She sat. She clasped her hands in her lap. She twiddled her thumbs. She looked everywhere but at him as he stalked the enormous room in search of shoes.
At his growl of exasperation, she finally sighed. "I don't want to get involved in your family problems," she stated baldly.
"Tell me about it," he agreed with venom. He didn't mean to make her flinch, he just couldn't help himself right now. He kicked the sandal until it landed upside down on a sneaker. "Go ahead," he finished a little less irascibly. "We might as well know each other's life stories."
She threw him a rueful glance. "I don't think so. Comic farce isn't my strong point." She pointed at the discarded picture. "Constance tells me that's a real baby in the crib. That her mommy was going to have a real baby."
Feeling as if a gun had exploded in his face, Axell swayed where he stood. Pain rippled through him, and in a desperate effort to fight it, he dropped to his knees and began systematically searching for the rest of Constance's shoe collection. "I didn't think she remembered," he muttered from the floor. "I had a decorator take the nursery apart and refurnish it right after Angela died. It just seemed simpler."
"No wonder she doesn't talk to you."
He bonked his head on the entertainment center. Rubbing the sore spot, he glared at her as if she were to blame, but he saw no accusation in her eyes. He threw a dusty patent leather shoe into the pile.
"She's only imitating you," she continued remorselessly. "If an adult like you can't tell express your emotions, how can you expect a child to say how she feels?"
Axell cringed and continued prowling the room. "She was so little," he protested. "How could I explain? Her mother was dead. That was difficult enough. Damn." He pounced on another sandal. "It was all so difficult. Angela and I hadn't been getting along. We'd hoped the baby would cure our differences,"—the sandal hit the pile with the first throw—"but it only made things worse. We had a furious fight that morning. I stormed off to my office. She must have decided to follow."
The words poured out, words he'd never told anyone, words that ripped his soul from his gut and tears from his eyes. Men didn't cry, dammit. He jerked a dollhouse away from the wall and located the missing leather shoe. Something wet streamed down his cheek, and standing, he kicked the shoe so hard, it flew past the stack.
In a dead voice, Axell finished the sorry tale. "We'd just had a thunderstorm. The roads were slick, leaves and limbs everywhere. I'd taken the big car because she liked the little convertible. She didn't even fasten her damned seat belt."
"It wasn't your fault," she said softly.
"Hell, I don't know." Wearily, Axell pinched his nose and wiped the tear before turning to face her. Why go over this now? It wouldn't change anything. But she stared at him with those damned open-as-the-sea eyes, and he struggled for words. "Angela died instantly from a blow to the head after she was thrown from the car," he said with a sigh. "Angela was only five months along. The doctors couldn't save him."
Him. His son. They hadn't even given him a name. He'd just had "Infant Son" inscribed on the gravestone. He hadn't cried. He'd simply stood there at the funeral, holding his young daughter's hand, watching them bury the last of his dreams.
Fighting the tears he hadn't cried then, Axell slammed his foot into the pile of shoes, scattering them across the room again. "What the hell does any of this have to do with the urgent reason I had to come home?"
"Now that I know the story," Maya replied quietly, "I suspect it means that your daughter thinks she's responsible for her little brother's death."
"What?" Axell yelled, swinging to glare at her.
But he already knew. For two years, his beloved daughter had been living the same nightmare hell as he had.
Chapter 10
All generalizations are false.
"What do I say?" Collapsing into a chair, Axell covered his eyes.
Maya thought she ought to preserve this moment in her memory. She didn't think it was often that this big, self-assured man crumbled, especially before an audience.
She had the nonsensical urge to stroke his hair and pat his cheek and tell him everything would be all right. But Axell Holm wasn't a child.
Glancing at the scattered assortment of shoes, she spoke cautiously. "You tell her you love her, then go from there." When he didn't immediately leap up and kick anything else, she offered, "It's amazing how much children can understand, the untold insecurities we could relieve if adults didn't insist on hiding things. You can't hide things from a child. They always know when something is wrong, and they almost always blame it on themselves."
