Can't Stop Loving You (21 page)

M
aggie had worked harder than she'd ever worked in her life, her first full week in New York extremely productive. At this point, the list of to-dos had whittled down to finish work on her garments, last-minute decisions about presentation. And those things she had to do herself. It seemed strange today with only Zandra and herself at the studio.

She'd sewed, ripped, and sewed some more until she swore her fingers bled. But when she'd locked up tonight, she'd been pleased. It was good.

Opening the door to her apartment, she sighed and almost cried when she stepped out of the shoes she'd loved only this morning. Right now, she didn't care if she ever saw them again.

She'd had the forethought to turn on a lamp before she'd left that morning, and now, in the twilight, its soft glow bathed the living room. Its warmth welcomed her home.

After the steady stream of phone calls, the chatter of delivery boys, and the constant traffic and sirens, the apartment was blessedly silent except for the quiet humming of the refrigerator. It almost made her ears hurt.

She needed to eat, but she needed to sit down even more badly. Sliding onto the sofa, she propped her feet on the coffee table and rested her head on the back of the couch. She'd give herself ten minutes, then she'd get up, wash off her makeup, and start dinner.

The ping of her phone woke her.

She sat up, looked around, and wondered for two brief seconds where she was. The twilight outside her windows had faded to full-fledged black—or as close to black as the city got. A quick glance at the wall clock told her the ten-minute sit-down had turned into almost an hour's nap.

Running her fingers through her hair, yawning hugely, she grabbed her phone. Brawley.

Phone in hand, she headed for the kitchen and food. What had he sent her now? The photo of Jesse, Jonah, and Josh in those outrageous swim goggles, goofy smiles on their faces, had her laughing out loud. And the one of the sweet little dog. Ohhh. She'd loved to cover him in smooches and prayed Brawley found a good home for him.

In the next second, her refrigerator door hanging open, homesickness hit, far worse than the one summer she'd gone to camp. She'd fought with her parents for three years to go. They'd finally given in, but once she'd arrived, she'd wanted nothing more than to be home. If her folks were surprised when she didn't bring up camp the following summer, they never said a word.

And now? She was a big girl with a job to do. The homesickness would pass.

She opened her text. No message. Just a photo of her and her parents at the wedding. Exactly what she needed.

Tomorrow, she'd get a copy made and set it by her bed.

Why was Brawley being so nice?

By Friday, Maggie needed a dose of normality and escaped for a quick lunch. She ate a hot dog from one of the street vendors as she walked the crowded streets. Eighty degrees and sunny. She felt like a kid playing hooky—which only added that touch of the forbidden to her enjoyment.

On the way back to the workroom, she spied the ugliest stuffed dog she'd ever seen in her life in a store window. She swore the manufacturer had used Staubach, Cash's lovable, but horrendously ugly mutt, for the model. His and Annie's baby absolutely had to have it for the nursery. She ducked inside the shop.

But if she sent a gift to Annie and Cash's unborn baby, shouldn't she send a package to Ty and Sophie's boys? Aunts, even honorary ones, couldn't play favorites. So she stole another thirty minutes to scour the shops for just the right thing. She finally found it. Pint-size New York firefighter helmets. The boys could wear them with the goggles when they did construction work. She'd have Zander pack them up today—along with the little Yorkie figurine she'd bought for Brawley.

Annie had told her he still had the dog and that, even though he complained about it constantly, the Yorkie went to work with him and followed him everywhere.

What she wouldn't give to see that!

Brawley swerved into Sadler's Store. Cash and Ty were coming over tonight for a card game, so he'd need to stock up on some cold ones.

He cracked his window for the dog. “Stay put, and keep quiet.”

The dog plopped his butt on the seat and gave Brawley a soulful look.

“Cut it out. You can't go with me.”

Brawley closed the door and started across the lot. A former teacher, long retired, stood beside her car with a full shopping cart.

“How about I load that for you, Mrs. Sandburg?”

“Why, Brawley Odell, I'd appreciate that. How are your mother and father?”

