The Billionaire’s Handler (9 page)

And that was exactly the problem. Jay was forever overspending his trust, and every time, he'd hit up Shannon. He always had the ace card, because he'd threaten to withdraw Tommy from her care if she didn't fork over the money.

It was the same story this time. The whole thing
made Maguire tired. Yeah, of course he immediately stepped in to solve the problem, but the situation underlined why he needed to stop thinking about Carolina in a personal way. Money didn't change anything that mattered. Life was ugly—at least his life was. Money invariably provoked selfishness and greed—and gave power to those who shouldn't have it. It wasn't a life he'd want for Carolina.

It was a life he'd be embarrassed to share, particularly with someone as good as she was.

“Well,” Shannon suddenly murmured. “Will you look at what the cat dragged in.”

He'd already turned his head at the sounds of commotion in the doorway. Carolina, Tommy, and the dog poured through the door, laughing, spraying water like puppies, everybody muddy. “We had a tiny fall,” Carolina called out.

“Yeah. We slid down this long hill!” Tommy said exuberantly.

“Only there was this puddle—”

“Except the puddle turned out big as a lake!”

Carolina held up her hands. “Nobody worry! We'll fix this! We're headed straight for showers. Um, Maguire, where's the washing machine?”

“For you or the dog?”

And yeah, he was laughing. But the sound of laughter in his heart was bittersweet. Mud or no mud, Carolina was pure clean from the inside and
out, nothing ugly tainting her life—the way a whole lot of wrong things irrevocably colored his.

 

By evening, the unflappable Maguire seemed to be in a downright snarly mood. Carolina could see he'd had a great time with Tommy, and the boy loved every minute with his older brother. She liked Tommy's caretaker, Shannon, even if she hadn't quite grasped how an ex-wife of Tommy's brother—someone who wasn't remotely blood kin—had gotten the parenting job. It didn't really matter. It was obvious the boy was thriving under Shannon's care.

When Shannon and Tommy—and the behemoth dog—left after dinner, Maguire's pretend-upbeat posture sagged. He disappeared in the library for a while. She had dinner with Henry, who groveled for more brownies, and urged her to have patience with Maguire.

There was nothing to have patience about. He was just…unhappy about something, unsettled. He spoke to her, spoke to Henry, had dinner, said the right things. It was in his eyes that something was wrong.

He'd closed up like a clam in a storm.

Both of them still had jet lag. When his eyes closed, watching the news, Carolina thought maybe exhaustion was the only thing going on, and heaven knew, she crashed soon after.

The morning brought sunshine—and an extraordinary surprise out the back door. When she looked out, she found Maguire and Henry both outside, even at this early hour, holding coffee and circling the surprise like lions guarding a hunt.

As fast as she could pile on clothes, she chased downstairs and outside, shrieking all the way, leaving the door open and not wasting time on a coat, no matter what the temperature.

It was a joke. Her asking for a ride in a '53 MG. Something on that silly list she'd made when she first came—it seemed like years ago—nothing that she remembered or ever expected to be taken seriously.

The baby was candy-apple-red, with fat fenders over her front wheels, a running board, a front hood that gleamed like a mirror. She'd only seen one once before. Didn't know what a Mark IV was from a TD or any other label like that…she'd just sat in the one car that her grandfather had worked with, and fell in love.

Both men turned at the sound of her screams, and for the first time in a solid twenty-four, she caught Maguire's real grin. He opened the bitsy door, motioned her inside into the old, black leather seat.

“Where did you guys
find
this?”

“Don't ask. Just next time, ask for world peace, or something that's easy to come by.”

Henry started tsk-tsking at her bare feet and lack
of coat, being the fastidious old mother hen that he was, but the car was so one-of-a-kind adorable. Only after another few minutes oohing and aahing did she notice the duffel bag in back.

“We're going to be gone for twenty-four hours. Not far. Not sure how far we can trust the car—but Henry'll be here, home, ready to send out the Mounties if she's not in the mood to run well.”

“You mean I can actually
drive
it?”

“I don't know,” Maguire murmured. “Can you? I mean, I'll be glad to take the wheel if you're afraid of it—”

“But I can?”

Maguire spun a circle as if searching everywhere in sight. “Do you see anyone stopping her, Henry? Of course, maybe we should have crash helmets before letting her behind the wheel. And a quick course in what a clutch is for—”

“I grew up on jalopies, Maguire. I know what a clutch is. My grandpa used to restore old cars.”

“So that's how you knew about this baby?”

“Yeah. He found and fixed up an old MG for a neighbor.” She could see both he and Harry were in lust. They should look at women the way they looked at the car. They stroked. Drooled. Looked with reverence. Praised every body part. Revered.

