Taming Maggie

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Taming Maggie Page 6

by Webb, Peggy


  “No, thanks.” He spoke with crisp assurance. “Not until you hear what I have to say.”

  The elevator door opened, but nobody paid it any attention, so it clicked shut again.

  “Bucky Westing from the paper called me last night. He had heard about the encounter in Boguefala Bottom between the hunters and the FOA. Knowing that I am a hunter, he called me.”

  “I don’t care who did the calling. You are the one who called us uninformed and childish.”

  “The article served its purpose, didn’t it, Maggie?”

  Maggie was clearly at a disadvantage. Hanging across Adam’s shoulder with the blood pounding in her ears and his hands burning her legs was no way to win this battle. “What purpose, you barbarian?”

  Adam chuckled. “You’re here, aren’t you? I knew that giving that interview would be like waving a red flag before a bull. It was a surefire way of getting you to come here. We have some talking to do.”

  “I still say that newspaper article was sneaky and mean. If you wanted to talk to me, why didn’t you just pick up the phone and call?”

  “And you would have come running right over for a conference?”

  Maggie looked down at the elevator floor as she pondered that question. Of course not. She would not have come for an interview at Adam’s request. Her silence answered for her. The elevator door slid open and shut again.

  “I thought not.”

  Adam loosened his hold on her legs and let her slide down his body as he lowered her to a standing position. Every inch of her felt the electric shock. Every muscle, every plane, every ridge of his body was defined as she slid against him. The depth of feeling aroused in her by the close contact shook her, and she tried to back away from him when her feet touched the floor.

  Adam hauled her roughly back into the circle of his arms. His lips took hers swiftly, unexpectedly. The kiss was hard and intense, a clashing of two stubborn wills. Standing in the elevator with the current flowing strongly between them, Adam assaulted Maggie’s stubborn lips.

  Her struggle to resist was brief, and unsuccessful. Fire licked along her nerve endings as his tongue plunged inside her mouth and began a timeless erotic rhythm. Maggie met the thrusts of his tongue with mounting passion. She wove her arms around his neck, curled her fingers in his hair, and pulled his head closer to hers.

  Adam’s hands explored the satiny flesh beneath her sweater, skimming around the small circle of her waist and moving up her back to press warmly into the hollow between her shoulders. Maggie leaned into him, reveling in the mutual passion of their kiss. She had the uneasy feeling that somehow she had crossed the Rubicon.

  The elevator door swished open once again, and Adam lifted his head. His eyes were the turbulent blue of a storm-washed ocean. Without a word he smoothed down Maggie’s sweater, took her by the hand, and practically dragged her from the elevator and down the length of the mezzanine to his office.

  He pushed open the door and led her into a warm room paneled in dark mahogany, with deep brown leather chairs and a plush, cream-colored carpet. A massive desk sat in front of wide double windows that looked across the street to Calvary Baptist Church. A giant fern in a brass urn dominated one corner, and one entire wall was lined with bookshelves, floor to ceiling.

  Maggie pulled herself free of Adam’s hand and walked toward the bookshelves. She hadn’t been prepared for what had happened in the elevator. She needed time to think. Running her hands lightly over the book jackets, she scanned the titles. Banking, management techniques, loans and trusts—all were titles she expected to see.

  Her hand stopped on a slim, leather-bound volume. Of Mice and Men by Steinbeck. She pulled the volume from the shelf and flipped through the pages. Steinbeck was one of her favorite authors. How strange that Adam should have this book on his shelf.

  She looked covertly at him. He was standing by the window watching her. There was a look almost of perplexity on his face, and he stood with the poised stillness of a jungle cat crouched to spring. She shoved the Steinbeck back on the shelf. The book was probably there for looks, anyhow.

  “Steinbeck is a favorite author of mine.” Adam spoke quietly from his spot beside the window. “As a matter of fact, I’ve always wanted to play George.”

  Maggie looked at him, amazed. “Do you act?”

  “No, I’ve never had the time. I thought about trying out for one of the plays when Tupelo first organized its little theater group, but there was always business to be handled.”

