Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (14 page)

For the past week this man had listened to her thoughts, remembered her wishes. And one by one he'd made them come true, changing her life in the process.

Now it was
her
turn.

Maggie took charge, unfastening first his belt and then the button that held his jeans closed. Boldly she took the zipper between her teeth and lowered it, the most intimate parts of her growing wet with desire at the sight of his body craning toward hers.

He pulled her to him, his hands resuming their exploration. Every caress, every kiss, every nibble, every stroke drove her closer and closer to the edge.

She met his lips with her own, then moved lower—to his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, the inside of his thighs… When she took him in her mouth he cried out with desire, tangling his strong fingers in her hair.

After several long moments he coaxed her back up, only to shift both of them to the floor. Covering her body with his, he entered her with a gentle authority that left her spinning. She moaned with pleasure at the feel of his length inside her, the rhythmic motions making it nearly impossible to breathe as he rose and fell against her again and again, their release coming at the same heart-stopping moment.

 

F
OR HOURS HE SIMPLY HELD
her as she slept, his eyes commanding every inch of her body and every nuance of her face to his memory. It didn't matter that he had to work in a few short hours, or that he hadn't gotten so much as a wink of sleep yet. The only thing Rory cared about was lying in his arms. Sleeping peacefully.

Maggie was everything he'd ever wanted. She was sweet, yet sexy. Funny, yet serious. Smart, yet innocent. And for whatever reason, she seemed to care about him, too.

She'd been through so much. The angry red scar on her forearm was visual proof of that, while the push-pull of the past week signaled the part he couldn't see.

But that was about to change.

He was going to keep her safe from here on out, loving her with everything he had. And he was going to give her the life she deserved—one filled with realized dreams and answered wishes.

His mind made up, he finally closed his eyes, the sweet scent that was Maggie filling his senses as he drifted off to sleep.

Maggie rolled onto her side and nestled her head into the pillow, a shaft of sunlight warming the left side of her face as she became aware of a vaguely pleasant smell.

Mmm, bacon.

“Bacon?” Pushing up onto her elbow, she looked around at the sofa, the rug, the coffee table, Rory's Christmas tree…

Rory's Christmas tree?

“How on earth…” Confusion overtook her as she peered down at the unfamiliar blanket she clutched to her chest. Slowly, she pulled it back, and felt guilt sweeping in. “Oh no…oh no…what have I done?”

A door on the far side of the room opened. “Maggie? Are you awake?”

Rory. She'd been with Rory last night. They'd made love….

Suddenly she remembered it all. Every touch. Every kiss. Every thrust of desire. Every moan of pleasure.

“Stop right there,” she begged, using the blanket as a shield. “Please. I—I have to get dressed. I have to go home.”

“There's no rush, sweetheart. I'm making breakfast right now.”

She pushed herself to her feet, her heart thumping wildly. “I have to leave.
Now.
”

He came around the sofa, opening his arms as he did. She backed up into the branches of the tree. “No. Please. I—I can't. Oh…I can't. Not again.”

His smile faltered. “Maggie, what's wrong?”

“I made an awful mistake,” she said in a tear-choked voice. “An awful, awful mistake.”

“What are you talking…” And then he stopped, her words wiping every last glimmer of joy from his face. “Maggie…please. Don't say that. You were happy last night.
I
was happy.”

“I wasn't thinking,” she protested over the tears.

“You're right, you weren't.” He reached for her. “You were
feeling,
Maggie.”

“I don't want to feel! It leads to pain. Every single time.”

“But it doesn't have to be like that.” He reached for her again, only to have her back up farther against the tree. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Do you think they wanted to leave?”

“No, of course not. But that still doesn't mean—”

“Everyone I love disappears from my life. It's like I'm some sort of bad penny.”

A look of horror flashed across his face. “Don't say that! Oh God, don't say that.”

“It's true.” She clutched the blanket still tighter. “First my parents…then Jack and Natalie. I can't do it again.”

