The Billionaire’s Handler (12 page)

His eyes were stinging tired, his stomach restless. Henry barely spoke to him on the ride home—but then Henry had barely spoken a civil word to him since he'd let Carolina go.

It was pitch-black—except for the shards of ice coming from the sky—when they stumbled from the car with their gear. Maguire had the key out and ready, pushed open the door, flipped on a light.

Par for the course, Henry had left the current
mail on the table, where Maguire could go through it over coffee the next morning. He saw the pile, and wouldn't have hesitated to leave it, except for the box on top.

The postmark was Elkhart, Indiana. No one he knew or had ever known was from Elkhart. The box was square, bigger than a shoe box and heavy.

Behind him, Henry carted in bags, locked up, aimed for the fridge. Normally he'd have gone straight to bed, but he'd obviously seen Maguire pick up the package.

“Just came in yesterday,” Henry said.

“It'll wait until morning.”

“Sure will.” But Henry didn't move because Maguire didn't. Damn, but he couldn't stand mysteries or undotted
i
's. So he peeled off the wrapping. Three hefty books fell in his lap.
Plans to Build Your Own Tree House, How to Build Your Own Tree House,
and
Tree Houses—Hideouts for Grown-ups.

Maguire felt something knot, tight and thick, in his throat, as he paged through them. There was no note. No signed anything. Eventually he glanced up to see Henry staring at him.

“That damn woman,” Maguire said.

“That's what I was thinking, sir,” Henry agreed.

“She doesn't play fair.”

“She certainly doesn't.”

“This isn't honest warfare. She's being sneaky,
even sneakier than me. It's just not right. It's under the table. It's a low way of getting to a man.”

“I thought the same thing, Mr. Cochran. The minute I laid eyes on her, I thought, well, no one like her has ever been in Mr. Cochran's life. She doesn't play by his rules.”

“She misled me, Henry. I thought she was a good woman. A decent woman. An honest woman. And then she does something like this. It's unconscionable.” Maguire paced around, shot a finger at Henry, then paced some more. “This changes things. I've tried to do the right thing. I've
tried
. But damn it, if she refuses to play fair, why should I be the only one suffering?”

“Now you're talking, sir.”

 

Carolina was just pulling a major chunk of mail from her mailbox when she saw her brother pull in to the driveway. She jogged over to give him an enormous hug. “Come on in, you sweetie! Want some coffee?”

Gregg had on his old high school jacket, and was wearing his hair a little long. He was the one who'd found her weeks ago, raised all the flags for help, got her to the hospital. Back when they were in high school, he'd started football, quit. Started college, quit. Started one job after another, quit. Gregg never
heard of an idea involving quick money that he didn't fall for—but Carolina loved him, warts and all.

“You're looking good. For a sister.” He ruffled her new haircut while she thumped down the mail and started a fresh pot of coffee. “Hey. I had an idea.”

“Yeah?” She paged through the heap of mail, tossing out the junk mail, separating the bills…and then stopped. Her heart, her head, everything stopped.

She saw Maguire's Washington return address. Opened the heavy envelope, found a fat, thick catalog. It was for an auction in Paris, of last year's designer shoes. She paged through, her throat thickening. There were pages and pages and pages of frivolous, uselessly, miserably uncomfortable, gorgeous shoe designs.

My God. How dirty could Maguire get? How ugly? And by using his real return address, he'd of course identified himself as the culprit—upping the ante.

“It's just…” Gregg knew where her mugs were, poured two cups. “I've got an idea for a start-up business, sis. A coffee shop. I know, there's lots of those. But most of them are really expensive and fancy. What if I started a place that served really good coffee, but cheap. I've got a friend…”

Her head shot up, although her finger was still stroking the page with the ostrich sandals.

“He's got the coffee. He's got the plan. We just need some seed money to get it going—”

Temporarily, only temporarily, she closed the shoe catalog. “You know what, Gregg? One of the cold hard truths I've tried to face in the last month is that I'm just plain terrible with numbers.”