  “I can’t imagine you in the role of George. I think Rhett Butler would be more your style.”

  “ Frankly, mah deah, Ah don’t give a damn, “ he said, deadpan. Maggie laughed with him. “George appeals to me because of his compassion.”

  “You! Compassionate! Tell me another joke, Adam.”

  “If you aren’t careful, Maggie, you’ll discover I’m human.” Grinning broadly, Adam moved away from the window and walked to his desk. He picked up a picture and handed it to Maggie. “Beauregard, my pet. Beau for short.”

  Maggie took the picture with the tips of her fingers, as if it might bite. “A cat!” A fat calico cat was stretched out on a sunny window-seat, and beside him sat a slim, gray-haired woman and a handsome man, an older version of Adam. “And these must be your parents.”

  “Meet my family, Maggie.”

  She didn’t want to meet his family. She wanted to grab her horn and beat a hasty retreat. It was bad enough that she had practically succumbed to him in the elevator. Finding out that he liked Steinbeck and loved his cat and had lovely parents was just too much. Adam was the enemy. He was supposed to be evil right down to the bottom of his black heart.

  With a sigh of regret, Maggie replaced the picture on Adam’s desk. She sensed another victory for her opponent. Turning around, she saw her silver trumpet gleaming against the dark leather cushions of one of Adam’s chairs. The battle wasn’t over yet.

  “Don’t try to sidetrack me.”

  “Nobody’s trying to sidetrack you.” Adam was clearly irritated with her. “Dammit, Maggie. You are the most exasperating woman I’ve ever met.”

  Good. She had made him mad. She could handle that.

  “And you are the most devious man I’ve ever met. Giving sneaky interviews to the press instead of facing me like a man!”

  “Where’s your coat, Maggie?” Adam stepped to the closet and took down his hat and topcoat.

  “Why?” Maggie looked at him suspiciously. What was he up to now? “I came here in such a hurry, I forgot my coat.”

  “I should have known.” He clamped his hat on his head and crossed to Maggie. “Come on. We’ll finish this conversation over dinner.”

  Maggie put her hands on her hips and faced him defiantly. “I will not have dinner with an animal assassin.”

  “Are you coming under your own steam, or do you want me to carry you?”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Oh, no? Try me, Tigress.” He took a step toward her. There was steel in his voice and icy determination in his eyes.

  Maggie believed him. And she didn’t relish the idea of being carried, caveman style, into a restaurant.

  “Okay.” She glared at him. “I’ll go with you. But don’t assume that this is a capitulation on my part.” She skirted around him as she marched out the door, head held high.

  “I would never assume anything with you.”

  They walked in silence to Adam’s car. Dusk had settled over Tupelo, and Christmas lights had been turned on all over the city. Miniature garlands and trees festooned the street lights along Main Street. Shoppers, taking advantage of late holiday shopping hours, thronged the malls.

  Maggie hugged the door handle on her side of the car and wondered if she had taken leave of her senses. She should be in her pickup truck headed home to Belden instead of locked in a car with a devastating man who could turn her to putty with just one searing look.

  o0o

  Adam parked the car behind a charming t
urn-of-the-century house that had been painted gray and converted into a restaurant. “Is Jefferson Place all right with you?”

  “Umph,” she grunted. He need not know that she would walk over coals for their fried zucchini.

  Adam took her elbow to guide her up the steep steps, and she almost lost the tenuous grasp she had on her self-control. Every time he touched her, she wanted to swoon in his arms. As she seated herself in a bentwood chair beside a stained-glass window, she came to the decision that fainting benches and swooning ought to be revived. They must have been extremely convenient.

  Maggie and Adam placed their orders, and he suggested that they start with fried zucchini. “I could eat my weight in the stuff,” he confessed as he plunged a slice of zucchini into the bowl of dip.

  It just wasn’t fair that he liked fried zucchini, too. Morosely she dipped her vegetable, being careful to avoid colliding with Adam’s hand. Sharing a bowl of dip with this man was far too intimate. Probably even sitting across the room from him would be too intimate. He had that kind of magnetism.

