Vicki Hinze - [Seascape 01]

by Vicki Hinze

  His own eyes blurred at the show of emotion and support. Neither had been easy for her. Any easier than her dragging him back onto Seascape land. Yet, once again, she’d done it. His throat constricted nearly shut, blocked by a wealth of feelings that sprang from his heart which he could never adequately verbalize. He dipped his brush into cerulean blue, his favorite emotion color, then tapped the left edge into alizarin crimson—a touch, no more than a touch—then dragged the entire edge through yellow ochre. He glanced at Maggie one last time and, far too emotional to speak, he smiled then set to work.

  The first few strokes were unsteady, uncertain, and unsure, but within minutes, he settled into the old pattern, working furiously, slapping paint onto the canvas then brushing furiously to smooth it into the images and shapes and shadows he saw so clearly in his mind. Every few moments, he paused and studied Maggie. She remained sitting there statue-still, her beautiful smile never wavering.

  He understood now what she’d meant by his trust being a big responsibility. Her support was a big responsibility, too, and he didn’t want to let her down. He wouldn’t let her down.

  And then the art claimed him, and he worked like a man possessed, his focus total and complete. And in his heart, he felt the old, creative joy well.

  The moment his love for his work overtook him, Maggie sensed it. And she used the break of showing unwavering support to have a long-overdue, deep and serious discussion with her conscience. One she’d hoped to avoid, for obvious reasons, but one she’d known the minute MacGregor had told her that he trusted her, she couldn’t avoid any longer.

  Okay, Maggie, here’s the deal. You’re in love with the man, and that’s a factor. You’re also in a lose-lose situation here, and that also is a factor. Combine the factors, and what you’ve got is nothing. There it is. He doesn’t really love you, just thinks he does, and there’ll never be anything more for you here. There is no relationship. There is no happily-ever-after. There is no love.

  True. She choked. All true. So what now?

  Now, you tell the heart to quit aching and the regret to take a flying leap. You’re no dreamer. You knew better than to ever expect the kind of love Cecelia and Collin, or Tony and Hattie, shared. So there’s no great surprise in that you won’t ever have it.

  No, no great surprise. She plucked up a bit of dead grass and worked it between her finger and thumb. But there is disappointment. I never dreamed of that love, but I sure wouldn’t have minded it.

  It hurts like hell—even if you didn’t lose your head and dare to dream, like Miss Hattie told you to do—but you’ll survive. You always have, and you’ve never had love like that, right?

  Right. But it would’ve been

  Forget would-have-beens. They’re like almost and also ran. Worthless. And forget that business that it was okay to know you wouldn’t have that rare kind of love before MacGregor came along because you didn’t know what you were missing, and now that he has come along, and he’ll be going along without you, the knowing has left a hole inside you. It just isn’t so, Maggie. You still don’t know what you’re missing because you’ve never trusted MacGregor. Right now, right this second, you still don’t trust the man.

  So now what? I just end up empty and alone?

  That’s up to you. You now have the bottom line. You’re going to lose him either way—if you tell him, or you don’t. So the question is, do you lose him by becoming like Carolyn? Or do you lose him by being honest and retaining at least an atom of your self-respect and dignity? The choice is yours.

  Some choice. Maggie fingered the nubby blanket, stared at the dancing shadows where sunlight spilled through the curled, crisp leaves on the trees and dappled the quilt. It sounded so simple, so easy. But it wasn’t simple or easy. It was damn hard. To keep her self-respect, she had to go toe to toe with Tony, who’d expressly warned her against telling MacGregor the truth. She had no idea what he would do. But if she had to lose MacGregor, which seemed inevitable, then she should at least be permitted to retain what was left of her dignity and self-respect. True, after her shoddy treatment of him, both were pretty tattered, but they were all she’d have left. Tony had said he’d brought her here. MacGregor had been secondary, and she felt certain Tony wouldn’t hurt MacGregor—thank God for that. Because Maggie feared she would hurt him plenty by herself. But Tony well might hurt Maggie for defying him. Who knew what a ghost would do? Yet, to ever meet her own eyes in the mirror again, regardless of what Tony did to her, she had to tell MacGregor the truth. And that was the final, bottom line. She had to tell him the truth. Today.

