Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (2 page)

Rory heard a cabinet door open and knew his window of opportunity was rapidly closing. The key to Maggie Monroe's sadness was inside that tissue paper. He was sure of it.

The sound of ice cubes clanking into glasses propelled him forward, the drive to understand Maggie Monroe overriding the voice in his head that chided him for being sneaky. And dishonest.

Carefully, he unwrapped the first layer of paper, and then a second, the overhead light glinting off the silver object inside. Slowly, gently, Rory lifted the ornament from the tissue, his eyes glued to the delicate silver cradle with an infant's tiny form tucked beneath a silver blanket. A sash across the blanket was inscribed with delicate cursive engraving.

Natalie Renee.

The faucet turned off and he froze in response.

“Would you like something to eat?” Maggie called out. “I have some cookies.”

“Uh…yeah, sure. Um, cookies sound good.” Rory quickly rewrapped the ornament in the crinkled paper, his hurried and guilt-ridden efforts resulting in a package that bore little resemblance to its earlier form.

He tried again, his second attempt more successful than the first. Stepping back, he breathed a sigh of relief. He shouldn't have peeked. But he couldn't help himself. He wanted to find a way to help Maggie—to banish the pain from her eyes.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he turned toward the fireplace and the kindling he'd placed in the iron bin beside the hearth just three days earlier. With a practiced hand, he set about the task of lighting the fire as he pondered the meaning behind the ornament.

Did Maggie have a daughter? And if so, where was
she? Had her husband kidnapped the child during some sort of custody battle?

Rory snapped a thick stick in two as a flash of anger coursed through his body. What kind of idiot would want to hurt a woman in that way?

Maggie's footsteps startled him. “Hey, there. I'm almost done here. I just need to light it.” He grabbed the box of tall matches he'd set beside the bin, and struck one against the side. “And there we go!”

He glanced over his shoulder, watched the reflection of the fire in her eyes and felt his chest tighten in response. There were no two ways about it. Maggie Monroe was gorgeous, tear-swollen face and all.

Rising to his feet, he gestured toward the fireplace. “You like?”

“I like,” she repeated softly. Pulling her focus from the flames, she held out a glass. “Here's your water.”

“Maggie, what the hell happened?” He grabbed her forearm as the sleeve of her sweater slid back to reveal an angry red scar that started just above her wrist and traveled up her arm.

She shoved the glass into his free hand and pulled down her sleeve. “It's nothing. Forget it.”

Setting the glass on the mantel behind him, Rory grasped her hand and gently pushed her sleeve upward again. “This is far from nothing.” He met her pained gaze with his own, felt the longing to pull her into his arms. Instead, he simply asked the question burning in his heart. “Are you okay?”

He watched as she nibbled her lower lip, noting the tears that hovered in the corners of her eyes. Finally she
spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. “I'm alive. Only I'm not sure how to live anymore.”

Without thinking, he reached out, pulled the fragile woman toward him and held her tight as he sensed her fleeting resistance. For several long moments he simply cradled her as she sobbed against his chest. More than anything he wanted to guide her face upward, to wipe away the tears he felt soaking through his sweatshirt. But he didn't want to scare her.

And somehow he knew a gesture like that would.

Whatever Maggie Monroe had experienced, it explained the vulnerability he'd sensed from the moment she'd opened the door. What explained the
fear
she exhibited as she suddenly pulled away from him, though, was anyone's guess.

“I—I need you to leave.”

He felt his shoulders slump at her words, their definitiveness crystal clear. He'd overstepped his bounds.

“Maggie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm, I really didn't. It's just that I saw that scar…and the pain in your eyes…and I wanted to make it go away.” Rory knew he was blabbering, but he didn't care. He needed to make her understand. To make her see he only wanted to help.

“I want it to go away, too. But if that happens, I'm afraid I'll lose them forever,” she whispered as she stared at the fire roaring behind him, the flames flickering in her deadened eyes.

