by Neesa Hart
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Max said, holding out a gloved hand to Ryan. “My name is Maxwell Wedgins.”
Ryan looked from Mark to the hand, back to Mark. Mark nodded. “It’s OK, Ry. Shake his hand.”
Ryan took it “I’m Ryan.”
“I’m delighted to meet you.” Max indicated a concrete bench with his ebony walking stick. “Shall we sit down? I propose that you sit on one end of the bench, and I shall sit on the other. I’d suggest my car, as it’s a good bit warmer, but I’m certain your mother would not approve.”
Ryan shook his head. “She wouldn’t. No way. She’d kill me if I got in that car.”
Max’s nod was short, an economy of motion. “Quite right. A smart woman, your mother. Shall we sit?”
Ryan moved to the bench. He sat on one corner and put his backpack between him and Max. Max smiled at him, men sat on the other side of the bench. “There. This is more comfortable, don’t you think?”
“Who are you?” Ryan asked.
“I am a friend of Mr. Carl Fortwell’s. I believe you spoke with him today?”
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Fortwell repeated your concerns to me, and I felt it best for us to discuss the situation man to man.” Max looked directly at Mark. “Although now I understand there is more than one party involved.”
Mark stared at him. “Can you see me?”
“Of course,” Max said.
“Wow!” Ryan looked at Mark. “He sees you, Dad. He really does.” He turned back to Max. “No one else can see him except me. Oh, and Annie, but she’s not real either.”
Mark moved closer to Ryan, never taking his eyes off Max. “Why can you see me?”
Max held out his cane. He waved it through Mark’s noncorporeal body. “Probably because I’m insane. I think one has to be very young or insane to believe in ghosts.”
Ryan looked at Mark. “What’s insane?”
“Crazy,” Max answered. “Loony. Whacko.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “He’s nuts?”
“Completely,” Max said.
“Wow!” Ryan turned back to Max. “This is so cool. I never met a crazy person before.”
Max propped both hands on the silver head of his walking stick. “Now you have. I have it on very good authority that I am completely nuts.”
“What do you want to talk to me for?”
Max looked at Mark. “I believe that your father has something to tell me. Something that is, perhaps, best told while you take a walk with Bobbi.” He waited for Mark’s confirming nod. Max smiled at Ryan. He pointed to a basketball hoop on the adjacent playground. “Perhaps you and Bobbi would like to play basketball while I speak with your father?”
“She’s a girl,” Ryan said.
“Nevertheless, I assure you she’s quite competent. What good is a chauffeur who cannot beat you at a game of horse?” He looked at the car. “Bobbi?”
She rolled down the window. “Yeah, Max.”
“My young friend would like to challenge you to a game of one on one. Bring your ball, would you?”
Bobbi slipped out of the car. She retrieved a basketball from the trunk of the limousine and bounced it twice on the pavement. Ryan’s eyes widened. “Wow!”
Mark had to agree. “Wow” more or less summed it up. Max gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I may be crazy, Mr. Connell, but that doesn’t have any effect on my eye for, well, shall we say, talent?”
Mark laughed. “No. I guess not.” He motioned to Ryan. “It’s okay, Ry. Why don’t you go with Miss, er . . .”
“Just Bobbi,” she said. “I don’t like formalities.”
Mark nodded. “Go with Bobbi. I’ll be right here.”
Ryan headed off across the frozen playground, chattering to his curvaceous new friend.
“Now,” Max said. “What I heard from Carl Fortwell was that he’d been told twice in the past week that something was amiss between Pete Sherban and Irene Fussman. I believe Ryan’s exact words were that Carl should see if Pete and Irene wished to attend the hockey game together as they are such good friends.”
Mark felt sheepish. “Ryan wouldn’t have understood the details, and I wasn’t about to tell him. I knew Fortwell had to be told what was going on. I was hoping he would read between the lines of Ryan’s invitation to the game. It would have been a lot easier if I’d just known I could tell you about it directly.”
