by Cait London
“Just exactly what are you trying on me?” Nick didn’t want to make any more mistakes.
Her hand swept down the creamy skin contrasting with black sexy lingerie. “This.”
“We can do that. It’s fine with me,” he managed to say.
“And don’t push me. I’ve been pushed a lot and I’m going to react defensively. I’m just saying that a happy balance might be possible. Watch the arrogant and overbearing stuff. It’s definitely a push button with me. I like your honesty, but sometimes you’re just plain overpowering.”
Despite his body’s arousal, Nick knew that Maggie was struggling desperately with herself and her past. She was negotiating with him, trying to retain herself, but give him what she could—where once she’d given too much. The tenderness for her rose and swelled and filled him. “Anything else?”
“It’s a front-hook bustier. I haven’t had one before and it’s a loner from Beth. When I think back, my life has been pretty uptight and some of me is just now coming out. I want my own visions, but I want to be reasonable, too.”
“You’re being very reasonable.”
“You said you’d practiced with a bra. Did you ever practice with a garter belt?”
He shook his head, and Maggie smiled seductively and lifted one leg to brace it over a chair, revealing the garter strap down to the black stocking. “Now’s the time to try.”
In the bright morning sunlight, Celeste felt the fingers of icy shadows curl around her. Her hand gripped the old brass doorknob of her shop, locking to it as if it were safety. She lifted her head and smelled the late July air, soft with a blend of dew and raindrops and flowers. The cobblestone street seemed to slide into the lake’s waves, a little rough, white caps forming in the distance.
The wind chime outside Journeys turned, silver and shadows, and in one breath, everything seemed too still.
On the opposite street, Maggie and Nick were jogging easily, their strides matched, Scout a few paces behind. Maggie was laughing up at Nick, challenging him, and suddenly he stopped, his hands on his knees, the picture of a man sucking in badly needed air.
Concerned, Maggie returned those few paces to him and bent, her hand on his back. Nick straightened, and with a grin sailed by Maggie, heading for the beach.
The lovers’ race should have brought a smile to Celeste, but the chilling stillness remained, waiting…
Hearing the bump of car tires on cobblestones, Celeste shaded her eyes as she looked toward the morning sun—and the late-model, navy blue sedan that kept rolling toward her, bump, bump, bump, the sound terrifying and familiar, like the sound of death coming closer.
She couldn’t see the driver’s face; she didn’t need to, because it was the man for whom she had waited—her killer. Hatred bristled, almost alive in the air, snaking around her ankles, winding around her chest and throat, tightening slowly, painfully. Bitter and strong, it held Celeste immobile, chilling her flesh.
Her hand over her racing heart, Celeste forced a smile for the Joneses, an elderly couple taking their morning walk. When she turned, looking for a license plate, the car had cruised over the hill and disappeared.
With shaking hands Celeste unlocked her shop and hurried inside; she stopped, wrapped in the safety of her shadows and scents, just for a moment. Then with her heart racing, she closed the shop again and hurried home to her cats, needing their comfort. Her little yellow house nestled in the shadows of towering trees, a jumble of brightly colored flowers circling it. Caressed by a slight breeze, the herbs sent her their scent, the hunched ceramic troll smiling a welcome. Home, Celeste thought, inhaling the sunlight and the scents, wrapping them around her, if only for this short time—
Inside her house, Earth, Wind, and Fire leaped from their window perches, milling around her skirts, wanting their treats. “You’ll miss me, won’t you?” she asked, consoling herself, though she knew Beth would take perfect care of her cats.
Celeste had just finished filling their bowls and settling down for a game of catch-the-catnip-filled-cloth-mouse, when her front door ripped open and Beth stood, hands on hips, calling out to her. “What the hell are you doing home this morning?”
So much for quiet and thought. Celeste tossed the mouse once more, smiled at the sight of her cats scrambling for it, and then walked into the kitchen. “I live here, remember? And I’m the boss and I can take off if I want to.”
“Yeah, right.” Beth slammed the door behind her. “What’s wrong with you? I take George Wilson for his stroll and see you tearing up the hill to your house. Don’t tell me you forgot cookies in the oven.”
