Maggie's Way Read online

  But thinking about Maggie was not good. Especially since it looked as though she was about to become a client.

  He jabbed the remote, thinking the news or even a sitcom rerun would be preferable to thinking about one very sassy little makeover specialist. Five minutes and twenty channels later, he was still thinking about her. He’d also finished his dinner and was halfway through his second soda. Maybe he should take a look at the mail.

  Phone bill.

  Credit card application.

  Something addressed to “Occupant.” He tossed that one straight into the trash.

  An ivory vellum envelope. His mother’s trademark stationery, addressed in his sister’s handwriting. He stared at it, trying to figure out what Leslie might have sent him.

  An invitation to someone’s birthday? No. His grandmother’s birthday was in the fall. So was Leslie’s. His mother had just had hers and if there’d been a celebration, he hadn’t been invited. He’d sent flowers, though, and a week later had received a stilted thank-you note—in an envelope exactly like this one.

  So what could this be? He picked up the envelope, turned it over and opened the flap.

  It was an invitation to his sister’s wedding. He sure couldn’t have predicted that.

  The inner envelope was addressed to “Nick and Escort.” Great. They expected him to subject a date to a Durrance family function. On the bright side, they didn’t want him to be in the wedding party. And if he worked at it, maybe he could come up with an excuse not to go at all.

  He read the card. Leslie was to marry Gerald Bedford III. The third in a succession of stuffed shirts. Nick had only seen them together twice and that was all it had taken to know this was not a match made in heaven. It was, however, the blending of two prominent Collingwood Station families. The wedding would be some shindig and it was taking place three weeks from Saturday.

  He slid the invitation under a magnet on the fridge door. That’s when he noticed the light flashing on the answering machine.

  Three messages.

  One from a subcontractor.

  One from Leslie, sweetly asking if he’d received the invitation, saying how much she looked forward to having him there on her special day and apologizing for the short notice but it was the only time she and Gerald could clear their calendars and the only time the country club was available and blah, blah, blah.

  Poor Leslie. She was too much like their mother for her own good, except she didn’t nag as much. Maybe if he’d been around more after their father died, she wouldn’t have been so influenced by the family matriarch.

  The third message was from the matriarch herself, asking him to inform her, at his earliest convenience, as to the name of his date so she could finalize the seating plan and place cards.

  Oh, Mother. Would you like that in triplicate?

  He punched the delete button, unfolded the newspaper and flipped it open. What he needed was a distraction. A good story about an armed robbery. He turned the page. Murder and mayhem. Another page. The daily horoscope. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist scanning the list until he came to Capricorn.

  Your life will take a surprising turn today. Whether it’s business or personal, roll with the punches and you’ll reap the rewards. And if you go the extra mile, there could even be a happily-ever-after in your future.

  Roll with the punches? Reap the rewards? Who writes this stuff? Come to think of it, though, there had been a few surprises.

  Maggie Meadowcroft.

  Allison Peters Fontaine.

  Leslie’s wedding.

  As for rolling with the punches, he’d been doing that all his life. But happily-ever-after? Maggie had been the day’s only prospect. She was new in town so she wouldn’t have heard the mostly unfounded rumors about his bachelor lifestyle. But she also believed in the zodiac and in getting signs from dead people, so in spite of the crazy attraction he’d felt for her, Maggie Meadowcroft was not the woman for him.

  So much for horoscopes.

  * * *

  MAGGIE SPRAWLED ON the floor of her aunt’s guest room with four of Collingwood High’s yearbooks spread open in front of her. Nick’s freshman photograph had made her laugh. He had a bad haircut, a Star Wars T-shirt and a shaky smile. Over the next few years, an interesting transformation had taken place and by his senior year, Nick Durrance was no laughing matter.

  He had probably been the high-school crush of every girl at Collingwood High. He would have been the boy they wanted to go to senior prom with and he definitely would have been the boy their fathers wanted them to stay away from.

  Allison Fontaine had been Allison Peters in those days. The girl with movie-star hair and a perfect smile. The girl every other girl wanted to be. Their senior write-ups said that Allison’s favorite pastime was “taming Nick.” Nick’s was “breaking hearts.”

  According to what Allison had said that afternoon, some things never changed. Except the part about her taming Nick, of course. The whole world could see that Allison and John were happily married and very much in love, with a gracious home and two adorable children. They had everything they wanted. And Maggie doubted that John had ever needed taming.

  She leaned in for a closer look at Nick. Aunt Margaret’s pearls swung forward and she caught them, liking the feel of their smooth coolness between her fingers.

  At some point, the sci-fi fan who’d played trombone in the school band had been replaced by a rebel without a cause. If what she’d seen today was anything to go by, the defiance in those dark blue eyes had intensified with time. What had happened during Nick’s high-school years? Had his father’s death been solely responsible for the transformation?

