“I gotta tell you. I don’t know about sardines, but I’d be in there if it was anchovies.”
Horror racing through, Maggie swiveled her head around, her heart colliding with the sidewalk beneath her chest when she saw Tony Parnelli standing on the other side of her fourfoot-high fence, his arms looped over the top. He was grinning a grin he hadn’t acquired from being an altar boy.
Aware that her thighs were spread out like two baby whales beneath her paint-spattered cutoffs, she had to suppress a nearly overpowering urge to bang her head against the cement sidewalk. Mentally resigning herself to humiliation, she lifted her chin a notch, trying to maintain some dignity. “I am trying to rescue a wounded cat,” she said, her tone tart. “Not amuse the neighbors.”
His grin broadened and he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Hey,” he said with fake seriousness, “I’m not amused.”
Maggie watched him, a wry smile threatening to break out on her face. “Like hell you’re not.”
He gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I’m not.”
She stared at him a minute, then rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you got a carburetor to rebuild? I could do without a peanut gallery.”
He frowned, barely hiding his grin. “Just what does that mean, Ms. Burrows? What is a peanut gallery?”
Not wanting him to see that he’d made her smile, she rested her head on her outstretched arm. “It means go away. He’ll never come out with someone else around.”
There was the creak of wood under strain, then all of a sudden, Tony was on his stomach beside her. She looked from him to her fence, then drew a deep breath. She was going to have to speak to him about that—about using the wooden barrier as some sort of free-standing gymnastic apparatus.
She was about say so when he spoke, his tone full of amazement. “That’s one damned big cat. What is he? Part panther?”
“No,” she said, giving the string a little tug, “he’s pure alley cat. And he’s hurt. I’m trying to coax him out.”
Propping his head on his hand, he looked at her, that badboy smile back in full force. “I don’t think he wants to come out, Miss Maggie. I think he’s planning on hanging out in there for a long time.”
“Thank you for your opinion,” she said, her tone sarcastic.
“You’re welcome.” He levered himself up a bit and pulled his T-shirt off over his head, then reached behind him and retrieved the broom handle. He nudged her to move over, then slid the handle under the step. “The way he’s hunkered down in there, this could take all day. Let’s see what happens if we give a little poke from behind.”
Maggie was about to yell a warning, but the instant he touched the cat, Captain Hook shot out from under the step like he’d been fired from a cannon. Before she had time to move, Tony had the cat trapped in his T-shirt, a blaze of red scratches running from his collarbone to his midriff. Holding the cat’s head so he couldn’t bite him, the ex-cop rolled to his feet, swearing under his breath. “Damn it! That smarts.” He swore again and did a little dance of pain, still holding the cat immobilized against his rib cage.
Maggie scrambled to her feet, horrified by the claw marks. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I should have told you how wild he is.”
Readjusting his grip on the struggling cat, he gave her a pained smile. “It’s a little late for that now. Just tell me what in hell I’m supposed to do with him.”
She grabbed the lid off the steel garbage can. “Dump him in here. And do it quick. He’s faster than lightning.”
Wrestling with the thrashing cat, he staggered over to the metal container. “I noticed.” Tightening his hold, he looked at her. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Tony thrust the hissing cat into the garbage can, yanking his arms and T-shirt free as Maggie slammed on the lid. The racket inside the garbage can sounded as if someone had unleashed a wild tiger. Clamping the lid closed, Maggie dragged the can onto the sidewalk, then turned back to where Tony was swearing and swabbing at the slashes on his chest with his Tshirt. At least she thought he was swearing. There was a litany of rapid Italian coming out of his mouth.
Feeling absolutely awful, she reached out and touched the undamaged flesh next to the wounds. “You’d better come inside so we can clean that. Old Hook isn’t big on personal hygiene.”
Tony grabbed her hand and held it against his warm flesh, surprising her with a husky chuckle. “If you think I’m going to let you pour antiseptic on this, you’re out of your everloving mind.”
