You sure do, Maggie thought ruefully as she hung up the phone and turned her attention back to Ben. He’d moved across the room and now stood in front of the television, oddly fascinated by the Cary Grant photos Summer’s grandmother had mounted on the wall.
“Apparently I now have the day off tomorrow.”
He turned around, his features revealing nothing. “Looks like fate decided to step in.”
“Fate,” she repeated, unable to stop that mistrustful cloud swirling in the forefront of her brain.
“So does this mean the trip is on?”
She took great pleasure in bursting that balloon of hope floating around in his gaze. “Nope.”
Pop. The balloon dissolved into an annoyed glimmer. “Why the hell not?”
“I volunteer four days a week, in the afternoons. Fridays and Saturdays are two of those days. It’s a requirement for my college program.”
His broad shoulders sagged with disappointment. He looked really cute when he was dejected, but Maggie refused to let that puppy-dog gaze get to her. In fact, this was a conversation she’d had so many times, it was almost soothing. The men in her life made demands, her schedule got in the way, and they left in a huff. It was a routine now, and the one thing she always gained the most comfort from was her routine.
She softened her tone. “You could still take that trip to…wherever it is you wanted us to go.”
“I guess you’ll never know,” he muttered. For the first time since she’d met him, he’d lost that confident aura.
The annoying blinking light on the answering machine flashed in the corner of her eye. “Hold on. You can continue being mad at me in a second,” she teased.
She pressed the play button and a familiar female voice filled the room. “Maggie, it’s Gloria. I really hope you get this message before you show up for your shift tomorrow.”
Gloria Rodriguez was the facilitator of the Broger Center, and the second Maggie heard her soft Hispanic voice an uneasy feeling climbed up her throat.
“Libby Martin, you know, the little girl with the freckles? Well, she’s come down with the chicken pox. I know you haven’t had any contact with her lately, but some of the other kids have and they’re showing symptoms too. So if you’ve never had the chicken pox, I’d advise that you don’t come in tomorrow.”
Damn you, Fate.
“Actually, don’t come for at least a week, just to be safe. The infectious period is about five days, but chicken pox could be dangerous for adults. So stay away if you’ve never had it, kiddo. Call me to let me know.”
Maggie listened to the soft click, then the automated voice announced she had no other messages.
“So…just for my own curiosity,” Ben began, his husky voice coming out in a soft drawl, “have you ever had the chicken pox, sweetheart?”
She made an inaudible noise, and then set her jaw so tight her teeth hurt.
“What was that?” he prompted. “I couldn’t make out your answer.”
She slowly opened her mouth, relaxing her muscles with a long, calming breath. “No, Ben, I can’t say I’ve ever had the chicken pox.”
He made a clucking noise with his tongue. “What a shame.”
She met his gaze and saw the amusement dancing around in those striking blue eyes. “I’m sure Fate would agree with you.”
His lips twitched. “So how long will it take you to pack?”
Chapter Eight
Whoever said fate was a cruel mistress had no idea what they were talking about, because apparently fate was very much on Ben’s side. He may have gone behind Maggie’s back to get her out of work, but he’d totally forgotten about her volunteer work. Fortunately, fate stepped in after she’d dropped that I-volunteer-four-days-a-week bomb in his lap. Okay, well, maybe not fate exactly, but an itchy childhood ailment that had irritated him immensely when he was six years old.
Gotta love the chicken pox.
He was actually surprised Maggie hadn’t put up more of a fight after her tidy little schedule shot up in flames. He’d expected her to, but she’d yet again impressed him with her graceful admission of defeat.
Instead of hurling more excuses at him, she’d calmly walked into her bedroom and packed an overnight bag, and now they were seated in the back of a cab headed to the airport. Much to Ben’s delight, he had two whole nights to make her realize he was exactly what she needed.
Call him arrogant, call him a presumptuous ass, but he’d spent enough time with Maggie Reilly to know the woman needed a wake-up call.
From him.
Who are you really helping here?
Ben bit the inside of his cheek, momentarily startled by the little accusation in his head.
Maggie. He was helping Maggie, right?