Darling obstacles

by Boswell, Barbara

  "Dr. Wilder, please let Joshua spend the night here," Maggie said quickly. Her voice quavered and, much to her dismay, she sounded as anxious as Kristin and Kari.

  Greg looked down into her upturned, pleading green eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. What a hell of a day this had turned out to be! he thought. He'd been in surgery since seven a.m. emerging between operations only to talk to the patients' families. The most grueling case, both physically and emotionally, had been a six-hour operation to remove a malignant brain tumor from a twenty-year-old college student. It had been impossible to remove it all and he'd felt like crying along with the family when he'd told them the

  grim prognosis. His meeting with the residents on his service had been overly long and he had stopped for a final check on his patients, thus landing him in the thick of Baltimore's weekend rush hour traffic.

  When he had finally arrived home he had found his fourteen-year-old daughter Paula ready to leave to spend the night at a girlfriend's house. She hadn't been pleased when he'd reminded her that she was supposed to baby-sit for her sister and brothers that night. When he had left the house, Paula had been in her room sulking, having told him that he was the meanest and most unreasonable father in the world for making her change her plans.

  Going to the dinner-dance at the Riverview Country Club with Francine Gallier was probably the last thing he felt like doing tonight, but she had invited him three weeks ago and he had accepted, and he felt obligated to go. He had tried to generate some enthusiasm by mentally listing her attributes. She was beautiful, sensual, exciting—good company and good in bed. And he needed to relax, to socialize, to be with a woman. The demands of his profession, his concern about the children ... He had to have some outlet, didn't he?

  Was he rationalizing because he was feeling guilty about leaving the children for yet another evening? he had wondered as he'd driven back to Maggie's to pick up Josh. He had been totally unprepared for the dreadful scene with Max. Max's temper tantrums were becoming an increasing source of concern. When he'd heard the unceasing howls from Maggie's living room he had charged inside to intervene. Now he was back on the doorstep, with Maggie holding the screen door only slightly ajar. Some things never change, he thought, grimacing.

  "Max and Wendy were crying in the back seat," he said, 'and Francine was smoldering in the front when I realized that I'd left without Josh." Greg heaved another sigh. "Damn. I—I feel terrible about spanking Max. Alicia would have been horrified. She

  didn't believe in corporal punishment of any kind and until recently"—his shoulders sagged—"neither did I."

  Maggie watched him, listened, unsure of what to say. Their doorstep conversations were always light and pleasant and laced with the more humorous aspects of childrearing. They smiled a lot and never alluded to any problems. But Greg wasn't smiling now; he looked tired and discouraged. She wasn't sure if he was addressing her or merely voicing his thoughts aloud. A great wave of sympathy washed over her.

  She felt sorry for the man, she realized with some surprise. She'd never really considered how complicated his life actually was; he always seemed so cool and in total control. For the first time she viewed his life from another angle. His profession was a difficult and demanding one, and having total responsibility for four children would have to increase the pressure on him to appalling levels. Why, it was no wonder he needed to go out, to socialize, to be with a beautiful woman like Francine. But when he tried to do it, he was sabotaged by his kids!

  Greg noticed how Maggie was clutching the door as she stared at him. "And now here you are," he said, "staring at me as if I'm a confirmed proponent of child abuse." He was totally disheartened. "You needn't plead to keep Josh here to protect him from the wrath of his monster father."

  "I was thinking no such thing," Maggie said swiftly. "I—I was thinking how very tired you look, Dr. Wilder."

  Her unexpected remark took Greg by surprise and he stared down at her. There was no condemnation in her eyes, only compassion and warm concern. He had seen her look that way at the children, his and her own, but never at him. And she hadn't made some flippant joke either; she'd answered him seriously. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had a serious conversation. Their doorstep chats were

  invariably light and humorous and superficial. "I am tired, Maggie." He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it. He felt a sudden urge to sit down and talk to her seriously, to share his depression and the helplessness he felt about the sad future of his young patient, to tell her how worried he was about his children and how guilty he felt about failing to meet their needs. She would understand, he knew it instinctively.