Keenly aware of his grip on her wrist, of the heat radiating from his body, Maggie eased in a deep breath past the sudden flutter in her own chest. Lapses. She was having middle-aged lapses again. Clearing her throat, she took another breath and made herself look up at him. “It’ll get infected and—”
“Nah,” he said, watching her steadily, a small, somehow intimate smile appearing. “I never get infections.” He rubbed his thumb against the frantic pulse in her wrist, still watching her with that steady, mesmerizing stare. “Maggie?” he said softly.
Her heart doing a series of loops and stalls, she stared up at him, her mouth suddenly very, very dry. “What?”
“I should have your can for trying to do this by yourself,” he said quietly, rebuke in his tone. “He could have ripped you to shreds.”
Trying to make her lungs function like they were supposed to, Maggie forced a smile, attempting to release her wrist. “He was just scared.”
Continuing to stroke her skin with his thumb, Tony looked directly into her eyes, his gaze oddly sober. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he grinned, giving her wrist a squeeze. “That makes two of us. For a minute I thought he was going to turn me into dog meat.”
Her gaze drifted to his chest—his very naked, very tanned, very muscled chest—and Maggie’s mouth went dry all over again. Trying to convince herself she was just in the throes of some crazy hormone thing, she swallowed hard. Maybe the paint fumes had fried her brain.
Releasing his grip on her wrist, Tony slid his hand up her bare arm, then turned away. He switched on the hose and washed off his chest, then pulled on his T-shirt over his wet skin. Suddenly very businesslike, but somehow very chummy, he said, “Now what, Burrows? What’s the plan?”
Feeling as if she’d just come through a revolving door, Maggie wiped her hands on her shorts, then squared her shoulders. “I’m going to take him to the vet.”
Turning to face her, Tony rested his hands on his hips and stared at her, silently responding with a shake of his head.
Lifting her chin, she stared right back at him. “What?”
“Oh, no, you aren’t. You aren’t transporting that animal by yourself.”
He was standing in the middle of her yard, his hands on his hips, blood oozing through the wet spots on the front of his white T-shirt. His hair was standing on end, he had grease stains on his jeans and he was clearly aching for a fight. For some reason, it made her smile. “Look,” she said, suppressing a grin and using her most rational tone. “This cat is not your problem. In fact, he’s nobody’s problem. I’m going to change my clothes, then I’m going to put that garbage can in the back of my car and take him to the vet.” On the verge of laughing and not even sure why, she turned and started toward the house. “Thank you for your help. And if you get an infection, that’s your problem.”
Without a shred of warning, an ice-cold jet of water hit her square in the back, and she let out a shriek and tried to twist away. “Wrong answer,” he called after her, holding the hose on her. “This was a team effort, Burrows. You’re not cutting me out of the action now.”
Flailing under the cold spray and soaked to the skin, Maggie beat a retreat into the house, laughing and out of breath, wondering what in hell had happened to her common sense.
The trip to the vet was actually pretty routine. Dr. Swainson, having gone a few rounds with the Captain in the past, had him restrained, muzzled and sedated without acquiring a scratch. He did, however, compar
e Captain claw marks with Tony, showing Maggie’s neighbor old scars on the back of his hands and up his arms. He gave Tony some antibiotic cream and told him to get a tetanus shot. The cat did, in fact, need stitches—twenty to be exact. Being a prudent man, Dr. Swainson used dissolving sutures so they wouldn’t have to go through this a second time, then discharged the cat. The Captain was so anesthetized that Maggie was able to hold him all the way home. Discounting all his scars—his torn ear, his tail and now the clipped and sutured area on his back haunch—he was a gorgeous cat. Maggie had a special fondness for old Hook—maybe because he was such a survivor. She gently stroked his head, watching him sleep on her lap. “You’re a pretty kitty, aren’t you, Hook?”
Braking for the turn down their alley, Tony shot her an amused look. “Kitty? That cat’s a killer, Burrows.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s just an old alley cat, aren’t you, Captain?”
