by Vicki Hinze
Maggie scooped her hair up off her neck then leaned against the pew and closed her eyes. “I’d kind of prefer to pretend.”
“Me, too. But we should discuss it. Do you think our entity is a ghost?”
Her eyelids snapped open and she stared at him. Without a word, she set her empty cup onto the wooden seat beside her then rotated her head against the back of the pew and looked at him. “That would be absurd.”
“Yeah, it would.” T.J. blinked then captured her hand in his. “About as absurd as me blacking out every time I try to leave Seascape alone.”
“That could be psychological, anyway.”
“And you feeling the same symptoms?” He stared at her hand, at her slender fingers, twining with his. “Could that be psychological, too?”
She worried her lip with her teeth. “Yes, it could. Empathy, because of our bond.”
Her honesty surprised him. The woman was still keeping secrets. He didn’t know what about really, he just sensed she was holding back. Could be his faulty judgment acting haywire again, but he didn’t think so.
“Well, at least we’ve learned that once we do leave Seascape, we don’t have to constantly touch.”
Didn’t she like touching him? Peeved, he frowned. “Too bad, that.”
She gave him a slow smile that tugged at his heartstrings. “Yeah, it is.”
She liked touching him, after all. Pleased, warmed inside, he sat up straight, looked around the church, and let that news settle in. It sat well on his shoulders, if a little heavy. Would he end up hurting her? Being responsible for something awful happening to her, too?
The wooden pews were worn smooth from years of use and the rugged cross hanging above the altar gleamed, bathed in flickers of rainbow-colored light from the stained-glass window. It bore Collin Freeport’s special mark. Had to be his work. He’d been a talented carver.
“It’s so still here.” Maggie sighed, clearly feeling better and relaxing. “I like that.”
T.J. liked it, too. He let his mind wander, refusing to let it focus on their troubles. Maggie laced their fingers together more firmly, holding the fragrant sachet in her free hand. He lifted it and drew in its scent. It smelled like the sea and Maggie. Fresh, clean, alluring—sunshine and spring. Soothing smells. Pressing their palms together, he sat in the quiet, content just to be beside her. Content just to hold her hand and watch her look at the ceiling and stare at the rugged cross with that faraway look in her eye. When she drifted away from him like that, where did she go? Maybe one day, he’d drift with her. But until then, he took solace in knowing she’d come back.
“I love this church,” she whispered softly. Snuggling closer to T.J., she rested her head against his shoulder. “I won’t ever get married, of course, but if I did, it’d be in this church.”
She’d marry. And envy for the man she’d make her husband slammed through T.J.’s heart like a prison cell door slams on a life-sentenced convict. “Why here?”
She didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t push, knowing instinctively that she hadn’t yet worked through this and pinpointed her reasons.
Her voice softened to a mere, whisper. “I think, because it feels like love in here.”
It did. But this kind of talk cut too close to the bone. It reeked of all the nevers he wouldn’t share with Maggie because neither of them were free to marry. All the memories they wouldn’t have. The joys and sorrows of a shared life they’d miss. Emptiness stole into his chest and flooded his soul. “Probably just the heat.”
“Charming, MacGregor.”
“Thanks.”
She frowned at him, fire blazing in her eyes.
“I think I see subtle revenge on my horizon.”
She lowered her lids and let her gaze drift to his mouth. “Maybe you can head it off.”
Sounded promising. “How would I go about doing that?”
“You could start by explaining why you let Lucy think we were a couple.”
He hiked a brow. “Riled about that, are you?”
“Miffed.”
“If you think about it, you’ll thank me for it.”
“I have thought about it, and I’m not thanking you.”
He pulled the box of condoms from his pocket. “Remember these?”
“Put those away. Geez, MacGregor, you’re in church, for pity’s sake.”
He leaned to the side and put the box back into his jacket pocket.
“What do they have to do with this, anyway?”
“I figured you’d rather everyone thought we have a very special relationship than they thought you sleep with men when you’re not even a couple.”
He heard her swallow. “Good point.” She nuzzled closer. “Thank you.”
