by Ryanne Corey
“Maybe someday? You sound a little undecided.”
“Actually I’m a lot undecided.” He shrugged, stirring his soft drink with a straw. “It’s just a thought.”
“It’s a good thought,” Maxie said quietly. She smiled, her amazing eyes reflecting the soft light from a nearby window. “Just think, you’ll be able to show the world you’re more than just a pretty face.”
“Oh, now I feel better,” Connor muttered. “She thinks I’m pretty.”
“Well, you are,” Maxie went on blithely, enjoying his obvious discomfort. “You have the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re wearing mascara.”
“Quit it.”
“And that golf shirt does absolutely wonderful things for your chest. You must work out a lot.”
“Quit it.”
“Don’t you like compliments?”
“I like giving compliments. However, if you will have dinner with me tonight, you may compliment me up one side and down the other. I’ll even wear something form-fitting.”
“Tempting as that sounds, I can’t.” Maxie’s smile faded as she slipped off the stool and put a five-dollar bill on the counter. There was an undercurrent of friendliness going on here, and she couldn’t afford to be friends with Connor Garrett. “It’s too complicated, Connor. We both know the real reason you’re here. Taking me to dinner isn’t going to make me change my mind about the interview.”
Connor’s half smile fell short of reaching his eyes. “That’s that, then?”
“You’ve been a worthy adversary,” Maxie added ruefully. “I wish you the best with—”
“Wait.” He touched her arm briefly. “I’ll be here until tomorrow. If for any reason you change your mind about the interview or the dinner, please call me.”
“Goodbye, Connor.”
“Wait.” He had a terrible feeling if he let her walk out the door, he’d never see her again. He frantically scanned his brain for a good reason to delay her, even for a few seconds. “I have one last question for you.”
She raised a droll glance heavenward. “I should have known.”
“Uhhmm…if you were the young woman known once upon a time as Glitter Baby, your christened name was Frances Calhoon. How did you come up with the name Maxie?”
“I suppose I might have gone with my middle name, which just might have been the name my parents called me, anyway.” Her serene smile reminded Connor of the Mona Lisa. “But that’s just a guess.”
Connor watched her walk out of the drugstore with his mouth hanging open. Her middle name? It was that simple? Her middle name?
“Sir? Anything else you want?” This from the teenage waitress, who sounded quite put out. Connor blinked at her, wondering how long she had been standing there.
Connor couldn’t think of a single reason in the world to smile, but he managed one anyway. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing I can have, at any rate.”
He called Morris the moment he returned to his hotel room. “Why didn’t we know her middle name was Maxie?”
“I’m not sure,” Morris said carefully. “Is this a trick question? Does my paycheck depend on my answer?”
“Her middle name is Maxie. And get this—she’s listed in the damned Oakley phone book, plain as day. Maxie Calhoon.”
Silence. Then, hesitantly, “We probably should have known that. How did you find out?”
“She told me,” Connor said flatly. “Which seems to be the only way I can get any dependable information on her.”
Morris cleared his throat. “Not very sporting of her, to use her own name. Obviously, she doesn’t play fair. Then again,” he added philosophically, “neither do we.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Oh…nothing, really. Just the nature of the business, you know. The sly bird gets the worm.”
“Whatever,” Connor muttered, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I gave her until tomorrow to change her mind, but it’s not going to happen.”
“Never say never. Miracles still happen. Besides, I’ve talked to Alan Greenspan’s people. I think we could work something out.”
“Go after Glitter Baby, come back with Alan Greenspan. It will take me some time to adjust to that one, Morris.”
“Is it that big a deal?” Morris queried hesitantly. “I mean…we tried, but we can’t win them all. If it doesn’t work out, just forget about her and move on.”
Sam glanced at the bedside table where Maxie’s photographs were scattered. Every picture was seared into his soul, every expression memorized. And yet…they didn’t do her justice, they didn’t begin to capture the essence of the woman. She was inside him like a powerful drug, heating his blood, waking him up to the unsatisfied shell of his own need.
