Maggie's Mountain

by Mya Barrett

  She wet her dry lips and slanted her eyes. “And you are a single minded, over protective womanizer who hasn’t been told no enough in his life.”

  She didn’t expect the momentary stillness, the sudden crooked smile or the gentle touch of his surprisingly calloused fingers on her cheek. She swallowed, frantic not to give into him as she tried to turn away. But he stretched out his hand, all five fingers now on her cheek, holding her steady with firm pressure.

  “Maybe you do know something about me,” he murmured.

  Then his lips were on hers, shocking and tender as he brushed over her soft flesh once, twice. The third time he stayed, pressing his mouth down with insistent pressure, drawing out the punch of incredible desire that rose from her belly. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips she opened her mouth, welcoming him as she dissolved into the arms that rose to cradle her. He stepped in closer, pulling her into his body so that his arousal was pressed into her stomach. A husky moan escaped her as instinct had her body cuddling closer and her hands reaching up to intertwine in his hair. Everything but the moment and the man fell away. There were no coherent thoughts, no complications, no reasons why she shouldn’t be kissing him. He was the entire world, and the entire world was wrapping her in its strong, warm embrace.

  He moved his hands in a slow, gentle caress, easing them down to stroke her back in languid movements. His mouth became more demanding, pushing her to meet his need as lightning raced along her blood, sparking and firing, sending ripples of heat into her core.

  His hands strayed further down and cupped her bottom, palming her as he kneaded the soft flesh. He drew her up, resting the thick column of his arousal against the giving notch of her thighs. The contact was enough to shock her out of the fog of passion, shoving her firmly back into the here and now. She let go of him and pushed on his chest, trying to separate their bodies. What was she doing? What was she thinking? This was Hale Warrick, for heavenʼs sake. Had she lost what was left of her mind?

  “Well…damn…” His muttered curse was followed by what sounded like an exasperated groan as he stepped back, giving her the precious space she needed.

  “You shouldn’t have…we can’t do that. We just shouldn’t do that.” Her breath came in short, painful spurts.

  He stared at her for a long, contemplative moment, his breathing as heavy as hers. “I won’t apologize for that, Maggie. We both wanted it. In fact, we both want more than what that kiss gave us.”

  She lifted her hand to ward him off and shook her head. “No. No, absolutely not. Please, Hale. Please just…just leave. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

  For one terrifying second he looked like he might protest.

  “All right, I’ll go. For now.” He was at the door, his hand on the brass handle when he turned back. “You never said you didn’t want me, Maggie. You said shouldn’t, can’t, won’t. But you never said you didn’t want it. I guess that’s something for both of us to think about.”

  Chapter Six

  Hale sat in the high backed office chair and stared out at the sun dappled land. All his life just the sight of the mountains, hills, and woods that surrounded his childhood home was enough to soothe him. For the past three days the view had done him no good. Almost none of his work, which he’d carefully written down in order of importance, had been scratched off the list. His brain and body were much too distracted.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Maggie and their incendiary kiss. She’d been right, of course. They shouldn’t have done it. It had been stupid in the extreme. But, damn it, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of her. Especially after he’d been teased with a small taste of her in the woods that Friday afternoon. And definitely not after he’d seen her quiet encounter with Al Mackey at the diner.

  He had tried not to think about the woods or Wilson’s when he’d gone over to her house. He’d reminded himself over and over again that he was only going to her place so he could talk her out of a piece of property. He refused to believe it had all just been an excuse to be alone with her. A poor excuse at that. He’d even tried to remember the past, to remind himself that, no matter how amazing a woman she’d become, she was still untouchable. But all the while he’d thought of her in the woods, alone, sobbing, looking small and helpless. He’d thought of her graciousness in the face of her enemy, of her dignity when she’d walked away from him. He remembered her kindness to a broken man, her sweetness that didn’t need acknowledgement, her patience in taking care of someone who seemed more ghost than human. And there had been his brother’s comments echoing in his head, reminding him of what Maggie had suffered and survived. She’d been a child when most everything had occurred. She’d had no control over her life, let alone the situation her parents had put her squarely in the middle of. Then she’d gone and told him about her business and he’d had no choice but to be impressed. The little girl who’d had nothing had built something from the ashes. If she’d been anyone else he would have congratulated her and taken her out to lunch.