“You love your uncle, don't you?” Rory stepped back,
the hurt in his eyes a stark contrast to the calm of his voice. “He's still here. He's been here since you were a little girl.”

Once Rory was far enough away, Maggie stepped forward, scooping up her neatly folded clothes from the top of the coffee table. “I'm sorry, Rory. I really am. But you mean too much to me to ever let this happen again.”

 

I
T WAS NEARLY THREE O'CLOCK
before he arrived at the inn, and Maggie's car was nowhere to be found. Rory knew he should be grateful for her absence after the way she'd stomped all over his heart, yet he wasn't.

In the week he'd known her, Maggie sightings had become the high point of his day. The moments they actually spent together—at the diner, at his home, in her suite, at the gift shop, in the car—only served to underscore that fact.

And last night? Well, that had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

Sure, he'd been with other women over the years—attractive, intelligent women who'd enjoyed his company as much as he had theirs. But Maggie was different.

Her breathtaking beauty was only an exterior view of a woman who was sweet and true, honest and loyal….

Loyal.

He unlocked the front door of the inn and stepped inside, his feet leading him in a different direction than his heart begged to go. Maybe it was silly to take the hallway that bypassed Maggie's suite, but he had to. Doing otherwise would be akin to stepping in front of a moving car.

It was just as Delilah had said when he'd called her
for words of wisdom after Maggie left. He couldn't fix everything.

It was a fact that was painful to hear and even more painful to accept, but if he removed his heart from the equation he knew she was right. He'd been trying so hard to fix Maggie's pain he hadn't given her room to breathe.

The whole reason she'd come to Lake Shire was to find a way to move forward. And while he'd intended his gifts to help in that regard, they'd only served to muddy the waters.

“Some things just need time and space, Rory.”

Delilah's voice filtered through his thoughts as he turned the corner into the room he was rehabbing. It made sense. It really did. But there was a part of him that was more than a little wary of that kind of advice.

He'd gone that route with Reardon and it had backfired in ways he would regret for the rest of his life.

Could he really take that chance with Maggie?

He sat down on the pile of lumber in the center of the room and stared up at the beamed ceiling. Making love to Maggie had been everything he imagined and a million times more.

And it wasn't going to happen ever again.

The truth of the situation was like a punch to the gut, one he knew would come again and again as they ran into each other around the inn. Unfortunately, it was the way things were as long as he was working for Maggie's uncle.

Which could only mean one thing…

He needed to finish the job or find his own replacement.

 

S
HE WATCHED AS THE SUN
slipped behind the trees, casting orange-and-red streaks across Lake Shire. So much in her life had changed since the first time she'd seen this lake.

Maggie had gone from being a lost little girl to one with hope for a second chance at the family she'd lost. She'd gone from being married and having a child of her own to realizing second chances could blow up in her face, too. And she'd gone from spending her days staring aimlessly up at the ceiling to contemplating a new path—one she couldn't help but feel excited about.

Pulling her knees onto the seat, Maggie studied the lights dancing and shimmering atop the water. There was so much she regretted—every argument she'd ever had with Jack; the times she'd put Natalie in her crib to sleep rather than holding her while she napped; not remembering the diaper bag the last time.

But if she cut herself some slack, she knew things had happened the way they were meant to happen. Couples argued, yet it didn't mean they loved each other any less. Parents put their children in cribs to sleep so they could get things done. That way cuddles could happen during the all-important awake time. And as for the diaper bag…it had happened before. To her and countless other moms.

No, a forgotten diaper bag hadn't caused the accident. Fate and a patch of ice had.

But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less. It was a pain Maggie woke with every morning, and a pain she went to sleep with every night.

Yet somehow, some way, she'd managed to find some
footholds of late, the possibility of opening a gift shop of her very own the biggest one of all. Working on the frames and the ornaments had stirred something inside her. Something real. Just as realizing a dream tended to do.