  Her choice had been made.

  Breathing hard, MacGregor dropped down beside Maggie on the quilt. Sweat beaded at his brow, his shirt clung to his chest and back, his damp hair curled at his temples and nape, and his eyes were alight with pure joy.

  Swallowing hard, Maggie brushed away an errant lock of damp hair hugging the shell of his ear. And some thought art wasn’t physical.

  “I thought you’d gotten a little glassy-eyed on me.” He dragged a fingertip that smelled of paint down the slope of her nose. “You awake in there?”

  Maggie laughed. “I’m awake.”

  “Then kiss me, Maggie.” He rolled over her, and she lay back on the quilt and looked up at him. “We’ve conquered the demon.”

  “We have?” The sea. Warm, earthy man. God, but she loved the smell of him.

  “Yeah.” He grinned.

  “I want to see it.” She tried to get up.

  He held her down with a hand to her shoulder. “Nope, not until it’s done.”

  “But, MacGregor.”

  “Not negotiable.” He slid his hand over her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “Now where’s my kiss? And don’t even think about welshing. I’ve earned this one.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She curled her arms around his neck, pulled him to her, and parted her lips to receive his kiss.

  Sensations bombarded her. This was no gentle kiss. It was intense, long and hard and deep. Rather than physically depleting and emotionally draining him, working seemed to invigorate, enliven, energize MacGregor. Like a master of sensuality, he rubbed their lips, tangled their tongues, and shuddered enthusiastically under her roving hands in ways that left her aching, longing, and aware. So very aware. She tasted his happiness, grew giddy with it, and shared in his celebration, promising herself that, yes, oh yes, she would tell him the truth. Today. But after the celebration. He’d waited two long years for this moment, and she wouldn’t rob him of this pleasure, too.

  Be honest with yourself, Maggie.

  Tony. Go away! Don’t you see that this is it for me? This kiss, this time with him, now, before I tell him and he hates me—it’s all I’ll ever have. It has to last a lifetime. Please, Tony. Please, don’t begrudge me this. Please don’t take it away from me.

  Tony kept talking.

  No! I won’t let you do this. I won’t. I need, Tony. I need! Maggie blocked Tony out, focused all her thoughts, her energies, her feelings, on MacGregor. On the heat, and the passion and the desire in his kiss, his embrace. Sensing every vibration in his throat, hearing every low and guttural, sexy sound he made, feeling every expansion and contraction of his lungs, every brush of his fingertips gliding over her hips, her breasts, her thighs. She took it all in, everything in, and held it close in her heart so that later in the years to come she could recall it in detail again and again and never forget all the wonderful feelings of being loved.

  It could have been different.

  Her conscience. Thank God, her conscience. It could have been, she agreed, but it isn’t. Her heart ached and, driven by desperation, she clutched him to her, became the aggressor, telling him with her hands, her mouth, her body, all the intimate longings, the lover’s secrets usually whispered deep in the night, the love words spoken in tender tones and gentle word
s that he would never hear because she would never say them.

  He kissed her back with equal ferocity, openly, lovingly, touching her in ways so achingly tender it shattered her heart. His arms trembled and he raised up onto his elbows, then looked down at her, naked desire glazing his eyes. “Maggie,” he whispered, his voice husky and intense. “I want you.”

  Just this once. Before she lost him forever, couldn’t she have him just this once?

  It won’t be right. You haven’t told him the truth.

  I need him! He needs me! It will be right. It will! She damned her conscience. Damned it, and reached for the buttons on MacGregor’s shirt. “I want you, too.”

  It hadn’t been right.

