Rannigan's Redemption: Complete Collection

by Pandora Spocks

  Bobby chuckled. “I’m sure you have it all under control. And it could be that good little girls might find a surprise waiting for them at my place.”

  “Oh, really?” she smiled. “We’re not supposed to be doing our Christmas until you get back.”

  “It’s not really Christmas, cher, just a little happy to tide you over.”

  After they hung up, Maggie ordered a cab to take her and all the necessary items to Michael’s apartment. Arriving uptown, she stopped first at Bobby’s to drop off her overnight bag and to retrieve the huge pot Jerilyn had used to make gumbo when she’d visited. Maggie intended to use it to make the brine for the turkey.

  On the kitchen counter she found a small box wrapped in white paper with a huge red bow on top. The envelope beside it was labeled with a hand-drawn heart. Giggling, she opened the card.

  Merry Christmas Eve, ma ‘tite cher. This isn’t a Christmas present, it’s a Christmas EVE present, so don’t be mad at me. I love you, Maggie, more than I can say. Thank you for making me so happy. I miss you and I’ll see you soon. Yours always, Bobby

  Blinking back tears, Maggie carefully opened the box. A stunning pair of square-cut emerald stud earrings sparkled up at her. Of its own accord, her hand flew up to the emerald hanging from the delicate silver chain around her neck. The earrings were a perfect match.

  Without hesitation, she removed the small silver hoops she’d put on at home and replaced them with the beautiful green studs. In the bathroom mirror she brushed her hair behind her ears and admired them, smiling thoughtfully.

  Returning to the kitchen she used her phone to take a selfie and send it to Bobby. I thought you said it was only a little happy, she texted.

  Bobby called immediately. “They look amazing on you, just like I knew they would.”

  “Yeah, but we weren’t doing anything until later,” she said.

  “It’s just a little Christmas Eve gift. You’re not mad, are you?”

  “How can I be mad? They’re breathtaking. Thank you so much!”

  “My pleasure, cher. I’m so happy you like them.”

  When she let herself into Michael’s apartment, Christmas music was playing and she could smell chocolate. “Hi, Mags,” Michael greeted her from the kitchen. “I was just making some hot cocoa. Want some?”

  She set her bags on the kitchen counter and stared at him. Completely dressed in jeans and a grey cardigan, he grinned at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Who are you and where is Michael Rannigan? You know, the guy who slouches around in sweat pants and growls at everyone?”

  He laughed. “I’m just in the holiday spirit. Don’t be a Scrooge.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling good. And yes, hot cocoa sounds great. It’s getting really cold outside.”

  Michael poured for them while she went back to retrieve the cooler she’d left in the hallway. “Here you go,” he said, handing her a mug when she returned to the kitchen. “Beau’s earrings look nice on you, by the way.”

  She sipped then looked up at him sharply. “How do you know about that?”

  He shrugged. “He showed them to me. We talk a lot, for your information. He worried you’d be mad because you agreed to give your gifts later.”

  “Yeah, well,” she said, filling the large stock pot with water and placing it on the stove, “he’s still in trouble for breaking the rules. I feel like a shit because I didn’t give him his gift yet.”

  “Those earrings aren’t his real gift for you.”

  Maggie squinted at him. “How do you know?”

  “Because he showed me your real gift.”

  “And?” She arched an eyebrow. Michael grinned before pantomiming locking his lips and throwing away the key. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Maggie sighed. She added the salt and spices to the water and began emptying ice into the huge cooler she’d set on the kitchen floor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Michael asked as she checked the pot on the stove.

  “Getting ready to brine the turkey.” She glanced at him and saw his confusion. “I’ve always wanted to do it but there’s no room at my place. When it’s ready, you’re going to have to help me put the cooler out on the terrace. It’ll stay out there overnight.”

  Half an hour later, they worked together to drag the cooler to the terrace door and lift it over the lip. “There,” Maggie said. “It will be just fine out there until tomorrow.”

