Driven To Distraction

by Judith Duncan

  That realization shook her—really shook her—and it also scared her to death. Because another realization came hard on the heels of the first. If she really wanted it to happen, she was going to have to make it happen.

  Her heart started hammering and her hands turned clammy, and she had such a wild flutter in her chest that she could feel it all the way down to the soles of her feet. It was up to her. Nobody else. Just her.

  Turning from the window, she stared blindly at the opposite wall, her heart trying to escape from her chest. It was up to her.

  Without giving herself time to reconsider, she turned and headed for the front door.

  Leaving the door ajar, she went down her recently painted steps and ran across the yard, the crazy clamor in her chest getting worse when she saw that one big bay door of the shop was open. Feeling shaky from the inside out, she entered the brightly lighted area, hope warring with dread.

  Spider was working on something he had clamped in a vise, and he looked up when her heel scraped against some scrap metal on the floor. He stared at her, pure distaste in his eyes, then gave a disgusted snort and turned back to the workbench. The frenzy inside her abruptly contracted into one awful, hollow knot. With fear caught in her throat, Maggie clenched her fingers and took a very deep breath. “I need to know where Tony is.”

  Spider slammed one screwdriver down and picked up another. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,” he growled. “You sliced him up pretty good last time, lady, and I ain’t gonna help you do it again.”

  Going over to the bench where he was working, Maggie fingered a bubble-packed set of spark plugs, then folded her arms. She hesitated for a minute, then went on sheer instinct. And instinct told her Spider needed an explanation. Her tone was not quite even when she spoke. “I’m nine years older than he is, Spider. I can’t have any more kids, and I was so sure he’d regret that someday.”

  He turned his head, giving her a hard, assessing look. “You gonna cry?” he demanded, in much the same tone he’d use if he was asking if she was a carrier of typhoid fever.

  Maggie returned his look. “No, I’m not going to cry.”’

  He picked up a small socket wrench and loosened a nut. “If there’s anything I hate, it’s a bawlin’ woman.”

  Maggie experienced a tug of humor. It was a darned good thing he hadn’t been around her the past few weeks. Spider removed the nut and bolt and threw them into a can filled with solvent. “You can’t have any more kids, huh?”

  “No.” Maggie ran her thumb along the seal in the pack of spark plugs, then folded her arms again. “I’m not sure I’d want to start all over even if I could.”

  Spider loosened two more nuts. “Makes sense, under the circumstances.” He stripped those out and tossed them in the container, then started to disassemble what seemed to be an oil-covered electrical motor. He spoke again, his tone just a little too innocent. “So why ain’t you been over sooner? You ain’t exactly a long way away.”

  Maggie looked across the shop, not wanting to recall how she’d felt the day they’d moved Tony’s things out. Once she was sure her voice wasn’t going to give out on her, she answered, “I knew he’d left town for a few weeks. And I knew he’d moved out.” She had to wait a minute before she could continue. “I thought he might show up here,” she said, her voice wavering a little, “but I haven’t seen him around.”

  “Ain’t been around.”

  Maggie studied the mechanic’s face. “Is he back?”

  “Yep. Been back a week or so.” He gave her a steady look. “Heard he’s plannin’ on moving to the States.”

  Experiencing an awful sinking sensation, Maggie tightened her arms and looked away. “I see,” she said very quietly. She stared out into the gray twilight, her heart absolutely hollow. That was it then; she had burnt all her bridges.

  “Ain’t seen him, ain’t talked to him, but—” he paused to wipe the motor with an oily rag “—I expect he’ll turn up at the Blue Hornet tonight. Some of us are headin’ over for a couple of beers and a little blues.”

  Her heart suddenly pounding, Maggie fixed her gaze oh the mechanic. “Spider?”

  He looked at her with that same steady look.

  She stared at him and swallowed hard, her heart climbing higher. “Are you telling me where he’s going to be?”

  Spider studied her for a moment, then a faint glint appeared in his eyes. “’Spect I am.”

