Against the Storm1 (25 page)

M
orning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, warming the house. It wouldn’t be long before the air conditioner kicked on.

Rowdy barked, alerting Maggie to the chiming of her cell phone. She patted his head, ruffled his fur, walked over and plucked her phone off the kitchen table. Though hearing from her mother was rare, she recognized the caller ID and pressed the device against her ear.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Maggie—thank God you answered. I’ve been so worried. I ran into Megan Wiseman, one of Ashley’s girlfriends, at the grocery store, and she told me that no-good Ziggy is in Houston. Can you believe it? Ashley hasn’t started seeing him again, has she? Dear God, that girl hasn’t got a lick of sense.”

Maggie’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Ashley isn’t seeing Ziggy, Mom. She’s way past a jerk like that.”

“Well, you don’t know her. She’s weak where that man is concerned. Look what he’s done to her already—
left her with a baby to raise and no father to help support it. If it weren’t for your help, I don’t know what would have happened to that girl.”

Maggie clamped down on her temper. She and her mother had never gotten along. Why was it she always seemed to forget that? “Ashley’s doing just fine on her own. She’s got a job, Mom. Next week she’s applying for admission to the culinary arts program at the art institute. She’s hoping to get a loan for the tuition and I think she’ll get it.”

Silence fell. “You mean she’s going to stay in Texas? She isn’t coming back home?”

“She needs her independence, Mother. As I said, she’s making her own way, and she’s feeling really good about it.”

“Well…”

“I’ll tell her you called, Mom. I’ll tell her you were worried about her.”

“You just make sure she doesn’t get tied up again with that good-for-nothing Ziggy.”

Maggie fought for control. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. Listen, I’ve got someone here,” she lied. “It was really nice talking to you.”

“Tell her to call me, will you?”

“I’ll tell her.” And Ashley would probably call. She didn’t get along with their mother any better than Maggie did, but she wanted to change her life, do what was right. “Bye, Mom.” Maggie ended the call.

“Who was that?” Trace asked as he wandered up beside her.

“My mother.” She waved a hand. “Don’t ask.”

“From the look on your face, I don’t think I need to.”

“I’ve got to call Ashley, let her know Mom was worried about her.”

“Was she?”

Maggie sighed. “In her own way, I suppose.”

He walked to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “When you’re done, we need to figure a few things out.”

She looked down at the short terry robe she was wearing, one of her recent purchases. “Can I shower first?”

Trace already had. His eyes darkened and his mouth took on a sensual curve. “I was waiting for you earlier, hoping you’d join me.”

She wished she had, would have if the phone hadn’t started ringing. “Next time,” she promised with a mischievous grin. They had slept late and made love and slept a little longer. It was Sunday. It was okay to loaf a little.

She glanced at Trace and felt the same warm stirring she always felt when she looked at him. Dressed in jeans and a yellow short-sleeved shirt, freshly shaved, with his hair still damp, he gave her a look that said he had sex on his mind—which should be impossible after the night they had shared.

He’d started toward her, his intention clear, when a soft knock sounded at the door. With a last heated glance, he walked over and peered through the peephole. After a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the latch and pulled the door open.

“Trace! Oh, thank heavens you’re home!” His gorgeous ex-wife burst into the living room. Maggie ignored an unwelcome stab of jealousy.

“I’ve got company, Carly. What do you want?”

The redhead glanced toward Maggie, who fought the urge to run for the bathroom. She knew how she looked:
still dressed in her short robe, her hair sleep-tangled, no makeup and her legs bare way above the knee.

Trace appeared resigned. “Carly, meet Maggie O’Connell.”

“Hello, Carly,” Maggie said, forcing a smile she hoped didn’t seem like a sneer.

The other woman’s full lips thinned. She made no reply, just returned her attention to Trace. “She was the one at your office.”

“That’s right. Now what do you want?”

“Howard and I broke up. He got mad over some silly notion about me and the pool boy, and now he won’t pay my rent.” She flicked a warning glance at Maggie, clearly wanting to speak to Trace in private.

“If you two will excuse me, I need to take a shower,” Maggie said, glad for the chance to escape.

