Miracle Baby (Harlequin American Romance) (9 page)

“Again, I'm sorry for barging in the way I did,” he said, taking a final step toward the door. “I just had to know you were okay. And like you, I guess I'm letting my past dictate my present more than it should.”

Despite what she'd just said, Maggie knew she didn't want Rory to go. Why else did her heart sink at the click of the door? Why else did she feel like running after him and begging him to stay?

“Because you're sick, that's why,” she mumbled.

She clapped a hand over her lips as her words registered. Was she? Was she truly having the nervous breakdown her uncle had predicted was on the horizon?

No. She was just trying to find her way. And she would. Eventually.

Eventually has to start sometime, Maggie.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the sound of Jack's voice, willed it to give her the courage she needed to put one foot in front of the other. Yet, the face that propelled her to actually move from her spot belonged to someone else.

It would start now. Slowly, she made her way over to the box Rory had left behind, the concern in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch playing in her mind as she lifted the flaps and peered inside. Basic wood frames in various shapes and sizes were neatly stacked along one
side of the cardboard box. Along the other were bins—colorful plastic containers nested atop one another. She plucked out the top one and opened it to find an assortment of seashells and sand dollars. She grabbed the next few tubs, finding sequins, flat-back faux gemstones, beads and polished stones. The final container held a glue gun, spray adhesive, invisible thread and a large jar of beach sand.

“Who on earth could have left this stuff behind?” she whispered. Leaning back against the sofa, she studied the treasure trove that now covered the coffee table, her creative juices flowing and her mind running in a thousand different directions.

She grabbed a rectangular frame that was designed to house a five-by-eight-inch photograph, and looked at the various bins, her attention stolen by the one containing the seashells. With some beach sand, and a sand dollar or two…

Her mind made up, she searched the room for an empty outlet, plugging the glue gun into the first one she found. Next, she scooped up the supplies she needed and made her way over to the kitchen table, its clear surface a testament to the fact she'd eaten nothing more than apples since arriving.

Well, apples and a Belgian waffle.

And lasagna…

She bit back the smile that came with both of those memories, and forced her attention onto the project in front of her, remembering to cover the table with a few old newspapers her uncle had left behind. Once her
workstation was ready, she uncapped the can of adhesive and sprayed the whole front of the frame. When she was done she sprinkled on some of the beach sand, slowly transforming the basic wood frame into something much more.

Next came the sand dollars. Maggie agonized over their placement until she was sure she'd found just the right spots, cementing her decision with the help of the hot glue. After applying the final shell into place, she scooted back in her chair and admired her work.

“Not bad, if I say so myself.”

This time she allowed the smile to come, to lift her mouth in a way that felt more than a little satisfying. She returned to the coffee table and selected a different frame, this time opting to use the invisible thread and bin of colorful beads.

She sat there for hours, decorating one frame after the next until the original pile bore little resemblance to their former selves. When she was done, she simply looked around, a feeling akin to contentment settling over her.

It had been years since she'd tackled a picture frame, even longer since she'd allowed herself to get so caught up by the process that a day would rush by, unnoticed. But once again, she had.

And it felt good. Really, really good.

“In time you'll find a place to put the pain so you can let the joy take over.”

She closed her eyes, thinking of Delilah's words. Working on the frames, letting her creative energies out,
had
brought Maggie some joy.

Glancing down at the last frame she'd completed, she knew exactly who should have it.

 

“E
XCUSE ME.
Is Delilah in today, by any chance?”

The fortysomething redhead looked up from behind the register and stared at Maggie as if she had two heads. “That's kinda like asking whether McDonald's has hamburgers.”

Feeling suddenly foolish, Maggie clasped the handles of the gift bag tighter and shrugged. “I'm sorry. I didn't know. It's only my second time in here. As an adult, anyway.”

The woman's expression softened. “Hey, don't mind me. I was supposed to have the night off for a date. But the clown stood me up. So I figured I'd come in and make a little money instead.” Standing, the redhead extended her hand. “I'm Virginia.”

