Heartbeat

by Joan Johnston

  Obviously someone had contacted Uncle Porter, and he wanted her to confirm the rumor that she was ready to bolt from the firm.

  “I will only remind you that a certain debt has not been paid,” Cobb said.

  Maggie’s nostrils flared as she sucked air. She met Cobb’s implacable gaze and said, “If it’s the money that concerns you—”

  “It’s not the money,” Cobb interrupted. “I wouldn’t want to think you’d move the one remaining connection my sister has to her only son somewhere else.”

  Maggie’s pose of disinterest evaporated as she scrambled to her feet. She felt the heat in her cheeks as the blood rushed to her head. “Victoria doesn’t even know—Victoria wouldn’t care—Victoria would rather see me gone.”

  Porter Cobb took a puff of his cigar before announcing, “I would not.”

  Maggie clenched her fists to keep from extending them in supplication. Begging wouldn’t work. Once Uncle Porter saw her crawling, he’d come in for the kill. Act assured. Act confident. Don’t let him know he has you scared. “You can’t keep me here,” Maggie said.

  Cobb raised a single salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “Can’t I? I hold all the aces, Margaret. You might as well throw in your hand.”

  Maggie wanted to keep on fighting, but Uncle Porter had hinted at a weapon he hadn’t drawn yet but was willing to use: If she tried to leave Texas, she wouldn’t leave with everything. He’d keep the most important thing, and there’d be nothing she could do about it.

  “You don’t play fair,” she pointed out.

  “Does that mean you’ll be staying?”

  He knew the answer without asking. It was more game playing, where she verbally conceded defeat, thereby making him the victor. She owed him so much; but he made sure she never forgot it. It felt like a black box was closing around her, and Maggie fought to keep open a window of light. Was she going to stay where Porter Cobb’s powerful, long-reaching arms could control her life? Maggie gave the most defiant answer she could.

  “For the moment.”

  Maggie had gone to bed at eleven, after an enervating meeting chaired by Victoria regarding the gala. The call from the gatekeeper at 200 Patterson announcing she had a visitor woke her up. “Who is it?” she asked, glancing at the clock. It was 11:33.

  “Lisa Hollander.”

  “Let her in,” Maggie said, wondering why

  Lisa hadn’t just called. She must be exhausted from her trip to Dallas. But that was just like Lisa, to thank her right away and in person for helping with Amy—even though it could have waited until morning.

  Maggie had slipped on a comfortable terry cloth robe but was barefoot when she greeted Lisa at the door to her elegant tenth-floor condominium. “Come in. You didn’t have to—” Maggie cut herself off when she saw the look in Lisa’s large brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Lisa crossed past her and headed toward the kitchen where they’d sat at the table working on numerous legal cases together. Maggie followed her, confused and alarmed by Lisa’s strange behavior. She was dressed in a tailored, dark green suit that Maggie presumed was what she’d worn for the trip to Dallas. Which meant either she hadn’t been home yet, or she hadn’t stayed home long enough to change.

  “Do you mind if I get myself something to drink?” Lisa said, heading for the refrigerator.

  “Not at all. In fact, get me a Coke while you’re at it.”

  From past visits Lisa knew where to find glasses, which she filled with ice from the refrigerator dispenser. She split a Coke and handed one of the glasses to Maggie, who had settled herself in a chair at the small round kitchen table.

  Lisa sat down across from her, set the untouched glass of Coke on the oak surface, and broke into tears.

  Maggie set her glass down and knelt beside Lisa, reaching for her hands and gripping them in her own. “Has Amy or Roman been hurt?”

  Lisa shook her head vigorously.

  “The deposition went badly?” Maggie guessed.

  Lisa shook her head.

  “You and Roman had a fight?”

  Lisa made a keening sound, and Maggie had her answer. She let go of Lisa’s hands, rose, and pulled one of the padded kitchen chairs closer so she could sit beside the distraught young woman. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

  “That sounds like a lawyer’s answer, all right,” Maggie said with a rueful smile. “I’ve trained you well.”

