Against the Storm1 (15 page)

M
aggie watched Trace step out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a fluffy white towel, another riding low on his hips. With those long legs, impressive pecs, six-pack abs and wide shoulders, he was gorgeous.

“I’ll be dressed in a minute,” he said.

“Okay, but I get to watch.”

He just smiled and began to search through his underwear drawer. She’d already had coffee and fresh-baked Pillsbury orange-frosted breakfast rolls, courtesy of her host. He had let her shower first, and she was dressed and ready, wearing a pair of gray, lightweight drawstring sweatpants and a black T-shirt with a gold eagle on the front with the words Ranger Up printed underneath.

As bad as she looked, it beat the heck out of arriving home in a long green evening gown.

While Trace pulled on a pair of jeans, she used the rubber band on the newspaper she’d found in the kitchen to pull her hair back in a ponytail. All the while, she watched him, enjoying the play of muscle, the move
ment of crisp dark hair on his chest, the gleam of smooth suntanned skin.

“Keep looking at me that way and we aren’t getting out of here for at least another hour.”

Maggie laughed but her stomach dipped. After last night and this morning, sex should be the last thing on her mind.

“Okay, I’m going. I need another cup of coffee, anyway.”

She made her way back to the kitchen, which was homey for a guy’s, kind of a 1950s retro look with a chrome, Formica-topped table and red vinyl chairs, and red-and-white-checked curtains at the windows. The appliances, top of the line, were white. So were the cabinets and countertops.

Trace had given her a tour that morning. Three bedrooms, two baths and a powder room he had added himself. There was a dining room with a mahogany Duncan Phyfe table and six matching chairs.

“It belonged to my grandmother,” he’d explained. “My dad and mom used it before I was born. I ended up with it. I guess I kind of like the way things were back then, you know? A quieter time and all. So I kept the stuff Dad had, and just worked around it, made it more my own.”

One of the bedrooms had been converted into an office, with equipment as modern as money could buy: an iMac, a laptop, a printer that copied, faxed and scanned. A row of built-in mahogany file cabinets ran along one wall, and his matching desk was wide and fairly neat.

In the living room, a big flat-screen TV, at least fifty inches, was hidden away in a built-in mahogany cabinet so it didn’t dominate the room. The sofa and chairs were
burgundy, overstuffed and comfortable, the beige carpet a high-quality deep pile. Some nicely framed artwork hung on the walls, mostly Texas landscapes done in an impressionist style.

He’d done a good job. It was the kind of place a man would want to come home to. Or a place a young couple might raise a family. He’d told her he had wanted that once.

“I guess we’d better get going,” he said as he walked into the living room. Along with his usual blue jeans he had on a light blue knit shirt and a pair of brown Rockports.

No hat today. Trace was a man of many facets. Maggie was coming to like each one.

A thought that got her moving. She didn’t want to like him
too
much.

“I’m supposed to be at the gallery by noon,” she said. “Faye and I plan to go over the sales, see which pieces were sold and have to be replaced. I need to get them reprinted, matted and framed. I only do them one at a time. Less chance of being damaged.”

“There’s something I’m going to ask you to do.”

She looked up at him. “What’s that?”

“Get me a list of your clients, people who’ve purchased your photos. You have one, right?”

“I do. But if you count the sales off the internet, you’re talking about a lot of people.”

“We don’t have a choice. I’m running out of airspeed and altitude here. We can limit the time frame, go back just a couple of years. We’re looking for collectors, people who purchased, say…at least three pieces.”

“All right. It’ll take me a little while to get the list into some kind of workable order. And some of my clients
buy through art brokers. It’ll take longer to run those names down.”

“Do the best you can.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got to stop by my office, check on a couple of things. It’s right on the way to your house and it won’t take a minute.”

“That isn’t a problem,” Maggie said.

A few minutes later, Trace pulled the Jeep into the lot and turned off the engine. “You can come in if you want. Doesn’t look like anyone’s around.”

She glanced down at her borrowed clothes. No way was she going anywhere but home. “That’s okay, I’ll just wait for you here.”

