George nudged her hand.
“Still, if he’s going to make the effort, there should be a hot meal waiting for him. And a fresh batch of cookies, I think. Or even better, a pie. Everyone likes pie, right?”
George wagged his tail.
“Exactly. It’s the least I can do.”
Leaving George to nap in solitude, Maggie pulled herself up, now a woman on a mission. Ignoring the ache in her head she made her way into the kitchen to assemble everything she would need. If she moved slowly, and was very careful with her movements, it wasn’t too bad. But if she wanted to have everything ready by dinner time, she was going to have to get started.
*
Five minutes into his drive back to the Pub, Michael was tempted to turn the car around. Ten to one she was already off the sofa, doing something she shouldn’t. He never should have told her he would be back. If he was smart, he would have simply left and called later to say he was swinging by to check in on her. Or better yet, called her once he was already on his way. That way she could have spent the day resting, believing that there was no reason she should do anything but.
He forced himself to keep going. Turning back now would only have negative consequences, and that was unacceptable. No, he had to trust that she would take care of herself. She was a grown woman, after all. She had managed most of her life without him. Surely she’d be fine for a few hours.
Michael jacked the heat up in the Jag, appreciating the heated leather seats. The temperature was dropping quickly, no doubt a result of the front that was rolling in. From the moment he had stepped outside of Maggie’s cozy farmhouse, the icy cold wind blasted into him, but he suspected the sudden chill had less to do with the weather than it did with the separation from the unusual woman who had captured his instant and complete attention.
Maggie. Even her name strummed a chord inside of him. It fit, just like everything else about her. Her humility, her sense of humor, her willful stubbornness. Michael reached out, allowing his fingers to skim over the plastic Rubbermaid container filled with the chocolate chip cookies she’d insisted he take with him. Warmth radiated outward from the center of his chest, and it wasn’t because of the heater.
The slightest hint of Maggie’s scent remained in the car. He took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs as he tried to identify it. It was unique; soft, yet potent, with undertones of warmth and freshness. It conjured images of sunshine and heated embraces, homemade cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate with a touch of mint. Scents that didn’t seem to belong together, yet formed a perfect harmony, as complex as the woman herself.
And she was complex, he was certain of that. Last night she had been a sexy harem girl; this morning, a fresh-faced farm girl. She’d played it cool and wary, but her racing pulse and dilating eyes belied her interest. She was obviously intelligent, but incredibly obstinate whenever he suggested professional medical care.
Michael was more than interested. He was intrigued.
When he pulled into the private lot behind the Pub nearly a half an hour later, he hadn’t managed to come up with any answers, but he would. He glanced at his watch. Ten a.m. He had told her he’d stop by around six. Only eight hours to go.
“Where have you been?” Shane asked suspiciously when Michael entered through the private back entrance into the large Pub kitchen. Shane gripped a mug of coffee like a lifeline. He was unshaven, and his eyes were a little bloodshot, but otherwise he didn’t look too bad. The fact that he was alone in the kitchen at this hour spoke volumes. If Callaghan tradition held, the rest of them probably wouldn’t make an appearance until noon at least.
Without going into too much detail, Michael explained about Maggie’s accident.
“Shit. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Michael pictured Maggie as he had left her – snuggled into the oversized couch with her cheeks pink and her green eyes sparkling. He rubbed the center of his chest absently when that same warming sensation he felt in the car earlier started up again.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
Shane looked horrified, backing toward the stairs that led up to their private living quarters. “You’re smiling. Fuck, Mick. Not you, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shane groaned, mumbling something about ‘another one biting the dust’ as he made his way up the stairs, leaving Michael grinning as he started pulling ingredients from the fridge and cupboards.
Chapter Eight