  A thousand emotions breaking loose in her, Maggie reached up and kissed him on the cheek, not caring a damn if she got grease all over her. “Thanks, Spider,” she whispered, gratitude cramping up her throat. Maybe she had one more chance, after all.

  The place was packed, and Maggie had to scrunch up her shoulders to wedge herself through the crowd standing by the bar. She could barely breathe, but she didn’t know if it was from the thick layer of smoke or from the panic in her chest. After she’d left Spider, she’d gone straight home, but the moment she stepped through the door, a frantic kind of terror had rolled over her. She had done circuits around the house, trying to outrun it, but it had dogged her every step. She was scared out of her mind. During one single burst of courage, she had called a cab, knowing she would never get out of the alley if she drove herself.

  And now she was here, her heart the size of a basketball and her nerves in shreds. She was still scared to death to face him. After what had happened the last time, she knew she had about one chance in a million, but it was that one chance that kept her from heading back out the door.

  She had done her hair, put on some new clothes, fixed her makeup—but it didn’t help a bit. She still had this huge wad of dread bouncing around in her chest.

  Her hands clammy and her throat tight, she skirted the perimeter of the room, looking for someone—anyone—who might be with Tony. But after two careful circuits and several heart-stopping false alarms, Maggie knew he wasn’t there, and she began to truly feel like a mouse in a maze.

  Aware that she was beginning to get peculiar looks from the bouncer standing by the door, she made one final tack. Squeezing through the crowd of people standing just outside the short hallway leading to a fire exit, she made her way into the pool room, her insides twisting into knots. Let him be here, she prayed silently. Please, let him be here.

  That room was crowded as well, and it took some time to get through the congestion by the door, but once she had, the room thinned out.

  The first person she spotted was Spider. He was standing at the far right-hand side of the room, the butt of his cue resting on the floor, his hands wrapped around the tapered end. With her heart wedged in her throat, she scanned that end of the room, her fear climbing higher. Unable to spot Tony, she scanned the room again, her heart dropping abruptly to her shoes. He wasn’t there. The tightness in her chest got worse, and her throat closed up. God, he wasn’t there.

  Spider glanced toward the door and saw her, his expression bland. Attempting a smile, Maggie held out her hands and shrugged, not sure she could keep up any kind of a front. He narrowed his eyes, as if assessing her; then he stepped back and made a motion with his head, directing her gaze.

  Maggie went so weak her heart nearly stopped altogether. Tony was crouched down on the far side of the table, a long, thin aluminum case on the floor before him, and he was assembling a custom-made cue. He stood, handed the case to one of the men standing behind them, then tested the weight of the stick. He grinned and said something to Spider, then leaned over the table to line up a shot.

  Grounded by indecision, Maggie stared at him, afraid to stay, even more afraid to go. Anxiety made her palms itch, and she glanced at Spider, her expression stark. He grinned again and motioned her over with a jerk of his head.

  Certain she was damned no matter what she did, she turned right and slipped between two tables, feeling as if there was an avalanche happening in her stomach. Deliberately staying out of Tony’s field of view, she went over to where Spider was standing, her heart pounding.

&nbs
p; She opened her mouth to speak to him, but he shook his head, put his finger to his lips and shoved the cue into her hand. Then he gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Maggie knew what he was doing: he was setting Tony up. And she didn’t have a clue what to do. But before she got a chance to decide, Tony spoke. “Okay, Spider,” he said, slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the wooden rim of the table. “Now we get serious. This cue is a honey, and I’m gonna clean you out.”

  Spider went over to the table and put some coins in the slot, releasing the balls Tony had sunk. Setting the balls and the rack on the table, he gave Tony a sly smile over his shoulder. “Since we’re playing for hard, cold cash, I hired me a ringer.”