Max nodded. “Indubitably.” He cast a quick look at Bobbi and Ryan. “Now that his tender ears are otherwise occupied, perhaps you’d like to tell me precisely what you think I should know.”
Mark leaned back against the bench. “I’d love to.”
Maggie started awake with a sudden sense of dread. Her eyes darted to the clock—3:16. “Scott?” He didn’t answer. She felt disoriented, anxious. She couldn’t put her finger on the source of her agitation, but she was certain something was wrong. “Scott?” she said, louder.
Maggie scrambled from the bed. She hadn’t bothered to undress when they’d returned from the airport. “Scott, where are you?”
He strolled into her room carrying two mugs of coffee. “Right here. What’s wrong?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know. Something is. Where’s Ryan?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth. “It’s cold in here.”
“He’s not home from school yet.”
Maggie froze. “What?”
“He’s not home from school yet.”
“It’s after three o’clock.”
Scott put the mugs down on the dresser. “I thought he usually got home at two-thirty, but I wasn’t sure. I figured I’d wait another fifteen minutes before I woke you up.”
“He should be here.” She could hear the frantic edge in her own voice.
Scott crossed the room. He clasped her shoulders in his large hands. “Now, Maggie, don’t panic. Does he always come home by two-thirty? Could he have stayed after for something? Hockey practice maybe.”
She paused, then shook her head. “After-school practice is on Mondays. He should be here.”
Scott reached for her discarded jacket. He tossed it to her. “Call the school and check. I’ll go start the Bronco.”
Maggie lunged for the phone. When a quick call to the school yielded no answer, she jammed her arms into her jacket, as she searched for her shoes. She was nearly in tears by the time she located her left sneaker under the bed.
“Come on, Maggie,” Scott yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Let’s go.”
She yanked on her gloves and raced down the stairs. “We’ll start at the school,” she told Scott. “He couldn’t have gotten far. They’d have called me if he left early.”
“I’m sure he just stayed after,” Scott said. He pulled the door shut, then sprinted toward the Bronco. “He probably just forgot to tell you.”
Maggie slid into the driver’s seat. She jammed the car into reverse and started moving before Scott had his door shut. Her hands were shaking so much, she could hardly handle the steering wheel. Scott gave her leg a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll find him, Maggie.”
“We have to.” She threw the transmission into drive and pressed her foot down on the accelerator. During the five-minute ride to Ryan’s school, Maggie suffered the anxieties of hell. She never stopped praying. No sooner did they turn into the small parking lot than she saw the limousine.
Scott let out a shout and pointed to the playground. Ryan was just making a basket. “There he is.”
Maggie roared to a stop at the edge of the playground. She threw the door open, then all but leapt from the car. “Ryan!” He waved at her. “Ryan!” Maggie took off running.
Scott’s eyes traveled from Ryan to the limousine to the strange man seated on the concrete bench. Anger exploded in his gut. He stalked across the narrow expanse of the parking lot, never taking his eyes off the stranger. Vaguely, he heard Maggie sobbing, from the corner of his eye, saw her fall to her knees and pull Ryan into her arms. Scott’s hands curled
into fists. He stopped in front of the bench. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded.
Max stood. “I assure you—”
“Oh boy,” Mark said.
Scott slugged Max square on the jaw. Max’s eyes registered his surprise. He rubbed his jaw. “I regret that I’ve caused you any anxiety.”
“Anxiety?” Scott roared. “I ought to have you arrested.”
“Oh boy,” Mark said again.
Max held up his hand. “I assure you I meant the boy no harm. Allow me to introduce myself.”
“What are you? Some kind of nut who gets his kicks out of terrorizing little boys?”
“Oh boy.” Mark buried his face in his hands.
Maggie dragged Ryan up beside Scott. She’d stopped crying and started yelling. “Ryan, you scared us to death. I’ve told you a hundred times not to talk to strangers. Don’t ever do anything like this again.”