“Wax,” Celeste corrected as she lifted the metal pitcher from the pot of water on the stove.
Beth’s curse would have made a longshoreman proud, searing the quiet shadows and the windowsill’s potted herbs. “I want to know what’s wrong with you.”
Celeste tried to sound normal, to protect Beth, her heart’s child. “I think I’m going to die.”
Beth stared at her blankly, then her expression crumpled and tears came to her eyes. “And you weren’t going to tell me? What makes you think so? How do you know?”
Celeste welcomed Beth’s shaking body into her arms, rocking her. “It’s a natural cycle, dear. Birth, life, dying. I’ve made my peace. When my time comes, I want you to make yours and go on, caring for yourself most of all, but then, if you find it in your heart, my dear cats. You’ve got a good start now and you’ve got a good head for business, and you’ll be fine and you’ll have a wonderful husband and enough children to keep you running.”
She kissed Beth’s bright hair and felt the girl’s fingers dig in, clinging to her. “Tell them about me.”
“Can’t the doctors—?”
“No. I choose to meet my fate as I will.”
Beth jerked back, tears streaking down her face. “That is absolute bullshit.”
Celeste nodded and dried Beth’s tears with a linen handkerchief. The cloth was warm and damp, and Celeste knew that she had left her mark in life, that Beth was capable of enormous love. In time, she would be able to accept and like Lorna.
She ran her thumb over the soft wrinkled cloth. Maggie had loved very deeply, and she’d been hurt. Whoever came after her was part of that pain. “But it’s my bullshit. Haven’t you told me that often enough? Open the shop this morning, will you? I love you, but I want to be alone.”
Celeste wanted to think of Iowa and wind waving through the cornfields, of her parents and the big white farmhouse—and how to protect Maggie.
Along the way, Celeste decided that her cousin’s son, a good sturdy farm boy with a clean mind and a loving heart, would be perfect for Beth.
All in order, Celeste thought, pouring tea into her best china cup. Lorna was already in love, and Beth would be. In her heart, Maggie was already Nick’s, and he was hers. Together, and with Celeste’s power, the women were strong—they would have to be.
Celeste traced the shadow of her finger behind the delicate finish. Now she could only wait.
TWELVE
Seated in a car, parked in the small grove of trees, Brent Templeton tipped the monogrammed silver whiskey flask high and swallowed. He let the searing burn of the liquor match his hatred, the need for revenge boiling in him.
On Blanchefleur’s wide beach, Maggie’s wind-tossed hair caught the sunlight. The tall man she was with tugged her to him. Her arms went to his shoulders as she moved against him, returning his kiss. The man’s big hand swept down her back possessively, stroking her, smoothing her bottom as he gathered her closer.
Watching them, Brent tapped the scarred tip of his cane on the dashboard. He should have been tired from the flight from San Francisco to Louisville, Kentucky, and by the drive in the rented car to Blanchefleur—but he wasn’t. He’d wanted to set up a misleading scenario for anyone who might be curious about his whereabouts. And the drive from Louisville had given him time to temper his fury, because everything had to be perfect. He’d waited too long to puni
sh Maggie Chantel.
She hadn’t been playing nice when she’d injured his kneecap. He intended to use the cane on her, just as he had the dog, that worthless female Labrador afraid of gunshot and feathers.
What kind of a Labrador feared gunshot, feathers, and birds? The breed was supposed to hunt and he’d paid well for her.
The first time he’d taken her hunting with the club, she’d shied and made a fool of him by refusing to take the mock bird in her mouth, by bolting at the sound of gunshot. His friends had laughed at him and he’d become the club’s joke….
Maggie had stolen his dog and the income Brent could make from breeding her over and over. It was nothing like what he once considered income, but from that, he could start building his return…
Maggie didn’t move away from the big man, rather she simply melted into him, her hands gripping his thick, shaggy black hair.
Fury rose in Brent as he glanced at the rearview mirror and caught his own thinning limp hair. He couldn’t afford implants or stylists now and it was her fault.