“I’ll take the three points you charged me, three more for doubting I had a good reason, and the bath.”
“Five points—and that’s my best offer... for now.”
“Accepted.” She hadn’t tossed the tub into the realm of impossibility. She was weakening. Yep, the bath was all but a fait accompli. He smiled above her head.
“Wait a second. There’s a provision.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? More making up the rules as we go—just like with the kiss.”
“Provided” —she lifted her head and looked into his eyes—“you apologize.”
“For protecting your reputation?” Weird logic. A thank you, now a demand for an apology? Women. Sometimes they just didn’t make a snip of sense.
“To avoid subtle revenge.”
Ah, now he had it. She wanted a kiss. He studied her lips and they parted. The tip of her tongue touched her teeth. His heart flipped over in his chest. “I’d like that. Subtle revenge isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Me, too.”
He dipped his chin and, lips to lips, smiled, then kissed her lightly. “There.”
“Uh-uh. A sincere apology, MacGregor.” She cupped his head and pulled him back to her, then kissed him firmly, thoroughly, deeply.
A little groan escaped the back of her throat, vibrated against his hand. Knowing he’d earned it, he shuddered in sheer pleasure and thought he might just love this church, too.
For the first time in over two years, aside from the glimmer on the Seascape stairs, he felt a small measure of peace.
The Blue Moon Cafe had been busy this afternoon, but tonight it hummed. Nearly all of the thirty seats inside were occupied and the clattering of forks and animated conversations made for a cheerful welcome.
Pastor Brown sat at a table near the bar, his black hair and beard slicked down, his winning smile absent. The man Maggie had seen at The Store wearing the Local Yokel baseball cap sat across from the pastor, looking worried and rubbing at his neck. Right next to them, at a table for four snug to the bar, sat Bill Butler and a very pretty woman dressed in royal blue who Maggie figured had to be his wife, Leslie. All four of them talked simultaneously.
Maggie homed in on the voice of the Local Yokel. “I can’t see any harm in having a keg with cold drinks by the door on weekends, Pastor. Folks get thirsty, and even Jesus drank wine.”
“You’re missing the point, Horace.”
“I can’t see that I am. Just as I can’t see that Jimmy’s calendar hurts a soul. It’s not hanging outside in public view.”
“It’s hanging. That’s the problem.” Pastor Brown leaned forward to drive home his point.
T.J. gripped Maggie’s shoulder and whispered close to her ear. “Looks to me as if Bill would welcome a diversion.”
MacGregor’s subtle scent had her throat thick and her wishing they could be alone, though she knew darn well they shouldn’t. Bill did look rather grim-faced, and supposing she should be grateful for the reprieve, Maggie nodded and began the walk over to his table.
Bill looked up and saw them. Relief flooded his face. “Hey, you guys come join us. Be warned, though. Leslie’s in a foul mood.”
“Bill!” She swatted at his arm, gave him a solid f
rown, then grinned at Maggie. “The foul mood welcomes you, Maggie.”
MacGregor held out a chair and Maggie sat down, glad she’d already “informally” met Leslie via phone. “I’d be in a foul mood, too, if I’d lost my backside at auction.”
Cocking his head toward Maggie, MacGregor told Leslie, “She’s been griping for hours about the big boats depleting the stock and making life tough on the small fishermen.”
Both Bill and Leslie looked pleased that Maggie had concerned herself with their plight. “Sinful, isn’t it?” Bill asked.
“It is.” MacGregor motioned, and Lucy came over with two iced teas. “I’ll have whatever you cooked—and cornbread.”
“Me, too,” Maggie added, thinking that what was sinful was the way MacGregor enraged her senses. Why was she so intimately aware of everything about the man?
“Coming right up.”
The phone rang.
Lucy grabbed the receiver and wedged it to her ear with her shoulder. “Blue Moon.”
She listened for a scant second, then rolled her gaze, cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, and looked at Maggie. “Sweetie, will you hold this for me? It’s Beaulah reporting another Seascape oddity sighting, bless her heart, and I just don’t have time to mess with her right now.” Lucy thrust the receiver toward Maggie. “Just say ‘Uh-huh’ every now and again. Don’t worry. You wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise if you wanted to.”
