McClellan Billionaires: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  Maggie sat down at the edge of the bed. “Today ended up fun, right? Thanks for the help with baking.”

  “Next time I want to make the glazed cookies,” Annabelle insisted. “Chocolate chip is boring.”

  “It's a classic for a reason, but fine. Once we finish eating this batch, we can do another round of baking. How does that sound?” Annabelle nodded sleepily, and Maggie paused, wondering if she should bring this up now. “So it ended nice, but I wanted to talk about the beginning.”

  “When you went to your house?”

  “After that. In the attic.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wanted to check in, just us girls.” She glanced at the door and gave it a gentle nudge closed with her foot. “See how you're doing.”

  “Yeah.” Annabelle sighed. “Sorry I yelled.”

  “Oh honey, no, I'm not talking about that. I just... you seemed pretty sad.”

  “I was.” Annabelle shrugged. “But Uncle Vane is right.”

  Maggie drew her hand back, surprised. “You think so.”

  “Maybe. I don't know.” She shrugged again. “But I know he'd never lie to me. Even if it sucks hearing.” She blinked. “Don't tell him I said 'suck.'“

  “I'm sure he wouldn't mind. It does suck.” Maggie smiled softly. This was not at all what she'd expected to hear.

  “Yeah it does.” Annabelle fell back onto her pillow. “And most of the time grown-ups want me to put a happy face on. Like, they lie to me and tell me Daddy is floating around on a cloud and playing a harp. Like come on, he would hate that. If Daddy's playing a harp, then it's because he's being punished, not in a place where he's happy.”

  Maggie hid her smile behind her hand. “What would he be doing in his Heaven?”

  “Riding his mountain bike,” Annabelle said immediately. “And he'd be as good at it as he was before he got sick.”

  “I bet that's what he's doing then.”

  “But not Mom,” Annabelle went on. “Daddy riding his mountain bike would be her punishment.”

  “You were a baby when she passed—”

  “Died,” Annabelle corrected.

  Maggie flushed. “Right. When she died.”

  “I don't remember her, but Daddy told me so many stories sometimes I think I do. Like this dress she always wore with blue stripes, and this fuzzy sweater. I remember how it felt against my cheek when she hugged me, but I know I only ever held it after she was already gone.”

  “That's kind of like what your Uncle Vane was saying. That holding on to her sweater helped keep her alive in your heart.”

  Annabelle smiled sleepily. “Yeah.”

  Maggie touched her soft cheek. “Good night, honey.”

  “Night, Miss Stewart.” She rolled over on her side and was asleep by her next breath.

  Maggie stood up and carefully edged out of the bedroom. She shut the door with a gentle click and then let her forehead drop against the wood.

  “Oh, my god,” she whispered on a long exhale. She closed her eyes and dragged her hands down her face.

  All her training and she was still finding out she knew nothing about the resilience of children. All day long she'd worried that Vane had ripped the scab off Annabelle's fresh wound, but really his bluntness had helped her heal just a little bit more.

  Once more she felt that push and pull, the need to be far from him warring with the need to be close. This whole time they'd been equally matched.

  But now it was no contest. The need to be with him won easily.

  She hurried down the stairs.

  He wasn't in his customary place in the living room. Maggie paused and smiled when she realized where he was. Grabbing a quilt from the back of the couch, she hurried through the kitchen. Then paused and turned back.

  “Okay, we'll do glazed tomorrow then,” she promised the air, then grabbed the plate of homemade cookies she and Annabelle had baked and stepped out the back door.

  Just like she'd figured, Vane was already out on the beach. He stood with his back to the house, and for a moment she paused just to take in the picture of him, tall and broad-shouldered against the backdrop of the fading sunset. The open bottle of wine sat on the porch rail, and Maggie grabbed that, too, before stepping out on the soft sand. “Hey,” she called softly, not wanting to startle him. “I come bearing gifts.”