  But there was no time to talk. Francine was waiting for him and they were already late for the dance. And how could he sit down and talk to Maggie when she never let him inside her house? There wasn't a whole lot to say when relegated to a doorstep. Greg sighed again and condensed all his feelings into a weary, "It's been a . . . rough day all around."

  "I understand," Maggie said soothingly.

  He gazed into her warm green eyes and was astonished by his longing for her understanding, for her comfort. He felt compelled to deny that longing. "You couldn't understand!" he burst out. "You've never experienced the frustration and the regret and the guilt I've felt in dealing with my kids. You're the perfect mother, struggling to get by on your husband's death benefits and your baby-sitting fees and working that miserable night job, but never slighting your kids. You've been baby-sitting for my children for the past two years and four months, and I've watched you, Maggie. You're patient and kind and selfless, the type of parent every kid deserves to have. Your kids are happy and well-adjusted. You never lose your temper or yell at your kids or—or hit them!"

  Maggie had to laugh at the image his words evoked. "You make me sound awesomely saintly, a regular Mother Machree. And though I'm tempted to let you go on believing that I have a halo over my head, I wouldn't dare. One of my kids might tell you about the time they tracked mud into the kitchen ten seconds after I'd finished washing and waxing the floor. I

  chased them around the yard with a mop, screeching like a banshee."

  Back to humor again, Greg thought. He tried to smile, but the result resembled a bleak grimace. Maggie used jokes to shut him out, he realized with a sudden flash of insight. And it was just as effective as keeping him outside her house, on her doorstep.

  Maggie waited expectantly for Greg to laugh at her little joke. She wanted to lighten his mood, to make him smile. But he didn't. He looked even more glum. She dropped all attempts at humor and said honestly, "Actually, there have been countless times when I've felt tired or depressed or angry and have taken out my feelings on my children. I know all about guilt and regret. I'm sure all parents experience the same feelings you mentioned at one time or another, Dr. Wilder. It goes with the territory. And I think single parents feel them doubly hard."

  Greg shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. What was the matter with him? Right now he felt an incredible longing for her to stroke his hair and soothe him, much in the same way he'd seen her comfort Max. He was half-afraid he might totally disgrace himself and blurt out his need. "You're very understanding ..." His voice was stiff and controlled. "I don't usually carry on this way ..."

  Maggie was certain he regretted his impulsive outburst and wondered if she'd been presumptuous, offering an experienced doctor her own unscientific opinions. But he looked so drained and discouraged; she wanted to comfort him somehow. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to put her arms around him and smooth away those lines of exhaustion and worry from his face. Thoroughly disconcerted by her feelings, she sought to banish them by mocking herself. Greg Wilder certainly didn't need her to comfort him! He undoubtedly had women standing in line to do the job. One of them was in his car right now.

  Donning her protective emotional camouflage, Maggie slipped back into the role she knew best, the

  comfortable maternal role. "Dr. Wilder, why don't you let Max and Wendy
spend the night here with us?" Her voice was soft, pleasantly melodious, a mother's voice. "The two little girls can sleep in the girls' bedroom and I'll move Kristin into my room. Karl would be absolutely thrilled to have Wendy and—"

  "You can't tell me that any of them will be thrilled to have Max," Greg interrupted wryly.

  Maggie grinned. "Ob. Kristin and I both get a kick out of Max. And the other kids enjoy him, too, though they might not want to admit it. I have a cot I can set up in Kevin's room and all three boys can sleep in there tonight."

  Greg considered her offer. It would certainly simplify things if the three younger children stayed here. Paula could spend the night with her friend and stop sulking, and after the dance he could go to Francine's apartment and spend the entire night there. Usually, he had to stumble out of bed when he most wanted to sleep, get dressed, and leave his date's apartment to drive home because he didn't dare leave the children alone all night. His decision was made. "Thank you, Maggie. The kids can stay here. I really appreciate it." Now why didn't the idea of a child-free, passion-filled evening with Francine excite him? he wondered. He should be feeling as blissfully free as a teenager with the family car and no curfew. But he didn't. He felt flat . . . and oddly lonely. He reached for his money clip. "Let me pay you in advance."