  Lisa managed a sobbing laugh and knuckled her eyes dry, smearing her mascara. Maggie stretched for a box of Kleenex from the breakfast bar that separated the cooking area from the dining area and placed it in front of Lisa, who cleaned the mascara from her hands, then dabbed at her eyes. “I didn’t mean to sound so confused.” She looked at Maggie and said, “But I am.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “I don’t know,” Lisa wailed. “I don’t know what to do!” She grabbed another Kleenex and dabbed at the tears streaming freely from her eyes.

  Maggie was at a loss. She had been Lisa’s mentor for the past three years and done everything she could to help her succeed professionally. In the process, they had become friends. She had been to the Hollander house several times. She liked Roman Hollander, and from everything she’d seen, he was besotted with his wife. As Lisa’s boss she wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved with Lisa’s personal problems—especially any difficulties she was having with her husband.

  But it was obvious Lisa needed someone to talk to, and Maggie didn’t have the heart to send her away. “I’m here to listen, Lisa. And to help, if you think I can.”

  “Roman wants me to quit my job,” she blurted.

  “What brought this on?” Maggie said.

  “You know how busy I’ve been the past few months, and now I’ve started traveling. Roman’s schedule at the hospital is so crowded he doesn’t have much free time, and lately, when he’s been free, I haven’t. My plane was late leaving Dallas, and instead of getting home at seven P.M., I got home at ten-thirty. Roman was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me, and I’ve never seen him so upset. Apparently Amy cried for me for almost an hour before she finally fell asleep.”

  Maggie felt her insides clutch as she imagined the wounded look in Amy’s dark eyes as she cried for a mother who didn’t come. One look at Lisa’s face revealed the agonizing guilt she felt. It wasn’t easy for women who chose to work to balance children and a profession. Maggie had thought Lisa was doing a pretty good job. But maybe not.

  “I’m so sorry, Lisa. It’s not your fault the plane was late.”

  “I chose to go, so the blame’s mine! At least that’s what Roman said.”

  “Neanderthal thinking,” Maggie muttered under her breath. To Lisa she said, “I wasn’t aware Roman had problems with you having a career.”

  “He’s never complained before,” Lisa said. “But I never had so much responsibility before. And things are even more hectic right now because the nanny’s gone for a couple of weeks. Roman says he can support us on what he makes, and that I’m foolish to work instead of staying home with Amy.”

  “He might have a point,” Maggie said quietly.

  Lisa rose abruptly and paced the kitchen. “I can’t quit. I won’t quit. I refuse to quit!”

  Maggie eyes narrowed as she observed Lisa’s obvious agitation. Lisa had always seemed to enjoy her work, but Maggie had never noticed that she was obsessed with it. Lisa seemed just as happy being home with her husband and daughter. Why was she so insistent on working? Why not quit her job and make Roman happy and enjoy these years with Amy? “I’d hate to lose you,” Maggie began, “but—”

  Lisa stopped and stared at Maggie with tormented eyes. “I think Roman might be having an affair with his nurse.”

  Maggie’s jaw gaped. “What?”

  Lisa dropped into the chair beside Maggie. “Things haven’t been the same between us since I started working on the MEDCO case in Dallas three months ago. I was so busy at first, I
guess I didn’t notice what was happening. But lately I’ve watched him avoid my eyes, and at night in bed . . .” Lisa swallowed hard and said, “He doesn’t reach for me anymore.”

  Maggie was way out of her depth. She hadn’t the foggiest notion what to advise Lisa under the circumstances. “Are you sure something’s going on? Could you be imagining it?”

  Lisa’s fingers knotted in her lap. “I couldn’t find Roman anywhere on Monday. I called the hospital, I called the house, I even called the day care center thinking he might have gone to pick up Amy. When I called the hospital a second time, one of the nurses said if I could find Isabel Rojas, I’d find the doctor because they’d left the hospital together.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re having a sexual affair,” Maggie protested. “You know how things often aren’t what they seem.”

  “Isabel Rojas is Roman’s surgical nurse. He knew her long before he even met me. He told me before we married that he’d had an affair with her once but that it was over. What if it wasn’t over? What if these past four years we’ve been married he’s been carrying on with her behind my back?”