“That's not a problem, sis. See—”

She carefully interrupted again. “So I decided I'd better not make financial decisions myself. I've researched some really good people, with terrific reputations. If you want to give them a business plan, I'll tell them you're my brother. But actual decisions on issues like this, I've moved out of my hands.”

Gregg's jaw dropped. “But it's your money.”

“I know. But I wouldn't do my own brain surgery. Or fill my own cavities. Same with this, you know. This isn't something I'm good at, so I found people who were.”

“But I'm your brother.”

“And I couldn't love you more in a million, thousand years.”

Her brother left twenty minutes later, not too happy with her, but that was okay. Someday maybe family could have a conversation with her without asking for money—but if not, not.

She had more interesting things to worry about.

She jogged back to the catalog, thumbing through it again, page by page. That damn man. Tempting her with shoes. How low could a man get? What happened to Maguire's integrity, his honor?

And if he'd sink this low…just maybe she could entice him to sink a wee bit lower.

Like down to her level.

“S
ir! Mr. Cochran! Sir!”

Maguire and Tommy both turned at the same time. They'd only ambled a half mile into the woods when they suddenly heard Henry's voice. Maguire had never seen Henry run hell-bent for leather before.

Henry reached them, put his hands on his knees, heaving in breath. “Sir, you need to go back to the house.”

“Are you all right? What's wrong?”

“It's not me.
I'm
fine. But at the house—” Henry motioned, still breathing too hard to talk well. “She's done something.”

Henry could have been referring to any number of
“she's” worldwide, but there was probably only one that could induce that panic-stricken gallop across the woods. “Is Carolina ill? Hurt? Need help?” Maguire asked swiftly.

“Nothing like that. You and Tommy. Just go back to the house. You'll see.”

Maguire had already started running back to the lodge, Tommy keeping pace beside him—but it was Tommy who surged ahead when they reached sight of the back door, Tommy who let out a squeal loud enough to wake the mountains.

The dog sitting on the porch step seemed to have a foot-long tongue—and a five-foot-long tail, which immediately started wagging when Tommy ran toward him. The golden retriever looked to be full grown, extra big, extra golden. Maguire shouted a warning to Tommy, who paid no attention, just surged toward the unfamiliar dog with his arms outstretched.

Tommy had no sense of caution. He knocked the dog over, and himself at the same time. Maguire reached them both in seconds, but not fast enough to prevent Tommy from giggling to high heavens as the retriever lavishly, lovingly washed his face.

Henry brought up the rear, still panting like a race-horse. “There was a note attached to its collar. There, by the door,” he gasped out.

Henry kept talking. Tommy kept rolling and giggling with the dog. Maguire sank down on the step,
and opened the folded envelope. Inside was an extensive vet history on the dog, and a short, personal note.

Maguire was still holding the note when the dog's golden head poked under his arm. She angled next to his side, sat down and put her head on his knee, closed her eyes. “Taffy,” he said.

She wagged her tail faster than thunder, but her eyes stayed closed.

Maguire looked up at Tommy, at Henry.

“No one just gives someone else a dog. It's wrong at every level.”

“I concur, sir.”

“Think of the dog hair. The dirt. The drool. The difficulties traveling around with a dog. It's all horrendous.”

“I was thinking the same thing, sir.”

“I've never had a dog.” Maguire sucked in a breath, let his fingers drift into the dog's thick fur. “I've had everything money could buy. I just never…had a dog. She couldn't possibly know that. I never said I wanted a dog.”

“I never heard you say that,” Henry agreed.

“Because I didn't. When I was a kid…nothing was steady. Great schools, everything a kid could want playwise. But moms didn't stick, not my original, or any of my father's replacements. We were always moving to different places, different cities. I got it.”

“You got what, sir?”

“That that's the way it was. You have to be careful not to count on things. Because nothing stays the same. Material things, those you can always have. But things that live and breathe, Henry. It's just a lot easier not to get attached.”

“Please, Mr. Cochran. Tell me we're not keeping her. Think of the dog hair. You might be allergic,” Henry said hopefully. “In the summer, she could have fleas. She'll have to be brushed. You don't have time for something like a dog, sir.”