“I can’t,” he said softly. “I can’t.”
Four
Rather than returning to her truck, Maxie walked to the end of Main Street where her mother’s antique shop was located, tucked cozily between the Anglers’ Inn and the Oakley post office. She pushed the screen door open with the heel of her hand, then nearly jumped out of her skin when the shrill sound of a rooster crowing assaulted her ears. “Yikes! What the devil?”
“Maxie, is that you? Honey, I’m sorry.” Natalie came dashing in from the back room, a blue gingham scarf wildly askew on her flying dark hair. She had a smear of dirt on her chin, which was typical, and her hands were painted green, which was not. “Ralph Henley hooked up this gosh-awful contraption to the door this morning. He calls it a Ring-a-Ding-Doodle and says every shopkeeper must have one for security. I couldn’t refuse it, but I am planning on accidentally breaking it later today. How are you, sweetie?”
“You and your boyfriends,” Maxie teased, giving her mother a hug. Natalie was not only one of the few available women in town, but also happened to resemble Sophia Loren in her younger days. The poor widowers and bachelor farmers of Oakley had been throwing themselves at her right and left for nearly three years now. Oddly enough, Natalie was still bewildered by the attention.
“Ralph is not a boyfriend,” Natalie replied, “as you very well know. He’s just a very nice fellow who invents really bad things. Honey, scratch my nose. It itches, and I’m covered with paint. Do you like the shade of my hands? It’s a nice color, don’t you think?”
“Very attractive.” Maxie did as she was told, shaking her head at her mother’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. In her worn jeans and sweatshirt, Natalie looked more like Maxie’s sister than her mother. “What are you working on today?”
“Oh, I’ve had the best morning. I found a lovely old cedar chest at the swap meet. I’m painting it sage green and it’s turning out beautifully. It’s on the sun-porch; come and take a look.”
“Actually,” Maxie sighed with resignation, hating to put a damper on her mother’s high spirits, “we need to talk. I had a little bit of a surprise yesterday, and I thought you might be able to give me some advice.”
Natalie’s observant blue gaze studied her daughter’s expression. “This isn’t a happy surprise, is it? Hang on, I’ll go wash my hands and then we’ll have a good chat.”
Maxie looked about the shop while her mother was out of the room. It was a marvelous, magical place, crowded with everything from old-fashioned birdbaths to Victorian stained-glass lamps. For twenty-four years Natalie had been a quiet, hard-working farmer’s wife, with neither the time nor the opportunity to follow her own dreams. Since becoming a widow, however, she’d taken on the world with open arms and a hopeful heart. Like Maxie, Natalie Calhoon had turned out to be a survivor.
“Here, I brought you a cola.” Natalie carried one can for herself and one for her daughter, with a bag of pretzels under her arm. “Now come and sit down and tell me absolutely everything.”
Thirty minutes later they were both on their second soft drink, the pretzels were gone and Maxie’s mother knew absolutely everything. Natalie was quiet, gazing into space while she mulled over all that her daught
er had said. “Do you want my honest opinion?” she said finally, meeting her daughter’s troubled gaze.
“Of course I do.”
“I’d look on this interview with Connor Garrett as a godsend. With the amount of money he’s offering, you won’t have to refinance your farm and you can pay off the lien on the property as well. It’s as easy as that.”
Maxie blinked at her mother. “What? After everything I’ve gone through to start a new life, you think I should resurrect Glitter Baby?”
“Glitter Baby can’t hurt you anymore,” Natalie said calmly. “There was a time when you needed anonymity, a time when you needed to heal. You’ve done that, sweetheart. You’re stronger now. You have confidence in yourself, and you love this new life you’ve built. Connor Garrett can’t take that away from you, Maxie. No one can.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Maxie murmured, thinking back to the fragile, battle-scarred woman who had quite literally run for her life two years earlier. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that she might have finally gained the strength and understanding to reconcile her past and her future. “You really think I should do the interview?”