Maggie had refused him and now she’d taken a lover, her body moving into his, his hands caressing her.
Brent’s headache pounded, because Maggie should have been his, just as Glenda was. Women had always been his, fascinated by his power and money and status. Now he had nothing—because of her.
“You’ll pay, damn you,” he muttered and stopped, held by the sight of the man hurling the stick into the water, the dog waiting for a hand signal and then leaping into the waves to retrieve it.
The dog shook a spray of water from herself, then came to the man, who rubbed her head. He gave a hand signal, and the dog sat at his side. When he walked, the dog heeled perfectly.
That man had Brent’s woman and his dog—the one Maggie had stolen.
Maggie had ruined him, going to his high-powered friends and accusing him, before and after Glenda’s death. They’d protected him just long enough to get out of range and then they’d forced him out of that tight, elite circle. Because of Maggie Chantel dogging him, going to his rich wife with evidence that he’d had an affair with Glenda, Evelyn and her battery of attorneys had made certain he couldn’t come near her fortune, or their children. The pittance she’d given him had only served his needs for a time. “That damn prenup—”
Now he’d lost everything, and Maggie would have to pay.
He saw a boy on a skateboard and signaled him to the car. Brent held out a five-dollar bill. “Hey, kid. Here’s a fiver. Who’s that down on the beach?”
Cautious of strangers, the boy took the bill, stepping back quickly. “That’s Nick Alessandro and Maggie and Scout. Everybody knows them. His folks run Alessandros Restaurant up on Main Street. You want a coupon for their specialty, spaghetti? I get paid for handing them out to tourists.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d like that. Thanks.”
“Hey, don’t take whatever is bothering you out on me,” Beth ordered as she stepped from Maggie’s path.
Her arms circling a box of brochures, Maggie crossed the winery’s showroom to arrange them on the counter. She adjusted a glass on the overhead rack, critically studying the pictures on the rough wooden wall. She’d chosen copies of the pictures, those of Nick on his mantel, a small boy holding his grandfather’s hand as they walked through the rows of vines. One day Nick would do the same with his son. His future lay ahead of him, while she had yet to understand herself. “I’m not bothered. I have a lot of work to do.”
Beth picked up a bottle of limited free-run Pinot Noir, and seemed to study it as she said casually, “Nick is in town, having lunch at the restaurant with Lorna and some private client’s buyer.”
“Word must be getting around. Nick seems to have a lot of private buyers.”
“Yeah, well, they have wine cellars and show off what they know at parties. If a wine grower gets popular and has a good product, they’re all over him.”
Maggie didn’t intend to shut the cabinet door quite so hard, jarring the glasses in it. She lifted a bottle of three-year-old Chancellor from beneath the counter and set it down too hard. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t jealous. Who Nick met was none of her business.
“Lorna is wearing a low-cut number and a high-cut skirt.”
“I care less. This buyer has a private cellar and wants it well stocked for his yacht and parties. I hope everything goes well.” Her tone was too edgy and she disliked the temper flash that could only be labeled as jealousy. Lorna was set to push Maggie any way she could—Nick was only the objet d’push.
Maggie retrieved cheese from the small refrigerator behind the counter and sliced it, plopping it and crackers onto a paper plate for Beth. “Eat.”
Beth munched on the crackers and cheese and eyed Maggie. “Lorna’s hands were all over him.”
Unfamiliar little fiery edges spiked inside Maggie. Lorna would know that her setup scene would be gossip-channeled to Maggie. “I do not care.”
Beth’s arched eyebrow mocked Maggie. “Sure.”
“So how is Celeste?” Maggie asked to distract Beth.
“Worried. Odd. Spooky. Taking a lot of time with everything, like she’s absorbing it for the last time. She says she’s feeling fine. But she’s walking alone a lot at night. She says it gives her peace.”
“I’m worried about her.”