  Maggie shook her head. "Oh, no, Dr. Wilder. This doesn't count as baby-sitting. Tonight my kids are having their good friends over to spend the night with them.'' A slight breeze ruffled her hair and she smoothed her bangs back in place with her left hand.

  She was pretty, Greg mused, watching her. He'd always thought so. Lovely complexion, high cheekbones, cute upturned nose, and soft, well-shaped mouth. Why, even in those old clothes she was wearing she . . .

  Maggie was aware that he was staring at her and

  lowered her eyes, embarrassed. He had never looked so long and so hard at her. Lord, she knew she looked bad tonight, but she obviously looked even worse than she thought. The contrast between her and the elegant Francine clearly had stunned him. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. Maggie made a mental note to pitch her ancient clothes in the trash tonight.

  She knew he was staring at her, Greg realized as he saw her lower her eyes. And she was uncomfortable about it. Her rigid posture and clenched hands were proof of that. He immediately sought to put her at ease, saying the first thing that came into his head. "I see you still wear your wedding ring." He glanced down at his own ringless hand. "I, uh, stopped wearing mine a year ago." It had begun to feel strange, dating while wearing a wedding ring. When he'd finally accepted the fact that he was no longer a married man, he had removed his ring. But Maggie hadn't. Did that mean she still considered herself married to her dead husband? The notion disturbed him.

  Maggie was staring at the gold band on her finger and was about to comment when a sharp, impatient voice called "Greg!" from the car. Both Greg and Maggie glanced toward the sound to see Francine leaning out the window. "Greg!" she called again. "We're late enough as it is. By the time we get these kids back to your house and—"

  Greg stopped listening and looked at Maggie, his expression a combination of embarrassment and irritation. Suppose it were Maggie in his car, waiting for him? He couldn't imagine her behaving as peevishly as Francine. "Greg!" Francine's voice rose imperiously.

  "These kids happen to be my kids, Francine," Greg said as he strode to the car, his tone as sharp as hers. "And they're spending the night here." Wendy and Max were out of the car in a flash, running toward Maggie. The old brown teddy bear was tucked

  under Max's arm and Greg felt a sudden, sick pang of remorse. What kind of father was he anyway? Whacking a four-year-old, then dumping his kids for the night so he could wine, dine, and bed a bitch like Francine Gallier?

  Maggie had picked Max up, and his arms and legs were wrapped around her like a little monkey's. She was smiling as she carried him into her house, her one arm draped casually around Wendy's shoulders. Greg felt a crazy urge to follow them into the house. Not that he would ever make it inside, he told himself. He watched them enter the small frame duplex, noting bleakly that neither the children nor Maggie had cast a backward glance or called good-bye to him.

  When Maggie answered the ring of the doorbell seven minutes later, she was astonished to find Greg Wilder at her door again.

  He gave her a rather sheepish smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you again, Maggie, but may I use your telephone?" He half-expected her to refuse and point out the phone booth at the corner of the street. But she paused only a moment before replying, "Of course. This way, Dr. Wilder."

  She led him into the kitchen and pointed to the white wall phone, immensely relieved that the dinner dishes were done and put away. She asked no questions, but he gave her an explanation anyway. "I have to call Paula. She was going to baby-sit for the kids tonight, but since they're going to be here, she'll be able to go to her friend's house and stay overnight. Shell be overjoyed." And he would no longer be the world's meanest dad.

  Maggie nodded. Paula Wilder was very pretty and led an active social life, according to an admiring Kristin who was in the seventh grade at Woodland Junior High where Paula was in the ninth.

  A sharp blast from a car horn shattered the silence and Greg frowned. "Francine thought I should

  phone Paula from the club, but it's nearly a forty minute drive from here and . . ." His voice trailed off. He couldn't explain his urge, his need, to come back. Nor could he explain the surge of pure pleasure that had rushed through him when Maggie had greeted him at the door. And now he was inside her house, invited. Well, almost.