Tony parked on Maggie’s driveway, then got out and came around to her side of the car. He opened the door and helped her out, the cat still cradled in her arms. “So now what?”
“I’m going to put him in the garage. He’ll be safe in there, but he can get in and out whenever he wants.”
She made a bed for the cat in a cardboard box and was just settling Hook in it when Tony reappeared through the side door, carrying the can of sardines and a dish of water. He set them both down beside Maggie, then began circling the Studebaker, running his hand along the back fin. “This is a hell of a car, Mag. She’s worth a small fortune, you know.”
Maggie glanced up at him, a small smile appearing, then went back to tending the cat. “You sound just like my father.”
Tony began covering the car with the special tarp that Kelly had obviously forgot to put back on. “Kelly’s mentioned her grandfather quite a few times. Sounds like they were pretty close.”
Maggie smiled as she covered Captain Hook up with an old towel. “They were. They were thicker than thieves.” She stroked the cat’s head and turned, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the makeshift shelter. A funny feeling unfolded in her middle as she watched him straighten the tarp and stroke out the wrinkles. Trying not to acknowledge the disturbing flutter, she slid her hands under her thighs. “Tony?”
He looked up from the far side of the car, one hand resting on top of the vehicle. She hesitated a moment, then spoke, her voice not quite steady. “Thank you for offering the tickets to Kelly. It really means a lot to her.”
Resting his other hand on his hip, he stared across the ill-lit garage at her, then tipped his head in acknowledgment. He continued to watch her for a minute, then he went around to the back of the car, hooking the elastic binding under the back bumper. “She told me she wants to design cars.”
Picking up a rusty bolt from the floor, Maggie rolled it between her fingers. “Since she was six years old.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Maggie tossed the bolt into a box of garbage sitting under the dust-covered workbench. “I just hope she can make it happen. It’s all she’s ever wanted.”
Tony moved up the near side of the car, then folded his arms and leaned against the front bumper. He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just studied her, as if he was considering something. Then he spoke, his voice oddly clipped. “There was something I wanted to ask Kell, but I didn’t. I thought it only right I ask you.”
She looked up at him, frowning slightly. “What’s that?”
His head tipped to one side and he continued to stare at her. “What’s the deal on Mr. Burrows?”
A strange, shivery feeling went from the top of Maggie’s head to the tip of her toes, leaving her feeling out of breath. She stared up at him for a moment, then withdrew her hands and began folding the old rags she had dug out for Hook’s box. “Mr. Burrows is living in Vancouver with the new Mrs. Burrows,” she answered, her tone even. “He left twelve years ago.”
“And the wedding ring you wear on your right hand?”
Maggie spread her hand and looked at the wide, worn ring, warmed by fond memories. “It was my grandmother’s,” she answered softly.
There was a funny silence; then he reached down and caught her wrist, pulling her to her feet. The edge was gone from his voice when he spoke. “Why don’t we leave old Hook to sleep it off. At the very least, you owe me a coffee, Burrows.”
Feeling as if she’d just been thrown completely off balance, Maggie brushed the dust from the seat of her pants. She had to get a grip. All he was trying to do was be a good neighbor. And here she was, having a midlife crisis.
Chapter 3
Maggie didn’t want to face Wednesday. She awakened at dawn, feeling as if she had a rock sitting in her chest. Knowing she wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, she got up, slipped on an old, fleece-lined sweatsuit, then went out to the kitchen and put on the coffee. The house, filled with the blue twilight of early morning, was unnaturally quiet, the stillness adding to the hollow feeling in her chest. Folding her arms against the chill, she rested her hip against the cupboard and watched the dark brew trickle into the carafe, the burble of the coffee maker unnaturally loud in the perfect stillness.
She felt like crying, and she didn’t even know why. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe, some traitorous little voice in her head whispered, it was because she was feeling as if life had passed her by.
