Читать книгу The Secret Wife - Carrie Weaver - Страница 9

THE MAN HESITATED, then held the lobby door for Maggie. His tight expression said he wasn’t sure she merited the courtesy.

Maggie held her head high as she passed. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.

“Where’s your car?” he asked. His long strides put him ahead of her in no time.

“East lot. Why?”

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got a car seat, I presume? My truck isn’t exactly equipped for kids.”

“Oh.”

To his credit, he didn’t even blink a few minutes later when they arrived at the poor, tired Toyota with the mismatched fenders. He simply waited while she tried to get David into his car seat.

But the baby had fury-induced rigor mortis. His face was squinched up and red; his arms and legs were stiff as boards.

“Do you have any more crackers?” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she begged for food. No decent mother let her child get this hungry.

He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”

“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”

“Not on your life.”

She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.

“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.

David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.

Or was that simply what she wanted?

They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.

The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.

The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.

“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.

“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”

“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”

“Nope. Couple miles.”

“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.

He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.

He shook his head and grunted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”

“I don’t need gas—”

“Like hell you don’t.”

“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”

“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”

Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.

She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”

“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”

J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.

Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.

Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.

He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.

As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.

The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.

Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.

Nope. This woman was different.

But the same.

Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.

J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.

“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”

David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.

The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.

Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.

“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.

Nothing, just more screaming.

He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.

That only made the kid madder.

Then inspiration hit.

He ripped open the box of baby biscuits and offered him one.

The kid gave him a look that said, “It’s about time, stupid,” and snatched the cookie from his hand.

Furiously gumming the goody, he surveyed J.D. with interest. Waving a little fist, his squirming changed to a happy wriggle. Legs and arms bounced, never still. David cooed his approval.

It kinda made J.D. feel good.

He twisted and withdrew from the back seat, sure he’d need to see a chiropractor the next morning. Straightening, he grinned at the woman.

“I got him to stop crying.”

She nodded her head but didn’t meet his eyes.

His accomplishment left her monumentally unimpressed.

Silence surrounded them as she replaced the nozzle. Crickets tuned up for their evening encore.

Then she looked up and met his gaze.

Something about her eyes disturbed him. They were green. Deep. Sincere.

“Thank you.”

He grunted some sort of reply, Lord only knew what, and got back in the car.

They headed to the diner in silence, broken occasionally by a contented gibberish from the baby.

When they pulled into the parking lot, he gestured toward the back seat. “There’re diapers in the bag, if you think he might need a change.”

The woman looked away for a moment, brushed her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged.

Charity. Might as well get it over with in one big horse pill to swallow. He didn’t like to give it, couldn’t imagine taking it and completely understood how hard it was to accept. For a gold digger, Maggie seemed unusually sensitive about asking for help.

“There’s formula and some other stuff, too.”

Her eyes locked with his, her pretty little mouth turned down at the corners.

He held up a hand forestalling her protest.

“Now that’s the way we are around here. Southern hospitality, nothing more. And you can pay me back when you find your debit card.”

“Yes. I’ll pay you back.”

A cold day in hell.

“Why don’t you change the baby. I’ll go on ahead and order us some food. Burgers okay?”

She nodded. He watched as she flipped the seat forward, contorted her spine and reached for the car-seat latch. Her faded T-shirt inched up toward her ribs. A ribbon of skin peeked out of the gap, pale and vulnerable.

J.D. turned and headed for the restaurant before he did something stupid. Like placing his palm against the warm, bare small of her back. Somehow he didn’t think she’d buy his pretext of helping.

He found a booth and watched her lumber toward the restroom door, her child on one hip, an enormous diaper bag banging against the other.

She was thin. Way too thin. Eric didn’t normally go for the anorexic type, though J.D. had to admit there was a certain charm to her wide-eyed, heart-shaped face.

He accepted the menu from the waitress while mentally castigating his brother. Disgust and disappointment got all tangled together in one messy package.

Damn him.