Maggie tucked the phone to her ear.
MacGregor grinned and squeezed her hand beneath the table. When mischief twinkled in his eyes, he was gorgeous. When it didn’t, he was still gorgeous. She inwardly sighed. Carolyn or no, Maggie was in big trouble when it came to this man. It seemed he grew more dear, more important to her with each passing moment. Did looking at her do to him what looking at him did to her?
Their gazes locked and he smiled. She smiled back, heavy-limbed, heat pooling in her thighs, and mentally drifted, mesmerized.
MacGregor poked her in the ribs. “Say uh-huh, darling.”
Darling? Her heart skipped a full beat, and she mumbled into the receiver, lost in sensual thoughts too rich to not indulge in. “Uh-huh.”
Leslie and Bill were talking. On some level Maggie heard them, but she just couldn’t focus on anything other than MacGregor and the heat in his eyes.
Again, he cued her. “Uh-huh.”
She blinked, then blinked again, forcing herself to snap to and pick up on her surroundings. How had he done that to her? Beaulah was still raving, her tinny voice grating at Maggie’s ears even more than usual, considering where her thoughts had been only moments before. She slid her gaze to Bill. Why did he look amused? Leslie seemed genuinely upset. The phone buzzed a dial tone in her ear. When had Beaulah hung up? And what else had Maggie missed while lost in lust?
She passed the receiver to MacGregor, who stretched and put it back onto its cradle on the bar. While leaning close, he whispered in her ear. “Leslie thinks she’s not accepted by the fishermen because she’s a black woman.” He nuzzled Maggie’s earlobe with the tip of his nose. “Bill’s challenged her to take over the auctioning of their catch and she wants your opinion on whether or not she should take the risk and do it.”
Maggie swallowed hard. Her opinion was that the man in the chair beside her was a furnace—and clearly not as affected by looking at her as she was by looking at him. She patted his thigh, offering her thanks for him catching her up on the conversation, or to hide her disappointment—she didn’t dare to ponder which—then looked at Leslie. “Someone’s got to blaze the trail. Why not you?”
“I could lose everything we’ve got.” Leslie looked excited, and scared half to death.
Boy, could Maggie empathize with that feeling. Stroking MacGregor’s thumb with hers, she looked Leslie straight in the eye. “I think if your heart and mind agree that something is right, you owe it to yourself to at least give it a try.”
Leslie lifted her gaze to the wall behind Maggie’s head, absorbing the advice. Bill winked at her. MacGregor gave her hand the most delicious squeeze. She could get used to him. So damn used to him. So easily.
“Nothing comes with guarantees,” Leslie told Bill. “I’ll do it.” She pivoted her gaze to Maggie and it grew soulful. “Though the fishermen accepting me as one of them likely never will happen. Tight, closed-ranks, you know?”
Bill clasped her hand, lifted it to his lips, and gazed at her through a husband’s adoring eyes. “They’ll love you.”
Just like me.
Bill didn’t say the words, but Maggie sure felt them. Oh, but to have a man look at you that way. To show such belief and support. Such... love.
Leslie pecked a kiss to her husband’s brow, then pushed back her chair, her eyes glistening. “We should go home and... check on the kids.”
“Yeah, we should.” Bill nodded and stood up. “You guys enjoy your meal.”
From MacGregor’s tender expression, he realized, too, that Leslie and Bill were feeling tender and wanted some privacy, and it didn’t escape her notice that the pang of envy she felt that they could have that privacy while Maggie and MacGregor couldn’t reflected in MacGregor’s eyes.
Lucy brought out platters of coleslaw, fried cod, and beans. Then she made a second trip from the kitchen and set a paper-lined red plastic basket of cornbread wedges down on the center of the table.
MacGregor grabbed one, firmly pressed his thigh to Maggie’s, then released her hand and slathered the steaming cornbread with butter. The corner of his lip curled.
Maggie frowned. “Why does Leslie feeling unaccepted amuse you?”
“I wondered how long it’d be before you asked.”
