Halfway to Paradise

by Neesa Hart

  Maggie walked into the living room. She reached for Mark’s picture on the mantel. She trailed a finger across his face. If only she felt like her attraction to Scott was based on more than just a need for his companionship. She had been so alone for so long, it was easy to simply accept what he offered and let it fill that need. But she couldn’t. She needed to know that Maggie Connell was her own person apart from anyone and everything else. If she didn’t, she’d never be sure she could do it.

  When she’d lost Mark, it had been devastating and frightening. When the grief had ebbed, she’d been left with a panicky feeling that she couldn’t survive apart from him. She couldn’t put herself through that again. To love Scott Bishop, she first needed to believe in Maggie Connell.

  Maggie plunked Mark’s picture down on the mantel. To love Scott Bishop. Had she really thought the word? Cautiously, Maggie looked at the dark place in her heart where the grief of Mark’s death, the fear, the feelings of betrayal and abandonment had once been. In their place, she was surprised to find warm memories of laughter-filled days and the promise of forgiveness.

  Thirteen

  Maggie knocked softly on the door to Ryan’s room. She could hear him crying inside. “Ry? Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” came the muffled reply.

  Maggie walked across the room to sit down on the side of Ryan’s bed. He was curled up in a ball, clutching his teddy bear. Maggie tweaked the bear’s nose. “Elvis looks like he can’t breathe you’re squeezing him so hard.”

  Ryan sniffled.

  Maggie smoothed a lock of his hair off his flushed face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Ryan. I was scared.”

  He rolled onto his back, and met her gaze. “Why were you scared?”

  “I didn’t know where you were. I thought you might have been hurt, or lost, or in trouble. It scared me.”

  “Then why weren’t you glad to see me?”

  Maggie smiled. “I was. That’s why I yelled.”

  Ryan frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. It’s a mom thing. You know why I was upset don’t you?”

  “I shouldn’t have talked to him.”

  “Honey, I know he seemed like a nice man. Maybe he is, but it’s not safe for you to talk to strangers. Do you understand?”

  Ryan paused. “But, Mom, Dad was there. That man could see him. He talked to him.”

  “Oh, Ryan.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Honey, Daddy is not real. He’s not here anymore.”

  “I know.”

  “But you can still talk to him.”

  Ryan nodded. He looked miserable. Maggie looked around the room. “You know what I think we need?”

  “What?”

  “We need something to liven up this house a little.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we need to decorate for Christmas.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. “You said we weren’t going to decorate this year.”

  “So maybe I changed my mind.”

  Ryan propped Elvis Bear back against the pillow and sat up. “Can we get a tree and everything?”

  Maggie hesitated. She didn’t think she could handle a tree. “Why don’t we do the other stuff today, then we’ll worry about the tree.”

  “Can I put the candles in the windows?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to hang that stuff on the stairs?”

  “It’s called garland, and yes, I’ll put it on the banister.”

  He beamed at her. His red-rimmed eyes were still puffy, and his face was still flushed, but otherwise, the sparkle was back. “Can we make a wreath out of pinecones and stuff? You know, like the one you did last year?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes. We’ll go look for the pine-cones now if you want to.”

  Ryan threw his arms around her neck. “I’m sorry about today, Mom.”

  Maggie hugged him close. She felt a wave of guilt that such simple pleasures would mean so much to him. It hadn’t been fair to deprive Ryan of a normal Christmas just because she’d been wallowing in her own self-pity. “I know you are.”

  “I’ll never talk to another stranger ever again.”

  Maggie smiled into his hair. “Better be careful how you make promises. They aren’t always easy to keep.”

  He rubbed his face against her sweater. “Mom?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Can we have pizza for dinner?”

  Maggie laughed. She gave his hair a gentle tug. “Don’t push your luck, sport.”