“Why ever not?” Natalie asked simply. “Show the world what I already know—Maxie Calhoon not only survived, but she did it beautifully.”
“But afterwards…you know as well as I do the reporters and photographers will be coming out of the woodwork.”
Natalie shrugged. “Probably, but the curiosity will be short-lived. Darling, I hate to tell you this, but raising milk cows is not the stuff miniseries are made of. You have become,” Natalie lowered her voice theatrically, “ordinary.”
Maxie’s lips quirked into a faint smile that grew into a full fledged grin as laughter overtook her. “Good heavens, you’re right! I’m ordinary. Isn’t that the most wonderful thing?”
Laughing, Natalie threw her arms around her daughter and hugged her tightly. “Poor Connor Garrett. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s up against.”
So this was the wild, wild west.
As Connor hesitated in the doorway of the Silver Horseshoe Bar, he realized two things. One, Maxie Calhoon had not arrived yet. She was the sort of person who stood out from the crowd, regardless of how hard she tried to blend in. And two, he seemed to be the only male in the place who wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat.
He briefly regretted the impulse that had prompted him to don a peach-colored knit shirt. Such a shirt was perfectly acceptable in a California sushi bar, but the Silver Horseshoe subscribed to another dress code entirely. Everybody looked like Clint Eastwood, with sun-browned skin, pearl-buttoned shirts and tight-fitting Wranglers. Everyone but Connor, who felt like a pink flamingo in a sea of faded denim.
He took a seat at the far end of the bar and ordered a whiskey rather than his usual martini. He never drank whiskey, but in all the western movies he had ever watched, everyone who patronized a saloon drank whiskey. As far as Connor could recall, John Wayne had never sidled up to the bar and ordered a martini. He sipped the drink slowly, pulling a face each time he raised the glass to his lips. Still, he forced himself to continue drinking until a pleasant warm rush was pumping through his veins and the tension in his shoulders eased up a bit. He’d been on edge ever since Maxie’s phone call earlier that afternoon. She had asked him to meet her for drinks at the Silver Horseshoe. When he’d questioned whether it was business or pleasure, she’d merely replied, “I’m not out to seduce you, if that’s what you mean.”
Connor had no idea where his ordinarily unflappable composure had run off to. He felt out of his element, not at all knowing what to expect. He could handle politicians, actors, writers and rock stars, but one former supermodel known as Glitter Baby seemed to have him on a very short leash. Every time he turned around, she was throwing him a curve.
And speaking of curves…Connor’s head swiveled as he heard the front door swing open. Maxie stood in the fuzzy red light from a neon sign on the wall, looking around the room. She wasn’t dressed as a farmer tonight. No hat, no grimy boots, no ponytail. She wore her hair loose and wild around her shoulders, huge silver hoop earrings glinting through the strands. Fitted black jeans were paired with a long-sleeved turquoise tank top, lovingly outlining every curve from her ankles to her breasts. A silver chain belt inlaid with turquoise stones glittered at her waist.
Connor felt his throat go desert-dry and his heartbeat kick into a frantic tango. He tossed back the last of his whiskey and thought, I’m in deep trouble here.
She waved as she caught sight of him at the bar, crossing the room through an obstacle course of tables and chairs. Her walk was a study of beauty in motion, her long legs moving with innate grace, shoulders instinctively back and her head high. Connor watched every weathered cowboy in the room stare at this exotic creature in their midst. He took a primitive satisfaction in knowing she was walking towards him.
“You don’t even notice it, do you?” he said by way of greeting, rather proud his voice didn’t quiver.
Maxie slipped on the stool next to him, folding her arms on the bar. “Don’t notice what?”
“The sudden surge of testosterone in the room. Every eye in the place is on you and you don’t even blink.”
