Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (11 page)

How could he not after the kiss the other night? How could he not when the pictures and the stories she shared showed the kind of woman he'd always wanted?

Resisting the urge to express his thoughts aloud, he did the only thing he could think of to keep her in his life. “You have room for a friend, though, don't you?”

Something flashed across her face—something fleeting, yet undeniable. If he were a betting man, he'd say it was disappointment. But the heart had a funny way of seeing what it wanted to see.

“Because that's what I'd like to be, if you'll let me, Maggie.”

 

S
HE COULDN'T REMEMBER
a time shopping had ever been so much fun. Or when she'd spent so much money on something that was completely about her.

Hoisting the last of the bags into her trunk, she looked up at Rory, an amused—and slightly dazed—expression on his face. “That was above and beyond the call of friendship, huh?”

“What? Spending an hour walking up and down aisles in an arts-and-crafts store?” He ducked to avoid her playful swat. “A guy can give up his sense of masculinity once in a while. Just so long as it doesn't happen all the time.”

“I'm sorry. But I tried to warn you when we left Delilah's.” Maggie reached up to shut the trunk, only to have him beat her to the punch. “I told you there wouldn't be a flat-screen television anywhere in the place.”

“I figured you had to be mistaken.” He laughed. “Seriously, I'm not much of a television guy. And besides, looking at that stuff isn't much different than what I do when I'm getting supplies for my rehab projects.”

She stared up at him, noting how the glow from the parking-lot lights made a halo around his face. “How did you get to be so nice?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “I guess I just wasn't shown how to be any other way.”

“You were close to your parents?”

“As close as close could be.”

“And…your twin?”

“Inseparable. Until the end, anyway.” She touched his gloved hand with hers when his voice faltered.

“Do you miss them?”

“All the time. Though these last few days…not as much.”

Pulling the flaps of her coat more tightly against her chest, she exhaled a plume of frosty air. “W-why? W-w-why not as much the last few days?” she asked with chattering teeth.

He grabbed hold of her arm, his sudden nearness making her throat tighten and her body tingle. “Let's get in the car. We can talk on the way back to Delilah's.”

With a shiver, she agreed, slipping behind the steering wheel in time to watch him walk around the hood of the car. She couldn't help but notice the confident way he moved or the admiring looks he drew from more than a few women in the parking lot.

He shut the passenger-side door, picking up their conversation where he'd left off. “You asked why I haven't missed them as much the last few days, right?”

She nodded, finding that the sound of his voice in such tight quarters stirred something inside her she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't fear—she trusted him in a way she couldn't begin to describe, let alone understand. It wasn't sadness—she'd had more fun in the past few hours
than she'd had since…well, since the last time they were together. It wasn't nerves—

Or was it?

Suddenly she felt like a high-school girl alone with the boy she'd had a crush on all year.

Only she wasn't a high-school kid. And she couldn't have a crush on Rory….

“I haven't missed them as much lately because I've had someone else on my mind. Someone special.”

He's just a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone to eat with once in a while.

“You see, since my brother died, I've kept to myself more or less. I've gone on a date or two, but nothing more than that. Most of the time—when I wasn't working—I simply preferred to stay home. With my guilt and my memories. Then one day I agreed to do a favor for someone I respect more than I can ever say. And, well, I did it. And the moment the door opened, my world changed.”

The moment the door opened…

What was he saying? She tried to focus on the words pouring from his lips, but instead found herself remembering the way those same lips had felt on hers….

“Now I'm not so inundated by my own problems.”

Distracted, she looked into Rory's eyes, losing herself in their clear blue depths. Leaning across the center console, she grasped his chin with her thumb and index finger and tugged it downward toward her mouth.

“Maggie, are you sure? I don't want to do anything to—”

“I'm sure,” she whispered back, shutting her eyes as he closed the gap between them.

An instant later their lips met and their tongues mingled as he cupped the back of her head with one hand and gently touched the side of her face with his other. Snaking her arms around his neck, she yielded to the intensity growing between them, an intensity she knew he felt every bit as much as she did.

Slowly, yet deliberately, his hand left her face, traveled down her jawline to her neck, the feel of his fingers on her bare skin only deepening the desire that made her body yearn for his in a way she'd never experienced before.

