McCallum Quintuplets (4 page)

Besides, if he tried to kiss her, tried to do anything at all, she'd probably laugh at him, just the way she'd done the one time he had tried to kiss her in something other than a brotherly way.

What was it she'd said to him at the time? Oh, yeah. Something really nice. “What, are you nuts, Russell? I'm not even blond.”

“See?” Ian said to the ceramic dalmatian Maddie had bought him for Christmas, the one that stood sentinel in front of his gas fireplace in the living room. “That's how she sees me, Spot. Playboy of the western world. Not that I haven't done my best to live up to that reputation. But man, Spot, I'm getting tired. Dancing all night, ruining my new sneakers with romantic walks in the rain, fielding veiled questions about how many kids I'd like to have. Who needs the hassle? I'm just getting too old for this. Right, Spot?”

Spot just sat there, that sort of sickly half smile on his face that had gotten him marked down to half price and won the heart of Maddie, who believed the underdog should be able to catch a break from time to time. So she'd brought Spot home, given him to Ian, saying he shouldn't worry, she'd feed the mutt if he'd walk him.

Ian smiled, shook his head again. What an idiotic present. He wouldn't take Spot's weight in diamonds for that stupid, crooked-mouth dog.

Okay. He checked his watch one more time, decided he'd killed enough time on introspection, or whatever in hell it was he'd been doing—and he certainly wasn't going to examine his rambling thoughts too closely, because then he might find out. Maddie should have been knocking on his door fifteen minutes ago, maybe twenty.

“Yeah, well, if the mountain won't come to Muhammad,” he grumbled, scooping his car keys from the table beside the couch. “Don't wait up,” he called over his shoulder to Spot, and headed across the hall to Maddie's apartment.

 

“G
O AWAY
!”

Ian knocked again, harder this time.

Madeline should have known. The man never had taken direction well.

There was that time she'd told him not to make a U-turn at that intersection with the No U-Turn sign. Yes, she'd been called to the hospital for an emergency, and yes, she'd wanted to get there as fast as possible. But did he listen? No. That one had cost him a hefty fine.

And then there was the time—okay, about six hundred times—she'd told him not to take the wooden spoon from a pot, take a taste and put the spoon back in the pot. And then he'd wink at her, the rat.

Or the day he swore he wasn't too sick to go camping with some old college friends and ended up with pneumonia. That had been a big “I told you so” between them, considering she had been the lucky one who'd ended up playing nurse for a very uncooperative patient.

She could go on. And on. The man was a menace.
There were times she threatened him with divorce—and they weren't even married.

“Ian, go away!” she called, definitely in the grip of panic. “I'm…I'm not ready yet.”

“Well, I am, Maddie. Come on, I'm starving,” he called through the door, then turned the knob—just as Maddie realized she hadn't locked the door. Damn him for knowing she rarely remembered to lock the door during the day. He'd give her another lecture. Just what she didn't need, someone else telling her what was best for her.

Madeline turned on her heels, ready to make a break for it all the way to her bedroom, to her bathroom, to the door that would lock behind her once she was in the bathroom.

“Whoa!”

Too late. Madeline remained where she was, her back to Ian, her eyes closed as she waited for whatever would follow that whoa.

It wasn't long in coming.

“Maddie? Is that you? In
slacks?
”

She looked at herself. At the tangerine-colored silk top that flowed softly over her body, ending at the tops of her thighs. At the beige raw silk slacks that were pencil thin all the way down to the ankles, where they covered her brand-new beige boots with the three-inch heels.

She raised a hand to grab the tortoiseshell pendant that hung to her waist from a thick gold chain and turned to confront Ian. “Don't say a word,” she warned him.

And, for once in his life, the man was obedient, because he stood there, looking at her. And looking at her. And looking at her.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Ian!” she complained when she couldn't stand it anymore. “
Say
something.”

He shook his head, spread his arms. “I can't. I don't know what to say.” He used the sweep of one hand to encompass her hair, her face, her new clothing. “What happened?”

Madeline threw up her hands. “I knew it. I just knew that would be your reaction! I look ridiculous. Stay here, I'm going to go wash my face.”

