CHAPTER TEN
Gus sniffed suspiciously at the three packages on Maggie’s living room couch. Maggie watched him, wishing dogs could be trained to sniff out the intentions of the man you were going on a date with this weekend. Or the likelihood of getting your heart broken.
The packages were from Jake. She didn’t have the courage to open them yet, probably because deep down she was just as suspicious as Gus. He seemed determined to get to the bottom of what was in those boxes though, snuffling and snorting and circling. Maybe Gus was trying to warn her.
On Mondays when the bakery was closed, Maggie usually paid bills, took inventory and cleaned her apartment. Today, she’d just lain in bed, staring at the ceiling fan and thinking about Jake. Then Mr. Dobbs, the postman, had rung the bell and delivered Jake’s packages.
“Been doin’ some shopping, eh?” Mr. Dobbs had given her a conspiratorial wink while she signed for her dresses. “Get those off the Facebook, didja?”
Mr. Dobbs was close to seventy, still walked his postal route, and had absolutely no idea what Facebook was.
“You know it,” Maggie told him. “Internet can really get a girl in trouble.”
That was fifteen minutes ago. She’d had another cup of coffee since then. Now it was time to suck it up and try on those dresses. Right? Just open up the boxes and see what he’d sent her.
Gus sniffed the wrong thing and had a sneezing fit. She scratched his ears to comfort him and thought about why it was she couldn’t move and had a bad case of the flutters and a weird urge to laugh. She felt about those boxes the way Priscilla clearly felt when she walked into the bakery: certain there’d be hell to pay, but wanting to eat the whole store anyway.
Was Jake trying to buy her? Did he do this with all the women he dated—dazzle them with gifts, get what he came for, and then kick them to the curb like an empty beer can? Would she be hurt if he did?
Seemed like the upside to the whole “Jake thing” was the cheap, fast thrill ride. Judging by the address labels on these gift boxes, what he’d sent her might be thrilling, but it sure didn’t look cheap.
Maybe she needed more coffee.
Maggie went into the kitchen and poured herself a third cup. That should do it—she’d drunk enough coffee now to float her eyeballs. Gus followed her, looking pitiful and dejected as he always did when she poked around in the kitchen without feeding him.
“If you had thumbs, it would be different,” she said. “You could open up your own dog food. Until then, you eat when it’s time to eat.”
They went back to the living room. Disappointingly, the boxes hadn’t opened themselves. She sat next to them to see what that felt like, but it always came back to the same thing. Would he think she was obligated to sleep with him?
“Damn, it’s just a couple of dresses,” she muttered to herself, grabbing the first package and opening it. She lifted out a dress and her heart nearly stopped.
It was a Valentino, something wispy and floral and worth about half a year’s rent. She clawed open the next box and the one after that: a Christian Dior in red tulle and a black silk crêpe de Chine by Marc Jacobs. Best estimate? She was sitting barefoot in her living room with around eight thousand dollars’ worth of designer dresses.
She covered her mouth with her hand. This was crazy. No one bought gifts like these unless they expected a big return on their investment. Her fingers traveled over the silky fabrics, the flat, tight seams, the exquisite craftsmanship.
These weren’t from the discount rack at Maxine’s. They were from the world Jake inhabited, the one where everyone and everything was for sale.
Maggie was so absorbed in thought, she didn’t hear the knocking on her door until Gus started barking. She set down the dresses and rose to answer it. Maybe Mr. Dobbs had forgotten to deliver her regular mail.
Todd loomed in her doorway, blocking the light. “Hey, Maggie.”
Oh, no. She stared up him. Why did people always show up when you least wanted them? She needed to be alone right now so she could figure out what to do about Jake. Todd could potentially derail the rest of her afternoon if he insisted on staying.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He blinked, taken aback by her abruptness. When had any woman not welcomed Todd with open arms? “I came to talk to you, Maggie. Can I come in?”
Reluctantly, she stepped back and let him inside while Gus stopped yapping and busied himself sniffing Todd’s pant leg.