She didn't remember much about the drive back to the diner. Or how he'd gotten out of her car and into his own. But she remembered the kiss.

And she remembered it well.

The way his lips tasted, the way he'd touched her face, the way he'd stroked her hair and held her close afterward…

Tossing her keys onto the small table beside the door, Maggie walked into her suite at the inn, her attention drawn to the bare tree in front of the picture window that overlooked Lake Shire. It wasn't a big tree, but it was pretty. Or could be, if she dressed it up a bit.

Only instead of hanging the ornaments that had so many memories attached to them, maybe she could make new ones. After all, if she was going to consider the notion of owning a gift shop one day, having a readymade supply of ornaments to go with the frames she'd made would be a smart move.

Her mind made up, she headed into her bedroom toward the box of craft supplies she'd brought with her on the drive from Missouri. Every button, every bead,
every piece of wire, every piece of wood, every can of paint she'd left untouched since before Natalie was born was right where she'd put it, in color-coded bins. It was the only box she'd stuffed in the car that didn't have a connection to Jack and Natalie. And the only reason she'd packed it had been because of her uncle.

Somehow, some way, it was as if he'd known its contents would be the bridge she needed, just as he seemed to know books and quiet moments together were what she'd needed as a heartbroken child.

She hoisted the box into her arms and carried it out to the living room, setting it beside the items she'd purchased with Rory. Leaving Missouri had been easier than she would have imagined, with Natalie's too-quiet nursery and Jack's darkened office transforming her home into a place she no longer recognized or wanted.

The money from the sale was tucked away in the bank, waiting for her to decide what path to take in life. And now, thanks to Rory, she had a glimpse of what her future could be.

Rummaging through the box of wooden shapes, she extracted a medium-size heart. Eyeing it carefully, she imagined how it would look painted red with a white lace, scalloped border, and perhaps a message written in the center with a silver glitter pen.

As she worked, she found herself so engrossed that she thought of little else. She painted, she stitched, she glued, and she hummed one Christmas carol after the next until she found the one she wanted to vary to fit her first ornament.

Gripping the silver glitter pen she wrote:
Have yourself a mistletoe Christmas.

Satisfied, she leaned back to study the finished project, the calligraphy's graceful loops lending itself to the whimsical feel she'd set out to create.

“A mistletoe Christmas,” she read aloud as her thoughts returned to Rory's lips. Never in her wildest dreams could she ever have imagined a kiss like his. It had been sweet in its tenderness, exciting in its passion, and more than a little memorable.

And then, just like that, she found herself wishing for a sprig of mistletoe to hang in the suite. Perhaps above the front door? Or maybe in the doorway to the tiny kitchen?

The ring of the phone pulled her back to the moment, the repeating sound leading her to the bedroom. Plopping herself down on the bed, she reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

“It's Rory.”

She sucked in her lower lip, releasing it along with the smile his voice created. “Hi.”

“I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

“I did. I've been working ever since.”

“On Virginia's frame?”

Maggie swiveled on the bed, pulling her legs onto the mattress and snuggling into the mound of pillows. “Would you believe ornaments?”

“Ornaments?” he echoed.

“I don't know…I guess it finally hit me how pathetic my tree looks. So I figured I'd make a few.”

“You're going to decorate?”

“Well, sorta. And besides, they'll come in handy in case—” She stopped, unsure whether she'd sound like an idiot if she admitted to the notion of building up a supply of items for a shop she didn't have.

“In case you want to sell them along with your frames?”

She gripped the phone tighter. “How did you know?”

His smile was audible across the line. “So then I'm right?”

“Yes,” she finally confessed. “Rather silly of me, don't you think?”

“Wishes and dreams are never silly. Unless you ignore them.”

“Do you ever ignore yours?”

“I did when I was working behind a desk. But once I realized that…once I admitted it to myself…I made a change.”

“Made a change,” she repeated in a whisper.

“Maggie? You still there?” She nodded.

“Maggie?”

“Uh, yeah, I'm still here. I guess I'm just thinking about what you said.” She glanced over at the pile of frames she'd decorated earlier. “You know, about dreams and wishes. And, well, I guess I'm wondering if I should go ahead and do it.”

“Is it something you want?” he asked, his voice warm and masculine.

“I think it might be.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She looked back at the ceiling. “Tomorrow? Why?”