Which gave her plenty of time to yank on clothes
and shoes and a jacket and run back outside. Maguire was already installed in the passenger seat.

“I thought maybe you'd let me drive,” he said.

“Maybe in the next life. This was my fantasy. Not yours.”

“But I didn't know about this car until you brought it up.”

“Not my problem.” She sank into the old leather, savoring the adorable dash, the tiny wheel, the long sleek front.

“What happened to my frugal, unselfish, can't-accept-anything-for-herself woman I met a week ago?”

“You ruined her, Maguire. Until you, I had no idea being corrupted could be so much fun. Snap on your seat belt. Oh. There are no seat belts. Then just hold on and pray, big boy, while we see what she can do.”

She hadn't forgotten Maguire's moodiness the day before. He hadn't, of course, mentioned that anything was troubling him, because Maguire wouldn't. Not to her. Not to anyone, as far as she could tell.

Carolina was increasingly aware that her place in Maguire's life had been carefully, completely, sharply defined by him. Once she was “better,” as he called it, he had every intention of disappearing—back to his life, whatever he did, whoever he did it with. If she felt something more, it was her problem. She'd
cracked his armor when they made love, but he hadn't willingly opened his heart to her. Even an inch.

Possibly that was why she made the first turn on two wheels. She didn't want to give Maguire a heart attack exactly. More like an attack of the heart.

Within two miles, she'd mastered the four gears and aimed for some nice, steep, curly mountain roads.

“Does the phrase ‘oh, my God' make you think we should slow down a little?” he asked over the wind.

“Nope.”

“Hey. Where is my shy, softhearted school-teacher?”

“That was then. This is now.” She had to shout to be heard above the wind. “Maybe you don't find out what a girl's made of until she has the chance to get behind the wheel, Maguire.” She glanced at him, but only a millisecond of a glance. The steep road had no guardrails, every swinging turn and swerve creating blind spots. Like falling in love with him, she thought. There were unknown dangers behind every turn. Reckless dangers. Worrisome dangers. But damned if her heart wasn't racing with the thrill of it.

“Carolina.” He was white-knuckled, holding the dash and door. Laughing. But definitely holding on. “Do you think there's a prayer we could return the car in one piece?”

The car, yes, she thought.

But her heart had already been cracked, hard.

And if streaking mountain roads at breakneck speed was what it took to make him laugh, she wasn't about to put her sensible shoes back on now.

Whatever time she had left with him, she was determined to give it everything she had.

I
t took enormous motivation to get her to park the car, but then, Maguire prided himself at being able to occasionally achieve the impossible.

She started yelling at the top of her lungs.

While she was occupied, Maguire crawled out of the old MG and kissed the cold, damp ground. He was that grateful to be alive. He wanted to give himself credit—Carolina most distinctly was not depressed or despondent, the way he'd first found her. The sound of her shrieks was damn well worth gold. And he was going to enjoy them. After kissing the ground. He hadn't been sure she was even listening
to his directions, much less following them. The last ten minutes he'd been praying with his eyes closed.

“Maguire! Quit that! You weren't that terrorized by my driving!”

“Oh, yes, I was,” he said feelingly, in no hurry to get off his knees.

He hadn't been afraid of anything since he could remember, but he was starting to be mighty afraid of Carolina. She was doing just what he wanted her to do—becoming strong, becoming happy, standing up for herself more and more. It was just…

She wasn't predictable. At least she wasn't predictable with him.

Her excited shrieks, though, were very, very Carolina. At least when Carolina was happy. So if other issues weren't perfect, Maguire was determined to be careful. To do the right thing. To finish up the fixing and healing of Carolina—no matter what it took.

“Maguire! How did you find this? I can't believe you found this! Oh, my heavens. I didn't even know anything like this existed! It was just a crazy fantasy idea, for heaven's sake!”

She charged over—he knew damn well to throw herself in his arms; she was that excited, that beside herself. So he swiftly got to his feet and pulled a duffel bag from the back of the car, staving off any contact between them. “You ready to climb up?” he asked her.

“Are you kidding?”

Some women fantasized about jewels and furs. She'd wanted to spend the night in a tree house. Finding the jewels would have been a whole lot easier, but Maguire had to admit, he'd outdone himself this time.

He'd seen pretty much everything, but this was as close to plain old simple fun. It was easy enough to find a tree house, just not an adult tree house, much less within reasonable driving distance. This one fit all the criteria.

He didn't know trees, but figured the base was one of the giant pines or spruces, because the top almost reached the sky. Midway up—thirty ladder steps up—a guy named McConnell had built an octagon-shaped cabin around the trunk. All the walls were tinted glass.

At the top of the ladder—he followed Carolina's butt—was a push-up door. Next to it was a pulley device intended to carry things up and down, such as the duffel Maguire had packed for the two of them, and the groceries Henry had boxed up.

