Lonergan's Secrets: Expecting Lonergan's Baby / Strictly Lonergan's Business / Satisfying Lonergan's Honour

“Oh, God.” Maggie covered her mouth with her hand and stared up at him as terrifying thoughts wheeled through her mind. If the doctor didn’t want to tell Jeremiah’s grandson what was wrong with him, that could only mean the older man was desperately ill. “That can’t be good. He must not want to worry you.”

He folded both arms across his chest and thought about that. “Could be the reason, I suppose, but I don’t think so.” Shaking his head, Sam muttered, “No. There’s something going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, “Jeremiah and Doc Evans are up to something and I want to know what it is.”

Instantly defensive, Maggie said, “Are you trying to say that Jeremiah’s not sick? Because if you are, that’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe,” Sam allowed, but clearly he wasn’t convinced. Maggie reached for him, laying one hand on his forearm and somehow ignoring the sizzle of heat that erupted between them. “Jeremiah is a wonderful man. He would never worry his family unnecessarily. You should know that even better than I do.”

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and slowly Maggie withdrew it.

“You could be right,” he said finally. “But I want you to keep an eye out.”

“You’re asking me to spy on your grandfather?”

“Spy’s a harsh word.”

“But appropriate.” Maggie shook her head and stepped out of the way as a tall man squeezed past her to get at the table full of bananas. Sam frowned, took her arm again and pushed the cart farther out of the produce section, away from most of the crowd.

He glanced around as if to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear them. Then he bent his head toward hers. “I’m not asking you to betray him. I’m only asking you to help me.”

“Not two hours ago,” she reminded him in a fast whisper, “you agreed that we should keep our distance from each other this summer. Now you’re asking me to work with you against a man who’s been nothing but kind to me.”

He scraped one hand across his face, then grabbed her upper arms and pulled her close. She sucked in a gulp of air and held it as his face came within a breath of hers. Her heart pounded and she heard the rush of her own blood in her ears. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted to his eyes again.

“Things change, Maggie,” he said, his voice low and fast. “And now I’m saying that I need your help. I’m worried about Jeremiah. So are you.” His gaze moved over her face like a caress. He licked his lips, pulled in a breath, then let her go suddenly and took a step back. “The question is, are you willing to work with me to find out what’s going on around here?”

Five

Three days later an uneasy truce had been declared. She tried to stay out of Sam’s way and he kept butting into her life. Okay, so the truce was only on her side.

The man seemed to pop up everywhere. If she was outside gardening, he showed up, leaning casually against the side of the house, watching every move she made. If she was cooking, he found his way to the kitchen, interrogating her on his grandfather’s diet. If she was cleaning, he was close at hand, as though making sure she wasn’t going to steal the family silver or something.

And at all times she felt his dark gaze on her as she would a touch.

In fact, the only time she felt as though she wasn’t being watched was the evenings, spent in her own little house. But even then there was no peace. Because her dreams were full of him.

His dark eyes. His well-shaped mouth, long fingers and leanly muscled body. In dreams he did more than watch her. In dreams he held her, kissed her, tasted her, explored her body with his own and every morning she woke up just a little bit more tense than she’d been the day before.

Every nerve in her body felt as though it were on fire from the inside. There was a coiled tension within her that made every breath a labor and every heartbeat a victory.

Up to her elbows in hot, soapy water, Maggie swished the scrubbing sponge over a mixing bowl, rinsed it out, then set it carefully in the drainer. Shaking her head, she yawned, blinked tired eyes and whispered, “It’s only been three days. If this keeps up, by the end of summer I’ll be dead.”

“What?”

She jumped, splashing a small wave of hot water onto the front of her pale pink T-shirt. When the adrenaline rush ended, she sighed, glanced down at herself, then lifted her gaze to Sam, standing in the doorway. “You have got to stop sneaking up on me.”

A brief half smile curved one corner of his mouth, then was gone before she could get a good look at it. “You would have heard me if you weren’t talking to yourself,” he pointed out.

