THIS PERFECT STRANGER

by Barbara Ankrum

  Judge Kimball stepped up to kiss Maggie on the cheek. "Best wishes to you, Maggie," he said. "Good luck."

  "Thank you, Judge," she said, smiling a little too broadly as she searched out Cain, who was watching her from near the door to the judge's chambers, signaling her with a look that he was ready to go.

  Moody slipped the violets into her hands. "Don't forget these."

  Maggie pressed the flowers back into Moody's hands. "You keep these," she said. "I don't need them. Besides they may bring you luck."

  Moody shrugged with a smile. "When you get to my age and the only things nibblin' on your line are a bunch of old catfish, a handful of violets aren't likely to sweeten my chances. But I will sniff 'em every now and then, and dream."

  Moody's fiftieth birthday had been just last November and single men ranged in from six counties just to sit at her counters and wait for one of her smiles. But Maggie suspected it would take a special one to get her to readjust the life she'd carved for herself here in this little town.

  She gave Moody a kiss on the cheek. "Pooh. You're just too stubborn to get married again. You keep the violets. To remind yourself that luck can sometimes be fickle in your direction."

  She took the flowers and buried her nose in them. "All right," she said. "You are comin' by my place for a little celebration? I baked a cake."

  Maggie flinched. She'd wanted to keep this day as low-key as possible. "You didn't."

  "Sure I did. You think I'd let this excuse for a wingding pass by without a little party? Besides, you can't start a marriage out without a cake to mark the occasion."

  Maggie wanted to remind the ever-hopeful matchmaker that this wasn't a real marriage at all and there was no future in hoping for such a thing, but she couldn't bear to spoil the happy look on her friend's face. Besides, how many people would actually show up. One or two?

  Maggie glanced at Cain, who was looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world but here. She turned back to Moody and hugged her. "Of course we'll come," she said. "We have to stop at the bank first before it closes. We'll meet you over at the café. Let me just go and tell Cain."

  The man in question watched Maggie with her friend, looking flushed and beautiful as a spring flower in that dress she'd worn. It was silky and soft, and the same gold color her hair turned in the sunshine. And when he'd kissed her, he'd had trouble remembering that he was only doing it to prove a point and not because he'd spent the last two days and nights wondering what she'd taste like if he did.

  Somehow, he'd assumed that once he'd satisfied his curiosity on that account, he could let the idea go. But now, as she moved toward him in that dress of hers with its ladylike slit up the thigh, and her mouth still flushed from his kiss, he realized he'd seriously underestimated the situation. He hadn't expected her to go all soft in his arms, or make that little noise in her throat, somewhere between a protest and a purr as his lips had closed over hers. It made him wonder how long it had been since she'd been kissed—a bend-at-the-knees, take-your-breath-away, kind of kiss. Too long, that was for damn sure. And long enough for him, too, that he'd lost a little bit of control over the situation.

  Only a fool would dally with a woman like Maggie, marriage certificate or no. She made him want things he had no business wanting. Things he thought he'd buried so deep they'd lost a pulse. But they were coming to life again inside him.

  Something was coming to life inside him. Just watching her walk this way.

  "Let's go," he said when she reached his side.

  "We can't. Moody's baked us a cake. We have to go and make an appearance after the bank."

  The last damned thing he wanted to do was go to some party celebrating this sham of a marriage. His gaze found Moody and he gave her a friendly across-the-room nod.

  "You told her, didn't you?" he asked Maggie under his breath.

  "Of course I told her. But after that little show we gave them, she's probably not the only one who thinks there's more to this than meets the eye. Exactly what did you think you were doing?"

  His grin was slow and heated, remembering. "Just doin' what you hired me to do."

  She waved goodbye to Moody, Harold and the others and pulled Cain toward the door. "I don't believe kissing was anywhere in the job description."

  "Husbands," he reminded her, slipping an around her shoulder, "kiss their wives. And if they don't, there's trouble in paradise. And I'm sure the good Mrs. Kimball would be more than happy to spread that little tidbit around town. Is that what you want?"

  That took the hot out of her chili. "No," she said as they made their way out into the sunshine dappled street. "But you didn't have to make the kiss so … so authentic."

