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I narrow my eyes at her. “Cute?”
“Yeah.” She grins and sashays over to pat my cheek. “You’re so cute.”
“Men aren’t cute, sweetheart.”
“No?” She widens those eyes in mock surprise. “What are you, then?”
“Manly. Rugged. Handsome.” I sniff and pound my chest with my fist. “Me man.”
“Okay, ruggedly handsome manly man, I have to go home. I’ll actually be able to do my laundry today.”
“You could have brought it here.”
“It’s fine.” She shrugs and pulls her suitcase behind her, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Maggie, you really need to learn to ask for help.”
“My thingy is being fixed today. I don’t need help.”
“Okay, stubborn girl. Let’s go.”
I take the suitcase from her, follow her out to my truck, load the case in the back, and we pull out of the driveway.
“Oh, do you mind if we swing by Maeve’s really quick? I know it’s out of the way, but I want to see my parents, and—”
“It’s fine,” I assure her and turn toward the cliffs where Maeve and Hunter live. Hunter’s in the driveway with Tom, both men with hands on their hips, and Tom’s face brightens when he sees Maggie get out of the truck.
“Well, it’s a fine morning when I get to see my wee daughter.” He kisses Maggie’s cheek. “How are you, then?”
“Fine. Great, actually. I know that the whole family will want to hear everything that happened, but I wanted to give you and Ma a quick rundown before I meet the hot water heater guy at my place.”
“Plumber,” I add helpfully.
“Well, come on up then,” Tom says, motioning for his daughter to go with him up to the apartment above the garage.
“I’ll be right back,” Maggie says to me and joins her dad.
“It went well?” Hunter asks.
“Better than expected,” I say with a nod. “What are you two up to?”
“Maeve wants a garden,” he says with a long-suffering sigh. “Not just a few flowerpots here and there, but entire flower beds. And she wants an herb garden. And a salsa garden. What the hell is a salsa garden?”
“I—”
“You know what? I don’t want to know. Tom and I were just looking around, trying to decide how to arrange things.”
“Shouldn’t Maeve do that?”
“She doesn’t want to be bothered with that part,” he replies. “I’m telling you, she got pregnant, and now she has the weirdest ideas. Just out of the blue! And don’t you dare tell her I said that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Does Maeve even like salsa?”
His jaw firms, and then he shakes his head and lets out a laugh. “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” Maggie announces as she comes hurrying around the garage.
“That was fast.”
“I filled them in really quick. I don’t want to miss the ho—the plumber.”
I shake Hunter’s hand, and then Maggie and I are back in my truck, headed to her little house. There’s no plumber truck in the drive when we get there, but there is a sedan that looks like a rental.
And on the porch, just getting ready to knock, is a woman I recognize.
“Who’s that?” Maggie asks.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Just when I thought there were no more secrets between us, I’m reminded that I was wrong.
And this one’s a doozy.
We hop out of the truck, and Maggie hurries up to the porch.
“Can I help you? Wait. You’re the woman from the pub. The one that creep was harassing.”
“Uh, yeah. Right.” She clears her throat. “Um…my name is Heather, and I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now.”
Maggie takes a step back and clenches her fists.
“I want you to leave.”
Chapter 12
~Maggie~
I don’t want this.
I do not want her here.
I back up until I bump against Cameron’s chest, and he grips my shoulders to steady me. I can’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears. My heart feels like it might pump out of my body.
This is worse than when I found out that Joey was dead.
“Easy,” Cam whispers in my ear. His hands skim up and down my arms soothingly. “You’re okay.”
“I want her gone,” I say as I shake my head in denial. After everything I’ve already gone through, this can’t be happening.
“Please,” Heather pleads. “I only want to talk to you. I didn’t know about you until about three months ago, I swear. He lied to me, too. I only want to talk.”
Heather’s eyes fill with tears.
“I came from Texas. I’ve been trying to reach you by phone, but you always hang up on me.”
“So, you just show up? Me hanging up the damn phone should have been a hint that I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Just give me fifteen minutes,” she says. “Please?”
“Let’s go inside and not give the neighbors anything to talk about,” Cameron suggests, leading me toward the front door. “I’ll escort her out after fifteen minutes if that’s what you want.”
