The View From Here (22 page)

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Authors: Cindy Myers

BOOK: The View From Here
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Even goddesses have to come down from the throne and deal with the mundane world. In this case, a bladder that was screaming for relief when Maggie awoke two hours later. Jameso snored softly beside her, stretched out on his stomach. She took a moment to admire his naked body before reluctantly pulling on a robe and heading downstairs to the bathroom.
As she washed her hands, she studied herself in the mirror. Hair mussed. Beard rash on one cheek. Lips slightly swollen. She grinned dopily at her reflection. One look and anyone would know what she'd been up to. And would be up to again, as soon as she woke up the sleeping stud in her bed.
But when she reached the bedroom again, Jameso was already awake and getting dressed. “Hey, where are you going?” she asked, wincing at the accusing note in her voice.
“Sorry.” His look was full of apology, but his gaze shifted away before meeting hers. “I have to get to work.”
When will I see you again?
She thought the words, but she didn't dare say them. Hadn't she been the one to emphasize that she wasn't ready for any kind of serious relationship? Of course, that was before he'd rocked her world two hours ago. She hugged her arms across her chest, suddenly cold. “I had a great time,” she said. “Not just the sex, but the hike, too.”
“I had a great time, too.” He stood, buttoning his shirt, then came forward and kissed her. Not the passionate kiss of a lover, but the tender kiss on the cheek of a friend. The way he might have kissed her if they'd never slept together at all.
She studied his face, trying to read the emotion there. The lines around his eyes seemed more deeply etched, but that might have been a trick of the fading light. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything's great.” He patted her arm. “I'll call you later,” he said. Then he shrugged into his jacket and headed past her, down the stairs and out the door.
She listened to his truck start up and drive away, and tried to figure out why she suddenly felt so rotten. Of course he couldn't stay here twenty-four hours a day. He had a job. He had a house. She'd told him not to expect too much from her, so she shouldn't expect too much from him. But this afternoon had been so . . . so
incredible.
Didn't that count for something? Didn't that change things—the way they had changed her?
She'd expected more than him just . . . walking away. Was it just that men always ended up walking away? Or that she was a woman who was easy to leave?
Chapter 19
O
livia liked her job at the Dirty Sally, especially on nights like this, when the customers didn't keep her too busy. The crowd was light, a mix of locals and tourists. A friendly bunch, nobody too drunk or too loud. She was making good tips. It wasn't what you'd call a career. She knew her mother didn't approve, but Lucille looked down her nose at pretty much everything Olivia did.
Her mother didn't understand that Olivia needed time to get her head together. She had a lot to deal with, with a kid like Lucas who, let's face it, wasn't a typical little boy. For one thing, he was scary smart, brilliant in a way Olivia knew she'd never been. But all those brains were too much for his own good sometimes. You couldn't fool a kid like that, couldn't convince him you always knew best just because you were the parent. Lucas saw through that bullshit like it was nothing more than tissue paper, which left Olivia scrambling sometimes to make the right decisions.
It wasn't as if anybody gave you a handbook on how to be a parent. God knows Lucille hadn't been much of an example. In those first days after she split with Mitch, she was either off working or locking herself in the bathroom to cry, leaving Olivia to pretty much fend for herself. The lesson Olivia got from that little episode was that she couldn't count on anyone else to pick her up when she fell down, which was fine until you fell so far down you really needed a hand, and then what?
She'd give Lucille credit for one thing anyway. She hadn't blinked about letting Olivia and Lucas move in with her now, and she looked after the boy. Lucas had really taken to his grandmother. He was one of those kids who got along better with adults than he did with other kids.
There was one adult she'd just as soon he not be so friendly with. D. J., damn him. Where did the man come off writing to her kid? Short of cutting off Lucas's Internet connection, there wasn't anything she could do about it, though. And if she tried that, Lucas would make her life holy hell, she knew. Better to just forget about it. Pretend it didn't matter. Because hell, why should it? All men were bastards. D. J. was just the latest in a long line, starting with her father.
“Take it easy on the glassware,” Jameso said from the other end of the bar. “You keep slamming those mugs around, one's going to break.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him away. Jameso was all right. The hottest guy in town probably, but he'd made it clear he wasn't interested in her. She'd been a little miffed at first, but he'd managed to be charming, not insulting, so she'd come to think of him sort of like a big brother.