  Cain grinned, enjoying this. "Maybe if you hadn't leaned into me that way—"

  She had the gall to look offended. "If you hadn't practically pulled me off my feet—!"

  "—or draped yourself around my neck."

  "I was trying not to fall."

  He shook his head and pulled her into the street after a pickup truck loaded down with straw bales passed by. "Yeah, that's what it felt like, all right. Remind me again what it was you had against sex?"

  "I have nothing against sex," she retorted to the shocked stares of a handful of passersby.

  Cain worked at containing a grin.

  "I just have something against having it with a complete stranger," she finished under her breath, tugging her arm from his grip. "Do-you-mind?" She stalked ahead of him.

  "Hey, I don't mind. But personally, I don't think you're all that strange. I mean except for your habit of forgetting where you're going."

  Maggie stopped dead and looked up. They'd passed the bank two buildings back. She refrained from slugging him.

  * * *

  The bank was mostly empty except for a handful of people at the teller windows. An older woman in a button-down suit she'd outgrown several pounds ago, walked briskly past them, giving Cain the evil eye and Maggie, a nod and a disapproving look that could melt down steel. He saw Maggie's composure slip a notch.

  Cain suppressed the urge to wring the old bat's neck, but countered it by taking Maggie's elbow as she headed toward a weasely looking desk jockey at the center of the desk area whose nameplate read Ernie Solefield.

  Ernie had his head bent at his work but he looked up as they approached his desk. His banker's smile slipped when he saw who it was. Immediately, he pushed to his feet.

  "Maggie—I mean, Mrs. Cortland."

  "It's MacCallister now."

  Ernie blinked, his gaze sliding to Cain and back. "Pardon?"

  "I'm surprised you hadn't heard. Everyone else apparently has," Maggie said, pulling an envelope from her purse and sliding onto Ernie's desk. "Ernie Solefield? Meet my husband, Cain MacCallister."

  The balding banker looked like he was trying to swallow a really large pill. "Married? But … married? Well … congratulations." He held his hand out to Cain and Maggie. Maggie just smiled coolly back. Cain folded his arms.

  Ernie pulled his hand back. "So…" He glanced at the envelope Maggie had slid on his desk. "What, uh, what can I do for you today?"

  "Approve my loan," she said baldly.

  Ernie laughed softly. "Maggie, it's not that simp—"

  "Did you or did you not turn me down for being a single woman?"

  He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "There were a number of factors involved with—"

  "Don't," she warned, leaning against Ernie's desk with one hand. "I qualify and you know it, Ernie. I've just eliminated the only excuse you had for turning me down. I'm married and Cain is as committed as I am to making my—our—place work." She straightened. "Here's the paperwork. I expect to hear from you within two weeks."

  "These things take time, Maggie," Ernie said, fingering the envelope she'd left him.

  "It seems I'm fresh out of that," she said. "Maybe Harold Levi can move things along faster. Shall I call him?"

  Ernie's bank pallor faded another notc
h. "No. That won't be necessary. You'll be hearing from us shortly. I'll personally see that it gets priority."

  "Good." Maggie glanced at Cain, whose gaze was locked with the banker's.

  Ernie blinked first. "I'll do what I can for you, Maggie," he said, then nodded at Cain. "Mr. MacCallister."

  "Mr. Solefield," Cain replied, and the two of them turned and walked out with every person in the bank watching them go.

  * * *

  True to her word, Moody had baked a cake. Not just any old cake. But a wedding cake, complete with a bride and groom on top. A two-tiered confection not to be outdone in any five-star restaurant. Half of Fishhook had turned out, something that not only surprised, but heartened Maggie. Everyone from old Taylor Green, who sold her feed, to Delilah and Jake Cameron, her neighbors, to a handful of teenage girls who often came out to her place to exercise her mares. The same folks who'd been at Ben's funeral were here now, wishing her well.

