“Thanks," he said and looked pretty darned pleased with himself. "It's been some time since I did work like that. Took me longer than I thought it would."
"I know," she said, nodding. “I heard you. You must have been up all night."
"I didn’t mean to make that much noise," he said, straightening up from the doorjamb. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think about what it must sound like upstairs."
"Don't be. I’m awake late most nights." That was the truth. Although most of her thoughts last night had been centered on him, Maggie didn't get much sleep as a rule anyway. She had too many thoughts whirling around in her mind. It seemed that as soon as she laid her head down onto a pillow, her brain started running at a gallop. She'd come up with some of her best ideas while lying in the darkness, listening to the workings of her own mind. She even kept a pad of paper and a pencil on the table beside her bed so she could write out plans that might otherwise be lost. One day, Maggie fully intended to bring all of her inventive notions to life.
But it wasn't time now to be entertaining those plans. Now, she had to get breakfast started and Jake off to school.
Ordinary, she reminded herself.
She would be an ordinary mother if the attempt killed her.
Lord knew, it surely might. Taking a deep breath, she said, "The important thing here is it's fixed.”
He nodded and stepped into the kitchen.
Glancing past him at the bare-looking storage room, Maggie asked, "How did the cot work out for you? Will the room be all right?"
“I've slept on worse,” Gabe told her with a wry grin.
In fact, he hated to think of some of the places he'd called home, however temporarily. "And the room's fine," he added.
She frowned, still looking into the tiny storage area. "If you like, you could empty some of that stuff out and put it in the shed out back."
He could. If he was planning on staying. But the reality of his situation was, there was no point in getting too cozy. Better he get used to being uncomfortable now. It might help him adjust to Hell all that much faster.
"Thanks, but it's fine," he said.
"Up to you,” she said with a shrug and turned toward the counter and the coffee grinder. "I'll start breakfast. Why don't you go into the dining room and fire up that stove? I like to keep a pot of coffee going out there, too."
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
But before he could take a step, the back door opened and a woman stepped inside.
Maggie took one look at that familiar face and felt her insides tighten up until it was a chore to draw breath. She curled her fingers over the edge of the counter and squeezed hard but it didn't help. Nothing would.
The woman stared at her for a long heartbeat and Maggie knew exactly what she was thinking. What she'd been thinking for years. That Maggie was the daughter of a no-account, no better than she should be. All her life, Maggie had heard whispers about her family. Lies and half-truths designed to wound. And maybe that was why she'd rushed into a marriage with a man who had turned out to be a bitter disappointment, both as a man and as a husband. She'd been looking for respectability.
A choked laugh was born and then quickly died in the knot in her chest. She certainly hadn't found it. But she was bound and determined to give Jake the kind of life she'd always longed for. She would see to it that he was raised properly. That no one would be able to gossip about him or his mother. She was going to ensure happiness for Jake, no matter what it cost her.
And right now, the price was being polite to the harpy who'd just walked in her door.
From the corner of his eye, Gabe saw Maggie stiffen slightly and he looked at the stranger with interested eyes. About forty, the woman was tall and skinny to the point of being rawboned. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a knot so tight it was a wonder her eyes didn't slant from the pressure at the sides of her head. Small blue eyes narrowed as her gaze swept the room and landed on him. Her nose twitched like a hound on the scent. Her lips were pinched and even when she tried a smile, it didn’t ring true.
"Maggie,” she said, with barely a glance at the woman she was talking to. "I simply had to come see how you'd survived your latest disaster.”
"Disaster?" Maggie asked, and to Gabe her voice sounded strained, tight.
“Why, dear," she said, waving one hand in the air, "these old walls are so thin, everyone can hear what goes on. And Bass Stevens said he heard what sounded like an explosion in here yesterday afternoon."
"Bass should spend more time cutting his customer's hair and less on gossiping," Maggie said.