His hand snaked out, capturing her elbow. “Oh, no, you're not. Come here, Maddie,” he said, half dragging her toward the mirror hanging over a table beside the front door. “Look at yourself. Your hair looks great, all pulled away from your face and curly and everything. And those eyes! Maddie, when did your eyes get so big?”

“Makeup,” she told him tightly. “My eyes didn't grow, Ian. It's just makeup.”

“I know that, Maddie,” Ian said, giving her a quick hug as she faced the mirror. “And I love this color,” he said, rubbing a bit of the fabric of her shirt between his fingers. “Silk. I'm crazy about silk.”

Madeline shivered, knowing it wasn't cold in the apartment, and stepped away from the mirror, wrapping her arms around herself. “Then you don't think I look ridiculous? It's why we went back to the mall today, Annabelle and I. To have my hair and makeup done.”

And then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Ian, I can't believe I let people
do
this to me. Makeup, a new hairstyle, enough new clothing that I doubt my charge card will cool down for at least a year.”

“You mean there's more?” Ian said, waggling his eyebrows at her. “You bought more than just this one outfit?”

“Oh, stop grinning,” Madeline said testily. “And, yes, it's true. All your fondest dreams realized. I promised to get rid of my old wardrobe. Are you happy now?”

“Hey, I'm not brokenhearted,” Ian said, shrugging. “You look good, Maddie, damn good. Except I never realized you're so skinny.”

Madeline's mouth dropped open, and she blinked several times. “Skinny? You think I'm
skinny?
”

“Well, maybe not skinny-skinny, if you know what I mean. I just didn't realize you had any shape at all.” He winced, obviously knowing he'd stuck his foot in it, badly. “That is, I know you've got legs. Great legs, Maddie, honest. It's just the rest of you that I didn't know was there. No! That's not right. I
know
you're here, Maddie. I've always known you're
here.
You're my girl, right? You've always been my girl. I just didn't realize you're also
a
girl. No! I don't mean that, either. Oh, dammit, Maddie, let's go eat, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Madeline said, grabbing her new purse—much smaller than a feed bag. “It's either that, or we stay here while you make a jerk of yourself. Come on, I'm starving.”

Ian spread his arms, looking sheepish and silly at the same time. “Isn't that what I've been saying?”

Madeline rolled her eyes and headed for the door, hiding her smile.
Skinny.
Ian thought she was skinny. Did life get any better than this? Happy birthday, indeed!

 

I
AN HAD ALWAYS
gotten a big kick out of watching Maddie eat.

He'd learned long ago that Maddie compartmentalized her life. At work, neat and organized. In the kitchen, wildly creative and definitely sloppy. Meticulous about her checkbook, her drinking-glasses cabinet, her spice rack…while sometimes he teased her that the housekeeping police were going to come get her if she didn't stop
using her floors and furniture as her personal clothes hamper.

So neat and orderly in some ways, so “oh, who cares?” in others.

Maddie's food fell into the “Who cares? I do!” category, definitely. It could take her, conservatively, five minutes to explain to the waiter exactly how she wanted her steak cooked, how well-done the onion rings should be, how crisp the spinach salad, how browned the garlic bread. And she'd watch, closely, to make sure the waiter wrote it all down. Ian had long ago learned to tip, heavily, if he planned on ever bringing Maddie back to the same restaurant and actually not have to watch the entire wait staff turn in their aprons and run for the doors.

Then she ate. Heartily. But it was a bite of meat, followed by a bite of potato, followed by a bite of salad. She saved her food, a bit of everything, making sure she got a taste of everything, and all the food got gone at the same time, all while she tsk-tsked at him because he ate his salad first, his potato second and his meat last—and had the nerve to call
him
compulsive.

Ian, having finished his steak, sat with his chin propped on his hand, his elbow on the table, and watched as Maddie enjoyed the remainder of her meal. Bite of salad. Bite of potato, scraping the inner skin to get all the best bits. Bite of steak. “Good to the last bite?” he asked, grinning at her.

“Delicious,” she agreed, then glared at him. “You're watching me again, aren't you? Why do you do that?”

