by Carol Voss
And even with all the tension hanging between them now, she couldn’t deny she missed him even more than she’d realized.
* * *
Tony thumped his pillow with his fist and did his best to cling to his dream. In it, he and Maggie were all grown up. They were in her tree house again. And they were just about to kiss.
He swiped his hand across his face to discourage the annoyance. Dream vanishing, he realized somebody was dripping water on him. Wide-awake now, he sat upright to confront the prankster.
A flash of lightning lit up the windows lining three walls in the upstairs three-season porch. Thunder crashed. The dull plop of dripping water droned around him. He’d heard that sound too many nights in the rain forest not to recognize it. The roof was leaking. Big-time.
It had been too dark to check the roof when he’d given the place a once-over after leaving Maggie in her office. He hauled himself out of the small, old-fashioned bed, pulled on his jeans and flipped on the light switch by the door.
A dim glow from the ancient ceiling fixture did little to chase away the deep shadows. But he could make out water running along a crack in the ceiling and unloading directly over his bed. Judging from the musty smell, the sagging roof and the stained plaster in many of the rooms, the leaks weren’t limited to the flat roof covering this room.
Turning on his heel, he walked barefoot into the hall and switched on the light. If he could find a flashlight, the rain would make it easy to inspect the attic to see how bad the leaking problem was.
One more thing to add to the list of reasons Maggie should not be thinking about spending money on this place. Somehow, he had to make her listen.
She’d been wired as tight as a fiddle string in her office tonight. But being with her had triggered memories of how close they’d once been. So close, they’d often finished each other’s sentences.
Where would they be if he’d stayed? Married? Maybe with several kids? Would he feel trapped? Would she?
Striding down the hall past her closed door, he wondered if she was dreaming about him. He grunted. Fat chance. Her dreams probably centered around profit-and-loss statements and this old house. He sprinted down the stairs, switched on lights to illuminate the way and assaulted the kitchen cabinets in search of a flashlight.
Thunder rumbled low and ominous. Lights flickered. The electricity had better hold, at least until he found a flashlight.
“Shh. You’ll wake Hannah.” Maggie’s soft voice, heavy with sleep, drifted to him. “What are you doing?”
He drew back from the cupboard and peered at her. Her copper curls stood on end, jutting in all directions in little corkscrews. She sure looked cute. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, Blossom. Do you know where I can find a flashlight?”
As if in a fog, she padded barefoot to the back door, took a flashlight from the shelf above the coatrack and brought it to him. “Why do you need a flashlight?”
He took the light. “I need to check out the attic for leaks. The roof on the three-season porch is a sieve.”
She frowned. “Sorry about that. But do you have to check the attic in the middle of the night?”
“The rain will make it easy to see where the leaks are.” Even better idea, she could see the leaking roof firsthand. He eyed her bare feet, remembering how freaked out she’d been the time a June bug attached itself to her pinkie toe. “Why don’t you come along? But you might want to put on some shoes first.”
“You aren’t wearing shoes.”
“You aren’t worried you’ll step on a bug or something?”
She dismissed his warning with the wave of her hand. “I’m not afraid of bugs anymore.”
Hmm. “What about mice and rats? Have you outgrown your fear of those, too?”
She turned to give him a blistering look. “There aren’t any rats in Stella’s house.”
“You sure?”
She pursed her mouth as it apparently dawned on her he might be teasing.
It occurred to him that he’d never seen more delectable lips.
She frowned. “Let’s go.”
He forced his mind back to the issue at hand. The rain. Showing her the leaks in the attic. The rats. “All I need is a weapon.”
“What for?”
“For the rats.”
“Tony—” She gave him a look that told him she wasn’t going to take the bait again.
He peered at her with exaggerated gravity. “Rats are one thing I’ve learned to expect on building sites, and I’m seldom disappointed. Even though I’m not one to brag about my exploits, I’ve single-handedly managed to exterminate large numbers of them.”
She shivered. “This is one of the reasons you enjoy exploring faraway places so much?”
He laughed. “Believe me, no place is nearly as threatening as the stagnation of good old Noah’s Crossing.”
She gave him a look and closed her eyes as if to shut out what she didn’t want to hear.
Teasing her was fun, but he probably shouldn’t have made that crack about Noah’s Crossing. He strode over and opened the closet where Nonna kept cleaning tools when he was a boy. Apparently, she still did. He grabbed a broom and raised it over his head. “My weapon.”
She laughed a hearty, mellow sound that touched a responsive chord deep within him. “Well, Blossom, if you’re up to taking on the dangers that lurk in Nonna’s attic, follow me.”
Pumping the broom like a baton, he marched up the steps, Maggie padding softly behind him. He led the way down the hall, through the door to the attic stairs and followed the beam of his flashlight up the narrow staircase into the hot, humid attic.
The distinct odor of rotting wood rode the air before he heard the drone of dripping water. Stepping onto the planked floor, he swept the flashlight beam across pans and cans of every conceivable size and shape dutifully collecting water streaming from the ceiling. “What is all this?”