“Battle scars from doing too many fashion shows. When you’re on a runway in front of hundreds of people, you learn to block everything out except getting from point A to point B without tripping and falling flat on your face.”
“So she finally admits it,” Connor murmured softly, his eyes widening with surprise. He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Connor Garrett. And you are…?”
She hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and shook his hand. “Frances Maxine Calhoon,” she responded. “But you can call me Maxie.”
He felt a wave of soft delight go through him, knowing she was finally letting down her barriers. “And what line of work are you in, Maxie?”
She got a gaint, rueful grin. “Cows.”
His smile matched hers. “Really? What do you do with them?”
“Milk ’em.”
“How creative. Do you enjoy your work?”
“Very much,” she said quietly, looking down at their clasped hands. “Connor?”
“What?”
“Could I have it back?”
“What?”
“My hand.”
He cleared his throat, and released his grip. “Sorry. It’s not every day I meet a genuine cow milker. I’m somewhat in awe.” This, at least, was the absolute truth. He was completely lost in the curious demanding feelings that filled the air between them. Lost in the impossibly lush curves of her pink-tinted lips. Lost in the thick-lashed violet eyes he could never get away from in his mind.
The bartender planted himself in front of Maxie, staring for a full thirty seconds before he found his voice. “What can I get you?”
“A pin˜a colada,” she said. Then, when the bartender remained frozen in place, “Is there a problem with that?”
“There’s no problem yet,” Connor interjected in a smooth voice that barely disguised his irritation. “But there will be if he doesn’t pull himself together in the next two seconds. Pin˜a colada, buddy.”
The bartender blinked and bustled away. Maxie turned a startled gaze on Connor. “What got into you? That wasn’t very polite.”
Connor shrugged. “Considering what I wanted to do to him,” he replied, “it was extremely polite. His mother should have taught him better manners.”
Quite simply, Maxie did not know what to make of him. It seemed Connor’s confident, composed exterior disguised a man who was very human. “You aren’t at all what you appear to be,” she said thoughtfully.
“Who is?” Connor replied. “We all wear different masks for different occasions. It’s the way of the world.”
“Your world, maybe,” Maxie replied, staring down at her hands on the bar. “Not mine. Not anymore. Living like that takes too great a toll. There’s no joy in life when you’re living a
lie.”
He could tell this level of honesty was hard for her, yet she seemed determined to drop any further pretense. “Why did you call me, Maxie? Why the sudden about-face?”
She took her time before answering. “Let’s just say I find myself between a rock and a hard place. As things stand, I don’t have any choice but to go ahead with the interview.”
Connor stared at her. “You continually take me by surprise,” he said finally, shaking his head. “This afternoon you say goodbye and good riddance forever, tonight you agree to do the interview. Not that I’m not delighted, but…what’s going on?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s what I don’t want, but I have no choice. As long as you agree to a few ground rules, we’ll go ahead and get it over with.”
Connor’s ego gave a little wince. “You know, maybe you’ll find it won’t be such a terrible experience. Hell, you might even enjoy it. People have said I make it easy for them to talk, painless even.”
“That’s not necessarily a good thing. If you’re not careful, words can be twisted and used against you. It happened to me over and over. People love tawdry scandals far more than simple truths.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said quietly.
She smiled at the bartender as he delivered her drink. He was very careful not to smile back, keeping a wary eye on Connor. “I suppose that remains to be seen,” she replied matter-of-factly, pulling the paper umbrella from her drink and twirling it between two fingers. “I won’t put on any pretenses. I’m no longer in the business of people-pleasing. I still have a farm to take care of, cows to milk, a garden to weed, all that sort of scintillating stuff. You’ll have to work around me.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
She met his eyes squarely. “You won’t reveal my exact whereabouts. You can say I’m somewhere in the west, but don’t be more specific than that. I don’t have an agent anymore, I don’t have bodyguards, alarm systems, a doorman or a concierge. This is a whole new ballgame. It’s just me against the world now, and I have to be careful.”