  Instead, he’d let his hormones take over. He’d staked his claim—chauvinistic, but true—he could admit that now in the distance and comfort of his own house. Staked a claim on a woman he shouldn’t want, a woman he knew he shouldn’t have anything to do with—a woman who’d been wearing what he suspected was her dead husband’s shirt. And didn’t that just spear his gut like a hot stiletto blade? Letting out a long breath, he raked his hands through his hair and closed his eyes against the memory. She’d felt so good against him, tasted so sweet in all her different layers. He’d been hard and undeniably ready for her just from that one kiss. It was a wonder they hadn’t set the damn throw rug on fire.

  He thought of how she’d looked staring back at him afterward, her pretty eyes wide and stunned. She’d looked exactly like he’d felt. He’d had an almost overwhelming urge to hold her again, this time to comfort and reassure. He wanted her physically, that was something he’d be a fool to deny, but there was more than that. He wanted to understand her. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help himself. Their families had been at war for years now; to even consider insinuating himself into Maggie’s life, even in a small way, was taboo. Logically he knew he should walk away and leave her be. So he had stayed away from her, giving himself time to sort through the emotions that seemed determined to mix and mingle with his libido. But his deliberate self-imposed separation had only brought more questions.

  Why would Maggie stay in a house that held so many tragic memories? After the death of her husband and mother there had been nothing to hold her here. Why stay in this town when she could have moved, left her past behind and created a new life? Why did she only have one picture of her husband displayed on the mantel? He knew it was a wedding picture, with Maggie in a pretty, strapless white gown, clutching a bunch of happy faced sunflowers, and a blond man beside her in his dress uniform, looking dazzled and slightly smug. Still, there had to be more pictures of Chris Brannon. Hell, his mother kept countless images of long dead relatives strewn all over the damn place. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever consider taking down the pictures of his father, no matter what animosity they’d shared. So why only the one photo? And why did it matter to him?

  “I see you’re hard at work.”

  Hale winced at the sound of his mother’s smooth voice, the cultured tone clipped with a slight chill. Turning, he found her standing in front of the desk, dressed for the day in a Chanel pantsuit, her tawny hair pulled back in a chic, serviceable twist. If Royce Warrick had been a hard ass, Cordelia Anderson Warrick was a socialite set in unbreakable stone. He’d only seen her crumble a few times in his life and all of those moments had been brought on by the Coopers. Those times had scared him because he’d always thought of Cordelia Warrick as the proverbial immovable object. She’d soldiered on past those messy moments, of course, and had done what she believed was expected of a Warrick wife. Oh yes, his mother had definite ideas, and God help the man—or woman—who decided to go aga
inst her.

  His mother stared at him now, her expression controlled and her blue eyes cool as she waited for a proper response. “You’ve been in here since seven o’clock this morning, Hale. I’m assuming you’re going over the Landis deal.”

  He tried for a congenial smile. “What can I do for you, Mother?”

  She slid a thin manila envelope onto his desk. “Another offer for the horse farm. It’s a very good deal, Hale; you should take it into consideration.”

  “And what about the farm?”

  She shrugged negligently. “It can always be relocated. You will take their offer seriously?”

  Instead of assuaging her curiosity, he smiled politely. “Where are you off to?”

  She didn’t have to sigh for him to know she was annoyed. “Really, you were much easier when you were a child.”

  “Then I went and grew into my own ideas. I know that disappointed you.”

