by Lee McKenzie
I always heard the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
Maggie considered that. Aunt Margaret could be right.
Dinner, she decided, would be the best option. But if she called and invited him, would he come?
* * *
NICK SPENT TWENTY minutes channel surfing before turning off the TV in frustration. Most people had a life. That’s why there was never anything good on Saturday afternoon. His lame excuse about having stuff to do had prevented him from spending the afternoon with Maggie. If he hadn’t let his stupid pride get the better of him, he easily could have figured out a way to get rid of Brent. By now he and Maggie would be—
The phone rang.
He reached for it without thinking. “Hello?”
“Nick? Hi.” The rich sound of Maggie’s voice sent a thrill through him.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she said again. “I, um, I hate to have to tell you this, but—”
“Is everything all right?”
“Well, not really. I think maybe there’s going to be a problem with the ceiling.”
“The ceiling?”
“Yes. A few chunks of plaster fell down this afternoon.”
“Which ceiling?”
“Um, the living room.”
That was weird. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. I’ll be right over to take a look.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Maggie?”
“Yes?”
“Stay out of that part of the house till I get there, okay?” He couldn’t think of anything that could cause the ceiling to collapse, but he didn’t want her getting hurt.
“Oh. Sure. How long do you think it’ll take you to get here?”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
It only took him twelve.
Maggie and the scent of warm chocolate-chip cookies greeted him at the door. She was wearing a sleeveless yellow top, a dark blue knee-length skirt and a strappy pair of sandals to match. Her gorgeous dark red hair had been twisted loosely on top of her head, minus the pencil, and she was wearing her aunt’s pearls.
Aside from the shoes, which were just about the prettiest pair of footwear he’d ever seen, it was a combination that would look sensible and demure on any other woman. Especially combined with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. But in spite of the pearls and the cookies, she was the most unconventional woman he’d ever met.
He hadn’t seen the pearls since that first day and he couldn’t help wondering if she had plans to go out. Maybe even a date. Maybe that’s why she’d given him the brush-off last night.
“You look nice,” he said.
“So do you. Would you like some cookies and lemonade?”
“I think I’d better take a look at the living room first.”
“Right. About that. Um, it might not be as bad I thought.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
She put a hand over her mouth, as though she was trying to hide something, a smile maybe, and looked down at the floor as she cleared her throat.
“There’s kind of nothing to look at,” she said finally. “I made it up. The story about the plaster falling.”
“Why would you do something like that?” And this had better be good, he thought.
“I really did have things to do last night and I needed to be alone. But I didn’t realize until this morning that you thought I’d been rude and that you were mad at me, and then Brent was here so I didn’t want to apologize, in case you didn’t want him to know you’d come here last night and—”
“Maggie?”
Her gaze met his. “Yes?”
“Is there a point to this?”
She nodded. “I wanted you to come over here so I could say I’m sorry.”
“You made up a crazy story about plaster falling from the ceiling just to get me over here?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“It did.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to one side, then the other. “But look at the effect it’s had.”
Her eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”
“I’d say your nose is at least a quarter of an inch longer. Maybe more. In fact,” he said, leaning a little closer. “I think it’s still growing.”
She smiled. “It was just a teensy little fib.”
A stray stand of hair dangled from the mass that was pinned loosely against her head, and it was all he could do to resist tucking it into place. “Lucky for you it was just a little one, or this nose might not be looking so gorgeous right now.”
That made her laugh. He loved the sound of it. If she was part of his life, he’d go out of his way every single day to make her laugh, simply because listening to it made him feel so good. He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “Smells like those cookies are ready to come out of the oven.”
“Not till the timer goes.”
She’d no sooner said it than the timer buzzed.
He grinned. “I have kind of a sixth sense about these things.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
The hair was finally too much. He caught the loose strand and tucked into place. “I never joke about food.”
“I guess Aunt Margaret was right.”
Discussions about her aunt always made him wary, mostly because he was never sure if she was referring to the past, or to something Miss Meadowcroft had said...recently. Allegedly said, he corrected. He certainly didn’t believe in this supernatural stuff, no matter how endearing it was that Maggie did.
He followed her into the kitchen and tried his best not to hover around the stove. Still, when she opened the oven door and a hot rush of melted chocolate filled the room, he couldn’t stop himself from moving in. As she stood at the counter, carefully shifting the cookies onto a rack, he moved up behind her and reached an arm around her, pretending to grab for a cookie but really only wanting her.
“Careful, or you’ll get burned.”
He had no doubt that was true, in every sense. Falling for Maggie Meadowcroft would be one of the craziest things he’d ever done. He was a practical man. Down-to-earth. And she was...not. Then again, neither one of them seemed to fit the mold of Collingwood Station. And two misfits didn’t make a right. Did they?
“I’ll take my chances,” he said. As soon as she set the cookie sheet and spatula on the counter, he turned her around to face him and she stepped readily into his arms. He waited for his better judgment to start in on him, but for some reason it stayed silent.