Angry for no good reason and embarrassed for some equally nebulous one, she walked into the bedroom and closed the door. After drawing a calming breath she dialed her sister’s number, taking a moment to fill her in on the conversation with their mother, but giving an edited version. Maggie’s cell rang just as she finished. It was Roxanne.

“It’s me, darling. How are you?”

“Roxanne—I’ve been meaning to call, but it’s just been so crazy. I’m all right. No more fires, no more notes on my car. Of course, I’m a virtual prisoner, but aside from that—” Roxanne laughed.

“I don’t suppose you can sneak out to go clubbing?”

“God, I wish.” She hadn’t been dancing since the night they had gone to Galaxy. With so much happening, Maggie felt guilty even thinking how much she’d like to go. “Listen, I’ve got to run. At the moment
Trace’s ex-wife is standing in the living room, and I haven’t even taken a shower.”

“I thought he wasn’t seeing her anymore.”

“He isn’t. Or I’m pretty sure he isn’t.”

“Then get rid of her and take your shower with the Marlboro man.”

Maggie laughed. “Good idea. Talk to you later.”

As she headed for the bathroom, Maggie’s humor faded. Maybe she was wrong and Trace was still in love with Carly. Maybe even seeing her on occasion. The woman was standing in his living room, wasn’t she? That had to mean something.

Maggie turned the water on hot and high, hoping to distract her thoughts from the pair in the other room.

It didn’t work.

Dear God, she had it bad.

“So you and Howard broke up,” Trace said. “What’s that have to do with me?”

Carly ignored the question. Her blue eyes traveled to the bedroom door. “Are you serious about her?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. He was attracted to Maggie, more than attracted. Sexually, she turned him on more than any woman he had ever met. Last night, he’d been jealous of her relationship with David Lyons. He’d been possessive as he never was with a woman—not even his former wife.

Yet something was missing. After being married to Carly, he had serious trust issues. Just looking at her reminded him of the pain he had suffered when he had discovered the trail of men who had been in her bed. Maggie’s constant evasions made trusting her almost impossible, and without that, he didn’t see a future for them.

“She’s my client,” he said, avoiding the issue, hoping Carly would let the subject drop.

Her gaze slid once more toward the bedroom. “Looks to me like she’s a lot more than just a client.”

Trace’s jaw tightened. “We’re seeing each other, all right? Now tell me what you want.”

Carly moved closer. She rested her palms on his chest and gazed up at him. The top of her head didn’t reach his shoulder. “I was hoping you would loan me some money. Just a little, enough to cover my rent.”

Trace took hold of her wrists and eased her away. “What about the alimony I pay you? It’s more than enough to pay your rent and whatever else you need.”

“Well, something came up. I’m a little short this month.”

He didn’t have to ask what that something was—either an expensive trip with one of her friends or a shopping excursion. “How short are you?”

“A couple thousand would do.”

“You want me to give you two thousand dollars,” he said darkly.

“I told you it’s a loan.”

“Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll give you the money. But don’t ask me again. We’re done, Carly. We have been for years. I’m not your husband. We aren’t even friends.”

“Don’t say that!”

Ignoring her, he strode into the bedroom, where he kept his checkbook in the top dresser drawer. Trace took it out and wrote a check for two thousand dollars.

Just as he turned to leave, Maggie opened the bathroom door wearing only a fluffy white towel. Her glorious red hair curled around her face. The tops of her breasts rose enticingly, and her pale skin was moist and glistening. Little droplets of water beaded on her legs
and he wanted to lick them off. He was hard, itching to pull away the towel and kiss all that bare skin.

“Don’t bother getting dressed,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be right back.”

Maggie opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the chance to argue. Returning to the living room, he handed the check to Carly and hurried her toward the door.

“Remember what I said. We’re done, Carly. Don’t come to me again.”

She pouted as she stuffed the check into her purse and he urged her out of the house.

Closing the door, he strode back to the bedroom. But when he walked in, Maggie was no longer naked. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He didn’t try to hide his disappointment.

“What did she want?” Maggie asked, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“It’s always something. Money this time.”

She tossed back her hair, moving all those damp red curls. His fingers itched.

“You must still care for her if you keep giving her what she wants.”

