Can't Stop Loving You (26 page)

T
he warm weather invigorated Maggie. The tree in front of her brownstone sported leaves, and flowers bloomed in a window box next door. Energy flowed, and people walked faster, smiled more.

She missed the big sky in Texas, though. The stars at night, competing with the city's lights, didn't shine quite as brightly. The moon didn't seem as large hanging over a skyscraper as when it hung over the Texas prairie.

There were moments when she found herself at a loss. So at home as Maggie Sullivan in Maverick Junction, she wondered about the New York Maggie Sullivan. Who was she?

She checked her watch. Since she didn't need to be at the studio for another hour, she had plenty of time to stop at the neighborhood Starbucks. She could use a good cup of coffee.

The line was short this morning. Coffee in hand, she actually found a table and sat down. From her vantage point, she people-watched.

A mother came in with her two daughters. The girls perched on stools at the counter and devoured sweet rolls. Mom, standing behind them in six-inch heels, looked as though no carb would ever dare venture near her Marilyn Monroe–red lips. She wore a size two black pencil skirt and a phenomenal white silk blouse. Her Gucci purse made Maggie's mouth water.

At a corner table, another woman took a mirror from one of her four bags and quickly applied her makeup. There'd been a time Maggie would have thought four bags overkill. Not anymore. She'd quickly learned that when she left the house, she had to carry with her everything she'd need for the day and into the evening. No running back home to change or pick up something she'd forgotten.

Smartphones, tablets, iPods. Everybody in the coffee shop was plugged in. She'd heard horror stories about the city. How you had to keep everything close. Watch your purse with an eagle eye. Yet, even here, there were neighborhoods. People called each other by name. They left purses and laptops at their seats and stepped outside for a cigarette or to the counter for a refill. It was comfortable and accepting.

And it made her homesick for Ollie and Sally and Bubba. For Rhonda at her beauty shop and Mel at the newspaper.

Even though she'd talked to Pops a couple days before, she needed to hear his voice again. He'd be up and around. A couple minutes with him would settle her restlessness. Taking a tentative sip of coffee, she found her phone in her massive purse.

“Maggie?”

“Hey, Pops.”

“You okay?”

“Absolutely. I'm on my way to work and decided to give you a quick call.”

“You in a taxi?”

“No, actually I'm sitting in Starbucks. Are you in Lone Tree or Maverick Junction?”

“We're at Dottie's.”

“You know, sooner or later, you're going to have to quit thinking of the house as hers. You're a couple now.”

They talked about everything and nothing. Maggie heard about Dottie's newest cookie recipe, last night's T-ball game where they'd rooted on Ty's boys, and Jessie's double.

“Ollie told me his business has dropped off since you left. He's not getting as many out-of-towners.”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Not a thing you can do about it. I miss you, girl.”

“I'd be a third thumb, Pops. You've got a new bride.”

“The boy's keeping busy at the clinic.”

Maggie didn't need to ask who the boy was. “I'm sure he is.”

“He's taking most of his meals out. Dottie's had him to dinner a couple nights, but he usually doesn't leave once he's home. Don't think he's sleeping well.”

“How would you know that?”

“I hear him wandering around at night. He's got a chair on the upstairs landing and sits out there sometimes. My guess is he misses you as much as you miss him.”

“I don't miss him.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't try to bluff your grandpa. I've been playing poker a heck of a lot longer than you've been drawing breath.”

She sighed. “I have to go, Pops. I don't want to be late.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” The man read her like a book.

She decided to take her coffee with her. Swinging out the door, she walked down the street. As she passed one building, the fire escape caught her attention, and she smiled. If she'd had an umbrella, she'd have been tempted to hook the handle over the bottom rung and pull it down like Edward in
Pretty Woman
. She loved that movie, loved that he'd come to his senses and gone after the woman he wanted.

She imagined Brawley in that limo, flowers in hand, music playing. A horn honked, startling her out of her reverie.

