Unlovable (25 page)

“
Why, how—” Confused, I
looked around the room and it came back to me, all of it. I sank
back down onto the bed, pulling the quilt over my head.

“
How are you feeling?” He
pulled the quilt away from my face, exposing my eyes.

“
I’m feeling naked.” I
pulled the quilt around me tighter. “Is this is your
bed?”

“
Yup, I know it’s not a four
poster mahogany bed, but I like it.” He smiled softly. The rumors
about him and Hillary were a lie. “When was the last time you ate
something?”

“
Yesterday. I finished the
last of the leftover rice dish for lunch.” I watched as his face
clouded in anger.

“
Can I ask why? What about
the two lunches I gave you earlier?”

“
My mom, when she was
talking to me, she was upset. She thought I used her money to buy
them, and she tossed them across the room.”

He silently rose off the bed, pulled
out a sweatshirt and some sweatpants from the armoire, laying them
on the foot of the bed. “Your clothes are almost dry. Put these on,
they should keep you warm. You can change into your things after
dinner.”

“
If those sweats fit, I’m
never eating again.” I smiled, hoping the grave expression would
leave his face.

He tossed a thick pair of white socks
onto the bed next to the sweats. “The pants have a draw string
waist, so you should be able to tighten them enough to stay up.”
His face softened. “Do you want chicken, chicken, or chicken to
eat?”

“
Darn, I was hoping for
chicken.” I slumped down on the bed, feigning
disappointed.

“
You must be feeling
better.”

16

Seth

Walking down the stairs to prepare
dinner, I thought about Maggie standing at my door just over three
hours ago. It took all I had not to pull her into my arms and kiss
her. There she stood with her wet, snow-packed clothes plastered to
her malnourished frame and those hapless blues eyes driving tears
down her waxy hollowed cheeks, begging me to kiss her. Everything
inside me screamed, ’Hurry, before she changes her mind!’
Nevertheless, I didn’t!

“
Yup, I deserved a
medal.”

But the last thing she
needed was to have me slobbering all over her, not that I was a bad
kisser. Well, I didn’t think I was, I mean, I’d never had any
complaints. Anyway, it wasn’t what she needed. She needed a refuge
from the storm, a place to feel secure, and someone to reassure her
she wasn’t an
unlovable
nothing.

Those brutal words rode roughshod over
me. How could a mother be so heartless? Coming from a loving home,
I struggled to understand that kind of cruelty from a parent. My
mom and dad would have done anything for me. We certainly weren’t
the perfect family, but I knew I was loved. Always. No matter
what.

I gathered Maggie’s clothes from the
dryer and started to take them up to her before deciding against
it. My gut told me she was regretting her decision to come here,
and even more so she was lamenting having shared what her mother
had said. If I took her clothes up to her now, she’d make up some
lame excuse about why she had to leave, and I wasn’t about to let
her leave until she had some food. Until she had a lot of
food.

I set the clothes down on the end of
the counter, picking up the phone as it rang.

“
Hey, Seth, how’s she
doing?”

“
Hello,
Cole.” I called him after getting Maggie situated in the tub. When
she started shivering, I knew I had to act fast
before
hypothermia kicked
in.

“
Better. My nerves wouldn’t
settle down until I went in and found her sound asleep. I’m happy
to report her ashy colored cheeks are now a soft rosy
pink.”

“
Good, let her sleep for a
while.”

“
She’s up now. I’m going to
feed her some dinner.” I debated whether to wake her, and if it not
for the purple shadows under her eyes, I wouldn’t have. She was
half-starved. I had no idea how she’d managed to keep going on what
little she ate. I’d spent hours trying to figure out a way to get
more food into her, but couldn’t come up with anything short of
embarrassing her. She’s the most guarded person I’ve ever
met.

“
Great. Make it something
high in protein and fattening. The poor kid’s nothing but skin and
bones,” Cole said, echoing my thoughts.

“
I’m making my chicken stir
fry. It was what we ate on New Year’s Eve, sound good?” I decided
to make it because of the sauce. Not only did it call for an entire
cube of butter, it also had a cup each of cream and coconut milk
and some sesame oil. It was undeniably high in calories. Booker and
Cole complained every time I’d made it. They’d gorge themselves,
then blame me because they’d have to up their workout route for the
next week.

“
It certainly should put
some meat on her,” he laughed. “And remember, the next time someone
has hypothermia, you shouldn’t dump them in a tub of hot water.
Warm them up slowly, preferably with your own body
heat.”

“
I don’t know, Cole. I can’t
imagine she’d’ve liked it if I were to try and strip her naked so
we could crawl under a blanket together.”

He laughed. “Point taken, though you
could’ve used heating pads and hot water bottles.” I hadn’t thought
of that. “Hate to cut you off, but I’m being paged. If you need me,
call my cell.”

“
Alright.
Thanks.”

“
Oh, one more thing. If you
have any leftovers, save some for me.”

I removed the chicken breasts from the
marinade they’d been basting in and arranged the strips neatly on a
plate. Placing some fresh ginger on the cutting board, I began
shaving off a few thin slices of the yellow root.

“
Her mother doesn’t deserve her!” I muttered angrily, shaving
a much too large chunk off and nearly gashing my finger
open.

Anger! It happened every time I
thought of Barbara Brown. She was one very nasty woman. I kept
telling myself she was sick and not in her right mind, but
remembering Maggie standing in my doorway, brokenhearted and
shivering, made it a little tough to remain objective.

I wondered if she knew Maggie had
gotten a full ride scholarship to Stanford, or that she had turned
it down to attend the local community college here in the area
instead. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Maggie’d told me
about it. “How could I take care of my mother if I were clear
across the country,” she’d said.

