Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (12 page)

“She's looking to lease this…” The words trailed from Maggie's mouth as reality dawned. “Wait. You think I should rent it?”

“It's a dream, isn't it?”

She swallowed over the lump that sprang up in her throat.

Was it? Was it really her dream to run a gift shop of her own?

It has been for years….

“I…”

Dropping his hands to his sides, Rory stepped close, his gaze pinning hers with a fire she couldn't ignore. “Think about it, Maggie. This is the perfect place. The perfect setting to sell the kinds of things you make—things you just said would be a better fit for a place like Lake Shire.”

“But that was before.” She glanced around the room once again. “Before I knew why you were showing it to me. When I thought it was just a…just a—” She stopped, unsure of how best to finish her thought.

“When you thought it was just a regular store with no connection to you and your dreams.”

“It is.”

He took hold of her upper arms gently, his eyes pleading with hers. “But it doesn't have to be, Maggie. Don't you see that? You have talent. I could see that right away. And it's not just me, Maggie. Delilah and Virginia saw it with your frame. You're good. Really good. So why not give it a whirl? See how it goes?”

Was Rory right? Could she really make something like this work?

“I don't know, Rory. I just don't know.”

He dropped his hand to the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Let's just look at the rest of the place. After all, it doesn't hurt to imagine, does it?”

He was right. It didn't.

Slowly but surely, they made their way through the rest of the store. “This must be the office Iris mentioned,” he said, pointing toward an open doorway.

“Hmm.” Maggie peeked into the tiny room, which was just large enough to house a desk, but had a small window overlooking the trendy café next door. “It
is
an appealing location.”

“And this is where she unpacks her items….”

Maggie followed him back out of the office, only to stop in her tracks. “Oh, Rory, this is perfect!”

“What? You like the shelves?”

Shaking her head, she rushed to explain. “No. The space.” She walked into the center of the room and spun around. “If you got rid of the shelves, there'd be room for a worktable. A big one. Perfect for painting and gluing and whatever else I'm working on at the time.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You're right. It would make a perfect workroom.”

A workroom. For making her frames…and her ornaments…and her wall decorations…and—

“Oh, Rory, I just don't know. I mean, it's something I used to think about. But to actually
do
it?”

“I think you'd be a hit around here.”

She glanced up at him to find the heartfelt belief he
had in her etched across every inch of his face. It was almost more than she could take at that moment. “There's so much to think about. I wasn't planning on staying in Lake Shire. This was just supposed to be a place to—” She stopped, unable to produce the words.

“To get back on your feet?” he offered, his husky tone making her look at him closely. Rory O'Brien, with his heart-stopping smile and kindhearted ways, believed in her. Truly believed in her. Why, she didn't know, but he did.

She nodded.

“Reaching for one of your dreams sounds like a mighty good way to do that, don't you think?”

It was almost too much to take in at one time. She'd come to Lake Shire for a change—a place to start doing all the basics she'd neglected, like eating and sleeping. And now, less than a week later, she was actually contemplating plans for a future.

Her future.

Maggie stopped just outside her door and turned, her breath catching at the sight of the man not more than two steps behind. As well as being handsome and charming and fun to spend time with, Rory was the kind of man that made her believe.

In second chances…

In dreams…

And in herself.

“You've got a lot to think about. And I suppose I better do something to earn that paycheck your uncle keeps sending me every two weeks.” He clasped his hands in front of his mouth and blew, the angry pink of his skin a reminder he'd left his gloves in the truck. “But if you want to talk or to bounce ideas around, you know where to find me. I like that kind of stuff. It's fun, you know?

Reaching out, she took hold of his hands, rubbed them gently. “So your hint—about Jeannie? You meant the kind that grants wishes, didn't you?”

A sly smile crept across his face. “You found me out.”

She tilted her head to the side and studied the way the hallway light seemed to pick out both dark and pale hues in his ocean-blue eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do my wishes mean so much to you?”

For a moment she didn't think he was going to respond. But finally he did, the words coming hesitantly as he looked into her eyes. “Because
you
do.”

She closed her eyes momentarily as his hands touched her face, the feel of his skin against hers setting off a slew of emotions she wasn't ready to analyze. Not yet, anyway.