“Containers to catch the water. We empty them and put them back for the next rain.”
He stared at her. “That’s how you handle the leaky roof? Just empty the cans to catch more rain?”
“Stella is one to make do. There’s a big dry area on the other side.” She pointed. “We keep anything of value there.”
“Great plan,” he grumbled. Sweeping his light to the ceiling, it spread over large areas of soaked, blackened wood. It was even worse than he’d expected. And a perfect picture for Maggie. “Would you look at that. The rafters are rotting. See?”
He ran the light along a rafter, giving her time to see the destruction. Then he focused the beam on the unplanked area of the floor. “The batts of insulation are compacted and discolored, too. No doubt, the subfloor under them is rotted and the plaster throughout the house is soaked, which explains the stains I saw. Add that to corroded plumbing and electric wires so crisp with age they’re a fire waiting to happen, and you’ve got a very big problem.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
Everywhere he ran the flashlight beam, he spotted more damage. “I don’t need to exaggerate. You wouldn’t believe what I found when I did a survey of the old place after I left your office. Maggie, this house is about to fall down around your ears.”
“Don’t be silly.” She sounded as if she was talking through clenched teeth.
“The entire top of the house needs to be ripped off and built new.” He turned to her, expecting her to concede that he was right about the house. And if she needed comforting, he was definitely up to the task.
But there she stood, her spine as stiff as a pole, her chin as lofty as the highest beam and her head totally in the clouds. “If all that has to be done, it has to be done.”
He stared in disbelief. “It would cost a fortune.”
“T
hen I’ll find a way to get it.”
She wasn’t dense. Or that stubborn. He narrowed his eyes, ready to hammer home his point.
She put up her hand as if to stop him. “Your nonna is my family. After my parents died in the car accident, she took me in. Just like that. She’s loved me like a daughter. Given me roots. I don’t know what I’d have done without her. And I don’t know what I’d do without her now.” Her brown eyes sparkled with tears.
Please…not tears. Her tears had always done weird things to him. Still did. He’d never had a clue how to deal with them. Still didn’t. He stepped closer and put his arm around her shoulders.
She leaned into him. “Tony, she gave me everything when I needed her. Now she needs me. And I will never let that wonderful woman down.”
Her fierce loyalty had always taken his breath away. The loyalty she’d once given him. “Nonna’s lucky to have you, Maggie.”
“I’m the lucky one. She has to get better. She has to.”
“You think if she can come back to her house, it will help her get well. But you can’t change the facts about this place.”
Maggie raised her chin a notch, a sure sign she’d made up her mind. “With God’s help, I will do whatever I have to.”
She would, too. And God pity the man who stood in her way.
Chapter Five
Maggie drove west, listening to a client on her speakerphone. The scent of earth and growing plants rode the hot breeze blowing through the window. Puffy white clouds floated in the late-afternoon sky. Variegated greens of June danced across hills and fields.
But Maggie’s frame of mind was anything but carefree. Although this morning’s meeting between Stella and Tony hadn’t featured fireworks, Stella was tired and irritable and she’d refused her nine o’clock physical-therapy session. Tony’s offering of sticky buns had been only a marginal hit. He’d teamed up with Maggie to try to lift Stella’s spirits, but they hadn’t succeeded.
Maggie dragged her attention back to her client’s nervous chatter on the speaker. It was a beautiful Saturday, but just another workday in the busy landscaping season. “Please let me do the worrying, Mrs. Dobbs. It’s one of the things you’re paying me for. I just called to tell you to expect my crew Monday at 6:00 a.m. sharp.” She ended the call.
She pushed her speed-dial and squinted into the sun, noticing a big puff of blackish smoke billowing ahead. Somebody must be burning garbage. Lots of it.
“Physical Therapy. This is Jim.”
“Hi, Jim. How did it go with Stella this afternoon?”
“I was about to call you. She refused physical therapy again. Her occupational therapist coaxed her to try, but Stella had trouble concentrating. And I just checked. She’s sacked out for the night. She didn’t have the best day.”
Tension grabbed between Maggie’s shoulder blades. Did Stella’s day have anything to do with last night’s argument with Tony? Had they argued today after she’d left them? “She needs to do her therapy to get well. What can I do?”
“Keep on doing what you’re doing. Stop in for short visits. Keep bringing flowers that remind her of her garden and her home. Whatever you think might motivate her. It’s important we don’t let her give up.”
Maggie nodded as if he could see her. Jim had been her rock ever since Stella’s accident.
“Are you headed home, Maggie?”
“Yes.”
“Want to meet at the diner for a quick bite?”
“Not tonight. I’m beat. I’m going to settle for a sandwich and go to bed early.”
“How about tomorrow night? We could drive to Dun Harbor and take in a movie. Might be just what the doctor ordered. Want to go?”
“Tomorrow probably won’t work. Stella’s grandson is home.”
“Oh? Tony’s back? How long is he staying?”
