Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour. Maureen Child
ate a big breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Toast and juice.”
“Cholesterol Surprise for a heart patient. Good thinking.”
Turning her head to glare at him, she said, “We’ve been through this before. It’s turkey bacon, egg substitute and wheat toast. Perfectly healthy.”
Frowning, he walked into the room and stopped alongside her. Turning, he leaned one hip against the counter, folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sorry.”
“Wow,” Maggie countered. “An apology. This is so exciting.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Guess I owe you more than one apology, huh?”
Turning off the rinse water, Maggie grabbed up a flowered dishcloth, dried her hands and faced him. If he was suddenly in the mood to talk, she’d take advantage of the situation.
“You’ve been following me around for days,” she said quietly, trying to keep the ring of accusation out of her voice. “It’s like you’re trying to find something wrong with me and what I do for your grandfather. I want to know why.”
Sunlight pouring in from the kitchen windows played across his features and spotlighted the worry gathered in his eyes.
“Because this is making me crazy,” he admitted finally with another shake of his head. “Pop won’t talk to me. Said he’s got nothing to say until my cousins Cooper and Jake get here.”
More Lonergan cousins to keep an eye on her. Yippee.
“When will that be?” she asked.
He pushed away from the counter, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked across the room, his boot heels clacking noisily against the linoleum. “I don’t know. Jake was in Spain at some road rally when the old man sent for him. And Cooper… well, he locks himself away when he’s working. God knows if he’s even gotten the message yet.”
“I’ve read a couple of his books,” Maggie said.
He turned to look at her. “What’d you think?”
“They terrify me,” she admitted with a small smile. The last Cooper Lonergan thriller she’d read had forced her to leave her bedroom light on all night for nearly a week. The images he created were so real, so frightening, she didn’t know how the man himself slept at night. “He must be one scary man—because he’s got a really twisted imagination.”
A sad smile raced across Sam’s face. “He never used to,” he said. “Cooper was always the funniest one of us. The one nothing bothered. At least until—” His voice faded away and even the echo of that smile disappeared from his eyes. “Things change.”
Maggie’s heart ached for him.
For all of them.
Even though a part of her wanted to shout that it had been fifteen years. Long enough to come to terms with a tragedy.
Instead, though, she only said, “You could try talking to Doc Evans again.…”
He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll be helpful. He just keeps muttering about doctor-patient confidentiality. No. Whatever’s going on here, Jeremiah and the doc are in it together. And they’re both too stubborn to break.”
“Stubborn must run in your family.”
“Yeah?” One dark eyebrow lifted.
“Well,” she said, tossing the dish towel over her left shoulder, “you’ve already admitted they’re not going to tell you anything and yet you don’t stop trying. What’s that if not stubborn?”
“Dedicated?”
She laughed and she saw a flash of appreciation dart across the surface of his eyes. And in response, a sweep of something warm and delicious rushed through her. Her hands trembled, so she pulled the dish towel off her shoulder again and wrapped it through her fingers. She pulled in a couple of short, uneasy breaths and told herself to get a grip.
“Who’s that?” he asked suddenly and Maggie’s head snapped up.
She looked out the kitchen window and saw one of their neighbors, Susan Bateman, rushing across the yard, her four-year-old daughter Kathleen cradled in her arms.
“It’s Susan,” Maggie said, already moving for the back door. “She and her family live on the ranch down the road. And something’s wrong.”
She threw open the door and Susan raced inside, her features taut, her blue eyes wide in a face gone pale. Blood blossomed on her white collared shirt, and the little girl in her arms whimpered plaintively. She hardly looked at Maggie, instead turning her gaze directly on Sam. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Susan,” Maggie said, “what—”
“I heard in town,” the other woman kept talking, “that you’re a doctor. You are, right?”
Sam stared at her and looked as though he wanted to deny it. But the sense of desperation clinging to Susan—not to mention Kathleen’s muffled whimpering—was impossible to ignore.
“Yeah,” he said tightly. “I am.”
“Thank God,” Susan said. “Katie cut herself on a postholer, and you were so much closer to town that I just came here right away.”
At that, the little girl lifted her head from her mother’s chest and turned big, watery blue eyes on Maggie and Sam. “I got a owie and it’s all blooding.”
“Aw, baby,” Maggie cooed, stepping forward instinctively to smooth back the fringe of light blond hair on the little girl’s forehead. “You’ll be okay. Sam can fix it. You’ll see.”
She looked at Sam, mouth quivering. “Does it gonna hurt?”
Sam’s mouth worked. He scraped one hand across his face and then said gruffly, “You should take her into town. She’ll need a tetanus shot.”
“No shots, Mommy!” The wail lifted the hairs at the back of Maggie’s neck, and she winced as the child’s voice hit decibels only dogs should have been able to hear.
Susan, though, ignored her child’s distress and focused on reaching the doctor still staring at her. “We can take care of that later. She’s hurt. She needs help now.”
Maggie sensed his hesitation and wondered at it. She could see Sam leaning toward the girl, instinctively moving to help, but there was a distance in his eyes he couldn’t hide.
“Fine,” he said abruptly, and though a sense of detachment still remained in his eyes, he reached out both arms for the little girl. “Maggie,” he said quickly as he examined the slice across the child’s forearm, “go upstairs. There’s a medical bag in my room.”
“Right.” She left the kitchen at a dead run and was back downstairs again a moment or two later.
He had the little girl sitting on the counter beside a now-empty sink while he carefully held her small arm under a stream of water from the faucet.
“It’s still blooding,” Katie cried, kicking her heels against the wood cupboards beneath the counter.
Sam smiled at her. “That’s because you have smart blood.”
“I do?” She sniffled, wiped her red eyes with her free hand and stared at him.
“Yep. Your blood’s cleaning your cut for us. Very smart blood.”
“Mommy,” she said, delighted to know how intelligent her body was, “I’m smart.”
“You bet, baby girl,” Susan said, watching every move Sam made.
“Here’s your bag.” Maggie stepped up close and set the bag down beside the little girl. Then she lifted one hand to smooth silky-soft hair off the child’s cheeks.
She