Secret Baby Santos

by Barbara Mccauley

  While there was a smile on her lips, she lasered a look at him that could have burned a six-inch hole through steel. “Maybe later, Nick. Brett and Kirk and I were discussing the impact of the dam going in over at Silver Creek. I’m sure MaryAnne and Stephanie would be happy to—” she arched one delicate brow “—‘shoot the bull’ with you.”

  In fact, thought Maggie irritably, from the looks the two women were giving Nick, they’d be happy to do just about anything with him. MaryAnne’s tight red dress all but had a neon sign pointing to her cleavage, while Stephanie’s more tasteful turquoise dress barely covered her rather plump behind.

  She forced herself to listen to Kirk explain the concern the community had regarding the effect of the dam on the local wildlife, but she found herself pulled away at MaryAnne’s nails-on-the-chalkboard giggling.

  She’d been having a relatively relaxed evening until Nick had shown up with the bimbos. It was bad enough to know that he found women like MaryAnne and Stephanie attractive, but to have to sit here and watch them fawn over him, to listen to them giggle and squirm beside him, was just too much. And if Stephanie said “Nick, honey,” one more time, Maggie decided she would scream.

  “... take a drive over to the lake one of these days and I can show you,” Kirk was saying, and Maggie jerked her attention back to him. Oh, dear, had he just offered to take her somewhere?

  “Why don’t we all go?” Stephanie squeaked. “We could do that, couldn’t we, Kirk?”

  Kirk had obviously intended a more intimate outing, but nice guy that he was, he simply cleared his throat and smiled. “Uh, sure, I guess we could do that.”

  Maggie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed, but when Nick grinned at her, she decided on the latter. She frowned at him, but be simply grinned wider.

  “Oh, Nick, honey.” The brunette nudged Nick’s arm with her own. “Won’t that be fun?”

  That did it. Maggie rose gracefully, smiled at Kirk and Brett. “Excuse me, I promised Mr. Winters this dance.”

  Without so much as a backward glance, she moved toward the dance floor, dissolved into the crowd, then emerged on the other side and followed wooden steps leading into a grove of trees. Soft lights illuminated the path that ended at a small gazebo overlooking the creek.

  At least it was quiet here, except for the distant croaking of frogs from the rushing water below. She leaned against the railing, drew in a deep breath of evening air to calm herself.

  Who was she kidding, anyway? She’d only been fooling herself to think that she could handle being around Nick, that she could keep a cool distance between them. There was nothing cool between them. Hot was what she felt whenever he came close to her. Hot and dizzy.

  The sound of footsteps on the gazebo stairs made her heart skip. She straightened, then turned slowly.

  And was profoundly disappointed.

  Seven

  Roger Gerckee.

  Maggie stared at the bully from her childhood. He leaned casually against a gazebo column, a drink of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She struggled not to roll her eyes at his ridiculous attempt to appear debonair.

  Some women might think him handsome, she supposed. With his sandy-blond hair, dark blue eyes and Ivy League style, he had a look that attracted a certain type of woman. The same type of woman who probably liked cartoons on Saturday mornings.

  “Hello, Roger.”

  Her greeting held more sigh than sincerity. She pushed away from the railing, intending to move past him, but he stood at the entrance of the gazebo, blocking her way.

  “It really is you, isn’t it?” he said, his voice slightly slurred from the whisky. “When I asked George Moody who that gorgeous woman was, and he told me it was Margaret Smith, I said no way.”

  “Did you now?” She ground her teeth together. “Imagine that.”

  “So, I thought I better come take a look for myself.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, then lifted back to her face with a grin. “And now here we are, just the two of us.”

  Maggie pressed her lips tightly together. “Weren’t you here with a date?” she asked, praying the woman she’d seen him with earlier would show up.

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t say hello to an old friend, does it? We could just sit here awhile and...talk.”

