn’t resist the temptation of listening in to see what sort of relationship that Maggie had with her brother. Unfortunately, Helen found out far more than she wanted to know.
Chapter 6
Maggie woke up terrified, in a cold sweat. It took her a long minute to realize that she had simply had a nightmare. When she was able to stop shaking, she went into the bathroom. She gingerly piled her usual nighttime braid onto her head and pulled on her shower cap. Then she unbuttoned the oversized silk pajama top she normally wore for sleeping, and unwrapped her ribs. The warm spray of the shower finished driving off the demons.
Unfortunately, it also rendered Maggie wide awake. She dried off, then rebound her ribs before she slipped on a pair of black sweat pants and matching zippered jacket. She slid her feet into her house slippers before she headed downstairs to raid the kitchen.
The grandfather’s clock in the main foyer chimed off one fifteen.
Standing just outside the kitchen, she heard Hunt and his mother arguing.
“I can’t believe you, son,” Helen said. “How could you do that to that sweet girl?”
“I haven’t done anything to Maggie.”
“Were you or were you not involved in a conversation with her brother in which the pair of you discussed your pretending to be in love with Maggie so that you could get close enough to be her bodyguard during Michael McLaughlin’s presidential campaign?”
Maggie froze.
Helen continued, “I am thoroughly ashamed of you, son. You weren’t raised to be a cruel man. Any fool can see that Maggie is falling in love with you.”
Maggie felt her cheeks flush. She couldn’t bear to hear any more of this conversation. So, she turned and ran back up the stairs. Every footfall was painful, but Maggie didn’t even notice the physical discomfort.
Sleep didn’t come to her for the remainder of the night.
“I take it you haven’t seen the papers yet,” Hunt said as Maggie walked into the dining room for breakfast.
Maggie looked at him as though he were crazy. “I have not yet had my first cup of coffee, Hunt.”
Hunt poured her a cup of coffee along with another cup for himself, and brought both cups and a stack of newspapers over to her. While she sipped her coffee, he opened the papers. “Read these, Maggie mine,” Hunt said gently.
Her eyes became wide with shock as she read the coverage of the shooting in the major newspapers. She sat back and finished her coffee. The coverage itself wasn’t unexpected.
What was unexpected was that there had been a statement called into each of several major papers immediately after the shooting in which responsibility for the shooting had been firmly claimed by a group who refused to name themselves. The calls allegedly stated that Maggie’s death was a strike against Michael for his harsh position on terrorism. The one quote in the call that struck Maggie was, “We will force the governments of the world to deal with all of the freedom fighters of the world. Freedom cannot be given. It must be taken for a people to value it. Some people will have to be martyred to the cause of freedom. Margaret Mary O’Shay is only the first of many. The streets of the world will run red with blood if Michael McLaughlin becomes President of the United States.” Maggie felt a cold shiver of fear as she read that quote.
Surprising to her, also, was the line in each article about Maggie’s engagement to billionaire “Boy wonder” businessman, Hunter Alexander Thomas. The articles stated that both she and Hunt were active in international business: he as an investment banker, she as the senior VP of Faulks Pharmaceuticals European division.
Hunt looked at her. “I thought that you said that you were a saleswoman?”
“I was,” Maggie replied quietly.
“This last announcement says that you are the senior VP in charge of European Operations for Faulks Pharmaceuticals,” Hunt said.
“I know. I don’t understand it.”
Helen cleared her throat. “That reminds me, Maggie. A man named Guy Faulks called. He’ll be here soon to talk with you.”
Hunt merely smiled at her.
Hank laughed. “You know, my grandfather would have said that you are the type of person who could fall in manure and come up smelling like roses, Maggie. So, are you going to take the job?”
Maggie smiled broadly. “I may,” she said thoughtfully.
Hunt looked at her. “Why would you hesitate?”
“The European division is quite new. In fact, we are just launching it in partnership with several European drug companies. It may be more of a challenge than I am equipped to handle.”
“Nonsense!” Guy Faulks said from the doorway.
“Hello, Guy,” Maggie said reluctantly. “Coffee?”
“Coffee would be nice,” Guy replied easily as he took a seat at the table.
Guy looked at Maggie. “If you hadn’t hung up on me the other day, I would have explained our decision to you.”
Maggie smiled tightly. “I thought Charlie Harrison was supposed to have been appointed to the top European spot.”
Guy nodded sadly. “Charlie had a massive coronary. He’s dead. They cremated him on Saturday. The memorial service will b
e in a week, as soon as his kids can get home from overseas.”
Maggie blew a thin stream of air through her teeth. “How is Imogene holding up?”
“Better than I expected. I dropped by yesterday evening to see what I could do for her. She’s well, all things considered.”
“When was the decision made to offer me the post?” Maggie asked quietly.
Guy smiled, but it was a rueful smile.
“I see . . . .” Maggie replied thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well, that tells me where I stand.”
Guy nodded. “The appointment would never have been made if you weren’t qualified, Margaret.”
“But the fact that I had threatened going to the EEOC didn’t hurt the decision to offer the position to me,” she offered flatly.
“Naturally, that was a consideration,” Guy replied easily.
“And if I refuse the position, you will have rather smartly thwarted any action that I could have taken against you. Yet, if I take the job, I will have to turn over all of my previously booked sales appointments over to the sales staff. So, the company will not lose out on those sales,” Maggie stated carefully. “You can’t lose, Guy. All I have to do is take the job, that will give you the opportunity to fire me for alleged incompetence.”
There was silence in the room for the longest of moments.
Guy cleared his throat. “That is one possible outcome, Margaret,” he affirmed. Guy looked around the table and smiled. “Now you know why I don’t play chess with her. She always sees at least four moves ahead.” Then Guy looked at Maggie. “That ability to forecast potential actions is one of the reasons that I want you in this job, Margaret. There are other reasons. Primarily, your fluency in Spanish, French, Italian, and German. You won’t need an interpreter to deal with our partners. That will be an asset.”
Maggie smiled as she sipped her coffee. “Naturally.”
Guy continued to look at her. “Well, Margaret?”
Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. Then she looked at Guy. “All right. I’ll take the job. When do you want me to take over the operations?”
“I’ve got you booked on a flight for London late this afternoon. You have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the British. There is a glitch with their end. You will need to work it out. By the time that you leave today, you’ll have all the documentation on the situation.”