by Neesa Hart
By the time she reached the Cape Hope exit, her stomach was twisted into knots. She was so tense, she nearly jumped through her skin when an ambulance siren sounded behind her. Maggie guided the Bronco to the shoulder and waited for the emergency vehicle to pass. Only then did she realize that Scott was looking at her.
She reluctantly met his gaze. “Hi.”
“Hi. Was I sleeping?”
“I think so. You must have been tired after your flight.”
He shrugged. “I guess I was. I didn’t mean to flake out on you. I just haven’t slept much in the past few days.”
“Why not?” she asked, before she thought better of it.
“I was thinking of you.”
Maggie took a deep breath. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to be thinking about me. Were you?”
She hesitated. She had thought about him and little else during the past five days. Scott affected her in a way Mark never had. It scared her to death. “Yes.”
“Reach any decisions?”
“Look, Scott, I don’t think—”
He squeezed her hand. “Maggie, this isn’t going away.”
“I know.”
“But you want it to?”
She turned into the parking lot of the ice arena. “No,” she admitted. She found a parking space. She killed the ignition before she faced him. “I don’t want it to go away. I’m just anxious, I guess, and kind of scared.”
“I’m scared, too.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“Sure. What I’m feeling for you is some pretty powerful stuff. Forever kind of stuff.”
“Scott—”
He held up his hand. “No wait. I know this isn’t the best time. We’ve got Ryan’s practice.” He looked around the parking lot. “This isn’t exactly the most romantic setting in the world, either, but I’m afraid I won’t get this said if I don’t say it now.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You’re a little off-balance right now, Maggie, and that’s the only way I think I’ll ever get you to sit still through this.”
Maggie reached for the door handle. “I think we should go inside.”
“Maggie,” he said, and caught her face between his hands. “What are you afraid of?”
Of loving you. Of losing myself again. Of risking everything and getting hurt the same way I did last time. “I’m not afraid. I just want to see Ryan’s practice.”
Scott shook his head. “You’re shaking like a leaf.” He touched his lips to hers in a soft kiss. When he lifted his head, his eyes were a warm, honey-colored hazel. “I love you, Maggie.”
How could one simple phrase have such a devastating effect? In the five days since he’d left Cape Hope, Maggie had struggled with her feelings for him. She’d tried, almost succeeded actually, to convince herself it was nothing more than a perfectly normal physical attraction. She was a healthy young woman, after all, and she hadn’t been with a man since Mark’s death.
But it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t put aside that, despite the fireworks that went off when Scott touched her, there was something else. Something deeper. Something scary. Something that felt a lot like being absorbed into another person. “I don’t think we should talk about this right now,” she said.
He shrugged. “OK.”
Maggie stared at him. “OK?”
Scott smiled. “There’s nothing to talk about. I love you. It’s what I’ve got to work with. I’ll admit it’s not simple, and it sure as hell isn’t easy, but it’s all I’ve got, and I’m through trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“But Annie . . .”
“I loved Annie. I loved Annie more than I thought it was possible to love anyone, but what I felt for Annie has nothing to do with what I feel for you.”
“Scott—”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this right now.”
Maggie wavered on indecision. What was she supposed to say? That she was afraid of him? That she was afraid to let him love her? That she was afraid of the powerful effect it had on her to know that he did? “I don’t.”
Scott reached past her to push open her door. “Then let’s go watch the practice.”
Maggie was edgy and disconcerted during the long practice. It didn’t help matters any that Lily plopped down next to Scott and started grilling him for information. He seemed relaxed, comfortable, totally at his ease. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that he’d just said life-changing stuff to her in the parking lot of the ice rink.
“What about you, Maggie?” she heard Lily ask.
She jumped. “What about me?” she asked. She heard the defensive note in her voice.
Lily’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “I was just asking Scott if he’s heard anything about the Cape Hope project.”
“I said I hadn’t,” Scott said.
Maggie sagged in relief. “Oh. Neither have I.”
“Weren’t you supposed to know something by now?” Lily asked.
“A couple more days, I think,” Scott said. He moved his hand from the back of the seat to Maggie’s shoulder, where he drew slow, mesmerizing circles against the side of her neck. “Wedgins was supposed to make a preliminary decision first, then ask for changes.”
Lily continued to study Maggie. “Did Ryan ever tell you what Wedgins wanted to talk to him about?”
Maggie shook her head. She tried to shift away from Scott’s hand, but he countered by moving it to her rib cage. “No. I didn’t see the point in pressing him. Ryan seemed to be all right with it, so I let it drop.”
“I don’t know, Maggie,” Lily said. “That situation is really weird.”
“I know, but then again, Wedgins is weird. The guy is totally unpredictable. If this weren’t such a big job, I doubt many of the bidders would have tolerated such an unorthodox procedure.”
“Maggie’s right,” Scott said. “Wedgins wouldn’t be able to pull so many chains if this weren’t a multimillion-dollar project.”
“Well,” Lily said, leaning back in her seat, “I certainly hope he makes a decision soon. We’d love to have you move to Cape Hope, Scott.”