  Some people never change, she thought with disgust. Roger Gerckee was as pathetic an adult as he was a teenager.

  He flicked his cigarette carelessly over the gazebo railing and if Maggie hadn’t watched it drop down safely into the creek below, she would have pinched his nose and dragged him down there to pick it up. She thought about pinching his nose, anyway. Not just for the cigarette, but for the time he’d stolen her sandwich. She still owed him for that one.

  It would be so easy. She was a black belt—only firstlevel—but taking old Roger down would be a piece of cake. A sweet piece of cake, she thought, then remembered that forgiveness and turning the other cheek had been part of her training, as well. And in truth, as pathetic as Roger was, he was also harmless.

  Still, her hands twitched, and she folded them tightly behind her. “Nice chatting with you, Roger, but I have to run. I promised a dance to Ralph Winters.”

  She attempted to move around him, but he didn’t budge. “Ralph can wait.” He took her arm. “Let’s you and me dance.”

  “Let’s not.”

  He held on to her arm when she tugged. A simple flip, she decided. Nothing that would break anything. She readied herself for the maneuver, but decided to give him one more chance. “Let go of me, Roger. Now.”

  “You heard the lady, Gerckee.” Nick stepped out of the shadows into the soft glow of the gazebo lights, his narrowed, hard gaze aimed like a missile at Roger. “Let go of her. Now.”

  “Hey, Nick.” Roger snatched his hand away. “What’s up? Maggie and I were just talking.”

  “Your date was looking for you.” Without taking his eyes off Roger, Nick strolled up the gazebo steps. “I think she wanted to say goodnight. She was putting her coat on, but you might catch her before she leaves.”

  Roger’s head snapped up. His date leaving before him had obviously not been part of his plan. “Oh, yeah. Right I guess I better do that. Well, ah, see you around. Nick. Maggie.”

  “Not if I see you first,” Maggie muttered when Roger scurried away. She glanced back at Nick, but he was still frowning after Roger. She still wasn’t certain whether she was relieved that Nick had shown up, or disappointed. The idea of tossing Roger on his butt had held a certain primitive pleasure.

  And yet, Nick coming to her rescue held a certain primitive pleasure, as well, though one of an entirely different nature.

  Turning, she leaned her back against the rail and smiled. “I believe this is the part where I’m supposed to bat my eyes and cry. ‘My hero!’”

  Nick scowled at her. Plainly, he was not in a teasing mood. “I should have thrown that jerk over the railing.”

  “That would have been littering.” Staring into the shadows, she smiled wistfully. “Though I do seem to recall an incident with Roger and a trash can when I was thirteen.”

  “One of my fondest memories,” he said dryly, then leaned against the railing beside her.

  “Mine, too.” Sounds drifted up from the party—people laughing, a slow, lost-love number from the band. “Do you remember why you dumped him in that trash can?”

  “Knowing Roger, it could be any one of a hundred reasons.”

  “You did it because of me.”

  He lifted his head, stared at her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We were in the lunch court. Roger had been making fun of me, then he grabbed my sandwich and threw it away. That’s when you dumped him in the trash can.”

  Nick frowned at the memory. “I’d wanted to punch his lights out, but Lucas and Ian talked me out of it.” He touched her cheek, slid his finger lightly over her jaw. “So that was you, was it?”

  She nodded slowly, mesmerized by the gentle touch of his fing
ertip on her skin. “I remember every detail, even what you were wearing. White T-shirt, faded blue jeans and a worn, black leather jacket. The look in your eyes was fierce, a little frightening, but wonderfully exciting at the same time.”

  She realized he was looking at her like that right now, and she felt the same way she had fifteen years ago. Frightened, but wonderfully excited. Her skin tingled from his touch. That’s all it took from him, just a simple touch and he made her feel alive, made her want things she could never have.