  They spent a pleasant two hours rummaging through boxes in the attic, pulling out the old Christmas decorations. By the time they had found the four boxes Maggie had stuck way in the back of the cramped crawl space, Ryan was covered in dirt. Maggie imagined she probably didn’t look much better. “OK, Ry,” she said, “let’s take these downstairs and see what we’ve got.”

  Ryan struggled with one of the larger boxes. Maggie took it from him and pointed to another one. “That one’s a little bit lighter. I think it has the garland in it. Can you get it?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  Maggie shoved the coffee table aside with her foot and dropped the box in the center of the living room floor. Ryan dumped his box on the couch. “Wow,” he said. “This stuff is heavy.”

  “Yep.” Maggie wiped her hands on her flannel shirt. She was glad she’d changed out of her sweater. Her shirt was already streaked with dust. “Dirty, too.”

  Ryan nodded. He smeared the dirt on his hands down the front of his sweatshirt. “Let’s get the other two boxes—”

  He was interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. Maggie sucked in a breath, dreading the thought that Scott might have changed his mind and returned, hoping that he had. “Will you get that, Ry? I’ll go get the other boxes.”

  “OK.” He shot off toward the door. Maggie was halfway up the stairs by the time she heard Edith Sophy talking to Ryan. She breathed a sigh of relief. Edith would be much easier to face.

  Maggie carried the last two boxes down from the attic. She found Edith and Ryan seated on the sofa in the living room. “Hi, Edith. What brings you here this afternoon?”

  Edith leapt up from the couch and took one of the boxes from Maggie. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  “Thanks.” Maggie put the box on the floor. She stacked the other on top. “What a job,” she said, rubbing her dusty hands on the legs of her jeans. “I had no idea things could get so dirty in the back of your attic.”

  Edith laughed. “That’s why I always make Roy dig out the Christmas decorations. The dust makes me sneeze.”

  Maggie dropped down on the couch. “Is there something I can do for you, Edith?”

  “Well, I was hoping you’d let me borrow Ryan for a few hours.”

  Ryan hopped onto Maggie’s lap. “Mrs. Soph is making cookies for the Church Bizarre—”

  “It’s a ba-zaar, Ryan, not a bi-zarre ,” Maggie said.

  “Although,” Edith quipped, “some of the things they sell might fall more easily into the latter category.”

  Maggie laughed. Ryan squirmed on her lap. “Anyway, she’s making these cookies, and she says she needs a taster.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows and looked at Edith. “A taster?”

  Edith fussed with the hem of her skirt. “I’m making my usual four kinds of cookies, and I’ve tasted so much dough, I’m not sure what’s what. I thought Ryan could be of some help to me.”

  “Edith—”

  “Besides”—she waved a hand in Maggie’s direction—“I was looking out my kitchen window a few hours or so ago, and it occurred to me that maybe you might have someplace you want to go this afternoon.” She paused. “Alone.”

  Maggie saw the stern look in Edith’s eyes and almost started to laugh. She had no doubt that Edith had seen Scott walk down the street and had been wracking her brains for an excuse to come over ever since. “Where would I possibly be wanting to go, Edith?”

  “I d
on’t know,” Edith said, “but I’m sure you could think of something.”

  “Can I go with Mrs. Soph, Mom? We can finish the decorating tonight. Maybe Scott’ll come help.”

  “Yes,” Edith said, “maybe he will.”

  Maggie shook her head. There didn’t seem to be any sense in arguing the point. Besides, she couldn’t deny she was relieved at the chance to go talk things over with Scott. No matter how much she’d tried to ignore the effect of his words, they continued to nag at her. “All right,” she said, “but promise not to be a pest.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “And don’t forget that you have hockey practice tonight.”

  “Seven o’clock,” Ryan said.

  “Should you get tied up with . . . things,” Edith said, “Roy and I will be glad to see that he makes it to practice.”

  “Edith!”

  Edith made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a hrumph. “Just thought I’d give you the option.” She stood up, holding out her hand to Ryan. “Come on, taster, you and I have work to do.”

