Lonergan's Secrets. Maureen ChildЧитать онлайн книгу.
readable even from behind the thick glasses he wore.
“Now, Bert,” Jeremiah said, swinging his legs off the bed, “no reason to start losing your nerve now.”
The other man set his black leather medical bag on the edge of the bed and gave the tarnished bronze clasp a quick twist. Then he delved one handed into the bag and pulled out a bottle of single-malt scotch. Scowling fiercely, he handed it over. “It isn’t about nerve, Jeremiah. It’s about what’s right. I don’t like lying to Sam.”
Frowning himself, Jeremiah studied the bottle of scotch. “Well, come to it, neither do I. But I had to get them all home somehow.”
“Yes, but he’s here now. Tell him the truth.”
“Not yet.” Jeremiah shook his head and fought his own feelings of guilt. He didn’t like worrying his grandsons, but once they were all here, back where they belonged, he’d tell them the truth together. Resolve strengthened, he nodded firmly and asked, “Say, Bert, when you were downstairs, did you happen to notice anything between Sam and Maggie?”
At the abrupt change of subject, Bert blinked, then thought about it for a long minute. “Nope. Can’t say that I did. Though Maggie wasn’t in the house. Sam let me in.” Giving his head a slow shake, he said, “Tried to talk to him about sticking around. Buying my practice.”
Jeremiah perked up at that. “What’d he say?”
“Same as always,” Bert said on a sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress beside his friend. Tiny dust mites danced in the sunlight, tossed by the brush of wind slipping under the partially opened sash. “He’s not staying. Not interested in sticking around. Wants to practice medicine on his terms.”
“Disappointing,” Jeremiah said on a matching sigh as he twisted the cap on the scotch bottle, breaking the seal. He lifted the bottle, took a sip, then handed it off to Bert. “The boy’s a hardhead, no doubt about it.”
Bert snorted, took a quick pull on the scotch and said, “Wonder where he got that trait?”
Maggie walked along the line, pulling the wooden clothespins free and taking down the now-dry sheets and pillowcases. Carefully she folded each item as she went and set it in the basket at her feet. When she’d finished one item, she kicked the basket along and moved on to the next.
Sam stood on the back porch, one shoulder leaning against the newel post as he watched her.
With Bert upstairs keeping Jeremiah occupied, he’d followed his instincts—which had brought him here.
To Maggie.
He didn’t like admitting that, even to himself, but there it was. Without really wanting to or even trying, he’d found a connection with this woman. He was already used to seeing her every day. To hearing her sing to herself when she thought no one was around. To seeing the way she cared for his grandfather and this place.
God, he’d missed the ranch. When he was a kid, the summers he’d spent here had meant more to him than anything. This place, this ranch, had been more home to him than any of the military bases he’d grown up on. His parents had always been too wrapped up in each other to take much notice of him—so the summers with his grandparents and cousins had shone golden in his mind. He’d always known that this place was here for him. This town. This ranch.
His gaze shifted briefly away from Maggie to encompass the ranch yard. The barn/stable needed a good coat of paint, and there were a few weeds sprouting up at the edges of the building and along the fence line. In the old days, weeds had never had a chance. But times had changed.
Too much had changed.
At the thought, his gaze drifted back to Maggie. Completely oblivious to him, she kept moving along the line of clean clothes she’d pegged out to dry hours ago. She wore white shorts that hit her midthigh and a tiny yellow tank top. Her white sneakers were old and worn, and her shoulder-length dark hair was drawn back into a ponytail that swayed with her movements like a metronome.
When he found himself smiling at the picture she made, he worried.
“If you’re going to stand out here anyway,” she called out, never turning her head, “the least you could do is help fold.”
He straightened up and blew out a disgusted breath. So much for being the stealthy type. Taking the steps to the grass, he wandered over to her side. “How’d you know I was there?”
She swiveled her head to glance at him. “I could feel you watching me.”
He quirked one eyebrow at her.
She grinned briefly. “Okay, and I heard you come outside. The screen on the kitchen door still squeaks.” Shrugging, she added, “Then there was the sound of your boot heels on the porch—not to mention that tired-old-man sigh I heard just a minute or two ago.”
Her fingers never stopped. She plucked off clothespins, dropped them into a canvas sack hanging from the line and then folded the next item.
“You’re too observant for your own good,” he said, taking the edge of the sheet when she held it out to him.
“Oh, I am,” she agreed, folding one edge of the sheet over the other, then walking toward him to make the ends meet. “Just like I’ve observed that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
Sunlight played on her hair, dazzling the streaks of blond intermingled with the darker strands. She squinted up at him, and he noticed for the first time that she had freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Not many. Just a few. Just enough to make a man want to count them with kisses.
Which was, he told himself, exactly why he’d been avoiding her all week.
Because that night with her was never far from his mind. Because with every breath he wanted her again. And again. And again.
Shaking his head, he blew out a breath. Damn it. Having her should have taken the edge off the hunger. Instead he now knew just what he could find in her arms and it was taking everything he had to keep from trying to have it again. “Like I said. Observant.”
Silently he took the gathered edges of the sheet, folded them neatly and dropped them onto the stack already in the basket. When he was finished, Maggie handed him a pillowcase and took one for herself.
“Hmm,” she quipped with a glance at him, “not even going to try to deny it?”
“Not much point in that, is there?”
“So want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“Not particularly,” he admitted and took the pillowcase she handed him.
“Okay, then why don’t I tell you?”
“Maggie.” He dropped the pillowcase onto the stack of clean laundry.
“See,” she said, cutting him off neatly, “I think you don’t want to talk about that night because it meant something to you. And that bothers you.”
He stiffened, narrowed his gaze on her and watched as she quickly plucked two more clothespins off the line, gathering up a sheet as she went. “I already told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding, “we’ve already covered that.”
“So why don’t we just leave it alone?”
“Can’t,” she said, turning to face him.
“Why am I not surprised?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Is it really so hard for you to admit that what we had that night was special?”
“No.” He huffed out a breath. “It was. I can admit that. But I can’t give you anything else.”
“I didn’t ask for anything else,” she reminded him with a patient sigh.
“Yeah,