A balding man in a new-looking Windbreaker that practically screamed tourist leaned against the bar. “Hello,” he said in Olivia's direction, though his gaze shifted constantly, taking in the room, almost as if he was searching for something. Or someone.
“What can I get you?” Olivia asked.
“Bud Light.” He pulled out his wallet.
Olivia drew the beer and set it before him. “You want to run a tab?”
“No, that's okay.”
“Three bucks, then.”
He laid a five on the bar. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.” She rang up the sale and slipped the change into her pocket. “First time in Eureka?” she asked. Not that she was really interested, but it paid to be nice to good tippers.
“Yeah.” His gaze roamed the bar again. “It's not what I expected.” He turned back to her. “I mean, it's nice and all, just not the kind of place someone from the city would choose to live.”
“You here on vacation?”
“Not exactly.” He sipped the beer, then set it down again. “Maybe you can help me. I'm looking for someone.”
Olivia stiffened. “Are you a cop?”
“A cop?” His laugh was loud. Abrasive. “No, I'm not a cop. I'm looking for an old friend. I heard she was living here now and wanted to say hello.”
“What's your friend's name?” Olivia hadn't been in town long enough to know everyone, but the stranger was right about one thing—Eureka wasn't that big.
“Maggie Stevens. Do you know her?”
“What do you want with Maggie?” Olivia would have sworn Jameso wasn't paying any attention to the stranger, but the mention of Maggie's name brought him down the bar to stand in front of the stranger, his expression forbidding.
The stranger had balls, because he didn't back down in the face of Jameso's glare. Then again, he didn't know about the baseball bat under the bar. Olivia had never actually seen Jameso use the weapon, but she'd never doubted he would if circumstances warranted.
“Who are you?” the stranger asked.
“Jameso Clark. Who are you?”
“I'm Carter Stevens.”
The name meant nothing to Olivia, but the effect on Jameso was remarkable: He paled, then flushed, and the muscles of his jaw tightened. Olivia got ready to duck, in case the bat came out. “Maggie doesn't want to see you,” he said.
“If that's the way she feels, she can tell me to her face. Do you know where I can find her?”
“No.” Jameso sent Olivia a look that made it clear he didn't want her opening her mouth about Maggie's whereabouts either.
When Carter turned to her, Olivia shook her head and stepped back. “Can't help you,” she muttered.
She could see in his eyes that Carter wanted to say something, maybe something not nice, but he thought better of it. He slid the half-empty beer mug across the bar. “If you see Maggie, tell her I'm looking for her,” he said.
He turned to leave, but in a moment of sheer bad timing, the door opened and Olivia's mother walked in, followed by Maggie.
“Hey, Olivia. Jameso,” Maggie called, smiling. She had her red hair piled up on top of her head and wore a blue gauzy top that brought out the color in her eyes. The stony look on Jameso's face made her falter, and only then did she see the man at the bar.
“Maggie! It's so good to see you again.” The stranger strode forward and enveloped her in a hug. Olivia thought Maggie looked like she wanted to throw up.
“Carter,” she said when he released her. She stepped back, putting distance between them. “What are you doing here?”
“I've missed you, Maggie,” he said. “I've been doing some thinking, and we need to talk.”
 
If she'd set out to script a bad dream, Maggie would have been hard-pressed to come up with a more nightmarish scenario than standing in the Dirty Sally with her ex-husband while what seemed like half the town—including her new lover—looked on. She'd had no plans to come here tonight anyway, but Lucille had called and suggested a drink, and knowing Jameso would be working behind the bar had been an extra inducement to accept. She wanted to remind him of what he'd so recently left behind.
But any prospect for a fun, flirtatious evening vanished as soon as she stepped in the door. When Carter threw his arms around her, she'd felt paralyzed, able only to make a strangled noise in the back of her throat.
He released her, his expression filled with concern. “Are you all right? You're not going to be sick, are you?” He took a step back.
“Maggie, is this man bothering you?” Jameso had moved out from behind the bar and stood behind Carter, glowering with menace.
The very last thing she wanted was for Jameso to make a scene. “Everything's fine. Thanks.” She managed a weak smile. Jameso's stony expression didn't waver.
“Maybe we could go somewhere more private.” Carter looked around with the expression of someone who's afraid to sit, for fear of getting something nasty on his trousers.