“Right.” She used the tips of her fingers to pull her wet shirt away from her abdomen, then gave it up and reached into the water for the next dish. “Before you ask,” she said while she swiped a plate, rinsed it and set it to dry, “Jeremiah ate a big breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Toast and juice.”

“Cholesterol Surprise for a heart patient. Good thinking.”

Turning her head to glare at him, she said, “We’ve been through this before. It’s turkey bacon, egg substitute and wheat toast. Perfectly healthy.”

Frowning, he walked into the room and stopped alongside her. Turning, he leaned one hip against the counter, folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sorry.”

“Wow,” Maggie countered. “An apology. This is so exciting.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Guess I owe you more than one apology, huh?”

Turning off the rinse water, Maggie grabbed up a flowered dishcloth, dried her hands and faced him. If he was suddenly in the mood to talk, she’d take advantage of the situation.

“You’ve been following me around for days,” she said quietly, trying to keep the ring of accusation out of her voice. “It’s like you’re trying to find something wrong with me and what I do for your grandfather. I want to know why.”

Sunlight pouring in from the kitchen windows played across his features and spotlighted the worry gathered in his eyes.

“Because this is making me crazy,” he admitted finally with another shake of his head. “Pop won’t talk to me. Said he’s got nothing to say until my cousins Cooper and Jake get here.”

More Lonergan cousins to keep an eye on her. Yippee.

“When will that be?” she asked.

He pushed away from the counter, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked across the room, his boot heels clacking noisily against the linoleum. “I don’t know. Jake was in Spain at some road rally when the old man sent for him. And Cooper… well, he locks himself away when he’s working. God knows if he’s even gotten the message yet.”

“I’ve read a couple of his books,” Maggie said.

He turned to look at her. “What’d you think?”

“They terrify me,” she admitted with a small smile. The last Cooper Lonergan thriller she’d read had forced her to leave her bedroom light on all night for nearly a week. The images he created were so real, so frightening, she didn’t know how the man himself slept at night. “He must be one scary man—because he’s got a really twisted imagination.”

A sad smile raced across Sam’s face. “He never used to,” he said. “Cooper was always the funniest one of us. The one nothing bothered. At least until—” His voice faded away and even the echo of that smile disappeared from his eyes. “Things change.”

Maggie’s heart ached for him.

For all of them.

Even though a part of her wanted to shout that it had been fifteen years. Long enough to come to terms with a tragedy.

Instead, though, she only said, “You could try talking to Doc Evans again.…”

He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll be helpful. He just keeps muttering about doctor-patient confidentiality. No. Whatever’s going on here, Jeremiah and the doc are in it together. And they’re both too stubborn to break.”

“Stubborn must run in your family.”

“Yeah?” One dark eyebrow lifted.

“Well,” she said, tossing the dish towel over her left shoulder, “you’ve already admitted they’re not going to tell you anything and yet you don’t stop trying. What’s that if not stubborn?”

“Dedicated?”

She laughed and she saw a flash of appreciation dart across the surface of his eyes. And in response, a sweep of something warm and delicious rushed through her. Her hands trembled, so she pulled the dish towel off her shoulder again and wrapped it through her fingers. She pulled in a couple of short, uneasy breaths and told herself to get a grip.

“Who’s that?” he asked suddenly and Maggie’s head snapped up.

She looked out the kitchen window and saw one of their neighbors, Susan Bateman, rushing across the yard, her four-year-old daughter Kathleen cradled in her arms.

“It’s Susan,” Maggie said, already moving for the back door. “She and her family live on the ranch down the road. And something’s wrong.”

She threw open the door and Susan raced inside, her features taut, her blue eyes wide in a face gone pale. Blood blossomed on her white collared shirt, and the little girl in her arms whimpered plaintively. She hardly looked at Maggie, instead turning her gaze directly on Sam. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“Susan,” Maggie said, “what—”

“I heard in town,” the other woman kept talking, “that you’re a doctor. You are, right?”

Sam stared at her and looked as though he wanted to deny it. But the sense of desperation clinging to Susan—not to mention Kathleen’s muffled whimpering—was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah,” he said tightly. “I am.”