“But honey, it isn't gossiping if it's true!' The woman eyed Gabe up and down and he felt like a horse being appraised at an auction. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd asked to inspect his teeth. "I just had to come see for myself that you hadn't been injured with one or other of your silly notions."
Gabe shot a curious glance Maggie's way. What kind of silly notions?
Maggie spoke through gritted teeth and a person would have had to be blind not to notice how much it was costing her to be civil. "You were so concerned you waited until the next day to come check on me," she said.
The woman absently waved a hand at her. "Oh, I was sure enough you weren't badly hurt or dead or something. Jake would have come for help if he'd found your body."
Maggie slammed the flat hand onto the countertop.
The other woman remained blithely unaware.
"And who might this be?” she asked, a speculative gleam shining in her eyes as she stared at Gabe.
Sighing, Maggie turned from the coffee grinder and said, "This is Gabe Donovan, he works for me. Gabe, this is Sugar Harmon.”
Sugar, a woman so wrongly named it boggled the mind, sailed across the room, extending one hand toward Gabe as if she was a queen bestowing favors on a peasant.
"A pleasure," she said, though judging from the tight expression on her face, she wouldn't have known true pleasure if it had sneaked up and bit her on the—
"Ma'am," Gabe said and shook the hand she'd obviously expected him to kiss.
She bore her disappointment bravely, though. "My husband's the mayor of Regret," she said as if that explained what she was doing intruding on people just after the crack of dawn.
“How nice for him," Gabe said dutifully and shot another look at Maggie.
She rolled her eyes and bit down hard on her bottom lip.
Why wasn't she tossing this nosy busybody out the door?
"And how do you come to be working for our Maggie?" Sugar asked.
Gabe faced his inquisitor and slapped a polite smile on his face. He didn't want to cause Maggie any trouble, and if she was being so blasted cordial to this biddy, he figured she must have a reason. So he bit back what he wanted to say and answered simply, "I needed a job, she needed the help."
“Uh-huh," Sugar mused and again looked him up and down. "Well now, Maggie, if you needed help, you should have asked for it. You know my Redmond would have been only too happy to lend a hand."
"Speaking of Redmond, won't he be expecting breakfast about now?” Maggie forced a smile.
"Very shortly," Sugar said and kept her gaze steadily on Gabe. "Mr. Donovan, wasn't it? If you're looking for extra work, I could certainly use someone to replace a stair tread.”
"Why didn't you ask Redmond?" Maggie muttered and reached for the coffee grinder again. “I'm sure he'd be happy to help.”
Gabe smiled to himself.
Sugar ignored her. "Where did you say you were from Mr. Donovan?"
"I didn't,” he said, and looked into the woman's eyes and felt like a rabbit facing down a snake. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that one day he'd be running into Sugar Harmon somewhere in Hell. He'd come across women like her many times in his life. They carried righteousness like shields before them and stomped all over anyone who might happen to be different They'd been known to close down saloons and run dance-hall girls out of town on rails. They mouthed gossip as readily as
good folks said their prayers and he was willing to bet there was a whole section of Hell staked out just for them.
Gabe let go of that pleasant image when Jake came running down the stairs and entered the kitchen in a clatter of sound only six-year-old boys were capable of. The kid stopped short, though, when he saw Sugar, and Gabe watched as the boy looked from the woman to his mother and back again.
“Morning, honey,” Maggie said in a too light tone.
“Morning," Jake echoed, and took a step toward her, almost if he was getting ready to defend her.
Gabe frowned to himself and wondered just what in the heck was going on here besides a nosy, mean-spirited neighbor ruining a perfectly good morning.
"My," Sugar said, letting her gaze slip from the boy to Maggie. "He looks more like his father every day, doesn't he? Guess that apple didn't fall far from the tree."
