Halfway to Paradise

by Neesa Hart

  “After you and Maggie left on Friday, I talked to Pete. He said he’d had lunch with Irene to talk with her about redoing our office suites. It was plausible enough. I wanted to believe him.”

  Scott rolled his eyes. Carl flicked the ashes off his cigar, and gave him a quelling look. “Pete Sherban is my partner and my friend. Give me one good reason why I should take your word over his.”

  “Agreed.”

  Carl’s nod was brief. “But then Ryan called. It was odd. Especially in light of what you and Maggie had told me. There was something that didn’t feel right to me, especially since Pete has had almost all the contact with Wedgins. I decided to give Max a call.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him what you’d told me. I told him what Pete had told me, and then I told him what Ryan had told me. I advised him to look closely at the bids, and make up his own mind what he wanted. He assured me that he might be insane, but he wasn’t about to screw around with three and a half billion dollars.”

  Scott’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  Carl took another puff on the cigar. “Max Wedgins is a lot of things. He likes to tell people he’s insane, but I personally think he’s just a financial genius. When that much of your brain is taken up with one thing, it stands to reason that something else is going to suffer. In his case, it’s his social skills. He doesn’t have any.”

  “Why do you think he went to see Ryan?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me when he called on Friday night. He just said he wanted me to convey his apologies to you and to Maggie if I had the chance, and that he wanted me to look into making a purchase on his behalf.”

  “What kind of purchase?”

  “It’s an under-the-table deal for right now. Nothing’s official. You’ll understand I can’t give you any details.”

  It was probably some trifle like IBM, Scott thought. “Of course.”

  “Anyway, on the heels of that, you come in here today and tell me you’re worried about Maggie getting a fair shot at the bid. Hell, after you whacked Max on the jaw, I’d think you’d be a little concerned about your shot.”

  Scott couldn’t stop a grin. “You already told me he liked my stuff.”

  “Max is weird like that. You hit him, now he thinks you’re some kind of architectural whiz kid. I should have beat the shit out of him years ago.”

  Scott laughed at that. “The truth is, Carl, you’d be right if my only interest in Cape Hope was the resort, but it’s not.”

  Carl stamped out the cigar. He gave Scott a knowing look. “I don’t suppose your interest could lie in the direction of a certain blond-haired widow lady.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “I thought so. You two looked pretty comfortable when you strolled in here on Friday.”

  “Maggie’s just having a lot of trouble right now. Her business is struggling, and I know she needs this bid.”

  “All I can do is promise you that I think Max will do whatever he can to be fair.”

  Scott rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I’ve worked with Irene Fussman before, Carl. She’ll stoop pretty low to get a bid.”

  “You’re pretty sure about this, aren’t you?”

  “I’d be willing to bet real money that Irene is at least trying if not actively seducing Pete into getting the bid for her.”

  “I’ve got to call Max again this afternoon. I have a counteroffer on this purchase I’m negotiating for him. I’ll see if he’s made any decisions yet.”

  “What are you going to do if he says he’s giving the bid to Irene?”

  “It’s over three billion dollars. I’m going to believe that Max knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  Scott frowned. “I hope so. There’s a lot more riding on this than he thinks.”

  Maggie put the finishing touches on the garland. She secured a burgundy bow to the banister and looked back to examine the result. “What do you think?” she asked Ryan.

  He tipped his head to one side. “It looks crooked.”

  She adjusted the bow. “Better?”

  He nodded. “Better.”

  Maggie started to scoop up the spare garland and ribbon and dump it back in the box. “I guess we’re done then.”

  “All we need is a tree.”

  She stopped. “Ryan,” she said, shifting so she was seated on the stairs, “I told you we weren’t getting a tree.”

  He frowned. “But, Mom—”

  “Honey, we don’t need a tree. We don’t really have room for it anyway.” Maggie doubted he’d believe the rather lame excuse.

  “We could get a little one.”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea this year. It’s too late. Most of the trees have been sold.” And besides, I couldn’t bear to have a tree in this house. Not after last year. Not after I promised your dad that we wouldn’t light the tree until he came home. Not after I had to pull those lights off and pack them away in a box, knowing he wasn’t coming home. “Maybe we’ll get one next year.”

  “We could go cut one. Dad used to. We don’t have to buy one.”

  “Ryan, I don’t think—” She broke off when the doorbell rang. “Could you get that please?” she asked, seizing the excuse to end the conversation.

  Ryan set his mouth in a stubborn pout. “But what about the tree?”

  “Get the door, Ryan. We’ll talk about the tree later.” She quelled his pending protest with a sharp look. He trudged off toward the door.

  “Oh,” she heard him say, “hi, Scott.”

  Maggie looked up in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you until this evening.”

  He smiled at her. “I came early.” He waved at the taxicab by the curve. He stomped the snow off his boots, then came inside. “I finished up what I was working on and thought I’d come take you guys to lunch.”

  Ryan rubbed his toe in the carpet. “We were talking about our Christmas tree.”

  Scott looked into the living room. “What tree?”