“I can't believe she would do this to me.”

“Neither can I, sir.”

“Have you ever seen me duck a responsibility? Ever? Even once, Henry?”

“Never, sir.”

“But I don't take in dogs. Or cats. Or people. Not
long term. You get attached. Then when something dies or leaves or divorces or whatever, your world's ripped out from under you. Asking for that is stupid. It's like napping on a train track.”

Tommy was looking at him with a world of hope in his eyes; Henry was giving him the frantic say-no stare. Maguire's gaze narrowed on the dog.

This time, Carolina had gone over the line. Way, way, way over the line. She knew why a person drew lines in the sand. She knew about boundaries. She knew why a person needed boundaries—to be safe.

By throwing out those boundaries, Carolina knew perfectly well what she'd done.

She wasn't asking to be safe. Not anymore. Not from him.

 

Just take a breath,
Carolina told herself. So she was terrified. Nothing new about that. She was a born wuss, for Pete's sake.

Maguire had taught her to dive off the deep end and not look back. And she'd been trying hard to live that way. Running some risks, making some changes, standing up. But Maguire wasn't here.

And her old wuss personality flaw had shown up big-time for this meeting.

She didn't belong here. The conference room was upstairs, located in the Department of Education, in downtown Indianapolis.

Naturally, she'd gotten lost just trying to find the place. The streets all had state names, like Vermont and New York and Washington. Only, she'd been looking for Ohio.

Being here was partly her own fault, she had to admit. She'd initiated the call to the State Board of Education. But after that, fate or kismet or coincidence or something had just kicked in on her. She managed to reach the state superintendent just by luck. By chance, the superintendent had a special ed child and could especially relate to Carolina. And it was pure luck that there was a conference scheduled on Dynamic New Ideas for Special Ed Children that week.

Carolina had just planned to dip a toe in, put out a few feelers. She never expected to be thrown off the deep end—which was what she called having to stand up in front of a microphone after lunch.

“I just met this young woman a few days ago,” the superintendent said as he introduced her. “This is exactly what we've been talking about—finding someone to spearhead new directions in our special education program. We need someone to harness all the varied opinions from teachers, parents, administrators and doctors. To establish goals we all share, goals that are achievable, goals we can sink our teeth into. Carolina. Take it away!”

She didn't want to “take it away.” She wanted to
curl up on a couch and disappear under a blanket. That not being an option, she strode to the podium in her red shoes and just…started.

The terror didn't leave her. But once she got going, her enthusiasm for the subject eased the public-speaking fears. People in the audience started nodding. She clearly wasn't the only one who had these ideas, who wanted to see change.

“We all know there's a disconnect between the people who spend time every day with special ed children—parents and teachers—and the people who have considerable power over their lives and choices. Doctors. Insurance people. Administrators. Teachers and parents are in a far better position to evaluate a child's potential than someone who only sees these kids for minutes at a time. We need the medical and health expertise—but we need a symposium where we can exchange information, about how things really are with these children. From new techniques to curriculum changes, we could do so much more…”

Heaven knew where all that passion came from, when she'd always been far more of a backseat driver than an instigator. Maybe it was Maguire's influence, who'd put the concept in her head that you have the right to love how you live.

He'd made her believe it somehow—that she could do anything. Even the things she was afraid of. If she just risked it all and put herself out there.

And as if her heart could do magician's tricks…suddenly, there he was. Her Maguire. Wearing slacks and a heavy cream-colored sweater, standing at the back of the long conference room. With a dog.

Dogs, of course, were forbidden in the building, but she knew Maguire's philosophy about that sort of thing. Show him any rule and he'd find an excuse to bend it.

Her voice faltered. Then speeded up. She kept talking, although she wasn't sure what she said. For darn sure, she had no idea what provoked them all to start applauding. The instant the superintendent stood up, Carolina was free to leave the podium and fly across the room.

“Hey, we didn't want to interrupt you. We can wait,” Maguire said, but that's not what he communicated with his eyes.

