Soft Target (18 page)

His plate was in the refrigerator, heaped with baked chicken and rice and green beans from someone’s garden. Homegrown tomatoes were sliced and waiting in a container.

Memories flooded him. The smells of his mother’s kitchen, laughing at the table with his family and Sunday lunches here. Family, friends. His tiny kitchen in Chicago and his refrigerator full of leftovers, eating warmed-over pizza and burritos rubberized by the microwave. He’d have to go back to that. He shouldn’t get used to her.

But one dinner wouldn’t kill him—unless she’d poisoned it.

When he made it to closing time, he thought maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate him. She followed him home without argument and without running him over. Maybe she liked him.

Once inside, she walked to her end of the house without a word. Maybe
like
was overstating it. He sighed, picked up the stack of mail and checked his phone messages. His throat constricted when he saw Bob’s number and the message icon. Tapping the screen, he dialed his voice mail code and jerked his finger away as if Bob would grab his hand and pull him back to Chicago to face his ghosts.

* * *

Maggie got ready for bed. Wet faced, with soap in her eyes, she flailed for the hand towel, and then cringed as the towel ring banged against the wall and echoed down the hall. Her food rebelled as she dried her face and stared into the mirror while her phone chirped with an appointment reminder for tomorrow.

She checked the calendar. Oh great. She had a meeting with Reverend Ferguson and the head of the UMW on Christmas in July. Nothing said Christmas like singing carols in shorts and flip-flops. And she hated carols. One of these days she was going to sneak into the church and pipe Mannheim Steamroller through the sound system.

“Gray? It’s Bob.”

She stuck her head into the hallway, shocked to hear another voice. It had been a long, hard day and she’d been looking forward to relaxing, but there wasn’t a chance for downtime, even here.

Gray was
so
quiet. Before, his silence had been tied to work, when he was behind his desk. Otherwise, they’d never tiptoed around each other. They’d laughed and played and talked, like this morning. Now, every squeaky floorboard echoed through the silent house. He couldn’t even relax at home.

Because he’s not home. Home is Chicago. Fiddler is work. He’s quiet because he’s working.

“Your reports are good. You should be ready for the field soon. Amanda is pestering the hell out of me to get you home. We—Shit, we miss you, okay?” The friendly message coaxed her down the hall. “This great new Japanese restaurant opened around the corner. They do sushi just like that place in Tokyo. Remember? You and that geisha—”

The one-way reminiscence ended when Graham silenced the message. Maggie stood in the living room and watched him at the kitchen counter, slouched, rubbing his forehead, as he went through the mail. It was too late to be doing mundane chores, especially since neither of them had gotten much rest last night.

Field work, Japan, sushi, geisha, Amanda.
He had a life far more interesting than anything in Fiddler, Idaho.

“Bob is your supervisor?” she asked.

He spun, wide-eyed, and reached for where his gun would have been. He’d forgotten she was in the house.

Lowering his hand, he grimaced an apology before explaining. “Yes, but he and his fiancée, Amanda, are also two of my closest friends. His sister, Jillian, is the surgeon I called about Sarah.”

“He sounds anxious to get you back.”

“I won’t go until you’re safe.”

“I know.” He’d never turn his back on his responsibilities. “But after that, there’s no reason you can’t go home. Lots of couples live apart. It won’t cause gossip.” Not any he’d hear.

“We’ll talk about that when the time comes.” He focused on the pile of paper.

She turned to leave the room. “Good—”

“What’s this?” He held out the invitation neatly addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Graham Harper.

“I accepted this weeks ago.” Her skin heated. “It’s the library auxiliary’s way of giving us a chance to RSVP as a couple. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to them.” She looked into his expectant gaze. “It’s for the fund-raiser on Friday. I put it on the calendar.”

“Given the break-in, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I have to go. It’s a small group, and it’s a big party. They expect me to help.”

“It’s your honeymoon.”

Her stomach contracted at the word, and she shook her head. “I can’t abandon them. You don’t have to go.” An auxiliary book auction didn’t hold a candle to Japanese geisha. She forced her tired face to smile. “I won’t be alone. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Don’t do that,” he stated. “Don’t give me that contractually obligated smile and push me away like I’m
work
.”

Her heart lifted with the knowledge that he’d noticed her act. No one but Faye ever noticed. But with that joy came a bitter truth. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for work.”