“Thank God,” Susan said. “Katie cut herself on a postholer, and you were so much closer to town that I just came here right away.”

At that, the little girl lifted her head from her mother’s chest and turned big, watery blue eyes on Maggie and Sam. “I got a owie and it’s all blooding.”

“Aw, baby,” Maggie cooed, stepping forward instinctively to smooth back the fringe of light blond hair on the little girl’s forehead. “You’ll be okay. Sam can fix it. You’ll see.”

She looked at Sam, mouth quivering. “Does it gonna hurt?”

Sam’s mouth worked. He scraped one hand across his face and then said gruffly, “You should take her into town. She’ll need a tetanus shot.”

“No shots, Mommy!” The wail lifted the hairs at the back of Maggie’s neck, and she winced as the child’s voice hit decibels only dogs should have been able to hear.

Susan, though, ignored her child’s distress and focused on reaching the doctor still staring at her. “We can take care of that later. She’s hurt. She needs help now.”

Maggie sensed his hesitation and wondered at it. She could see Sam leaning toward the girl, instinctively moving to help, but there was a distance in his eyes he couldn’t hide.

“Fine,” he said abruptly, and though a sense of detachment still remained in his eyes, he reached out both arms for the little girl. “Maggie,” he said quickly as he examined the slice across the child’s forearm, “go upstairs. There’s a medical bag in my room.”

“Right.” She left the kitchen at a dead run and was back downstairs again a moment or two later.

He had the little girl sitting on the counter beside a now-empty sink while he carefully held her small arm under a stream of water from the faucet.

“It’s still blooding,” Katie cried, kicking her heels against the wood cupboards beneath the counter.

Sam smiled at her. “That’s because you have smart blood.”

“I do?” She sniffled, wiped her red eyes with her free hand and stared at him.

“Yep. Your blood’s cleaning your cut for us. Very smart blood.”

“Mommy,” she said, delighted to know how intelligent her body was, “I’m smart.”

“You bet, baby girl,” Susan said, watching every move Sam made.

“Here’s your bag.” Maggie stepped up close and set the bag down beside the little girl. Then she lifted one hand to smooth silky-soft hair off the child’s cheeks.

She watched Sam, impressed and touched by his gentleness with the little girl. She’d been around him for three days now and this was the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of his heart.

“Thanks,” Sam said and pulled a paper towel off the roll, gently patting the cut dry. “Katie, you just sit right here for a second and we’ll fix it all up.”

“‘Kay.”

He delved into the bag, pulled out a small package and opened it up. “These are butterfly bandages,” he said as he pulled the backing off the tiny adhesive patches.

“Butterflies?” More curious now than afraid, Katie watched him as he pulled the skin of her wound together and carefully applied the bandages.

His fingers smoothed over the edges of the bandages, carefully making sure they weren’t too tight, weren’t pulling too closely. Then he lifted his gaze to hers and smiled into her watery eyes. “All finished,” Sam said. “You were very brave.”

“And smart,” she added with a sharp nod of her head that sent a tiny pink barrette sliding toward her forehead.

“Oh,” Sam said despite the warning twinge of danger inside him, “very smart.”

She flashed him a smile that slammed into him like a sledgehammer, and Sam had to remind himself to emotionally back up. It was the little ones that always got to him. The helpless ones. The ones with tears in their eyes and blind trust in their hearts.

At that thought, he straightened up, lifted her down from the counter and set her onto her feet. Then he closed his bag and glanced at the child’s mother. “She’ll be fine. But you should still get her in to Doc Evans for that tetanus—” He broke off with a glance at the girl, then finished lamely, “For the other thing I talked about earlier.”

“I will,” she promised, gathering up her daughter and holding her close. “And thank you. Seriously.”

“It wasn’t bad,” Sam assured her, uncomfortable with the admiring stares of both Susan and Maggie.

“She’s my baby,” the woman said, hugging the girl tightly. “Which means, everything is serious to me.”

“I understand.” And he did. All too well. Which was exactly why he needed the emotional distance that was, at the moment, eluding him.