Yanking open the cupboard door, Maggie got out a mug, slammed it on the cupboard, then reached for the half-full carafe. She poured herself a cup, shoved the coffeepot back on the element, then picked up her cup and headed for the living room. She was feeling sorry for herself, and damn it, she was going to stop it right now. This was ridiculous. Just because some great-looking guy moved in next door didn’t mean she had to fall apart at the seams. She was a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. Not some dewy-eyed adolescent.
The smell of fresh paint greeted her, and for some reason, that made her want to slam her cup down and kick the wall. Curling up in one corner of the sofa, Maggie took a sip of coffee and stared out the window, trying to squelch the feelings churning around inside her.
Okay. So it was time for a little honesty here. She was reacting like some dewy-eyed adolescent, but that didn’t mean she had to let it continue. So some gorgeous hunk from next door had unearthed some basic feelings she’d thought she had buried a long time ago. That was to be expected. She was just middle-aged, not dead. Something like this was bound to happen. So what if she’d spent the past several years dodging her own suppressed sensuality. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
Slamming her cup on the coffee table, she drew up her legs and locked her arms around them, pressing her forehead to her knees. This was just some crazy time warp she had to get through. The fact that Tony made her spine collapse and her pulse race every time he touched her was just another problem she’d have to deal with. She’d stopped reading romantic novels and going to hot steamy movies for that very reason. Now what she had to do was make sure he stayed on his side of the fence and she stayed on hers. Maggie closed her eyes, making herself focus on something else. Like rearranging the back flower garden in her mind.
It was the sound of Kelly’s voice that snapped her awake. “What are you doing up? I thought you said you were going to sleep in all week.”
Her forehead still against her knees, Maggie answered, “I lied.”
“Does this mean you’re going to give me a ride to school?”
“No.” Feeling like a dog in the manger, Maggie lifted her head, squinting against the brightness in the room as she looked at her daughter. “Are you late? Do you need a ride?”
Standing in the archway dressed in faded blue leggings and a baggy sweater that reached her knees, Kelly had her arms up, French-braiding her hair. She gave her mother a slightly sheepish look, a rueful smile appearing. “No. I was just bugging you. You looked kinda dorky, asleep like that.” Kelly secured her braid with a piece of scrunched-up fabric, then dropped her arms. “Scott’s mom has an app
ointment downtown this morning, so she said she’d give us a ride to school.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“Yep. I made porridge. There’s some left if you want it.”
Maggie suppressed a shudder. Her daughter’s swim coaches were heavily into nutrition, stressing a low-fat, highcarbohydrate diet for their athletes. But Maggie thought porridge for breakfast was taking things a little too far. She gave her daughter a fixed smile. “No, thank you.”
Kelly grinned, flashing a big dimple. “I know how much you love it, Mom. So I made extra.”
Resting her cheek on her knees, Maggie narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “You’re a loathsome child, Kelly Lynn. I hope your porridge gets weevils in it.”
Her eyes dancing, Kelly smacked her lips and put on a big show of approval. “Yum, yum. I love weevils.”
Maggie shivered and made a face of utter distaste. Kelly grinned at her mother’s reaction, tucking back a strand of hair that had slipped from her braid. “So what are you going to do with all this free time on your hands, Mother?” She got a sly gleam in her eyes. “You could make some peanut-butter cookies if you got really bored.”
Suppressing a smile, Maggie stared straight-faced at her daughter. “I couldn’t do that. That would be in violation of Coach Bronson’s training program. I’m going to work in the yard instead.”
Her hands on her hips, Kelly gave her mother a disgruntled look. “Not fair, Mom.”
Maggie gave her a wry smile. “Life’s not fair, Kelly Lynn.”
A car horn sounded outside, and Kelly grimaced and grabbed her canvas backpack, heading toward the front door. “Oops. That’s probably the Gordons. I told them I’d meet them outside.” She opened the door, then looked back at her mother. “See you later, Mom.”
“See you later, babe.”
Maggie watched her daughter climb in the back seat of the dark blue minivan parked outside, a funny cramp forming in her throat. It wouldn’t be long before Kelly was gone, just like Shawn and Haley.
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