Fated Souls (7 page)

“No worries, Sly, I needed the excuse to apologize to Maggie for my behavior before. I’ll get out of your way.” Aidan stopped at the doorway before turning to Maggie. “And for Christ’s sake, Mags, while you’re out, buy a new sleeping bag.”

He had the distinct pleasure of watching her clever mouth gape open as he turned his back to her and, whistling, headed toward home. Aidan knew what she’d infer from his parting comment, and though he was still terrified of trusting her, he felt that he could. And it felt good to get the last word for a change.

He wanted to be with her, to be one with her, to hold her tightly in his arms and feel human again. But more wondrous than the desire and the need he’d forgotten how to feel was the realization that she felt them, too. She knew what he was, and she wasn’t afraid of him or the wolf. She wasn’t disgusted by him. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until she wormed her way into his life, and he wasn’t prepared to let her leave, not yet.

Maggie perused the rack of bathing suits with a mild sense of disgust. They had two very different but basic styles: itty bitty bikinis and matronly one-pieces. She had driven for almost forty-five minutes to Brandwyne just to get to the nearest mall, and since it wasn’t swimsuit season and this wasn’t a beach spot, there weren’t a lot of options. They had each in her size, and each in a variety of colors and prints. She ultimately decided on the most modest bikini she could find. Of course, there were about a thousand different places to buy a god-awful sleeping bag, Maggie thought to herself as she juggled it out of the way so she could pay for the swimsuit.

The thought took her back to Aidan’s parting shot as he had left the stable. As far as she was concerned, that was an admission. He acknowledged that he was the wolf, her wolf as she’d come to think of him over the past month. She wondered what had changed that allowed him to make such an obvious admission. Suddenly Maggie realized that Aidan was aware of her and probably everything she said while he was in wolf form. “Sneaky bastard,” she mumbled under her breath, and the woman walking in front of Maggie shot her a worried glance before quickly moving away.

Pushing the thought aside, Maggie strolled through the nearly empty mall, enjoying the brief visit to civilization. She picked up some essentials — shampoo and the like — snacked in the crowded food court, and trolled the music store making a mental checklist of new releases to download and recording upcoming concert dates in the day planner she kept in her bag. She easily spent an hour in the book store, coveting both the accomplishments of other writers and the books themselves before deciding to leave for the little town she was starting to think of as home.

On her way to the parking complex, she detoured into a store filled with Native American art and knick-knacks. Wolves were the dominant theme, not surprisingly, but there was a series of beautiful, seemingly hand-carved, stone wolves of varying poses that she instantly fell in love with. But the price of only one was a bit steep for Maggie’s budget and she wanted the entire line. As she battled again with desire and reality, the aging clerk, obviously Native American herself, approached.

“You like those?” the clerk asked.

“They are exquisite and a little out of my price range right now. Did you carve them?” Maggie replied. The woman snorted.

“No, I commissioned them from an artist on a reservation in Nevada. If you don’t mind my asking, do you have Native American ancestry?”

“Yes I do, a little on my mother’s side, but I know woefully little more than that. I’ve always meant to research the genealogy but haven’t gotten around to it.” Maggie glanced longingly at the display once more. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Have a good day.”

Maggie was nearly out the shop door when the woman called out to wait. The storekeeper hurried over, grabbed Maggie’s hand, and pressed something cold and hard into Maggie’s palm. She instinctively wrapped her fingers around it. “You take this, it was meant for you,” the small woman said. “He was meant for you. Never doubt it. And don’t doubt yourself.”

Maggie thanked the woman and quickly exited the mall. Only when she was safely locked in the rental, her purchases on the passenger seat beside her, did Maggie look at the gift she’d received. It was the largest of the stone wolves, the signature piece of the collection and the one for which Maggie had yearned the most.

Maggie placed the small carving in her bag and started the car, music instantly filling the vehicle. As she got closer to Trappers’ Cove, the strange episode was pushed aside by the nerves and excitement Aidan’s invitation and admission generated. She’d never had a man want her more than breath itself. It was a heady, powerful knowledge and she was giddily aroused by it. She knew he was finally beginning to trust her. She wondered, briefly, if she would be able to leave once she had her answers and thought perhaps she wouldn’t.

