My Way Back to You (Harlequin Large Print Super Romance)

by Pamela Hearon

  Maggie shrugged. “I was anxious to get here.”

  “I would’ve been worried sick if I’d known you were out on that highway at night all by yourself.”

  Maggie wondered which would have actually worried her more—knowing her daughter was on the highway alone or knowing she’d made the trip with her ex in the car with her?

  Maggie gave her a quick hug. “And yet here I am, all in one piece. Where’s Dad?”

  “Here.” His signature growl came from the kitchen.

  She leaned over and whispered, “How’s he doing?”

  “Better than me,” her mom whispered back as they entered the house.

  She found her dad standing at the sink with a cup of coffee poised at his lips. She kissed his cheek and then stood back to take a good look at him. “You look like the picture of health to me.” She opted for the lie, trying to contain her fear. Both Mom and Emmy had commented on his color during the past few weeks, but Maggie hadn’t seen it until now. Death warmed over was the horrifying term that came to her.

  He winked, closing a lid over a bloodshot eye that obviously hadn’t rested much through the night. “Nothing wrong that getting away from your mom’s nagging won’t help. I’m kind of looking forward to the vacation.” He slurped his coffee noisily.

  So he wasn’t ignoring the elephant in the room, merely downplaying its size. Whatever device he needed to use in order to cope was okay by her.

  “Bet Mom feels the same.” She got a cup from the cupboard and poured some coffee. “But I want to hear the details of what’s going to happen Monday.”

  Her dad’s grin faltered. “Lots of time to discuss that. First things first. Tell me about my grandson’s new home, then you can fill me in on how the son of a bitch is doing.”

  The way his face flushed to bright red wasn’t nearly as alarming as the movement of his hand to the area over his heart. Had he felt a twinge? Merely at the mention of Jeff?

  The gesture caused a stall in Maggie’s own heart as well as her tongue...and shot her good intentions of a conversation with her parents all to hell.

  A heart-to-heart conversation about Jeff was unthinkable until her dad’s heart got fixed.

  * * *

  ROSEMARY WATCHED THE subtle changes come over her daughter’s face. The normal ivory complexion fluctuated to deep pink while the tension around the eyes softened. Her lips puckered as if kissing an unseen entity.

  Oh, dear. This was bad. Very bad.

  Rosemary didn’t need this on top of everything else she had to worry about. Her breakfast pulled on its army boots and started marching a cadence inside her stomach.

  Just as quickly as the changes on her face occurred, Maggie seemed to catch herself, covering her momentary hesitation with a gulp of coffee.

  “Russ is in love with Chicago and Loyola, both. He’s already made lots of friends, and he and Jeff and another boy and his dad won the parent/child tournament, so he’s established a bit of a name for himself.” She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Mom, you should’ve seen the ugly lamp he fished out of the trash bin. It’s a leg lamp and it’s hideous, so, of course, he thought it was the greatest find ever.” She laid her hand on her dad’s arm. “He wanted to come home for your surgery.”

  “Dadgummit!” A disgruntled sigh exploded from Eli’s lips. “Y’all are trying to make this into a much bigger deal than it is.”

  “It is a big deal, Dad.” Maggie’s tone sharpened. “And there’s no use acting like it isn’t. It’s open-heart surgery and it’s serious. But I did some research yesterday on the way home—”

  “How could you do research while you were driving?” Rosemary watched her daughter’s eyes widen, and she looked like she had when she was three years old and had just cut her own bangs to a quarter inch.

  “I...um...well, not actually while I was driving. But I had my tablet with me, so I read about the surgery when I made a rest stop. And this morning.” Her eyes darted away as she took another sip of her coffee.

  She was lying. Her discomfort niggled at the base of Rosemary’s instincts. Why would she lie about something so minor?

  “Anyway, I didn’t want him missing his first match.” Maggie shifted the conversation back to Russ. “I promised we’d keep him informed during the surgery.”

  “I have confidence the doctor knows what he’s doing.” Eli stuffed his hand into the pocket of his overalls—his signal that the conversation was over. “Now fill us in on the son of a bitch.”

  That odd expression flickered across Maggie’s face again. It was gone in an instant, but it had been there.

  “Jeff’s fine.” She nodded as if agreeing with her own statement. “We got along well. No arguments. No bickering. In fact, being around each other after all this time was probably good for us. We made our peace.”

  Something in Maggie’s tone caused a prickle to tiptoe across Rosemary’s scalp, and she realized it was her daughter’s lack of emotion. The words were too modulated...too controlled.

  She tried to ignore the way her gut twisted “What does he look like now?”

  A shrug. A sigh. “Handsome as ever. The years have been good to him.”

  Yes, her tone was too casual. Shouldn’t there be some disgust or peevishness...something?

  Realization dawned and words poured out on a wave of motherly incredulity. “Oh, my Lord, Maggie. Don’t.”

  Maggie’s hand trembled as the cup paused halfway to her mouth. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be taken in by that boy again.”

  “He’s not a boy. He’s thirty-eight.”

  Aha! A defensive tone. Rosemary’s jaw and fists clenched simultaneously. “I don’t care what he is. He broke your heart once, and he’ll do it again if you let him.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mom.”