“They're great, ma'am.”

“And the clinic? I hear you've really spiffed up the place.”

“Doc had a good business, but I figured it might be time for a few changes.”

She patted his cheek. “Doc did a fine job with the animals. Last time I was in there, though, just before Bootsie passed, the place looked ready to cave in.”

Brawley chuckled. “Hopefully that's not the case anymore.”

“You hear from Maggie?”

Zing
. The woman always did have a habit of tossing you a question you couldn't answer. Math, language arts, or relationships. She had it covered.

“I've had a couple e-mails. She's doing well and working hard.”

“Humph. That doesn't sound very personal.”

A blush, damn it, heated his face.

“Maggie and I are old friends, Mrs. Sandburg.”

She gave his shoulder a nudge. “Go on now. You expect me to buy that? I used to see the two of you walking along Main Street or after the high school football game. I've got eyes, boy, and there was a whole lot more than friendship between you.”

Brawley remembered all that, too. “That was a long time ago.”

“Understood. But when I heard you planned to move back, I'd hoped there might still be a spark there. She's not involved with anybody, you know. Got a notion she's been waiting for you.”

“No, ma'am.” And that hurt more than he cared to think about. He set the last bag in her trunk and closed it. “There you go. You drive carefully.”

“I always do. Thank you, Brawley.”

“You're very welcome.” He opened her door for her, then tipped his hat and moved into the store, a far cry from the fancy deli he'd shopped at in Dallas. And a lot more interesting.

Sadler's sold everything from nuts to bolts to Stetsons and sirloin steak. If you needed it, you'd find it here—or a damned good substitute.

He made a face at the stuffed buffalo inside the door and gave his nose a minute to adjust to the mixed scent of leather and produce.

Grabbing a cart, he headed to the cooler. On the way, he passed the chips and threw in a bag. At the freezer section, he tossed in a couple pizzas. Two six-packs from the cooler joined them. Never knew if somebody else might show up, and it sure wouldn't do to run out of beer.

His basket much fuller than he'd intended, he wheeled it into Missy Iverson's checkout lane.

“How's that bunting's wing doing, Missy?”

“Almost healed. Davey and a couple of his friends are planning a bon voyage party for Tweety next week.”

“That's kids for you.”

“Yeah.” She held up crossed fingers. “I'm praying none of the neighborhood cats crash the party.”

He grimaced. “That would be bad.”

He emptied his cart's contents onto the conveyer belt. While Missy rang him up, his eye caught on one of the tabloids. Bored, he grabbed the scandal sheet off the rack and idly flipped through it.

What the hell?

He checked the cover, saw yesterday's date. Some of the blood returned to his brain. Maggie worked fast.

He wanted to toss the sorry excuse for a news magazine to the floor and stomp on it. Instead, he added it to his groceries.

“You want that?” Missy looked surprised.

“Thought I'd, ah, put it in the waiting room. Give my patients' owners something to read.”

“Yeah, a lot of people like these things. Can't believe they actually think the dribble in them is true.”

“You got that right.”

Woodenly, he paid for his groceries, picked up the bags and the beer, and left.

Once inside his SUV, he fed Marvin a couple doggie biscuits, then pulled out the magazine and flipped to page five. There, at the bottom, was a color image of Maggie and some smarmy guy, glasses of champagne in hand, toasting each other.

And she was smiling at him. Smiling at the jerk the way Brawley wanted her to smile at him. The difference between them? Real estate. The jerk apparently lived in New York while he lived in Maverick Junction.

He squinted at the photo. What was Maggie thinking? The guy was a mess. His hair stuck out all over the place—and he'd no doubt worked hard to get it like that. He had a major case of five o'clock shadow. Again, no doubt deliberate. And an earring, for God's sake. A mammoth diamond earring. Probably fake.

How had she hooked up with him so fast? Didn't she know it could be dangerous to pick up guys in the city? Hell, anywhere for that matter. Look what had happened to Sophie.

He tore his eyes off the picture long enough to read the small paragraph beneath it.