“Your attitude doesn’t usually extend to being an ass.”
“Maybe you’re corrupting me.” MacGregor grinned, not looking at all offended.
She’d misread this situation. “Okay, her feeling unaccepted doesn’t amuse you.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well, what does then?” She cut into a wedge of cornbread. Steam spilled out over her fingertips and she blew on them to cool them down.
“It’s her being so far off-base. Her acceptance has nothing do with her being black or a woman.”
“Really?” Maggie wiped . butter sheen off her finger onto her napkin.
“Really.” MacGregor sipped at his drink. The chilled glass sweated. “Fishermen are a special breed. They hang tough no matter what. They respect their families, their boats—they’re sacred. But the sea... Ah, the sea, sweet Maggie, is like a seductive mistress. If Leslie wants to belong, then she has to do to them what the sea has done.”
Maggie nearly choked. “You mean she has to seduce them and become a mistress to the fishermen?”
“Not hardly!” MacGregor dabbed at his mouth, chuckling, then leaned closer. “I was speaking poetically, Maggie. Doing it poorly, too. Leslie has to earn their respect and her place among them, just as the sea did. That’s what I meant.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Maggie didn’t bother to hide her relief. “Oh, wait. I get it. She needs to see things in the familiar.”
“Exactly.” MacGregor rewarded her with a heart-stopping smile. “You worry too much.”
Maggie planted an icy chill in her tone. “Some things are worth worrying over, MacGregor.”
“True.” He sipped from his glass then set it back down to the table and met her gaze, not a trace of humor left in his eyes. “But some things just are, Maggie, and, sooner or later, you’ve got to accept them.”
Like us.
He hadn’t said it, but he hadn’t needed to. The words hung between them, no less clear because they’d gone unspoken.
Maggie looked away, slid a half-full bottle of ketchup across the table. It clanked against the salt and pepper shakers. He was no more talking about Leslie than about his work. He was talking about them and their relationship, and the awful man was letting her know he’d recognized her pang of envy for Leslie and Bill and their privac
y, too. “Why doesn’t Bill just tell her?”
MacGregor grunted. “Because he’s not crazy.”
“Why would—”
“Think subtle revenge, Maggie.” MacGregor interrupted. “A man telling a woman how she feels is bound to earn him tons of it.”
He had a point. Still...
MacGregor smiled at her over a forkful of cod. “Besides, when Leslie figures it out for herself, she’ll be happier about it, anyway.”
And so, too, would Maggie. Again unspoken, but not unheard.
MacGregor laughed. “Don’t look so forlorn, sweetheart. Nothing will happen between us that you don’t want to happen.”
It would. It already had in her heart and her mind. Unable to meet his eyes, fearing he’d see that truth in them, Maggie looked past his shoulder, let her gaze drift to the wall, to the infamous bulletin board, hanging under the Budweiser clock. A shiver raced up her spine. Jimmy had taken the condom request off the shopping list. So why were her and MacGregor’s names on it now? And what was that scribbled beside them? She squinted to see more clearly. Dec. 25th, 2 p.m.—Millie $5, Jimmy $20, Lydia “No Way” $17.52.
Maggie stared at the board. Miss Hattie had explained that when Jimmy went to pick up auto parts in Boothbay Harbor or New Harbor, he also ran errands for the villagers who posted their lists on the board. But why were their names there? What did the names, the money, and Lydia Johnson’s “No Way” mean?
The night air was clear and cold. Though T.J. didn’t look forward to being confined at Seascape again, he didn’t linger on the walk back to the inn. Maggie seemed fine, but she was shivering, huddled beneath the crook of his arm and in her jacket, and he feared whatever had made her feel bad earlier might come back again.
He opened the mud room door and Maggie scooted past him. “Boy, a cup of hot coffee sounds good, doesn’t it, MacGregor?”
He closed the door, slid out of his jacket, then pegged it on a hook beside Maggie’s. “Yeah, it does.”
Miss Hattie evidently had gone on up to bed, so they had the first two floors of the house to themselves. He was glad of it, though he damn well shouldn’t be, but he wasn’t ready for their day together to end.