Maggie steered Rance back toward the porch, where her parents and children had stationed themselves. Daisy had brought out a pitcher of lemonade, and she gestured for them to join the group. Joe was whistling and whittling, working hard at producing a pile of shavings at his feet.
“I guess I’ll defer to your expert wisdom as far as the grounds are concerned. You obviously know more about lawn care than I do.” Rance took Maggie’s arm as she strolled toward the house.
Maggie stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “It’s a good thing you didn’t say gardening is woman’s work,” she said teasingly, laughing at Rance’s expression.
His face crinkled into a big grin, followed by a deep belly laugh. He cut the laughter short, and a grimace replaced his grin. “Don’t make me do that.”
Having the grace to feel sheepish, Maggie looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your ribs. I guess it hurts, as they say, to laugh.”
“They say? I say it hurts. Let’s go sit down.”
“I’m for it. Oh, by the way, you know who would be a big help with the yard?”
“I hope you’ll tell me.”
“Tess. She’s very big in the Pittsville Garden Club. I know she looks like she never breaks a nail, but she’s won awards.”
“I’ll defer to whatever you and your sister recommend,” Rance said as he started up the steps. The top seemed a long way off, but he made it, though he clung to the stair railings for dear life. Gratefully he lowered himself into the swing, and Maggie settled next to him as naturally as if they’d been doing it all their lives.
Except for his ribs, Rance was feeling reasonably fit. His legs had been sore and stiff, but the walk had helped. If he didn’t coddle himself too much, he would be almost up to speed in a few days. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed contentedly.
Big mistake. Rance squeezed his eyes tighter as a spasm of pain shot through him. Deep-breathing exercises were definitely out for a while yet. He forced his breaths to come slow and shallow until the twinge had passed.
“Look, somebody’s coming,” Maggie announced. Rusty barked from under the porch, but was apparently too busy with her brood to investigate.
Rance opened his eyes and saw her pointing to a cloud of orange dust that accompanied a car as it bumped down the rutty dirt lane that meandered between the overhanging crepe myrtles.
“Who could that be? I don’t know that many people yet, and most of ’em are already here.”
“It looks like Bob Carterette’s car to me,” commented Daisy. “I’d best go get a couple more glasses.” She scurried inside.
The name touched something in the back of Rance’s mind, a long forgotten memory. “Reverend Carterette?”
“How’d you know that?” Joe drawled.
A Reverend Carterette had officiated at Luther Hightower’s funeral. Could this be the same minister, coming to pay a call?
Maggie crossed the yard to greet the visitors. The man was in his early thirties, too young to have ministered to the elder Hightower, and Rance was vaguely disappointed. It had fleetingly occurred to him that Carterette might know something about his family. How strange it was to be so close to his answers, after so long a time.
Joe sat up a little straighter in his lawn chair. “Young Bob just took over Mattison Methodist. Old Bob’s retired.”
Maybe he would pay a visit to Old Bob and see what the retired minister knew. Rance figured if anyone would remember what went on back then, the preacher would.
Maggie ushered the clean-cut young minister and his pretty wife up the steps. Joe gestured toward the chair that Daisy had vacated, and the minister’s wife took a seat. Carterette leaned up against one of the roof supports as Maggie began the introductions.
“This is Bobby Carterette, and his wife, Lucy. Bobby just took over Mattison Methodist.”
Rance started to rise.
Bobby waved him down. “No need to get up. I heard about your accident. Just thought I’d pay a call and see if we could help.” He leaned forward and extended his hand.
“This is Rance Montoya,” Maggie continued. “He’s Luther Hightower’s son.”
Rance swung his eyes to Maggie, and he felt the color drain from his face. He hadn’t told Maggie who he was so that she could announce it to the world. Hell, he still wasn’t sure he wanted everybody to know. He shook the young minister’s hand numbly as he resisted the urge to strangle Maggie.