She searched his face, still not certain why he was here. But then she just grabbed his arm. Outside the conference room, the hallway had occasional passersby. Someone dropped a file; two people ambled past deep in conversation—but it was quiet enough.

He leaned against the wall, looked at her as if all he wanted to do was look. And look. And look. For as long as there were stars.

Because Maguire wasn't a sentimental man, she warned herself not to hope too much. Maybe she
was the one seeing those love stars. She tried to get a grip.

“How are you, my darling?” The croon wasn't for him, but for the dog. “You remember me, don't you? I told you we'd find a sucker to take you in, didn't I?”

“Are you calling me a sucker, Carolina?”

“Not often. Not much. But occasionally.” She straightened, cocked her head. “Like that old song, I think you're one of those people who need somebody to love. And in the meantime…how on earth do you happen to be here?”

“As we both know, money doesn't buy everything—but it'll usually buy any information I want. Instead, I've been pretty much combing the universe to find you. I didn't have any clue that you'd be in Indianapolis, much less in the State Department of Education building.”

“Well, believe me, neither did I. It's your fault.” She leaned against the wall, too. Inches from his face. Inches from his mouth and eyes and the touch of him.

“My fault?”

“Yeah. I've been flunking a few of the lessons you taught me. I admit it. I couldn't always hold the line. My sister especially got to me. But my brother now, there, I was tough. You'd have been proud. Honest.”

“Maybe I'm already proud, Carolina.”

She wasn't going to cry, not in a public building. She wasn't even sure why they were still
in
the darned building, except that she didn't want to move an inch. Didn't want to be separated from that look in his eyes for even a millisecond.

“Sending me the shoe catalog was cruel.”

“You sent me a dog, and you call
me
cruel? But I loved watching you and the shoe thing. It kept coming to me. When you love, you
love,
Carolina. All or nothing. All the way. Even when it hurts. I was afraid I'd never be able to offer you the same.”

“You're out of your mind, as usual, Maguire. You have more love in you than any fifty other people.”

“I never thought that. I don't know how you thought that. Why'd you send the tree-house books?”

“What makes you think
I
sent them? Did you like the one with the solar-heated shower?”

“Why'd you send them?” he repeated carefully.

She stopped scrubbing the dog's ears. “Because, Maguire, as cute as you are, you're not all that bright. You need to love how you live. You have all these places, but you don't have a home. A place where you feel safe. A place where you can put your feet up and just be yourself. A place where you don't have to do a single thing but enjoy the sunshine and the moonbeams.”

“Carolina, quit with the silly talk. I need you to get serious.”

She swallowed. “Okay. I'm serious.”

“How are we going to get the dog in the tree house?”

“A sling. I almost sent you a catalog for those, too.”

“All right. So the dog's solvable. But now comes the serious, critical problem. How am I going to get you in a tree house with me?”

She gulped. “I didn't know you wanted me in the tree house with you.”

“I do. I want you in my life. Anywhere, anyhow I can get you. It's about falling that hard in love with you, Carolina. I never planned on it. It wasn't supposed to happen. Only now it has. And I'm afraid I'm stuck with wanting you, needing you, loving you, for the rest of my life.”

“A definite problem,” she concurred, and only then was aware that he'd taken her hands. Both of them. That he was holding both as if he was refusing to let go of a lifeline. “Well, here's the thing, Maguire. I need you to know…that I don't need a protector. Or a mentor. Or someone to keep me out of trouble. I did, I admit it. But not now.”

“You're tough,” Maguire concurred.

“It's been a journey. First to identify what really matters to me. And then to risk it all, no holds barred, to get what I want in my life. And that's love, Maguire. That's all I ever wanted from you.”

He pulled her into his arms…and she pulled him into hers. Probably it was impossible to tell the difference. It was right, that's all she knew. The taste of him, the texture of his mouth, the way he turned a kiss into something thrilling and unforgettable, something more wondrous than she'd ever dreamed of. She tasted their future in that kiss.

“Maguire?” When they both broke for breath, they also instinctively aimed for the door. The sooner they were out of there and in a private place—with the dog, of course—the better.

“I was thinking that we could still get a marriage license this afternoon,” he said.