“I am, too. Maggie, she told me she was going to die. She wouldn’t tell me why, but she’s accepted it.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“You’d better schedule ahead of time. She’s moving right through her checklist. While you were busy with Nick, Celeste decided that Eugene needed a little old-fashioned sexual tune-up. She ordered an overnight delivery of some sexy stuff, including a ruffled bib apron, which is all she wears when cooking for him. It’s disgusting, but she’s already vamped him. Jeez, she’s half a century old and he’s maybe two hundred.”
Celeste sipped her mint tea and smiled at the album’s picture of a young farm family. “My sister. She had five boys. That one is Jeff. He’s perfect for Beth. I’ve invited him, and he should be here any day. When the time is right, I want him to take me home, to Iowa. I miss the cornfields and my family.”
Maggie leaned back in the kitchen chair. As Beth had said, Celeste seemed to be putting her affairs in order, including matchmaking for Beth. “Celeste, I’m concerned. Why do you think you’re going to die?”
“Because it’s my time. I feel it. There’s a time for everything, Maggie, didn’t you know? Beth is going to have beautiful babies, and she’ll be a perfect mother. She’ll be good for Jeff…keep him from getting too set in his ways. He has the stability and ethics to ground her, and I want her protected. The first part of her life was too dark and harmful. She should have brightness and love surrounding her. That’s what I want for you, too. And Lorna. That is only a game she’s playing with Nick, to push you—like that restaurant scene. Like you, she’s battling what she could not change. But she will.”
Maggie took her friend’s hand. “Celeste, we’re talking about you. What’s wrong?”
The older woman’s expression closed with a bland smile and a shrug. “I want you to move in with Nick. I feel a darkness now that includes you. If there is trouble, he’ll protect you.”
Nick would agree with Celeste. To him, living together was natural. To Maggie, it held uncertainty. “I’m struggling to find myself now, Celeste. Nick is…overwhelming. He’s emotional, and I’ve never dealt with someone like him.”
“He cares. He wants you in his life. Is that so bad?” Celeste asked gently.
“I’ve got so much baggage. Trust is difficult for me on that level. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Give yourself a chance and time. You’re learning to trust again. You’re finding yourself, and you’re not who you were. You’re a whole new, beautiful person.” Celeste was quiet, toying with her china teacup, a finger prowling over the painted roses. “Is there anything I should know to help you? Is there any reason someone might be fo
llowing you? Someone tied to your sister and Scout? Someone who might—might be dangerous?”
“No—yes. I don’t know. My sister was on drugs. I exposed her pusher and upset a lot of powerful people who were…using her. But I don’t think any one of them would take the time or energy to follow me.”
“Think harder, Maggie. Your nightmares are trying to tell you something. They’re running beneath the surface, erupting in powerful scenes. You’re blocking something evil, and it’s unfinished. Your subconscious knows that. Could it be your ex-husband?”
“Ryan? He wouldn’t care. He was glad when I left the area, rather when I was driven out, and he helped. I’d become a liability to him, because everyone knew we’d been married. I think he was active in getting me fired or maybe not hired in the jobs I tried to work. Why are you asking?”
Celeste stilled; she sensed she’d asked the last question too soon, sending Maggie down the wrong path, away from the danger to her. “Because I wondered, nothing more. You are in danger, Maggie, and from someone in your past. Please be careful.”
Troubled by Celeste, Maggie managed her aerobics class and walked toward Journeys. Ryan had been glad to be rid of her, and though she couldn’t erase her bitterness for his desertion when she really needed him, he would never want to come near her again. Their agreement was unstated; he left her alone, and in return, she did not expose the shoddy equipment and deals he’d arranged with the help of Brent Templeton.
Brent Templeton. The name seared her. His furious expression sailed out of the past to chill the beautiful day. He had everything he wanted. Wealth, a rich wife, good old buddies who played the same brotherhood game. He was protected by his powerful friends in San Francisco, and she’d made scenes with all of them, a futile effort to avenge Glenda’s death.
As a successful entrepreneur, Brent would have too many deals—real estate, equipment scams, trade-offs, the parties and appearances of his social set. He wouldn’t endanger any of that, or invest any time to find Maggie. Evelyn, his wife, hadn’t believed Maggie, and Brent wouldn’t risk his high lifestyle by following her.