And it
had
been a dream. A big one. So why not chase it? Especially now, when she had more time than she ever wanted on her hands, and no one to spend it with? It was something to get her through the days, something to put her all into without sacrificing her heart once again.

She closed her eyes in an effort to blot out the memory of Rory's mouth on hers, his hands traveling every curve of her body, his tall lean form moving above her….

No, she had to forget. She
had
to.

She glanced down at the documents in her hand, the whimsical logo she'd created sprawled across the top page.

Natalie's Nook.

The name had come to her in a dream, after a long day of making frames, magnets, wall hangings and table decorations. And despite the late hour and the cloud of fatigue that hovered over her, she knew it was perfect.

If not more than a little bittersweet.

Yet as her inventory had mounted, along with her excitement over the past two weeks, something was still missing.

Such as having someone to share it with.

More than once Maggie had found herself with her hand on the doorknob and Rory in her thoughts. Yet each time she'd simply made her way back to whatever craft she was working on at that moment. Rory was busy—working morning, noon and night, if the nearly constant hammering was any indication. And seeking him out to talk about the gift shop wasn't fair. Not when he had feelings for her.

And you for him…

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared down at the documents, willed her mind to focus on the legwork she'd laid in place in order to embark on her dreams. If she could just keep focused on the shop, she'd learn to forget.

Or would she?

Making crafts still left her time to think. If she designed a picture frame to reflect the beach, she recalled vacations she'd taken with Jack. If she designed a sample frame for her Everlasting Smiles line, she imagined her daughter's sweet face. If she made a tabletop decoration, she thought of colors they might have liked or ideas they might have had. And as she finished each and every project, she longed to show it to Rory.

Shifting the papers to the bed, she stood up, distracting thoughts and feelings lending an aimless quality to her mood. What was her problem? She was doing the right thing. She really was.

She just hadn't expected to hurt so much.

 

R
ORY WAVED AT
V
IRGINIA
and headed for his favorite table in the back, the exhaustion of his fourteen-day workathon leaving him with aches from head to toe. Throwing himself into the inn's restoration had been a good call, the long days keeping him busy. The busier he was, the less time he had to think and second-guess his every move.

Unfortunately, the moment he slipped his hammer into his belt that all changed. In a flash he'd find himself
analyzing every word he'd said, every step he'd taken, every move he could have done differently.

Which was why he'd ignored the bone-numbing exhaustion that had begged him to go home for dinner. At least at Delilah's there'd be people to talk to other than the voices in his head that refused to shut up.

“Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in,” Delilah said as he stepped onto the elevated back section he preferred. “Why, I thought you'd upped and moved clear to the other side of the country since the last time we spoke. That, or you defected over to Larchmont in favor of Sam's place.”

“Like the latter would ever happen.” Rory rolled his eyes skyward before planting a kiss on his friend's forehead. “I mean, seriously, why on earth would I give up your stew for Sam's?”

“Why indeed.”

Dropping into his favorite booth, he scooted across the bench and leaned his head against the vinyl seat back. “Ahh, now that feels good. Real good.”

“You look exhausted, Rory.” Delilah's eyebrows furrowed and her trademark smile disappeared.

“I am exhausted. Been working fourteen-hour days the past two weeks, trying to get things done over at the inn.” He lifted his feet beneath the table and stretched them across to the other bench. “I figure the sooner I get done over there, the sooner I can move on.”

Her eyebrows rose further. “Move on?”

He nodded.

“Move on where?”

“Don't know. I just think maybe it's time I see what
else is out there. I've spent my whole life in this same place.”

“That's what home means, Rory.”

His eyes swept across the miniature tree that graced the ledge above his table, noting the miniature frames and hearts that dotted the branches. “Oh, hey, look…there's Virginia's picture…and Tyler's…and Carly's…and yours.”

“It's our staff tree. Everyone had to write something on a star and hang it on the tree—a favorite quote, a personal mantra, whatever.” Delilah leaned across the booth and grabbed hold of one of the hearts. “Can you guess who this one belongs to?”