  With a sigh, she leaned into him, lifted her face so she could look into his eyes. “No one had ever been a champion to quiet, plain little Maggie Smith. When the other kids cheered, for just that one moment I felt like a princess who’d been rescued by the black knight.” She smiled softly. “You were my hero, Nick Santos.”

  His eyes turned dark as the shadows surrounding them, and he stared at her with an intensity that made her shiver. “Is that what the connection is with us, Maggie?” he asked quietly. “Is that why I feel as if there’s something between us, something that I should be remembering, but can’t quite pull out of the cobwebs?”

  She went still at his words, realized that she’d said too much, that she’d let herself get too close, not just physically, but emotionally. A dangerous, foolish thing to do. There was a connection far beyond that day, and she could never let him know what it was.

  She straightened and pushed herself away from the railing, from his touch. Where her skin had burned only a moment before, she now felt cold and frightened.

  “There’s no connection between us, Nick,” she said evenly. “Only that we lived in the same town and went to the same schools. I had a childish infatuation with you, just like half the other girls in school did, that’s all.”

  She rubbed at the chill that had settled into her arms, felt suddenly tired, though it was still early. She had to make him understand that nothing was going to happen between them, that they could never be lovers.

  “That foolish little Maggie doesn’t exist anymore.” Her voice was steady, firm. “She’s all grown-up now. She lives in the real world, where ordinary people build their relationships on hard work and a serious commitment to each other, not childhood fantasies or one-night stands.”

  He straightened, his mouth set in a firm, hard line as he stared down at her. It was several long moments before he finally spoke. “I need to take you home now, Maggie,” he said evenly.

  Of course he would want to take her home, she thought. Now that he’d finally gotten it through his head that she wasn’t going to go to bed with him, he’d want to get rid of her as quickly as possible. Why wouldn’t he, when there were plenty of women more than ready to accommodate him? The night was young, he could dump her and still find a woman willing to have a private party with him. She told herself that it was for the best, that this was the way it had to be, but that didn’t ease the pain in her heart one little bit.

  “You go on, Nick.” She forced her voice to be light. “I’ll find a ride home.”

  “I brought you here.” He took her elbow, was already moving her back toward the party. “I’ll take you home.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Maggie. Just get your coat.” They bumped into several guests as he dragged her across the back lawn.

  “I haven’t even said goodbye to Lucas or Julianna,” she protested, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

  “I’ll call them tomorrow.” They were inside the house now and he nearly pushed her down the hallway toward the bedroom being used as a coatroom. “I’ll be waiting at the truck.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he’d already turned and walked away before she could get the words out. Of all the nerve! Who did he think he was!

  Nick Santos was just a little too full of himself, she decided, and intended to tell him so. What right did he have to get angry because she wouldn’t go to bed with him?

  The arrogance. She snatched her coat from the bed and yanked it on. The audacity. She found her purse and snapped it onto her shoulder.

  She was almost to the door when Roger stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Oh, God, she groaned inwardly. Not now.

  “Hello, again.” He closed the door behind him. “I noticed Nick just left. I thought maybe we could finish our discussion.”

  “We weren’t having a discussion. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to pass.”

  “We’ve got a lot to catch up on, Maggie. It’s been a long time.”

  “Not long enough, Gerckee.”

  If he hadn’t reached for her arm when she tried to move past him, and if she hadn’t felt so agitated, she might have waited a moment to react. But the fact was he did grab her arm, and she was very, very agitated.

  So in one smooth, easy move, she flipped him onto his back.

  Eyes wide, jaw slack, Roger lay perfectly still on the floor. She knelt beside him and sighed. “Don’t ever touch me again, got that?”

  He nodded mutely.

  “Good night, Roger,”

  She stood, straightened her coat and purse and slipped out of the bedroom. Nick already had his truck running and he stood beside the open driver door, his face tight with impatience. “What took you so long?”