When they were gone, Katie waving a final goodbye from the safety of her mother’s arms, Sam felt Maggie’s curiosity simmering in the air.

“You’re very good with children,” she said.

He forced himself to glance at her and saw the shine of interest in her eyes. Ordinarily having a woman like Maggie look at him like that would be a good thing. But not now. Not when they’d be in close quarters for the summer. Not when he’d be leaving in three months and she’d dug her own roots deep into the Lonergan ranch.

“I almost never bite,” he said, choosing to make a joke out of her observation.

She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “Jeremiah told me that you work with Doctors Without Borders.”

“Sometimes,” he said, trying to head her off at the pass before she started making what he did into some kind of heroics.

“And,” she continued, “he said when you’re not doing that, you work in hospital E.R.s around the country.”

True. He kept on the move. Never staying in one place long enough to care about the people he treated. Never making the kind of connection that could only lead to pain somewhere along the line.

Frowning, Sam only said, “Jeremiah talks too much.”

“What I don’t understand,” she said softly, keeping his attention despite the voice inside telling him to leave the room, “is why someone like you doesn’t want to settle down in one place. Build a practice.”

His chest tightened and his lungs felt as though they were being squeezed by a cold, invisible fist. Of course she didn’t understand. The woman had been at the ranch less than two years and she’d already put her stamp on the place.

Little touches—flowers, candles—decorated the big rooms. The house always smelled of lemon oil, and every stick of furniture in the place gleamed from her careful attention. She’d nested. Put down roots here in the land that had nurtured him in his youth. Of course she couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t want the same things.

And if things had been different, he probably would have. But he’d learned early that loving, caring, only meant that you could be hurt, torn apart inside by a whim of fate. So now he chose to stand apart. To keep his heart whole by keeping it locked away.

“I like to be on the move,” he said and heard the gruffness of his own voice scratching at the air. Here, in this kitchen that shone and glistened in the morning sunlight, a part of him wished things were different. Wished he were different.

But no amount of wishing could turn back time.

“Before,” she said, apparently unwilling to let this conversation end and allow him an escape, “you told me that you weren’t a nice man.”

He stilled, his hands atop the medical bag that went with him everywhere. “It’s the truth.”

“No,” she said softly. And he couldn’t help it—he had to look at her.

The sun shining in behind her silhouetted and lined her form with gold. Their gazes locked. She looked deeply into his eyes, and Sam wanted to warn her that what she would see in his soul wasn’t really worth a long look.

“It’s not the truth at all,” she was saying, her gaze on his, a small smile curving her lips. “I think you’d like to believe it’s true, but it’s not.”

“You don’t know me,” Sam countered and deliberately forced himself to break the spell somehow linking them. He grabbed up his bag and took the few steps to the doorway leading out of the kitchen.

Her voice stopped him.

“Maybe not,” she said quietly. “But maybe you don’t know you very well, either.”

“You shouldn’t come here alone.”

Maggie’s rhythm was shattered and she came up out of her swim stroke to look at the man standing at the lake’s edge. Under the light of a nearly full moon he looked… amazing.

All day she’d been thinking of him. Didn’t matter that he’d managed to keep out of her way, busying himself with tasks around the ranch yard. He’d mended fences, repaired a loose board on the back porch and cleared out the empty stables where Jeremiah used to keep horses.

And when he hadn’t known she was watching, Maggie had taken the opportunity to indulge herself with a good stare. He worked like a man trying to keep himself too busy to think. In the heat of the afternoon he’d stripped off his black T-shirt, and Maggie’d been mesmerized by the sight of his tanned flesh, muscles rippling with his every movement.

Heat had settled deep inside her and didn’t show any signs of dissipating. She’d moved through the rest of her day in a fog of confused lust. Not that she was confused about the lust. That was really clear. Gorgeous man, dark, haunted eyes, deep voice, gentle hands. What woman wouldn’t be tied up in knots over him?

The confusion resulted from the fact that she knew he wanted her, too—and was doing everything he could to avoid her. But then, hadn’t they made a pact to do just that? Steer clear of each other?

So why was he here now?

