Can't Stop Loving You (17 page)

“It worked for him. It also worked for you, and, my kindhearted Sophie, for you. So as much as it pains me to say this, stuff your second chances.”

Sophie's mouth dropped open.

Before she could argue anymore, Maggie asked, “So, Mrs. Annelise Hardeman, what names are you and Daddy considering?”

M
aggie wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Instead, she forced herself to finish dressing and drive to Maverick Junction for her going-away dinner.

What a whirlwind the past two days had been. All the last-minute details to handle, all the good-byes to say. Wrapping up one life before starting another.

And then last night. Argh, who said confession was good for the soul? She'd woken with one heck of a headache this morning. One she'd earned. Too much wine, too many tears.

She prayed Annie and Sophie would keep their promise to say nothing about the confidence she'd blabbed last night. All these years she'd kept her silence, had told no one, and then, just like that, she'd blurted out the biggest secret of her life.

Well, nothing to do for it now. So much of her life had revolved around Brawley Odell.

Speaking of, had he gone through this self-doubt when he'd decided to leave Dallas? Maggie had never really thought about it before. She'd assumed it had all been easy-peasy for him, but maybe not.

Had he had second thoughts? Cold feet? Did he still have misgivings? Probably not. He seemed very much at ease with his decision. Of course he'd returned home and knew exactly what he was getting into. He knew everyone.

Not so with her. She was heading off into unchartered territory, for her anyway, and leaving her little shop. Ella would take good care of it, but Maggie had worked so hard to make it a reality.

She released the breath she'd been holding. Fine. Now, she'd work every bit as hard on her new clothing line. It would soar, and she'd laugh as she thought back to tonight and her concerns.

Maggie put in her second earring and studied the effect. The emerald-cut smoky topaz earrings and ring could have been custom-made for the oatmeal-colored top. Because of the cowl collar, she decided against a necklace.

Slim, fawn-colored pants finished the outfit—along with her brown leather boots. Might as well wear them tonight. Who knew when she'd have the chance again.

Her fair skin looked paler than usual, so she added a little more blush before slicking gloss over her lips. A spritz of perfume and she was good to go.

Setting down the pretty little bottle, she took a minute to study the room. She'd moved here two months after Grandma Trudy died. Tonight she'd stay in her old room at her parents'. Since they'd be driving her to the Austin airport in the morning, it would make it easier. When she left here tonight, she wouldn't be coming back. A wave of nostalgia swept through her. Afraid she was close to hyperventilating, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.

Once she boarded that plane at Austin-Bergstrom International in the morning, her life would change drastically. Excitement-induced adrenaline flooded her system. Inside of a month, she'd have her first showing in New York City!

Celebrities and buyers from all over the world would attend.
Oh, please, God, let them want to buy my clothes. Please, please, please.

These roller-coaster mood swings were wearing her out. Light-headed, she dropped to the side of her bed. With more than a little help from Annie, her dream had come true. Now it was up to her to make Annie proud. And she would. Oh, yes.

She glanced at the bags packed and ready to carry downstairs. The two large ones held her clothes, makeup, and a few photos. The other? Her designs and personal tools. All her treasures from the little back room in the shop she'd created from nothing. She'd carry that bag with her. It would never, ever leave her sight.

Tossing her purse over her shoulder, she picked up one of the large ones and carried it downstairs. Setting her purse and bag by the door, she walked back upstairs to get the others. Her fingers trailed over the handrail.

Pops and Dottie would be at Bubba's tonight. They'd returned from their quick honeymoon for her going-away party. Tonight, though, they'd stay at Dottie's. Pops had insisted, in case she needed the extra time to get her stuff together. Considerate as always, he didn't want to be in her way.

Brawley would be at Bubba's, too. She should have realized her parents would invite him.
She
should have invited him.

She'd been hard on him Saturday evening. Unfairly so, because the fault had been as much hers as his. That old “it takes two.” That darn Texas-Irish temper had reared its ugly head, and she'd said hurtful things. Words he didn't deserve. Words she couldn't take back.