  Maggie looked at Cain, who was standing beside her with his arm strategically around her back. He was smiling and nodding but looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here. But no one knew that. They all thought he was in love with her. And for a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy that fantasy. Imagine, she thought, a man like Cain actually loving her. Caring about her. It had been so long since a man had put his arm around her waist, stood beside her in a crowd. It was so good to see not pity, but happiness in the eyes of her friends. After Ben, no one had known what to say. After a while, they didn't want to ask how she was doing any more. They knew. She was surviving. Barely. And they knew about Donnelly. Anyone who lived in Fishhook knew he was a bully. Some had even pulled up stakes when the going got too tough.

  She gripped the plastic champagne glass tightly and guzzled the last remnants. While she knew almost everyone here, Cain knew no one. He looked antsy as a caged cat, tugging at the tie around his neck while chugging the black coffee Moody had set out. She noticed he hadn't touched the alcohol, not even when Moody made a toast to them. She was grateful that one of them had a clear head to drive home. She rarely drank, but she was working on her third glass and the room was starting to spin.

  A dozen well-wishers came up to offer their congratulations and kiss Maggie's cheek. Mary Kate Baxter-Lorenzo, the redheaded, thirty-five-ish owner of Mary Kate's Gifts and Baubles who was a notorious—and now single—husband-hunter, wrapped an arm around Maggie's shoulder and gave her a squeeze.

  "I just wanna know your secret," she whispered, slurring her words slightly. "It's so unfair. Here I am, slaving away in the middle of town and there you are on your place in the middle of nowhere and you meet someone like that." She shook her head in approval at Cain, who was being buttonholed by Jed Kruener, the local pharmacist. "Wherever did you find him, Maggie?"

  "We're old friends," she said, telling the lie they'd agreed on. "I knew him years ago, before Ben."

  "Oh … Ben…" Mary Kate said on a sigh. "So sad about Ben. How long has it been? Five months?"

  "Six," she corrected. "If you'll excuse me, I'd better go and see if—"

  "Well," the redhead interrupted drunkenly, "nobody's thinkin' less of you for turnin' it around so quickly, I'll tell you that. After all, these days, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Right?"

  Maggie smiled tightly at Mary Kate and handed her another glass of champagne as Moody's tray went by. "It was sweet of you to come, Mary Kate. Really."

  "Oh. Sure," Mary Kate said, taking a slug of champagne and moving her gaze to the next likely victim.

  Cain met her gaze with a look so close to desperation she had to smile. She knew exactly how he felt. She sent him a silent signal of commiseration as she shouldered her way through the crowded room toward Moody. Well-wishers gave her hugs of congratulations and stopped her every few feet to ask her about her new husband. She fended off questions as best she could but the lying was beginning to wear on her. She had to get out of here.

  Harold Levi stopped her before she could get to Moody. He drew her into a hug, then patted her hand. "You're all set now?" he asked. "Sure you'll be okay?"

  "Yes," she answered. "Thanks Harold, for everything."

  "I'll look into that name you gave me. Remus Trimark? Never heard of him, but that doesn't mean he isn't living around here somewhere. You sure it was a man's name?"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "He said if I wanted to know more I should find this Remus Trimark. And that it's not over. Whatever 'it' is."

  "All right. I'll let you know what I find out. You sure you don't want Cain to know about this?"

  She shook her head. "Not yet. He's got enough on his plate without this, too." Or he might just hop on that bike of his and never be seen again. Not that she'd blame him. He'd driven into a hornet's nest of trouble the day he'd ridden onto her ranch. She didn't want to give him any more reason to leave.

  "I'm going to get back to work now," Harold told her. "I can't seem to interest Moody in playing hooky with me." He sent a wistful look over at the coffee-diva behind the counter. "She's really something, isn't she?"

  Maggie stared at Harold in surprise. She had no idea he was interested in Moody. Well, well, well… Harold's wife of twenty-seven years had died five years ago. He'd been devoted to her and to their four children. But his wife was gone and his children, too, had moved away to school or new lives in the big city. Life here could be lonely without someone. She knew firsthand. "Yes," she answered, glancing back at Moody. "She is something, all right. Why don't you ask her out? I think she's partial to tulips."

  His grin widened as he slid his coat on. "Is she now? I'll surely keep that in mind."

  After he left, Maggie found Moody and pulled her into a hug.