“Maggie, I can't stop thinking about you—”

Rising up on tiptoe, she stopped him with a kiss. “Go on. Get back to work.”

A soft groan rumbled from his lips, tickling hers in the process. “I think this is the first time in months the notion of work has been utterly distasteful.”

She stepped back. “I'm sorry.”

He raised her hand to his mouth. “Don't be.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the center hallway of Lake Shire Inn, his happy whistle trailing behind.

Blowing a wisp of hair from her forehead, Maggie inserted the key into the lock and turned it, a faint aroma of paint beckoning her inside and reminding her of the decision she had to make.

There was so much to take in. So much to consider.

Could she really do it? Could she really run her own gift shop—making virtually all of the items herself?

She glanced toward the heart-shaped ornament she'd made the night before. It was good. She knew that. Any hesitation she might have had about that had been wiped away by Rory's positive words.

With careful fingers, she lifted the ornament off the table and carried it toward the tree. If she hung it on a branch to the left, the light shining in from the window would make the silver inscription leap out.

Perhaps a small shelf light would create the same effect in the shop?

The thought caught her up short. Unsure of what to think or do, she shifted, trying to get a better look at her uncle's gift. As it did with the hand-painted heart, the light streaming in from the window made the wishing ball sparkle.

“Wishes,” she whispered. “Wishes…”

She'd wished for a knitting lesson and Rory had made it happen.

She'd wished to find new ways to remember her family and Rory had made it happen.

She'd wished for her own gift shop and Rory had put her on track to make it happen.

If Maggie did this, it would change everything. She would have a reason to get up each morning…an excuse to craft the hours away…a reason to stay in Lake Shire, closer to her uncle…

And Rory.

 

I
T FELT GOOD TO STRETCH
out his legs, to walk a distance greater than the two or three feet he'd crossed from
ladder to wall and back again all afternoon. Sure, he'd made good progress on the corner room, but still…

He stopped outside Maggie's door, thoughts of a late-night skating excursion tugging his mouth into a smile. It would be good for both of them. He needed the exercise; she needed the fresh air and an opportunity to laugh. And then maybe, over a hot chocolate, they could talk more about her shop.

Buying that store was the ticket. Of that he was sure.

Since they'd met, the only thing that had put a lasting smile on her face and hope in her eyes was her crafts. If Maggie could surround herself with that every day, maybe she'd begin to heal.

Really heal.

His mind made up, he knocked, the sound of his fist echoing through the empty hallway.

Nothing.

He stepped back. A shaft of light from beneath the door created a shadow of his boots on the wood-planked floor. Perhaps she was busy working on a frame or another ornament? He held his ear to the door and listened.

Again, there was nothing. Maybe she'd gone to dinner?

Disappointment weighed down his tired shoulders and propelled him toward the picture window at the end of the hallway. He knew he should be glad she'd left her room. It was, after all, progress. But the thought of spending the evening with her—skating, hanging out, dreaming—had been more than a little appealing.

He looked down into the parking lot and noted the two lone cars.

His hunter-green pickup truck. And her little white Taurus.

Confused, he retraced his steps to her door and knocked again, this time straining to make out any semblance of life on the other side. And that's when he heard it.

Maggie was crying.

Not the gut-wrenching sobs that had torn at his heart just the other day. No, these were much more muted. As if she'd been crying for hours.

He knocked again. “Maggie, it's Rory. Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

“I'm not going to let myself in this time. But if you need something…if you need anything…I'm here.”

He leaned his forehead against the door as the muted cries continued, his words, his offer, having no discernible impact whatsoever.

He was later than he'd intended, but tracking down a sprig of mistletoe wasn't as easy as he'd imagined. Lake Shire's lone Christmas shop had only plastic versions—an unacceptable choice when trying to fulfill a childhood dream.

Fortunately for Rory, the shop owner had recommended a florist on the edge of town. The location, however, had entailed a long drive.

It wasn't that he had to punch a clock at the inn, because he didn't. Doug didn't care if Rory worked during the day or the night, as long as he got the work done. But he'd hoped to catch Maggie early enough to talk her into having breakfast with him. Showing up at her door at nearly eleven o'clock made breakfast a little tough.