Scott pinned Maggie’s gaze with his own. “I’d love to move here.”
Maggie frowned at him, and whispered, “Stop that,” under her breath.
“Stop what?” he asked, his gaze wide-eyed, innocent.
“Stop baiting me in front of Lily.”
He rubbed the back of his hand over the outer curve of her breast. Maggie jumped. “Give me a chance, and I’ll bait you in private.”
Maggie stood up so abruptly, her purse tumbled to the floor. “I have to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
Scott’s gaze was knowing. It annoyed her. “I’ll be here when you get back,” he said.
It sounded more like a threat than a promise. “Fine.” She turned and fled the bleachers. Once she reached the dingy bathroom, Maggie sagged back against the wall. “Get a grip,” she mumbled.
She moved to the sink and splashed water on her face. What in the world was wrong with her? There was no reason on earth why she should be reacting this way just because Scott Bishop had said he loved her. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Except that her heart had stopped beating when he’d said it, and she’d immediately tried to summon a clear picture of Mark in her mind.
She hadn’t been able to do it. She could see his eyes, clear and blue and full of laughter, but she couldn’t bring his face into focus. It was almost as if she was losing him, and with him, herself. In the wake of that realization had come a flood of guilt so overwhelming, she’d nearly stopped breathing.
She had to be out of her mind. It was the only possible explanation. Why on earth should she have such a profound sense of rightness when she was with Scott, only to be followed by an equally devastating sense of sorrow? It was almost as if a part of Mark still existed, as if he were there, watching.
Maggie shivered. That was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in g
hosts. She’d been listening to too many of Ryan’s stories. Mark was dead. She studied her reflection in the mirror. “He’s dead,” she said out loud, as if to give the words added weight. “He’s not here, and he’s not trying to keep you from doing what’s right for your life.”
But in truth, she didn’t quite believe it.
Mark paced up and down the ice, oblivious to the small bodies that skated through his elusive figure. “All right,” he told Annie. “He’s in love with her. He’s ready. So what do we do now?”
“Mark,” Annie said, trying to gauge his mood, “I don’t think we can rush this.”
“Rush it?” he said. “What’s there to rush? She goes up in flames every time he touches her.”
She sighed in exasperation. “There’s a lot more to this than just a physical attraction.”
“Yeah, right.”
She glared at him. “Men are so dense.”
Mark stopped pacing to spare her a withering glance. “Don’t even think about starting one of these women-are-emotionally-superior-to-men things.”
“Well, they are.”
“Damn it, Annie—”
“All right. All right. Let’s think this through. You’ve been with Maggie while I was in Dallas. What do you think the problem is?”
“I don’t know. She’s tense. Jittery. Like she’s afraid of something. She used to get like this in the weeks before I left on orders. She’d clean everything in the house, twice, and put so much stuff away she couldn’t find anything. It took her almost forty-five minutes to find her boots this morning. If the house gets any cleaner, they could open a hospital in there.”
Annie leaned back against the boards. “Hmmm,” she mused.
Ryan skated by and waved. “Hi, Dad. Hi, Annie.”
She smiled at him. “Hi, Ryan.” He got control of the errant puck and took off in the opposite direction. “And she didn’t say anything?” Annie asked. “You didn’t hear her talk this over with anyone?”
“No one.” Mark resumed his pacing. “She didn’t call anyone. She didn’t have any meetings. She worked on a couple of decorating jobs, but that’s all. All I know is, she cried a lot, and picked up the phone to call Scott about twenty-five times.”
“This is not good.”
“What do you mean it’s not good?”
“I mean, things should be progressing now. Look at you. You’re almost gone.”
Mark looked down at his shadowy body. He had indeed faded to near transparency. Annie, on the other hand, still looked very much the same as the day he’d met her. “Well, maybe it’s you.” He pointed at her. “You’re still a lot more here than I am.”
“That really worries me.”
“Why?”
“Because, Scott seems to have let go all right.” She looked at Scott. He was whispering something in Maggie’s ear. “I don’t think he’s having any trouble putting aside memories of me in order to pursue a relationship with Maggie.” She’d come to that realization late one night when Scott had been nursing a beer in the living room of his apartment in Dallas. It had been like tearing her heart out when she’d seen the ragged look on his face and realized it wasn’t for her.
That look would never be for her again, yet Mark was right. She had not faded away from reality since the day Scott had first met Maggie. “Maybe we’re putting too much emphasis on this fading business. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”
Mark stopped pacing again. “It has to mean something. Why else would it be happening?”
“I don’t know; it just can’t have anything to do with how much they still need us.” She paused. She felt the telltale stinging in her eyes. “Scott doesn’t need me anymore.”
Mark looked at her in surprise. He brushed an icy flake from her cheek. “Oh, Annie.”
Her lower lip trembled. “It’s true. I knew it in Dallas. He’s in love with her, Mark. The forever kind. He just needs Maggie.”
Mark pulled Annie into his arms and guided her off the ice. They sat down next to the rink. “I’m a first-class jerk, you know it?”
She felt a few more tears form on her face. “Why do you say that?”