  Michael sank onto the sofa and turned on the oxygen that was tucked away out of sight, placing the cannula in his nose and taking a deep breath. Maggie watched with concern. “Are you okay? Was that too much?”

  He waved a hand toward her. “Nah, just got a little winded, that’s all.” Maggie seemed unconvinced. “Tell you what, let me catch my breath for a second. I’d really like to go for a ride.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “A ride?”

  “I’ll call the service. I want to take a ride through the park, see the snow and the decorations.”

  Maggie shook her head. “A ride through the park. Okay, Michael, we can do that. But I don’t want to be gone too long. I still have a ton of things to do before tomorrow.”

  Comfortably settled in the back of the black Lincoln Town Car, they watched out the windows as they rode through the streets of Manhattan, sparkling with holiday cheer and dusted with snow.

  Maggie sighed. “I’d forgotten how pretty everything looks. I’m always in such a hurry, I don’t even take the time to notice.”

  “Well, take the time.” Michael looked at her meaningfully. “This is from someone without a lot of time left.” Maggie rolled her eyes and patted his arm, refocusing her gaze out the window. She hated when he talked that way and she had no idea of how to respond.

  The scenery changed as they entered the park. The winter-bare trees with their snow-covered branches stretched out against the grey sky, and a few hardy joggers made their way along snowy trails. They could see skaters gliding along at the Wollman Rink, and Maggie thought about how Savannah would enjoy skating there.

  She was still thinking about the little girl as they drove out of the park and into the west side. “Did you know that Murph has his office near here?” Michael said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Brian? No, I thought he was close to the old office.” She regarded him curiously. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “I hear things,” he answered vaguely.

  The car continued up Eighth Avenue until Michael suggested the driver turn left onto 87th. Maggie’s brow was furrowed as they rode along the quiet residential street but she said nothing. “Right here,” Michael said. “Let’s stop here for a minute.”

  The car stopped and Michael leaned toward Maggie’s side of the car and looked up through her window. “Check it out, Mags. What do you think?”

  Maggie looked up and saw the brick and stone facade of a four-story townhouse. “It’s beautiful. Do you know the people who live here?”

  Michael shook his head, but his eyes twinkled. “Nope. Let’s go take a look.”

  Maggie frowned. “Take a look?”

  Michael had already opened his door. “Come on, Mags.”

  By the time they reached the porch at the top of the stairs, Michael was winded again. Maggie hurried back to the car to retrieve his oxygen. “You’ve got to take it easier, Michael, seriously!” She handed him the cannula and hung the strap over his shoulder as he switched on the machine and breathed deeply. “What are we doing here anyway? It’s Christmas Eve and...”

  The arched wooden door opened and a stunning blonde woman wearing a charcoal grey business suit accented with an eggplant scarf greeted them. “Michael? I’m Winnie from Metro Realty. We’ve spoken over the phone. Are you ready to see the house?”

  Chapter 21

  Standing in the empty parlor three steps down from the entry, Maggie’s gaze traveled from the intricately designed hardwood floors to the crisp white crown molding, halting in ama
zement on the ornate stone federalist fireplace. Winnie was giving a running narrative though Maggie only half heard her. “Now you’ll notice lots of original details throughout this property.”

  “When was this house built?” Michael asked.

  “Got to be late 1800s,” Maggie murmured thoughtfully.

  “1890 to be precise,” said Winnie sounding pleased. “You know your architecture. It’s believed that it was originally built to be the home of a gentleman’s mistress. He set her up in grand style.”

  Maggie giggled. “Ooh, how scandalous! What an interesting history.” She walked the perimeter of the room. “Michael, do you see the wood inlay in the floor all around the edge?” she asked, stooping to lightly caress the design. “This is just exquisite.”