Todd took up a lot of space in her ultra-feminine apartment. Her heart might have been beating a little faster, but it was an old reflex, like breathing. Maybe her body hadn’t yet accepted what her mind already knew: Todd no longer had the power to charm her or to hurt her.
He smiled and ran one hand through his hair. “Where do I sit?”
Maggie took the couch and gave Todd the comfy chair. How soon could this be over? Having him here was like talking to a Jehovah’s Witness who stopped by to preach while you paused your favorite trashy TV show.
Todd’s eyes seized on the open packages beside her. “Looks like you’ve been puttin’ the hurt on your credit cards, Mags.”
“I don’t have money for stuff like this,” she said dismissively. “What’s up?”
Todd tapped his fingers on the arm rest of the chair. He cleared his throat. “I come to apologize.” His voice cracked. “I’m real sorry for everything I put you through. I got no leave to be askin’ your forgiveness, but I’m askin’ it all the same.”
He’d apologized. Wow. Maggie didn’t know what to say. It was as though she’d woken up in a different reality.
Todd’s eyes were busy trying to read her face. “I got no right to ask for your friendship,” he continued. “But after seeing you the other day—heck, you always was so great with kids—I just had to tell you what’s been weighin’ on me.”
Maggie stared at him, unable to move a muscle. How many nights had she ached with loneliness and grief? How many nights had she drowned in choked-back, unshed tears? How many nights had she prayed that Todd would realize his mistake and come back? Maybe the tightness in her chest was where the laughter had died, the sad tired laughter of a woman who’d once dreamed of this moment and now that it was here, couldn’t have cared less.
What an awful joke.
Todd was still talking. “I hope you don’t hate me, Maggie. I never shoulda taken up with Avery. I know that now. She had her wiles. But you’re too good a woman to hold a man’s mistakes against him.”
Maggie’s thoughts were like the spinning cherries inside a slot machine. She was trying to make sense of this, but couldn’t.
So Todd thought what he’d done was a “mistake”?
The old Maggie would have said something polite. She would have let him off the hook, at least for now, because she’d always bent over backward to spare people’s feelings. The new Maggie didn’t bust balls, but she didn’t take any crap, either.
Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “What you did was vile and unforgiveable, Todd. The only reason I’m letting you sit in my house is because I’m a nice person. Don’t mistake my kindness for anything else.”
Todd’s mouth dropped open. Clearly he’d expected a grateful reconciliation. Tears. Maybe even make-up sex in bed.
She stood, making it obvious she wanted him to leave. “Look, I’m busy right now. We can talk about this some other time.”
Todd stood, too, but he looked far from happy. His eyes lit with suspicion on the dresses and she could tell he was trying to put it together—the fancy new duds, the man he’d seen her with, her sudden coldness.
Maggie went to the door and held it open for him.
He stepped out on the landing and then turned around as though he wanted to say something. His blue eyes were dark, the way they were when he got angry. But they also seemed a little desperate.
“I didn’t like hearing them sharp words,” he admitted, “but I’m not giving up till you accept my apology, Maggie. A man can change his ways if he’s got a mind to. I’m going to show you I’m a new man, a better one. You’ll see.”
* * * *
One of the best ways to blow the cobwebs out, Jake thought as he floored it to Cuervo, was to get in a fast car and remember what it was like to be alive. Here he was in his cobalt-blue Aston Martin Vanquish Volante. The top was down and the weather was glorious and he had Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman” blasting out of his speakers. It didn’t get more alive than that.
The Regal was officially in his hands—and Maggie would be, too, if he had anything to say about it. Their first date was tonight in—he checked his watch—five hours, fifty-two minutes. He was going all out. Emma had helped with the logistics, but the idea was his brainchild and he was positive Maggie was going to like it.
All he had to do now was set up his base of operations at Mason’s ranch. Mason was letting him stay there while he and Cassidy were in Dallas for the preseason. Jake had the place to himself plus the staff he’d brought with him. Emma had sent them up the day before to get things ready.
The only cloud on his horizon was the news about his mother. Jake lead-footed it past a speed limit sign outside of Cuervo before remembering where he was and why it was a good idea to slow down. Lots of state patrolmen hiding behind shrubs and billboards in little Texas towns. Swearing, he eased up on the accelerator.