“I want to show you something. Something I think you might be interested in.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

For a moment he said nothing, his silence an unwelcome sound in her ears. Without Maggie realizing it, Rory O'Brien had become important to her—his presence a lifeline of sorts in a life that had become much too big and much too lonely. The relief that swept through her when he finally spoke only served to underscore that reality.

“I'll concede you one word. But that's it, okay?”

She laughed. “Okay. Go.”

“Think
genie.
”

“Who's Jeannie?”

“I said one word. That's it. So…how about I pick you up around ten-thirty?”

She feigned irritation. “I'm supposed to agree to this knowing nothing more than
Jeannie?
”

“That's right.”

It felt good to laugh, the feeling it evoked not much different than the first burst of sun after a deluge of rainy days. The warmth lifted her spirits and gave her courage to face another day.

A day with an actual plan…

“I'll be ready at ten-thirty.”

 

R
ORY REACHED FOR THE
phone book the second she hung up, the dial tone in his ear an acceptable sound this one time. Under any other circumstances, he'd have done just about anything he could think of to prolong their
conversation, the sound of her sweet voice doing things to his body he wasn't ready to have end.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

He had a plan. One he needed to enact now before it got any later.

Flipping the book open to the yellow pages in the center, he quickly found the heading he was looking for. Then, after a quick skim of the names listed underneath, he dialed.

He tucked the ornament behind his back as the door swung open, the sight of Maggie's sweet brown eyes chasing the chill from his body.

“Oh, my gosh, you look like a giant ice cube.” She reached into the hallway and pulled him inside the suite. “Come in, come in.”

Stepping forward, he willed his teeth to keep from chattering. “It's not too bad. Just a little nippy is all.”

“A little nippy?” she asked as her left eyebrow shot upward. “Your lips are practically blue.”

“You could warm them up.” The second the words were out he wished he could recall them. It was too soon to tease like that. And certainly too soon to assume their kiss from the other night was something she wanted to repeat.

Even if he did…a million times over.

She pointed at the hand he was hiding. “What do you have?”

Saved by the wishing ball…

He pulled out the familiar red box and held it toward her. “You said you were going to decorate your tree, after
all, so I figured you should have this back.” He watched as her gaze left his face and settled on the box. “Granted, it's not one you made, but it's one your uncle wanted you to have.”

For a moment he thought she was going to protest, but in the end, she took it from him. “All right. I'll hang it. But I'm not ready to write anything on one of those slips.”

“That's okay. It has the wish I wrote. It can wait for one from you for as long as it takes.” He touched the collar of his coat. “Notice the scarf?”

A smile swept across her face. “I did.”

“You made it.”

“I know that.”

“Just figured I'd point it out. In case you forgot.”

“Then what's your excuse for telling everyone at the diner? And in the parking lot outside?”

His face grew warm. “Um, I—well, hmm. Did I do that?”

“Delilah said you did.”

“That woman has very loose lips at times.” He glanced at the floor and then back at Maggie, the sparkle of amusement in her eyes warming him in a way that was completely unrelated to getting in out of the cold. “What? She does! Ask anyone. They'll all tell you the same thing. Lovable, yes. But able to keep her mouth shut? Uh, no.”

Maggie rolled her eyes skyward, then spun around and moved toward the tree, her graceful hips swaying in hypnotic fashion. “This ornament is so beautiful I'm
almost afraid it's going to make the rest of them look silly in comparison.”

“Rest of them?” he asked as he followed. “I don't see any other ornaments.”

“I'm making them. One at a time.” She pulled the wishing ball from the box and held it for a moment. “None of them are this exquisite.”

“How many have you made so far?” He searched the branches and came up empty.

“Just one.” Rising up on tiptoe, she placed the ball on a branch near the top, dead center.

“Where is it?”

She pointed toward the table in the far corner of the room. “Over there. I haven't hung it yet.”

With several long strides he was across the room, staring down at a beautifully painted heart-shaped ornament. “You made this?”

“Yes.”

He studied it closely, noting the lace border and the handwritten inscription across the center. “‘Have yourself a
mistletoe
Christmas'?”

When she didn't respond, he glanced up, saw the way she shifted from foot to foot, nibbling her lower lip as she did. “What's wrong? It's great.”