Joe stopped what he was doing and laid down his pocketknife. Buddy gaped. Jennifer stared.
“Well.” Bobby shook his head, as if to shake off his amazement. “That’s one big surprise.” He pumped Rance’s hand vigorously. “Welcome home.”
Maggie knew enough to tread lightly around Rance after she made the unauthorized announcement. Luckily, there were enough people around to diffuse the anger simmering just behind Rance’s obsidian-colored eyes. By the time everyone had gone, Maggie sensed she would be safe alone in the same room with Rance.
The kids had gone with Maggie’s parents, ostensibly to the pond to fish while the fishing was good. It was just a ploy on Maggie’s parents’ part to give her a chance to set things straight with Rance. She figured Rance knew it, too, but he wasn’t making it easy for her.
Once everyone had gone, Rance made his way inside. He acted as though Maggie weren’t there and switched on the television, positioning himself on the new sofa. Reception was never good this far out in the country, but Rance stared at the snowy double image on the screen as if his life depended on it.
Maggie hovered in the doorway, undecided. Should she hang it all up and go home, or should she force a confrontation? Always a coward, Maggie chose “None of the above.” She gathered up the empty pitcher and lemonade glasses and carried them to the kitchen. He might not want to talk to her, but he wasn’t going to run her off, either. No, sir, not Margaret Rose Popwell Callahan.
Maybe it was time to resume the kill-him-with-kindness campaign, Maggie thought as she washed the glasses and pitcher. She even dried them by hand, something she would never do at home. She knew it was a delaying tactic at best, but she needed time to come up with a plan.
The plan came to her as she finished straightening up the kitchen. She would simply act as if blurting out Rance’s secret were no big deal and pick up with the southern hospitality where she’d left off.
She made a pitcher of iced tea, then looked inside the aged refrigerator. She found enough left from dinner to feed two, if they weren’t gluttons, and prepared a tray with two plates of cold fried chicken, potato salad and coleslaw. Okay, so she was using somebody else’s food to get through his stomach to his attention, she thought as she poured tea into glasses. It was the thought that counted.
Rance was still staring at the fuzzy television picture, trying to hear the nightly news, when Maggie came out with the supper tray. She placed it on the coffee table in front of him and took a plate and a glass of tea to a large high-backed chair that sat at an angle to the sofa. She was very careful not to block the television screen, not to talk, not to intrude. Acting as if nothing were wrong, she ate.
It pleased Maggie that Rance did not hesitate to avail himself of what she had set before him. He might be angry, but he had enough sense to know when he was hungry. Maybe on a full stomach, he would be reasonable.
Rance clicked off the set with the remote control and looked at Maggie with an unreadable expression. A dark lock of straight black hair fell across one coal black eye, and Maggie felt an unreasonable urge to cross the room and brush the hair away. She didn’t. She just waited.
“I see it didn’t make the local news” was all he said, as he picked up a chicken leg.
Success, Maggie thought. He was talking. How should she respond? She removed her dinner plate from her lap and set it on the tray again.
Brandishing her glass of tea, she confronted him. “Rance, the only reason people were surprised was because you’d hidden it from them in the first place.”
; It seemed that the chicken leg was more important than a response. Maggie shuddered at the feral way Rance chewed at the leg until it was nothing but a bare bone. He put it down and dragged a paper napkin across his mouth. He worked his mouth as if he were trying to form words, but nothing came out.
Maggie hadn’t really hurt anything by blurting out an omitted fact, Rance realized. She hadn’t meant to hurt him and, in fact, had probably helped. He also realized that he wasn’t really angry about what she’d told everybody. He wasn’t angry at them. He wasn’t sure he was angry at all.
But he was damn sure confused.
He had made a life for himself as Rance Montoya. He knew all about Rance Montoya, retired air force major and all-around good guy. He didn’t know who this Rance Hightower was, or who he was supposed to be.