“Maybe a table . . .” Maggie looked around the bar, but the only empty spot was a table by the front window. She and Carter might as well have their reunion in the middle of Main Street.
Behind her, the door opened, admitting Bob and Rick. Was it coincidence, or had word already gone out on the small-town grapevine that Maggie's ex was in town asking for her? “Hey, Maggie.” Bob waved. “Who's your friend?”
“Maggie.” Carter's voice held a note of warning—the same tone he'd used when they were married and she wasn't behaving the way he wanted. The tone a disapproving parent might use with a child. It should have made Maggie angry; instead, long-ingrained habit made her cringe. She took his arm.
“Excuse us,” she muttered, as she dragged him toward the door.
Jameso didn't say a word, but she felt his eyes on her all the way out the door. The street was full of people this time of evening. Danielle waved from the porch of the Last Dollar, and Reg lifted a hand from across the street. They had to get out of here, to someplace they could talk without an audience. “Where are you staying?” she asked Carter.
“I haven't decided yet.” He glanced around. “This place doesn't appear to have much in the way of accommodations. Nothing suitable anyway.” This from a man who insisted on staying with relatives on vacation because he was too cheap to spring for a hotel.
“You can follow me to my place,” she said. The cabin was one spot she could be fairly certain she wouldn't be followed or spied on. Not waiting for an answer, she hurried to the Jeep and started the engine.
Carter was driving a nondescript rental, small and white and probably the cheapest thing he could find. Maggie tore out of town with him close behind, allowing herself a grim smile of satisfaction as her tires kicked up gravel and slung it back toward him. He'd be lucky to get down off the mountain without at least a cracked windshield. That is, if he could keep up with her.
She didn't make it easy, driving the road at a reckless speed that would have been unthinkable a few months before, when she first arrived in town. The Jeep's engine whined as she took the grades, tires skidding around curves. Carter faded farther and farther into the distance, the lights of his rental barely visible in the dust and growing darkness.
She parked the Jeep in front of the cabin and waited, absently fingering the rings on the chain around her neck. He rolled into the yard a full three minutes behind her. “Were you trying to get me killed?” he demanded, jumping out of the car as soon as he cut the engine.
“Don't tempt me,” she said. Up here at the cabin she felt a little sturdier on her feet. “What are you doing in Eureka, Carter?”
“I told you. I missed you.” One hand on the car, as if he feared he might fall, he took in the surroundings. “Where the hell are we?” he asked.
“This is the cabin my father left me. How did you find out I was here?”
“I saw the address on a letter Barb sent you.”
“You were snooping through Barb's mail?”
“It was lying on the counter when I stopped by to see Jimmy.”
“If Barb knew you were going through her mail, she'd scratch your eyes out.”
“She doesn't hate me nearly as much as you think.” He looked smug. “She even made a pass at me at their last Christmas party.”
“She told me
you
made a pass at her.”
“So who are you going to believe—a friend, or the man you were married to for twenty years?”
“The man who cheated on me for the last five years we were married? How is Francine, by the way?”
He cleared his throat. “Francine is well, thank you.”
He let go of the car and took a few steps toward the cabin. “So this is the mountain retreat your father left you?” He looked smug. “I heard there was a gold mine also.”
“Yes.” Let him think what he wanted about that. “You said you wanted to talk to me, so talk.”
“Maybe we should go inside.” He started up the steps to the cabin.
“No.” She raced over to block his way. The last thing she wanted was to have him inside her home—the only place she'd ever had that was truly hers alone. “We can talk out here. Say what you have to say and get out.”
“Maggie.” His tone was placating, his smile one she once had thought charming. “I realize we've had our differences, but I really want us to be friends.” He glanced over his shoulder at the cabin once more, then to the battered Jeep in the drive. “I think I'm in a position where I can really help you.”
Maggie could practically see the dollar signs turning over in his head as he calculated the worth of all her possessions. He'd scarcely noticed the spectacular view, as if something she could get for free wasn't worth acknowledging. “You don't have anything I want,” she said. Not his money or his name or his company—all those things she'd once valued were worthless to her now.
“Oh, but maybe I do.” He stepped forward and tried to take her hand, but she jerked away. He frowned, but went on. “I can see you've really settled in here. Made a new life for yourself. I'm glad.”

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