“I feel sorry for her. Her life is a mess. Until she finds some way to change, it’s going to stay a mess.”

“And you’re going to keep letting her jerk your chain.”

He shook his head, his eyes on her face. “No. That’s finished as of today.”

“Why today?”

“Because you’re here and you’re important to me. Carly isn’t. Not anymore. I told her it was finished and I meant it.”

Maggie eyed him a moment, assessing his words, de
ciding whether or not to believe him. She moved closer, looked him in the face. “Are you sure?”

Trace slid his hand into her silky hair and dragged her head back, claiming her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss.

“Damned sure,” he said against the side of her neck. “I want you, not Carly.”

When he kissed her again, Maggie didn’t fight him. He might have doubts about their relationship, but this was one area in which they seemed to be in perfect agreement.

It wasn’t long before both of them were naked and back in his bed.

Trace played bodyguard all week. Tony Ramirez called to let him know it was safe for the women to go back inside the town house. Mrs. Epstein looked after Robbie while the sisters poked and dug through the waterlogged, blackened interior.

Jason insisted on accompanying them, and when Ashley found her few worldly possessions mostly destroyed, Trace was glad the kid was there.

“Oh, no.” Ashley sloshed through puddles of water to reach a soggy little brown teddy bear. One of its eyes was missing and the stuffing was coming out the seams in several places. The bear was in bad shape to begin with, but the fire hoses had finished the job.

“It’s Brownie,” she said. Hugging the bear to her chest, she started to cry. “I know it’s silly, but I’ve had him since I was a little girl.”

Jason walked up behind her, turned her into his arms. “It’s okay, honey. You’ve got all those memories locked up in here.” He smoothed a hand over her curls, then
tipped her chin up so she would look at him. “Nothing can ever take those away from you.”

Ashley clung to him and Jason held her until Trace found himself looking away, his own eyes a little misty. When he glanced at Maggie, his chest tightened. Hell, she was crying, too.

Damned women, he thought. But he didn’t really blame them. Trace eased Maggie into his arms. “It’s all right, darlin’. It’s mostly just stuff. Stuff can be replaced.”

“I know.” She didn’t move out of his arms, and he thought how right it felt to have her there.

Maggie finally took a breath and eased away, gazed wistfully up the staircase.

“It isn’t safe to go up there,” Trace said, reading her mind. “The second floor’s pretty much destroyed and totally unstable. But we can poke around a little more down here if you want.”

She nodded. He and Jason both wore rubber boots, and the kid had bought a pair each for Ashley and Maggie. The downstairs was intact except for the horrific water and smoke damage.

They tromped past the soggy sofa and chairs and went into the bedroom. Ashley was cheered a little when she discovered most of the clothes in her closet had survived the fire and just needed a good washing.

Trace followed Maggie down the hall to the linen closet. She reached up to a shelf overhead and took down a cardboard box.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Family pictures. Mostly me and my dad. There’s a few old ones of Mom and Dad before she left, some baby pictures of me. Some photos of me and my col
lege friends.” Maggie hugged the box against her. “I was praying they wouldn’t be destroyed.”

“I guess your prayer was answered.”

She looked into his face. “My prayer was answered when I saw Ashley sitting on the curb that night, holding little Robbie in her arms.”

Trace knew exactly what she meant. He’d never felt such a rush of relief as the moment he had found them all safe.

“Have you hired someone to fix this place?” Ashley asked, sloshing toward her sister.

“I’ve been talking to a guy named Will Jacobs. He was recommended by a friend of Trace’s in Dallas.”

“Gabe Raines. He’s a developer,” Trace explained. “He says Will is one of the best. He’s honest and he won’t charge an arm and a leg.”

“When’s he going to start?”

“First of next week,” Maggie said. “Will says it’s at least a two-month job.”

Ashley surveyed the water creeping into the wall-board, making it swell, the wet drapes sagging from their rods. “You know, sis, this place could have used a little decorating, anyway.”

Maggie looked at her sister, thought of the odd pieces of junk she’d used to furnish the town house. She surveyed the destruction around them, the puddles of grimy water, the soggy furniture that would all need to be replaced. A giggle escaped, turning into full-blown laughter.