Driven from her bed before dawn by nightmares, Maggie stepped into the bathroom and pulled on the plush, baby-pink robe Jack had given her for her last birthday. Curve-hugging at the time, the garment now looked as if it had been purchased for someone a good thirty pounds heavier.

She leaned against the shiny white pedestal sink and peered into the mirror, the unfamiliar face it reflected startling a gasp from her throat. Sure, she'd lost some weight; her clothes told that story. But when had her eyes taken on that haunted quality? When had her cheeks drawn in so dramatically as to make her look malnourished?

Ten months, twenty-two days and eight hours ago. That's when…

Shaking her head against the memories of that icy January night, she forced herself to focus on the face that no longer looked like the Maggie Monroe she had been last Christmas.

What would Jack say if he could see her now?

Maggie, you need to eat. You need to take care of yourself.

She smiled at the memory of his voice, inhaled the delicious sense of certainty with which her heart had formed his answer—reactions that were chased away just as quickly by the next question that came to her mind:
How would Natalie react if she saw me now?

She'd be scared….

Sucking in her breath at the realization, Maggie squared her shoulders and studied her face more closely. The circles beneath her eyes were dark, but nothing a little foundation couldn't mask. And the hollow look to her cheeks—well, she could work on that a little at a time, starting with something that resembled a real meal. Like maybe an apple
and
a muffin.

But first she had to make an apology.

Padding back into her room, Maggie yanked open the top drawer of the mahogany dresser, a glance at the room's lone window confirming what she already knew to be true—winter had set its sights on the shores of Lake Shire. The frost on the glass added the exclamation point.

She rummaged through the clothes she'd pulled from her suitcases less than forty-eight hours earlier. So many of her things were gifts from well-meaning friends who'd been grasping at straws to make her smile in the year since the accident. While their efforts were touching, no one had ever seemed to understand her need to hold on to what was familiar.

A need that was as strong today as ever. The only way she could make the face in the mirror look like Maggie
Monroe again was to
be her
through and through—clothes, appetite, exercise, books, crafts….

Natalie and Jack…

The familiar lump sprang into her throat as Maggie grabbed hold of a ruby-red sweater and a pair of old jeans that had been one of her favorite outfits. The fact that the sweater now hung on her and the jeans threatened to slip off her hips was beside the point. Belts had their place.

Returning to the bathroom, Maggie ran a brush through her hair, pulling the wavy cascade into a high ponytail that softened the unfamiliar lines in her face. She peered into the mirror, pleased with the slight improvement.

Did she look good? No. But at least she didn't look as if home was a cardboard box underneath a bridge in some overpopulated city. And besides, she was just leaving her suite long enough to offer an apology and to open a gift.

She steered her gaze away from the still-bare tree in the middle of the living room as she strode toward the door, well aware of the fact that she'd let
them
down. She had quit once again, defeated by a mountain that seemed too high to climb.

But not today. Today she would take steps. Real steps.

With a long, deliberate inhale, Maggie swooped up the brightly wrapped package from the end table where she'd left it and yanked open the door.

The firm tap of a hammer came from somewhere off to her left. She turned in that direction, her heart thud
ding in her chest at the thought of coming face-to-face with Rory O'Brien once again.

What was it about him that made her so nervous? Was it the way he'd grabbed her arm when he'd spotted the scar? The way he'd repeatedly insisted she open a gift she couldn't bear to unwrap, innocently prodding for an explanation she didn't want to give?

It wasn't nerves. It was attraction….

She paused in the middle of the hallway and covered her mouth with her free hand. But it was too late. The unspoken words had hit their mark. Only they were wrong. They had to be.

Tightening her grip on the package, Maggie clenched her teeth in defiance as she forced her feet to keep moving. She'd been uncomfortable with a stranger seeing her pain, that was all. The notion that it might be anything resembling attraction was nothing short of crazy. Her heart would forever belong to Jack and Natalie.