  “Dadgummit, Rosemary. I’ve told you before.” Eli’s arm swung up to rest on their daughter’s shoulder. “Our Maggie wouldn’t fall for that lying son of a bitch again. She’s too smart. Give the girl some credit.”

  “I’m not a girl anymore, either, Dad. I’m thirty-seven.” Her eyes shifted between them, giving each a level look. “I divorced one husband and buried another, so it’s not like I’ve been living in a cave somewhere.”

  Worry continued to pummel Rosemary’s insides. “I hear your words, but I don’t hear any denial.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes and let her head fall back in exasperation. “Mom, you wear me out.”

  “See!” Strong alarms were going off now. “Still no denial.”

  “You just have to ignore your mother right now, Maggie.” Eli feigned a sad look and shook his head. “She’s had a bad case of optical rectitus ever since we talked to that doctor.”

  Maggie leaned away from him with a questioning look. “What’s that?”

  “Optical rectitus?” He grinned. “That’s an inflammation of the nerve that runs from the eyeball to the asshole and gives her a shitty outlook on life.”

  Maggie had chosen the wrong time to finally take a large gulp. As she burst out in laughter, coffee spewed in all directions—including down the front of her dad’s favorite overalls.

  Irritation bubbled up in Rosemary. Not from the mess—Maggie began cleaning that up immediately—but from the fact they were siding against her, trying to act as if she was way out in left field when every instinct in her told her she was right.

  She knew Maggie better than anybody...maybe better than Maggie knew herself.

  She glared at Eli, and then a movement outside caught her eye. Stella Fremont was headed up the front walk. Bree Barlow must have called her mother and filled her in on the news of Eli’s surgery. It looked as though Stella had a basket of her friendship bread with her.

  “Y’all quit your nonsense now. We’ve got company.”

/>   She hurried to greet her friend, glad for the chance to step away from the scary subject for a while.

  Even more glad that Jeff Wells was all the way across the country...far away from her daughter at this time when she was especially vulnerable.

  * * *

  FOR THE five-hundred-and-twenty-seventh time, Jeff glanced out the window, hoping to see Maggie’s car coming up the driveway, and then chastised himself for being so excited about being with her again. It had been a long day, filled with plenty of activity, so he couldn’t really say he was bored...just restless.

  Maggie had assured him before she left that no one would come out to her place today because she was still supposed to be in Chicago. Making her appearance in town would be like hanging out a visitors-welcome sign, though, so tomorrow they might have company.

  But by then, Eli and Rosemary would know he was here.

  He’d set out to clean the house but found very little that needed doing except a bit of dusting. A set of old golf clubs in the garage—Zeke’s maybe?—provided a morning of practice on his son’s homemade driving range. It occurred to him while he was taking some swings that, if he lived there with Russ and Maggie, he would have built a putting green, as well. But the thought reiterated itself that he didn’t live there with them, and with that his enthusiasm for using the driving range vanished. He returned the clubs to where he’d found them.

  He swam for a while. But soon, his memory had turned to skinny-dipping with Mags two nights ago. Suddenly being in the pool alone wasn’t much fun, so he went inside to fix some lunch, settling for a can of soup.

  The well-stocked wine cellar was impressive. He recognized some of the vintages as really expensive and rare. Maggie had told him Zeke was a wine snob. She’d made a wise choice hanging on to these bottles. Tonight, they would enjoy the perfect wine to go with whatever she brought home—and he would secretly gloat that he, rather than that bastard Zeke, was getting to share it with her.

  Wandering around Russ’s room had been a bittersweet self-guided tour. His heart swelled with pride at the ribbons, certificates and trophies proudly displayed. But that same heart also ached because he hadn’t been there for the presentation of any of these awards.

  Not even the diploma proudly displayed on the desk. That nicked his heart more than any of the rest.

  A photo album lay beside the diploma—one of those professional-looking, hard-bound books made available to anyone these days with a computer and a little patience. Russ’s senior picture graced the front along with the words Happy Graduation at the top and Love, Mom at the bottom. The first page contained photos of his son as a newborn with his head full of black hair. Jeff’s breath caught and held at a photo of him and Mags holding their new baby boy. So young...so happy. So in love.

  Where did the time go?

  Russ turning one, his face covered in blue icing from his Cookie Monster cake. Jeff laughed aloud. His parents, the proud grandma and grandpa, were in this photo. Gosh, his mom and dad looked so young there. And Chloe, so beautiful as a young teenager—ten years before the MS started eating away at the nerve coverings in her body, confining her to a wheelchair, slurring her speech to the point few people other than he and his parents could understand her wants and needs.

  He didn’t begrudge his dad’s early retirement to help Mom take care of Chloe in their own home. He didn’t begrudge having to step in and run the dealership and the pressure of making sure the profit could sustain the entire family.

  But he did begrudge the damn disease that had limited how his sister could live her life when she should’ve had the freedom to soar.

  And he begrudged all those times he’d wanted to spend more time with his son but keeping the family financially afloat had taken priority.