  Maggie snorted. “That’s ridiculous! I’ve seen how Roman looks at you. He loves you.”

  It was clear Lisa wanted to believe her. But she said, “He doesn’t say he loves me. Not in words. And he hasn’t been near me . . .” Lisa clenched her teeth, but it did little to still her quivering chin.

  Maggie put her arms around Lisa and pulled the other woman close. “What you need now is a good night’s sleep.”

  “I can’t go home, Maggie.”

  “I think you should, Lisa. Roman must be very worried right now. He’s a reasonable man. When you talk all this over in a calm, rational—”

  Lisa pulled away. “My mind is made up. There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not quitting, and that’s final!”

  Maggie squeezed Lisa’s hand reassuringly. “All right. Nobody says you have to quit. I’m sure you and Roman can work something out. Maybe he can cut back on his hours, or you can cut back on yours.”

  Lisa leaned back and said, “I don’t want to disappoint you, Maggie. Not after all the help you’ve given me.”

  “The only thing that would disappoint me is if you and Roman weren’t able to resolve your differences and live happily ever after.”

  “Life isn’t a fairy tale,” Lisa said soberly.

  “How well I know that,” Maggie murmured. Cinderella and Prince Charming hadn’t made it.

  “I guess I’d better leave,” Lisa said, rising on obviously shaky legs.

  “You shouldn’t be driving in your condition. I’ll give you a ride home and pick you up tomorrow morning.”

  “I couldn’t impose like that!” Lisa said.

  “Call Roman and tell him you’re on your way home while I put on some clothes.” Maggie disappeared into the bedroom where she threw on some Levi’s, a T-shirt, and boots and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. When she returned to the living room, Lisa was talking to Roman on the phone. Maggie didn’t intentionally eavesdrop, but she heard enough to realize the Hollanders were already well on the way to reconciling their differences.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Lisa said. “Maggie is bringing me home, so you don’t have to worry about me driving. I . . . I feel the same way. I’ll see you soon.”

  When Lisa hung up the phone, Maggie cleared her throat. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  The beatific smile on Lisa’s face made Maggie’s throat clog with emotion. How wonderful to be in love—even with all the heartaches and pain that inevitably came along with such powerful feelings.

  You had love once and squandered it. You had everything and threw it away.

  Maggie swallowed painfully and said, “Let’s get you home. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for everything, Maggie. You’re a true friend.”

  Maggie treasured the compliment. Friendship paled when compared to the love between a man and a woman, or a mother and her child, but considering Maggie’s past, it was likely to be all she would ever have. “Thanks, Lisa,” Maggie said. “That means a lot to me.”

  Until she could find a way to break free of the hold Porter Cobb had on her life, she was suspended in a waking nightmare. Appearances, she had learned, could hide a great deal. No one else suspected her of keeping secrets. No one else knew the truth about her.

  The sad thing was, Maggie still believed in fairy tales. She still dreamed of happily ever after. Unfortunately, her Prince Charming had come and gone . . . and taken her heart along with him.

  Chapter 2

  In his opinion, she didn’t look like a lawyer. Especially not one who negotiated life-and-death disputes. Nothing about her was the least bit staid-looking or reserved or serious.

  The female standing at home plate, baseball bat in hand, wore butt-baring cut-off Levi’s, a pink T-shirt ripped out at the neck that hit her about midriff, and battered Nikes with droopy white workout socks. One look at her long, slender legs, flat stomach, and small but completely-adequate-for-him bosom, and Jack Kittrick realized it might be easier than he’d thought to forget his troubles for an afternoon.

  Of course, none of the Wainwright & Cobb lawyers had worn suits to the firm’s spring picnic at Brackenridge Park, in the heart of San Antonio. A few were dressed like him, in Western hats and shirts, Levi’s, and cowboy boots, but most of them looked like the conservative top five percent of a top ten law-school graduates they were.

