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To Maggie’s relief, it was weeks later before she shared the same air space with Ryan in an automobile again. This time it was in her own car.
And she gained a perverse pleasure from the entire episode.
Ryan had not joined Maggie and Brandy on an outing since that first time until Brandy had requested that her two favorite “big people” go to the movies together with her.
Maggie firmly suggested they go in her car and restrained her laughter when Ryan acquiesced to Brandy’s request that she be allowed to sit up front with Maggie. He couldn’t have realized how small her back seat was when he’d agreed to his daughter’s plan, and Maggie felt no compunction to warn him. He hadn’t complained about the inconvenience, however, as he sat, knees hunched, in the back seat of Maggie’s sports car.
Throughout the afternoon he remained his usual quiet self. The nearly two months since he had met Maggie had made him no less distant than he’d been that day in Mrs. Fletcher’s office. With that confrontation in the exhibit hall still replaying itself in Maggie’s mind, she hadn’t been eager to instigate conversation herself. Fortunately, moviegoing naturally necessitated little talk. And Brandy took care of filling what otherwise might have been silence in the car.
“Can we stop and look at the alligators, Daddy? Please!” Brandy begged on their way home from the movie theater, turning to her father with pleading eyes.
Maggie glanced back and witnessed the harsh planes of Ryan’s face softening as he smiled at his daughter. She knew now that it hadn’t been her imagination that Ryan Conner had a soft side.
She just couldn’t figure out why his daughter was the only one who got the benefit of it.
Ryan nodded his agreement to Brandy’s plan, and Maggie pulled her car over onto the dirt just past the narrow two-lane bridge that spanned a swamp. Brandy had shown her the spot and talked her into stopping to look for ’gators several times already since they’d first met.
As the car rolled to a halt, Brandy jumped out, ran to the guardrail at the side of the low bridge and peered over. Maggie held back a smile as Ryan uncurled his muscular length from the back seat. He rose to his full height, then bent to rub the back of one knee. He straightened and looked up, meeting Maggie’s amused gaze.
Serves you right, she thought.
“I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable back there,” she said aloud in a sweetly solicitous voice.
“Not at all,” Ryan replied evenly. Eyeing his daughter, he called out, “Be careful, Brandy. Don’t lean over too far.”
Ryan had spied the twinkle in Maggie’s green eyes that told him she found it highly entertaining that he’d endured a ride in the back seat of her sports car. He knew he should by all rights be irritated with her. But he wasn’t.
Instead, he’d spent the afternoon absorbing how wonderful she was with his daughter, what a genuine rapport they’d clearly developed. In the weeks since she’d been matched with Brandy, Maggie had kept to her word about meeting with Brandy every two weeks, and had determinedly sought out activities that the little girl enjoyed.
The bottom line was that Brandy had never seemed happier. Ryan was forced to give the credit for that to Maggie.
Waiting by the car, Ryan watched Brandy. Not immediately spying any alligators, the little girl grabbed Maggie’s arm and pulled her across the empty road to try the other side. Ryan followed and stood quietly beside Maggie as Brandy ran up and down the guardrail searching for signs of reptilian life below.
Maggie smiled as she glanced at Ryan standing beside her. The warm early March breeze, carrying a hint of the ocean’s salty scent across the inland swamp, softly ruffled his dark hair. He is handsome, Maggie thought as she watched him, remembering her first conversation with Emma about Ryan. She noted how relaxed Ryan’s face appeared, not stern and tense the way she usually saw him.
She found herself noticing little things, such as how long his eyelashes were for a man. Then she observed the tiny laugh crinkles around his eyes that suggested a man of better humor than he had so far displayed to her. He was not as cold as he seemed, Maggie thought. She almost felt guilty for laughing to herself about his being scrunched up in the back seat.
Ryan turned and looked at her. She realized that she was staring—and that she had been caught.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said with a shaky laugh. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Ryan asked, his eyes strangely gentle as he looked into hers.
Maggie retreated from his uncharacteristic friendliness by transferring her gaze to the murky green water below.
“I love the way the swamp looks different every time I drive by it on the way out to your house,” she said, dissembling. She looked back at Ryan. “It’s always changing, with each breeze. See, it’s moving even now.” Maggie pointed to a huge lily pad bordered by tall fur-topped cattails that shifted with the spring wind.
“Yes,” Ryan agreed. “That’s what I like about it, too.” Then, so softly Maggie had to lean toward him slightly to hear it, he added, “It’s very peaceful and uncomplicated.”
For just a few seconds, she saw the familiar expression that he seemed to normally reserve only for his daughter.
You’d almost think he wanted to be friends, she pondered. Or at least to start over as something other than enemies.
“How’s school?” Maggie asked suddenly, afraid to let the moment of fragile rapport slip away. She had never heard him talk about his work, but she often chanced upon him grading papers or buried in books when she dropped by on the weekends to pick up Brandy.
“Good,” he replied in a noncommittal tone, then, surprisingly, he smiled. A smile that lit his face and sparked an odd tingle in the pit of Maggie’s stomach. “It’s always a challenge trying to make kids like reading the classics,” he continued. “And it allows me to have school holidays and summers to spend with Brandy.”
“I can see that means a lot to you,” Maggie observed warmly. “It sounds like you really enjoy the work, too. I loved literature in high school myself. I still remember my twelfth-grade English teacher. I admired her so much that for a while I wanted to be an English teacher, too. I even went so far as to minor in English at college,” she told him.
Ryan froze inside, suddenly wary. He recalled how he and Delia had studied English together during their college years. He’d entered the teaching profession, and Delia had gone on to law school, launching a lucrative, high-powered career in corporate law. She’d never understood Ryan’s dedication to his “little teaching job.”