But there was no easing up on the sense of prickling disquiet he’d had since Dillon’s visit. It ambushed him at the strangest moments—putting together a budget for the Regal, wolfing down a sandwich between meetings, checking stock reports. Then he’d find his attention drifting to his mother and to Palestine. It was getting harder to snap it back again.
The last thing his mother had ever said to him before he’d slammed out of the house for good was, “You’re the reason my life is ruined. You’re the reason I drink—just to be able to stand looking at you.”
In a way, it wasn’t much different from the shit she spewed at everyone. But on that day at that moment—an hour after he’d sold his first tech startup at twenty-three and was now a multimillionaire—he just couldn’t take it anymore. Loretta became the thing that money could finally buy him a life away from.
Jake passed through the iron gates of Willow Ridge Ranch and remembered the last time he was here, the night of Mason’s wedding when Maggie had stood in the utility room sputtering with rage.
He liked ruffling her feathers. He planned on ruffling a lot of things on that woman.
The main drive veered off into a second drive that took him around back. He spotted two delivery vans, four people carrying groceries, and Mrs. Birch, the housekeeper, who Mason had warned him sort of came with the place. “Don’t expect her to like you,” Mason had told him. “She won’t. You in particular. She’ll hate your guts. But she’s a damn good housekeeper and we kind of inherited her from the previous owners so you’re just going to have to deal.”
Sure enough, Mrs. Birch glared at him from the back door of the kitchen. She was a substantially built woman in her early sixties wearing the kind of housecoat-apron combo that private service people wore about a hundred years ago. She didn’t smile and she clearly didn’t want him here.
Jake kicked his smile up a few notches before getting out of the car. “You’re Mrs. Birch, I’m guessing.” Her glare turned into a scowl. “I appreciate your opening up the house for me.”
She stomped down the stairs and marched over to him, eyes small and truculent like a rhino’s. “Those yours?” she asked, pointing to his suitcases in the backseat.
“Yes, but I can—”
Mrs. Birch hoisted them out as though they weighed nothing and trudged back to the house.
Damn, Jake thought. Mason wasn’t kidding when he referred to her as a “Texas T-Rex.”
As Jake grabbed his phone, his wallet and his keys, he realized how out of his element he was here. As beautiful as Willow Ridge was, compared to his slick, sophisticated life in Dallas, it seemed a bit like glamping. But for the next month or so, this was it. His new crash pad. And he had a strong feeling it was going to be exasperating, bewildering, possibly humbling, but one hell of a ride.
First stop on the tour was what he had planned for his date with Maggie tonight.
His heart beat faster when he thought about it.
* * * *
“So what are your plans for tonight?” Coralee asked, kicking the walk-in freezer door shut behind her. “It’s a beautiful Saturday night in Cuervo, Texas. You gotta have something cooking besides another batch of blueberry muffins.”
The question took Maggie off guard, which made her mess up a line of frosting on a birthday cake. Now she’d have to scrape off the excess with a knife and try to hide the mistake. No way was she telling Coralee—or anyone else, for that matter—where she was going tonight. She was rattled enough without having to worry about small-town gossip. Wherever Jake was taking her, she hoped it was about three hundred miles from here.
She took a deep breath and tried to pipe the frosting again. Maybe it was her nerves talking, but if she messed this thing up any worse, they’d have to send her back to cake college. The smart thing to do would be to put it away until tomorrow when, God willing, her hands might be steady.
“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Maggie fibbed. “Are you going to your UFO club?”
Coralee nodded, as matter-of-fact as if Maggie had asked her about a PTA meeting or a potluck supper. UFOs were the mainstay of Coralee’s life, along with cooking shows, crossword puzzles and Ed, her husband. Ed was retired and rarely stirred from the Barcalounger.
“There’s been a sighting near Big Bend National Park,” Coralee said with the hushed urgency she used when discussing her “saucers.” “Any day now I expect them to come to Cuervo. You know how my Ed got took up by one. He’ll be the first to tell you, they’re none too gentle on folks.”