  Jack ignored the trickle of sweat crawling down his back. No shade protected the ball-field, but the view was too intriguing to abandon. He lifted his hat and shoved back a handful of dark, damp hair before resettling the new Resistol he’d bought to replace his Stetson low on his forehead, noting absently that his hair had grown too long to meet regulations. Again.

  Because he had found himself thinking too much about things he couldn’t change, Jack had come to Brackenridge Park this afternoon to seek distraction at the zoo and the Japanese Sunken Gardens. In the parking lot, he’d overheard someone say the Wainwright & Cobb picnic was being held near the ballfield. Since the primary suspect in the case he’d just agreed to work on was married to a Wainwright & Cobb attorney, he hadn’t been able to resist meandering in that direction.

  Without seeming to observe, Jack let his gaze roam. He could track a wood tick on solid rock. It should be easy to find a murderer at a picnic. Even though he only intended to observe the suspect, he felt the rush of adrenaline, the brace of tension across his shoulders, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach that came with every new investigation.

  He saw a lot of men in khaki shorts, golf shirts, and loafers without socks, or in the case of those playing baseball, brand-new canvas tennis shoes without socks. The women, wives and lawyers alike, had merely substituted sandals for loafers. Which made the lady in the batter’s box stick out like a sore pink thumb.

  Jack had been curious enough to ask about her and was disappointed with what he learned. Not only was Ms. Margaret Wainwright one of the firm’s top attorneys, she was also the widowed daughter-in-law of the late San Antonio blueblood and Texas tycoon Richard Woodson Wainwright. That put her way out of his league.

  Still, Jack had trouble squaring the renegade in pink with the philanthropic efforts, charitable causes, and sophisticated society parties usually associated with the Wainwright name. He imagined the rest of the afternoon alone with her in a cool, dark room with a big, soft bed and liked what he saw.

  Ms. Wainwright—everyone called her Maggie—wore her wheat-blond hair in a ponytail, which flipped from side to side as she wiggled her fanny and lifted the baseball bat higher, waiting for the next pitch. Her chin was tipped up, her mouth was curved in an unselfconscious grin, and her wide-set blue eyes sparkled.

  Jack knew he ought to leave the ballfield, since his discreet inquiries had also revealed that the man he had come to find was probably on the golf course. He waited another moment to see whether Maggie hit like
a girl. He hoped she didn’t.

  The pitch was high, and she hit it foul. It was moving so fast when it reached the spot where he was standing along the third base line that if he hadn’t put up a hand to snare it, the ball would have smashed his nose flat. The crowd in the stands gasped in alarm, then shouted and clapped in amazed relief as the ball smacked the flesh of his palm.

  That answered his question. The lady could hit like a major leaguer. He shook his hand to ease the sting in his palm, then held up the ball and waved it at her. She shrugged an apology and shot him that open, friendly smile of hers. Jack came real close to smiling back. He met her gaze, felt the instant, sparking connection, and quickly broke it.

  He wasn’t there to meet some high-class legal eagle who probably wouldn’t share the time of day with him if she knew what he did for a living. He squared his jaw and threw the ball to the pitcher, then watched as Maggie crouched down, wiggled her fanny, and settled in for the next throw.

  He should have left right then, but there was something mesmerizing about Maggie Wainwright—the smile and the wiggle and the glance—that kept him where he was. Jack knew better than to let himself get distracted when he was working, but technically, he wasn’t on the job yet. And where was the harm in a little baseball on a pleasant Saturday afternoon? Besides, now that he knew Maggie could hit, he wanted to see if she could run.

  Jack heard what sounded like a gunshot, and a kid’s sharp cry of fear, and felt his blood run cold. He pivoted, eyes narrowed and intently focused, to locate the child in the stands. He saw the remnants of a red balloon in the grass and watched as a tearful little boy holding the empty string was lifted into his father’s arms.

  Jack let out the breath he’d been holding. His heart was racing and his hands were trembling. It was too damned soon to be working again, he thought, as he rubbed his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. He just wasn’t ready. He’d told the captain he needed more time off, but Harley had said, “Best thing to do when you get bucked off, son, is get right back on.”