  Sitting on the dilapidated pier, Maggie propped her elbow to her knee and stared out to sea, waiting for Aaron. As the minutes passed and the trees’ shadows stretched longer on the stony ground, she grew more and more anxious. She’d made a promise to herself and she meant to keep it. But she didn’t have to like it and she hated, positively hated, wrecking MacGregor’s celebration. For the first time since she’d known him, the man was over-the-moon happy. He’d waited two years for this day. Two years. So while she would tell him, she just couldn’t tell him yet. Not so soon. Not after he’d waited such a long time for this. Hadn’t he said that he’d really missed the creative outpouring of losing himself in his work? Hadn’t he said that he’d come to terms with his losses and accepted that they’d been caused not by his work, but life? Hadn’t he said that for the first time in two years, he felt complete and content and in harmony with himself? He was at peace. If she told him about her lies now, he sure as hell wouldn’t feel harmony or peace anymore. And he might go right back to blaming his art. She couldn’t take the chance. Or the responsibility for that.

  He might. And that she wouldn’t let happen—she couldn’t, not and live with herself. So she’d forfeit her self-respect and the little dignity she had left—for him, for today. She wouldn’t ruin this for him. And if nothing else good came out of all this, at least she could take solace in that. She’d erred, but she’d also shown compassion.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said, losing the battle to curiosity. “Hot water for just a peek.” She nodded toward the canvas.

  “No way, honey.” He set the canvas down, propping it against the picnic basket. The front of it faced the ocean, the back was stretched canvas and wood, and she couldn’t see through it. “I’ve made deals with you before. You welsh.”

  He looked rather pleased at that. Should she be pleased or offended? “It’s heartless of you not to at least let me get a glimpse of it, MacGregor.”

  “Nope.” He walked over, bent down and tweaked her nose. “Not until it’s done.”

  She stood up. “Why not?”

  He smiled, looking pleased with himself. Or maybe with her, for showing such interest.

  “Anything worthwhile is worth waiting for. My bath with you in the garden tub, for example.” He pulled her into his arms. “I can’t have you thinking I’m heartless, though. How about a little compensation?”

  The clock was ticking. It had to be almost five. Aaron would be here any moment, and she had to get the truth told to MacGregor so he’d have time to calm down on the boat. Once they hit shore, he’d take off like a shot, and she’d never get him to listen. Captive on the boat, she could explain her reasoning to him anyway. It wouldn’t change anything, didn’t mean he’d hear her, but at least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing she’d tried to make him understand. And maybe—please God, maybe—he’d only hate her a little. “What kind of compensation?”

  He lifted his brows. “A kiss?”

  “You get as much out of a kiss as I do, MacGregor. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “What’s unfair about a good deal all around?”

  A win-win situation. Oh, how she wished they could have a win-win situation. But they couldn’t. She couldn’t. And she couldn’t wait any longer to get through her lose-lose one.

  Guilt stabbed at her conscience. If she had a heart that wasn’t shattered, she’d wait until they returned to Seascape to tell him. But she couldn’t take that risk. The roofers had finished with the Carriage House that morning. If she waited, MacGregor could hole up in there and she’d die of old age without ever seeing him again.

  Yes, at least by telling him here, he’d have a little time to adjust before he could stomp out of her life in a rage. And he wouldn’t have much choice but to hear her out. That didn’t mean he’d understand her rationale, give two figs about her motivation, or that he’d listen, but he would hear her side of the story and why she felt it wise to keep the truth about Carolyn to herself. Geez, how did something that started out so right, intention-wise, turn out to be so wrong?

  T.J. propped his hands on her shoulders and gave her a good frown. “You know, Maggie, you don’t do much for my ego.”

  “What?”

  “I ask you if you want a kiss and it takes you forever to decide. What’s a guy supposed to think about that?”

  “Do you have to think anything about it?”

  “You’re giving me an inferiority complex. How can I not think about it?”

  She wanted to razz him back, but her heart just wasn’t in it. Why, oh why, had she let herself fall in love with him?

  “Do you consider kissing me a chore?”

  “Only when you snarl, darling. Otherwise, I rather like it.”