  She didn’t deny his statement. “You have your plans and that’s all fine and well. However, you’ve failed to realize something your father never took into account: I’m not a stupid woman, Hale. I could run the family holdings without any help at all. Why you refuse to take my advice is beyond my understanding. Male pride, I suppose.”

  He loved his mother, but she’d always had trouble realizing that he was the master of his own fate, whether she liked it or not. He supposed it was hard for a parent to see their child as an adult capable of making grown up choices.

  “Mother, you have your own projects and investments to deal with. You should really concentrate on those.” Perhaps he should have avoided the subject, but his nerves were too raw for tactical retreat.

  Cordelia’s lips pursed as she tilted her chin up. “And my projects and investments are doing very well, no thanks to your father or the banker he tried to foist off on me.”

  It was time to change the subject, he decided, or else she would be off on another tangent about irresponsible men. “You never did say where you’re off to, Mother.”

  Her eyebrows lifted but she didn’t comment on the sudden curve. “The hospital committee is meeting this afternoon to discuss the holiday fundraiser. Royce always liked to make a large contribution.”

  “So I should, too, is that right?”

  “Hale, honestly.” She crossed her arms over her chest in irritation. “I’m just trying to help. You’ve been gone for so long you’ve fallen out of touch with the community. It’s obvious you’ve forgotten how small towns work.”

  “How small towns…Mother, I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain that.”

  Cordelia drew herself up tighter before she replied. “Your little trip over to that…that Cooper girl’s. For goodness’s sake, your car was parked right in the front drive. Minnie Turner saw it there and before the day was out it was all over Exum.”

  He was afraid to ask but knew he had to. “What was all over Exum?”

  “That you’re sleeping with Maggie Mae Cooper!” A flush crept up Cordelia’s neck and stained her pale cheeks. “Of all the girls to get involved with, you had to choose her. I won’t even try to pretend to understand why you did when you know who and what she is. You used to have better sense than you're showing now.” She paused to let out a small sigh. “Hale, I know you’re a grown man and that you have…needs. But I expect a modicum of decorum and at least a little respect. You could have parked your car in the back to save the family name from gossip. It wasn’t bad enough that your father humiliated me with that girl’s mother, but now you have to pick up where he left off?”

  Hale ground his teeth together and took a moment to find the patience he used to have such a store of. “I went over to discuss the possibility of buying her land.”

  “Why exactly would you want to buy her land?” She closed her eyes for a moment, obviously gathering her composure, before she gazed back at him. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You could have called her.”

  “But I didn’t.” He’d been trying to circumvent this but she wasn’t going to let him. Might as well get the confrontation over with, he decided, and leaned forward to stare at his mother. “You should know by now that I’m not my father. His affair with Rebecca Cooper has nothing to do with me—or with Maggie for that matter. She was just a kid when everything exploded. She didn’t have any control over her mother or the situation. From what I understand she’s become an upright, law abiding business owner.”

  His mother snorted, a very unladylike sound that he’d never heard before. “So she’d like everyone to think.”

  “For God’s sake, she’s not her mother, or even her father. She’s become a productive member of this community, someone who is helping others make enough money to survive. She’s a widow, and from what I’m to understand she had a good marriage—”

  When Cordelia spoke, her voice was low and tight. “I’m quite aware of her very convenient marriage to a man of the law. A quick step up to make herself appear more respectable than she is. Those Cooper women have a way with men, Hale. They can get them to do whatever they want, though God knows how. Mark my words, that girl will tear you apart, just like Rebecca tore Royce to pieces. He was never the same man after she married that trash, Quinn Cooper. But even marriage wasn’t enough to keep her from traipsing after your father every chance she got. And then after her husband killed himself, she wouldn’t stop coming around, sniffing at your father’s wallet, hoping she could strike some sort of deal. She wouldn’t let up, not for years, and Royce wasn’t the only one to pay the price.”

