Operation Cinderella

by Hope Tarr

  Now that Macie had learned how to make the dish, she couldn’t seem to stop. She’d even started doing some grocery shopping on her own.

  “Grilled cheese sandwiches, but I made them with gorgonzola.”

  Grinning, Sam got up from her seat. “Sounds fancy.”

  Macie put an arm around the girl’s shoulders, pleased when Sam leaned in rather than pulled away. “Tell me about it. I’m a regular Rachel Ray.”

  That night Macie couldn’t wait for dinner to end so she could see Ross alone, and not only to indulge in the private kisses they’d begun sharing in the evenings in his study. Closing the dishwasher, she sought him out.

  Poking her head inside the open study doorway, she asked, “Have a moment?”

  He looked up from his article draft, his pleased-to-see-her expression tugging at her heart. “As many as you want.” He rose, rounded the desk, and reached for her.

  She backed up a step. “It’s about Sam.” Reaching behind, she drew the door closed.

  A worried look eclipsed his smile. “She seemed okay at dinner.”

  “She is okay. She’s better than okay—she’s great. She’s also really smart.” Too smart for anyone’s good, especially yours.

  “Sounds like one of us had better sit down.”

  They subsided into side-by-side chairs. Macie filled him in on Sam’s Social Studies project and online discovery. Up until now, she’d expected him to deny it, to provide all sorts of proof pointing out the obvious, egregious mistake that had been made. Instead he sat almost perfectly still.

  She reached over and touched his arm. “Ross?”

  Staring ahead, he scarcely seemed to register her. “Frannie and I met the spring semester of my senior year when she came over as a foreign exchange student. Even as a skinny-assed eighteen-year-old, she had a way about her—bold as brass, sophisticated, worldly beyond her years. You would have thought she’d been with hundreds of guys, all of them James Bond.”

  Though she wanted to be supportive, Macie hadn’t entirely gotten over her admittedly irrational jealousy of Francesca. The fashion photographer had always loomed as a larger than life figure, but lately she’d also become the competition. A first love was tough to beat. Listening to Ross rhapsodize was challenging, to say the least.

  “We spent every day of that summer together, and those days flew by,” he continued. “Before we knew it, it was the night before she was supposed to go back to England. I picked up a bottle of Boone’s Farm and drove us out to the creek in my big brother’s pickup. The thought of going to college still a virgin made me sick with shame. I’d figured her for a pro at sex, but in the end she’d confessed she’d never rolled on a condom either. The main event was about as relaxing as brain surgery though it was definitely shorter, five minutes tops. We didn’t realize the condom had broken until after it was too late. Still, we convinced ourselves we’d be all right. I mean who gets pregnant their very first time? The next morning I drove her to the airport and put her on a plane to London.”

  He ran a hand through his mussed hair, causing the cowlick at the back to stand up, making him look like she imagined he must have at eighteen—earnest, confused, vulnerable.

  “I didn’t know Sam existed until I got Frannie’s letter saying she’d had to drop out of Oxford, and by the way, we had a kid.”

  Suddenly his wacked-out reaction over her teen sex article made a sad sort of sense. She reached for his hand. “That must have come as quite a shock.”

  He snorted. “So much for my no strings attached summer fling. If it weren’t for the photo she’d tucked inside, I think I might have torn up the letter and worked to convince myself she was playing me. But then I picked up that photo and there was Sam with Frannie’s wavy dark hair and my wide mouth and mismatched ears and I just…” The rest of the words dropped off.

  “Fell in love?” Macie finished for him, feeling herself tearing up.

  “Yeah, which is how I found the guts to go to my parents and confess. They were madder than hell at me for being so irresponsible, but after the raucous died down, they loaned me the money I needed to bring Francesca and the baby back. We got married at a justice of the peace in a county where nobody knew me. Seeing as I’d been away at college, it was easy enough to put out the story that we’d eloped before Frannie left for England. Folks had their suspicions, of course, but my family’s been in Paris for five generations and hell, it wasn’t like we didn’t end up doing the right thing.”