The hammering stopped, only to start again, the sound coming from a room less than ten feet away.

You can do this, Maggie. It's just an apology.

“It's just an apology, that's all,” she repeated to herself in a whisper.

Stopping outside the open doorway, she peeked inside. There, on the other side of the gutted room, was Rory, poised atop a ladder in the back corner. For a moment she simply watched him, her eyes focused on his muscular arms as he worked, her body revisiting the warmth and feel of their compassionate embrace.

Banishing the ridiculous memory, Maggie knocked on the door frame, determined to do what she'd come
to do despite her sudden sense of guilt and the resurrected fluttering in her stomach. “Rory? Do you have a minute?”

The hammering ceased as he glanced in her direction. A slow smile spread across his face, lighting his eyes, and she swallowed.

“Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise.” Resting the hammer on the top step of the ladder, he climbed down, wiping his hands against his jeans when he reached the floor. “Are you feeling any better this morning?”

She attempted a smile and shrugged. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. I never should have subjected you to my emotions the way I did. Especially when you were simply carrying out a favor my uncle asked of you.”

Rory stopped just inches from where she stood, his gaze traveling slowly down her body, only to return to her face with a look that made her swallow once again. “Please, no apology. We can't help what we feel and when we feel it. I'm just sorry I pushed the package the way I did.”

“It's okay.” She held out the gift box. “If it meant enough to my uncle to have you track me down, the least I can do is open it, right?”

A dimple appeared in Rory's left cheek, then in his right one as his smile widened. “Now you're talking.” Glancing around, he threw up his hands. “I'd offer you a place to sit but, as you can see, there's no—wait!”

The moment his hand reached for hers she felt it—an undeniable electrical charge that started at the point of
impact and spread throughout her body, destroying the protest that rose in her throat.

“Here. This'll work.” Gently releasing her, Rory brushed off the top piece of lumber in a nearby stack. “You can sit right here while you open it.”

She looked down, the lingering warmth of his touch bringing tears to her eyes. Shaking off the emotions warring in her heart, she sat where he indicated, her exhale blowing a renegade strand of hair from her face. “Okay. Let's do this.”

She slowly unwrapped the package as Rory lowered himself beside her, his thigh brushing hers while yet another wave of warmth spread throughout her body. Forcing her focus onto the square package in her hands, Maggie pushed aside the wrapping paper to reveal a red box.

“Hmm. Well, it's not a bread box,” Rory murmured. “And it's probably not a marble, unless your uncle is into trickery.”

She laughed, the genuinely happy sound startling her as much as it obviously did Rory. “Trickery?”

He bobbed his head, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah, you know—stick a marble in a box five times its size. Or hand someone an envelope with the key to a new car inside… That kind of thing.”

It was hard not to be taken by Rory O'Brien's infectious smile, or the mischievous sparkle that lit his sapphire-blue eyes, or the dimples in his cheeks….

“Have you ever done that? Been tricky with a gift?” she asked, determined to nip her visual inventorying in the bud.

“Nope. But I could see why a person might…if it was for someone special.”

She nodded, biting back a smile as she imagined wrapping a wrench or a hammer or whatever kind of tool Rory might need inside a large appliance box.

“C'mon, the suspense is killing me!” His deep voice cut through her woolgathering. “What is it?”

With a shrug, Maggie removed the lid from the box and peered inside, the feel of Rory's breath as he looked over her shoulder sending a tiny shiver down her spine. “I don't know.” Looping her index finger through the red satin ribbon on top, she lifted a round silver ball from the box. “Ohhh, it's beautiful.”

The polished ornament dangled from her finger, gleaming in the morning light that streamed through a bay window nearby.

Leaning across her lap, Rory held the ball steady with the palm of his hand. “Look, there's something engraved across the center.”

Together, they bent closer and read the inscription aloud. “Wishes.”