“Wrong,” he scolded. “You’re in this mess because you didn’t trust me to help you.”

“Stop wagging your finger in my face. You’re only doing this because Nate stuck you with me. There’s no sense parading around and pretending.”

As his eyes widened, she wished she could scoop the words back into her mouth. Since that was impossible, retreat was the best option. She spun on her heel. “Goodnight.”

He grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

Despite her better judgment, she stopped. His hold gentled until his thumb was stroking her triceps and his fingers were urging her to face him. She could turn or dissolve into a puddle of goo, but turning broke the contact. And she missed it.

He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Maggie, I promised to protect you.” His smile was faint. “What do you think
cherish
means?”

Her thumb traced the ring around her finger as her heart stuttered and then thudded until it deafened her. She wanted more than anything to believe that temporary vow.

She handed him the RSVP card. “You want to be my date?”

“I do.” His smile sparkled as he winked, and she fought the urge to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to stay.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Late the next morning on the way to town, Maggie drove while she balanced her phone on her shoulder.

“Barbara?” she yelled over the wind through the open windows. “It’s Maggie.”

“Hi. I was just getting the music together for the meeting this afternoon. I’ve found some wonderful old standards that will be a big hit.”

“That’s great. I’m sure everyone will love them but—” she sucked in a deep breath and resisted closing her eyes “—I’m going to step down from the Christmas in July committee.”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “It’s not for everyone. But I’ll see you next week, right? We’re talking about the repairs to the pipe organ.”

“Yep. I’ll be there. See you next week.”

That was easy,
Maggie thought as she disconnected the call and dropped the phone into her purse.
Why didn’t I do it fifteen years ago?

She swung into a parking space at the courthouse. Walking inside, she waved at the girls in the real estate office and kept on her path down the hall.

“If it had been a love match, they wouldn’t have run off to Vegas. She’d have lorded another big wedding over everyone.”

Sliding to a stop, Maggie leaned against cold plaster wall and listened to Kate Fletcher, the gossipy clerk.

“I’ll bet Nate is paying him for every stud session. And from the grim look on his face, she’s not very good at it.”

The gasped giggles and gossip flowed through the open door, coating Maggie’s skin.

“That makes sense. She hasn’t dated for years. Can you imagine? Married to a guy like that and
not
enjoying sex. I wonder how long he’ll put up with it.”

“
Anyone
can buy a guess for two dollars.”

She’d expected this. Kate had always been a hateful bitch. But the other two voices were a shock. One because she didn’t recognize it, and the other because it was Amber Kendall. God! She’d practically delivered Graham to the schoolteacher on a silver platter. It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t been interested.

Drawing her spine tight, Maggie entered the office and immediately gagged on the bitter perfume polluting the stale air. “Good morning, Kate. I’ve come to pay my property taxes.”

Kate sauntered to the white board just a shade too late to hide the hand-drawn calendar and the title. Maggie’s Divorce Pool.

Ignoring her nemesis’s smirk, Maggie turned toward the stranger—a tall, lean redhead with her elbows on the counter and her long body bent at a right angle. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Maggie Ma—Harper.”

“Elaine Thomas. It’s nice to put a face with a name.”

“I’m sure it is.” Maggie turned to Amber. “How’s your dad getting along?”

“Really well. They think he’ll be able to go home in the next few weeks.”

“If he won’t mind, the company would like to add a ramp at the house so he won’t have to navigate the stairs.” Her father shouldn’t suffer because his daughter was jealous. “Would you ask him and let me know?”

“I’ll do that. Getting out would give him incentive for therapy.”

Maggie pocketed her receipt and focused on her exit. This was almost over.

“Maggie, care to buy a chance in our pool?” Kate’s question halted her in midstride.

She wants a fight.
“I think I’d have an unfair advantage, don’t you?” Maggie looked over her shoulder with her parting shot.

The bold, red signature across January 4 caught her eye.
G. Harper.
Maggie’s gaze drifted from the calendar to Kate’s smirk.

The giggles followed Maggie into the hallway. Recalling every bit of her grandmother’s advice, she walked into the sunshine and dragged in a deep breath of fresh air. How many people wore that god-awful perfume?

Maggie climbed behind the wheel and sat. How many times had she smelled that perfume on Graham’s clothes? Twice. Both times after he’d vanished for an errand. Was it Amber’s? Had his errand been
Amber?