Flagging down a taxi, she gave him her work address. The light turned green, and the cabbie took off so fast her head snapped back. She missed her car, missed driving off to wherever, whenever.

But the clothes, the fashion, the endless choices of shops and restaurants? She loved it. Loved the freedom she had here. Everything had a trade-off, though. Everything came with a price.

She'd heard Owen on the phone the other day talking about his new designer, the fiery redhead with the Texas twang. She smiled. She was that.

Brawley checked his watch again. Five minutes later than the last time and still no Doc Gibson. It wasn't like him to be late. He took out his phone and hit redial. It rang six times and went to voicemail.

“Hey, Doc. Me again wondering where you got off to. I'm at the café. Did you forget our lunch date?” He hung up and slipped the phone back into his shirt pocket.

“Want another refill on your tea, Brawley?”

“No, thanks, Sally. My teeth are practically floating now.”

“You gonna order some lunch or wait a little longer?”

“What have you got that you can fix me up with fast? Something to go.”

“Chicken salad or egg salad sandwiches are quick.”

“Egg salad.”

“Anything with it?”

“Why don't you toss in a bag of chips? And bring me a Styrofoam cup for this, please.” He held up his tea.

“Gotcha.”

Brawley toyed with his key ring while he waited. Worry niggled at him. Doc Gibson had called last evening and asked if he wanted to meet for lunch today. Brawley had jiggled a few appointments around to make it work.

Retirement was still new to Doc, and Brawley figured it would take a bit for him to settle into it. He'd stopped by the clinic every day this week, visiting with the staff, talking to the patients, even handling an appointment here and there.

Today's lunch had been his suggestion, and it wasn't like him not to keep an appointment.

“Here you go.” Sally slid two containers on the table. “Catch me for it next time you're in. I know you're impatient to get going. I added a second sandwich in case Doc's involved in something out at his place and hasn't eaten yet. No charge on that one.”

“Thanks, Sally, but I'm gonna tell Doc he owes you for both. The man stood me up.” Brawley picked up the food, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and headed out the door.

On the way to Doc's small farm, Brawley gave Phyllis a quick call at the office and explained the situation.

“I've got things here,” she said. “Go check on the old guy. We'll all feel better if you do.”

“I won't be any longer than I need to be.” Brawley hit end and cranked up Miranda's new CD. The woman had attitude. She reminded him a whole lot of Maggie. Feisty as all get out.

Starving and driving one-handed, he ripped into his sandwich. Breakfast had been too little and too long ago.

Swinging into the long, unpaved driveway, he braked when Doc's bluetick hounds rushed to meet his SUV, tongues lolling. He turned off the engine and hopped out, rubbing both dogs' ears at the same time when they greeted him, their feet braced on his legs.

Doc's old Chevy truck sat in front of the dilapidated garage. Brawley's uneasiness grew. Doc seldom left the dogs outside unattended for long. Too many times, they'd caught a scent and took off into the surrounding hills chasing their quarry.

“Hey, boys, what are you doing out here, huh? Where's Doc?” He patted their backs and started up the walk. Raising his voice, he called, “Doc? You outside?”

When he got no answer, he walked around back, the dogs at his heels. “Doc?”

He stepped onto the porch and knocked. When there was no answer, he turned the knob and the door swung open. The dogs tried to rush past him, but he held them back by placing his booted foot in front of them.

“Stay outside for another minute, boys. I'll come back out for you.”

The house was quiet. Still.

As he started down the hall, he saw one bare foot. “Oh, shit!”

He ran the rest of the way to the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway. Doc lay on the floor, his arms outstretched, one leg bent beneath him. A mug had shattered and pieces scattered across the old linoleum. Coffee pooled on the floor and soaked into his shirt.

“Doc.” Brawley knelt on the floor, felt for a pulse even knowing there'd be none. “Oh, God, Doc.”

Brawley's breath caught in his throat.