Lifting his hand from his eyes, he threw her a shrewd glance. "Spoken from experience, I take it?"
"The voice of experience," she agreed grimly.
She saw the sudden look of curiosity in his eyes at her remark, that archeology-professor-studying-a-new-hieroglyphic look, but she didn't explain. "Now," she said softly. "Go to her now."
He grimaced and threaded his hand through his hair. "I trust you realize I left the mayor and my mother-in-law at the bar, conspiring to take Constance and your school away. Maybe while you're at it, you could wave your wand in that direction."
With that gloomy warning, Axell rose from the sofa and strode out the door.
Maya had no magic wands. Instead, she lingered where she was, soaking in the ambiance of the messy family room—the only room in the house that looked lived in. It looked as if every pair of shoes Constance owned had been under the furniture, and she owned a lot.
This was the kind of room she'd dreamed of as a child—a room where she and Cleo could kick off their shoes and safely sprawl on the floor and watch TV and color pictures and read books to their heart's content. She'd probably painted in a happy mother and father at the time, but she knew better than that now.
The image of a golden Norse god kicking shoes as he writhed in agony wouldn't easily be erased.
She rubbed the tumbling infant in her abdomen. Her limited insurance didn't cover sonograms, so she had no clue whether she carried a boy or girl, and it didn't matter. Maybe she couldn't provide her child or Matty with an expensive room like this one—heck, right now she couldn't give them a roof over their heads—but she could give them love. She had a lifetime of unexpressed love to offer.
Matty wandered in and plopped in front of the TV, examining the knobs for the one that would make it work. With a smile, Maya picked up the remote control and switched on the VCR that still contained the dragon tape. Matty's eyes grew wide with wonder, and he threw her one of those magical looks she cherished.
"See, even the TV knows what you like."
He beamed then and relaxed in happy fascination with the movie. He was too easily satisfied to suffer from attention deficit, she'd already decided. Maybe mild dyslexia. She should ask Social Services about testing.
Maya wondered how well Axell was doing with his child. And what plot the mayor schemed to destroy her dreams.
* * *
Talking into her cell phone, Selene paced the dusty pine floor of the empty shop with the restless grace of a caged panther. Maya admired her energy but conserved her own as she waited for Axell and the building inspector to return with word on Cleo's shop.
Selene clicked the phone closed and glanced around the empty shell of Axell's building with distaste. "Girl, you got your work cut out for you."
"I've got to do it." Maya wiggled on the high stool she'd found in the back. "Cleo will be home in a few months. What's the chance of anyone hiring her?"
"Zilch," Selene said crudely. "You'd better be praying hard. You got a plan for this place?"
That was a topic she could handle. Maya pointed out the twelve-foot high barren walls. "I saw an artist at a local art show who had the most amazing paintings. They practically glowed from within. Do you think I could display large oils on that wall?"
"That's not a plan," Selene said with disgust. "That's a dream. Tell me how you're going to make money off those oils, and you'v
e got a plan."
"Selling oils is a plan," Maya insisted. "That space would be wasted otherwise. I could take them on consignment so I don't have to shell out money for inventory. I'm not entirely stupid."
"No, just a little batty." Selene swung on her heeled sandals to glare at the walls. "You need to paint the walls white and add track lighting."
"Sure and add a crystal chandelier and wine bar too. I'm not that batty."
Selene's cell phone beeped as Axell strode through the front door.
Maya dug her fingernails into her palms and wrapped her feet in the stool rungs as she anxiously watched Axell for some clue of the inspector's decision. Not a smile, not a wink, not even a frown indicated the results as he walked with lion grace across the bare floor. He held her entire life in his hands, and he didn't say a blamed thing. The tension was killing her. Maybe killing him was an alternative. She wanted her teapot back, dammit.
Axell handed Maya a wad of official-looking papers. She stared at them, her hands shaking.
"You have permission to move your things."
