The Secret Wife. Carrie Weaver
held out his hands to the baby. David smacked them away. If the man didn’t hold crackers or a bottle, he wanted nothing to do with the stranger.
“Follow me.”
She nodded, but apparently he didn’t believe her. He grasped her elbow and hauled her out of the room. She could feel two hundred sets of eyes follow their progress out the double doors.
Pandemonium broke out before the doors swished shut. Everyone babbled at once. She’d succeeded in making quite a scene.
As she followed the enforcer through the lobby, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how she’d gotten to this point. The point where she’d sacrificed her self-respect and values.
But it really wasn’t a mystery. It all came back to Eric. She hadn’t had a chance. Not from that first glance.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN HESITATED, then held the lobby door for Maggie. His tight expression said he wasn’t sure she merited the courtesy.
Maggie held her head high as she passed. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.
“Where’s your car?” he asked. His long strides put him ahead of her in no time.
“East lot. Why?”
He turned and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a car seat, I presume? My truck isn’t exactly equipped for kids.”
“Oh.”
To his credit, he didn’t even blink a few minutes later when they arrived at the poor, tired Toyota with the mismatched fenders. He simply waited while she tried to get David into his car seat.
But the baby had fury-induced rigor mortis. His face was squinched up and red; his arms and legs were stiff as boards.
“Do you have any more crackers?” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she begged for food. No decent mother let her child get this hungry.
He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”
“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”
“Not on your life.”
She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.
“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.
David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.
Or was that simply what she wanted?
They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.
The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.
The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.
“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.
“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”
“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”
“Nope. Couple miles.”
“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.
He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.
He shook his head and grunted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”
“I don’t need gas—”
“Like hell you don’t.”
“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”
“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”
Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.
She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”
“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”
J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.
Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.
Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.
He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.
As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.
The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.
Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.
Nope. This woman was different.
But the same.
Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.
J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.
“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”
David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.
The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.
Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.
“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.
Nothing, just more screaming.
He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.
That only made the kid madder.
Then inspiration hit.
He ripped open the box of baby biscuits and offered him one.
The kid gave him a look that said, “It’s about time, stupid,” and snatched the cookie from his hand.
Furiously gumming the goody, he surveyed J.D. with interest. Waving a little fist, his squirming changed