Can't Stop Loving You (19 page)

“You went to see her off?” Ty asked.

Brawley nodded. “But I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay. How's business at the clinic?”

“Busy. Very busy. I honestly don't know how Doc Gibson hung on as long as he did.”

“Glad he made it to Bubba's last night,” Ty said.

“Me, too.”

“He must be lonely all by himself in that huge house now that his wife is gone,” Sophie said.

Ty's glance flew to Brawley as if to say, “See what I'm talking about? What I'd face if something happened to this woman?”

“I'm sure he is,” Brawley said easily. “He and Meredith had fifty-four happy years together. He's got a lot of memories and two rambunctious dogs to keep him company.”

“A shame they never had any children.” Sophie took a sip of tea, her eyes meeting Ty's over the rim of the glass.

Brawley swore he could hear the groan Ty bit back. Oh, yeah, his friend would lose this battle. He might as well hoist the white flag of surrender and make the most of it.

He almost laughed, and probably would have if he didn't understand all too well that gut-wrenching fear of losing the woman you love. Ty had done that once. Now Brawley had, too. When Maggie had stepped on that plane today, she'd written the end to anything they might have had.

Hell, that wasn't true. He'd done that himself. The fire had been banked, though, not extinguished. He'd thought with enough time and patience, he could rekindle it. He'd thought wrong.

The topic of their conversation turned to the softball team Ty's boys played on, the one Ty coached.

“We could use more help if you have any free time,” Ty said.

“I might consider that. I'm gonna need something to do with myself. The nights are a heck of a lot quieter here in Maverick Junction than I've been used to.”

Brawley sat on the porch shooting the breeze with his friends, watching the kids roll around in the grass. He'd bet the ranch that within a year they had another to join the boys. Sophie'd get her way on this.

And Annie and Cash already had one on the way.

He finished his tea and set the glass on the pretty little tray. “Time to go.” He stood. “Thanks for the refreshments, Sophie. You don't do bad for a Chicago transplant.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.”

“Hey, that's high praise.” He thumbed back his hat. “You've got a nice place here, Ty. I think maybe it's time I bought some land. Built myself a permanent home.”

Halfway down the stairs, he turned back. “You two enjoy yourselves.”

“God'll get you for that,” Ty said.

Brawley laughed at Sophie's quizzical expression, then high-fived each of the boys as he passed them.

As he drove away, he glanced in his rearview mirror. Ty had had it tough, no doubt about it. But now? Pretty sweet deal.

His mind caught on the idea of him and Maggie, and he wondered about the kids they might have made if things had been different.

T
alk about smug! Maggie stood in awe of herself. She'd actually managed the subway this morning. Up at the crack of dawn, unable to sleep another minute from the excitement of waking in her own Upper East Side apartment, she'd showered, done her hair and makeup, and dressed carefully.

She'd made the slim, long-sleeve dress especially for today and hoped it hit the right note with its dark brown print paired with soft leather, high-heeled ankle boots. Authoritative, yet friendly. But not too friendly. Oh, geez. From smug to doubting Thomas in three seconds flat. That had to be some kind of a record.

No doubt Owen Cook, her angel investor, would drop by today. Annie had offered her seed money to get her line started, but Maggie'd been hesitant to mix friends and money. So when Owen, a business acquaintance of Annie's father, offered to back her, she'd jumped at it.

Owen had already invested a lot of money in her and her designs, covering the entire cost of her upcoming show. Even if he was as rich as Donald Trump, as a businessman he must have some concerns about rolling the dice on such a total unknown. He'd want to check out her new line and, when he showed up, she wanted to mirror an up-and-coming designer, not a small-town wannabe.

The fact that the show would be an off-season one raised the stakes. Made her worry no one would even attend.

As she exited the subway, she stepped to the side and let others, in their mad rush to make it to work, pass by. Then she simply stood taking in the sights. An army of taxis and cars flew by, horns honking, brakes screeching. Buses belched black smoke and stopped to disgorge passengers while others in a queue hurried to get on. Bicycles and their riders darted in and out of traffic. People of all shapes, sizes, and ages hurried past.

A pizza shop on the corner offered its fare for a dollar a slice. Starbucks, in the middle of the block, was doing a booming business, the line stretching onto the sidewalk. Vendors sold coffee and bagels from carts. And towering above it all were the buildings, magnificent towers of stone, steel, and glass.

She rubbed her hands together in glee. She was really here. And one short block away, the space where magic would happen awaited.

Another cup of coffee called to her, but, not wanting to be late, she bypassed Starbucks with a sorrowful glance through the window at the women in their chic outfits, the men in their suits and ties.

Less than twenty-four hours ago she'd been in the Austin airport, surrounded by jeans, cowboy hats, and Stetsons—men and women. What a difference a day made. If she wanted coffee in Lone Tree, she'd stop by Ollie's. Here? She had so many choices her head swam.