From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d been mesmerized by her soft brown eyes, but how was it that until now he’d never noticed the little gold flecks in them? He ran his hands down her arms and let them settle at her waist. Everything about her was perfect. The way she smiled, the way she laughed.
“Cookie?” she said, sliding the warm, gooey treat between his lips before they managed to descend on hers.
He backed off a little and took a bite. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Let’s take a plateful and some lemonade out to the garden.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” Given that his idea was a lot less good. Bad, in fact. He picked up the tray and nodded toward the back door. “After you.”
He noticed the hammering right away. “What’s going on over there?” he asked.
“Allison and John are building a tree house for their kids. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Of course. He’d completely forgotten that John had talked to him about it earlier in the week. “Yeah, it’s great.”
Maggie beamed. “It was my idea, you know.”
“I thought it might have been.” He would have told her about John’s midweek visit, when he’d come over to ask for advice, but she was talking again.
“I knew a tree house would be a lot of fun for the kids. I mean, I grew up in the city where a kid couldn’t even dream about having a
tree house. But I thought it would be good for Allison and John, too. You know, to have a family project they could all work on together.”
Nick nodded. Not that he had any experience with family projects. Dinner was about the only thing the Durrance family had ever done together, and his mother had seen to it that the evening meal was a well-orchestrated event. Other than that, he and Leslie had either received terse orders from their father or long, tedious lectures from their mother.
Nothing about his family constituted a project. A piece of work maybe, but never a project.
“Do you think we should go over to see how they’re doing?” Maggie asked. “I mean, I don’t want to intrude, but I’m dying to know what they’re building.”
Nick was torn. Staying here with Maggie, alone, had a lot of appeal. She’d tricked him into coming over here and he wasn’t sure what she’d had in mind, but he’d already come to the conclusion it wasn’t romance.
Which meant going next door, before he made a complete idiot of himself, was a good idea. Besides, it would also gave him a chance to show that he was better at something than John was.
Petty? Maybe.
Childish? Absolutely.
Did he care? No way.
“Sure,” he said. “And if it looks like they need a hand, we can offer to help. Otherwise we can leave them to it.”
“Good idea. It’ll only take me a minute to change,” she said. “And we can take the cookies and lemonade with us. The kids might like a snack.”
Nick snagged a couple of cookies from the pile before Maggie whisked them away. “Hey, they won’t last long once the kids attack them,” he said.
She smiled. “Like I told you. They’re irresistible.”
Nick sat on a lawn chair and munched the cookies while he waited for Maggie. The sounds of hammering and sawing coming from next door were interspersed with laughter and an occasional shriek from one of the children. Maggie’s backyard was less formal than Allison’s and he had no trouble picturing a couple of kids playing in it. A dreamy-eyed wisp of a girl who had Maggie’s spirit and stunning red hair, and a dark-haired adventurous little boy who reminded him of...
“I’m ready.” Maggie’s reappearance spared him from considering the identity of the father of her as-yet nonexistent children. She was wearing a pair of jeans and an oversize T-shirt that should have had the opposite effect from the outfit she’d just taken off, but it didn’t. Face it, he told himself. She looks beautiful, no matter what she’s wearing.
She sat on the chair next to him, slipped on a pair sneakers and tied them up. “Ready?”
Oh, yeah, he was ready.
* * *
NICK WOULD HAVE given a lot to have a camera when they let themselves through the back gate. Pieces of lumber of various lengths were strewn around the yard and it looked as though John was building a door. A door to what was anybody’s guess, since nothing had actually been nailed to the tree.
“Are you sure it’s a tree house?” he said quietly to Maggie.
“Positive. Hello!” she called. “Anyone want cookies and lemonade?”
The children raced toward her.
“I do!”
“Me, too!”
Allison called to them from across the yard. “Michael! Meredith! Where are your manners?”
“I do, please!”
“Me, too, please!”
“Me first.”
“Me first, too. Please!”
Maggie deposited the plate of cookies on a patio table and scooped the little girl into her arms. “There’s plenty for everyone.”
Nick set the frosty pitcher and a stack of plastic glasses next to the plate.
Allison walked toward them, smiling. “Maggie, this was so thoughtful of you. Thanks.”
Maggie and Allison gave each other a hug, briefly sandwiching a shrieking little girl between them. “It sounded like you guys are hard at work, so I figured cookies and lemonade would hit the spot.”
Interesting, Nick thought. Allison’s reaction to Maggie’s generosity was the polar opposite to what it had been at the barbecue. And that wasn’t the only thing that was different. She actually looked normal for a change, in spite of the carefully chosen denim pants, cropped just below the knee and the sleeveless white shirt with the little designer logo on the pocket. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, if any, and her hair hadn’t been shellacked into place. He glanced at John, who seemed to be having a little trouble keeping his eyes off his wife.
