You Dropped a Blonde on Me (30 page)
Campbell pointed to his truck with a stern brook-no-bullshit finger. “In.”
Maxine shuffled away like a chastised kindergartner, pulling open the door and grabbing the high handle above the window to drag herself in. A glance at her hand, now swollen and bruised from the shot she’d taken at Finley, made her wince. Exactly what she didn’t need—a trip to the emergency room. A flex or two later, and at least it didn’t feel like anything was broken.
Campbell hauled himself into the truck, making no effort to hide his anger when he turned the key in the ignition. The rev of the engine rumbled as they left Cambridge Auto in a cloud of gravel and dust.
Her covert glance at him from beneath her eyelashes told her all she needed to know. Someone was in for a ration of shit. Someone named Max.
Campbell surprised her when he pulled off the highway and into a fast food parking lot. Setting the car in park, he swung in his seat to face her. “Hand,” was the gruff demand.
“Wait,” she protested with a weak mewl. “Let me explain—”
“Hand. In mine. Now.”
Oh, he was mad. Maybe one fight for today was enough. Maxine placed her hand in his. He turned it over in his palm, running his fingers along the knuckles and the bones, then placed it back in her lap. “So, is ultimate fighting how you plan to earn your living?”
Something deep inside her teetered then cracked, opening a crevasse of long-overdue emotions. Laughter spilled from her mouth in waves, leaving her gulping for air.
But Campbell wasn’t laughing.
Maxine winced. “S-s-s-sooooorry,” she snorted, distorting her face to thwart her fit of giggles.
His expression screamed “Shame on Max.” “Look, I get defending Connor. Finley really clocked him one, but you do realize he’ll most likely have that little boxing round on camera, don’t you? The dealership’s got them everywhere. What if he uses it against you to take custody of Connor? What if he does call the police?”
If only Finley were that passionate about his son. Connor was a possession. Something Finley owned. He’d never risk the chance that Connor would actually end up in his care by calling the police and filing charges against her. “I do know that, but you know what? I know Finley better than he knows himself. I know he won’t call the police. I also know he doesn’t really want Connor to live with him. He doesn’t want to help him with his homework and take him for physicals. He wants to own him. Connor’s a possession I’ve taken away, and Finley wants him back. But if he had him, he wouldn’t know what to do with him.” Maxine paused with a shuddering breath at this newest revelation.
Deep. How deep and introspective. Yet it was the truth. In her soul, marrow-deep, Maxine knew it was the truth, and for the first time today, she’d said it out loud. The thing she’d feared the most in her marriage.
She and Connor had been Finley’s property.
Finley only cared that she’d taken something he considered his away from him, because that had always been his game. And it hurt. It hurt for Connor, who was probably more aware of it than she’d ever been.
Tears stung Maxine’s eyes. Damn Finley Cambridge to a fiery hell for not being the kind of father she wanted him to be. “Okay, so it was wrong to show up like the stereotypical scorned ex-wife and blow a gasket. But if I’d gone the route of calling my lawyer, I’d have gotten the runaround, because, let’s face it, my lawyer’s not worth the money he bribed his way through Cracker Jack U with. I know it; everyone remotely related to this mess knows it. I can’t afford a better attorney. I can’t afford the bad one I have now. In light of that, and the realization that Finley would just grease the appropriate palms to keep this on the down low, I punched him. Right in that smug, lying, cheating face of his. I do not regret it. Do. Not. Not right now anyway. He’s never hit Connor. Now maybe he won’t ever again.”
“I get your anger. You deserve it. You just maybe shouldn’t express it in a public setting.”
Maxine looked down at her thighs with dismay. “And probably not in my mother’s borrowed bathing suit, huh?”
“I think the fireworks across the hip give you a crazy-bag-lady look. All you needed was a shopping cart and some voices in your head,” he teased. “Kinda blows your credibility.”
With a tentative hand, she reached out to touch his, forging ahead with the impulse to feel his skin despite the zing skipping through her veins at their minimal contact. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, and thanks for standing up for me.”
Campbell finally smiled, gripping two of her fingers. “He’s some piece of work, your almost ex, huh?”
