“It’s something more than that.”
“He gave me my first part-time job when I moved here,” she explained because withholding it would give Dex Keegan the idea it was more important than it was. She’d even managed to say it without a hint of the anger or, God help her, the shame she always felt when Josiah Meeker crossed her mind. Or so she thought until she saw fury light Dex’s dark eyes.
“It was a long time ago, and Meeker was no real threat to me. I learned to defend myself at an early age. Not all the bases where my father was stationed were kind to spindly little American girls.”
The explanation came with pride—pride that she was well entitled to. She’d taken her share of knocks before that pride had forced her to shed the meekness that had been ground into her. And in striking back, she’d learned valuable lessons about strength and self-respect, about being her own best defense without losing her self-control.
The one time she’d tried out her new philosophy on her father, she learned that there were bullies everywhere, and sometimes they were too big to take on. It had taught her how to bide her time, choose her battles, cut her losses.
To keep the past in the past.
Maggie turned back to her engine, or tried to.
Dex stepped between her and the ladder, his face like a thundercloud. “I changed my mind, Maggie. Leave Meeker to me.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can handle Meeker.”
“You’re not going anywhere near him on my account.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“What the hell are you arguing about? You don’t want to ask him anyway.”
Until he told her she couldn’t. She found it touching that he wanted to protect her, and infuriating that he thought he needed to. “Meeker won’t give you the journals.”
He whirled around, took a dozen angry paces before he spun and stomped back until he stood nearly toe to toe with her. “Jesus, I don’t understand women.”
Maggie huffed out a laugh. “Typical man, blaming your problems on the female sex. And don’t try to hang it around my neck. My position hasn’t changed. You’re the one who’s waffling.”
“I didn’t have all the facts.”
“And the facts change what, exactly? You don’t want those journals anymore because I had a close call fifteen years ago?”
“Stay the hell away from him, Maggie.”
“What about your case?”
“There are other ways.”
Maggie snorted. “You’re not going to beat him up on my account.” Then she lifted her gaze from his fisted hands to his furiously cold face, and her smile faded. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“But—”
“You are not going to beat him up on my account,” she repeated, mortified. Bad enough that she’d had to tell him about the worst moment of her life; now he wanted her to feel even weaker? “I’m not some damsel in distress, Keegan. If you lay a hand on him, you’ll get no help from me.”
Dex went still, seething, but his hands opened, spread.
“And don’t even think about breaking into his place,” she added, because he was thinking exactly that. She’d seen the flash of calculation before he shifted his gaze from hers. “I think I’ll have lunch with George,” she said. “We haven’t had a good talk in a long while—and there’s so much to talk about these days.”
Dex scrubbed both hands back through his hair. “What do you suggest?”
“That you tell me why you’re here.”
His lips twisted. “Quite the catch 22. I keep you out of this, I might as well leave now because the chance I’ll accomplish my goal is probably nil. If I meet your condition, I get the journals, but I’ve broken my client’s confidence. And I’ll have you on my conscience.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Keegan. I can handle Meeker.”
Dex rubbed his ribs, smiled a little. “I don’t doubt it. And Maggie?”
“Hmmm?”
“The next time you hit me, I’m going to hit back.”
Jessi leaned against the frame of the big window in the empty lobby, the one that looked out over the tarmac, hangar, helipad and two landing strips of the Windfall Island airport. The day had started off clear and crisp, with a sky so blue it almost hurt the eyes. By midmorning clouds had begun to sock in from the south, racing up the coastline in front of a tropical storm named Dante and turning her mood a little blue. Trust a man, she thought, to bring her down.
Dex Keegan was probably no better.
Not that Maggie seemed to mind. There she was, Jessi thought, her clothes covered with grease, an old ball cap smashed on her hair, up to her elbows in an engine. Not exactly your formula for attracting a man. But Maggie was so at ease, so natural. Anyone could have seen he couldn’t resist her. Even when she drove an elbow into his gut because he got too close.
Some would have said Maggie had egged him into crowding her, but they would have been wrong. Maggie was Maggie; she didn’t put on airs, or primp, or play games. She didn’t flirt or pretend to be something she wasn’t. Heck, most of the time she was blunt to the point of rudeness, and still people weren’t put off.
She didn’t even realize how strong and sure of herself she was, Jessi thought with a shake of her head, how irresistible that easy self-confidence could be.
She watched Maggie walk away from Dex, who looked a little put out, even though he’d gotten the last word. Jessi grinned over it, but it gave her a pang, too, because she was so lonely. It wasn’t like she chose to keep the male species at arm’s length. She’d had opportunities. She just didn’t take them—couldn’t take them, she corrected herself. Something inside her was broken—her heart, sure, but something deeper, too. She couldn’t bring herself to let another man into her life. Not after what the last one had done to her. And there was Benji to worry about. She wouldn’t risk her son for anyone or anything.
Maggie racketed in the door and stopped short when she saw Jessi, one eyebrow popping up. “Enjoy the show?”
“It would be better if you kissed him instead of punching him.”
Maggie shook her head. “You really have to get out more, Jess. Especially if you’re living your sex life vicariously through me.”
