Maggie's Mountain (5 page)

She was feeling just childish enough to blame it all on Hale Warrick.

UPS would be here in less than ten minutes and she had to be ready to send off what she had and collect what he would bring. True, she could have done all of that in a bathrobe and slippers, but she took her business seriously, and that meant dressing every day by a certain time so she could start work.

Pulling her hair back, she twisted a band around the brown mass then absently wiggled the ponytail up higher on her head. She slipped on her white canvas shoes, a compromise between house slippers and sneakers, and headed for the door. She paused on her way out, turning to stare at the tall chifforobe in the corner. Before she could change her mind she moved to it, reached into the back, and pulled out one of Chris’s old red flannel shirts. She slid her arms into it, enjoying the soft material on her skin and the warmth of the long sleeves. It was chilly today, and the well washed shirt would help keep her warm. The other reason, the one she didn’t want to delve too far into, was the fact that she needed to feel the closeness of a friend today.

She left the room and trotted down the stairs, smiling when she stepped down into the kitchen. Even in her worst moods this space could always cheer her. The sun was shining through the windows, bouncing off the surfaces of the modern appliances and gray stone countertops. The herbs on the sills were green and lush, the hum of the refrigerator a mellow background noise. Even before they’d renovated the cabin this had been her favorite place, aside from the sewing room. She and her mother had spent hours here, making cookies, making dinners, making plans. It was the heart of the house and it still beat with a steady, comforting rhythm.

She sniffed the air, sighing when the scent of coffee teased her nose. The timed automatic brewer was one of the best investments she’d ever made. She took down a thick blue mug and was filling it when the doorbell rang. Checking the clock, she saw the delivery was a few minutes early and her smile deepened.

Abandoning her drink, she hurried around the counter and to the front door. When she opened it, the smile froze in place.

“Good morning, Maggie Mae.”

Standing there, looking annoyed and far too handsome, was Hale Warrick. Even casually dressed in a long sleeved gray shirt and black jeans he commanded attention. The morning breeze rustled through the trees, playing through his black hair before it whisked around her body with cool fingers. A gentle but firm reminder that she was standing there, once again, looking like a fool.

She cleared her throat and stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in, Mr. Warrick.”

He stopped beside her, his deep brown eyes intent. “Oh, I think you can call me Hale.”

She tried not to sigh as he continued past. This was not a visit she’d anticipated, especially after their run in a few days before. If he expected a confrontation she certainly wasn’t going to oblige. What had happened—and not happened—in the woods spoke enough about their respective positions without any arguments. Hale liked women, and he’d obviously seen her as a vulnerable, available female. She wasn’t about to show, even by one small reaction, that she was remotely interested in him.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the door and turned, watching as he prowled her home. Somehow the cabin didn’t seem as spacious with him inside. His gaze wandered over the furnishings, the open floor plan, the knick-knacks displayed on shelves and the pictures on the fireplace mantel. She wondered if he saw the changes that she’d made, the care she’d taken to transform the small cabin. No, he couldn’t possibly see or know the tender loving care she’d put into her home. He had been out here just a few times, when he’d been a child. It was doubtful he carried more than a passing memory of the cabin. He proved her wrong a moment later.

“It looks…different.”

He must have always been an observant person, she thought with another quiet, fortifying breath. “We knocked down the kitchen wall to add a dining room on the other side of the stairway, expanded the sewing room and made it an office, and we built a small storage shed in the back yard.”

He didn’t reply, only ambled over to the left side of the living room and ran a hand over the uneven stones of the fireplace. “I remember you sat on the hearth the first time I came here with my father. Your mother had to keep pulling you away from the ashes.”

Maggie couldn’t stop her lips from tilting up. “I was two, and very curious. Momma always said she had a heck of a time with me. She said I had to know everything and was far too nosey for my own good.”

He nodded before he abruptly turned away from the mantel. His eyes landed on her again and she felt a hot shiver race along her nerves. He looked determined, almost reckless with it, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Maybe he
had
come for a confrontation. As disturbing as it sounded, the idea of arguing with Hale was thrilling and set her pulse skittering.

“We’d like to buy your land, Maggie.”