He tucked the mistletoe under his left arm while he held tight to the bag of penny candy he'd purchased at Russ's shop downtown. Not knowing exactly what kind of candy she liked, Rory had taken a little from every barrel in the store. This way, he was sure to cover both wishes at one time—even if her childhood wish for an unlimited supply of candy had been pushed out of
first place by the sight of her parents kissing under the mistletoe.

Who said she had to choose one over the other?

A wish was a wish, after all, wasn't it?

“Maggie? You home?” He knew it was a stupid question. Her car was in the parking lot, just as it had been the night before. Same spot. Same turn to the wheel. He leaned forward, pressed his ear to the door and listened.

Nothing.

“Maggie…I have something for you. Two things, actually.” But even as the words left his mouth he knew she wasn't going to answer. He could feel it.

Why, though, was what he didn't get. She'd been fine yesterday—happy, even. Her eyes had absolutely lit up at the notion of running her own gift shop. He'd have had to be blind not to see it.

So why wasn't she answering the door?

You know why. Depression does that. It did it to Reardon, too.

Reardon.

Rory had to do something. He couldn't sit by and watch someone as beautiful and talented as Maggie slip into a hole by herself.

No. He had to get her out. Even if it was someone else's arms that actually did the pulling.

 

S
HE ROLLED OVER AND
stared at the wall, willing herself to block out his knocking. When was he going to get it? When was he going to realize she didn't want to see him?

He'd been persistent the night before, his footsteps finally retreating after a solid twenty minutes. This morning's visit had been closer to ten, but still…

And now here he was again.

There was a part of her that wanted to fling open the door and beg him to leave her alone. That, at least, would stop the knocking.

But the other part—the part that was more tired than she'd ever been—simply didn't have the energy to get off the bed and walk into the living room. And besides, he was a nice guy. Just because she had some sort of curse around her didn't mean she had to get nasty.

He'd get the point. Eventually.

“Maggie? It's Delilah. Are you okay?”

She rose up on one elbow, her eyes heavy from shed tears. Did she dare open the door? Dare take the chance that somehow she could make Delilah—and thereby Rory—understand?

It was worth a try.

A third knock sounded. “Please, Maggie. I'd really like to talk with you.”

She slipped out of bed and padded across the living-room floor, the pitter-patter of her feet in stark contrast to the insistent knocking that guided her steps. When she reached the door, she opened it a crack to find Delilah's concerned face looming there.

“Maggie!”

She glanced down at the floor, only to find two brightly colored gift bags filled with tissue paper mere inches from the woman's feet. “What's that?” Maggie whispered.

“That? That's a few gifts from a man who's more than a little worried about you.”

Tears welled in her eyes at the reproach in Delilah's voice. “I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't let this thing between us continue.”

Delilah gestured past her. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” She backed up and watched as Delilah moved across the room, only to stop when her boot met something on the floor. Something round and silver…

The wishing ball.

Maggie swallowed. “I'm sorry. I—”

The woman bent down and retrieved the gleaming ornament. “Oh, Maggie, this is beautiful.” Without waiting for a response, Delilah marched across the room and hung it on the tree, her branch selection a near-perfect match to the one it had graced less than twelve hours earlier. Before Maggie's tirade had caused it to go skittering across the floor.

“It was from my uncle. Seems he's just as determined as Rory to push me forward. Only there are limits to what forward can and can't be.”

Delilah turned, sorrow etching creases beside her eyes. “Can we sit for a few minutes?” Maggie shrugged.

The woman crossed to the sofa and sat down. “Come. Sit.”

She did as she was told.

“You're struggling, aren't you?”

And like a dam bursting, the tears began to flow. Maggie felt Delilah's arms pulling her close as the
tears turned into sobs and her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

Seconds flowed into minutes and minutes into longer, but still Delilah held her. There was no hurrying. No attempt to hush the sounds with empty words. And for that, Maggie was grateful.

Finally, she was able to catch her breath. “I'm sorry, Delilah. I didn't mean to go on like that. Really, I'm doing better. I'm trying, anyway.”

The woman peered at her closely. “Go on like what? You're hurting. You've been through a lot in your relatively short life.”

“Sometimes I'm afraid I'm never going to stop crying.”