And that was exactly why she'd stopped by the clinic yesterday morning. Why she'd gotten up extra early to bake him a cobbler—from scratch. Not something she did often.

Yes, she owed him a huge thanks for taking care of Trouble after the rattler. But even more, she needed to make amends. Hopefully, she'd set things right between them.

But she still hadn't come clean. He'd provided the perfect opening—and she hadn't taken it. Would she feel better if she had? She wasn't sure.

What about Brawley? He'd feel like crap if she unburdened herself. And for what? Something he'd known nothing about. Something he couldn't do anything about, then or now.

Her decision to stay quiet had been the right one.

But she hadn't stayed quiet, had she?

How many times had her mother told her something was a secret only as long as one person knew about it. The second two people knew? Forget about it.

Brawley fought with himself as he shaved. If he had any sense at all he'd either stay home or put in a few more hours at the clinic. Lots still left to do there.

But he wouldn't. He'd go wish Maggie bon voyage…and try to be happy for her.

No, he
was
happy for her.

Had he really believed he could come back to things as they'd been? Maybe it was watching Cash and Ty settle into permanent relationships that had him edgy.

Yeah, and wasn't that a bunch of bull? Hell, he wasn't the least bit interested in taking a walk down the aisle. But Maggie made him itchy. Made him want—what? Hell if he knew.

He found a clean black T-shirt in the closet. Time to do some laundry. Maybe he'd stop by and have dinner with his folks tomorrow evening. He could toss his clothes in the wash while he visited.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled on his boots, then grabbed his hat. Okay. Time to do this.

Halfway out the door, the phone rang.

Shoot!

He'd left his cell on the counter. He ran inside and grabbed it. “Yeah?”

“Hi, cutie. How're things in Maverick Junction?”

He tipped his head back in frustration and barely managed to contain the groan. “What do you want, Rachel?”

“You don't sound very happy to hear from me.”

Brawley could almost see the pout. What had he seen in her? Then he rolled his eyes. Stupid question. Extremely well-endowed Dallas cheerleader. Duh. That about said it all.

Yet she'd bored him—unlike some fiery redhead here in town who surprised him at every turn. Maggie certainly didn't kowtow. She never said what she thought he wanted to hear. In fact, he suspected she sometimes disagreed simply to disagree.

“I thought you might be lonely,” Rachel purred. “I could drive down, or you could come spend a few days with me in Dallas.”

“Rachel, I'm pretty busy right now getting my business up and running.”

“Can't somebody else take care of it for a couple days?”

“I'm the doctor. My name's on the sign out front. I have to be here.”

Silence for a few heartbeats.

“Then I'll come down.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. He could have sworn she understood they were finished. “You know, when I left Dallas…hell, weeks before I left, we talked about this.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“I thought maybe you'd changed your mind. Maybe you missed me.”

He hung his head, ran a finger over one brow. Time to be brutally honest.

“No, Rachel, I haven't changed my mind. Your life is there in the city, my life is here. I never made any promises. Never hinted at more.”

“Maybe—”

“No.” He gentled his tone. “No maybes. We're over, sugar. Time you move on. Didn't I hear you were dating one of the tight ends?”

“It didn't work out.”

“Ahhh. So I'm your rebound. Or am I a play to make him jealous?”

“Neither. It didn't click. He's not you, Brawley.”

Right here was the best reason he could think of to avoid second dates and creating messy expectations.

“You have somebody new, don't you?”

“No.” He thought of Maggie and decided he wasn't lying. No one would ever
have
Maggie. She lived life on her own terms.

“Rachel, I need to go. I was on my way out when you called.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a private party.”

“Exactly what I was hoping for, Brawley.” She lowered her voice. “Just you and me.”

He said nothing.

“Will you call me later?” she asked.

“No.” He said it softly, hoped it helped take the bitter edge from it. “Good-bye, Rachel.”

Feeling like a heel, he disconnected. He'd been upfront with her right from the get-go. Still, it didn't go down easy.