  He knew the story. It was hard to live in this house and not know. But he also knew what kind of marriage his parents had, and though it wasn’t one plagued with physical abuse, there had plenty of cold blooded arguments. No, the Warrick marriage hadn’t been filled with enough passion for any sort of knock down drag out fights. Cordelia Anderson Warrick certainly didn’t lower herself to such displays of excitement; it would go against her natural grain. But his father had been a very passionate man and if Maggie was even half as arousing as her mother, Hale could understand Royce’s tattered loyalty, even if he didn’t approve of it. Still, there was the quiet echo of memories that carried the sound of his mother’s tears. Whether she liked to admit it or not, the pain had been about more than shame. It had pierced her heart.

  When he spoke again, his implacable voice was laced with understanding. “Mother, I’m sorry for what happened between you and Dad. I love you and you know I’d do whatever I need to for you. You’ve got to try to trust me, and not just with the business.”

  “You stay away from that Cooper girl.”

  “Her last name is Brannon now, mother.” A small growl escaped his throat as he stood, ignoring her sharp look, and headed for the door. His mother wasn’t going to give one red inch. “I’m going over to see Trent at the stables.”

  “And the Cooper place is only a stone’s throw away. How nice for you.”

  He stopped, turned, and leveled the well coifed woman with an inflexible stare. “Don’t make me say something we’ll both regret, Mother.” He took a half step closer, a warning that he wasn’t going to allow her to steal even a fraction of his freedom. “My personal life is my own. It’s best if you understand that right now. You might have some interest in the family business and I might have to keep you apprised of that, but who I spend my time with, who I take to my bed, is not fodder for you or the town.”

  She gave a small gasp, but never once showed any outward sign of anger. He strode out the front door without looking back, quietly muttering a curse as he went.

  ****

  Maggie leaned back on her knees and wiped her rough work glove across her forehead. The autumn garden was thriving, which meant she would have extra vegetables to can. Not a bad thing since the homemade foods sold remarkably well. Hale wouldn’t get half of what she did out of this property. He wouldn’t know how to cultivate it, care for it, coax it into growing and nurturing the plants that depended on it. Hale Warrick had no idea how precious
this land was or what it could produce.

  She slammed her eyes shut against his name. For three days she’d been avoiding any thoughts of him, busying herself whenever her mind strayed toward him. She did well during the day. It was the nighttime that was difficult. She couldn’t control the dreams that picked up at their explosive kiss and spun out of control into a full blown fantasy. Waking to shaking hands, gasping breath and a sweat-glazed body wasn’t conducive to her state of mind.

  “I’m not going to think about him.”

  He’d wanted her to think about him, about what he could do to her, about the pleasure he could draw out of her body. He’d practically dared her to consider the physical attraction.

  “So what? He’s good looking. I’ve known that most of my life.” She thrust the trowel into the dirt and dug at the small weeds with furious pulls. “A nice body doesn’t mean a nice heart.”

  Chris had been kind. He had been loving and understanding. He hadn’t been as ruggedly handsome as Hale, but there had been a charm to his boy-next-door looks. He’d been her friend, her champion, the man who’d promised to fill the void of a life spent alone. Her husband had been everything she should have ever wanted. But she knew in her heart that he wasn’t. The self-reproach was there again, cutting as a frigid shard of glass.

  “Vegetables. Just take care of the damn vegetables.”

  Hale was a dark, vital man, full of barely leashed passion and the mind shattering knowledge of how to use it. Even the timbre of his voice had been pitched to seduce her. Her body had been eager to respond, eager to know what he could do to her.

  What would it be like to have all that desire, all that protectiveness, focused on you?

  “No, I’m not thinking about that.” Maggie yanked at a weed with vicious intent. “Physical is all I’m going to admit and it’s what I’m going to stay away from.”

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t realize the fresh scent of the woods had changed. A breeze stirred the trees and rolled up the small hill, tickling her nose. She knit her brow as the subtle differences sank into her senses. Something smelled…wrong. She looked up, curious, then gasped when she saw the small curl of smoke.