The pulley was damn fun. While Carolina took off exploring, he brought the gear up and started stowing, feeling like a kid playing hooky. The only regular door in the place concealed a tiny bathroom and shower—it had glass windows like the rest of the
tree house, but heaven knew, no one could see them at that height.

The architect had been intent on building green. The main living area was heated with a solar-powered heater. The minikitchen used solar power, as well, to chill, heat and store. A cupboard opened to reveal a pull-out collapsible table. A double-size beanbag functioned as a giant chair, big enough for two. A single bed—Maguire kept his eyes off it, as did Carolina—was double-sleeping-bag size, nothing fancy.

A small generator provided the possibility of electricity, but it was hard to imagine a need for TV or fancy music. The entertainment was all free. The view from the trees was more than magnificent. Stinging-fresh air, crusty hilltops and valleys, endless birds and wildlife below. Chocolate earth. Sharp greens. Diamonds in the sneaky curl of a creek below.

“I love you, Maguire,” Carolina crowed.

His heart stopped for a second, but of course recovered. “Yeah, that's what all the girls say.”

“You went above and beyond to find this place.”

“I like the hero status, but I have to admit…I'm crazy about the place myself. You hungry? We just have picnic-type food. A lot of it, but nothing fancy.”

They'd both skipped breakfast, though, and Carolina fell on the feast as ravenously as he did. She found a small rug to use as a tablecloth, right next to
the windows so they could watch the wildlife while they lunched. The fare was simple, cinnamon bread for sandwiches, heaped with lettuce and cheese and shaved ham, almost too big to fit her mouth around. Pickles. Potato chips. Apple wedges. Plain old iced tea. Almond cookies.

No lobster here. No gilded spires or castle walls. He hoped she'd feel more down to earth in a more down-to-earth environment.

Maybe he'd been hoping it would work for him, too. For Pete's sake, she was wearing thick socks and baggy jeans and had cookie crumbs on her sweatshirt. How come he couldn't take his eyes off her? Her hair looked brushed by a cyclone, and she kept saying, “Look! Look!” when a woodpecker came to stare at them from the door sill…or when a squirrel checked them out from upside down on a tree limb.

A red-tailed hawk, four trees over, surveyed the vista below.

“If he goes swooping down on some prey, I'm not going to be happy,” Carolina said darkly.

“Let me see.”

“No. You've been hogging the binoculars since we got here. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. A mama deer, Maguire. With two half-grown fawns. Just lollygagging.”

He grabbed the binocs, since she was being so stingy—and then she had to laugh. At him.

“I hate to tell you this,” she teased, “but I'm not sure whether we're living my fantasy or yours.”

“All right. I admit it. I just never thought of a tree house before, much less considered building one or spending time in one. It's terrific.”

“Well, yeah. But you're the one who grew up in the lap of luxury. How come you never did this, if it was something fun for you? You made me make out that list. But have you ever done it? Made a list of things you really want to do?”

There now. She broke the spell. He forgot how annoying she could be—poking into corners he never poked into. He'd been content with his life before he met her. And she kept diverting him from the crisis problem—which was teaching her to be tough.

“We have more serious things we should talk over,” he said abruptly. “We've talked about some general ideas, general plans and strategies you can try. But we've only skirted the really touchy stuff. For instance, you have a sister.”

For one long instant, she looked at him. There was something in her eyes—besides sunbeams—but she seemed to decide to go along with the conversational tack he'd started. “Actually, I have a brother and a sister,” she said.

“But it's the sister who leaned really hard on you, wasn't it? She started by asking you for a college education for her kids—”

“I wanted to do that!”

“Okay. I get that. But I'm not interested in what she asked you for. I want to hear, from you, what else you might want to do for your sister and your sister's family.”

She started scooping up the debris from their lunch, stashing paper and napkins in a makeshift box. “I'd like her to have a nest egg. Just in case something traumatic happens. She's never said anything, but I know she doesn't have a great marriage. I think my brother-in-law's a cheater. Anyway. I was thinking about setting up a trust for her and her two kids. Not to just give them money outright. But so she'd know that she always had a door open, a way out, a kitty in the closet. I'd tell her about it. Tell her how I'm doing it, so she knows she's got this nest egg…but that it's not going to the Home Shopping Channel or to pay for something that would just disappear.”

“She's not going to like that.”

“I figure she won't either. She'll think I'm patronizing her. Or something like that.” Carolina sighed. “But you asked what I wanted to do for her. And that's the deal.”

“Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“You're getting damn smart, Carolina.”