“Ah.” So it might be an argument, but it was going to be about her land. She went back into the kitchen, slightly annoyed, and picked up her cup. “I already told Trent I’m not selling.”

She cradled the mug and turned around, only to find Hale on the other side of the free standing counter. Her heart did a quick somersault as she noted his rugged face was set with stark curiosity, his eyes fairly glowing with it, and she felt an unwelcome jolt of sexual attraction.

“You haven’t heard my offer,” he told her in a strangely intimate voice.

So this was the game he was going to play, she thought, and leaned back against the sink. The sensual tone of his words might be enough to make her knees weak, but it did nothing to diminish her resolve. Even with the sexual awareness sparking inside of her like a live wire she refused to be intimidated by him. He’d figure that out soon enough.

“Okay, let’s hear it.”

He started to open his mouth, then closed it. “It doesn’t matter what figure I give you, does it? You’ve already set your mind against it.”

She lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. The pleasure in that first swallow was lost as she stared at the man across from her. “I’ve turned down offers from other people, corporations, even, offers that were worth a lot more than what your family can give. This is my family’s land; I won’t be giving it up in my life time.”

He stared at her for a long, intense moment. “Trent tried to warn me.”

She watched him carefully, refusing to ask what Trent had said about her, no matter how curious she was.

Hale crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her. “Let me ask you, Ms. Maggie Mae Cooper—”

“Brannon,” she bit out, annoyed at his use of her maiden name.

“Sorry, I forgot. You were married.” There was a quick flash of what might have been sympathy. “Ms.
Brannon
, why hold onto all the land? It has to be hard for a single woman to maintain so many acres. Wouldn’t it be easier for you if you downsize?”

She could have slapped him. It would have been so easy to set her open palm against his arrogant cheek. But as tempting as smacking him was, it wouldn’t accomplish anything except to irritate him and confirm his suspicions about the unpredictability of the Cooper women. It was bad enough that he’d caught her crying in the woods, then had tried to seduce her by being “neighborly”. Physically touching him in any way wouldn’t help.

She shifted her weight, felt the flannel of Chris’ shirt brush her knuckles and drew comfort from it. “I have no plans to sell, or downsize, or whatever you want to call it,” she pointed out in quiet words.

“But isn’t it hard? Wouldn’t the money help you more than the land does?”

“If you think that, then you’re a bigger fool than anyone knows.”

She watched, fascinated, as banked fury swallowed his features. Now she’d done it. She’d called Hale Warrick a fool. Meeting the dark intensity in his eyes, she recalled how inviting his embrace had been, how warm his chest had felt against her back, how strong his hands had felt on her hips. The thought that should have scared her gave her an unwelcome thrill instead.

Whatever he might have said or done was interrupted by the doorbell. It took Maggie a moment to realize that someone was at the door. UPS, of course. She’d forgotten.

Sliding her coffee onto the counter, she moved out of the kitchen, turning her attention from the man who was silently fuming there, and answered the door. She smiled at Paul, her deliveryman, and chatted with deliberate cheer as he wheeled boxes into the living room. She had no idea what she was saying or what questions she was responding to; her mind was running on autopilot while her body quaked with unchecked emotions. She nearly laughed when he greeted Hale with a wave and he was forced to acknowledge Paul with a nod of his own. Maggie dashed her signature across the clipboard for her delivery then motioned to the boxes she had stacked in the corner beside the door.

“Those are all going out.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to keep up with orders once Christmas rolls around. You keep adding an extra box every few weeks.” Paul grinned as he scanned the barcodes. “My wife sure does love the quilt she bought, though.”

“I’ll pass the compliment along. Tell her if she liked that quilt, she’ll love the table cloth Evelyn sent in Saturday. It’s ivory with lace edging and a wedding ring pattern imbedded in the material.”

He rolled his eyes as he maneuvered the dolly underneath the packages. “She’ll be begging for it for her birthday.”

“Should I hold it for you?”

He gave her a wink and backed out the door. “Of course you should. Just email me the price and I’ll pick it up when I see you Thursday.”