  “Meaning getting married?” There they were again, his old school values, as much a part of him as his hair or eye color.

  “It sure as hell beat the alternative—having my baby girl grow up on the other side of the Atlantic and maybe getting to see her once a year if I was lucky. This way my mother could take care of Sam during the day so Frannie could go back to school. I’m not saying it was easy, but was it the right thing to do? Hell, yes.”

  The reporter in her couldn’t resist adding, “And yet you ended up getting divorced.” She slipped free of his hand.

  He exhaled a long breath. “We got married to make a home for Sam…only home had started to feel more and more like a battleground with our daughter caught in the crossfire. Frannie felt like a fish out of water, not only culturally but professionally. She had her heart set on fashion photography, and there’s not much in the way of haute couture in Paris, Texas. We separated when Sam was four, hoping we hadn’t had the chance to screw her up too badly. I know this probably sounds weird, but after we divorced, I stared to remember all the things I’d liked about Francesca. She’s smart and kind and funny in that dry, British way. You couldn’t ask for a cooler head in a crisis or a better friend when the chips are down.”

  “She sounds pretty great. Sure you’re not still in love with her?” Macie hoped she didn’t sound as jealous as she felt.

  He answered with a vigorous shake of his head. “Not by a long shot. She has faults, plenty of them. For starters, she can’t stay in one place more than a month without getting antsy, which is one of the reasons being a photographer suits her. She gets to travel to locations all over the world, or at least to some of the prime parts of it.”

  “Great for her, not so good for Sam, I take it, hence the decision to have Sam stay with you semi-permanently?”

  He shrugged. “Frannie’s the first to admit she’s not exactly a natural mother, but she’d give her life for that kid.”

  Just who was Ross Mannon? Despite his Texas good ol’ boy demeanor, he didn’t fit any stereotype Macie could come up with. Instead of trashing his ex-wife like many men would, he went out of his way to emphasize her positive points. Macie hadn’t wanted to like Ross Mannon, hadn’t even considered it a possibility. But unfortunately it was too late. She did like Ross. She liked him a lot. In fact, her liking was well on its way to becoming…a whole lot more.

  “Most of the divorced men I’ve met aren’t nearly so generous when describing their exes.”

  Zachary was one of them. He’d been married once and Macie didn’t even know his ex-wife’s first name. Whenever he’d spoken of her, he’d usually stuck to pronouns. And of course there was always “That Bitch.”

  Ross stretched, shifting his shoulders, the movement emphasizing their beautiful breadth. “Frannie’s a neat lady. She’s just not meant to be my lady.”

  Macie stood to leave. “You know Sam’s going to come to you for answers sooner or later, and I’m betting on sooner. I suggested she hold off until after she turns in her project, but that’s only a week or so away.”

  Ross rose as well. “Yeah, I do know it. What I don’t rightly know is how I’m going to explain it all to her without risking whatever respect she still has for me.”

  His lost look tugged at her heart. “Tell her what you just told me, no sugar coating, just the straight facts. Okay, maybe skip the part about the Boone’s Farm,” she added with a chuckle.

  He sent her a weary smile and shook his head. “There you go again, making me feel
better when I would have reckoned that was damn near impossible.”

  They said their good nights at the closed study door with soft kisses and glancing caresses that, as always, left Macie wanting. “Good night,” she said, lifting her lips from Ross’s with the usual regret.

  He dropped a kiss atop her nose and stepped back with an audible sigh. “Sleep well, princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Princess! If only he knew that her true colors weren’t princess pastels but wicked witch black.

  Back in her room, Macie sat up in bed, mulling over her next move. A child born out of wedlock might not be the major dirt she’d started out envisioning, but with the right spin, the story could stir a scandal, especially given Ross’s strong stance against teen sex. With Sam’s birth certificate and Ross and Francesca’s marriage license accessible as public documents, there’d be no basis for a libel suit against the magazine or her personally. The situation was win-win, for her at least. So why wasn’t she reaching for her laptop to pound out the story?