“But, Mom . . .” Tears were running down his face.
She gave his arm a shake. “Go get in the car.”
“Mom—”
“Now, Ryan. We’ll talk about it later.”
Max gave Ryan a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I think I can get you out of this.”
Scott took a step forward. “You stay out of this.”
Max held up his hands. “Now, now. Let’s talk about this like adults.”
“Mom . . .”
Maggie looked at Ryan. “Get in the car.”
Ryan ran toward the Bronco. Scott took a deep breath. He fixed Max with a hard stare. “What the hell is going on?”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” He extended his hand. “I’m Maxwell Wedgins. I had some business to discuss with your son.”
Maggie gasped. “Maxwell Wedgins. You’re Max Wedgins?”
“I am.”
“What are you doing with my son? What business do you have terrorizing my family?”
“I assure you I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
Maggie took a step forward. Scott grabbed her arm. She glared at Max. “You didn’t mean to alarm me? You scared me to death. I thought he was lost, or, or worse. Do you know what it did to me when I pulled up here this afternoon and saw him talking to an absolute stranger?”
“I’m afraid I’m beginning to regret my lack of foresight,” Max said. “Perhaps I should have contacted you first.”
Maggie stared at him. Scott felt the tension begin to drain out of his body in the aftermath of the crisis. Unfortunately, Maggie was suffering no such effects. She was pulling at Scott’s restraining hands, and looked for all the world as if she wanted to scratch Max’s eyes out. Scott took a deep breath. “Look, Mr. Wedgins—”
“Max.”
“Max. I don’t know about your experience with children, or children’s mothers, but the most powerful force on earth is a mother with an endangered cub. If you had something to discuss with Maggie, you should have called her.”
Max gave Maggie a slight bow. “I assure you, Ms. Connell, I deeply regret any anxiety I have caused you, but my business was not with you. It was with Ryan.”
Scott felt Maggie tense. He tightened his hold on her shoulders. “What’s going on, Wedgins?” she said. “What kind of game are you playing?”
Max leaned on his walking stick. “I needed some information. Ryan was in a position to give it to me. Shall we say that I think it would be violating a gentlemen’s agreement were I to relay that information to you.”
Maggie sputtered. “A gentlemen’s agreement? Have you lost your mind?”
“Absolutely. Haven’t you heard?”
Scott looked at the benevolent expression on Max Wedgins’s face and knew, somehow, that Ryan had not been in any danger. “In the future,” he said, “you’d better make sure you conduct all your conversations with Ryan through Maggie. Do I make myself clear?”
“Completely. I regret any dismay I might have caused.”
“Forget it,” Scott mumbled.
Maggie stared at him. “I’m not going to forget it Just because you want the Cape Hope project doesn’t mean you have to—”
Scott clamped his fingers tighter on her shoulder. “Stop it, Maggie. It has nothing to do with that.”
Max leaned forward. “I meant the boy no harm, Ms. Connell. There must be something I can do to ease your mind.”
She turned an icy glare on him. “If Ryan says one thing to make me think that you hurt him, so help me, I’ll kill you myself.”
“And with good reason,” Max said.
Maggie was shaking. Scott was still stinging from her remark about the bid process. He had an acute need to end the conversation and confront Maggie about the charge. “I think we’re done. Let’s go home, Maggie.”
“I’m not done. I—”
“Now.” He linked his fingers under her elbow and started toward the Bronco.
“Mr. Bishop,” Max called.
Scott spared a glance over his shoulder. “What?”
“I understand you will be skating in the father/son game on Saturday. I wish you the best of luck.”
Scott didn’t bother to respond.
No one spoke on the short ride back to Maggie’s house. Ryan sobbed softly in the backseat while Maggie drove. Scott could feel a slow-burning anger turning to a full-fledged fire in his gut. The more he thought about Maggie’s accusation, the angrier he got.
