Michael breathed a sigh of relief when he brought the truck to a stop in front of Maggie’s house. The snow was already piling up in drifts along the porch. The weather didn’t bother him as much as the thought of breaking his promise to Maggie. At least he was only a few minutes later than he’d said he’d be.
He’d barely stepped one foot on the porch step when the front door flew open. Maggie stood there, her red hair fanning around her like some kind of ruby halo, her green eyes wide and filled with – worry? Michael felt that odd tingling in his chest again.
He offered an apologetic smile as she ushered him inside. “Sorry I’m late.”
Chapter Nine
She’d been watching the news reports on and off all day, waiting for the call she was certain would come, informing her that he wouldn’t be coming after all. But he hadn’t called, and she vacillated between worry and hope that he might actually try to make it and certain disappointment that he wouldn’t.
As the clock had drew closer to six, Maggie cleaned up the kitchen and went to the living room to wait. The large window looked out onto the driveway, now already covered with several inches of heavy, wet snow. It was dark as pitch beyond the meager reach of the porch light; all Maggie could see were the wicked whirls of white whipping around the porch railings.
Minutes ticked by, the howl of the wind and the rattle of the windows doing nothing to ease her anxiety. As weather and road conditions rapidly worsened, the certainty that Michael would not be coming grew. Even George was anxious. He didn’t particularly like storms, and stuck close by Maggie.
For the hundredth time, Maggie looked at the silent phone, then picked up the receiver to make sure she still had a dial tone. Maybe she should call the Pub and tell Michael not to bother. She would have felt horrible if something had happened to him while he was trying to come to check on her.
Assuming he still planned on coming, that was.
It seemed like an eternity later when she finally saw the slash of powerful headlights cutting through the darkness. With a rush of profound relief, Maggie limped her way to the front door as fast as her aching body would allow.
“You came,” she said in a sudden rush of breath. It was about all she could manage as she helped him off with his coat. Michael had come, just like he said he would, despite the weather, and he was safe. Maggie didn’t know whether to hug him or beat him over the head with a log from the fireplace for risking the treacherous roads.
“You doubted me?” he asked, half of his mouth tilted upward in that crooked smile.
*
The smile she returned lit a fire in the center of his chest. And the look in her eyes – the one that told him how genuinely happy she was to see him when she clearly expected not to – made him infinitely glad he’d left early. Any later and the roads might have been closed. That wouldn’t have stopped him from keeping his promise, but it would have slowed him down considerably.
“I guess I shouldn’t have, huh.”
“Never doubt me, Maggie,” he said, his blue eyes intense as he gazed down at her. Her lips parted slightly in response, and Michael fought a very strong urge to kiss her right there in the foyer.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Impulsively she took his hand and led him toward the kitchen. Warmth spread through him from the point of contact. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.” It would have been rude, he thought, to say that his mouth was literally watering from the heavenly aromas that hit him as soon as she’d opened the door, rivaled only by Maggie’s own soft scent. “But first things first. Sit down and let me take a look at you.”
Maggie flashed her green eyes at him, the hint of a pout on her face, but she did as he asked, and Michael silently acknowledged the small victory. Sitting dutifully at the kitchen table, she allowed him to examine her. Her eyes never left his, making it difficult for him to concentrate. Something told him she knew this. But when she leaned slightly forward and he realized she was inhaling discreetly, he almost lost his train of thought completely.
“Do I pass?” she asked when he finished.
He hesitated to answer. On the surface everything appeared alright, but something was nagging at him. It was more of a gut feeling than anything he could put his finger on, and Callaghan men put a hell of a lot of trust in their instincts.
“How’s the headache?”
“Not too bad.” The way she averted her eyes led him to believe she wasn’t being entirely truthful, and the feeling in his gut intensified.
“You should be about due for another dose of meds.”
“I’m fine.”
He sensed the truth with such certainty it was almost scary. “Maggie, you did take the pain pills I left for you this morning, didn’t you?”
She stood and walked over to the stove where a huge Dutch oven sat, her limp no less pronounced than it had been this morning. Had she stayed off of it as he advised, there should have been some improvement.
“I made some stew. Would you like some?”