Maggie's jaw clenched, and even from a few feet away, Gabe saw the muscle in her cheek twitch. She laid one hand on Jake's shoulder and said, "Honey, you go on out into the dining room. I'll be there in a minute." She waited until her son had gone through the swinging door into the other room before addressing the woman again. “Thanks for stopping by, Sugar, but I have to get Jake's breakfast started, so…"
But Sugar ignored her and turned back to Gabe. Before she could get going again, though, Maggie turned the crank of the grinder and just for good measure, threw another handful of coffee beans into the mix.
Loud, continuous noise rose up, nearly deafening in the otherwise still morning air. Gabe had to hand it to her. She'd found a way to shut up her neighbor without being out-and-out rude to her.
For a moment or two, it looked like Sugar might just shout to be heard over the noise rather than concede defeat. But the moment passed and the woman, after giving Maggie a look that should have singed the hem of her dress, turned for the door.
"I'm sorry I can't stay longer," she yelled while sending Gabe what he guessed she assumed to be a flirtatious smile.
He nodded and glanced at Maggie. She was turning that crank with enough elbow grease to spin straw into gold.
"Perhaps later,” Sugar shouted, then swept out the door.
The grinding continued relentlessly until Gabe walked over to Maggie, laid one hand on her shoulder, and shouted, "She's gone!"
Instantly, silence crashed down on them.
Gabe watched her lean both hands on the counter and hang her head low over the grinder. She took several long, deep breaths before speaking.
"I can't help it," she muttered, "that woman is enough to drive a body to drink."
“I’ll buy," he offered in an effort to cheer her up some.
A heartbeat later, Maggie chuckled, lifted her head and looked at him. It pleased him, seeing her shake off Sugar Harmon's visit so quickly.
"It's a little early," she joked. "But thanks for the offer."
Maybe to keep her smiling a bit longer, he asked, "How could anyone have named her 'Sugar'?”
Maggie shook her head, turned around and leaned back against the counter. "She is a little sour."
"Sour? That woman gives lemons a whole new meaning."
Laughing softly, she said, "And she doesn't even know you yet. Wait until she's comfortable enough around you to tell you what she really thinks."
"She thinks?" he asked, with a laugh.
Maggie grinned at him conspiratorially. "That's the rumor."
Gabe felt a flash of something he couldn't quite describe shoot through him. It was warm and comforting and yet somehow unsettling. And she was at the heart of it. Damn, he should have gone to work for a man. Or at the very least, a woman who didn’t look quite so good first thing in the morning.
She had an unconventional kind of beauty that appealed to him more than he cared to admit. Without a layer of soot covering her skin, he could see that her complexion was a pale peach color, telling him she didn't bother wearing hats in the sun. Big brown eyes dominated her features and her short nose had a few golden freckles dotting its surface.
Then he looked closer and frowned inwardly. Oh, there were freckles there all right, but there were also small dots of what looked like actual gold paint. Now why in the hell would she have gold paint on her face? Interesting, he thought as he noted that her mouth was too wide, but when she smiled, it lit up her entire face.
Her soft brown hair hung in a long, single braid, the end of which landed at the small of her back. Loose, curly tendrils lay against cheeks still flushed from her encounter with Sugar and the plain apron she’d tied over her blue and white striped dress was tight enough to draw attention to what looked like a remarkable figure.
Apparently, she had the ability to stir even a dead man. Real depressing how he kept remembering the fact that he was no longer alive. Briefly, he recalled their conversation about regrets. He'd had quite a few before he'd ever come to the aptly named town of Regret. And now, on this beautiful morning, standing beside a woman who looked both fierce and vulnerable…he had one more.
He couldn't help wondering what it might have been like between them if they'd met when he was still alive. But then he admitted that when he was alive, he hadn't been interested in her kind of woman. They were from two different sides of town, he and Maggie. She was picket fences and lemonade after church on Sunday. He was poker hands and bad whiskey on Saturday nights.
Maybe he'd made a mistake by coming to work for Maggie. But it was too late now. He wouldn't quit on her and add one more regret to an already growing list.