“I'm Maggie. Maggie Monroe.” Shifting the bag, she shook hands with a smile. “Do you think I could have a moment with your boss? I have something I'd like to give her.”

“Sure thing. But it could take a moment. She's in back planning her pies for tomorrow.”

“Her pies?”

Virginia nodded. “The process is similar, I imagine, to the one scientists go through when they're trying to figure out what gene to study next.” The woman stepped from behind the counter and indicated Maggie should follow. “So would you like to have a seat for a few moments? I could bring you something to drink while you're waiting. Maybe a hot coffee or something?”

“Make it a hot chocolate and you've got yourself a deal. It's freezing out there,” she said, trailing the woman to a booth not far from the door.

“Welcome to Lake Shire, Michigan.” Virginia stepped to the side, allowing Maggie access to the booth, and then plunked a menu down in front of her. “Just in case you're hungry. You
are
in Delilah's place, you know.”

Maggie couldn't help but laugh. “Oh, trust me, I know.”

Virginia looked over her shoulder before leaning close to Maggie's ear. “If you ask me, her beef stew is the best thing on the menu. Well…that and the caramel pie.”

Maggie's stomach rumbled, an increasingly familiar sound she knew was a good sign. If nothing else, it meant the notion of food was no longer taboo.

Virginia nodded knowingly. “I got you with the caramel pie, didn't I?”

“I think you did. Though, in all honesty, the mention of beef stew jettisoned me back to my grandma's kitchen.” She tugged off her gloves and set them on the table, her attention momentarily diverted by the miniature Christmas tree poised on the ledge. The star ornaments that dangled from it branches held various sayings.

Never stop dreaming.

Reach for the stars.

Hope.

“That tree is my favorite. Not sure if it's because it's the newest of the bunch or because I like the little lift those words give me.” Virginia cleared her throat. “As for the stew…no offense to your grandma, but there's no
stew in this entire world that's better than Delilah's. Just doesn't exist.”

Maggie's stomach rumbled again. On a whim, she pushed the menu back across the table, her mind made up. “I'll take a small bowl of the stew.”

“A small? You sure?” Scooping up the menu, Virginia conducted an all-too-obvious inspection of Maggie—from her ponytail to the dark denim jeans she'd tucked into soft leather boots.

She nodded, wiggling out of her charcoal-gray parka as she did. “A small works.”

“A small it is.” Virginia took a step back, then stopped. “And a hot chocolate, right?”

“Right. And Delilah, too, when she's free.”

“And Delilah, too, when she's free,” the woman repeated, before disappearing through a swinging door near the back of the diner.

Once she was gone, Maggie looked back at the tree, her gaze settling on the last ornament she'd seen.

Hope.

“Hope,” she repeated to herself, the sound of the word making her sit upright. Hope was what she'd felt the last time she was here. Hope was what she'd felt while knitting alongside Delilah. And hope was what she'd felt while making the picture frames.

The fact that two of the three were connected to Rory in some way made her pause before willing herself to read more of the ornaments.

Hope is the spark that ignites dreams.

She stared at the last one.

Without hope there is no joy.

Was that why she was finding it harder and harder to harness Natalie's joy? Because she'd let hope die along with her daughter?

The thought was sobering. And more than a little eye-opening.

“Maggie, what a wonderful surprise!”

Her head snapped upward. “Delilah, hi!”

Wiping her hands on the cloth napkin wedged inside her apron strings, the robust woman with the warm eyes smiled from deep inside. “Hi, yourself. I hope you're here to eat.”

She laughed. “Actually, I wasn't. But Virginia is rather persuasive.”

Grinning broadly, Delilah slid onto the empty bench across from her. “And that's exactly why I give her hours whenever she wants them. She's good for the cash box.”

“I can see that.” Maggie cast one more look in the direction of the little tree and its ornaments, and then placed the gift bag on the table. “I brought you something.”