It’s about time, Nick thought. Although it was hard to believe that simply building a tree house could bring about a transformation like this, he wasn’t about to argue with fate or whatever it was that had caused the guy to finally get his priorities straight.
Maggie settled into a deck chair with the little girl in her lap.
The child eyed him suspiciously. “Who’s he?”
“This is Nick,” Allison said quickly. “He’s a friend of Mommy and Daddy’s and he’s Leslie’s brother. He’s going to be at her wedding.”
“How come I’ve never seen him b’fore?”
Allison looked uncomfortable. “Nick works really hard, sweetie. He’s busy all the time.”
“Like Daddy?” Her innocent blue gaze caught Nick completely off guard.
“Kind of.” Allison filled one of the glasses with lemonade. “I’m just going to run this over to your dad, okay?”
Nick thought the child might want to run after her mother, but she seemed completely content to stay in Maggie’s arms.
“Are you and Maggie going to get married?” she asked.
Nick’s throat closed up. Even if he had an answer, he couldn’t have coughed it up if his life depended on it.
Maggie—thankfully—was never at a loss for words. “Nick and I are just friends.” She glanced at him and winked. “Meredith is especially interested in weddings these days because she’s going to be Leslie’s flower girl.”
“I get to carry a basket of flowers,” she said with an air of importance that reminded Nick of that old saying about the apple not falling far from the tree.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“Do you work with my daddy?”
Nick shook his head. “No, I’m just a—”
Maggie interrupted. “You know how your daddy is a lawyer and he fixes people’s problems?”
The child gave a solemn nod.
“Well, Nick sort of does the same thing. When he goes to work, he fixes houses so they don’t get old and rickety and fall down.”
Yeah, Nick thought. Those are the same, all right.
But the little girl’s head bobbed up and down as though she understood exactly what Maggie was saying. “Is he fixing your house?”
Maggie nodded. “Yes, he is. And when it’s finished I’m going to have a housewarming party and you’re invited.”
“I went to Daddy’s office once.”
“Was it fun?”
Nick was impressed with Maggie’s easy rapport with the little girl, who was shaking her head. “I had to be quiet and I wasn’t s’posed to touch anything.”
“When you come to my house, you can touch anything you want,” Maggie said. “I’ll even give you a makeover.”
“What’s that?”
“You get a facial and some new makeup that makes you look good on the outside, but my makeovers also make you feel good on the inside.”
Meredith smiled. “I want to feel good on the inside. Can Mommy have a makeover, too?”
Maggie laughed, but Nick sensed that she was avoiding eye contact with him. “You and your mom can have a mother-daughter makeover. How does that sound?” She tickled the little girl’s tummy and made her laugh.
“Good,” she said between giggles. “You should give everybody a makeover.”
Nick guessed that whatever Maggie whispered in the child’s ear was in complete agreement. Considering some of the people he knew in Collingwood Station, she had her work cut out for her. Come to think of it, though, Alli
son had been a total pain a week ago. Today she seemed like a different person. More natural and a lot more relaxed, and he had a hunch those changes had a lot to do with Maggie.
How did she do it? She didn’t meddle and she didn’t tell people what they should or shouldn’t do, but if they spent enough time with her, they seemed to figure it out on their own.
Allison and John walked toward them, arms linked.
Meredith wriggled out Maggie’s arms and ran toward her father. “Daddy, Daddy, horsey ride!”
John picked up his daughter and set her on his shoulders.
The little girl hooked her hands under her father’s chin and tried to lean over his head, presumably to make eye contact while she talked to him. “Nick’s coming to the wedding and Maggie’s going to give me and Mommy a makeover.”
John didn’t seem to mind that the fingers clutching his neck were smeared with cookie crumbs and melted chocolate. “I guess that means my gorgeous girls will be more gorgeous than ever.”
Somehow Nick hadn’t pictured John as such an easygoing parent. “How’s the project?” he asked.
Nick caught Allison’s little eye roll as she turned away from her husband and poured herself a glass of lemonade. “I love the plan we picked out but I think it’s going to be a little more challenging than we expected.” She was smiling when she turned back to John. “Isn’t it, darling?”
“You could say that.”
“If you’d like some help getting started, I’m happy to pitch in,” Nick said. “Are those the plans?”
John nodded and handed him a sheaf of papers that had been stapled in one corner.
Wow. No wonder the poor guy looked so discouraged. “This is very...ambitious. Doable, though,” he said quickly, when he noticed John’s worried expression. “And the kids’ll have a blast with this.”
As he flipped through the pages John had handed to him, most of the smugness he’d felt before coming over here had evaporated. Even if John couldn’t build a tree house, he was one lucky guy. He had money, a high-powered career and a great family that clearly adored him. Just not a lot of common sense.
They’d chosen a plan for a tree house that had a shingled roof, shuttered windows and even a deck with a little railing. He scanned the data sheet. The place had a hundred square feet. In some parts of the world, people probably raised families in houses less substantial.