  “We don’t have one,” Ryan said miserably.

  Maggie dropped the remaining garland in the box. “Ryan, go upstairs and wash your hands, please.”

  “But—”

  “Now, Ryan. I don’t want to hear any more about this.”

  He stomped up the stairs. Maggie closed her eyes and leaned back against the banister. She started when she felt Scott’s cool lips on her cheek. “Rough day?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes. “Ryan is determined to have a tree.”

  “So let’s get him one.”

  “It’s not that simple. I’m not up to the bother this year.”

  “Maggie—”

  She frowned at him. “It’s really none of your business, is it?”

  Scott raised his eyebrows. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

  She exhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just— tense. Ryan’s off from school today, and he’s been cranky since he got up this morning. I guess it’s affecting my mood.”

  Scott placed his hands on her waist. He pulled gently until she leaned against him. “I’d like to affect some of your moods,” he said. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

  “Scott,” Maggie protested, “what are you doing?”

  “Mood-enhancing exercises.”

  She swallowed a small laugh. “Well, cut it out.”

  “See,” he nipped her earlobe, “you laughed. It’s working.”

  “It’s not—” Maggie gasped when his tongue speared into the sensitive whorl of her ear.

  “It’s not what?” he asked, his breath a moist caress against her cheek.

  “It’s not working.”

  Scott’s laugh was warm, and husky. It made her shiver. “Liar.” He lifted his head. She could see the laughter in his eyes. “I love you, Maggie,” he said.

  She cast a quick, anxious glance up the stairs. “Scott, please.”

  “And it feels just as good to say it today as it di
d yesterday.”

  “Ryan will be down in a minute.”

  “And I think he’d better get used to the idea that I’m in love with his mom.”

  Maggie pushed at Scott’s chest. “He’s not ready for this.”

  “He’s not, or you’re not?”

  “Scott,” she said, pushing harder.

  He stepped away. “OK, Maggie. I’ll back off. For now.”

  She leaned against the banister. “You’re driving me nuts.”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  Ryan came pounding down the stairs. “I’m ready,” he announced. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier pout about the tree, but Maggie knew the issue was far from forgotten. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Scott said. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Can we go to the Ice Palace?”

  Scott looked at Maggie for clarification. “The Ice Palace,” she said, “serves the greasiest hot dogs in town, and has a skating rink in the middle.”

  “A skating rink?” Scott said.

  Maggie looked at him, curious. “Yeah. It’s a popular place here in town. People around here do a lot of ice-skating.”

  “I guess they would.”

  “Can we go?” Ryan asked.

  “I was thinking of some place a little more quiet,” Scott hedged.

  Maggie studied him for a minute. “This would give you an excellent chance to do some practice skating with Ryan before the game on Saturday. He could teach you a little about hockey.”

  Scott hesitated. “I guess he could.”

  “Sure,” Ryan said. “I’ll show you everything you need to know.”

  “Well, then,” Scott answered, “it sounds like a plan.”

  Maggie wondered if it was her imagination, or if Scott’s face had paled.

  Between scolding himself for agreeing to the ridiculous notion of skating with Maggie and Ryan, and reassuring himself that he’d practiced enough in the last week not to make a complete fool of himself, Scott worked himself into a sweat by the time they reached the Ice Palace.

  Like it or not, Maggie was going to find out sooner or later that he could barely stand up on a pair of ice skates. Perhaps sooner was better than later. He had agreed to skate in the game with Ryan, and if Maggie could help him even a little, it might keep him from getting killed by some militant seven-year-old.

  They feasted on greasy chili dogs and cheese fries. Ryan chattered through most of lunch, talking about the game on Saturday, and how Chuck Bullard was still trying to get several of the Bruins to officiate.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool if he could really get Carson Lipter?”

  Maggie smiled at him. “It would be the coolest thing ever, Ryan.”

  Ryan nodded. “It would. Coach says Carson is checking his calendar.”

  Scott groaned. Maggie gave him a sharp look. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Too much grease I think.”

  “Can we go get our skates, now, Mom?”

  “Okay.” She handed Ryan a five-dollar bill from her pocket. “What size shoe do you wear?” she asked Scott.

  “A nine and a half.”

  “Get him a ten,” she told Ryan.

  Ryan bounded off toward the rental window. Maggie looked at Scott. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He saw a smile start to twitch at the comer of her mouth. “Just a hunch. You haven’t, have you?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “How many times?”

  Scott winced. “You expect me to count them?”

  “I bet it wouldn’t be too hard.”

  He paused. He decided he liked the way Maggie’s eyes were shining that afternoon. “Eight,” he said.

  Maggie groaned. “Oh God. You’re going to get killed.”

  “I will have you know, Ms. Connell, that I spent two hours at the ice rink every day while I was home in Dallas.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “I can stand up,” he said. Then added, “Most of the time.”

  Maggie stared at him. “Why on earth did you agree to do this? You’ve seen a hockey game. You’re going to get annihilated.”