  He dialed the number, listened, then replaced the receiver. "The line's busy. Paula talking to her friends, naturally." But he didn't care, he admitted to himself. He was in no hurry to leave Maggie's small kitchen. No hurry at all.

  The horn blared again and Greg's fingers tightened around the telephone receiver. Maggie saw his knuckles whiten, his jaw clench, and his aquamarine eyes grow cold as ice. "I'll be happy to call Paula for you, Dr. Wilder," she said quickly. "You have a long drive ahead of you and I know you're anxious to leave." At least Francine was. Another sharp, staccato blast of the horn made Maggie jump. She pictured the gorgeous, furious Francine sitting in the car and summoning her man with the horn, and she marveled at the woman's confidence. The expression on Dr. Wilder's face was making her nervous, and she had nothing to do with its cause.

  Greg ignored the imperious demand of his date and strolled to the refrigerator, which was covered with children's drawings and school papers. "All As," he remarked. "I guess the bad papers don't get put up, do they?"

  Maggie was tempted to tell him that her children did not bring home any bad papers; they received nothing but A's and gold stars. She was enormously proud of their school success, but she didn't want to sound like a braggart. She just smiled noncommit-tally and said nothing.

  "I remember Josh telling us that Kevin was the smartest boy in his class." Greg examined a math test of Kevin's, which boasted a smiling face sticker and a big red A+ at the top. "That was a couple of years

  ago, before Alicia ..." He turned his attention to Kevin's social studies test, which bore a blue A + and a SUPER written in capital letters by the teacher. "Kevin seems to be doing very well so far in fourth grade." Maggie nodded. "I wish some of his habits would rub off on Josh," Greg added wryly. "Alicia used to say that Josh was an underachiever. His teacher last year claimed that he wasn't any kind of achiever at all. I'm hoping hell do better this year."

  "Mmm," Maggie murmured. Apparently Greg didn't know how poorly Josh was doing in school this year. The first report cards hadn't been sent home yet, but from what she'd heard from Kevin and from Josh himself, Dr. Wilder wasn't going to be very pleased with his son's progress—or lack of it.

  Greg dialed his number again and hung up at the busy signal. The car horn sounded again, a long, angry blare. He ignored it. Maggie had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, he observed. TJiey looked
cute. Wholesome and appealing. And he liked being in her kitchen. It was warm and homey, unlike the sterility of the barely used kitchen in his house.

  The horn again. "Please let me make the call for you, Dr. Wilder," Maggie said. Her offer was more like a plea. He was staring at her again. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen. And when he looked at her she felt . . . she wished . . . She swallowed. She wished she hadn't let him inside. But she'd had no choice, had she? It would have been totally unreasonable to deny him the use of her phone. But having him here, inside her home, made her feel so exposed, so strangely vulnerable. As if she had also admitted him into—Maggie promptly told herself that her thoughts were bordering on lunacy. "I'll call Paula for you, Dr. Wilder," she repeated in what she hoped was a take-charge, no-nonsense tone of voice.

  "Not Dr. Wilder. Greg,'' he corrected her. He'd asked her to call him Greg a year or so ago, but she

  never had. "Call me Greg. I call you Maggie, don't I? Is it short for Margaret?"

  "I wish it were, but it's short for Mary Magdalene." Maggie imparted this information reluctantly. "When my brothers wanted to infuriate me, that's what they would call me."

  Greg's lips twitched with amusement. "Then I guess I'd better stick to Maggie." He'd always known she had nice legs, he thought as his gaze swept the length of her limbs. Long, shapely, slim. He'd noticed them before, but now he wanted to touch them, to run his hand along their silken length. A flash of heat swept through him and he tried to shake off the thought.

  Kevin and Joshua burst into the kitchen, fortunately diverting him. "We want a snack!" Josh boomed, then caught sight of his father and stopped in his tracks. "What are you doing here, Dad?"

  Greg raised his brows and asked a question of his own. "You were asking Mrs. May for something to eat, Joshua?"