Damn Eric for lying. For saying he’d changed. Damn him for putting their grandmother through this. For being the favorite, whether he deserved it or not. And damn him for dumping one more mess in his half brother’s lap.

J.D. didn’t realize he’d been brooding until the waitress cleared her throat.

He looked up and she flashed a smile. She looked familiar. She’d graduated with Eric. What was her name?

“Darlene,” he read off her name tag. “Sorry, guess I was daydreaming.”

“No problem, J.D.”

How’d she know his name when he couldn’t remember hers without reading it?

It was simple really. He was a McGuire, even if only by name and not blood. The McGuires stood for something in this town—they were respected, if not revered. Their money bought a lot of goodwill.

He made a mental note to leave her a generous tip, then ordered cheeseburgers for himself and the redhead. French fries. Coleslaw. Two large sweet teas. Eric’s latest mistake looked like she could use some protein. That, carbohydrates and caffeine might get her through what he had to tell her.

J.D. watched her make her way to the table. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked like she might blow over with the slightest breeze.

Maggie swallowed, forcing herself to meet J.D.’s gaze as she made her way around the tables. It wasn’t a crime to be poor, but the pity on his face said it sure was sad.

Smoothing her hair, she wished she’d had a place to shower and change before confronting the McGuires. Despite splashing her face with cold water and finger-combing her hair, she knew she looked like hell. Her mother would have disowned her.

Maggie stifled a hysterical chuckle as she slid into the booth. Her mother had disowned her. But for crimes much more serious than a lack of personal grooming.

The man watched her bounce David on her knee. The cookie was long gone and he started to fuss. Poor thing, it had been a long day for them both.

Pulling the bottle from a side pocket, she said, “I mixed it with warm water in the restroom.” Help, so rare and unaccustomed, left a lump in her throat. How different things might have been if… She refused to go there. “Thank you. For the formula and the other stuff.”

“No problem. Southern hospitality.”

She could get used to this Southern hospitality. And it scared her.

“Give me the receipt. I’m a student and I’ll pay you back when…”

When?

When she paid the rent? When she had cupboards stocked with food and wipes and diapers? When she graduated from college, her mortuary-science degree in hand?

That was the only chance she might have of repaying the man.

“Here. You pay me when you can.”

She accepted the folded slip of paper and just about drowned in the kindness in his eyes. Slipping the paper into the diaper bag, she didn’t even look at the amount. Didn’t have to. She could tell to the penny what he’d spent, allowing for regional differences. Doing without had made her a great comparison shopper. And she knew convenience stores charged an arm and a leg for this stuff. Including the cheeseburger, she owed the guy close to forty bucks.

“You know babies pretty well. You have children?”

He seemed startled at the suggestion. Why? He looked to be in his midthirties. Solid. Kind. Good-looking, in a rough sort of way. A man who should probably have a wife and a few children at home.

“Nope. Couple of my friends do, though. Once they get to that age—” he nodded to David cradled in the crook of her arm sucking greedily on the bottle “—a cracker’ll get them to quiet down if they’re hungry or bored.”

“An astute observation, J.D. I didn’t catch your last name? Though with the reunion in town, McGuire would be a safe guess.”

His lips twitched. So, he had a sense of humor.

“Yep. You nailed it. McGuire, J.D. McGuire. And you are?”

“McGuire. Maggie McGuire.”

His eyes widened at that. Then the frown was back. As if she’d uttered the most despicable thing in the world.

“That’s not funny,” he said.

“It’s not intended to be.”

“Passing yourself off as his wife won’t help.”

Maggie straightened her aching spine. She wasn’t ready for this kind of confrontation. Eric, yes. She’d had several thousand miles to prepare for dealing with Eric. But this guy? He made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Something immoral.

“I’m not passing myself off as anything. I’m merely being polite and introducing myself. You draw your own conclusions.”

“My conclusions have nothing to do with this. There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”

Wife?