  She turned to Michael suddenly. “You’re not seriously considering moving?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, this would be an investment. I wanted your opinion on the place, though.” Crossing to a bay window that overlooked the sidewalk and street, he sank onto the seat and put his oxygen back in. “How about you look it over for me and see what you think.”

  Winnie nodded. “If you go on back, you’ll see they’ve upgraded the kitchen while keeping the original style of the place intact.”

  Maggie continued down the hallway past a formal dining room and into the kitchen. As Winnie had said, it was spacious and open, boasting high end stainless steel appliances and stone counter tops, but nothing overpowered the original stone floor and fireplace. At the end of the room was a space for a breakfast table and beyond that, tall vintage French doors.

  “Oh, Michael, there’s a yard back here,” she called, letting herself out into a small gravel courtyard dominated by a huge old oak tree and edged by landscaping beds. There are probably tulip and daffodil bulbs that pop up in the spring, Maggie mused. The brick walls of the garden were covered with ivy.

  She returned to the parlor. “Michael, this is absolutely amazing.”

  “You like it, then?” he asked, seeming pleased.

  “It’s beautiful. Maybe you should think about moving,” she said.

  “You haven’t seen the upstairs yet,” Winnie reminded her. “This house has four bedrooms and four and a half baths. The master suite takes up the entire second floor. Two bedrooms are on the third floor, and there’s a smaller attic bedroom at the top. Oh, and the basement is finished. It’s perfect for a home office or a gym.”

  Maggie had just started up the stairs when Michael called from the window seat. “Hey, Mags? Do you have a couple of dollars?”

  “A couple of dollars?”

  “Yeah. I want to buy a newspaper.”

  “Michael, I’ll buy you a paper on the way home.”

  “There’s a little store on the corner,” he hooked his thumb toward the window, “I just forgot my wallet. Can you loan me some money?”

  Maggie returned to the living room. “Oh, for fu-,” she glanced at Winnie, “I mean, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered as she dug though her purse. “Here’s five bucks. Honestly, I would be happy to get your paper when we’re finished here.”

  Michael flashed his best grin. “Thanks, Mags. By the way, can you sign as a witness? I’ve decided to buy the house.”

  Maggie frowned at the document in his hand. “We haven’t even looked at the rest of it yet.”

  “I’ve seen the pictures. And judging by the way you like this floor, I’m thinking this is a good deal.”

  She took the document from him, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “Maggie, wait until you see the claw foot tubs in the bathrooms,” Winnie said. “And they’ve maintained the vintage tile on the floors and walls.” Maggie looked up from the contract.

  “Just sign below me, Mags,” Michael said, pointing to the line. Distractedly, she took the pen from him and quickly signed her name as Winnie continued talking.

  “And the master suite has its own original fireplace similar to the one down here. Let me show you.”

  Taking one last look at Michael, Maggie dutifully followed the realtor up the stairs. Michael smiled smugly to himself.

  On the ride back to the east side, Maggie couldn’t stop talking about the house. “Michael, it’s an amazing find. A townhouse from the 1890s in such pristine condition? It’s absolutely beautiful.” She looked at him sharply. “What about your newspaper?”

  Michael waved dismissively. “Oh, I changed my mind.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Unbelievable. And I can’t get over you making an appointment to buy a house on Christmas Eve. Who does that?”

  Michael and Maggie shared a Christmas Eve dinner of Chinese take-out on the living room coffee table in the sparkling glow of the tree. Following dinner, Maggie completed her preparations for the next day, including an inventory of the bar.

  “Michael, what is all this champagne for?” With her head in the cabinet, her voice sounded muffled.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s left over from your birthday.”

  “That’s a lot of leftover champagne.”

  When she finished checking on the turkey brining out on the terrace, she returned to the living room and sank onto the huge leather sectional. Michael poured bourbon for both of them and they sat in comfortable silence, sipping and admiring the holiday lights reflected in the windows.

  “It’s pretty,” Michael murmured, nodding toward the tree. “I can’t remember the last time I bothered to get a tree. Can’t remember the last time I stayed in town on purpose for the holiday, come to think of it.”