“Of course I am. I've had a fabulous teacher. Holy
kamoly. Maguire! There's another hawk! Wait, wait. I think it's an eagle…”

Out of nowhere came a sudden civilized sound. His cell phone.

He froze, worried that he'd forgotten to tell Carolina that he'd needed to keep his cell on…worried that the sound of it would produce a panic response in her the way it had before.

Not this time. She heard it, looked at him, and he could almost see her shoulder muscles ease. It was just a phone. Not a threat. Phone calls weren't likely to threaten her ever again.

“I need to take this—” he started to say, but she just shook her head.

“Of course you do. No problem.” And she whipped away the binoculars and turned back to the window, while he dug in his pocket for the cell.

It was his brother Jay, and he'd known Jay would call quickly after the last visit with Shannon. Maguire had fixed her problem—not just money, but removing her from the role of go-between. Once Jay discovered he would have to deal with someone who wasn't a vulnerable woman—namely himself—his brother was guaranteed to pursue communication. Jay had his penitent voice on, his excuses ready to spill.

“I was just in a little spot of trouble,” Jay started in. “It was just cash flow.”

“You know how many times you tried to sell me
this story?” Maguire moved as far away from Carolina as he could, kept his voice low.

“This time is different,” his brother insisted.

“How?”

“I found a rehab place.”

“And you've played that card before, too, Jay. You never meant it.”

“This time I do. I'm going to end up with nothing and no one if I don't find a way to straighten up my act. This time I realize that.”

“You've used those same words before. What I don't get is why you'd steal from your own brother. You don't even see Tommy. Don't give a damn how he's doing. Yet you'll do an end run with Shannon when you have more money than you could possibly want—”

“It was just a cash-flow thing. It won't ever happen again, I swear.”

Maguire quit talking. He closed his eyes. Tried to listen. The call lasted several more minutes, and then Maguire clicked it off, then shut down the phone altogether. He faced the north glass wall without seeing anything, just standing there.

Behind him, he heard the door to the bathroom open. Then running water for a moment. Then silence again. His voice had been quiet; he knew it had been, and Carolina had obviously picked up that it was a private matter, steered out of the way. Maybe
she hadn't heard. If she had, maybe his side of the conversation wouldn't make sense to her. No matter, if she just gave him a few more moments to get his head back on straight, he'd handle it fine.

But less than a millimoment passed before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He didn't want her sympathy or empathy. Not when he felt lower than dirt.

When he couldn't shake off her hand, she scooched around in front of him, leaning against the glass wall, taking the place of his view.

“Is that what you've been feeling bad about for the last couple days?” she asked gently.

“When the subject is my older brother, I've tended to feel bad from the day I was born. He has my father's fine, sterling character. No amount of money is ever enough. He always has a way of justifying whatever he does.” He tried to make his tone sound light, as if the subject of his brother were at least halfway funny. Instead, he heard his voice come out terse and snappy. “Forget it, Carolina. The call's over with. It's not your problem. Just wasn't a pleasant thing to handle.”

She nodded, as if she had the grace and courtesy and kindness to back away from something he obviously didn't want to talk about. Only, then she pounced again. Cocked her head, kept looking at his face, kept crowding him. With all that damn softness.
“You know, Maguire, you were the one who taught me about drawing lines in the sand. About how you have to draw clear lines to deal with some people. Lines, about what you're willing to do, what you're willing to give, how much you're willing to bleed for someone else. So…”

“So what?”

“So I have to believe you drew some extra-clear lines with your brother.”

Damn, but she was annoying. “I sure as hell did. The line I drew in the sand with Jay is that I would never, ever sucker into him again. I'm through enabling him. He may be my brother, but he needs to accept real consequences for his behavior, and my helping him doesn't get that done.”

She nodded again, still looking at him with all that empathy, even though he'd practically snapped her head off. Every word came out a snarl. Hell, his whole mind was a snarl.

“It sounds like you drew really good lines. Lines that put up clear boundaries that kept your brother from yanking your chain. Just like you've been trying to teach me to do with people who want to use me. Only…it sounds as if something happened when you talked to your brother and you caved.”

“Exactly.” Maguire didn't slug a fist into the glass wall for obvious reasons. But he wanted to. “I know better than to cave. Jay always plays the same card.
He knows the exact card that always works on me. Damn it. I want him to change. I want him to
want
a real life. I want him to have a relationship with Tommy. I want him to give a damn about something besides himself, for his own sake.”

“So he promises you that…”

“And whenever he promises me that, I sucker in, like the stupidest fool ever born.”

She cocked her head again. She had this way of looking like an innocent waif when she did that, not like a woman who was about to deliver a stinging zinger. “You know what?” she said softly. “Maybe it's okay if sometimes we can't hold tight to those lines. Maybe it's okay if sometimes the lines get blurry.”