“My non-existent sex life.”
“Then vicarious would only be more of the same.”
“You could have dinner with Dex. I’m sure dinner would lead to sex, especially if you don’t beat him up again. And then you could tell me about it. In great detail. Use measuring devices if you have to.”
“Why don’t you and your yardstick have dinner with him, cut out the middle man, so to speak. And don’t tell me it’s because of Benji. I’m pretty sure there was a man involved in order for you to have him.”
“Having the right kind of plumbing doesn’t make him a man.”
“Jess.” Maggie slung an arm around her shoulders, walked with her back to the office. “How long are you going to let him torque you up like this?”
“Forever.”
“No, you’re not. Some guy will come along and make you forget about Lance.”
“What about Benji? Growing up without a father is bad enough, and considering the type of man his father was, it’s probably for the best. But how do I let a stranger into his life? How do I take that chance with him?”
“By making sure it’s the right guy. By trusting yourself enough to know you would never let someone in who’d hurt either of you.”
“Love is hurt, Maggie, even the deepest, best love. Especially then, because loving that deeply means you can be hurt just as deeply.”
“And closing yourself off isn’t?”
Yeah, it hurt. Sometimes she was so lonely she ached with it. “You get used to it,” was all Jessi said. “Don’t forget where we live. Windfall isn’t exactly a smorgasbord of dating prospects.”
“You have a point,” Maggie said with the same note of resignation in her voice. Then she shrugged it off, a purely Maggie jerk of one shoulder that s
aid, to hell with obstacles. “There’s Burt Maslow,” she suggested.
“He’s been through every available woman on the island. Twice.”
“Except you and me.”
“We have good taste.”
“Okay, there’s Windfall High School’s senior class.”
“Two of them are girls, and Seth Hogan isn’t eighteen yet. George would probably arrest me.”
“Mo Hancock then.” Maggie grinned. “You wouldn’t have to worry about legal ramifications. Or competition.”
“Except from his imaginary friends.”
Maggie laughed, and Jessi couldn’t help but join her. It felt damn good.
“Maybe you should start popping over to the mainland with me once in a while, Jess. Broaden your horizons.”
“And who’d run the office?”
“Forward your calls to your cell.”
“I do more than answer the phones.”
“Nobody knows that better than me.”
Maggie let it go, but Jessi knew she wasn’t done with it yet. Like a dog with a bone, Maggie was. When she got her teeth into a problem, she’d worry at it until she found a way to fix it.
Some things, though, couldn’t be fixed. They just had to be lived through, lived down. And that took time.
“So, what was Dex after? Besides you?”
“Ha.”
“Not leaving so soon, is he?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Well, whatever he wanted, it must have been pretty important for him to come all the way out here.”
“You brought him. Didn’t you grill him on the drive in?”
“He wasn’t talking.” Jessi crossed her arms, one eyebrow inching up at Maggie’s silence. “Apparently you have that in common.”
“Oh, good, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find common ground with Dex Keegan.”
“So you weren’t getting along? Why not?”
“He asked me out, I turned him down.” Maggie said it with a shrug in her voice, but she wasn’t making eye contact.
And who’d buy it, anyway? Jessi thought. Dex could have called Maggie on the phone instead of dragging himself all the way across the island. For that matter, he could have hung around the Horizon at dinnertime. Maggie ate there most nights.
So what was she hiding?
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Jessi said.
Maggie made her eyes wide, her expression innocent. “What advice would that be?”
“Open up. Give the man a chance.”
“That one doesn’t need to be given anything.”
“It’s not so bad to be taken once in a while, either.”
“That’s quite a piece of wisdom, coming from a woman who won’t even risk going on a date.” But Maggie glanced off toward the tarmac, as if she was considering it.
“We’re not talking about dating, are we?”
“He doesn’t plan to be around that long.”
“Even better, since you’re in love with your airplanes.”
Maggie’s gaze, filled with surprise and hurt, shot to meet Jessi’s.
Jessi sighed, rubbing the spot between her eyes where a headache was brewing. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“Why? It’s true.”
“But you don’t want to be alone with them forever. You want a home and family, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, Mags.” Jessi reached for her, but Maggie inched away.
“What’s wrong with not wanting those things?” she said. “Just because I’m female—”
“Nothing,” Jessi said carefully, “Unless you don’t want them because you never had a proper family yourself.”
“I had a family, Jess.”
“Maggie, you know what I mean. It doesn’t have to be a repeat of history. Family is what you make it.”
Maggie crossed her arms, going sarcastic, her weapon of choice. “Fine sentiment, Jess. Let’s make a sampler and hang it on the wall.”
“Like your mother did?”
“Nancy Solomon was a whiz at creating a home, hot meals every night, little handmade touches, everything spic and span. Too bad it was all show and no heart.”
Maggie looked away again. Anyone else would have bought her non-expression as coldness. Jessi knew better.
“It was like standing on the wrong side of a window, Jess. I could see the warmth, but I couldn’t touch it, no matter how hard I tried, how good I was. Or how bad.” Her voice broke, and so did Jessi’s heart.