As she neared the town’s borders, the farms, spaced so far apart by sweeping meadows and broken by forests, gave way to small, almost suburban-like homes. When she entered the town officially, the homes gave way to stores and the like. She parked at the inn, but on a whim, Maggie walked down to the diner. All the little homes littering the outskirts of town had given her an idea. Even if she had enough time for a nap before nightfall, she was too keyed up to rest and she could write in the forest by lamplight with her wolf by her side.

Ma greeted her from across the diner, waving her hand around the place in general, which was Ma’s idea of seating a guest, and Maggie chose a stool at the counter. If she could rent a small place from someone locally at less than what the inn was charging a night and stock a small kitchen with meals she could make, she could stretch her limited income a little further. She could stay a little longer.

Ma hurried over and took Maggie’s order for fries and a Pepsi, tsk’ing about how Maggie ate but hadn’t put on an ounce that she could see, and then ran to answer the phone, yelling Maggie’s order at Old Man as she raced by his window. About halfway into the greasy, delicious fries, Ma settled down at the counter to chat, just like Maggie had hoped.

“How you doing, honey?”

“I’m good, Ma. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone around here has a small place with a working kitchen they’d be looking to rent?” Maggie repeatedly dunked her fry in ketchup while Ma mulled it over.

“I guess the inn is getting pretty expensive, huh?” Maggie nodded and popped the fry in her mouth. “You know what? The Blacks have a cabin that’s been sitting empty since Jake’s arthritis got bad a year or two ago.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Old Man! Does Jake Black’s cabin have a working kitchen?”

“Of course it does, woman, you think Alice woulda let him clean and cook the fish up at the house? Or that she wanted our smelly selves in her kitchen three times a day during our trips?” Maggie wondered why no one had mentioned the empty fishing cabin sooner, which she assumed was in the forest on the Black side of the property line.

“You eat your fries, sweetie, and I’ll go give Alice a call.”

As the sun fell below the tree line that evening, Maggie was busy sweeping roughly two years’ worth of dust out the front door of the small cabin that smelled of fish, Old Spice, and liniment.

Maggie said goodbye to the wolf only a few feet from the front door of the cabin where he’d walked her before leaping across the stream and disappearing into the trees. She could picture him, speeding through the forest, a blurry streak of gray, moving eloquently through the wilderness, and she allowed herself a second of envy before going inside to stuff her new swimsuit into her oversized shoulder bag. She took a quick second to access her face in the mirror hanging crookedly over the kitchen sink. She looked like she’d been up most of the night, and several before that. She was going to have to adjust her routine; she needed more sleep.

She quietly took stock of the small cabin, which reminded her fondly of her first apartment. The furniture was mismatched and patched, probably before it was even brought out to the cabin. After sitting vacant for nearly two years it had taken longer for the water to run clear than it had to clean up the place. She was totally enamored with the whole of it.

Maggie hiked out to where her car was parked. Ironically enough it was where she’d been parking all this time. Years ago Jake Black had cut out the deep shoulder so his fishing buddies could get to and from the cabin without having to drive up to the main house. This allowed Maggie a certain level of discreet privacy unlike what she’d grown accustomed to at the inn.

When she pulled into the drive outside of Aidan’s, the comforting mix of McCartney and Lennon spilled out of the open windows. She smiled approvingly. She couldn’t fault a man who listened to the Beatles. She knocked on the door and had to wait only a minute until Aidan was standing there opening the door to her.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Maggie. Come on in.” He leaned back to let her pass and skimmed his lips across her temple. “I hope you’re hungry.”

You have no idea, she thought to herself, but planted her tongue in her cheek and told him, “Starved. What smells so good?”

“Breakfast.” He smiled at the droll look she gave him. “Specifically, bacon, home fries, and biscuits. I’ve got to get the omelets on, is Spanish okay with you?” When she nodded, he disappeared deeper into the house and hollered back, “Feel free to snoop all you like.”