“But you ended up in business,” Ryan cut in, retreating protectively. “A real career woman.” The realization of how easily he could be swept away into the sultry depths of Maggie’s misty green eyes burst over his mind. He looked around for Brandy, resolving to be more careful in the future.
Maggie stared at Ryan, stunned. Where did that come from? she wondered, feeling as if he’d just slapped her.
“Brandy, let’s go,” Ryan called. “I don’t think we’re going to see any ’gators today.”
As he spoke, Maggie noticed a dark shadow gliding through the water beside a thin tree in the middle of the swamp. Its long head, saddled with bulging eye sockets, cut the water in a slim, straight line toward the bridge.
“Look, Brandy!” Maggie called. She grabbed Brandy’s hand and pulled her away from her father and back to the edge of the bridge.
Brandy squealed with delight, clutching Maggie’s hand tightly. Maggie looked over her shoulder. Ryan stood by her car, his face an expressionless mask.
Whatever had been between them for those few moments had evaporated as quickly as it had appeared, she realized.
The sounds of terror woke Ryan, rousing him from sleep automatically. He knew what was wrong. He’d been through it all before. Too many times.
“Brandy? Sweetheart?” he called as he stumbled down the dark hallway to his daughter’s room. He crawled into the bed and hugged Brandy’s small, shaking body. “I’m here,” he comforted her, holding her tight. “Daddy’s here.”
“I dreamed—” Brandy cried, sobs choking out the words.
“I know, I know,” Ryan whispered, rocking her back and forth.
“You won’t ever leave me, will you, Daddy?” Brandy asked, her voice thick with tears.
“No, Brandy. You know I won’t ever leave you.”
“Mommy did.”
Pain pricked along Ryan’s nerves. He drew Brandy closer.
“I won’t leave you, sweetheart. I promise. Cross my heart.”
“And hope to die?”
“And hope to die,” Ryan repeated.
He held her tight, knowing by the even rhythm of her breathing when she slept. But sleep eluded him, and he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the soft rays of morning to light the room.
Would Brandy ever stop having nightmares? he wondered as he lay quietly, his daughter peaceful once more in his arms. He thought back to when the dreams had started, the night Delia had left.
Brandy had been three. So young, so impressionable. So unable to understand that her mother’s sudden departure had nothing to do with her, in spite of her father’s reassurances.
Brandy usually went for months without having the nightmare. Then it would come back suddenly, as forceful and terrifying as ever. Ryan could only console himself that the frequency of the nightmares was lessening as time went on. Brandy’s pediatrician had assured him that eventually the dreams would subside completely.
She hadn’t had the nightmare since she’d started seeing Maggie, he realized suddenly. There was usually a trigger to the episodes, he’d learned. Thinking back on the day before, he remembered their time at the movies, and stopping off at the bridge to watch for alligators.
When Maggie had dropped them off at home, Brandy had asked her to help her with her school play. All the kids’ mothers were making costumes, Brandy had said. And so she wanted her special friend to help her.
Maggie had eagerly agreed.
Maybe, Ryan considered, Brandy wasn’t quite as comfortable as she’d appeared with having Maggie substitute for her mother. Brandy rarely mentioned Delia, and it was difficult for Ryan to know how much hurt she might be hiding.
Pale light streaked through the divided panes of Brandy’s bedroom window as Ryan fell asleep. The next thing he was aware of was his daughter poking his shoulder, calling his name.
“Daddy?” Brandy called, her voice close to his ear, her finger prodding insistently into his skin through his pajama top. “Wake up. Maggie’s here.”
Chapter Three
Ryan sleepily pulled himself up from Brandy’s narrow twin bed, automatically reaching to rub the middle of his back with one hand. A night comforting Brandy never failed to leave him with aching muscles.
He yawned, staring at his daughter quizzically. Although he had no idea what time it was, he was sure it was early.
Too early for Maggie to be at his house.
“Come on, Daddy,” Brandy said, tugging on his arm. She cocked her head to the side. “Did you forget Maggie said she was coming over this morning to help me with my costume for the play?” she asked.
He had forgotten. He glanced down at his blue striped pajamas.
“Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” he told her as he stood, his joints rebelling as he stretched to his full height. “And get dressed,” he instructed Brandy, noticing that she still wore her lace-edged flannel nightgown, bare toes peeping out below.
After treating his tired muscles to a shower that went by all too fast, and donning jeans and a thick, comfortable sweater, Ryan emerged into the hallway, tempted both by the rich aroma of coffee and the musical sounds of high-pitched laughter.
Turning the corner into the living room, Ryan found Brandy draped with a huge swatch of velvety forest green material while Maggie stood back, studying her, pins clenched between her teeth. A cup of steaming coffee rested on a nearby end table.
“Daddy!” Brandy squealed, spotting her father. “Look at me. I’m going to look like a real flower!”
Maggie turned and smiled tentatively at Ryan. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him, especially after discovering that her arrival had woken him up.
“Hi,” she said, removing the pins from her mouth. She could see Ryan had only recently emerged from a shower, his dark hair curling damply around the back of his sweater collar. He smelted lightly of musk—appealing and masculine. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of making coffee in your kitchen. I brought doughnuts.” She nodded to the dining room table, where a paper carton of glazed doughnuts waited.
“Actually, coffee sounds great right about now,” Ryan told her, his voice softly neutral. “It was a long night. Thanks.”
Maggie wondered what he was referring to, but hesitated to ask. The last time they’d strayed to a personal topic, she’d gotten her head bitten off. She wasn’t in any hurry to repeat the experience.
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