Growing up as an outsider in her own family had made Maggie strong, self-sufficient, but at what cost when she was always alone? “It’s her loss, Mags.” Then, knowing humor was needed, Jessi added, “I’ll make samplers with you.”
Maggie smiled a little, wistfully. “I’m not much for sewing.”
“Well, then, I’d better get out my thimble, because God knows I’m getting stuck with the needle work while you fly off on your next adventure.”
“Picking up the mail is an adventure now?”
“It’s better than sitting around here making tiny little stitches—or paying the bills, which is what I’ll actually be doing.”
“Then I better get to adventuring so we have enough money in the bank to keep the lights burning.” Maggie headed toward her office to change, dropping a hand on Jessi’s shoulder as she passed by. The gesture of comfort, so out of character from a woman who habitually shied away from the softness she’d never known, brought tears to Jessi’s eyes.
“Offer still stands, Jess. Why don’t you come with me? It’s just a couple of hours.”
“Benji,” Jess said simply. “It’s after two o’clock already. School gets out at four.”
“Then we’ll wait, take him with us.”
Jessi felt everything inside her lift and brighten. And just as quickly fall again. “The post office on the mainland will be closed.”
“I’ll give them a call. I think I can talk someone into meeting us at the airport. We’ll stow the mail and then get a bite to eat.”
Jessi thought about it, and going with the oddity of the day, she threw her arms around Maggie and hugged her hard. And Maggie, who preferred sarcasm to emotion, hugged back—only for a moment, but it was the gesture that counted.
“What the hell,” Jessi said as she stepped back. “I’ll go spring Benji from school early.”
“Great,” Maggie rolled her eyes, almost her old self, “now I’ll have to share my hero status with you.”
“Nope, I don’t get to be a hero until I learn to fly something bigger than a paper airplane. Unless I talk you into the arcade. Then I can almost compete.”
Maggie grinned, full out. “I love the arcade.”
“Now how,” Jessi said darkly, “did I know you were going to say that?”
Chapter Nine
Jessi’s house sat on one of the curved roads that were nestled behind the town’s main street, a tiny house with peaked roofs and fancifully painted gingerbread trim that looked as though it could have been waiting for Hansel and Gretel to happen by. But in a good way.
Dex walked up a bricked path lined with Chrysanthemums in fall colors, smiling when he heard the sound of a child’s laughter right through the front door. He knocked, and at the muffled “Come in,” he turned the knob and stepped through the door, saying, “I heard you feed half the neighborhood on a nightly basis,” but instead of Jessi, Maggie was on the floor, tickling a tow-headed kid six or seven years old. “Well, isn’t this domestic?”
Maggie sat back on her heels, not the least bit embarrassed. The kid popped to his feet and ran over to peer up at him. “I’m Benji—Benjamin Randal. Who are you? Where do you come from? Did Auntie Maggie bring you here on one of her planes?”
“Helicopter,” Dex managed to get in.
“I’m going to fly one of those, too. When I get big like Auntie Maggie.”
Dex looked over at her, both his eyebrows raised.
“What’s wrong with you?” Magg
ie said.
“Nothing. Auntie Maggie.”
She got to her feet, pulling the kid against her, his back to her front, and looping her arms around his neck. “Jessi and Benji are as close as it gets to family for me. If you have a problem—”
Dex held his hands up. “It’s just nice to find out you have a soft side.”
“It’s not a side. More like a tiny little nugget of aberration I do my best to keep hidden.”
“I never would have guessed.”
She shot him a humorless smile. “Jessi’s the one with the soft side. I assume you were invited to dinner, just like I was, so let’s call a truce while we’re here.”
“Auntie Maggie?”
She looked down at the kid, everything about her softening, including the tone in her voice. “This is Dexter Keegan.”
“Dex,” he said to Benji, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off Maggie, struck by the way her face relaxed, the slight, reassuring smile that made her look so… maternal. And made him go just a little breathless.
“Mr. Keegan to you, Benj,” she said, looking up at him with that bite-me expression.
It put him back on firm footing again, let him forget that little tug of emotion he’d felt at seeing Maggie in a new—and appealing—light.
“Now go tell your mom he’s here.” She gave the kid a light pat on the butt to send him on his way.
“We’re not at war, Maggie,” Dex said after Benji had disappeared into the sunny yellow kitchen.
“You’re the one with the secret intelligence.” Maggie dropped into an overstuffed chair and crossed her long, jeans-clad legs. “If you aren’t the enemy, why don’t you come clean?”
Jessi saved him by breezing through the doorway with Benji skipping along ahead. “Thanks for picking up Sunshine, here,” she said to Maggie. “I never would have made it home in time to make my famous pork chops. They have to brine for at least an hour.”
“Auntie Maggie should let you out early enough to pick up your son and brine your chops.”
“Well, Maggie’s a slave driver,” Maggie said, rising from her armchair and letting Benji tow her off to his bedroom to show her some new poster. She shot Dex a look over her shoulder, a look that wasn’t quite bland enough to hide the edge of hurt—hurt he’d caused her.
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