Stunned, she just sat there staring at the papers that saved her life, Cleo's life, Matty's future... Tears welled in her eyes and joy spilled from her heart. Unable to jump and down and squeal with glee, she did the next best thing.
She leaned forward, propped her hands on Axell's shoulders, and kissed him smack on his startled mouth.
Stunned, he stood like a store dummy with his hands at his side.
His mouth woke quickly enough, though, and their lips melted together with incredible ease. He tasted of coffee, and oddly enough, vanilla—all hot and sugary and yummy.
Her turn to be startled, Maya hastily pushed away, flushed, and wrapped her arms around herself instead of him. Axell eyed her warily, with the heat still smoldering in his eyes. She hadn't intended anything sexual with her embrace, but sparks of something electric were suddenly shooting all around them. Maybe the shop had faulty wiring.
The man definitely had a Scorpio moon. Boy, can you pick 'em, Maya.
"I take it you appreciate the results," Axell said wryly, retreating a cautious pace.
Entranced by the wild flare in his eyes, Maya couldn't look away. The staid businessman in his pressed suit and conservative tie had real live wires pumping somewhere beneath that deadly attire. The lion king lived. He could roar.
A cough from behind them warned Selene's call had ended. Nervously, Maya glanced at the documents in her hands. At the same time, Axell reached for them. An impromptu tug-o-war ensued until Maya gathered her wits and released them.
"I've called a local mover who's willing to pack and transport everything," he declared. "The building may be safe, but I don't think you should be doing that kind of work. And I've got a cleaning crew coming in to wax the floors and dust your inventory when it arrives. You'll need to be here to tell them where everything goes."
Axell's curt, businesslike tones restored the moment to normal, and Maya breathed a sigh of relief. One of these days she hoped to curb her impetuous behavior. She was about to become a mother; she had to grow up.
She wished she had the papers back just so she had something to do with her hands. "I can't afford all that," was all she managed to whisper.
"We're partners, remember? You're the labor, I'm the capital." Axell neatly folded the stack of documents and inserted them in an inside coat pocket.
"Hold up one minute." Selene intruded, extending her hand. "Partners? You've had an agreement drawn up? Does it specify salary? Profit-sharing? Accountability? I've got a vested interest in this woman too. I'll not have her tied to this place for the rest of her life."
Maya bit back a grin as Axell stared at her friend as if Selene had turned two shades of pink and purple right before his eyes.
"I'll have my lawyer draw something up," he responded cautiously.
"I'll have my lawyer go over it," Selene countered.
"I'll just mosey on over and get my clothes," Maya murmured, still grinning as Axell and Selene glared at one another like two gladiators in a ring. She slipped from the stool and edged toward the door.
"You'll damned well not go inside that building!" Axell shouted, apparently recovering his senses as she reached for the knob.
"If it's safe for the movers, it's safe for me," she called, marching out without looking back.
Furious at his inability to control the capricious twit, Axell stalked after her.
"She's a Pisces," Selene called after him. "You might as well try to catch a fish with your bare hands!"
Axell shot her a glare of disbelief and strode out. Pisces, his foot and eye. Someone just needed to put a rein and harness on her. And a muzzle.
He found Maya ecstatically polishing her silly teapot and cups and carefully packing them in paper into a box that looked as if it had been carried through Donner Pass on mule back. Three times.
"The movers will bring packing boxes," he reminded her.
Rain clouds had moved in earlier that day, so no sunlight danced through the prisms over her head. Still, her cascade of auburn curls glowed with a light of their own as she shook her head.
"No one moves these but me," she announced firmly.
Since she seldom announced anything, much less acted on it with such determination, Axell resisted arguing. Obviously, he didn't understand the attachment, but he recognized it for it was. "All right, let me find you a stronger box. Why don't you come over to the restaurant with me and have some tea while I look?"
She glanced at him mischievously. "You're afraid I'll do something silly if you let me out of your sight. I've been surviving on my own for a lot longer than you realize, you know."