  Several hours later and still awake, she finally faced her own inconvenient truth: Macie Graham had lost her edge. She’d broken the cardinal rule of investigative reporting and gotten involved with her subject. Fuck involved—she’d fallen for Ross. Her perspective on his radio show hadn’t shifted one iota, but her perspective on the man had turned 180 degrees. Good and decent, honest and true, Ross Mannon was someone she’d be proud to call a friend—and someone she’d likely never be lucky enough to call more.

  Clicking off the lamp, she reminded herself she should be on top of the world, dancing on a little pink cloud reserved all for her.

  After weeks of fruitless searching, she’d finally found her story.

  Chapter Eight

  The following week seemed to crawl by and yet Macie’s personal clock was ticking away like a bomb set to detonate. Entering her fourth week of Operation Cinderella, the tell-all story she owed the magazine was fast coming due. And any day now Francesca’s fog could lift, and she would remember who Macie was and where they’d met. If she had anything resembling a brain, or guts, she’d pack up and leave before she dug in any deeper. But like a smoker trying to quit, she kept putting off the inevitable by “one more day.”

  She’d just set foot inside the apartment after dropping Sam at school when her cell phone went off. The ringtone, “Amazing Grace,” was one she hadn’t heard in quite a while.

  It was the one she’d assigned to her mother.

  There was only one reason her mother would pick up the phone and call her out of the blue. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

  Heart slamming the wall of her chest, she pulled the phone from the bottom of her bag and answered. “Momma?”

  “Martha Jane, thank the Lord.” Her mother sounded on the verge of tears. Something was very wrong, indeed.

  “Is it…Daddy?”

  “It’s your sister.”

  “Pammy!” Macie braced a hand against the wall, feeling as if the floor was suddenly melting beneath her feet.

  Unlike her folks, she and her kid sister kept in close touch, or at least they had until a few months ago when Pam’s calls, texts, and e-mails had dropped off. Other than exchanging a few text messages, they hadn’t spoken in a month.

  “She’s in the hospital.”

  Her mother went on to explain that Pam had snuck out to a rave and someone had slipped Ecstasy into her soda. The drug reacted with the asthma medicine she’d taken, and she’d been rushed by ambulance to the medical center.

  “She’s asking for you, Martha Jane. I know how…busy you keep yourself in that city but is there any way you can come?”

  “Of course I’ll come. I’ll call you back as soon as I figure out the details. For now, tell Pam I love her—and that I’m on my way.”

  Clicking off the call, she raced to her room for her laptop, turned it on, and started searching for flights. Fortunately Reagan National, the nearest airport, was less than a fifteen-minute drive.

  While she searched, her reporter’s mind sought to suss out the where, when, and how of the current nightmare situation—especially the how. When she’d last visited her folks, Pam had been a freckle-faced thirteen-year-old with a passion for basketball and a blissful obliviousness to boys. The thought of her baby sister at a rave, being pawed by boys and fed drugs had her breaking into a cold sweat.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up from her perch on the side of the bed to find Ross standing outside her doorway. She’d been so absorbed she hadn’t heard him come in, let alone noticed his approach.

  Her default response was that of course she was fine, but instead she shook her head and answered with utmost honesty. “Not really, no.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Without warning, the lump in her throat exploded. “Please,” she croaked, and then dropped her face into her palms, tears spilling.

  Footsteps bounded toward her. Hands—big, strong, capable, and wonderfully warm—molded to her shuddering shoulders, stroked slow circles over her bowed back.

  “Hey, easy there, honey. Whatever’s wrong, I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.” He dropped down beside her. As many times as she’d imagined him in her room, in her bed, she’d never imagined it like this. “Talk,” he said, wrapping a bolstering arm about her.

  Curled against his chest, she recapped her mother’s call.