He smoothed her hair away from her cheek. “Because you have managed to keep everything together during this entire ordeal, and all I can do is complain. I’m sorry this hurts you so much.”
“It hurts you, too.”
“Yeah,” he said with a soft smile, “but men are dense. Remember?”
Fifteen
The following afternoon, Scott straightened his tie and stepped into the receiving area of Carl Fortwell’s office. A week before, he would have argued that he’d done everything possible to alert Carl to the probable connection between Pete Sherban and Irene Fussman. But that was before. Before he’d started fighting for a relationship with Maggie.
He favored Carl’s receptionist with his best Southern gentleman smile. “Good morning.”
She looked up. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Bishop. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to see Carl if he’s in.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Scott shook his head. “No, but I won’t need more than a few minutes of his time.”
The receptionist looked at him dubiously. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll see if Mr. Fortwell’s secretary can work you in.”
Scott sat down on the comfortable leather couch. The young woman lifted the receiver and spoke in hushed tones to Carl Fortwell’s secretary. “How long did you say you’d need?” she asked Scott.
“About ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” she repeated. “All right. All right, I will.” She replaced the receiver, then looked at Scott. “Mr. Fortwell has a meeting in twenty minutes. He can see you now, but only if you’re brief.”
Scott nodded. “I will be.” She started to rise, but he shook his head. “I know the way. Through here, and to the left?” He pointed to the heavy glass doors on the far end of the reception area.
“No. It’s to the right.”
“Oh, of course. Thank you,” he said, and pushed the door open.
Carl met him with a warm handshake and a genuine smile. “Well, Bishop, it’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Scott said.
Carl motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat. I’ve only got a few minutes, but I wanted to tell you I had a chance to look over your bid plans for the resort. Your work is very impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t think I’m jumping the gun if I say Max liked what he saw.”
Scott was surprised that Carl’s words didn’t have more of an impact on him. He was almost beyond caring what Max Wedgins thought of his plans. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Maggie.”
“Maggie?” Carl said. He leaned back in his chair. “What about her?”
“I want to make sure she gets a fair shot at this deal.”
Carl picked up a fountain pen and started rolling it between his fingers. “Do you have any reason to think she wouldn’t?”
Scott decided the direct approach would do him the most good. “I do if Pete Sherban is throwing around influence in exchange for a roll in the hay with Irene Fussman.”
Carl’s expression turned grim. He set the pen down. “That’s the third time in two weeks I’ve heard that accusation, and twice it came from you. I’ve been in business with Pete for thirty years. I think I know him better than you do.”
“You probably do,” Scott said, “but I also know I don’t like what I see.”
“If I recall, you saw Pete and Irene having lunch together at the White Rooster. That’s hardly grounds for an accusation like this.”
“It wasn’t just lunch, Carl. I’ve had business lunches with female colleagues. They don’t entail heavy breathing and butter-melting looks.”
Carl steepled his fingers under his chin. “Did you tell anyone else what you saw that day?”
Scott
shook his head. “No one.”
“Did you and Maggie discuss it in front of her son?”
“Ryan?” Scott said, stunned. “He’s seven years old, for God’s sake. Do you think I’d say something like that in front of a kid?”
“Then how do you explain the fact that Ryan called me the day you and Maggie dropped off your bids? He wanted to sell me a ticket to the father/son game on Saturday, and suggested that I should ask Pete if he wanted to bring Irene Fussman.”
“What?”
“You tell me. I thought it was a little strange coming from a seven-year-old.”
Scott searched his brain for any possible reason Ryan might have had for making the strange phone call. He settled on the bizarre encounter with Maxwell Wedgins. “What time on Friday did he call you?”
“I don’t know. Around noon.”
“Max didn’t get to the school until after two-thirty,” Scott mumbled, more to himself than to Carl.
“Max?” Carl asked. “What has Max got to do with this?”
“I’m not sure. Friday afternoon, Ryan didn’t come home from school on time. Maggie was in a panic. We drove over to the school, and Max was there talking to Ryan.” He paused. “Actually, Max was sitting on the playground bench, and Ryan was playing basketball with Max’s chauffeur.”
“Bobbi?” Carl asked.
“Tall, blond, and leggy?”
“That’s the one.”
Scott nodded. “It was weird. Really weird. We couldn’t get a straight answer out of Max.”
“Is that why you hit him on the jaw?”
Scott narrowed his gaze at Carl. “You know about that?”
“Max called me Friday evening. He said he felt really bad about frightening Maggie.”
“Hell, he should have felt bad. You don’t just detain people’s kids and expect them not to get upset.”
“Max is a little . . . different.”
“You’re telling me.” Scott shifted in his chair. “So why didn’t you tell me you knew about this?”
Carl drew a cigar out of the cherry box on his desk. He lit it, took several puffs, then leaned back in his chair. “I was curious.”
Scott flexed his fingers on the arms of the chair. He liked Carl Fortwell, respected him for his business acumen and his success as an investor. But what he didn’t like was feeling like a pawn in some complicated game Max Wedgins was playing with the Cape Hope Resort. “What’s going on, Carl?”