Her heart tugged with lingering sadness for what would always be lost to her son. “I don’t know how I never saw that side of him before. Correction, I saw it, but through rose-colored glasses. I guess I just never expected he’d treat Connor and me with such cold calculation. And I’ve witnessed how cutthroat Finley can be. I saw him do it all the time with business partners, investors. But when he did it to me, it knocked the wind right out of my sails. Like it came out of nowhere. I don’t know why I thought we wouldn’t be considered ‘Nothing personal, it’s just business,’ like everyone else. Nowadays, I look back and can’t figure out how, in my deluded mind, I managed to make him someone he wasn’t. How do you suppose I created a person that never existed?”
“Maybe you didn’t consider it because you’re not his business partner, Max. You were his
wife
. He was who you wanted him to be in your head. That was good enough for a while, I guess. Sometimes, time and distance are all the perspective you need to see the real deal.”
wife
. He was who you wanted him to be in your head. That was good enough for a while, I guess. Sometimes, time and distance are all the perspective you need to see the real deal.”
She shrugged her shoulders, but her smile was teasing. “Or a good right hook.”
“That was some shot. Maybe you really should consider ultimate fighting.” Campbell brought her injured hand to his lips, dropping a light kiss on her fingertips. She reached out her other hand to just take a quick skim across his cheek. Yet, she lingered. Right there in broad daylight.
His arm went around her, pulling her to him until their bodies were almost length to length. His mouth covered hers, sweet at first, increasing the pressure of his lips when her hands went to his thick hair. Tongues touched in silken rasps of heat. Maxine moaned into his mouth when he swept a hand along her hip, parting her lips to kiss her more deeply. Her nipples grew tight and uncomfortable in the sloppy top of her bathing suit.
She wanted him to touch her again, in every place imaginable. She wanted to touch him, too, along the hard width of his chest, brush every rung of his abs with her tongue. Maxine allowed herself the luxury of running her hands along his muscled back, her hips beginning a rhythm familiar but new with this luscious man who made her want to just let go. Even if it was just for a little while. Heat raged in her belly, visions of Campbell driving himself into her willing body flashed before her eyes.
Laughter outside his truck broke them apart, jarring them both.
Yet that vision had felt so right.
Meaning it couldn’t be trusted.
Obviously, her judgment was askew. She couldn’t trust herself to see things for what they really were after what she’d just discovered about Finley’s relationship with Connor. Something she should have seen long ago instead of making excuses for him.
Maxine pulled away first, putting her hands back into her own lap, looking away from him and out the window when Campbell turned the key in the ignition to take her home.
The weight of her realization began to sink in, leaving her more determined than ever to avoid that kind of heartbreak.
For right now, that meant avoiding Campbell Barker.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives and on more sucking it up: Apologies—get used to them. You’ ll make many in your journey. So many that you and the majority of people who inhabit the continent of Australia don’t have enough fingers and toes to keep track of them all. In fact, for all the apologizing you’ll do for your erratic, ridiculous behaviors, why not just write out a generic plea for forgiveness? It’s not only useful as a time-saver but easy on your memorization skills.
Max blew her hair from her eyes with a weary sigh as she looked across the table at the row of volunteer seniors on the dance committee, all with their own ideas on exactly how the end-of-summer dance should go down.
They’d spent many an afternoon here at the rec center and in the tiny office the village had given her, ironing out details. Each time Maxine thought she had everything together, one of them threw a glitch in her plans. Today’s debate was music. “So how do we feel about Mr. Emmerson’s son’s band, folks? We have to make a decision today.”
Mr. Emmerson, spry and with an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Rogers, looked to his fellow seniors with hopeful eyes.
Maxine cringed on his behalf. After the grumblings she’d heard about Mr. Emmerson and his son’s singing, the vote wasn’t likely going to go his way.
“I say we go with a DJ. It’ll save us money in the long run and besides, his son’s band sucks,” Grace Waller said with no evident care for Mr. Emmerson’s feelings.