“Whatever for?” Delilah asked in surprise. “It's not my birthday.”

“It's not supposed to be. This is for taking time out of your busy schedule to teach me to knit.”

The woman reached for the bag and then stopped. “You took to it like a duck to water, from what I saw.”

“We just practiced stitches.”

“And then you made a scarf. A very good one.”

She peered at her new friend. “How did you know I made a scarf?”

Delilah pulled the bag closer. “Because he couldn't
have been any prouder. He showed it to practically everyone in the diner when he stopped by that afternoon. Heck, he even showed it off in the parking lot on the way to his truck.”

Maggie felt her mouth gape open. “Rory did?”

“Did you make a scarf for anyone else?” Without waiting for a reply, the woman reached into the gift bag and pulled out the beaded frame, her own mouth dropping open. “Oh Maggie…it's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Where on earth did you find this?”

Shaking her head free of the sudden barrage of Rory-related images, she willed herself to follow the shift in topic. “I made it,” she said.

Delilah looked up from the frame. “You
made
this?”

She nodded.

“Really?”

She nodded again.

“Maggie, I don't know what to say!”

“Don't. It's my way of saying thank-you. For teaching me something I've always wanted to learn.”

“It was my pleasure.” Delilah turned the frame over and thrust it in her direction, followed by a pen. “Would you sign the back for me?”

“Sign the back? Are you serious?”

“It'll be neat to say I knew you before you got all famous.”

She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. “Famous? It's just a picture frame, Delilah.”

“There's nothing
just
about this, Maggie. You could
make a lot of money with these kinds of things. Especially in a vacation town like this one.”

“You really think so?” she asked, the woman's words an echo of a sentiment she'd heard expressed in this very diner not more than three days earlier.

“I really
know
so.” Delilah looked up as Virginia approached the table with Maggie's stew. “Perfect timing. I have to get back into the kitchen and finish my pie choices.” She turned to Maggie. “Take your time with the stew. I'll be back to visit in a few minutes.”

Virginia set the bowl on the table in front of her. “Oh, my…that's lovely,” she said as she pointed at the frame. “Where did that come from? I have to have one.”

“Maggie made it. For me.”

“You made this? Seriously?”

Again Maggie nodded, an unfamiliar sense of pride enveloping her.

“How much do you charge?”

“How much do I charge?” she repeated. “I don't—”

“Twenty-five bucks,” Delilah interjected.

“Delilah, I don't—”

“I'll take one.” Virginia lifted the frame from the table and studied it closely. “Do you think you could make mine with different shades of blue?” She shot a look in her boss's direction. “That would look real nice in my living room, don't you think?”

“It would look perfect,” Delilah agreed.

Maggie started to protest, to offer to make one for her free of charge, but Delilah's hand shot out, cutting her off.

“When can you have it ready?” Virginia asked. “I
have some company coming into town just after New Year's and I'd love to have it by then if possible.”

“I, uh…”

“That gives you nearly five weeks, dear. You can surely do that, right?” Delilah prodded.

“I, uh…” she repeated, before looking back at the tree. The answer left her mouth before she realized what she was saying. “Sure. I can have it for you by then.”

Virginia clapped her hands together. “Ohh, I'm so excited. Getting stood up this evening wasn't so bad, after all.” Not waiting for an answer, she pulled a napkin-wrapped bundle of flatware from her apron pocket. “Enjoy your stew. I promise you won't be sorry. It's the best—oh…hey there, Rory, how are you this evening?”

At the sound of his name, Maggie turned in her seat, her attention riveted on the handsome man in the black henley and faded denim jeans standing not more than a foot away from her booth.

She swallowed.

“Better now,” he replied, his gaze meeting hers as he leaned over and planted a kiss on Delilah's cheek. “I was hoping you might have some stew lying around for me, too.”

“For two of my favorite people? Of course. Virginia, can you set another place for Rory?”