  Vane turned warily. The usual smile that ghosted across his face whenever he saw her was absent, and Maggie felt its absence keenly. She extended the plate. “Apology cookies?”

  “You're apologizing?” He broke a piece off the nearest cookie but held it instead of eating it.

  “Here.” She spread the blanket out and gestured for him to sit. “You might want to sit down for this one.”

  He looked amused as he sat, which made her feel better. “Okay, I'm sitting down.”

  “Good. Because I wanted to tell you that I don't know everything about children.”

  Vane blinked. “You're right. I am glad I am sitting down right now.”

  Maggie plopped down next to him with a sigh. “I thought you might have given her too much to handle in the attic earlier. But she respects you for telling her the truth.”

  He nodded. “I promised her I always would. Annabelle doesn't want to be treated like she's delicate, so I never have I think that might be the only thing I've gotten right about parenting this whole time.”

  “I think you're right. I mean, about the need to treat her like she's tough, not about that being the only thing you got right.” To her relief, Vane grinned. “So, truce?”

  “I didn't realize we were fighting, but sure. Truce.” He popped the bit of cookie into his mouth and then smiled at the wine bottle. “I didn't bring you out a glass. Let me go grab one.”

  He jumped up and headed back inside, and Maggie felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Vane's smile warmed her all the way to her fingertips. She leaned back on her elbows and kept her eyes trained on the back door, idly tracing the lines of the house, noting where it had been expanded and added to as the years went by, until he returned with her glass. He dropped to a crouch next to her and poured her a generous amount. “Cheers. To truces.”

  “To truces.” She clinked his glass and then sipped. “It looks like this isn't the first time this house has undergone renovations, huh?”

  He followed her gaze and nodded. “It was built in 1888 by my great-great-grandfather. It was the only house out here back then. It was considered the ends of the earth.” A soft smile tinged with wistfulness played about his mouth. “He lost his son, my great uncle, in the San Francisco earthquake, and after that he insisted that this should be the center of the family. A way to keep us all together.”

  “Is that why you have all those boxes in the attic?”

  He nodded. “Families have a way of expanding outward.” His smile fell and he looked down at his glass. “They get unwieldy when there's no center, or no central place to return to. When I was a kid, we came here to see my cousins, to get to know my aunts and uncles. My cousin Connor, was right in the middle between my brother and me, age-wise, so our summers here meant we grew up as close as brothers. It kept us together.”

  Something had shifted in his voice as he told that story. Like he was overturning the rock of his usual stoic nature and exposing the sadness and hurt underneath.

  “You're worried about losing them?” Maggie asked.

  He glanced at her. “Colby's death shocked all of us. We all thought he was beating the cancer. I think it turned us inward, away from each other.” He looked up at the house again. “I got it in my head that if I could make this place a home again, for all of us, it would help the whole family.”

  “That's kind of beautiful, Vane.”

  “Only kind of?” The corner of his mouth kicked up into a smile. “I thought it was very beautiful. Impressively beautiful, even. You don't agree?”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Are you asking me if I find you impressive?” she asked, pr
essing a mock-scandalized hand to her heart.

  “Actually, yes.” He leaned in close enough that she could see the tiny white nick of a scar in his dark brow.

  She impulsively traced her finger along it. “What happened here?”

  “I don't remember, but my mom said it had something to do with playing baseball without a ball.”

  “What did you use instead?”

  “A rock. From this jetty right here, actually.”

  She winced. “Oh my god, boys are an entirely different breed, I swear. Did it hurt?”

  “Like I said, I don't remember. Probably because I took a rock to the head.” His eyes softened. “But I'm sure either my mom or my grandma kissed it all better.”

  Maggie felt herself drawn to it. Slowly, carefully, she traced her finger along that silvery thread, then gently pressed her lips to it. She felt the brush of Vane's eyelash on her chin as he closed his eyes. He sighed something halfway between contentment and agony and tilted his face upward.