“Because it never ceases to amaze me that you don't, for instance, run out of potato before you run out of steak. How do you do that?”

“Planning,” Maddie told him. “You should try it. Besides, I'm just naturally a very orderly person.”

Ian sat back in his chair. “Sure, you are. Oh, by the way? If you're looking for your Rolling Stones CD, it's under my couch cushion, where you left it.”

“It is?” Maddie leaned forward, her eyes wide—and still beautifully huge. He knew the makeup had something to do with this new look, but he didn't care. She was still Maddie—she was just, finally, living up to her potential as a woman. “I looked all over for that yesterday. What if I sat down? I could have broken it. Why did you leave it under the cushion?”

He shrugged. “Because you're such a neat and orderly person? I figured you put it there on purpose. Just like I left your gold signet ring on the bathroom sink. Because you're neat and orderly and probably want it there.”

“But I wanted to wear that tonight, Ian. I looked all over for that, too.” She closed her mouth, tipped her head as she looked at him. “Are we arguing?” she asked, narrowing those chocolate brown eyes of hers. “Are you trying to tell me I'm taking over your apartment with my
stuff
again?”

“I like your stuff,” Ian answered, more honestly than he'd intended. “I like seeing it lying around. I may be crazy, but I'll probably miss it all if it ever goes away.”

“Oh,” Maddie said quietly. “That's…that's nice, Ian. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Ian said, trying to smile. Except he didn't really feel like smiling.

He knew why, too, which was really upsetting.

He wasn't smiling because Maddie had all but told him during that monologue of hers a few weeks ago that she was going husband hunting. That new hairdo, the makeup, the definitely interesting V-neck tangerine blouse and sexy slacks—they all subtly screamed, “Here I am, Bubba, come get me!”

He couldn't blame her. She wanted a husband, a home, a family of her own. At thirty-five, it was time, maybe more than time.

But what about
him,
dammit? What was he supposed to do without her? What
would
he do without her?

Could
he do without her?

Ian protectively caught himself against the edge of the table as a sudden, hearty slap on his back sent his upper body forward.

“Ian, you devil, you! I haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?”

Using the arms of the chair to boost himself to his previous position on the seat, Ian turned his head, looked, then stood up, held out his hand. “Blake. Good to see you. I thought you were out of town this week.”

“I was, I was, but I was able to take an early flight back from Phoenix this morning. I was going to call you later, so this is lucky. Are we still set for that meeting next Wednesday? You've definitely talked my board into taking you guys on for the Lattimer project. You're quite the salesman, Ian, although you might want to think about catching up on your social skills. For instance, who is this lovely lady? Aren't you going to introduce us?”

“Oh, sorry,” Ian said. “Maddie, I'd like to introduce a business associate of mine, Blake Ritter. Blake, Dr. Madeline Sheppard.”

“Doctor? No,” Blake said, bending over the hand Maddie extended to him, making a total ass out of himself—in Ian's opinion—by kissing it. “You couldn't be a doctor. You're not old enough to be a doctor. Ian, it isn't like you to rob cradles.”

“Down, boy,” Ian grumbled, taking his seat. “Maddie is most definitely a doctor—a fertility specialist, as a matter of fact—and most definitely all grown up.”

Blake was still looking at Maddie, still smiling at Maddie. “She most certainly is. Well, please don't let me interrupt your date.”

“Oh, it's not a date,” Maddie said, and Ian fought the sudden impulse to kick her under the table, warn her to shut up. “Ian is just treating me to a birthday dinner. We're old friends.”

Blake—handsome in a blond, surfer-boy-cowboy kind of way—looked at Ian. “Old friends? Ian, buddy, have you considered getting glasses?” Then he turned to Maddie while reaching in his pocket, pulling out his business card, employing a gold pen to scribble something on the back. “Dr. Sheppard? I'm having an open house at my new place tomorrow afternoon and would be honored if you could join the party. Two to five, and the two of us could go to dinner afterward—to help celebrate your birthday. I've written the address on the back of my card. Ian? You're coming, aren't you?”