  "We're gonna go. Thanks for everything, Moody. Especially for not telling me how much I'm going to regret this."

  "You're a smart gal, Maggie. You'll figure it out. Just don't let Ben be the one you measure him against. That man's already had his share of you. He doesn't deserve any more."

  They walked half a block with Maggie going on about all the people he'd met whose names he'd already forgotten. As she talked, he noticed Donnelly's name was on three buildings in his line of sight: a hardware store, a feed and grain warehouse and a small real estate office. Not to mention the two late model pickup trucks they'd passed on the way in, emblazoned with the Bar ZX insignia—Donnelly's brand.

  He had the distinct feeling that Laird Donnelly pretty much owned this little piece of nowhere. And that had the potential of being a very dangerous thing. A bully by any other name was still a bully.

  Maggie's truck was parked midway between Hamm's Pharmacy and the Duke Brothers' Ranch Market. He noticed them even before he felt Maggie tense up beside him half way down the block. The three cowhands were a ragged-looking bunch. Just in off some weeklong branding job, he suspected. They lounged against the granite steps of Hamm's, sipping on cans sheathed in brown paper sacks as they watched Maggie and him approach.

  * * *

  "Well, look who's comin'!" the tallest one yelled out, lifting his brown-paper covered drink in greeting. "If it ain't Maggie Cortland. Hey, Maggie."

  Maggie tried to ignore them, reaching into her purse for her keys. "Ignore them," she told him under her breath.

  "Hey, Maggie," the scrawny one with a nose like a scythe and a few day's growth of red beard called out. "We heard you got yerself hitched." They turned their attention to Cain. "That right?"

  Maggie was shaking her purse, searching for the elusive keys. "Pretend you don't hear them."

  Cain turned to the cowboys who were snorting and grinning and generally having a good ol' time at Maggie's expense. "You got a problem with that?"

  The two who were talking exchanged looks again as if he was the stupidest man alive. "I'd say you're the one with the problem," one of them muttered.

  Maggie yanked the keys out of her purse and immediately dropped them. Cain reached for them and shoved them into the lock on the passenger side door. "I'll drive,"
he told her. She started to argue, but the cowboy was apparently just cranking up.

  "Good luck. You'll need it. Right boys?"

  The "boys" shared the joke. Except for the brown-haired one who looked barely twenty-five. He just ducked his head and focused on his beer.

  Cain opened the car door for Maggie and moved toward the men. "If I didn't know better," he said in a dangerous voice, "I'd think you boys are trying to start something here."

  "It's just a little friendly warning," explained the skinnier of the two who got slowly to his feet with a small-town swagger that reminded Cain of a mean little bantam rooster on the Concho he used to know and hate. "We figured it was our civic duty to warn you."

  The one who was hanging back shook his head and tossed a look in Maggie's direction. "Let it go, Joe," he muttered almost under his breath.

  "You should listen to him, Joe," Cain warned.

  "Then I guess she told you right?" Joe said, "about her husband?"

  Cain kept his expression carefully blank but the muscles at the back of his neck coiled tighter. "Why don't you boys find something useful to do with your days? Like kicking over parking meters, or treeing cats."

  Joe laughed. "I guess she didn't, huh? Yeah, she's easy on the eyes, but she's damned hard on husbands. Her last one hanged hisself."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  The silence that followed that little bombshell was broken at last by the sound of Maggie's car door closing softly. Cain looked around to find her in the truck, staring determinedly out the driver's window, away from them.

  Joe was grinning when he looked back at him. "Ol' Ben, he did it right in his own barn. Word is," he confided, "she drove him to it." With a shrill whistle he gestured with his hand like a plane going down. "Right over the edge with her pushin' and naggin'. You could be next. So you better watch yourself, son."

  His gut tightened. Suicide? Why hadn't she told him? Not that he gave a damn. He didn't. Her life was her business. But the idea of these clowns cutting her down right here in the middle of town made him want to take each one of them apart, piece by moronic piece, and leave them bleeding on the sidewalks of Fishhook, wondering what hit them. But that wasn't going to happen. Not today. Not with Maggie watching.