  “Don’t let him eat too much sugar,” Maggie warned.

  Edith took Ryan’s hand, and led him to the door. “See that you accomplish something while we’re gone,” Edith shot back. “I’ll worry about the sugar.”

  Maggie spent the next twenty minutes looking for her keys. She glanced at the hall clock on the way out. It was five-forty-five. There was no way she’d have time to talk to Scott and get Ryan to practice on time. She grabbed the phone and punched out Lily’s telephone number.

  “Hello.”

  “Lily, hi. It’s Maggie.”

  “Oh, hey, Maggie.”

  “Listen, I need a favor.”

  “Does this have something to do with Scott Bishop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, sorry. I gave all my racy lingerie to Good Will last year.”

  “Shut up, Lily. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Damn.”

  Maggie ignored her. “I need you to give Ryan a ride home from hockey tonight.”

  “Oh really?” Lily said.

  Maggie wondered how two words could sound so suggestive. “Yes, really. If you don’t mind, could you take him to your house and I’ll pick him up there?”

  “Should I plan on his spending the night?”

  “No.”

  “Maggie—”

  Maggie laughed. “Quit being so pushy, Lily. I just need you to help me out.”

  “Okay, but it’s not a problem if he needs to spend the night. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “Good luck, Maggie.”

  “Thanks. I think I need it.”

  Maggie hung up the receiver and reached for her coat. She had no idea what kind of mood Scott would be in. He might be mad as a wet hen. She pulled open the front door and shivered. Make that a cold, wet hen. The temperature had dropped again, and his long walk wasn’t likely to have put him in a very good temper.

  She remembered his deplorable sense of direction and had a sudden mental image of Scott wading through thigh-deep snow drifts halfway to Connecticut. Maggie pulled the door shut and sprinted for the Bronco. He probably wanted to wring her neck.

  Scott wanted to kill her. He pushed through the revolving door of his hotel. His fingers were frozen, his feet stung, and his stomach was growling. The only thing warm was his temper. It didn’t help any that Maggie was sitting in the lobby of his hotel, sipping on a cup of hot chocolate, watching him through half-lidded eyes that looked sexy as hell.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He dropped his suitcase on the floor in front of her. Clumps of snow fell to the carpet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Just a few minutes.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Scott’s gaze riveted on the tiny motion. “What took you so long?” Maggie asked. “Did you get lost?”

  “Yes,” he bit out. “I got lost. Satisfied?”

  Maggie shook her head as she reached for his suitcase. “Far from it. I—I’m sorry.” She picked up his suitcase and started toward the elevator. “You’d better get out of those wet clothes.” She dangled a key in front of him. “I took the liberty of checking you back in.”

  Despite himself, Scott smiled. “Are you trying to proposition me?”

  He’d expected her to blush. She didn’t. She shot him a sultry glance over her shoulder. “Do you think so?” she asked.

  Scott raised his eyebrows, but followed her to the elevator. Maggie punched the button. Scott noticed the way her hand trembled. “So,” she said, “what time’s your flight tomorrow?”

  “Ten. Why?”

  “That should give me enough time.”

  His heart missed a beat. “Enough time for what?”

  Maggie met his gaze. His temper cooled at the same instant his body thawed. ‘To apologize.”

  “Maggie—”

  She shook her head. “I think you should change into something warm first. This could take a while, and I don’t want to be responsible for giving you pneumonia.”

  A fever would be more likely, Scott thought. She looked so incredibly rumpled, and touchable. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, her hair was untidy, and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to bury his fingers in it. He forced himself to remember why he’d been angry. It served to cool his ardor a bit, but did nothing for the swelling sense of elation he felt that Maggie was standing in the elevator, staring at him. “I’m glad you came, Maggie.” He took his suitcase from her.

  She sighed. The elevator door slid open on the fourth floor. “Me too.” She led the way to his room.