  Her lips caught his as if by accident, but she parted them eagerly, inviting him in with a moan. He seized her as he rose to his knees and pulled her flush to him. “Maggie.” She loved the way he said her name against her lips, letting her feel the shape of his voice.

  It was so easy to kiss him, she thought deliriously, as their breaths came faster. Her body sought his, like they'd done this a thousand times before. She couldn’t deny the connection, the thread that stretched between them and pulled tight every time she tried to put distance between them.

  She didn't want there to be distance anymore. “Vane,” she gasped as his lips sought downward. She tilted her head, exposing her neck to his kisses, and let herself go limp and boneless in his arms. For once, her mind didn't race ahead to what came next. If she spent the rest of her life here, letting this man place deliberate kisses along her skin, as if he meant to taste her one inch at a time, she knew that she could be happy.

  “I'm wild about you. You know that, right?” he murmured in a low voice that thrilled through her and made her toes curl.

  “I think so.”

  “Only think? Hmm, that's not good. I'd better be more clear here.” He grinned and tugged the collar of her T-shirt to one side.

  “Oh—” She caught her breath as he sucked on her skin.

  “I'm going to leave a mark right here,” he promised. “Right where you can see it when you look in the mirror tomorrow. But this isn't the only place I want you to feel me, Maggie. What do you think? Where else do you want my mouth?”

  The filthy promise of the question, combined with the dark hunger in his gaze, nearly sent her over the edge. “I, uh, have a few ideas.”

  “Show me.”

  Flushing hot, she lifted the hem of her T-shirt. He hissed in appreciation as she exposed her flat stomach. “Right there below that pretty little belly button?”

  She licked her lips. “I was thinking... lower.”

  Just then, a high, inhuman wail rose up from the direction of the house. Vane snapped his head towards it, his face frozen in a mask of anguish. He looked back at Maggie, tension radiating off his body.

  She cupped his cheek. “Go to her,” she whispered as she kissed him goodbye. “You're better at this part than I am.”

  He flashed her a grateful smile and was gone.

  She sagged back on the blanket, heart thumping. Above her, the stars winked into view one by one. Silver waves bathed in moonlight lapped against the dark shoreline, mirroring the rush of her blood as it thumped through her veins.

  All her life she'd been searching for a feeling she didn’t have a name for. Now she knew it was this one. How she felt here in this place. With Vane.

  Maggie licked her lips again, tasting his kisses. Yes, this was the feeling she'd been searching for.

  But now that she'd found it, what was next? She should have felt relieved that her search was over.

  Instead, she felt... scared.

  8

  The morning sky was still tinged with the pink of dawn, but Annabelle had already finished her breakfast. “Can we get out of here?” she begged, as she sent her cereal bowl clattering into the sink. “It's so loud.”

  “You're pretty loud too, you know,” Maggie laughed. But then the whole house shook with the din of hammering, and she clapped her hands to her ears. “Yes, good idea, go get your shoes.”

  Annabelle hurried away. Maggie gulped down the last of her green tea and rinsed her mug before pouring another. Sleeping through the din of renovations was impossible. She'd woken up early, but that didn't mean she felt awake yet. Hopefully, she could get Annabelle involved in some kind of solitary game that didn't require much mental effort on her part. Maybe something involving lying down.

  “Have you ever made drip castles?” she asked Annabelle once she'd returned. When her charge shook her head, she grinned. “You're going to love this.”

  She grabbed a blanket, and they headed down to the beach. The water was calm and glassy, giving off flashes of gold as it reflected the slanted sun. The air still held a trace of the night's chill, but Maggie could tell it was going to be the hottest day yet. Hot enough for a swim for sure.

  “Here's what you do,” she instructed Annabelle, showing her how to take small fistfuls of watery sand at the surf line. “Let it drip through your fingers like that. See how the drips pile up on top of each other? The more you drip in one place the taller it gets. You can make really cool castles like this, if you're patient.”