  She looked at Allison’s picture again. Maggie hadn’t been cool enough or pretty enough to be a cheerleader or prom queen like Allison but that hadn’t stopped her from having a wild crush on the hottest guy in school. At the time she’d have given anything to have her heart broken by him. That hadn’t happened and if she was careful, it wouldn’t happen with Nick, either.

  Her family had always told her that she had a gift for being able to see inside people and to bring out the best in them. Sometimes it was frightening. People kept some scary stuff hidden inside. Maybe... Now, there was an interesting thought... Maybe she could help Nick.

  Hmm.

  “What do you think, Aunt Margaret?”

  She waited for an answer, but either her aunt had no comment or she was preoccupied with something else.

  Maggie pondered the thought some more and before she knew it, all kinds of ideas were tumbling through her head. Helping Nick discover himself and bringing out all his positive traits was definitely something she could do. Once she got to know his family—and since this was such a small town, their paths were bound to cross—she’d have even more insight into what was keeping him from being happy.

  Yes, her plan sounded better and better the more she thought about it.

  Nick Durrance, tortured soul. In need of help.

  Maggie Meadowcroft, makeover specialist. To the rescue.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEXT MORNING Maggie was up at dawn, trying to organize her ideas into a coherent state. Nick had said he’d be here “first thing” to work out an estimate for the renovations. They hadn’t had the best introduction yesterday. He’d made it clear that he thought she was a flake, and he certainly wasn’t the first. She knew her ideas seemed a little strange to some people, but she was more sensible than most gave her credit for being. Really, she was.

  She usually didn’t care what people thought but she wanted to convince Nick that she knew what she was doing. She needed him to trust her because, whether he knew it or not, they had a lot in common. He didn’t conform to others’ expectations any better than she did.

  He was a Capricorn. She was a Gemini.

  Of course, he was a little more down-to-earth and practical. She could be impulsive, even a little rash at times.

  While he was absolutely gorgeous, she wasn
’t exactly the kind of woman who turned heads. Men like Nick were never interested in women like her. The boys in high school had preferred girls like Allison, and it was something they didn’t overcome with age. Of course, Nick didn’t need to be attracted to her for this makeover to work, but it would help if he liked her.

  Or at least trusted her.

  A little.

  Since yesterday afternoon she’d spent way too much time thinking about him. Studying his yearbook pictures had taken her back to her own high-school days, pining over Jeremy What’s-his-name and settling for being Albert “Einstein” Fedoruk’s prom date. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with poor Albert? He was now a NASA scientist, which was way more amazing than anything anyone else from her graduating class had done. She had no idea what had become of Jeremy but she hoped he was happier than Nick.

  Last night she’d fallen asleep with Nick Durrance on her mind and he’d still been there when she woke up this morning. In between, she’d had one of those dreams that was made up of a collage of bizarre events. Jeremy inviting her to the prom, Albert working on the renovations and a shadowy, ever-present Nick Durrance watching from the sidelines.

  She wasn’t even going to try to analyze that. Instead she poured herself a second cup of peppermint tea and thought ahead to the renovations.

  Once it was fixed up, this stately old home that had been in her family for three generations would give tons of credibility to her and her business. At least she hoped it would. She’d been in town almost a week and had the impression that the prim and proper people of Collingwood Station thought she was a little odd, even for a city girl. Of course, they didn’t know the half of it, so she still needed all the credibility she could get.

  Someone knocked at the front door.

  Nick!

  She’d kept the door locked on purpose so he’d have to wait until she opened it for him. There’d be no surprises this morning. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

  Okay, maybe just one surprise.

  Nick stood on the front porch with a giant schoolboy grin on his face and a huge basket of fruit in his arms.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I see you packed a lunch.”

  His laugh sounded a little nervous. “I guess it’s a housewarming gift. I stopped at Donaldson’s Deli for coffee and this was sitting on the counter. I figured you can always eat what you don’t use for makeup, or whatever.”

  A huge pineapple sat in the middle of the basket, surrounded by peaches, kiwis, strawberries, oranges, a mango, even a passion fruit, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a giant purple bow.

  The tears that puddled on her lower eyelids made everything go blurry.

  “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

  She shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday, after she’d become emotional about her aunt, he’d almost certainly left thinking she was a bit of a nutcase. This morning she’d been determined to show him that she could be a conventional businesswoman with a well-thought-out business plan, and here she was getting emotional over a basket of fruit.

  He finally broke the awkward silence. “It’s all organic.”

  “How did you know I use organic ingredients?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  She finally remembered her manners. “Please come in. And thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

  He stepped inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday—white T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Today he also had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a tape measure hooked on his belt.

  She took the basket from him. “I’ll just put this in the kitchen.” Then she walked down the hallway, thinking how good Nick was going to look in a tool belt, all rugged and workmanlike.