  Grinning at Spider’s little joke, Tony turned and reached for a bottle of beer sitting on the side table, his expression going perfectly still when he saw Maggie standing there. He didn’t say anything; then his face hardened and he turned away. He took a long pull on the beer, set it back on the table, then turned back, his jaw rigid, his eyes like ice. “Fine,” he said, his tone flat. He picked up a cube from the edge of the table and chalked his cue; then he looked at her, not a trace of expression in his eyes. “Put your money on the table. Best two out of three.”

  A nasty little flutter took off in Maggie’s throat, and she felt the blood rush to her middle. It got unnaturally quiet in their corner, and she tried to swallow the awful feeling climbing up inside her. Still gripping the cue, she opened her handbag, took a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet, then zipped her bag. Without looking at Tony, she pulled her purse strap off her shoulder, then set the bag beside the bottle of beer.

  Turning back to the table, she placed the.bill beside the one Tony had laid down. Knowing he would never talk to her, knowing this was the one and only chance she was going to get, she said a silent prayer, then wiggled her grandmother’s wedding ring off her finger. Hoping everyone watching would think it was something she normally did, she placed it very carefully in the center of the paper money. Steeling herself, she looked at Tony, hoping he would see it for what it was. He looked from the ring to her, his jaw rock hard, not a trace of forgiveness in his eyes.

  He stared at her for a good ten seconds, then spoke, his tone like steel. “Call it.”

  Dread building within her, she held his gaze, her heart hammering. “My win.”

  He gave a cold, insolent smile, and Maggie knew. If he won, the game was truly over. And she’d lose far more than twenty dollars and a gold ring.

  And she knew with sickening clarity that the game was over anyway.

  That same contemptuous smile on his face, he continued to stare at her.’ “Your break.”

  Trying to close down inside, trying not to think at all, Maggie bent over, bridged her hand on the table and lined up her shot, counting on nothing but experience to get her through.’

  It was a bad break. And Maggie was a long way from championship form. She was shaking so badly inside that she couldn’t stay focused, and she badly misjudged a bank shot. But what killed her was that it became increasingly clear that Tony was playing a focused, cutthroat game, and he was doing his damnedest to annihilate her.

  The first game was close. But it was his win.

  In the second, she didn’t have a chance. She was so sick inside, so close to tears, that she could barely see, and she completely blew her first shot.

  Chalking the end of his cue, he gave her a long, level look, his face set; then he bent down, his voice curt. “Red ball in the corner pocket.” And without another glance at her, he ran the table with single-minded thoroughness, making one impossible shot after another. Having run all the solids, he spoke, his voice slicing through the silence. “Eight ball in the side pocket.”

  With a sharp report of white against black, the black ball disappeared in the side well. And it was over.

  Feeling like she was dying inside, Maggie forced a smile, then placed her cue on the table. “Good game.” Without looking at anyone, she went over and picked up her purse. Turning to leave, she touched Spider on the arm, her throat too tight, too clogged with tears to speak. Determined to keep her dignity intact, she walked away from the table, her spine ramrod straight. All she had to do was keep it together until she got to the exit door.

  But the minute she turned down the short hallway, the awful pressure in her chest overrode her determination, and her vision blurred. A sob wedged in her throat as blind panic gripped her. Out. She had to get out. She had to get out right now.

  She had her hand on the safety bar of the door when she was caught from behind, whirled around and shoved back against the wall. And suddenly, she was face-to-face with a furious Tony Parnelli.

  Clenching her teeth to hold back the tears, she closed her eyes and turned her head away, so destroyed that she couldn’t meet his gaze. Grasping her by the jaw, he forced her face up, and for one split second, she thought he was going to strangle her.

  His eyes flashing with anger, he pressed her back against the wall, so furious that his voice shook. “For two cents I’d strangle you right here, Burrows. Where the hell do you get off pulling a damned stunt like that? The rest of my life is not going to be based on some damned joke, and it isn’t going to depend on some stupid challenge.”