  “Let me try!” Annabelle grabbed a fistful of sand and carefully emulated Maggie's slow process. Her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she worked. Maggie sat back on her heels, expressing encouragement and excitement as the castle grew in size. Then she leaned back on the blanket and sipped her cooling tea.

  A light breeze played with her hair, lifting it from her neck. Almost like Vane's fingers had last night. Annabelle wasn't paying any attention to her, but Maggie hid her flush behind her mug anyway.

  What was it about last night that had her so unsettled? She shifted on the blanket and then shifted again.

  “Watch out, Miss Stewart! Don't kick my castle!”

  “Oh, sorry, honey!” Maggie tucked her feet back under her and flushed even hotter. She was squirming like a little child just thinking about Vane, but it wasn't just pleasure.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to jump out of her skin. She wanted to drop her mug on the sand and sprint away from this feeling of... what was it?

  Contentment?

  “Complacency,” her mother would have sniffed as she packed their bags and threw them into their beat-up old hatchback as Maggie sobbed. “That's what's wrong with this world—everyone is content to settle for good enough. But not you and me, baby girl. There's always someplace new to explore, always another adventure to begin. We don't let ourselves get tied down. We don't settle and grow moss. We're rolling stones, baby girl. We're explorers.”

  She'd keep up this monologue until they were all packed up. She'd rub Maggie's shoulders and brush the hair back from her tear-streaked face before shutting the car door. “Freedom!” she'd always yell just before turning on the engine and gunning it down the road. And Maggie would press her lips together to keep from sobbing harder as she watched another home recede from view. “Come on, baby girl, where's your sense of adventure?” her mother would demand.

  And Maggie would twist around in her seat and give her mother the smile she wanted. “Yay,” she would say. “I can't wait to see what happens next.”

  She said it so many times, she started to believe herself.

  What happens next? She stared at the glinting water. You can't... stay here. A slow-rising panic gripped her throat at the very idea.

  She gulped down the last of her tea and scrambled to her feet. “Can I help, honey?” she asked Annabelle, a bit more frantically than she meant to. But she needed to distract herself from the terrifying vision that had just popped in her head.

  Herself. Completely overg
rown with moss.

  “It needs a wall there,” Annabelle instructed. Maggie nodded and got to work, pushing all other thoughts from her mind. She allowed herself to get so wrapped up in her construction project that she didn't even notice that Annabelle had stopped until the little girl laughed. “Ha! Uncle Vane, you look funny.”

  Maggie jerked back and nearly tumbled into the water. “You snuck up on us!” she blurted indignantly, then looked up at him. “You're right, Annabelle, he does look funny.”

  Vane laughed and brushed his hands through his hair, causing a shower of white dust. “Plaster,” he explained. “I probably look like a snowman.”

  “A really weird one,” Annabelle observed.

  “Thank you.” He stuck out his tongue at his ward, who giggled. “I came right out here to find you as soon as we uncovered it.” His eyes glinted, and Maggie was once again struck by how unfairly handsome he was. Even coated in plaster, he still looked amazing. Maybe even more amazing. Like a walking piece of sculpture. “You guys have to see this.”

  “What is it?” Annabelle jumped up eagerly.

  “A surprise for my favorite girl.” He winked at Maggie. “Girls.”

  Her cheeks heated. She wanted to demur. Putting distance between herself and him was the only way she was going to get through these next few weeks without going completely out of her mind. But his smile was so eager and he looked so delighted when Annabelle peppered him with questions, that her “no" died on her lips before she could say it aloud.

  With a sigh, she found herself following him back up to the house.

  “It's upstairs,” he said. The crew had broken for an early lunch, and the house rang with sudden, echoing silence. Maggie could even hear her heart thudding in her ears and wondered if Vane could hear it too. Did he know he was the reason it was racing?

  He led them to a room at the end of the second-floor hallway. It was packed high with boxes from the attic along one wall, but the other wall had been torn out down to the studs, exposing an old brick chimney and a space just to the right of it. “Check it out.” He gestured for Annabelle to go into the space first.