So she'd met him at work. Okay. He breathed easier. She should be safe.

She'd met him at work! Shit! That meant they had shared interests, would spend a lot of time together.

The guy looked like one of those bad boys girls swooned over. Brawley squinted at the grainy snapshot. From what he could tell, old Jarvis even dressed in the stereotypical bad-boy black leather. Brawley wondered if he'd arranged with one of his photographer friends to get
caught
on film. The picture looked posed.

Jarvis Quillen? What the hell kind of name was that? A made-up one he'd bet. The guy's real name was probably something very uncool. Maybe Seymour Smith or Norbert Jones.

He leaned up on his left hip and pulled his phone from his right back pocket. Jabbing much harder than necessary, he typed a quick message.
How's Jarvis?

Before he could hit send, though, he came to his senses and deleted the snippy words. His stomach growled. If he hurried, he'd have time for a quick snack before the guys showed up. He'd eaten lunch on the run today, between patients, and he'd passed hungry an hour ago.

Brawley had barely cleaned up after his PB&J when he heard the truck pull in.

Ty and Cash came up the stairs together, Staubach at their heels. Ty had apparently left Trouble at home again. Hearing the door open, the Yorkie came tearing out of Brawley's bedroom. Seeing the big dog in his kitchen, he hit the brakes and skidded halfway across the flooring.

Brawley glanced at Cash.

“They'll be fine,” his friend assured. “Staubach's an old hand at this.”

“You name him yet?” Ty asked.

“Marvin.”

“Marvin?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“None at all.”

“Doesn't mean I'm keeping him.”

Cash looked at Ty. “Bet you twenty.”

“No way. I'm using my money to take yours tonight in poker.”

“You guys are butts,” Brawley growled.

“Probably. Welcome to the dog owners club.” Cash patted his friend on the back. “Always figured you for a hunting dog. Something a little more masculine.”

“In his heart, Marvin's a killer.”

“Right.”

A little sniffing and circling, a few small yips from the Yorkie, and the dogs accepted each other. Staubach roamed the kitchen, accepted the piece of cheese Brawley offered, then curled up on the living room rug, tail thumping a wild beat on the floor. Brawley wondered if Dottie and Fletch could hear it downstairs.

Not to be outdone, Marvin sat on his rear, patiently waiting for a handout.

“Go away,” Brawley said.

“You started it,” Cash said. “You can't play favorites. Give him a piece.”

Brawley tossed the dog some cheese, and it disappeared immediately. When Marvin turned his big brown eyes back to him, Brawley shook his head. “No more. Go lay down.”

With a sigh, the little dog wandered off to the living room and dropped down beside Staubach.

“You get any bites on the ad you ran with Mel?”

“Not a one,” Brawley answered. “Either nobody's reading the paper or no one wants a new dog. Least not like him.” He tipped his head toward Marvin. “People in Texas like things big.”

The other two nodded.

“What are Sophie and Annie doing tonight?”

“They decided it would be a good movie night. They're setting the boys up with a Disney film in the den, and the two of them have big plans for some new chick flick,” Ty said. “I swear they have enough food to feed an army.”

“I've got pizza. Some cheese, chips, and beer.”

“What more could any man want?” Cash asked. He sat down at the table and started shuffling the deck of cards Brawley handed him. “Open me one of those beers, why don't you?”

Brawley popped the top on three of them, then set the oven to preheat. Staubach watched everything with one eye. “That dog doesn't miss a thing, does he?”

“Nope.” Cash dealt five cards to each of them.

Ty picked up his, studied them, and took a sip of beer. Then he pushed a few of his chips to the center of the table. Brawley eyed them and met his bet. Cash followed suit.

“Remember the time you lifted the bottle of Jim Beam from your dad and I borrowed a pack of Camels from mine?”

Ty groaned. “I don't think I've ever been so sick in my life.”

“Yeah, you tossed your cookies all over the back seat of my dad's Buick. He grounded me for a week and made me clean up the mess.”