Maggie let them into the house, dropped her keys on the hall table, then turned to Ryan. “Go upstairs, Ryan. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“But, Mom—”
“Now.” Maggie gave him a meaningful glare.
Ryan trudged up the stairs. Scott gave him an encouraging wink, then looked at Maggie. “You were a bit hard on him, don’t you think?”
She spun on her heel. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. He’s not your son.”
“No, he’s not, but there wasn’t any harm done, and I think you’re coming down on him kind of harshly.”
Maggie jerked off her gloves. “Like I said, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
Scott waited while she shucked her jacket. He felt the slow fury growing, spreading. Maggie looked at him. “Do you want to take your jacket off?” she asked.
Scott shook his head. “Not yet. I want to ask you something first.”
“All right.”
“Why did you say what you did to Max Wedgins?”
She frowned. “What did I say?”
“About the account. You said that I was brushing over the entire thing because I was worried about landing the account. I want to know why you said that.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Maggie shrugged. “Well, I didn’t mean to. I was upset. I was angry. I was scared. If I said something like that, I just wasn’t thinking.”
“I think you meant it.”
“What?”
“I don’t think you would have said it if you didn’t mean it.”
“That’s ridiculous. Of course I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Do you?”
“You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”
“Furious.”
“Scott, I—”
He held up his hand. “No, Maggie. I have something I want to say. You seem to be having a lot of trouble dealing with our relationship.” He noticed her slight wince. “Even the word makes you cringe.”
“That’s not true.”
“Don’t lie to yourself, at least.”
“It isn’t.”
“Yeah, right. All I know is, first there was that scene at Lily and Tom’s, then there was the meeting in Pete Sherban’s office when you were sure I was cozying up to Irene Fussman—”
“I never thought that.”
He ignored her. “And then there was today. My God, Maggie. How could you stand there and accuse me of something like that? What kind of slimeball do you think I am?”
“I don’t.”
“You k
now what your problem is? You keep holding me up in comparison to Mark, and I keep falling short. If Mark had been there, he would have creamed the guy, contract or no? Isn’t that right?”
“No, I—”
“Well, let me tell you something. Nobody wanted to cream Max Wedgins more than I did. What he did was horrendous, manipulative, hell, maybe even criminal, but I thought it was more important to get Ryan out of there without causing a scene than it was to vent my anger on Wedgins. So sue me.”
“Scott, wait. You don’t understand.”
“I understand all right. I understand that you’re scared to death of what’s happening between us. I understand that you’re terrified that you might actually feel something for me. So you’re looking for any flaw you can find in order to keep me at arms’ length. The hell of it is, Maggie, I’ve got plenty of flaws—you just keep finding ones that aren’t there.”
Maggie shook her head. “I just need time. I’m not trying to push you away.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Look. I’m going to get my bag out of your car and walk down the street to find a cab in to town.”
“You don’t have—”
“I think a long walk in the snow is just what I need about now. Then I’m going to get on a plane tomorrow morning and head back to Dallas. I’ll be back on Wednesday. I want you to think real hard about us while I’m gone. I’m going to need some answers when I get back.” He walked out the door without sparing her a second glance.
Maggie stared at the front door. She felt cold, bereft, and guilty. As much as she wanted to deny it, there had been truth in Scott’s words. He did frighten her, or rather, her feelings for him frightened her.
After she’d told Scott about the days following Mark’s death, Maggie had felt purged. Somehow, the telling of it had been as difficult as she’d thought it would be, but the aftermath had been a welcome relief from the oppressive memories. She had never felt closer, more intimate with anyone than she did with Scott Bishop. It had been almost like showing him her soul. When she’d shown him her wounds, he hadn’t simply offered comfort. He’d grieved with her. She was certain of it.
She pictured his face, his kind eyes, the easy smile that curved his lips. When she’d fallen in love with Mark, it had been the forever kind of love. Now she felt torn, caught between her memories of the first man she’d ever loved and the very real presence of Scott Bishop in her life.