"Yeah, and a hell of a job you've done, too," he said dryly, extending his hand to help her rise from the floor. "Humor an old man and come with me."
Accepting his hand, she glanced at him curiously. "Old man? Have I aged you that quickly?"
Her perceptive look nearly floored him, but Axell tugged her toward the door without acknowledging it. Her kiss earlier had awakened his awareness of their age differences. She was still young and full of enthusiasm. He was jaded and beyond feeling much of anything, except testosterone surges during mind-bending kisses. Like an alcoholic craving a drink, he wanted another.
"Kids'll do that to you," he replied evasively.
"Constance seems happier after your talk with her. I notice she even told you what shoes she wanted with her dress this morning."
Axell grimaced. "Yeah, the ones you painted dragons on. Now, if she'd just learn to dress herself, we may have accomplished something."
Suspiciously, he watched Maya bite her lower lip as they progressed slowly through the sprinkling mist toward the restaurant. He recognized that look.
"What?" he demanded. "What are you not telling me now?"
An impish dimple appeared and disappeared at the corner of her mouth as she slanted him a sidelong look. A man could imagine all sorts of things in a look like that. It was a damned good thing she was pregnant so he knew where he stood.
"Well-l-l," she drew out the word thoughtfully. "You'll not like it if I tell you."
"I already figured that," he said resignedly. "I've noticed I seldom like anything you tell me." He bit back a groan as he watched his mother-in-law emerge from the restaurant with all her battle armor in place. "You'd better hurry up and say it because this may be the last time you see me alive."
Startled, Maya followed his glance and giggled. Giggled. Axell could scarcely believe his ears. No one giggled at Sandra in full battle mode. Southern ladies might be all sweet and creamy on the outside, but a Southern man knew the sugar concealed one hell of a tough pecan beneath.
"The hair looks like a helmet, don't you think? Does she carry a sword?"
"What do you think that ring is on her finger? She can cut a man's throat with that thing."
Maya's gurgle of laughter almost had him grinning. He'd never grinned in Sandra's company before.
"The d
esigner suit is full battle regalia, right?" she whispered as Sandra apparently saw them and waited impatiently, tapping her elegantly shod toe.
"The pearls are her magic shield. They're supposed to blind the enemy with her wealth and protect her from all who couldn't possibly afford them."
"Ooo, you're good." Maya shot him an admiring glance. "I might need you in storytelling class."
Since they were within earshot of Sandra, Axell didn't respond to that remark. He hadn't failed to notice Maya had avoided his earlier question about Constance's dressing habits. He would have to learn to keep the conversation focused around this slippery little fish. Fish!
He swung his attention to Constance's grandmother. "Good morning, Sandra. Have you met Miss Alyssum, Constance's teacher? Maya, Constance's grandmother, Sandra Matthews." He no longer had to introduce her as mother-in-law, Axell realized with an odd feeling of relief. Sandra was nothing to him anymore.
Sandra glared venomously at Maya. "I believe we have something to discuss in private, Axell."
"I can't imagine what, Sandra." Skillfully appropriating Maya's elbow with one hand and opening the restaurant door with the other, he nodded for Sandra to precede them. He'd be damned if he let the old biddy walk all over a tenderfoot like Maya. The schoolteacher didn't have the social daggers to protect herself.
"I'm talking to the judge this afternoon," Sandra ground out, apparently through her neatly capped teeth.
"Tell him hello for me," Axell replied, although his insides were clenched as tightly as Sandra's teeth as he led the way to a table. Stoicism had its price.
"I've tried to be polite about this, Axell," she said, refusing his gesture toward a booth. "But you've gone out of your way to flaunt your improprieties in public. I won't have an impressionable child like Constance living under the same roof as this... this..." Words apparently failed her.
Words had never failed Maya, Axell realized with a groan as she flashed one of her brilliant go-to-hell-happily smiles. Curiosity prevented his stopping her.
Dixie Rebel (The Carolina Magnolia Series, Book 1) Page 9