“Now, Grace,” Maxine chided good-naturedly, though at this point in her working life, she really just wanted to tear her hair out. Wrangling this bunch had been like trying to corral greased pigs. “Okay, guys. How about we treat each other more kindly? It’s not nice to hurt a fellow committee member’s feelings—even if what we truly feel isn’t especially kind.”
Grace harrumphed in Maxine’s direction. “Don’t you go waving that psychobabble at me, young lady. I’m too old for nice. We put a lot of work into this dance on short notice, too much work to be forced to listen to Palmer’s kid screech into a microphone. He’s no Tom Jones.”
Nora Ledbetter slapped at Grace’s shoulder, sending a shy smile of apology to Mr. Emmerson. “Oh, hush, Grace. He wasn’t that bad.”
“Hah! I nearly ate my fork when he hit that high note, singing that Air-eee-oh-smith song at your granddaughter’s wedding.”
“Aerosmith,” Maxine corrected, “and that’s enough, Grace. There are better ways to go about this than the path you’ve chosen. So let’s move on.” Maxine tapped her notepad, full of items that still needed dealing with. “We’re two days away from liftoff, and we have a million little things to handle. In light of the fact that we haven’t been able to cast a unanimous vote for music, I’m taking matters into my own hands and making the choice for you.” Because she could. Because if she didn’t, they’d drive her right to the funny farm in one of their efficient Smart cars.
“But that’s not fair!” Mr. Emmerson said with a frown.
Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “Fair, schmair, Palmer Emmerson. Your kid can’t sing, and like hell all these dues I pay to live in this village are going to help fund his caterwauling! I was damn near deaf by the time that wedding was over. As Simon Cowell would say,” Grace adopted a British accent, “it was like listening to cats dipped in acid.”
Maxine popped up out of her seat, letting the notepad flop to the table to exhibit her exasperation. “All right, ladies and gentleman, I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? First off, Mr. Emmerson, I really think everyone in your age group would far more enjoy some Mitch Miller to, say, Boy George’s ‘Karma Chameleon’ or ‘Safety Dance,’ don’t you?” she coaxed. “C’mon now, you know it’s true. How about we look at it as more of a generation gap than major suckitude?”
Mr. Emmerson pouted.
“Secondly, I have a dinner date, and we’re getting nowhere fast, so let’s wrap this up. I’ll handle the music, and that’s that.” She waggled her fingers at them in the direction of the rec center door, forcing her umpteenth patient smile of the day. “I’m officially calling an end to this meeting due to cloudy with a chance of crabby. So go grab some dinner, and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”
Maxine began to herd them toward the door while they grumbled and she soothed hurt feelings.
Nora patted her on the arm. “You’re a good girl to put up with us, Maxine. I know we could try the patience of Job himself when we get to going round.”
And all twelve apostles, Maxine thought, but then she stopped her disgruntled thoughts short. She was grateful for this job. No amount of surly seniors with difficult dispositions, set in their ways, could ever change how thankful she was to get up every morning at seven sharp, shower, put on some makeup, fluff her hair, and head to the Leisure Village South offices where she spent her days as of late.
The seniors kept her on her toes. They kept her mind busy while she budgeted and researched new programs and activities to keep them energetic participants in life. She loved working with them—even on their most difficult days.
She loved that Jack Gorman, Leisure Village South’s answer to the Bon Appetit Channel’s
Mitch in the Kitchen
, sexy over-fifty-five grin and all, had baked her cranberry muffins every Thursday for the last three weeks. She loved that Mitzi Mathews had pitched a new yoga class with her left leg wrapped around her neck to demonstrate to Maxine how beneficial it would be for the over-sixty crowd to learn, among other things, the “Eka Pada Sirsasana pose.”
Mitch in the Kitchen
, sexy over-fifty-five grin and all, had baked her cranberry muffins every Thursday for the last three weeks. She loved that Mitzi Mathews had pitched a new yoga class with her left leg wrapped around her neck to demonstrate to Maxine how beneficial it would be for the over-sixty crowd to learn, among other things, the “Eka Pada Sirsasana pose.”
She loved them because they made her feel useful, worthy, alive.
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