  Tears slipping down her face, Maggie tried to twist away, but he thrust her head up, his face inches from hers. “There was no bloody way I was going to let you win. No bloody way. Because I’m not going to let some damned game determine the rest of my life.” His breathing rapid, he stared at her, as if trying to get his fury under control. “Damn it, Maggie. You drive me crazy.” Then, with a rough exhalation of air, he clenched his eyes shut and hauled her into his arms, jerking her head against his shoulder. “God,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’d just about given up on you. And this time I’m not letting you go.”

  The sobs broke loose, and Maggie wound her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, a crazy kind of relief rushing through her. “Marry me,” she murmured brokenly. “I want you to marry me.” Clutching his head, she tightened her hold, tears slipping down her face. “I need you in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Tightening his own grasp, he whispered against her hair, his voice ragged, “There’s isn’t a chance in hell you’re going to lose me. No damned way.” He ran his hand up her back, then hugged her hard. “You’re mine, Burrows. I just wish it hadn’t taken you so damned long to figure that out.”

  Her bedroom was dark, but the sky was starting to lighten, and Maggie shifted her head on Tony’s shoulder and smiled, slowly caressing his chest. It was a miracle she could move at all. She felt as if she’d been through a nuclear meltdown.

  Tony tightened his arm, giving her a little hug. “Are you smiling, Tink?”

  She smiled again and gave him a light pinch. “Yes, I am.”

  Running his hand up her arm, he gave her another hug. “You’re really going to marry me?”

  Maggie closed her eyes and hugged him back, pure happiness making her eyes fill up. “Oh yes, I am.”

  Tony rubbed her shoulder again, and she felt him smile. When he spoke next, his tone was serious. “Are your other kids going to have a problem with that?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed and ran her hand up his rib cage, trying to reassure him. “Haley won’t, but Shawn might. At first. It takes him a little while to work things through.”

  It took Tony a few minutes to consider that; then he spoke again, his voice heavy with reluctance. “We can wait, if it’s going to be a problem.”

  Raising up on one elbow, she gazed down at him, his face indistinct in the semidarkness. “I don’t want to wait,” she said softly. “I don’t want to waste another day.”

  His expression sober, Tony reached up and tucked back a strand of her hair. “And I don’t want to cause problems with your kids.”

  Cupping his face, she leaned down and kissed him, loving him so much her chest felt as if it might split wide open. She lifted her head and gazed down at him. �
��It’ll all work out,” she whispered softly. “I know it will. All it’s going to take is some time.”

  Tony released a sigh. “God, I hope so.” He touched her hair again, then smiled. “You’re looking pretty good there, Burrows. You nearly blew me out of the water when you sashayed up to that pool table.”

  Smiling down at him through the heavy twilight, she pinched his lips together. “Then it wasn’t me. I couldn’t sashay if my life depended on it.” She ran her fingertip along his bottom lip, then met his gaze, her own expression serious. “I want to tell you about that—about my reformation.”

  He reached up and caressed her jaw with his knuckles. “So tell me,” he said, his tone gentle.

  The room had lightened considerably by the time she finished telling him everything—all that she had learned about herself. Stroking his face with the back of her hand, she looked directly into his eyes. “I wanted you know,” she said, her voice a little husky, “so you won’t always be wondering if I’m going to bolt. I want you to know that I don’t have a single doubt about us. I don’t care if I’m nine years older. I love you, no matter what.”

  Catching her by the back of the head, he drew her down, his mouth soft and warm and unbearably gentle against hers. “Then we’re home free, Maggie,” he whispered against her lips. “We’re damned well home free.” Then she felt him smile. “This is much better than the garage.”

  She gave him a sharp poke and pulled away, narrowing her eyes. “Now who’s pushing his luck?”

  Running his hand up her back, he glanced at the clock on her bedside table, then looked at her, his smile a little off center. “According to the clock, I am.” Using both hands, he brushed her hair back, smoothing his thumbs across her cheekbones. “It’s quarter to five, babe,” he said, his voice low with regret. “I’d better clear out.”