Ghosts from the past slipped inside the still-open door to taunt him. With Maggie, he'd let her believe there'd be a happily-ever-after. Hell, he'd believed it himself. Had figured it would be there waiting for him when he was ready.

He'd been wrong.

From that point on, he'd been very careful to let anyone he dated know right up front he wasn't looking for anything permanent—including Rachel.

Time to go. While he'd been on the phone, he'd seen Pops and Dottie leave. He smiled. Now there were two people who belonged together.

Bubba's was hopping for a Tuesday night. He swerved into the dusty parking lot and found an empty space at the far end. Too late for happy hour, so it must be the dinner crowd.

He spotted Maggie's car, Rita and Sean's, Ty and Sophie's truck. Pops and Dottie's. Cash and Annie's. Hail, hail, the gang's all here, he thought.

His boots sounded loud on the old wooden porch. He swung through the door, into music and laughter. A myriad of conversations rolled over him. The place was packed. The Wurlitzer jukebox pumped out a snappy tune about somebody's old red pickup, but nobody was dancing.

Cash caught sight of him and waved him over to their table. On his way there, Brawley passed their waitress.

“I'll love you eternally if you'll bring me an ice-cold Lone Star, Mitzy.”

“You got it, Brawley.” She threw him a wink.

When he looked back at the table, Maggie watched him out of those incredible green eyes. Her pale skin shone like alabaster in the overhead lights.

His breath caught.

New York could go either way. She'd either surpass her wildest dreams or crash and burn. The city could be dog-eat-dog, and he wasn't at all sure Maggie understood what she was getting herself into. But, she was a big girl, and he'd long ago given up any right to tell her what to do. This had to be her decision. And she'd made it—for better or worse.

He squelched the pessimist inside and plastered on his game face. Tonight was a celebration. He either joined in or turned around and left.

He was in.

He slid onto his chair as Mitzy placed a longneck bottle in front of him.

“Want a glass?”

“No, ma'am. This'll do fine.” Picking it up, he took a long, slow drink, then set the beer on the table. “Evening, everybody. Y'all order yet?”

“Nope, we were waiting for you.” Ty held out a platter of nachos. “Have some of these.”

“Don't mind if I do.” He forked a few onto one of the small plates in the center of the table and scooped up some guacamole and sour cream. “Maggie, you're looking gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“You get packed?”

“I did. I'm staying at my parents' tonight.”

He nodded. Message received and understood. The lady had shut the door on any possibilities for an after-dinner rendezvous. Understandably so.

Just as Mitzy wandered over to take their orders, Doc Gibson came through the door.

Maggie waved at him. “Join us.”

“You sure?”

“It's my party, and I'd love to have you with us. Unless, of course, you're meeting someone,” Maggie said.

“Nope. Stopped by for some dinner.”

Brawley extended his leg and pushed out the chair beside him. “Take a load off, pal.”

Mitzy stood, pencil poised over her order pad.

“Sorry,” Maggie said. “We're ready.”

“Take everybody else's first,” Doc said. “Give me a minute to look over the menu.”

“Why?” Cash teased. “You have the thing memorized.”

“I know, I know. But the memory's not as good as it used to be. I might see something on here I've forgotten about.”

Rita chuckled. “As many times as you've eaten here?”

Their waitress made the rounds of the table and got everyone else's order. “Doc? What did you decide on? Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with the gravy on the side, and a serving of grilled mushrooms?”

“I think I'll have my gravy
on
the potatoes tonight, Miss Smarty Pants.” He handed her the menu as everyone laughed. “Am I really that stuck-in-the-mud?”

“Hell, no,” Brawley said. “But you know a good thing when you see it.” His eyes slid to Maggie.

“You're right,” Doc Gibson growled. “And that's exactly why I waited till I could get you to take over for me. Had to know my patients would be in good hands.”

Mitzy rolled her eyes. “And that would be my cue to go place your orders. The kitchen's a little backed-up tonight, so it might be a bit.”