Maggie was the antithesis of her
mother.

I snagged a slice of red pepper and
slipped it into my mouth as Maggie descended the stairs dressed in
my over-sized clothes, looking very self-conscious. The sleeves
were rolled up on the gray sweatshirt and the waistband hit her
mid-thigh.

The sweatpants were huge, and judging
from the large bulge that was under the sweatshirt, I guessed that
she’d cinched them up quite a bit. Despite the fact that she’d
rolled up the legs, they still pooled around her ankles. She looked
wonderful. I watched as she timidly came down the stairs, checking
out her surroundings.

This part of the house was where
Booker and I had done the most renovating. The dark cherry railing
and intricate hand-carved spindles along the staircase were a real
pain to install, but it was worth it, they looked terrific. The
staircase curved around and was open on each side.

To the right lay the family room, one
of Booker’s old girlfriends helped me decorate it. In the center of
the room was an overstuffed deep green couch with several plush
burgundy pillows and a gold microfiber throw angled across one
corner. At first, I wasn’t too keen on having the blanket and a
bunch of pillows lying around, but after she’d arranged everything,
it looked pretty good.

A small round cherry table holding a
phone and a brass reading lamp was positioned on the right side of
the couch and a matching oversized man-chair, as I liked to call
it, was angled inward on the other end.

A large, flat-screen TV clung to the
wall above a glass-enclosed fireplace. I wanted a bigger TV except
there wasn’t enough room. On the other side of the fireplace stood
a cherry cabinet with ornate glass doors, filled with DVD’s.
Gathered burgundy drapes hung in the bay window on the far wall.
The family room joined a huge kitchen at the bottom of the grand
staircase.

The kitchen was my favorite room with
black slate countertops and tall cherry cabinets Booker had built.
I had numerous copper and silver pans, along with a large cast iron
frying pan hanging from a baker’s rack suspended from the ceiling.
It looked as if the area was set up for a chef, not a high school
senior, which it was.

In the middle of the kitchen stood a
huge island cabinet and four wooden bar stools with padded dark
leather seats. Several inset lights spread liberally across the
ceiling lit up the kitchen, as did the accent lights running across
the cupboard tops.

“
This is so beautiful,” she
said quietly.

“
Thanks.” I washed off the
Portobello mushrooms and placed them on the cutting board. “I
decided on chicken, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“
Goofball.”

“
I heard that, Mags.” I ran
my eyes over her again. “Don’t you look like a sexy beast in those
clothes?”

“
Yeah, I’ve had at least ten
proposals of marriage just walking down your stairs.”

“
I hope you turned them all
down. You’re mine.” I smiled and wagged my eyebrows, testing the
waters. I was curious to see if she’d thrown the walls back up
around her, something she was very good at.

“
Give it a
rest, Seth.”
Yup, they were back
up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m
just not in the mood for flirting.”

“
Here.” I handed her a piece
of French bread I’d bought earlier. She sat on a stool and devoured
it with a look of euphoria on her face. I felt the anger once more
licking at my insides as I watched her. I quickly handed her
another piece when she’d finished, which she ate with the same
zeal.

She walked over next to me and picked
up a water chestnut. “What can I do to help?”

“
Nothing, have a seat. Would
you like more bread?”

She rolled her eyes. “Seth, I’m fine.”
She curled her arms up into a flexing pose, showing off her
muscles, or rather the pretend muscles, in her arms. “I’m a tough
cookie.”

“
Yes, you are.” I stroked
her cheek softly. “Do you like stir-fry?”

“
Never had it. We’re real
big on cereal and sandwiches at my house.” She laughed. I
didn’t.

She began looking over the ingredients
spread out on the counter. “What are these?” She held up the white
bulb in her hand.

“
Water
chestnuts.”

“
They look yummy, and please
stop staring at me as if I’m going to melt,” she said, gently.
“Here, I’ll help you cut up the vegetables.”

I pulled a knife out from a large
butcher block set on the counter, reluctantly handing it to
her.

“
I’m not going to slice my
wrists open if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“
I wasn’t, except now that
you’ve said …” I narrowed my eyes playfully.

“
Ridiculous.” She began
chopping up some carrots, helter-skelter like.

“
Hey, what did they ever do
to you?”

“
What? They are only
carrots.” I put my hand over hers and placed another carrot in
front of her, guiding her hand and the knife over the carrots,
chopping them patiently.

“
Don’t these look more
appetizing?”

“
They’re beautiful.” She
teased. “Do you think they feel better about being chopped up
nicely?”

“
You can be quite sarcastic
sometimes.”

“
You just
noticed?”

“
Cooking is an art, Maggie.
The presentation is almost as important as the taste. Have you been
sleeping through culinary class?” I asked, rinsing off the knife
before proceeding.

We continued chopping, slicing, and
making small talk about vegetables. She asked me about my parents
and how they'd died.

“
My dad was a Chaplin in the
Air Force, and we had traveled lot so I’ve lived all over world.” I
left out the part about him and Booker’s dad being on the same
undercover operations team.

“
My Mom and Dad made what
was supposed to be a quick trip to Guatemala to say good bye to his
troops since he was retiring, only they never returned home. The
plane suffered mechanical failure and crashed into the Sierra Madre
mountain range. There were no survivors.

“
My family and Booker’s were
pretty tight. I moved in with him for a while until I was back on
my feet. He was a real lifesaver. He helped me buy this house and
taught me about woodworking. We renovated it together. It was good
therapy.”

“
How long did it take
you?”