by Bonnie Vane
“They do. The fiberglass ones, anyway. I told them to give me a plain one, as in plainly cheap. My insurance deductible’s pretty high.”
“Pity, because blue is more your color.” She grabbed the bag and pulled out something that made Maxie’s mouth water.
“Blueberry cheese Danish?” Maxie held out her hands. “Gimme, gimme.”
“Figured you deserved something special.” She got a plate from the kitchen and grabbed some coffee for herself, then sat on the chair across from Maxie. “So spill. Tell me all about it.”
“Oh, you know. Man speeds in fancy car in the rain and hits girl sitting at a red light in not-so-fancy car. Kaboom! Crash, cast, end of story.”
“As usual, you are the mistress of understatement. And just how fancy was his car?”
“A Mercedes convertible. New model, I think.”
“Of course, your father is going to sue the pants off the guy.”
Maxie tried not to think of handsome Blaine without his pants. “I suppose he might try. Especially considering who it is.”
Nellie raised an eyebrow. “That sounds intriguing. Names, please.”
“Tannahill. Blaine Tannahill.”
“As in the Tannahills?”
Maxie was beginning to wonder if she was the only one who didn’t know anything about the Tannahills. “If you mean the guitar makers, then yes.”
“I can see why your father would want to soak them. They’ve got money to burn.”
“Well, I don’t care. They can keep their money and my father can save everyone the trouble. I don’t want anything else to do with the Tannahills. Especially Blaine.”
Nellie blew on her coffee mug, then took a sip. “He’s that cute, is he?”
Maxie scowled at her. “I said nothing of the kind.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face said it for you. You really shouldn’t ever play poker, you know that, don’t you?”
“Cute or not, it doesn’t make any difference.”
“Oh come on, Maxie. Aren’t you a teensy bit curious as to how the other half lives? A woman I work with read something in the newspaper about the Tannahills and how they know a lot of famous musicians.”
Nellie pointed to the stack of sheet music on the table. “Maybe they could connect with someone who’d want to record your songs.”
Maxie grabbed a pillow and tried to wedge it under her cast on the sofa, but it was easier said than done. Nellie got up to help her adjust it. After saying her thanks, Maxie added, “I don’t think anyone is going to be interested in my little songs.”
“Oh? Then why did you enter them in the New American Star contest coming up in three weeks?”
“Because you dared me, that’s why.”
“I never thought you’d go through with it. I’m glad you did.”
“Doesn’t matter because I don’t have a prayer of a chance.”
“You’ve gotta put yourself out there. Kind of like dating.” Nellie sat back down. “Speaking thereof, heard from Sidney lately?”
“Why would he call me? As if I’d talk to him after what he did.”
“Just curious.”
Maxie rescued another Danish from the plate. “Now you’re the one with an expressive face. There’s a reason you’re asking, isn’t there?”
“A rumor, nothing more. Barbara said she’d heard Sidney and Sheila broke up.”
Maxie chewed on the Danish. Good thing neither Sidney nor Sheila were here because she’d probably throw the pastry and the whole plate at them. “Wouldn’t matter. I’m not about to take Sidney back.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“No, excellent. I think you could do a lot better.”
“Not Blaine Tannahill better.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Maxie grabbed a pencil and pushed it inside the cast as far as it would go. “Itches already.”
“I’ll get you a back scratcher. Works wonders.” Nellie took a knife and split the last Danish in two, giving Maxie half. “What are you going to do about work?”
“The Powers That Be are going to call me back. Don’t know if I’ll still have a job.”
“If they know what’s good for them, they’ll do anything to keep you.” Nellie hopped up and grabbed the plates to put in the dishwasher. “But if they’re idiots and do fire you, I’ll be over tonight with something stronger than coffee. Vodka and coke should do it.”
Maxie waved at Nellie as her friend left for her own job. Maxie grabbed the pencil to scratch her leg. Busted relationship, busted car, busted leg, busted job. Story of her life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blaine usually hated paperwork, but today he was grateful for the light load. That is until his father walked in. It was easy to see why people always deferred to Grant Tannahill, with the air he carried about him of a prizefighter who’d seen it all and done it all and could successfully spar with any person on the planet, no matter how rich or how famous or how annoying.
He looked much younger than his sixty years, no doubt from hardly ever sitting down for more than a few minutes at a time. His piercing gaze had sent more than one staffer or creditor slinking away with their tail between their legs, but Blaine really truly hated it when he turned that gaze on his son.
His father perched on the edge of the desk and stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then he said, “I spoke with the police and our attorneys. Due to the rainy, dark conditions, and the fact that you were sober, the police have decided to only slap you with a careless driving citation. It could have been much worse.”
Blaine felt like he was ten years old as his father continued, “The usual penalty for this is to pay the fine and take an eight-hour driving improvement clinic to reduce the points on your record.”
Blaine groaned at the idea of a boring clinic and a waste of a perfectly good day. But then his father added, “However, since the young woman you hit is a librarian and her injuries will make it difficult for her to do her job, the officers and myself feel that in lieu of the traffic court, you could help out Miss Cottrill at the library.”