Rance looked across the room to Maggie. Maggie, who had stepped into his life just one week ago, who had kept him off balance all week, had just upset another apple cart, with him in it. He knew he had frightened her with his moody silence, and he had to make it right.
But doing that meant he would have to bare himself to her again. How could she respect a man who always seemed to be advertising his insecurities? How could anyone love him? He stopped short with his introspection and reached for a match. Did he really mean love?
He realized that he was falling in love with her, had already fallen, but he didn’t feel worthy. How could he give himself to a woman when he wasn’t sure who he was anymore? When his own mother hadn’t bothered to hang around to see him through life? Rance put the match down on his plate and struggled to his feet.
“Maggie, come here.” He held his hand out toward her.
She came and stood in front of him, her blue-green eyes wide and questioning. She offered him her hand.
Rance folded her small, white, sun-dappled fingers in his. He looked deep into her eyes and felt he would drown in them before he could finish what he had to say. To save himself, he looked away.
“I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry because you told them my name. I was at first, but I’m over it.” Rance squeezed his fingers tighter around hers.
. Maggie started to speak, but Rance stopped her, placing two fingers gently against her peach-colored lips.
“Let me finish,” he continued huskily. “I’m not sure who I am. Yesterday I was Rance Montoya. I knew where I’d been, and I thought I knew where I was going. Today I’m Rance Hightower, and I don’t know who he is at all.” He sighed long and deep.
“I’ll help you find him,” Maggie whispered softly.
Rance worked his fingers loose from Maggie’s and cupped her face in his hands. He looked into her eyes as he caressed her lower lip with his thumb. His first urge was to kiss her, but he pulled away.
He brought his fingers down to his side, clenching them, then opening them again. Away from distraction, temptation. Her. “Why do you care?” he asked hoarsely.
Chapter 10
Maggie backed up and tilted her head so that she could look into his dark eyes. She breathed deep, then spoke, hoping her words would be the right ones. “I see a strong man who has worked hard and long to be where he is. I see a man who is gentle and kind and sometimes tries to hide it. I see a good man who can take whatever life has to throw at him, deal with it, and come out stronger. Why wouldn’t anybody care about that kind of man?”
Rance looked hungrily into Maggie’s eyes, his deep, dark eyes delving into her soul. She resisted the urge to look away, and met his gaze head-on. She had to show him she wasn’t afraid.
She found the courage to step forward, and reached up to touch his lean jaw. She felt the raspy contrast between his coarse cheek and her own hand. Senses that had long been sleeping had been wakened by his touch, and now she couldn’t bear not to touch him.
How could she not react to him after what happened last night? Then again, how could she? Had his actions last night been intended, or were they merely those of a man too heavily medicated to know what he was doing? Until she was sure, she would just pretend nothing had happened.
If she could.
The man gazing so needily down at her reminded her of how it was to be with a man. She remembered how it felt to see a man, to touch him, to hear him, to feel him. She drank in his male scent, mixed with soap and aftershave and a touch of fried chicken.
Then she released herself from her own tangled web of emotions and backed away. Whatever was to be between them could wait for another day. A day when he was stronger.
When she was stronger.
It was too much for Rance to take in at one time. The smell of her musky perfume, her delicate white skin dusted with freckles and that riot of red hair formed a trap into which he would willingly fall. But he didn’t have the strength. He wasn’t ready.
He knew that Maggie had expected him to kiss her, but his body wasn’t able to do what he wanted, willing as his spirit might be. He’d found that out last night. He was so grateful that she had taken that step backward, so that he wouldn’t have to push her away. He didn’t know whether he would have been able to do it.
His heart wasn’t yet strong enough for him to give it away. That was the main problem. He still had too much healing to do. In spite of what Maggie had told him, Rance felt unworthy. There were too many unanswered questions about his past. Until he resolved them, he could not move on.
He groaned from somewhere deep within his soul. It was best not to start anything he couldn’t finish.