Would she ever get used to it? she wondered. Ever take all this for granted? She seriously hoped not.

Her feet kept moving, traveling the block to her building. Her building! Oh, gosh. Well, her space in the building, anyway. She laid a hand over her heart, felt it practically jump from her chest.

With one last swipe over the skirt of her dress, a deep breath, and a prayer, she walked through the door.

“Miss Sullivan.”

Maggie grinned. The security guard in the reception area remembered her. “Hello, Orlando.”

“You here to finish that new collection?”

“I sure am.”

“Do you have your nametag, or should I print you a new one?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I have it.” Belatedly, she dug through her purse till she found the tag and clipped it to the neck of her dress.

“You can go right on up.”

“Thanks.” She headed to the bank of elevators and pressed ten. Inside, she watched the numbers count off as the car zipped skyward.

When the doors opened, Zandra waited there for her, coffee in hand. She held the cup out to Maggie. “Here you go. Thought you might need this.”

“For me?”

“You see any other big-name designer here?”

Maggie made a production of scanning the room. “I don't see
any
big-name designer. Period.”

Zandra grinned and held out the coffee again. Maggie accepted it gratefully and took a sip. Oh, yes. This more than made up for the coffee she hadn't stopped to buy. At the same time, it seemed strange, awkward almost, to have someone wait on her.

“Welcome to New York, Maggie.”

“Thank you, Zandra.” She held up her coffee. “And I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I've been obsessing over the second cup I didn't have. You really don't need to do this every day, though.”

“Sure I do. I like you.”

“Be careful. I could get used to it.”

“You'd better. After your show, everybody will be scrambling for your work and your attention. Your designs are spectacular, Maggie.”

“You like them?”

“Like? No. Love? Oh, yes! Wait till you see what we've done.”

“I can't wait.” Maggie stopped by her office to put down her purse and briefcase. “Did the red silk come in?”

“Late yesterday afternoon.”

“Ooh, boy, that's cutting it close.”

“Tell me about it,” Zandra said. “Did you get settled in?”

“My suitcases are piled in the middle of the bedroom. That's as far as I got. I'd probably have starved if you hadn't taken pity on me and stocked my pantry and fridge. Again, I owe you a huge thanks. I can't tell you how much I appreciated it.”

“I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I stuck with things I'd seen you eat when you were here before.”

“Smart lady.”

And drop-dead gorgeous, Maggie thought. Zandra, with her slim, six-foot body, exotic brown eyes, and long black hair, put every model Maggie had met to shame. Today she looked edgy in her black leather pants and jacket. A red top peeked from the jacket, highlighting her smooth caffé au lait skin.

They stepped into the workroom, and Maggie's heart stopped.

“I'd ask what you think, but the look on your face says it all.”

Absently, Maggie set her coffee on a table. Large windows took up the better part of two walls and early morning sun spilled over swaths of fabric, patterns, and completed outfits.

Without a word, she wandered through the maze of workstations, fingering cotton, silk, and linen. She adjusted a collar, studied buttons and zippers.

This had to be nearly as exciting as giving birth, in a way. She'd created all this. Standing in the center of the room, she took it in, her smile spreading.

“I know I can't, but oh, how I want to pull out my camera or phone and take pictures.” Maggie wrapped her arms around herself.

“Pretty spectacular.” Zandra spoke from the doorway. “You see any problems?”

“The hem on the dark brown dress needs to be shortened. I want different buttons on the black and white blazer.” Her head whirled with ideas. Alterations. Excitement. Zandra was right. The collection was pretty darn spectacular.

“All in all,” Maggie said, “I'm thrilled.”

A couple of the seamstresses she'd met on her last two trips wandered in, and the workday began.

Knee-deep in pleated organza, Maggie recognized the tap of Zandra's heels as she crossed the hardwood floor. Around a mouthful of straight pins, she said, “Please don't tell me we have any wrinkles in our plans.”

“No wrinkles,” her assistant assured her. “You have company.”

“Company?” Her mind flew to Brawley. Stupid.

Owen had already been by and left a happy man. So who was here now?

From where she knelt on the floor in front of her dress form, Maggie looked up into one of the strongest faces she'd ever seen. Dark, thick brows highlighted deep-set, intense black eyes. A strong, straight nose over full lips. A heavy stubble of black over his cheeks and jaw.

She was staring but darned if she could stop.

She jabbed the pins into her wristband and stood, extending her hand. “Hi. I'm Maggie Sullivan.”

He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “You're quite beautiful. That red hair and green eyes. A magnificent combination.”

His gaze moved slowly over the curves of her body, and she felt herself flush.

Zandra cleared her throat. “Maggie, this is Jarvis Quillen. He's your photographer.”

“Jarvis, it's great to finally meet you. I've heard over and over how fortunate I am you've agreed to work with me.”

“How could I refuse?”