  “Of course you’ve got to go,” he said as soon as she’d finished. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  She scoured a hand across her eyes, which burned with tears and melted mascara. “Thanks, but I can call a cab.”

  “I’m driving you,” he said in a tone that didn’t allow for argument, and for once Macie wasn’t really interested in arguing. The truth was she was starting to like that Ross was there to look out for her. She was liking it a lot.

  With brisk efficiency, he began aligning the logistics. “You’ll need a car once you land and there’s no point in standing in a long line at the rental counter.” He withdrew his wallet and pulled out his American Express Platinum Card.

  “Ross, you are not paying for my flight or my rental car.”

  “Too late.” He shouldered in closer, commandeered her laptop, and started punching at the keyboard. “I’m guessing we’d better book that flight one-way, not round-trip?” Saying the latter, his voice seemed to drop.

  She nodded and pulled another tissue from the box. “Until I see Pam, see what we’re dealing with, I won’t know anything for sure.”

  He stopped what he was doing and put an arm around her shoulders. “She’s asking for you, and that’s a good sign. It shows she’s conscious and alert.”

  Macie leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, drawing from his strength, absorbing his calm. “I can’t lose my little sister, Ross. I can’t.” Knowing that she stood to lose both Ross and Sam somewhere between the next few weeks and at any moment made that triply true.

  He pressed a kiss atop her head. “I know, baby. I know.”

  But he didn’t know, at least not yet. If he ever found out about Operation Cinderella, he wouldn’t be able to bear breathing her air, let alone holding her like this. She tucked her head beneath his chin and hugged him hard. For all she knew, this might be the last time they were together like this—or together at all.

  …

  A few hours later, Ross let Macie out at the airline drop off. Popping his car’s trunk and lifting the suitcase she’d hastily packed, he felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his life.

  Determined not to show it, he plastered on a smile as if saying indefinite good-byes to important-to-him people was something he did every day. “Text me when you land, okay? And you need anything, anything at all, including someone to talk to, you call me, okay? I don’t care what time of day or night it is—you call, you hear?”

  She pulled up on her suitcase’s retractable handle. “Okay, I will. Thanks for…everything.”

  All around them, fr
iends, families, and lovers embraced. Wishing they were the latter, wondering what they were or might yet become, Ross reached out to hug her.

  Pressing a kiss to her temple, he said, “You take care of yourself and if you need anything, anything at all—”

  “I’ll call you, I promise.”

  Ross paused. Proceeding with caution was one thing, but suddenly it struck him that these past weeks he’d been more than cautious. He’d been running plain scared. No guts, no glory, Mannon. He leaned in to kiss her.

  Honking startled them apart. Looking over her shoulder to the ferret-faced sedan driver laying on the horn, Ross had never wanted to murder someone half so much.

  “I’d better get going.” She flashed a quick smile and then turned away, rolling her suitcase toward the terminal entrance.

  Resisting the urge to get in the sedan driver’s face, instead Ross got back in the car. The front passenger’s seat seemed sadly empty without her. Pulling out into the outgoing traffic lane, he asked himself—when had he come to need MJ so much?

  But it wasn’t until he stepped inside his condo that it hit him how empty the place felt without her. And it wasn’t just the home-cooked meals, or the neatly picked-up rooms, or the security of knowing Sam was well looked after that he’d miss, great though all those things were. It was MJ herself. The way her smile lit up a room, the sound of her off-key humming, the way her sunshine clean scent lingered after she’d left. But what he’d miss most was the way she looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers when he first walked in at night. That look made him feel ten feet tall and as strong as Atlas.

  Get a grip, Mannon. She’s not your wife. She’s not even your girlfriend, not really.

  But he was only kidding himself. In less than a month, Martha Jane Gray had become a whole heap more to him than that.

  Along with Sam, she’d become pretty much his whole damned world.

  …

  Opening the front door, Macie’s mother blinked tired eyes. “Martha Jane, you made it!”