Still on his knees, Brawley looked around the room, then back at his friend. From the amount of rigor, Brawley guesstimated he'd been dead about six hours. Doc must have let Holmes and Watson out for their early morning potty break, then come inside for his first cup of coffee.

Brawley hoped he'd at least gotten that first taste. Doc loved his caffeine. He brushed away a tear he hadn't realized he'd shed.

“Please, God, let him have gone quickly. Painlessly,” Brawley prayed. Hot tears filled his eyes. He was too late. Not a thing he could do.

The egg sandwich he'd eaten roiled in his stomach, and Brawley thought he might be sick. Fighting nausea, he sat on the floor beside his good friend.

Outside the front door, the dogs whined, and Brawley thanked God he hadn't let them inside. How many times had Doc come into town, the two blueticks riding in the cab of his truck, to buy them all an ice cream? Never again.

Sorrow swamped him.

“I'm gonna miss you, Doc.” He swiped at his eyes, at his nose. There were things that needed done. He should probably call Howard, the county coroner.

Instead, his finger hit the instant dial for Maggie. He had to talk to her. After that, he'd be able to deal with the rest.

Zandra, Maggie's efficient, nerveless assistant answered.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought I was calling Maggie's personal line.”

“You did. Ms. Sullivan is busy right now and can't come to the phone. If I could take a message—”

“I don't friggin' care if she's halfway up a pole flying the Lone Star flag, I—” The fight drained out of him. In a quiet voice, he said, “I need to talk to her.”

“I don't interrupt her unless it's life and death. Not when she's designing.”

Brawley laid his warm hand on Doc's cold one. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. “Then you're gonna want to interrupt her.”

Her heard Zandra's sharp intake. “Did someone—”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry. I'll put her right on.”

The room was so quiet, he heard her footsteps as she took the phone to wherever Maggie was hard at work. For one fleeting second, he wondered if he should hang up. Not drop this heartache on her.

No. She'd find out anyway. He'd tell her and maybe find a little solace in the sound of her voice.

Hunched over her sketch pad and lost in thought, Maggie was vaguely aware of her phone ringing. She ignored it, heard Zandra pick it up.

The dress she worked on needed something more. Maybe different shoulders or a longer sleeve. Fiddling with it, she heard Zandra's heels on the old oak floor. Maggie looked up when her assistant knocked on the doorjamb.

“I hate to bother you when you're working, but you have a call I think you need to take.”

The expression on Zandra's face warned Maggie this wouldn't be good news.

“Who is it?”

“Brawley.”

On rubbery legs, she stood and reached for the phone. The door closed behind Zandra. She took a deep breath. “Brawley? Is Pops okay?” The question gushed from her.

“Yeah.”

Something was wrong, though. She heard it in his voice, in the tone of that single word.

“Brawley?”

“I'm here.”

“Where exactly is here?”

“At Doc Gibson's. He—” Brawley's voice broke.

“He isn't okay, is he?” It was more a statement than a question.

“No. Oh, Mags, he's dead. He was supposed to meet me at Sally's for lunch. He didn't come, and I couldn't get him on the phone. I drove out here—”

“Is anyone there with you?”

“Just Doc.”

She could hear the tears in his voice, along with a touch of anger. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“No. He doesn't need an ambulance. There's nothing anyone can do for him.”

“You're absolutely sure he's—you know.”

“Yes. I'm a doctor, Maggie.”

“Okay.” She hesitated. “Do you want me to call the police for you? The coroner?”

“No, I'll call Howard. I need a minute first. I needed to hear your voice.”

Her insides tumbled, and she hated every single mile between them. She needed to be there with him. “You shouldn't be alone right now.”

“It's the way it is.”

She could practically hear his shrug.

“Doc was alone when it happened.”

“Brawley, that wasn't your fault. You had no way of knowing. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“No, Maggie. That's not why I called. To be honest, I'm not really sure why I did.”

“Because you know I care.”

“Time was it was a lot more than that.”

“Yes, time was.”