He nodded, climbed out and disappeared inside the building. He had been gone only a few minutes when a sassy little silver BMW convertible pulled into the parking lot. Maggie watched as a petite redhead slid out from behind the wheel. She wore snug designer jeans, a crop top and high-heeled sandals. With her endless curves, brilliant blue eyes and straight, silky red hair, she wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful.

The office door opened just then and Trace walked out. An instant later, the gorgeous redhead threw herself into his arms.

Trace inwardly groaned as he spotted Carly sashaying toward him, hips swinging, a smile on her perfectly made-up face.

“Good morning, sugar.” Before he realized her intent, Carly arms went around his neck and she kissed him full on the mouth. “Don’t you look handsome today?”

He caught her wrists and set her back down on
her feet, his gaze shooting to the Jeep, where Maggie watched from the passenger seat.

Carly reached up and undid a top button on his shirt. “There, that’s better. Mustn’t hide all those pretty muscles.”

Trace refastened the button. “I’ve got a friend with me, Carly. Is there something you need?”

“My, aren’t we in a testy mood?” She turned and looked over at his Jeep. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

“No. Look, I’ve got to go. What is it you want?”

“I just happened to be driving by. I saw your car and thought maybe you’d buy me breakfast.”

“I ate breakfast hours ago. You were probably still asleep.” He glanced over at her little sports car.
Or maybe not.
“I thought you were seeing someone. I’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy to know you were hanging around your ex-husband.”

“I don’t think of you as an ex, sugar. And who cares what Howard thinks? It’s not like we’re living together or anything.”

“That’s his car, isn’t it?”

She gave him a kitty-cat smile. “It’s
my
car. Howard bought it for me.”

“I’ve gotta go, Carly. Take care of yourself.” Trace started walking. He must have been completely insane to marry her. Jesus, what was he thinking? With his little head, obviously, instead of his big one.

He opened the door of the Jeep, climbed in and cranked the engine.

“Old friend?” Maggie asked. He didn’t miss the sharp edge to her voice. “My ex-wife.”

Her eyes widened. “
That’s
your ex-wife?”

“I would have introduced you, but Carly isn’t someone you really want to meet.”

Maggie sat up a little straighter. “She didn’t look like an ex-someone. Looked more like a present-tense someone to me.”

He turned, cast Maggie a look. “If you knew her, you’d understand. Once Carly gets her hooks into you, she doesn’t let go. I’ve been trying to get rid of her for the last four years. So far it hasn’t worked.”

“How often do you sleep with her?”

The wheel jerked. Trace stepped on the brake, slowed the car and pulled over to the curb. “I don’t sleep with Carly. Half the men in Houston have been in her bed, but in the past four years, not me.”

Some of the fight went out of Maggie. “Look, it’s none of my business. Last night was just a lark for both of us, anyway.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “A lark? That’s all it was to you?”

She shrugged.

“That’s bullshit, Maggie. It was more than a lark and you know it.” His temper was heating. Damn, the woman knew how to fire him up. He leaned over, caught her face between his hands and crushed his mouth down over hers. It was a hard, dominating, possessive kiss that told her exactly how he felt.

When he let her go, Maggie blinked up at him.

“It wasn’t a lark,” he said. She swallowed.

“Say it.”

“All right, it wasn’t a lark. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it wasn’t that. Not to me.”

He felt himself relax. “I don’t know where this is
going, Maggie. Apparently you don’t, either. But we’re going to find out. Okay?”

She just nodded. “Okay.”

Trace put the car in gear, eased into traffic and drove on. All the while he was thinking that Maggie O’Connell was nothing at all like Carly.

Or at least he didn’t think so.

As soon as Maggie got home, she dashed upstairs to change out of her borrowed clothes. Ashley was waiting in the entry when she came back down.

“Everything okay last night?” Maggie asked. “I didn’t get a call, so I figured nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.” Her sister flashed her a knowing grin. “Have fun last night?”

She felt the pull of a smile. “Actually, it was pretty amazing. At least until his ex-wife showed up this morning.”

Ashley’s grin faded. “He’s still seeing her?”

“Says he isn’t. The thing is, Carly’s a redhead, just like me.”

“So…?”