“Wishes?” she repeated as she studied the ball from another angle. “What do you think that means?”

“I don't know.”

Maggie handed the silver ball to Rory, dug around inside the box and extracted a small white envelope with tiny strips of blank paper inside. Holding one up, she shrugged again. “What do you think this is for?”

“I have no idea, unless…” His voice trailed off as he studied the ornament more closely. “Hey, wait, I think it opens.” She watched as he gently twisted the bottom
half from the top. Sure enough, the ball opened to reveal a red velvet interior. “That's kinda cool, don't you think? Though what it's for I have no—wait!”

He pointed at the strips of paper. “I get it now. You write your wishes there and put them inside. Then you open it next Christmas and see how many of them came true.”

Maggie stared at the ornament, her hands beginning to tremble as Rory's words took root in her heart. It didn't matter how many slips of paper were clutched in her fist. There could be ten, twenty, thirty, for all she cared. It simply didn't matter.

Because when it came to making wishes, there was only one.

 

A
LTHOUGH HER DEMEANOR
that morning could never have been described as giddy or carefree, it didn't take a rocket scientist to detect the dark cloud that had passed over Maggie's face at the discovery of the ornament's intent. Nor was it hard to figure out why, even if Rory hadn't gathered all the pieces just yet.

Maggie Monroe was grieving. That much was obvious. What exactly she was grieving over was still a mystery. A mystery that surely explained the scar on her arm, the haunted look in her eyes and the ornament engraved with the name of a child that was nowhere to be found.

But one thing was certain. The beautiful woman sitting beside him had taken a big step by seeking him out—a step he didn't intend to let her undo any time soon.

He tilted the silver ball back and forth in the light. “You know what's the best part about wishes?”

He glanced at her in time to see her shake her head, her eyes cast downward. Setting the ornament into the box between them, he swiveled his legs to the left, his knee grazing hers. “Wishes don't always have to be about huge things. I mean, sure, it's nice to have a great big wish, but it's also fun to have little ones.”

Without waiting for a reply he continued on, determined to banish the sadness from her expression even for just a little while. “Last weekend I found myself wishing for a little fun…something that would put a smile on my face.”

He met her gaze with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, anything to get her back out of her shell.

“And?” she whispered.

“And I sprawled out on my couch Saturday night with a bowl of microwave popcorn and a rented movie the salesclerk said was guaranteed to make me laugh.”

“Did it?”

Grateful that she was finally talking once again, he nodded, words rushing from his mouth. “Yeah, it did. And it was exactly what I needed at the moment.”

“But don't you think these slips of paper—” she raised her hand in the air before letting it fall back to her lap “—are designed for bigger wishes?”

He considered her question. “I suppose. But that doesn't mean you can't have smaller ones, or that they have to be written down and stowed away inside a wishing ball.”

Resting her elbows on her thighs, Maggie dropped
her head into her hands with an audible exhale. Her high ponytail fell forward and to the right, blocking his view of her exquisite profile. There were so many things in life he could fix—walls, steps, ceilings, floors, furniture, you name it. But for the second time in his life, Rory felt totally inept.

And it killed him.

Racking his brain for something he could do to help, he settled on the first thing that came to mind—securing more time with Maggie Monroe. He glanced at the window and then his watch as he hatched a workable plan. “I actually have one of those right now.”

Slowly, she lifted her head, her dark brown eyes filled with the same confusion he heard in her voice. “Have what?”

“One of those smaller wishes that aren't necessarily meant to be written down but I hope will come true.”

“What is it?”

“Breakfast at the diner. I was so hell-bent on getting this room under way that I left my house without so much as a banana. Unfortunately, my stomach is now protesting that decision.”

With rapid movements, Maggie dropped the paper strips into the tiny envelope and placed it inside the box with the wishing ball. Sliding the box across the lumber pile in his direction, she stood. “Then I'll let you get to it.”