  You’re crazy, she told herself. All construction workers wear tool belts and Nick will look just like any other man on a construction site.

  Not.

  That’s beside the point, she told herself. You have to be professional.

  She took a deep cleansing breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind by picturing herself in a field of wildflowers.

  It didn’t work.

  Nick stood in the midst of all those flowers.

  Her eyes popped open. No way, Maggie Meadowcroft. This has to stop. She absolutely could not let herself imagine Nick in that field, or anywhere else.

  No matter how much she wanted to.

  She closed her eyes again. Okay, maybe one little peek.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Her eyes flew open.

  Nick stood in the doorway, holding her sketches and looking a little puzzled about finding her standing in a trance in the middle of the kitchen.

  A wave of heat flashed across her face. So much for being professional. “You weren’t interrupting anything,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

  “I see.”

  He didn’t say that he wondered what she’d been thinking about. He didn’t have to.

  “You have sketches. They’re very good,” he said. “Did you draw them?”

  “The sketches? Oh, yes. I wanted to, you know, to get an idea of what should go where and how everything will look when it’s finished and...” Maggie, stop babbling.

  If he thought she was out of her mind, he was too nice to let on. “These are very good drawings.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Maybe you should have been an architect.”

  Maggie Meadowcroft, Architect? “I don’t think so. Too many rules and regulations and building codes.”

  “You don’t like rules?”

  “Rules are fine but I’m not always very good at following them.”

  His mouth spread into a wry smile. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “So you think you’ve already got me figured out?” she asked.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But take yesterday, for example. You were wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and pearls.” His eyes now held a spark of mischief. “When everyone knows the rules of fashion dictate that rubies should be worn with tie-dye.”

  She did like a man with a sense of humor. “And how do you know so much about these things?”

  The flash of humor disappeared and a hint of the bitterness she’d detected yesterday crept back into his voice. “My mother has single-handedly ensured the success of the jewelry industry.”

  Interesting. “Those were Aunt Margaret’s pearls that I was wearing. I’ve never had any real jewelry so I wanted to know how it felt to wear them.”

  “And? How did they make you feel?”

  She remembered exactly how she’d felt. “Like a princess. There’s something elegant and understated about pearls.”

  “But you’re not wearing them this morning.”

  “No. They don’t go with faded denim, either.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Princesses must wear blue jeans sometimes.”

  She tried to strike a regal pose. “Of course we do, but we prefer to wear diamonds with denim.”

  “I see. I’ll remember that.”

  And she had a feeling he would. She also liked the way his smile made her feel a little light-headed. It sure made it difficult to be professional, though. “You must be very busy, running a big construction company and all. Maybe we should talk about the work that has to be done on the house.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “It’s herbal.”

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. Do you have any coffee?”

  “Sorry.” But she made a mental note to buy some and figure out how to make it.

  He studied the two sketches in his hand and glanced at the others spread on the kitchen table. “You’ve drawn quite a few different floor plans. Is there one you prefer?”

  “Yes. Actually, I like the two you’re holding but I can’t make up my mind which layout will work best.”

  “Why do
n’t you explain what you want and we’ll take it from there.”

  She knew exactly what she wanted. His hands were strong and tanned and rough from work. After experimenting with several essential oils and plant extracts, she had found the perfect blend for softening the skin and relaxing tired muscles.

  Would he think she was too forward if she suggested a hand massage?

  She looked up, straight into those luscious dark eyes. Yes, he probably would.

  Take it slow, Maggie, she chided herself. Once you’ve hired Nick, you’ll have all the time you need to get him to loosen up and reconnect with his feelings. “I was thinking I’d like to convert the living room into an area for doing hair and facials and set up a massage table in the dining room. What do you think?”

  “You do massage?” he asked.

  It was a loaded question. “Therapeutic massage. It helps people relax and improves the circulation.”

  “Right.” He lowered his head and studied her drawings some more, almost as though he was seeing them for the first time.

  “So what do you think?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  She pointed to the sketch. “About this arrangement?”

  “Oh. Right. Well, it does create an open floor plan but it has a few drawbacks. Do you want a sink here?” he asked, pointing to a corner of the living room.

  “Yes. I thought that would be the best place for it. Is that a problem?”

  “Not really a problem. Just more expensive. The existing plumbing is at this side of the house.” He indicated the kitchen and bathroom. “It would be a lot easier to tie into that if we install the sink in the dining room.”

  She hadn’t given that any thought but she could see it made sense. “Is there a big difference in cost?”

  He named a figure and she sucked in a startled breath. “I see. My preference was to put the massage table in the living room, anyway, but with all those windows it’s not very private.”

  He seemed to give that some thought. “We have some old stained-glass windows left over from our last renovation. The owner didn’t want them but they seemed too valuable to throw out so we put them in the warehouse. We might be able to make those work. Should give you lots of privacy and still let in plenty of light.”