  By the time the salads arrived, Maggie had decided that if she didn’t do something fast, she would be lost forever to Adam Trent’s charm, a deserter to her cause.

  “I hope you understand, Adam, that I have not changed my mind about you, in spite of the fried zucchini and the calico cat.”

  He grinned. “You forgot Steinbeck.”

  “I’m serious, Adam. I still think hunters are indiscriminate killers, and nothing can change the fact that you are a hunter.”

  “Maggie, it’s true that some hunters ignore the laws and kill indiscriminately. That doesn’t mean that all hunters are monsters.” Adam leaned forward to make his case. “You should know that. Aren’t there more than a few bad teachers, and wouldn’t you hate to be accused of inadequate teaching because of some of your colleagues?”

  “How dare you compare a noble profession like teaching to the horrible practice of slaughtering wild animals!”

  “That’s not what I’m doing, and you know it.” Adam viciously speared a piece of steak. “I’m talking about the dangers of making generalizations.”

  “And I’m talking about life, the life of a wild and free creature being snuffed out by a twenty-gauge shotgun just for recreation.” The flames of justice were burning brightly again in Maggie’s heart, and everything else was shoved down into second place.

  “You’re too stubborn to be reasonable.” Adam dropped his silver onto his plate and pushed it aside. “I thought we would discuss this issue over a civilized meal, like two sane adults. I had even intended to invite you to the Waterfowls Incorporated banquet Friday night so that you could see firsthand that some hunters are interested in preserving wildlife.” He hastily scrawled his name on the check.

  Maggie shoved her chair aside and stood up.

  “To educate me?”

  Without a backward glance, she marched, stiff-backed, out of the restaurant.

  o0o

  They rode in blistering silence back to Mutual Bank and Maggie’s pickup truck. Adam parked his car in the empty space behind her truck and made a move to get out and open her car door.

  “You needn’t bother.” She didn’t care that she sounded huffy.

  “Oh, but I insist,” he answered, his voice dangerously quiet. She listened to the sound of his footsteps against the concrete as he stomped around to open her door. Suddenly it was jerked open, and Adam reached inside to take Maggie’s hand.

  Unceremoniously he pulled her from the car. The fierce night wind caught her hair and brushed it across her cheeks.

  Adam stood very still, eyeing her with cold fury. And then something happened in his eyes. Maggie could see them change from ice blue to turbulent blue-gray. She lifted her chin defiantly, trembling inside at what she saw. It was naked, raw passion, and it ripped her right down the middle. Maggie Merriweather stood on Main Street with half of her heart ranting and raving for her cause and half of her straining to respond to the magnificent passion of Adam Trent.

  His face softened, and his hand reached out gently to smooth back her hair.

  “My Lord, Maggie.” He moved, and then she was in his arms. His lips claimed hers, devoured hers, as his hands reached beneath her sweater. Reason went spinning away as his tongue sought the warm inside of her mouth and his fingers grazed across the lacy top of her bra, caressing the soft skin underneath.

  For a small eternity the world stood at bay while they kissed. They were no longer hunter and preservationist, but simply man and woman, locked together by the timeless bonds of desire.

  It was Adam who broke the kiss, for Maggie didn’t have the strength. She would have stayed in his arms there in the middle of Main Street until Judgment Day.

  Adam watched as Maggie gathered her splintered self together. She straightened her sweater, patted her hair, and smoothed down her skirt. There was nothing she could do to tidy up her jumbled emotions.

  “Thank you for the dinner,” she said between stiff lips. Saying a small prayer of thanks for the manners that had provided a gracious escape, she hurried toward her truck.

  She already had the door open when Adam spoke from behind her.

  “You forgot your horn.”

  “Shoot,” she said, but it lacked conviction.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Maggie! That makes the third time you’ve called B 5,” Emma Vinson chided Maggie. “Where is your mind?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Sorry. G 15.” My mind is still on last night, and it’s a miracle that I lived through it. She selected another number. Aloud, she said, “I 17.” She was still amazed at herself for being in one piece. Walking back to get her trumpet from Adam after walking away from that kiss had been torture. She had felt like one of the early Christians facing the lions.