  The drone of an engine reached her ears. She turned and, as if by magic, the boat suddenly docked at the pier and Aaron stood, baseball cap shading his eyes, grinning at them. “Wow!” he said, checking his Mickey Mouse watch. “That’s the fastest time I ever made that run!”

  How had he gotten there without them realizing he was coming?

  Guess.

  Tony. She grimaced. I should’ve known it was you.

  My subtle way of letting you know that it’s still not time.

  Not so subtle. And I’ve got to tell him—no matter what you do to me. It—it just isn’t right not to tell him. Not anymore.

  Lift not the veil, Maggie. It’s not yet time.

  I have to! Didn’t you hear me? I can’t live with me, knowing I’m lying to him.

  You’ve always lied to him... and to yourself. That’s the real trouble here, Maggie. Not MacGregor. You.

  She clenched her jaw. I am going to tell him. That’s my final word.

  I’m warning you, don’t do it. You don’t understand the damage you’ll do.

  I understand the damage I’m doing now.

  Please, Maggie.

  Please? The hairs on her nape stood on end. Tony, what damage are you talking about?

  No answer.

  Tony?

  Still no answer.

  She asked again and again, but Tony refused to respond.

  MacGregor clasped her hand then lifted her onto the boat. Maggie took her seat and watched him load the gear. Should she be happy for the reprieve? Or upset?

  Feeling a fair share of both, her temples started pounding, and by the time they reached the Inn she had a wall-banger of a headache, complete with an upset stomach.

  MacGregor led her into the kitchen. “Why don’t you go on up and lay down. I’ll come up and massage your head.”

  “Yeah, I will.” She walked straight through to the gallery, swearing her head was splitting wide open.

  T.J. watched her climb the stairs and step from sight, his heart twisting inside his chest. Something was seriously troubling her. Why didn’t she turn to him with it as she had with so many other troubles? Had he let her down? Failed her in some way?

  “Tyler!” Miss Hattie exclaimed, the half-done canvas in her hands. “You painted!”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “What do you think?”

 
“An amazing likeness I’d say.” She looked up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s beautiful. My, my. You’ve captured Maggie’s spirit, dear.”

  “It’s a surprise for her.”

  “I see.” Miss Hattie’s eyes twinkled. “Well, she’ll be thrilled. It’s probably your best work ever, Tyler.”

  “I hope so.” He looked down at the in-progress painting. “I’m planning to give it to her on our wedding day.”

  Miss Hattie gasped, looking delighted. “Your wedding day! Oh, Tyler, that’s—”

  “A surprise, too,” he interrupted, looking sheepish. “Maggie doesn’t know she’s marrying me yet.”

  “Ah, I see.” Miss Hattie’s smile grew secretive and she let her gaze slide to the ceiling for a scant second, then put the canvas down and squeezed T.J.’s hands. “I’m so very, very pleased.”

  A bubble of pleasure burst in his stomach. “It feels good. Working again, loving Maggie. I never thought I’d feel—”

  “I know, dear.” She gave the back of his hand a gentle pat. “I’m so glad you were wrong.”

  He caught her up in a gentle hug and pecked a kiss, to the angel’s soft cheek. “I’m kind of happy about it myself.”

  “As well you should be. A gift, be it love or talent, is a terrible thing to squander.”

  “It is.” He sighed deeply. “Ah, Miss Hattie, it’s amazing. Maggie, my work. A man could want for little more.”

  “True. And high time you see it, too, if you don’t mind this old woman saying so.” She giggled. “Now, put me down, you rapscallion. I’m far too old to be cavorting in my kitchen with the likes of you.”

  He eased her to the floor, grinning. “You’ll never get old, Miss Hattie.”

  Still holding her smile, she looked around. “Where is Maggie?”

  “Gone to bed with a killer headache.”

  “Poor dear. Too much tension, I suppose.”

  “Too much something. Tension. Worrying. Choose your adjective.” He grimaced. “I’m on my way up to give her a massage. Maybe it’ll help her relax.”