She was watching him curiously and he realized that he'd drifted too far from their conversation. Smiling, he said, "From what I've just seen, I'd advise you not to bet on the rumor about that woman actually thinking."
Her smile faded as abruptly as it had been born. "I don't listen to rumors. Or gossip."
He'd hit a nerve there, he thought and found himself wondering what lay behind the sudden shadows in her eyes. The way she'd stiffened up told him that maybe she'd been the subject of gossip herself once or twice.
Was it her late husband folks had talked about or, remembering what else Sugar'd had to say, he asked quietly, “What did she mean about your notions?"
She flushed and shifted her gaze from his. A short, harsh chuckle shot from her throat as she answered his question with a question. "Who knows what she means? I don't even listen to her half the time.”
He had a feeling she listened more than she claimed and was hurt deeper than she pretended. The fact that she clearly didn't want to talk about it told him that the pain still lingered. That bothered him more than he would have thought.
"I would imagine not many do," he said, trying to help somehow.
"You'd be wrong,” Maggie said under her breath.
"I suppose," he said. “Folks tend to enjoy chewing over someone else's troubles."
“Why is that, do you think?" She dumped the ground beans into the pot and then filled it with water. Setting it on the stove, she turned and grabbed a skillet and some eggs.
Gabe watched her go about the homey ritual of making breakfast. Strange, he hadn't watched a woman performing this simple act since he was a boy. Odd how comforting it was. He shook the feeling off and answered the question as best he could. "I don't know really. Guess it seems to some that if they stay busy enough with other people's problems, they won't have time to worry about their own."
"Maybe,” she said but didn't sound convinced.
"Or”—he offered another explanation—“could be they just like causing misery."
The aroma of sizzling butter and frying eggs filled the room and Gabe's stomach grumbled.
"That's probably closer to the truth," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
"You could've thrown her out," he said, noting the tension still evident in the way she held herself.
"You know,” she snapped, tapping her spatula against the rim of the skillet, "I didn't hire you for your assistance with my neighbor."
He held up both hands i
n meek surrender though she couldn't even see him. "Sorry, lady, just my opinion."
"Then since it's yours, why don't you keep it to yourself."
Man, she had a hell of a temper when she got going.
"It's not me you're mad at, remember?"
"It's easy for you to show up and hand out advice like it's nothing, isn't it?" Maggie spun around to look at him, turning her back on the eggs. Twin spots of color filled her cheeks and her eyes fairly snapped with emotion. "You've been here one day. You're only staying here two months. I have to live here. My son has to live here."
Long-buried pain shimmered in her brown eyes and Gabe wanted to kick himself. She was absolutely right. Who the hell did he think he was, sliding in here and questioning how she handled something that must happen to her on a regular basis? Wasn't it enough that she had to put up with that female? Did he have to make it worse by adding insult to injury?
"You're right," he said, then tried to make her smile again by adding, "Still, I've got to say, I admire your restraint."
A small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth and he felt rewarded. Ridiculous. But damn she was fascinating. A woman who got mad at the drop of a hat and then smiled again almost instantly.
"Sometimes, it's not easy," she admitted. "Once, I came so close to dumping a five-pound sack of flour over her head. I could actually see her strolling down the street like some skinny snowwoman come to life."
He grinned at the image, then frowned as he caught a whiff of something burning. Looking past her, he said, "Maggie? The eggs?"
"What?"
"The eggs're burning."
"Oh!" She spun around, snatched at the handle of the skillet and yelped at her singed palm. Using her spatula, she pushed the cast-iron pan off the fire. "Beans and biscuits!"
Shaking his head as she muttered more ridiculous curses under her breath, Gabe asked, "If you mean 'damn,' why don't you just say 'damn'?"
“Because ladies don't say 'damn,' damn it."
He grinned at her and told himself this was going to be an interesting two months.
Catch a Fallen Angel Page 4