  “I had to give a hand to someone,” she said dryly, then squeaked when he took hold of her by the waist and hefted her none too gently up into the truck. Frowning, she scooted across the seat and settled back while he slammed the truck into gear and tore off, spinning gravel with his back wheels.

  The air in the truck cab crackled with the heat of their tension. He obviously was in no mood for idle chitchat, and she decided she’d wait until they got to her house to give him a piece of her mind.

  But instead of turning left at Woodrow Street, the direction he should have taken, he turned right.

  “You missed the street,” she said tightly.

  “Nope.”

  “What do you mean, ‘nope’? You know perfectly well that you have to take Woodrow to get to my parents’ house.”

  He turned sharply into the parking lot of his shop. “Of course I know that.”

  “You said you were taking me home, Nick.”

  “I am taking you home.” He got out of the truck, came around and opened her door. “My home.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but when he reached in and lifted her in his arms, she forgot what she wanted to say. He carried her to the entrance of his shop, slid the key into the lock and kicked the door open. When he closed the door again, she finally found her voice.

  “Nick Santos, put me down right now.”

  “Nope.” A light from a workbench lamp lit the inside of the shop. He carried her into the office, through the door of his living quarters, flipped on the wall light switch, then deposited her into an overstuffed chair beside a small bookcase.

  When she started to jump up, he pointed a finger at her. “Sit. You are going to listen to me, Margaret Smith Hamilton, and listen close, because what I’m about to say I’ve never said to any woman before and I will not repeat it.”

  Her anger warred with her curiosity, but curiosity won. Folding her arms, she eased back into the chair and glared at him.

  “I’ve never felt the need to explain myself to anyone,” he said irritably, pacing the small confines of his combination bedroom, kitchen and living area. “What I do, what I’ve done is nobody’s business but my own.”

  “Nick—”

  He paused mid-stride and pointed his index finger sharply at her. She pressed her lips tightly together.

  “I like women.” He stomped to the tiny kitchen, turned and faced her, hands on his hips. “I certainly won’t apologize for that.”

  “I’m not asking—”

  “Shut up and listen. I like women, I’ve dated a lot of them but that doesn’t mean I’ve slept with every one of them. In spite of what you seem to think of me, I’ve actually slept with very few of them, and not one of them was a ‘one-n
ight stand,’ as you seem to be so fond of accusing me. Every woman I’ve been with meant something to me. I cared about them.”

  He stared at her, his face rigid, his eyes narrowed and hard. “I care about you, Maggie. From that first moment I picked you out of that pile of green bean cans, I felt something for you. I won’t deny it’s partly physical, nor will I apologize because I want to take you to bed. At least I’m honest about that, which is a hell of a lot more than you’re being with me.”

  Her heart missed a beat “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. You’re just as attracted to me as I am to you. You don’t want to be just friends with me any more than I do with you. We both want a hell of a lot more than that, but you haven’t got the guts to admit it.” He dragged his hands through his hair in frustration. “Who hurt you so bad that you’re afraid to let yourself live, to let yourself feel? Was it your ex-husband?”

  You, she wanted to blurt out, to let loose the tension coiled inside her. But even if she could, even if she did, he would never believe her. He would only hate her.

  She closed her eyes against the threatening tears. “It was a long time ago, Nick, before I was married. I was young...I got swept up in the moment...but it wasn’t... it was only—”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Couldn’t bear to make the most wonderful night of her life sound cheap or sleazy. She felt Nick’s hands on her arms and opened her eyes, hating the tear that slid down her cheek.

  “Oh, geez, Maggie.” He knelt in front of her, took her hands gently in his. “Is that what you’re trying to say? That you had a one-night stand?”

  She nodded

  He tugged her off the chair into his lap. “You can’t beat yourself up over something like that. It happens.”

  “Not to me, not to good little Margaret Smith. I’d never done anything like that before. Or since.”

  She stared at her hands clasped together in her lap. “But that wasn’t all,” she said softly. “It was so unexpected, so...sudden, that I—”