Maggie snickered as she strolled through the spacious room — she would’ve whether he’d told her she could or not.
Criminy, I bet the whole cabin would fit in this one room.
The living room was beautifully furnished; masculine without seeming macho or pretentious; it felt comfortable and lived in. She liked it. She wandered into the next room, which logic dictated should have been the dining room, especially since it was where Aidan had disappeared to, but instead it was an efficient and well-appointed home office. Following the natural flow of the house, she ended up in an eat-in kitchen almost the same size as the living room. “Your home is amazing,” she told him, scooting up onto one of many counters.

“Thank you.” She watched him beat eggs and peppers together. He wore only swim trunks, the traditional sort, which made her smile. His body could easily pull off a modern European bathing suit. Her eyes skimmed from his bare feet to his damp hair.

“Your hair is damp and your shorts are dry, how’d you manage that?” Before he’d answered she put it together herself. “Shit, you had a shower already, didn’t you? I must be a filthy mess, and here you smell like Irish Spring and while making me eggs no less. Where’s the shower?”

Aidan showed her through his bedroom, which she tried not to focus on, and into the master bath, which had her whistling low through her teeth. He also showed her where to find towels and soap before reminding her that breakfast would be ready in about five minutes and they were going into the Jacuzzi directly after. Keeping those things in mind, Maggie simply jumped in and rinsed herself off. Feeling refreshed, she joined Aidan on the deck in her new bikini and the matching sarong she’d splurged on.

When he looked over at her, whatever he had wanted to say stuck in his throat and he spilled orange juice all over his own foot. Feeling very good and very smug and very glad she’d passed on the full piece, Maggie took a seat. She closed her eyes and simply inhaled the feast while Aidan mopped up the mess with a kitchen towel. “Aidan, this looks fantastic.”

“Thanks.” He took the seat across from her and for several minutes they simply ate, oddly at ease in the other’s silent company. He finished first and leaned back in his chair watching her scoop the last of her food onto her fork.

“That was delicious. Thank you.” She wiped her mouth and smiled at him. “Least I can do is the dishes.”

“You’re very welcome and I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a better idea. We’ll clear the table together and leave the dishes for later. I don’t know about you, but I could really use a good soak.”

Maggie smiled. “You’re on.” After they’d stacked the dishes in the sink, Aidan snagged a bottle of champagne to make both of their juices mimosas, and they carried them out to the Jacuzzi. She could feel his eyes on her as she dropped the sarong she’d tied around her waist and stepped into the steaming, swirling water. With a minimum of fuss he sat opposite of her. Both sighed in mirrored bliss. Maggie’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back to enjoy the massaging sensation of the jet against her neck.

“So tell me about Anastasia Boyle.” The request made Maggie smile.

“You didn’t Google her?” She opened one eye and saw he was relaxing in much the same position as she, only his eyes were open and watchful, on her. He shook his head, and Maggie closed her eye again before explaining. “My father was a very successful businessman and my mother loved being married to a very successful businessman. I came along, not the heir they’d both imagined but sufficient, since neither intended to have another child. I had a nanny who loved me very much; she’d taken to calling me Maggie since my middle name is Margaret. And I lived in blissful ignorance as most children do.

“When I was ten my father was indicted and convicted of embezzling millions from his company, and the government seized nearly everything we had. My mother was left with the small trust fund she’d inherited from her family and me. My father never explained himself, not to the authorities, not to his stockholders, nor, to the best of my knowledge, to my mother before killing himself two months into his sentence at a federal penitentiary.” She didn’t bother opening her eyes as she continued.

“We moved, shamefaced, to a small suburban college town outside Philadelphia. My mother got a job as the social director for the local country club; it paid well and with the trust fund to fall back on we were far from poor. She bought a beautiful single home on a friendly street full of families. I loved it there; the only sadness I really felt was the loss of Mrs. O’Connell, my nanny. She’d been the only parent I’d ever known and Mother was a poor substitute. In Mother’s opinion we were destitute. Middle class was a huge step backward. And the necessity of raising a child and working full time was beneath her. She let me know without any compunction on a daily basis that her station in life was far above what she’d been saddled with, and that somehow was my fault.