She laughed as she watched him push the boxes down the side ramp of the porch. When he was safely at his truck, she closed the door and set her shoulders for more of her battle with Hale. Instead of the glowering stare she’d expected, though, he was gazing at her with open interest.

“What precisely is it you do, Maggie?”

She debated telling him that her work, just like her land, wasn’t any of his business, then decided that would give him too much importance. Besides, all he’d have to do was ask around town to get the answer. She held the gaze he was leveling on her as she shrugged and cocked her hip.

“I sell things.”

“That’s fairly obvious,” he murmured before letting out a long breath. “What sorts of
things
do you sell?”

“Homemade goods for the house: quilts, tablecloths, rugs, dolls, decorations, some clothing, even canned foods.”

“You don’t make all of that by yourself.”

“Not
all
of it, no.” She sent him a mocking smile. “I buy from other people I know, sell their things on my website, and make a marginal profit.”

“And you’ve done well.”

It was a statement more than a question but she replied anyway. “Yes, I have.”

He studied her a moment and she watched, baffled, as the frustration seeped from his body. “I apologize, Maggie. For today and for the woods…for other things.”

That comment shocked her all the way to her marrow. “Ex—excuse me?”

“I said I was sorry. What happened the other day, it was wrong, and today I came into your home and was rude. I shouldn’t have…. I need to apologize to you, Maggie.” He gave her a self-effacing look and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I don’t expect you to accept it.”

Confusion swirled around in her head like cotton candy cobwebs. “Not that I don’t deserve an apology for your behavior today and for what happened in the woods, but precisely what other things are you apologizing for?”

“For making assumptions, another thing my brother tried to warn me about.” He shifted his weight. “You’ve obviously worked hard for what you have.”

“Obviously.” She stared him, suspicious now that his demeanor had changed.

“Al Mackey.”

The softly spoken name sent her careening into another tangled mass of bewilderment. “What about Mr. Mackey?”

He merely shook his head and scraped a hand through his thick hair. For a moment she could have sworn she saw the same uncertainty she was feeling playing across his face. But it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure. Before she could form a coherent question, he let out a long breath and ran his gaze over her face, down her throat, before stopping at her shoulders. An uncomfortable fist curled around her stomach as his eyes flared with some unnamed emotion.

“You loved your husband.”

“Yes.” She wasn’t about to confess anything about her marriage to this man, no matter how hard he made her heart pound.

He lowered his head for a moment as if gathering his thoughts, before he lifted his gaze again. “I guess that was something else you’ve had to deal with. Your husband dying, leaving you alone…to be honest, I’m surprised you ever married.”

She blinked, not sure if she should be offended. “Surprised I—why exactly would you be surprised?”

“I assumed you were influenced by your parents and how they—”

Fury, pure, white hot and undiluted raged through her veins. “Oh, but I
was
influenced by my parents. Both were determined, hard working, creative people. They showed me the meaning of using your hands and the importance of a good education. When daddy died, momma showed me what family really meant, and what selflessness and sacrifice was all about. So, yes, Hale, I was influenced by my parents. Just like you’re influenced by your own.”

His gaze flared and narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I mean, you’ll believe what you want. Your family only has one side of the story,
their
side, and everyone else be damned. You probably thought my fall in the woods a few days ago was a calculated move to arouse you—” When he would have interrupted she plowed on. “—but I can assure you that it was a plain and simple accident; it wasn’t an underhanded plan to seduce the county’s Casanova.”

He raised an eyebrow as he lowered his voice. “I never accused you of seducing me, Maggie Mae. Don’t put thoughts in my head that aren’t there.”

She was too wound up from her chaotic emotions to pull back. “Money will do more for me than my land? You think my land is only good for making a deal, but you didn’t stop to consider that for most of my life this land gave us food and kept us from starving. Some of the first things I sold on the website were momma’s canned jellies and vegetables. But that doesn’t matter, does it? Some mega corp wants it for a resort, Bronlin, Brylon, something like that, and some other outfit wants it for cookie cutter vacation condos; you want the land for your expensive horses so you can add more money to the Warrick bank account. Well, that’s just too damn bad for all of you, because this land isn’t for sale anymore than I am.”