“But you do. And it's in those moments that you take your steps.” Delilah pushed a strand of hair behind Maggie's ear.

She nodded. “Those steps can only go so far, though.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to hurt like I have this past year ever again.”

“I'm sorry, Maggie, but I don't understand.”

Pulling her feet onto the sofa, she wrapped her arms around her legs. “When my parents died, I was devastated. One minute I was a normal, happy kid and the next…I was an orphan, taken in by a well-meaning aunt who did her best. But it wasn't
my
family—mine was ripped from my world in the blink of an eye.”

Delilah touched Maggie's knee and gave a gentle squeeze. “Ahhh, and then, when you finally had your own family…you lost them, as well.”

She turned to look at her. “I couldn't survive that a third time.”

“Those two incidents were unrelated, Maggie. You have to know that.”

Dropping her feet back to the ground, she stood and made her way to the window, which overlooked one of the five fingers of Lake Shire. “But don't you see? They
were
related.”

“How? They happened more than twenty years apart.”

Maggie lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the weak winter sunlight shimmering atop the water. “They both had
me
in common.”

Delilah sucked in her breath. “You?”

“Those were my parents…and my husband and child.”

In a second Delilah was beside her at the window, her gently lined hand grabbing hold of Maggie's upper arm. “And they were accidents, hon. Unfortunate, tragic,
unrelated
accidents.”

“My heart was broken as a result, both times. I won't put myself in a position to have it happen a third time. I can't.” Placing her hand on top of Delilah's, she gave a gentle squeeze. “My heart can't take this kind of hurt ever again.”

“So then you
do
have feelings for Rory?”

Maggie turned back to the window, inhaling the courage she needed to say the words that had to be said. “It doesn't matter whether I do or not. All that matters is I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Does it really matter?” She pointed toward the water. “When I was a little girl, I used to sit out on that lake and wish for a second chance at love. A grown-up kind of love that I naively thought would be forever. Eventually, when the time was right, I got that second chance. Only it didn't last forever. It, too, got ripped away. And the hurt was a million times worse the second time around. In fact, if I could, I'd go with them. Now.”

“Don't say that!”

“But it's true.”

“Did you wish you were dead when you were making those frames the other day? Or when Virginia was falling all over herself wanting to hire you to make one for her?”

“No. Not at that moment.”

“Did you wish you were dead when you were walking through the gift shop in the village, envisioning what it might be like if it were yours?”

“No. But I…wait. How do you know about that?”

“Rory told me.”

“Rory,” she repeated softly. “Somehow that man has elbowed his way into whatever part of my heart remains intact.”

“But don't you see? That's a good thing.”

“Not if something happens to him, as seems to be the case with everyone I touch.”

“So you're willing to let another chance slip through your fingers based on a what-if?”

“If it means keeping Rory safe…yes.”

Horror chased confusion from Delilah's eyes. “Tell me
you don't believe your loved ones were cursed because of you.”

Maggie shrugged. “How can I not?”

“Because that's not the way life works.” Gentle arms enveloped her in a hug. “Aren't you glad you had those early years with your parents?”

“Of course. I wouldn't trade them for anything.”

“And the time with your husband and daughter?”

“The same.”

“Then why would you cheat yourself out of time with another wonderful person? They're what make life worth living.” Delilah's arms loosened their grip and Maggie stepped back. “He cares about you, Maggie. He really does.”

“I know.” And she did. “He's been so kind and so supportive and…”

“And what?”

She stared at the floor, unsure of what to say and how to say it. Finally, she simply shrugged.

“Let him be all those things. It's a wonderful gift to have someone in your corner. It truly is. And he believes in you, Maggie. If he didn't, he never would have shown you that shop yesterday.”

Delilah was right.

“The day I brought you your frame, he'd shown up on my doorstep with a box of craft supplies. Said he found it in one of the empty rooms at the inn.”

A corner of Delilah's mouth twitched.

“Oh, trust me…I know he didn't find it. But that's what got me going again. That's what got me—”

“Hoping again?”

Maggie tried the woman's words on for size, even though she knew they were the perfect fit. But the delay gave her time—time to get a handle on the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks for what had to be the hundredth time that day. “Hoping that maybe I can have another chance.”

“Then don't set boundaries before you see where it can take you.”