Treading water, Maggie kicked her legs and waved her arms through the cool water, keeping herself afloat as she watched him. “I’ve been coming here alone for two years now. I’m perfectly safe.”

“I came here every summer of my life. Only took the one time.”

“Sam…” If they were going to have this talk, she wouldn’t do it while treading water. Giving a good strong kick, she headed for shore, and as soon as the water was shallow enough, she walked across the silty bottom, sand pushing up between her toes. Water rained off her body and she wrung her hair out before tossing it over her shoulder as she moved up onto the shore, coming to a stop right in front of him.

His gaze swept up and down her quickly, thoroughly. “No more skinny-dipping?”

She glanced at the black one-piece bathing suit she wore, then lifted her gaze to his. Smiling, she shrugged. “I’m being a little more careful these days.”

Instantly the humor in his eyes disappeared and he reached for her, curling his fingers into her shoulders as he pulled her close. His eyes even darker than usual, his voice was raw. “I hope you are. You don’t dive here, do you? Jump in from the ridge?”

“No,” she said quickly, responding to the fear in his eyes more than to the dictatorial note in his voice. “I just come here to swim. To cool off.”

She shifted her gaze to the moonlit water behind her. She tried to see it through his eyes, through the veil of a memory that clearly still shadowed him. But all she saw was the beauty. As always, being in this spot soothed her, filled her in a way that nothing else ever had. The sigh of the wind through the trees and across the open fields. The cool ripple of the water against her skin. The wash of pale light streaming down from the sky.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said softly, almost reverently.

“It is,” he agreed almost reluctantly, his grip on her shoulders easing but not releasing. “I’d forgotten.”

“Sam.” She looked up at him and waited for his gaze to meet hers. “I… know what happened here fifteen years ago. I know why you and your cousins left and never came back.”

In a heartbeat his hands tightened on her shoulders again, and she wasn’t sure if he was holding on to her to keep her there or to keep himself steady.

Shaking his head, he looked down at her and sucked in a deep, long breath. “You can’t know. You can’t know what it’s like to be so young and to lose everything.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek in her palm. Heart aching for him as she saw old pain blossom in the shine of his eyes, she said, “I know what it’s like to have nothing to lose. I know that you still have so much—but you’re determined not to see it.”

He pulled her even closer and loomed over her. Maggie met his gaze and wouldn’t look away. The desire that had pumped inside her so fiercely came back to the forefront and made her nerve endings fire. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach and she swallowed hard against the knot of need lodged in her throat.

“You pull at me,” he admitted, his gaze sweeping over her face. “And if I could stop it, I would.”

Her heartbeat galloped and her mouth went dry. “I know.” She wasn’t stupid. She knew it was a mistake to get involved with a man whose very presence might be a threat to her remaining at the ranch she loved. But it had been so long since she’d felt this sense of… wanting. And she’d never known the near electrical surge in her body that being close to Sam engendered.

“I’ve told you, I’m not a nice man,” he said. “You have to believe me.”

“I don’t.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers for a heartbeat of time. Warmth spiraled through her, like ribbon falling unfettered from a spool.

“You will, Maggie,” he said. “God help me, you will believe me.”

There was that confusion again.

Then he took her mouth with his and all thought stopped. She didn’t want to think. She only wanted to feel. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her cold, wet body to his, and Maggie could have sworn she felt steam rise up between them.

When he broke the kiss, she felt bereft, unsteady on her feet and hungry for more. Every cell in her body was awake and demanding attention. She watched him swallow hard and shudder as a matching need coursed through him.

He lifted his head, stared down into her eyes and whispered, “This is a mistake.”

“Probably.”

“I want you,” he admitted. “More than I should.”

Struggling for air, Maggie smiled up at him, still stunned to her soul with the power of that kiss. “I want you, too, Sam. Mistake or not.”

“Thank God.”

Six

Warning bells went off in Sam’s mind, clanging loudly enough that he should have reacted to them. He should have let her go, taken a huge step back and then spent the rest of the night trying to forget the taste of her. The scent of her. The feel of her.