“He’s staying only a week.”
A pause stretched between them. “Well, maybe we can take in that movie next weekend then?”
Jim was such a nice guy, and she knew he liked her and wanted to start a relationship. Trouble was, she didn’t know how she felt about that. And she certainly wasn’t prepared to think about it at the moment. “We’ll see.”
“Fair enough.”
She felt bad at the disappointment in his voice.
“Try not to worry about Stella,” he said. “Let’s hope she does better tomorrow.”
Maggie clicked off, worry and weariness clouding her mind and tugging at her limbs. She’d traipsed around a client’s garden all afternoon. She was sweaty, her shoes were muddy, her gray slacks were rumpled and her blouse had a smudge. She’d fallen a long way from the polished professional image she strove to project, which didn’t seem important compared to Stella’s welfare.
The black billow of smoke still hung in the sky like a dark premonition. It seemed awfully close to Stella’s place. Tony’s comment on the electrical wiring being a fire waiting to happen hovered in her mind.
She could smell it now. A foul odor, but without the sweet tinge of burning garbage. It couldn’t be the house, could it? Tony wouldn’t—no. Maybe he was burning the old sheds. The close proximity of two towering hickories to the buildings flitted into her mind. Surely, he’d realize he couldn’t burn the sheds where they stood.
Taking the big curve, Maggie could see the smoke rose from behind the house, farther away than the sheds. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She turned into the driveway and pulled alongside Tony’s motorcycle. She shut off the engine, jumped out and strode around the house. The boards for the ramp were gone. But they were new boards. Why would he burn those?
She turned to look for the trail of smoke. It drifted up just beyond the woods.
The wildflower meadow? Her mind shot into overload. The beautiful prairie plants that had taken years to establish were thriving gloriously. Interrupting them now would probably kill them.
She took off at a jog, winding her way through the trees. He wouldn’t realize how much time and effort ridding the meadow of weed competitors had taken. But surely, he’d recognize wildflowers when he saw them.
She reached the clearing, warm and a little out of breath. Twenty feet away, thick black smoke billowed from a huge mound of smoldering rubble, a languid flame licking the edges. The burning heap lay smack-dab in the middle of an explosion of blue false indigo.
How could he destroy a field of living plants? Especially plants as beautiful as these? When she got her hands on him…
A shape took form, striding from behind the blanket of smoke. Tony. In jeans and work boots, his bronze chest streaked with dirt and soot. “Hi, Blossom. Didn’t hear you drive in.”
Sweaty, reeking of smoke, he looked like a pillaging warrior. And he loomed over her, his mere presence a force to be reckoned with.
She’d reckon with him, all right. Just as soon as she caught her breath. “How could you? How could you?”
Hanging his big hands on his slim hips, he looked around blankly. “How could I what?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Burning my past. You should try it sometime.”
She shifted her gaze to the fire, homed in on gold nuggets glinting in the sun on the top of the smoldering heap. Buttons of a navy blue uniform trimmed with red-and-white braid. “You’re burning your band uniform?” she sputtered in disbelief.
“Several sizes.” He bent and grasped the contents of one of the boxes at his feet. “Nonna must have thought I’d have some use for my father’s old sheet music for violin. I don’t.” He threw the stack, sheet music fanning out and floating down into the fire, the edges crinkling and turning brown.
Maggie wanted to tell him he might someday wish he’d kept something so important to his father. I
nstead, she dragged an agitated breath of hot, smoky air, the sight of her beautiful indigos crumpling in the heat reigniting her anger. She pointed an accusing finger at the pile. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Eyeing her warily, he cocked one of those irritating eyebrows. “What has you so steamed?”
“Look around you. What do you see?”
He half turned, squinting at his handiwork. “A fire…burning junk.”
“What else?” She spotted a rake near the pile and strode to pick it up. Raking the edges of the fire to prevent it from spreading, she waited for him to notice the variety of tall grasses waving in the breeze, the brilliant yellow lanceleaf coreopsis covering the southern slope, the white sea of delicate shooting stars near the indigos.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Trying to contain the fire.”
“Why?”
She waved a hand to encompass the beauty around him. “What do you see?” she repeated.
“I see an open field.”
“No, Tony, that’s not what you see.” Her voice had taken on a lethal quiet she didn’t recognize.
He scowled.
She drew in another deep breath of scorching air in an attempt to calm herself. It didn’t work. “You are looking at a wildflower meadow that has taken Stella and me years to establish.”
He scanned the meadow and the burning heap of rubble, then settled his comprehending gaze on her face. “Whoops.” He grabbed the rake from her and beat out flames licking the edges of the fire. “It looked like an open field to me.”
“Didn’t the flowers give you a clue this field might be somewhat different than just any field?”
Raking hard, he prevented the fire from expanding to consume any more of the flowers. “We have a hard time clearing land in the rain forest. Flowers and plants grow everywhere, big ones, exotic ones—all wild. I had no idea these were valuable to anyone. Honest.”