“But what about the business? The new orders we got last week?”
“Cash and Jack can take up the slack for you. Of course, it would mean a couple of weeks instead of eight hours. But it’s your call.”
Maybe two days ago, Blaine would have thought it was a no-brainer. Take the eight-hour course and be done with it. But that was before he literally ran into Maxie. Maxie, with the silky brown hair and warm mocha eyes. And he really did owe it to her, didn’t he? Not only had he taken away her transportation, he’d as good as taken away her job, even if just for a while.
And so it was he found himself saying, maybe a little too quickly, judging by his father’s narrowed eyes, that he’d be happy to help out Maxie as “punishment.”
“If I didn’t know better, son, I’d say you were looking forward to your little stint at the library. Are you getting bored with your work here?”
“What? Oh, God no. Not at all. I just ... I owe her. It was my fault, and I need to make this right.”
“Hmm.” His father nodded. “That’s one of the most mature statements I think I’ve ever heard you make. All right then, it’s settled.”
Left by himself to tackle the paperwork, Blaine realized what he’d just committed to, wondering if he was insane. Must be the migraine.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Another knock on the door made Maxie tense. What now? She yelled out, “I’m coming,” at the top of her voice, then lumbered toward the front on her crutches, where she opened the door on Rockingham County Personnel Chief, Gary Pinkham.
“May I come in?” he asked.
She motioned for him to follow her and hopped to the sofa, where she sat expectantly. When he told her why he’d come, she stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head complete with alien antennae and bulbous black eyes. “Are you seriously telling me they want that arrogant, careless, ric
h SOB Tannahill to be my shadow for a couple of weeks? This must be some kind of joke.”
Pinkham certainly wasn’t laughing, although he did flash her a sympathetic look. “The police and traffic court judge thought it was a win-win. This Tannahill guy gets punishment, and you get some help. Besides, you know what our budget’s like. We can’t afford to hire a temporary helper right now. Becky Gains offered to step in until you were healed. You could stay at home that way.”
Maxie could see Becky’s face now, with her pasted-on look of fake concern, all the while plotting to make this “temporary” situation permanent. Becky had taken one class in library science as an undergrad and now she thought she knew everything there was to know on the subject. Maybe she knew a little bit about classification and the mechanics of it, but she wasn’t an avid reader and didn’t seem all that enamored of books. This was more about having control, her own little ego bubble where she could be Queen of the Kingdom.
Maxie thought back to the group of toddlers in the children’s area on Friday, who were sitting with rapt expressions as one of her aides, Allison Greeley, read to them. If anyone should take over the library some day, it was Allison. Good with kids and adults alike, passionate about books, working in library science classes whenever she had the time and money, a little bit here and there.
Maxie sighed. “I don’t suppose I could say no to this arrangement and still continue to do my job, as usual?”
Pinkham tilted his head. “Your aides are part-time and couldn’t take up all the slack by themselves. I’m afraid it’s either Blaine Tannahill’s help or you get some much-needed rest and let Becky Gains help out.”
Maxie considered her options. She didn’t like any of them, but it appeared the least of the evils was to accept Blaine’s help. As if she could stop him—the rich and powerful Tannahills had plenty of lawyers at their beck and call who made everything happen the way the Tannahills wanted them to. They snapped their fingers, and it was all “Yes, sir,” “Anything you say, sir.” She was half-surprised Blaine had been charged at all. She’d expected the ticket to mysteriously go missing or be voided somehow. Oh, lord. Now she was beginning to sound like her father.
Maybe she was being a touch bitchy, but if there was one lifelong prejudice she’d had, it was against rich people. Take, take, take, wanting everything for themselves and not a big afraid to stomp on all the little people in their paths in order to get it. Maybe it was a reaction to her father’s constant lawsuits. Or maybe it was the fact her beloved mother died in a car crash when Maxie was nine—hit by a fat-cat Washington lobbyist who got off with only a misdemeanor, despite being drunk at the time.
Pinkham cleared his throat, and Maxie snapped out of her pity party long enough to say, “It’s only for a few weeks, right?”
He nodded, then said, “He apparently has access to another car and will be picking you up and taking you home every day as part of the agreement.”
She hit the roof at that, gimpy leg and all. “You mean to tell me that the same man who was charged with careless driving and did this,” she patted the cast, “is tasked with driving me around? That’s insane!”
“I wouldn’t worry about his driving. I know his father, and I have a feeling that Blaine is going to be Driver of the Year after this incident.”
“Maybe his father should ground him instead.”
“I don’t think you can legally ground twenty-nine-year-olds.”
Maxie hadn’t really considered Blaine’s age. Maybe because she was so filled with pain and anger at the time. Not that his handsome face was too distracting as he bent over her with those lovely blue eyes and long eyelashes. No, it was definitely the pain and anger.
Still ... he did look well-muscled so he might be handy to have around, carrying books and boxes. That is, it he wasn’t as clumsy on his feet as he was driving a car. And she’d have something nice to look at while he was around. But that was it. Once the two weeks were over, it would be bye-bye rich boy. Her eyes watered as she thought about Sidney, but she rubbed them hard so Pinkham wouldn’t see.