Her shoulders slumped with obvious relief. “Really?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I think it's the kind of thing that'll sell fast. Real fast.”

“You don't think it's goofy?”

He looked back at the ornament, read it a second time. “Why would I think that?”

“I don't know. I guess I just assumed most people wouldn't get my fascination with mistletoe.”

“Fascination?”

She nodded. “I used to hide behind the couch when I was a little girl and watch my father kiss my mother under the mistletoe every night. He would find ways to get her to meet him in that exact spot. He'd drop something there and wait for her to pick it up, or pretend to show her something and just happen to be standing right there when he asked her to come see it—you know, that sort of thing. Looking back, I suspect she knew what he was up to all along, but she never let on.”

Rory couldn't help but laugh. “And they didn't know you were spying on them from behind the couch?”

“I don't know. They never said. But I don't think it mattered. They loved each other. And they were fine letting the world know that—even if the world was just our home.” She sighed. “I remember wishing for mistletoe just like that after they died. I even imagined hanging it in my own home one day…with my own husband and my own little girl. I wished for that on every single birthday candle and every single coin throughout the rest of my childhood. Not an unlimited supply of candy, not a trip to the zoo, not a new teddy bear. Just a sprig of mistletoe.”

“And?”

“Once I was finally old enough to have my own home, that wish had slipped my mind.” Her voice turned to a whisper. “And, well, now it's too late.”

For the umpteenth time since they'd met, Rory wanted to reach out, pull her into his arms and simply hold her,
the need to protect her from the world overwhelming. Yet for the umpteenth time he resisted, in fear of driving her away.

They'd made progress over the past eighteen hours. Big progress. And the last thing he wanted to do was set them back by coming on too strong.

Instead, he changed the subject. “Apparently your frames are causing quite a stir. They're all Virginia and Delilah talked about this morning when I stopped by the diner for breakfast.”

The protective wall he'd seen in her eyes began to slip down once again. “They told you about them?”

“I overheard them talking to a group of women when I sat down. Seems you might have a few people ready to place orders beyond the one you already have from Virginia.”

Maggie's mouth gaped open. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Pulling his cell phone from his back pocket, he glanced at the screen. “Wow, it's getting late. We better head out.”

“Where are we going?”

“I said no more hints, remember?” He met her smile with one of his own. “Now grab your coat. Something warm, okay? It's looking like it could snow at any time.”

“You can be a little bossy sometimes, you know that?” she teased before disappearing into her room and returning in a soft blue winter jacket and matching hat. “Luckily for me, my coat is blue. That way my lips will match by the time we get wherever you're taking me.”

He looked at her mouth and swallowed, his mind
searching for a safe answer. One that wouldn't get him kicked out on his ear. “I'll do my best to keep you warm.”

 

S
HE POINTED OUT THE
passenger-side window as Rory drove the back road skirting the shores of Lake Shire. “Do you see that little inlet? My uncle used to launch our rowboat from that very spot.”

“Did you help row?”

“I tried, though I doubt I was much help. A little girl doesn't have all that much power.”

He slid a glance at her. “I bet Doug didn't mind.”

Maggie couldn't help but smile. “He didn't. He was—and is—the most patient man I've ever known. Except for…you.”

“You think I'm patient?”

“How could I not? You've put up with my grumpy face since the first moment we met. And you're still here.” Feeling suddenly foolish, she concentrated on the view of the lake, pulling herself back to safer waters. “One time I came for a visit and we stayed out in my uncle's boat all day. We ate, we fished and we read books right there in the middle of the lake.”

“He helped you, didn't he?” Rory asked as he slowed for a stoplight.

“More than I can ever say.”

“Any chance he'll make it back from Europe in time for Christmas?”

She shrugged. “He's going to try. But I'm not sure I'm ready.”

Rory turned right and then left, the view of the lake
now obstructed by trees and occasional homes and businesses. “Ready? For what?”

“I want to be in a better place when he comes. I want to have taken some of the steps I promised I would take.”

“And what, exactly, did you tell him you'd do?” Rory slowed as the truck moved from asphalt onto cobblestone, the bumpy feel beneath the tires taking her by surprise.

“That I'd find the strength he seems to think I have.” She glanced at the historic brick buildings and whimsical storefronts that lined both sides of the unfamiliar street. “What is this?”

