Secret Baby Santos. Barbara McCauley
her toward her old bedroom. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
Maybe she would rest a little, Maggie thought. A few minutes alone would give her enough time to pull herself together again. Seeing Nick had been a fluke, an unfortunate coincidence. He was probably just passing through town and stopped to say hello to Lucas. And even if he did stick around for a few days, Wolf River wasn’t all that small. The odds of running into him again were practically non-existent.
That thought eased the tightness in her shoulders. She could only imagine what he must think of her after her insane behavior in the market. No doubt he thought she was a crazy lady escaped from the funny farm.
Fine. Let him think she was crazy. As long as she didn’t have to see him again, he could think whatever he wanted.
On her way to the bedroom, Maggie leaned over and brushed her father’s whisker-rough cheek with her lips. He’d retired only six months ago from his foreman construction job and he’d had way too much time on his hands. Even after thirty-six years of marriage, her mother, who had the patience of a saint, was ready to murder the man. And if he’d been a pain-in-the-behind before, since his surgery, he’d been twice as gruff. As far as patients went, he was somewhere between Oscar the Grouch and Attila the Hun. “Can I get you anything, Daddy?”
“Sneak me a shot of whisky and a cigar,” he said in his deep gravelly voice without looking up from his paper. “There’s cash in it for you.”
“Money won’t do me any good if I’m dead. Mom says no alcohol or tobacco while you’re recuperating, and if she so much as catches a whiff of either on your breath, she’ll bruise both our behinds.”
His response was something between a growl and a grunt. He simply snapped his paper and mumbled something about overbearing wives and ungrateful children.
At the sound of the doorbell, she straightened.
“Would you get that for me, Maggie?” her mother called from the kitchen. “Jim Becker’s stopping by with a set of crutches for your father. He’s supposed to be up walking by the end of the week.”
Maggie smiled when her father only buried his head deeper into his paper. Getting a six-foot, two-hundredpound, stubborn man walking was no stroll in the park, but if anyone could do it, Maggie knew her mother could.
Other than running into Nick at the market, it felt good to be home. The scent of a roast baking, the sound of her mother’s humming from the kitchen, even her father with his nose in the paper. She missed all that. Life had gotten too crazy these past few years. She hadn’t even realized it until this minute just how crazy.
She was going to enjoy her time here, she resolved. Enjoy her time with Drew and her parents. She’d put the past behind her a long time ago; it no longer existed. There was only here and now.
The doorbell rang again and when she opened the door the past she’d put behind her stood on her parents’ doorstep, staring back at her with eyes as black and deep as a forest at midnight.
Two
Nick couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen eyes so deep green before. Eyes so big and wide and... nervous?
So she was still shy, he thought, and realized that he found it charming. Most of the women he knew always seemed so sure of themselves, confident almost to the point of intimidating. He liked a little hesitation in a woman, a little uncertainty. He especially liked the fact that he was the cause of it.
Smiling, he pulled her credit card out of his pocket. “You lost this at the market. I thought you wouldn’t mind, so I booked us a Jamaican cruise. We leave next week.”
She stared at him, then blinked and snatched the card out of his hand. “Thank you.”
Then she slammed the door in his face.
This wasn’t going exactly as he’d planned.
Nick raised his brows and stared at the closed door. The Maggie Smith he remembered might have been shy, but she’d also been sweet.
But then, the Maggie Smith he remembered had also been skinny and drab.
Damn if he wasn’t intrigued.
He noticed Mrs. Potts, the Smiths’ next door neighbor, watering the bushes that separated their properties. She’d been the dean’s secretary the six months he’d spent in Wolf River County Home for Boys, and she’d been old then. When he nodded at her, the frail woman quickly looked away, pretended she hadn’t seen that Maggie had just slammed a door in his face.
Maybe Maggie still thought of him as some kind of convict, even though his “visit” at the county boys’ home had been twenty years ago. His “offense,” a short joy ride with Linda Lansky on her older brother’s new scooter, had been harmless, but Bobby Lansky hadn’t been the understanding type. Neither had the judge, unfortunately.
But he really hadn’t minded going to the home. Lucas and Ian had both been there at the same time, and at least he got fed regularly, and no one ever punched him in the stomach for leaving a jacket on a chair or playing the stereo too loud. Hell, it had been more like a vacation.
But that was a long time ago. He couldn’t imagine that was the reason Maggie was so nervous around him.
Frowning, he stared at the front door. Whatever her reason, he should walk away. He had more work than he could handle, and he didn’t have time for a timid, high-strung female, even if she was drop-dead gorgeous.
But then, Nick Santos was not a man to walk away from a challenge. And this Maggie Smith, whoever she was, was definitely a challenge.
Besides, he was certain that incredible smell emanating from inside the Smith house was roast beef.
What the hell. He rang the doorbell again.
The door flew open, this time with Angela Smith on the other side. “Nicholas Santos! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” She took hold of his arm and tugged him into the entryway. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Maggie, sweetheart, look who’s here. It’s Nick!”
From the corner of his eye, behind him, Nick caught a flutter of hands, a waving motion, but when he turned, Maggie stood perfectly still, a tight, thin smile on her lips.
“We ran into each other at the store,” he said with a grin, and watched her cheeks flush at his choice of words.
“Why, Margaret Jane, you didn’t even tell me. Shame on you.” Angela closed the door. “Well, now that you’re here, you’re staying for dinner and I’ll not take no for an answer. I’m sure you like roast beef and mashed potatoes, don’t you, Nick?”
Maggie’s head snapped toward her mother. “I’m sure Nick already has other plans, Mom.”
“I love roast beef.” Nick kept his eyes on Maggie, fascinated by the small twitch of distress at the corner of her jaw. A delicate, enticing jaw, that gave way to a long, slender, enticing neck.
She wanted him gone in the worst way. Which only made him want to stay all the more.
He turned back toward her mother and handed her the grocery bag in his hand. “Bud and Joe’s was having a special on these. I thought maybe you could use some.”
Angela took the bag and looked inside. “Green beans. How thoughtful of you, Nick. I actually sent Maggie to the store for some, but she forgot the list.”
He glanced back at Maggie. The blush that had brightened her cheeks only a moment ago now colored her entire face. “Try them with a can of mushroom soup and cheese,” he said. “They make a great casserole.”
“You cook?” Angela beamed at Maggie. “He cooks, Maggie. Isn’t that wonderful? Boyd—” Angela stuck her head into the living room “—Nicholas Santos stopped by to say hello. He’s going to have dinner with us. Oh, heavens, I’ve got to check on the biscuits. Maggie, sweetheart, take Nick out to