He peered at the rounded writing on the wooden star. “‘Who needs men?'”

Delilah nodded.

“That would have to be Virginia. Unless Maggie started working here.”

Ignoring his comment, Delilah stood up straight. “I haven't hung mine yet.”

“What's yours say? Eat and be merry?”

“No. Though that might be a good alternative.”

“To?”

“Love heals all wounds.”

He dropped his hands into his lap. “You really believe that?”

“I really do.”

For a moment he said nothing, opting instead to grab hold of the paper-wrapped silverware and roll it back and forth across the table. “What happens if the wounds are simply too big?”

“You love harder.”

“You love harder,” he mumbled. “Okay…so what happens then if the love isn't wanted?”

“If that's truly the case, then I guess you move on.” Delilah peered around the diner, then slid onto the bench beside Rory's feet. “But the key is finding out whether it's truly unwanted or simply pushed away out of fear.”

He raked a hand across his face, the relaxing evening he'd craved slipping through his fingers with each sentence they exchanged. “But how can I counteract a fear I can't guarantee won't happen? I mean, there's no way I can be sure I'm not gonna get hit by a bus tomorrow. Life doesn't work that way. Just look at Reardon. If I'd known what he was going to do, I'd have stopped him. But I didn't. And so I couldn't.”

A tender smile inched across Delilah's face. “Do you know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?”

“Say what?” he mumbled.

“That you didn't know. You've always been so hard on yourself about that—how you should have known, how you should have done this, that or the other. But you couldn't have, because you
didn't
know. Reardon didn't tell you.”

Leaning his head back, Rory stared up the ceiling. “Life happens. For better or worse. All you can do is live it the best way you know how.”

“What happens if the best way involves sharing it with another person?”

He squinted at his friend. “It's a moot point when that other person doesn't want to share it with you.”

“I see.” Delilah scooted to the edge of the bench and stood. “Well, I guess it's okay to give up on a job when it gets too hard. Makes things easier that way.”

“Wait.” He dropped his feet to the floor and sat upright. “I'm not the one who gave up. Maggie did, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Then how am I giving up?”

“By working yourself like a dog just so you don't have to feel.”

“I'm not doing that. I'm working like this so I can—” He stopped short of admitting she was right. Only he was going about it in a slightly different way. He was working the way he was so he could
run.

“Look, I can see you're tired. And the last thing I want to do is exhaust you further.” Delilah put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “So what would you like to eat?”

He glanced over at the mini chalkboard propped against the napkin dispenser and read the day's specials. “How's the pot roast?”

She made a face. “You have to ask? It's superb.”

“Okay. Then I'll take that.” He eyed his friend as she turned toward the kitchen, the question that had been burning in his heart for the past two weeks finding its way to his lips. “Have you talked to her? Is she doing okay?”

“Don't you think you should ask her that yourself?” Delilah replied as she stopped just shy of the next booth.

“She doesn't want me around. She made that perfectly clear.”

“Did she?”

Rory closed his eyes as his thoughts traveled a well-worn path back to the last morning he'd seen Maggie, her use of the word
mistake
hurting all over again. “Oh, she made it clear all right. Trust me on that.”

“Well, maybe she just needs a little time.”

“Time isn't going to do it,” he argued. “She doesn't want this. She's too afraid of risking her heart again.”

“Maybe she just needs to walk alone for a little while before she's ready to trust her hand to someone else again.”

His friend's words hit hard, as the truth often did. “She
smacked
my hand away, Delilah. Again and again. She's doesn't want to walk—alone or otherwise.”

Delilah nodded but said nothing, her thoughts as much a mystery to Rory as his own at that moment. She took a step toward the kitchen and then stopped again, glancing over her shoulder one last time. “She's walking
now.
”

“What do you mean?”

“How about I show you instead.”

“Show me?” he echoed.

“Come by next Saturday around eleven-thirty. I'll show you then.” Delilah gestured toward the kitchen. “Now I better get that pot roast. You look like you could use a little pick-me-up.”