  He thought about telling her he’d promised to do it because it was important to Ryan. He figured that was worth at least a few points in her book, but he took one look at the way her hair lay in rumpled waves around her face, and decided he’d just tell the truth. “I didn’t like the way you were looking at Chuck Bullard,” he said.

  Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Chuck Bullard. That night he told you he was worried because Ryan didn’t want to skate in the game. You were flirting with him.”

  “I was not.”

  “Chuck,” Scott said, imitating her tone, “is the Boston area spokesman for the Literacy Council. I have it on good authority he’s in line for canonization.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Almost.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Scott shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, it made me jealous as hell. I couldn’t help it. Next thing I knew I was promising Ryan I’d skate.”

  Ryan ran up to the table. He had three pairs of skates slung over his shoulders. He handed the largest pair to Scott. “No tens. I got you a ten and a half.”

  “It isn’t going to make any difference,” Maggie muttered.

  “What, Mom?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. Sit down and let me help you lace yours up.”

  Mark leaned back in his chair at the adjacent table and shot Annie a smug look. “I told you that’s why he agreed to skate.”

  Annie frowned at him. “It was still a very nice thing to do.”

  “Maggie’s right, you know. He’s going to get killed.”

  “He is not. I’ve been watching him practice. He’s almost got the hang of it.”

  “It’s a hockey game, Annie. The object is for one team to kill the other team.”

  “They’re little boys. How rough can it be?”

  Mark shook his head in disbelief. When it came to hockey, Annie was almost as dumb as Scott.

  Maggie watched Scott crash into the boards for the third time. She buried her head in her hands and groaned.

  “He’s bad, Mom,” Ryan said. “I mean, he’s worse than Oscar Framly.”

  Scott waved to her from across the rink as he picked himself up. Oscar Framly, she knew, was very, very bad at ice-skating. “He’s going to get killed,” Maggie told Ryan.

  “Yeah.” Ryan was staring at Scott. His expression bordered on awe. Maggie figured Ryan was having trouble believing anybody could be that bad on ice skates.

  “Do you think we should let him skate?”

  “He said he wanted to.”

  “Maybe we should show him some stuff,” Maggie suggested.

  Ryan watched Scott from across the rink. “It would help if he bent his knees a little.”

  “Why don’t you go tell him?”

  “OK.” Ryan took off over the ice.

  Maggie leaned back against the dasher boards and watched as Ryan fanned to a stop in front of Scott. Their heads were bent together in conversation. Scott was listening intently to Ryan, even flexed his knees once or twice. In spite of herself, Maggie smiled.

  The two of them were so comfortable together. Ryan seemed genuinely to like Scott, and it was evident that the feeling was mutual. It would be easy, too easy, to use that as an excuse to accept the companionship Scott so readily offered. He said he loved her, and Maggie believed him. In the long hours of the night, hours spent alone because Scott had refused to escalate their physical relationship until their emotional relationship was on more solid footing, Maggie had been forced to admit that she loved him, too.

  Oh, not the way she’d loved Mark. That was a consuming kind of love. The kind that had required her to forget that Maggie had existed as a person before she’d met him. No, she lo
ved Scott with a deep sense of rightness, of belonging. Why, then, couldn’t she just accept him into her life?

  Because you could lose him, too, a persistent voice nagged. And the voice wouldn’t go away. Maggie had tried, tried hard, to exorcise her fear of the past. She had argued with herself that fear was no good reason to pass up a chance at true happiness. She had convincingly persuaded her subconscious that not everyone got a second chance like she had. But the voice persisted.

  When she’d lost Mark, she’d lost everything. It had taken a year before she felt almost whole again. She wasn’t ready to surrender any part of that wholeness to Scott Bishop or anyone else. With a heavy sigh, Maggie skated across the ice. She yielded to the very Scarlett O’Hara notion that tomorrow was another day, and besides, if she didn’t teach Scott to skate by Saturday, there would be nothing left of him anyway.

  Sixteen

  Scott propped the ice bag on his knee, leaned his head back against the armrest of the sofa, and groaned. Ryan came running in the living room with a glass of soda. “Here.” He pushed the glass into Scott’s hand. “It’s orange.”

  “Great.”

  “How’s your knee?”

  “Not bad.”

  “That was really cool when you crashed into the Zamboni.”

  Scott took a sip of his soda. “Sure was.”

  “You’re going to get killed on Saturday.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Franklin’s probably gonna cream you.”

  Scott thought about the possibility of getting his bell rung by a seven-year-old. “Franklin wouldn’t do something like that, would he?”

  Ryan nodded. “He would if you were blocking his shot on goal.”

  “Well, then maybe I’ll just have to get out of the way.”

  “You’re not supposed to get out of the way,” Ryan explained with a patience Scott actually admired. “You’re supposed to keep him from shooting. Even if you have to cream him.”

  “I am not going to cream Franklin.”

  Ryan shrugged. “He’ll get you then.”

  Scott figured there was probably a lot of truth in that. He was saved a retort when Maggie came into the room carrying a tray. “Okay, invalid, I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Hope it’s okay.”