Maggie laughed. “Right. Let's see.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I'm a brand-new unknown, have no credentials, and no track record. Hmmm.”

“Owen Cook never backs anything but stars. The fact he brought you to the city is enough for me.” Jarvis put a hand into the pocket of his black designer jeans. “I've got a shoot this afternoon, but I wanted to stop by and meet you.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Listen, I'd like to talk about your collection. Get an idea what you have in mind for your photos. Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, actually I am. I just arrived yesterday so my calendar is pretty open. In fact, nonexistent best describes my commitments—outside of work.”

“Zandra, give Maggie directions to Gotham Bar and Grill. Why don't we meet there at, say, eight? Will that work for you?”

“Absolutely. What should I wear?”

His eyes moved over her again. “Exactly what you have on. It's perfect. One of your own?”

She nodded.

“I like it.”

She watched him stride away, noticed the confidence, the self-assurance. This man had a big personality. He took up a lot of space simply by walking into a room.

Zandra started back to the office. “I'll write down the restaurant's address for you,” she threw over her shoulder. “Take a cab. And Jarvis is right. Don't change. That outfit really is perfect.”

She stopped.

“What?”

“He's pretty spectacular, isn't he?” Zandra asked.

The two shared a woman's smile.

“Yeah, he is that,” Maggie agreed. “But tonight's strictly business.”

“Tell yourself whatever works.”

Brawley scratched his head. What the hell was he gonna do with this thing?

“Phyllis,” he called.

She stuck her head in the door. “Yeah?”

“Know anybody looking for a dog?”

“As in to take home and keep?” She eyed the filthy animal stretched out on the exam table. “He sure has made himself at home, hasn't he?”

The dog yawned and dropped his head onto his front paws.

“I'd say so.” Brawley ran a hand over his chin. “Cash's sister dropped him off while you were at the post office.”

“Somebody abandoned him?”

“Seems so.”

“Why didn't Babs keep him or take him out to her brother's place? I'd think Cash could always find room for a dog at the ranch.”

“She wanted him checked out first.”

“Nothing wrong with that one,” Phyllis said, “that a good bath won't take care of. Give Cash a call yourself.”

“Already did. He reminded me he's got Staubach. Says he's enough for anyone. He doesn't want another dog, especially not a sissy one. His words.”

Phyllis laughed. “What? He thinks it would emasculate him to have a fluffy little ball of fur following him around?”

Brawley took another look at the dog. “Can't say I'd argue with that. Cash's real concern is that he'd get in the barn and end up under one of the horse's hooves. Or spook one of them and both dog and horse would get hurt. Can't blame him. I sure as hell would never own a dog like this.”

The dog in question took that moment to crawl to the table's edge and lick Brawley's hand.

“Not gonna work, boy. Not enough sugar-coating in the world.”

The dog stared up at him with huge brown eyes.

“He loves you already,” his assistant said.

“Bull. He thinks I'm an easy mark.” He turned back to the dog. “I'm not.”

The dog licked him again, his stubby tail wagging.

“Call Dawn Marie. Maybe she'll take him or know somebody who's looking for one.”

“She was my first call. I tried to guilt her into taking him, but no go.”

“Good luck, Doc.” Phyllis started to close the door.

“I'll have to put him to sleep.”

His assistant slapped a hand on the door and held it open. “You wouldn't.”

“I can't keep every animal that gets dragged in here.”

“No, I guess you can't. But last time I counted, you had exactly zero pets of your own.”

“And that's the way it has to be right now. I'm renting.”

“So? Didn't you talk Sophie into keeping Lilybelle? Seems to me she was renting the very same apartment you're in.” Phyllis narrowed her eyes. “Call Dottie. She'll tell you to bring him home.”

“No. No way. If I get a dog, it's gonna be a man's dog, not this six-inch-tall, five-pound runt.”

The dog whined.

“Oh, see?” Phyllis walked back into the room and ran a hand over the dog's head. “Did he hurt your feelings? Mean old Doctor Odell. You're a good boy, aren't you?”

The little tail wagged so hard the ball of fur almost vibrated off the table.

“He's an ankle-biter,” Brawley groused.

“A Yorkie,” she corrected. “Don't see many of them here in Maverick Junction. They're more of a city dog.”

“Yeah, they're good for apartments.”

“There you go. Isn't that what I just said?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't you have something you need to do?”

“Yes, and I was doing it until my boss called me in here to look at this sweet thing.”

The sweet thing yapped and blinked, tail still going a mile a minute.

The door swung shut behind her, and Brawley leaned against the exam table. “What are we gonna do with you, huh? Maybe I'll call Dawn and see if she'll at least give you a bath and a new haircut. But, I promise, Boy Scouts' honor, no bows or ribbons. We guys have to stick together. Once we get you cleaned up, people will fall over each other to take you home.” He scratched the dog's head. “Yes, they will.”