“So the first time I met him, the woman at the café said Trace had a thing for redheads. Maybe that’s the only reason he’s interested in me. Maybe he has some kind of hang-up about it or something.”

“If you were a blonde and he had a blonde ex-wife, you wouldn’t think anything about it.”

That was true and it made her feel better. And Carly didn’t really look that much like her. Carly was shorter, curvier. Even her hair was a lighter, more coppery shade of red. She was prettier, but there was nothing Maggie could do about that.

“Maybe you’re right.” She glanced toward the guest bedroom. “Robbie down for his nap?”

Ashley nodded. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”

Maggie started walking toward the kitchen. “Okay, so talk.” Ashley fell in beside her. “I need some tea,” Maggie said. “Want a glass?”

“That’d be great.”

She leaned into the fridge and took out the pitcher of sweet tea she usually kept there.

“There’s leftover pot roast with a burgundy demi-glaze sauce left over from supper last night.”

“Wow. Sounds good.” Maggie had been eating like royalty since her sister arrived, a perk she hadn’t expected. “But I’ve got to get down to the gallery. Save me enough for a sandwich when I get home.”

Maggie filled a couple glasses with ice and poured the tea, handing Ashley a glass and filling one for herself. “So what’s up?”

“I don’t exactly know how to say this. It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, but I’ve been living here, sponging off you for a couple of weeks now. It’s time I got a job. I need to make some money to take care of my son.”

Maggie took a sip of tea, giving herself time to think. The truth was she was beginning to like having her sister and little Robbie around. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got plenty of room.”

“That isn’t the point. I spoke to Mrs. Epstein. She says she hasn’t met you yet, but she’s your neighbor in the unit next door. I saw her out working on her patio and we got to talking through the fence. She’s really nice and she loves kids, especially babies. Her husband died four years ago. Her son and daughter are grown
and married, and she even has a couple of grandkids. I think she’d be great to watch Robbie while I’m working.”

“I hate to point this out, but you don’t have a job.”

“I know, but it’s time I started looking. I’m a really good cook, Maggie. Not a chef yet, but good enough to work the lunch shift or something at a restaurant. That way I’d be home most of the time, and Mrs. Epstein could take care of Robbie while I was on the job.”

It sounded logical. If the situation were reversed, Maggie wouldn’t want to be dependent on a relative to take care of her and her child.

“All right, why don’t we do this? I’ll ask around, ask Trace to ask around, see if we can find something without you having to knock on doors.”

“That’d be great, and I can keep watching the paper, see if there’s anyplace that needs cooking help.”

“Okay, then. Looks like we’ve got a plan.” On impulse Maggie reached over and hugged her. “I’m glad you came here.”

Ashley hugged her back. “So am I.” They sat down at the breakfast counter and Ashley sipped her tea. “I know you didn’t feel that way when I first showed up at your door.”

Maggie shrugged. Denying it wouldn’t help anything. “We didn’t really know each other. And the truth is, I was always jealous of you. I guess you probably figured that out.”

“Jealous? Why would you be jealous of
me?
”

“Because Mom loved you. She barely knew I existed.”

“Are you kidding? Mom bragged about you all the time. The people at her bridge club used to watch for
stories about you in magazines. They’d cut them out and give ’em to her.”

Something eased in the area around Maggie’s heart. “Really?”

“I was nothing compared to you. I was a total loser. That’s hard on a kid, you know.”

Maggie’s throat tightened. “You weren’t a loser. You were smart and beautiful. You had a lot of friends.”

“Would-be friends. Not worth spit when it came down to it.”

Back then, Maggie hadn’t realized what a difficult time her sister was having. “It was different for me. I always missed having a mother, but at least I had a dad who loved me.” Even after her Great Shame, he had forgiven her, stuck by her.

“In their own way, Mom and Dad loved me,” Ashley said. “But they fought all the time and they mostly ignored me. In a way, you were the lucky one.”

Maybe she was. Maggie had never considered that before. She reached out and caught hold of Ashley’s hand. “You know what I figured out?”

“What?”

“I like you, Ashley Hastings. I really do.”

Her sister laughed. “And besides that, I’m a really good cook.”