  Maggie sipped her drink. “Yes, the tree is beautiful. And it’s nice, having Christmas at your place this year.”

  He smiled. “It is. But I say that before we’re overrun with guests.” They both laughed.

  Michael’s expression turned contemplative. “Are you happy, Mags?”

  Bobby’s face popped into her mind and she turned to him, smiling. “I am very happy, Michael.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I mean everything. Bobby, work?”

  Her left shoulder came up and she tilted her head. “Well, work, you know.” She pursed her lips and looked down. “I realized something recently. Since my time in law school, I wanted to be a prosecutor because I wanted to make sure that justice was served.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. “How fucking arrogant is that? I’m going to right all the wrongs, protect the public from the bad guys. I’ve been so full of shit.”

  Michael smiled sardonically. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to bring that up, but...”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?” she laughed, tossing a wadded up napkin at him.

  “It’s just who you are, passionate about everything. I’ll never forget Mary Margaret Flynn, marching herself into my office and telling me that we should support local business instead of corporate greed.” They both laughed and resumed watching the tree in silence for a while.

  Michael retrieved the bourbon bottle to top them off again. “Ever think about finding a different job, maybe with a firm that doesn’t do criminal law?”

  She shrugged lightly. “Maybe, I don’t know. Bobby and I have talked about it a little.”

  He met her eyes, his gaze intense. “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “I’m a lucky girl.”

  Michael looked into his glass and swirled it gently. “When I go, I want to know that you’re happy. It’s important to me.”

  “Stop it! I hate it when you talk like that.”

  “It’s going to happen,” he said softly, not looking away from his drink. “Not talking about it doesn’t change anything.” His eyes met hers. “You deserve to be happy, to have everything you want.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anything I need. I’m gainfully employed, I have a man who loves me, I have friends who support me. In a week Bobby’s moving in with me and we’ll start looking for a place together. I’d say I’m pretty much set.”

  He watched her thoughtfully for a moment then
lifted his glass. “Merry Christmas, Mary Margaret Flynn.”

  Maggie smiled ruefully at his use of her full name. Again. “Merry Christmas, Sean Michael Rannigan.”

  * * *

  Fourteen hundred miles away, Bobby was tucking Savannah into bed. “You’d better get to sleep fast before Santa has to pass us by,” he teasingly warned her.

  “I will,” she promised soberly. “Daddy?”

  “What, June bug?”

  “Why didn’t Maggie come for Christmas?”

  Bobby knelt beside the bed. “She had to have Christmas there in New York for all her friends just like her who don’t have any families. She wanted to make sure they didn’t feel sad and lonely.”

  “I like Maggie, Daddy,” Savannah said.

  He nodded. “Me, too. You know what? I was thinking about going back to New York and asking her to marry us.” He regarded her seriously, closing one eye. “What would you think about that?”

  The little girl pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “I think that’s a good idea. Then we can be her family. And she can be our Maggie.”

  Chapter 22

  Michael glanced around his living room and sighed deeply as an unfamiliar wave of contentment washed over him. He’d missed the Orphans and Misfits since he and Maggie had parted ways and had forgotten how much he’d enjoyed being in the midst of all the joyful chaos.

  After their late-afternoon buffet-style dinner, the handful of children in attendance opened their gifts. Then Ben headed up the annual gift exchange, handing out numbers and presiding over the picks and swaps. Maggie and some of the others set out dessert on the dining room table and made sure that the bar was stocked with plenty of cups and ice so that everyone felt free to help themselves.

  Ensconced in his spot close to the windows at the far end of the huge leather sectional, Michael realized that everywhere he looked, he saw people who were connected in some way to himself or Maggie or both. Rance, Jason and a few more were out on the terrace taking in the view. A handful of others watched a football game on television. Across the room, Nate and Ben chatted with a petite blonde woman.