The girl she’d thrown at him. It was her own damn fault.

She drove to the bar in a fog and trudged upstairs. Dropping onto her bed, she pulled her phone from her purse and deleted every meeting dealing with Christmas in July. Somehow, seeing the extra white squares wink on the screen made her feel better.

That vanished when the “Imperial March” blared through the room. She cursed the curl in her toes. When would her body learn the man was unhealthy? Like gelato: deceptively labeled and far too good to be true. “Hi, Graham.”

“Hi. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She clipped out the lie as she stared out her back window and waved at Carl, who was clearing new undergrowth in the tree line. “Just busy. What’s up?”

“I’ve got to run an errand. I’ve already talked to Max. He’ll stay close, okay?”

Why did his voice have to be pitched at just the right tone to turn her insides to jelly?

“Maggie?”

No. He didn’t get to embarrass her and then sound like a worried husband. Especially not when
errand
probably meant—

Thankfully, someone rang the doorbell. “Someone’s here. I have to go.”

“Take the phone with you, and check the door.”

“Fine,” she grumbled.

Apprehension trickled down her spine as she descended the stairs and lifted the corner of the curtain. She was acting afraid. He was scaring her. “It’s just Faith.”

“Okay. I’ll be out late, but I’ll be home. Be careful.”

“‘Bye.” Maggie disconnected the call and opened the door.
Smile
. “Faith! This is a surprise.”

Faith stomped through the door and thrust a stack of letters at her. “I told you I didn’t want to do this. I have enough going on.”

Seriously? Did she think she was the only one in this family who was busy, who had a life spinning out of control? How was she more special? Why did she get to escape? She was just like—

Yes. She is. Just like mom. Forced into a role she’s not suited for.

Maggie ushered her sister-in-law to a table in the sunshine and got her a bottle of water. While Faith drank, her fingers shook and tears hovered on her lashes. Instead of pushing her, Maggie read the letters from every charity board in town.

We’re sure you are aware that a Mathis has been on our board for almost a century. As the new Mrs. Mathis, we’re certain you will want to step in and continue this tradition.

Maggie’s ears burned. How dare they assume she wasn’t interested any longer? How could they just switch allegiance? She’d created half these committees and now they were going to toss her aside.

Well, this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Maggie looked at the huge stack again and recalled her call with Barbara this morning. The organist hadn’t been the least bit upset.

She picked up her phone and sent a group text to Charlene, Tiffany and Abby, summoning them to the bar. Then she sat back and smiled at Faith. “We’ll fix this.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disappoint—”

“You make Nate happy, and you give him a direction he was missing. Which makes me happy. If I haven’t told you that, I’m sorry. You bring talents to this family that no one else has, and you shouldn’t hide them under a flower arrangement.”

For the rest of the time they were alone, Maggie wrote out all the committees and appointments on her calendar and added the notebook sheets to the pile of mail. The girls trooped up the steps, and Maggie let them in the front door.

“You never call in the middle of the day,” Charlene said as she took a spot at the table. “We figured it was urgent.”

Maggie waited on them to get settled, and spread the assignments on the table. “Who wants what? Faith and I aren’t doing them all. Not anymore.”

“It’s about time.” Tiffany sighed. “I’m tired of watching you run around.”

Maggie blinked at her. “Huh?”

“You never have time to do anything fun,” Charlene drawled. “Do you know what it’s like to live this close to your best friend and
never
see her?”

“But you moved for Kevin.”

“I always move for Kevin,” Charlene leered. “But you’re a moron if you think he’s the only reason I’m here.” She flipped through the stack and picked one. “I want the hospital fund-raiser for next year.”

“Fine,” Maggie countered, “but I’m your music committee chair, or all you’ll play is bump and grind.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The bumping and the grinding.” Tiffany giggled. “I want the church nursery.”

Faith took one. “The hospital roof. I can do that one.”

Abby slid one from the pile. The Humane Society calendar.

They stayed for the afternoon, dividing committee assignments, denying some altogether, laughing and gossiping, and they only left because the whistles blew. Giving up her overalls for the night, Maggie tied a butcher’s apron around her clothes and greeted her guys.

As the night wore on, her face hurt from smiling, and her heart ached from answering questions about Graham’s whereabouts. She settled on “some lawyer thing.” The guys would accept that better than “errand,” especially this late in the evening. Hell, everything except hotels were already closed.