He pulled into a parking spot in front of a gourmet pet store, a mischievous smile lighting his face. “This is Lake Shire Square. When you were a kid, this was just a run-down section of the downtown area that everyone avoided. Until about five years ago that is, when your uncle spearheaded a committee to oversee some much-needed changes. And—” he gestured toward the windshield “—voilà!”

“I don't know what to say. I had no idea Uncle Doug was involved in something like this.”

Grabbing hold of the door handle on his side of the truck, Rory winked in her direction. “So? Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“I want to show you something.”

“And I don't suppose you're going to tell me what that something is?”

“You suppose right.” With a laugh, he hopped out of the truck.

Giving up, she zipped her jacket to the top and stepped out, finding Rory's hand on her arm before she'd even reached the walkway. “Did you work for the government at some point? FBI? CIA?”

“Nope.” He dropped back a step and guided her around a patch of ice, still grasping her arm. “Some surprises can be good, you know.”

“Maybe for someone else they can be,” she said, regretting the words as soon as she'd said them. Today was about having fun. And fun she was determined to have. She owed Rory that much.

Shaking her head free of the thoughts that threatened to zap her energy and send her running for home, she forced herself to focus on the various shops they passed on their way to their mystery destination. There was a bakery, a café, a salon, an antiques shop, an upscale clothing store, a gently used children's resale shop and—

“Oooh, Rory, look.” She stopped under the shingled sign for Lake Shire Gifts & Things and pointed toward the window display. It didn't take long to see that the shop had a very upscale, almost untouchable feel to its inventory, a fact that surprised her. In a town like Lake Shire, where so many people opted to live because of the rustic surroundings, items like china statues and glass sculptures didn't really fit. Vacationers to the area weren't likely to go home with those kinds of items, either.

Rory tugged the door open and gestured her inside the shop, an unreadable expression an his face.

“We don't have to go in now. Not if it's going to make us late for wherever it is we're going.”

“We're here.”

She stopped halfway through the door. “We're here?”

Before he could answer, a woman in her mid-fifties approached them. “Mr. O'Brien, I assume?”

Maggie glanced back at Rory, watched him extend his hand toward the woman. “Yes. And you must be Ms. Johansen?”

“Please. Call me Iris.” The woman's blue-gray eyes turned in her direction. “And you must be Maggie, yes?”

She nodded automatically, Iris's warm hand on hers doing little to ease the confusion she knew was furrowing her brow.

“Feel free to look around. As you can see, the showroom space is ample for a shop like this.” Iris motioned toward a door at the far side of the room. “There's also a small office in back, as well as a room that I use for unpacking items when they come in. Right now it's furnished with a series of shelving units—all of which I could leave behind if that would be helpful.”

“Thank you, Iris,” Rory said. “Maggie, shall we?”

“Shall we what?” she whispered as the shop owner headed back to her post behind the register. “Rory, what's going on? Why are we here?”

“To see what you think.”

Maggie looked around at the various shelves and the breakable items they held. “It's nice but—” looking toward the counter, she lowered her voice still further
“—it doesn't really invite leisurely browsing. Not the kind that lulls people into buying, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, there's the merchandise. It's more suitable to city people.”

He leaned against a nearby wall. “How so?”

“Take these statues. Do they really seem like the kind of things people are going to use to decorate their second homes? Or the kind of souvenirs people would want to buy to remember their vacation to Lake Shire?” Lifting a china figure, she continued. “A wooden rowboat or a plaque about fishing would sell better. At least in a town like this.

“And…and where are the postcards for the vacationers? And the cutesy refrigerator magnets that people can bring home when their trip is over?” she asked, as much to herself as Rory.

“And what about the hand-decorated picture frames for displaying their favorite vacation pictures?” he offered. “Or the one-of-a-kind Christmas ornaments for decorating their trees?”

“Exactly.” She set the figurine down, Rory's words registering in her mind. “Whoa. Wait a minute. What's going on here? What, exactly, are you up to, mister?”

He folded his arms across his muscled chest, visible through the opening of his leather jacket. “Iris is moving.”

Maggie stared at him, waiting for further clarification.

When none came, she stepped closer. “What does her moving have to do with me?”

“She's looking to lease this place.”