Rance stepped back to put more distance between them, then stepped back again. It was just too easy to reach out and touch her. He kept backing away until the high-backed chair stopped his cowardly retreat. He could still see Maggie’s beautiful, caring face, hear her, and smell her. Maybe it would be enough.
“I’m sorry,” Rance finally rasped. He wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing for starting this emotional confrontation in the first place. Or for stopping it. Let her read into it what she needed.
Maggie looked at him expectantly, waiting. For him to kiss her? Or for an explanation?
Rance raked a hand through his hair, confused. He didn’t know what to say. He certainly couldn’t tell her that if she didn’t go soon, he would beg her to stay. Would it be that much easier on him to dream of her while they both lay alone and separated by half a mile and a narrow strip of macadam? Or to lie with her and be able to do nothing, as he had last night?
“I think I’d better go home,” Maggie finally said, relieving Rance of the responsibility of sending her away.
“Please thank your family for everything they’ve done for me in the last few days,” he rasped. Rance hated the stiff and formal way they were speaking. He wanted to call her back. “Thank you, Maggie,” he whispered.
Maggie turned and smiled. A wan smile, but a smile nonetheless. Then she slipped outside.
“What do you mean, you haven’t seen him in a week?” Tess stopped grabbing the gardening supplies from the back of Tom’s El Camino.
“I think he’s avoiding me,” Maggie answered quietly as she began unloading where Tess had left off. How had she let that little fact slip? Now Tess wouldn’t leave her alone until she’d ferreted out the whole story. And, if truth be known, after what they’d done that night alone in his bedroom, she’d been avoiding him.
“After what you’ve done for him? What a jerk!” Tess put her hands on her hips. “Why am I fixin’ to be his yardman?”
Maggie started to respond to Tess’s outburst, then stopped. She felt someone watching her. She looked up and noticed that Rance had appeared. He was chewing on the ever-present match, and his dark eyes bored into hers so hard that she had to look away. When she looked up again, he was coming toward her.
His gait was still deliberate, but he looked much better than he had the week before. He had one arm hitched against his side as if it still hurt, but apart from that, he looked pretty fit. Maggie’s heart made a tiny leap of joy. Did he remember, or did he think it had only been his imaginat
ion that night? Or had he decided in the clear light of day that he didn’t want her?
“Shh. He’ll hear you,” Maggie said in a stage whisper.
Tess glanced up, then turned back to her work. “Okay,” she whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong before he gets here.”
Maggie forced herself to the task at hand. “It’s nothing, really, Tess.” She tried to gauge how much of it she could safely confess. Her sister had been the biggest blabbermouth at Mattison Consolidated High School, and Maggie wasn’t sure Tess had improved with age.
“Well?”
Sighing resignedly, Maggie told ess, with as little embellishment as possible. “We just started something last week that we couldn’t finish.”
Tess’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth formed a silent “Oh.” She turned her gaze toward Rance, and her mouth widened into a grin. “Really?”
“He was injured, Tess! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” Maggie hoisted the last bag of fertilizer out of the truck and onto the ground.
“Well, fill me in on the details before he gets here.” Tess smiled brightly and waved in Rance’s direction. He returned her wave and tossed the match away. Tess turned back to Maggie.
Maggie hesitated, watching Rance from the corner of her eye. “He said he wanted to make love to me. But he was too injured to do anything about it.” For all practical purposes, he had made love to her, but she wouldn’t tell Tess that. “He probably doesn’t remember it, because he was heavily medicated, but he did kiss me.”
“Oh. That’s all?” Tess sounded as disappointed as Maggie had been at the time. Then her face brightened. “But that’s not so bad. It shows he’s interested,” she finished hopefully.
“He was probably delirious. He’d just had a tractor pulled off him.”
Tess made a face. Then, wiping her hands on her denimclad thighs, she turned to greet Rance. “Hi, handsome. I thought I’d work on that row of azaleas around the side of the house this afternoon.” She waved her hand in the direction of the overgrown shrubs.
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