The word bounced around her head, slid down her throat and twirled in her stomach, before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at the Wal-Mart store.

“Th-that’s impossible. I’m his wife.”

“Look, lady, I don’t know you. But you seem like a nice enough person. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”

“At least we agree about something.”

Eric had been a jerk occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk most of the time. She simply couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.

But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. Their argument over his paternity had been intense. She’d started spotting immediately and feared she might lose the baby. After that, Eric had neither accepted nor rejected paternity. He had simply humored her, made sure she ate right, got enough rest, suggested a few names for the baby.

And when she’d told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he’d just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he’d taken the newborn from her arms and settled into the hospital rocking chair.

No, he wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman?”

“Nope. I was best man at their wedding, right after Eric graduated high school. And if there’d been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”

That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.

“Look, is this some sort of sick practical joke?” Maggie held her breath, waiting for a camera crew to come out of hiding, hoping against hope that this was a new reality TV show designed to humiliate the unsuspecting.

“Is it? A joke?” she asked.

He couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared off in the direction of the door. As if he would rather have been anywhere in the world but here, breaking bad news to a stranger. “No, it’s not a joke.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, squeezing the baby so tightly he protested, “that means I’m not married. And David is—”

“A beautiful, healthy child.” He leaned forward. “That’s all that matters.”

“Why are you being so kind?”

The man ran a hand over his head. “I’m not being kind. I’m just stating a fact. My brother is a real asshole sometimes and innocent people get hurt.”

Now she realized the man had said he was Eric’s brother, not once, but twice.

She slumped against the back of the booth. “You’re Jamie?”

“Only to my grandmother. And Eric, if I’m not too pissed off at him.”

Maggie eyed him. “You don’t look anything like him.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Same mother, different fathers. Eric’s dad was my stepdad.”

“J.D.—James David?” She tried to reconcile the man before her with her preconceived idea of what Eric’s brother would look like. She’d never even seen a photo of the man, but she’d assumed he would be fair like Eric. Blond hair, blue eyes.

“Yes, that’s me. I prefer J.D. though.” He nodded toward her son. “Is it coincidence, his name?”

“No coincidence. Eric wanted David named after you. He talked about you a lot. Kind of like you were a superhero.”

But it hadn’t always been a nice comparison. Sometimes, usually when he’d had one beer too many, the resentment would creep into his voice. The great Jamie, always doing the right thing, always thinking he was better.

“I doubt that. We don’t get along very well.”

She was silent, watching David’s eyes flutter. His daddy had a lot of faults. She only hoped her son inherited the good qualities. His generosity, his zest for life. The way he reached out and grabbed what he wanted.

“I need to talk to Eric. Sort all this out.”

J.D. glanced at his watch.

“It’ll wait till morning. That way you’ll be…um…refreshed before you see him.”

“That way you can warn him I’m here.”

He rubbed his chin. “The thought crossed my mind.”

“No way. I want to see him now.”

“Can’t. He’s racing just outside of town. That’s why he missed the reunion dinner. His priorities are kinda mixed up.”

“No kidding.” Maggie glanced meaningfully at David. “You said racing?”

“Yeah, you know the stuff. Where the guys drive round and round the track until all of them are wrecked or somebody wins.”

“Of course I know racing. It’s where I met Eric. But he’d given it up. He told me—”

“And you believed him?”

Shifting in her seat, Maggie couldn’t decide which was worse, the guy knowing how completely gullible she’d been, or the extent of her desperation.

“No, not completely. I tried to call him when I didn’t receive divorce papers, but couldn’t reach him at any of the emergency numbers he’d left in the past. Then I checked the Internet at the library. He wasn’t registered anywhere on the amateur stock-car circuit.”

“And you didn’t find him under Eric MacGuire, with an A?”

“No.”

“How about Johnny Bravo?”

Bingo. His favorite cartoon character. J.D. had just handed David’s lovable, lowlife, scum-sucking, no-good jerk of a father to her on a silver platter.