  Maggie unlocked the door, then preceded him into the dim room. She stopped in the center, and faced him. “Look, I—well, why don’t you go ahead and change. I’ll order some hot chocolate from room service, and then we’ll talk.”

  “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “A shower?” Maggie’s voice cracked.

  Scott felt a surge of adrenaline. His ego soared at the notion that Maggie was disturbed by the thought of him in the shower. He indicated his wet overcoat. “To warm up,” he said.

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. You take a shower. I’ll call room service.”

  He dropped his suitcase on the bed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maggie flinch at the sound of the zipper. Scott pulled out his shaving kit and bathrobe before he headed for the bathroom. “Make yourself at home,” he said. “Why don’t you order us some dinner to go with that hot chocolate? I’m kind of hungry.” He shut the bathroom door, then leaned back against it. Kind of hungry. He was kind of hungry, all right. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from tossing Maggie on the bed. What in the hell was the matter with him?

  He turned the shower on, hesitated, then turned the knob to cold. He didn’t need any more warming up.

  Ten minutes later, Scott walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. Maggie was sitting in one of the pale green chairs, clutching a mug in her hands. “Better?” she asked.

  She’d shed her jacket. The flannel shirt she wore did nothing to disguise the allure of feminine curves underneath. His body tightened. “Sure.”

  Maggie reached for one of the mugs. “Can I pour you some hot chocolate?”

  Scott dropped the towel on the bed. He reached into his suitcase for a pair of jeans, briefs, and a sweatshirt. If he walked around in his flannel bathrobe, he was going to embarrass himself. “Uh, let me just put these on. I’ll be right back.” He fled into the bathroom. The cold shower had done nothing to ease the effect Maggie was having on him.

  Scott stared at himself in the mirror. In the two hours plus it had taken him to get from Maggie’s house to his hotel, he’d done nothing but think about Maggie. It was the first time since Annie’s death he could remember being able to concentrate on something for that long without the thought of her intruding into his
consciousness. He had just come to the startling realization that he couldn’t conjure up a clear mental picture of her in his head, when he’d entered the hotel lobby and found Maggie waiting for him.

  The effect had been devastating. His senses were still reeling. Surely that was the reason he was having so much trouble getting a grip on himself.

  Scott took a deep breath and jerked the sweatshirt over his head. Maggie wasn’t ready for a physical relationship with him. Of that he was certain. She wasn’t the kind of woman who entered into something like that without an enormously strong emotional bond to precede it. He liked that about her—really, really liked it.

  He pulled on his briefs, wincing slightly at the rigid ache in his groin. Maggie wanted to talk, he reminded himself. He pulled on his jeans with unnecessary force. And it was going to be one hell of a long evening if he didn’t get his mind off her soft curves and warm body, and find a way to concentrate on what she had to say.

  He pulled open the door of the bathroom. Maggie smiled at him. One hell of a long evening.

  She handed him a mug of hot chocolate. “Here you go. Mom’s surefire remedy for fighting chill.”

  Like he needed one, he thought. “Thanks.” Scott sat down on the bed. “Did you order anything for dinner?”

  Maggie shifted in her chair. She tossed him a plum off the food tray. “I thought maybe you’d want to hear what I have to say first. Then if you still want to eat with me, I’ll take you dinner.” She picked up the other plum and took a bite.

  Scott watched as her teeth sank into the firm fruit. He swallowed, suddenly glad she hadn’t ordered room service. He wasn’t sure he could stay in this room with her much longer and remain sane. A trickle of juice ran down her chin. Maggie swiped at it with her sleeve. Scott took a long, fortifying sip of his hot chocolate. “So what do you want to talk about, Maggie?” he asked, hoping it wouldn’t take long, and he could have her seated in a restaurant in less than the twenty minutes he figured he had left.

  She swallowed a bite of the plum. “I think I’d better say this before I lose my nerve. So just let me get it out, and then you can start arguing. Okay?”