Maggie bit down hard on a smile. The idea of any interstellar beings taking an interest in doughy, monosyllabic Ed was pretty funny.
“We’re doin’ a slideshow at the club tonight,” Coralee said. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
Maggie glanced at the clock and shook her head. “Me and Gus are staying in and watching our shows, but thanks anyway. Look, if you want to leave early, I can lock up. I doubt we’re going to get slammed fifteen minutes before closing.”
Coralee brightened. “I wouldn’t mind cuttin’ out a little early. If I don’t get there before Patsy McCulskey does, she steals my seat.” She lifted her apron over her head and hung it on a peg. “You and Gus have fun tonight.”
Oh, we will. Maggie put on her best smile and waved Coralee out the door. But the instant she had the bakery to herself, every doubt, every fear, every impulse of racing excitement hit her all at once. She dropped the pastry bag and took a deep breath.
She couldn’t believe she was actually going through with this. How many times this week had she actually had to sit down because when she thought about Jake, her legs wouldn’t hold her?
Maggie glanced at the clock again. Okay, now it was ten minutes till closing. She went to the front window and looked out. The sun had set and Main Street was awash in the blue of twilight. Mr. Wilcox from the lumber store flipped the door hanger from Open to Closed. One store over, Sue Ellen from Country Couture scooped up the fat lazy tabby that slept on her doormat and brought him inside. The street was mostly deserted now, which tempted Maggie to do something she had never done: lock the door early and turn out the lights.
Feeling like a bad store owner, a bad person even, she put the half-decorated cake into the refrigerator, locked the back door and then tiptoed up the outside stairs to her apartment. Jake was coming to pick her up in about an hour, so she’d have to hurry.
First, she walked Gus, which was hard because he loved his walks and kept tearing around in circles so she couldn’t get his leash on. Then she rushed him through his evening constitutional.
She, Magdalene Rose Roby, was going on a date with the handsomest man she’d ever set eyes on—not to mention one of the richest men in the country. And if that wasn’t scary enough, she was doing it knowing full well that guys like Jake were never in it for the long haul. They dazzled you with the shiny beads and then they disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Practical Maggie, the Maggie who ironed her Christmas ribbons so she could use them again, forced herself back down to earth. Things were clearer there—or would be if she stopped thinking how badly she wanted to have sex with him. Jake sure knew how to woo, but that didn’t mean she owed him anything. Like sex. To a man in his income tax bracket? What he’d sent her was like tossing a nickel in a wishing well.
Gus had his nose buried in a tuft of milkweed. “Come on,” she told him. “You’re just stalling now.” She dragged him back to the apartment and poured fresh water into his bowl. Then she hurried through her shower, told herself to slow down, hurried through the annoying shaving and then stepped out of the bathroom with a fluffy towel around her head.
She usually didn’t wear much makeup, but tonight she tidied up her brows and applied a smoky eyeshadow to the crease of her lids and some shimmer to the center. Thank you, April, for showing me how. Maggie brushed two coats of mascara on her lashes, surprised when she didn’t make a mess of it. Then she lined her lips and filled them in with a red shade called Siren.
The entire time she heaped scorn on herself for going to all this trouble—for going out with Jake in the first place. But she kept right on fussing, didn’t she? Talking herself out of it was like trying to argue with Gus.
Still caught up in her mental tug-of-war, she put on the red Christian Dior dress with the fit-and-flare retro cut and then looked at herself in the mirror. Someone else stared back, someone too fancy to have ever set foot inside Cuervo. Her heart pounded. Too late to chicken out now.
By the time she blow-dried her hair and slipped on her ballet flats, the doorbell rang. Gus crowed so loudly, she practically jumped out of her skin. She scrambled to find her favorite perfume, sprayed some in a cloud out in front of her and then walked through it. Too much? Too late.
She went through the door feeling as though she might just black out. Gone was any sense of gravity. Peering through the spyhole at Jake, movie-star handsome in his white shirt and black pants, only added to the feeling that the world was spinning way faster than she could handle.
Maggie opened the door.
Jake stood under her porch light and locked eyes with her.
Her whole body went molten.