  “G 15,” she said to her Wednesday-afternoon bingo partners at the Deerfield Nursing Home.

  “You said that just a minute ago, Maggie,” Fannie Mae Clark reminded her.

  “Looks like we should have stolen the van and gone hunting,” Emma said, chuckling. “Why didn’t we, Maggie?”

  “Mac is using the van to pick up supplies.”

  “Oh, pshaw.” Fannie Mae sniffed loudly. “He could have done that tomorrow. Why didn’t you tell him, Maggie? I think he’s still in love with you.” Fannie Mae was a subscriber to the adage, Love conquers all.

  “Phooey, Fannie Mae, Mac’s not enough man for our Maggie. He doesn’t hold a candle to that Adam Trent.” Emma Vinson was only one of a large group of Deerfield residents who watched over Maggie’s affairs with fierce maternal pride.

  “Shall we continue the game, ladies?” Maggie suggested. Why couldn’t Mac have been like Adam, except for the hunting? Then he would have been so easy to love, and life would have been so simple—except, maybe Adam’s hunter’s instinct was part of what made him exciting, and where did all that leave Maggie Merriweather? She sighed.

  “B 5.”

  Before her bingo partners could protest that B 5 had now been called four times, a very large Santa entered the game room.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” he roared merrily. He wore the familiar red costume stuffed with pillows, and his face was completely hidden behind a luxuriant white beard and wire-rimmed glasses.

  Bingo cards went flying into the air as the ladies of Deerfield surrounded Santa. Maggie wondered where in the world Mac had found such a tall Santa, and why he hadn’t told her Santa was coming. She collected the cards and bingo chips as the visitor occupied her ladies. It was a game that should have been forgotten anyhow.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the surprise Santa chatting with her friends. He was really very good. There was a gracious ease in his manner, and he seemed to have a natural rapport with the elderly residents. She would have to congratulate Mac on his selection.

  Maggie bent down to pick up a chip that had fallen to the floor. Behind her, Santa’s deep voice boomed out in laughter.

  Maggie froze. G
ood land! It was Adam Trent! The voice sent shivers down her spine. She sneaked a peek over her shoulder. Santa was bent over his pack, pulling out gift- wrapped packages. He was totally immersed in his job, and paying no attention whatsoever to Maggie.

  She turned back around, picked up the chip, and stood up. She must have Adam Trent on the brain. It would behoove her to forget him.

  Her heels clicking smartly on the polished wooden floor as if she could drown out thoughts of Adam with their sharp, staccato rhythm, Maggie stepped across the room to the game chest. Bending over at the waist, she reached down to replace the bingo cards in the bottom drawer of the chest.

  “Now, there’s a view that would thaw out the North Pole.” There was no mistaking Adam Trent now.

  Suddenly conscious of the way her red wool jersey jump suit must be stretched across her bottom. Maggie straightened up and whirled around. “Are you sneaking around in a Santa suit just to spy on me?”

  Adam laughed. “Now, Maggie. Is that any way to talk to Santa Claus?” The wire-rimmed glasses had slid down on Adam’s nose, and his incredible blue eyes twinkled at her.

  Maggie felt ridiculous. Of course Adam Trent wasn’t sneaking around to spy on her. For one thing, he didn’t sneak: he barged, and marched, and commanded.

  “Truce, Maggie?”

  Maggie held her hands, palms up, toward Adam in a sign of surrender. “Truce.”

  Adam took both her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. He planted a kiss inside each palm, a warm, gentle kiss that made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

  “That’s more like it, Maggie. Santa promises to be very good to you. Very good, indeed,” he said softly.

  Maggie reclaimed her hands and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Adam made very good sound like a romantic idyll between perfumed satin sheets. Or was it just her own wishful thinking? She shook off the satin sheets and came back to Deerfield with her cheeks burning. “You make a great Santa, Adam. Do you do this often?”

  “Never.” His eyes raked her up and down, promising satin sheets, soft music, romantic idylls, and more. “I have ulterior motives.”

 

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