He asked, “So, we’re all set then?” He’d no sooner gotten out those words when there was another knock on the door. This time, Pinkham offered to see who it was, and Maxie could hear a man’s voice conversing with Pinkham before he ushered the new visitor in. “Speak of the devil,” he said.
Maxie blinked at Blaine Tannahill as he towered over her, hands thrust into his pockets, and a contrite expression on his face. “Guess you’ve heard by now. I’m your new assistant. And chauffeur. And handyman, whatever you might need. After all, it’s the least I can do.” He hastened to add, “To make it up to you.”
Pinkham said, “Well, I guess you can take it from here, Mr. Tannahill.” And he added one last parting comment, “Let me know if there’s anything else we can do for you, Maxie,” before leaving her alone with Blaine.
Maxie didn’t say anything at first, letting him stew a bit. As he shifted his feet and took his hands out of his pockets long enough to tuck them under his armpits, she almost laughed. But there was something sweet about his nervousness, too. And the way he kept looking at her, part chastened schoolboy and part something a lot different, something she didn’t want to think about, made her stomach do a flip flop.
What was that all about? Oh no, you don’t, she admonished herself. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. Then she had a wicked thought—when Mr. Blaine Tannahill said he’d do whatever she needed, he had no idea how miserable she was going to make his life for the next few weeks. He might be rich and pampered, but for now, she owned him. And for the first time since the accident, she felt like things were looking up.
CHAPTER NINE
For the first time since he could remember, Blaine was at a loss for words. At a loss for anything, really, because he didn’t know what he should say or do. He was relieved to see Maxie safe and sound, except for the cast on her leg, but he was afraid anything he said would be misconstrued.
Maxie wasn’t helping any by giving him the silent treatment, but he guessed he deserved that. Unable to take the silence any longer, he blurted out, “Guess we’re going to get to know each other intimately.”
At her shocked expression, he realized what he’d said and backpedaled. “I mean, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
He could actually feel his face turning red. Another first. “So I suppose I should introduce myself properly this time.” He stuck out his hand. “The name is Blaine. Blaine Tannahill.”
He held his breath as she stared at his outstretched hand and then finally shook it.
He exhaled, as his words continued to come out in a rush as if he’d developed some sort of linguistic diarrhea. “My family owns a custom guitar company, me and my father and two brothers, I’ve lived in Wingapo all my life, although we have a cabin near Charlottesville. I make a mean beer omelet, I’m handy with tools, and my teachers always told me I was a pretty good student. So hopefully you’ll find me an apt pupil for your library training. And would you please say something because unless you’re psychic, we’re going to have to exchange words sooner or later, if I’m going to learn how to help you.”
Her lower lip trembled, and he was afraid he’d made her want to cry. What the hell had he gotten himself into this time? Maybe he should have taken the traffic school option, after all. But seeing her lying there on the couch all banged up because of his actions, he had to fight the urge to rush over and take her in his arms. Just by way of an “I’m sorry,” naturally.
She pointed to the crutches lying at the end of the sofa. “You can start by handing me those.”
He almost tripped over the coffee table in his haste to grab the crutches. He must have been hovering too much as she hoisted herself up because she glared at him. “I’m not completely helpless.”
He backed off and let her right herself into a standing position. “There, you see?” No sooner had she said that when she started to fall forward, and he j
umped toward her, catching her in his arms before she toppled to the ground. Then he realized how close they were, chest to chest, face to face.
Was that his heart beating so fast or was it hers? He drank in the smell of her lilac perfume, the dewy softness of her skin, her plump, red lips, and wondered what it would be like if he lifted his arm to touch that skin or pressed his lips against hers. He felt more intoxicated than after drinking those beers with his brothers last night.
It was Maxie’s turn for her face to turn redden, and she growled at him. “I’m fine now. You can let go.”
Blaine stepped back to give her some space, and she jerked her body away from him. Propelling herself on the crutches toward a counter, she reached it, grabbed a purse lying there, and looked back at him. “You said you were going to be my chauffeur. So let’s go, Jeeves.”
He opened the car door for her, but other than that, he allowed her to take her time shoehorning herself into the car. Several times, he wanted to reach over and help, but mindful of her reaction earlier, he let her take the lead.
Once her crutches were stowed, they headed to the library, with Blaine making small talk along the way. After getting virtually no response from Maxie, he turned on the radio instead.
The station happened to be country and western, which elicited the first non-hostile reaction from her. “You like country?”
“I like many different kinds of music. Since our guitars are played by musicians from all walks of life, I kinda developed a catholic taste in music. I mean small-c, not—”
“I know what you meant. ‘Catholic’ as in wide-ranging.”
He asked, “I take it you like country, then?”
“Umm-hmm. My mother used to play the guitar and sing to me, back before she—.” Maxie’s words trailed off. “She was born in the Nashville area, so I guess she came by it naturally. She had such a lovely voice. I’m sorry no one ever recorded her.”