At ten o’clock, she locked the door and sagged with relief. Pine-Sol worked wonders on floors. It sucked at cleaning the minds of women who had married their bodyguards. Giving up on cleaning, she reached under the bar for the library book she intended to take home. Instead, her fingers grazed heavy, cold porcelain.

She lifted the mug into the light, recognizing it as Graham’s favorite. Hefting it in her hand, she admired the weight of it, remembered him prowling the room with it in his hand, sipping from it while he read
The Wall Street Journal
.

With a pitch that would’ve made the guys proud, she hurled it across the room and watched it shatter before dissolving into tears.

Still sniffing, she closed up for the night and waved at Max as she drove up Broadway. She kept her eyes focused forward as she left town.

The sliver of a moon was overwhelmed by the pinpricked sky. She turned off the radio, rolled down the window and opened the sunroof to enjoy the scratch of crickets, the call of whip-poor-wills, and the whisper of her tires on the road. Then her engine sputtered and the car bucked and shuddered beneath her before it died.

Maggie coasted to the shoulder and stared at the fuel gauge. The needle was buried at the bottom of the range. She’d never run out of gas before.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She draped her arms over the wheel and rested her head on top of them. “
Shit!
He’s going to think I’m a moron.” She stared into the dark. Not if she could get home before him.

When she emerged from the car, the darkness enveloped her and the trees loomed over the road. The shadows danced closer, then not. She reached for her flashlight and ended up hanging upside down to stare under the seats in her search. The light was gone.

She slumped against the back fender. Wait or walk? Waiting never solved anything. Something crashed through the woods, and Maggie swallowed a squeal as she jerked a look backward.

She was about a mile from home, maybe a mile and a half. It wouldn’t be that bad of a walk. She took one small step, then another, and reminded herself to breathe.

* * *

In Boise, Gray stood next to Shelby in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. Her red hair was darker under the streetlights, and she was in a dress that reminded him of grape jelly. He hated grape jelly.

“You should make a point of seeing the other side of the mountains while you’re here,” she said. “It’s nicer over there.”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “I like Idaho.”

“You look tired.” Her hand touched his, her nails grazing his skin and raising goose bumps. “Are you getting enough rest?”

Of course he was tired. She’d called this morning, wanting to come to Fiddler to meet Maggie and say goodbye. No way in hell was that happening. So he’d dragged himself to Boise, and he’d weave his way home in the dark. “It’s been a long day. What time are you leaving in the morning?”

“My flight leaves at ten-thirty. I can’t wait to tell Amanda your news. They’ll be anxious to meet Maggie when you get home.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he moved so her lips grazed his cheek instead.

“Goodbye, Shelby.”

He climbed onto the bike and roared away. Once he was on the highway and out of heavy traffic, he slowed so he could think.

He. Liked. Idaho. Everything about it. The work, the friends, that weird little town. Being outside. Maggie.

Dammit. They needed to sort this all out. He’d get home and they’d sit on the patio with a beer. They could listen to music and recover their past—start over.

He took the exit and practiced his speech.
The woman waiting in Boise was an ex-girlfriend. She was leaving. I owed her a goodbye, but that’s all. Trust me, honey. Please. Talk to me.

There was a truck on the side of the road. He’d hate to be stranded out here in the middle of the night. There wasn’t anything open this side of Baxter.

He was past them before he registered the green Subaru hatchback shrouded in shadow and the pixie-short blond hair shining in the blaze of the headlights.

Swinging the bike in an arc, he coasted to a stop next to Maggie. “What’s going on?”

“You should take better care of her,” Carl snarled, lunging forward.

Maggie put a hand on Carl’s chest and smiled her plastic smile. “It’s nothing. I ran out of gas, and Carl was about to give me a ride.”

“No need for that. Climb on.”

Carl stepped between them, nudging her toward the passenger door. “She doesn’t have a helmet. It’ll be safer if I take her.”

Gray planted his feet on the asphalt. “I appreciate that, but she’s my wife, and I’m the one taking her home. You need to get used to that.” He shoved his helmet at her. “Maggie, get on the bike.”

Her body slid against his and he stilled as her fingers scorched paths on his skin even through his leather jacket. He didn’t know which was worse, feeling her hands on him or knowing she was uncomfortable touching him. He grabbed her hand and forced it around his waist. Then he sped away, forcing her to wrap herself tighter.