  The next page showed Russ at two. The divorce hovered unseen in the background but was evident. No more pictures of him and Mags together. He moved on through page after page, year after year. No more pictures of him at all.

  Eighteen years of his son’s life, and he was only present for the first four pages.

  An anguished cry rose into his throat and seeped out of the corners of the mouth he tried to keep closed.

  Oh, he had his own photos of Russ’s birthday parties—the ones they celebrated when he came to California, which were never actually on his birthday. Instead, most of them took place in August before he’d have to return to Kentucky to start the school year. But it wasn’t the same.

  And it wasn’t the birthday photos that bothered him the most. It was Russ playing soccer, shooting a basket, giving it his all at Little League football, participating in the junior high spelling bee, eating ice-cream cones with his friends in the back of a pickup truck. Fishing with Zeke. Enjoying watermelon on Rosemary and Eli’s porch.

  The everyday photos laid his heart wide-open, but he looked at them, anyway. Slowly he made his way through every page, memorizing the little details so he could pretend he’d been there, too.

  By the time he got to the end, he felt drained. Maybe time for a nap? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d lain down in the middle of the afternoon.

  He started down the steps when a light buzzing noise sounded. An alarm of some kind. Mags had mentioned an alarm that let her know when a car had turned into her driveway. She was home! He took the remainder of the steps two at a time, fully awake now and ready to welcome her.

  Oh, hell! The car that passed the window on its way to the back of the house wasn’t the one he’d been expecting—it was a red Scion FR-S.

  He ducked into Maggie’s bedroom and peeked out the window as the car came to a stop.

  A redhead emerged with huge white sunglasses and hair held back with a wide black band. She went straight for her trunk on legs so long they must’ve started at her armpits and were made even longer by the short shorts and high wedge sandals she wore. When she leaned over to retrieve the items from her trunk, her more-than-ample cleavage threatened to spill out of the formfitting top with the low, low, low neckline.

  EmmyLou Creighton. He recognized her from Maggie’s vivid descriptions of her best friend.

  She straightened up with her arms full of bags. Groceries? It ran through his mind that she could just be acting as a thoughtful friend, stocking Maggie’s fridge with some items to tide her over. But she might also be planning on dinner.

  Damn! What should he do? Had she talked with Mags yet? Did she know he was here? She was a blabbermouth. He could tell that from the stories. Could he risk her knowing he was here before he was sure Maggie had told her parents? He sure as hell didn’t want them hearing it secondhand.

  He patted his pockets, intending to text Mags and ask for guidance. Where was his freaking phone?

  Damn it! He’d left it by the pool.

  Just to be on the safe side, he ducked into the closet Mags had shown him last night. If EmmyLou knew he was here, she would probably call out his name. And, if she didn’t know, he could wait here until Mags got home and either got rid of her or explained the situation.

  He heard the back door open and close, so she knew the combination. She was singing—well, bellowing—a Katy Perry song at the top of her lungs, which made him doubt she knew he was there.

  He flopped down in one of the chairs, irritated by the situation. Surely, Mags would be home soon.

  With no phone and no books or magazines, the singing soon became his only source of entertainment, and even that quieted some after a while. He started to doze and closed his eyes, giving in to the nap he’d considered earlier.

  A shriek startled him awake!

  He jumped up just in time to catch a heavy shoe box slung against the side of his face. The corner caught him in the eye, and he grunted in pain. “Wait! Stop!” He flung up his arms to ward off the next hit, but she fooled him and came in with an underhand to his genitals. He cr
umpled over in a defensive move. “Don’t! EmmyLou!”

  Hearing her name brought her up short. She paused and gave him a wary look. “Do I know you? How do you know my name?”

  He held his hands up in surrender, trying to catch his breath between the streaks of agony pulsing through his groin.

  “I’m Russ’s dad.” He leaned his hands on his knees and managed to get to a standing position. “I’m Jeff Wells, Maggie’s ex.”

  “You’re Jeff Wells?”

  “Yes.” He gave a relieved laugh and wiped his hand down his face. His focus returned just in time to see the fury that lit the redhead’s eyes right before she hauled back and boxed him again...this time in the stomach...with her fist.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MAGGIE’S SHOULDERS SLUMPED in defeat when she spotted her friend’s car in the driveway.

  Here comes another lecture.

  Emmy would be all over her because she hadn’t told her about her houseguest. She blew out a long breath at the irony. Her mom would have been all over her if she had told her the truth. Damned if she did; damned if she didn’t. That pretty much summed up the way her life had been going of late.

  She pulled into the garage and retrieved the groceries from the backseat. The homegrown tomatoes from the region used to be one of Jeff’s favorites. She’d bought enough for him to enjoy the entire time he would be here.

  Angry shouts met her as she opened the back door.

  Emmy’s voice! What in the world...?

  She followed the sound toward her bedroom.

  “...not to mention all those years she spent waiting for you to come back.”

  Oh, Emmy, please shut up!

  But she didn’t.

  “How do you walk out of someone’s life like that—someone you made a vow to stay with forever and had a child with? How do you live with yourself? You’re the kind of guy who gives all the rest of them a bad name!”

  Maggie found them—or at least Emmy—standing in the doorway of her bedroom closet.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”