For Mike's Sake Page 8

  "Oh, sure."

  Maggie walked from the galley to the bottom of the steps.

  "Mike told me all those fish stories about the times he went with you in Alaska. You only brought back three fish apiece and each of the three fish weighed thirty pounds," she teased.

  "It's the truth, mom, honest," Mike insisted.

  "The next time we'll have to take a camera along, won't we?" said Wade.

  "Then she'll have to believe me, huh?"

  "Right."

  Maggie went back to fixing lunch, listening to the bantering between father and son. It made her feel warm and secure inside, as if they were really a family. She wished it could always be this way … or that it had always been like this.

  But it hadn't and it couldn't.

  The lunch was simple fare, a mug of hot soup and a cold meat sandwich served on deck. Wade anchored the cruiser in a sheltered cover of Whidbey Island.

  A beautiful wilderness beach stretched invitingly along the shore.

  "Boy, this soup sure warms up your stomach," Mike declared.

  "Tastes good, doesn't it?" Maggie sipped the hot liquid in her mug.

  The breeze remained cool and a thickening layer of clouds shut out the warmth of the sun. She eyed the mat gray sky and glanced at Wade. Perceptively he read her thoughts.

  "I checked the weather a few minutes ago. There's a front moving in — overcast skies, cooler temperatures, but very little rain is expected with it," he reported.

  "That's pretty normal for the area, isn't it?" she smiled.

  The Olympic Mountains to the west sheltered the islands in Puget Sound, as well as Seattle, from the brunt of weather fronts moving in from the Pacific.

  The mountains divested the clouds of most of their moisture, keeping the rainfall inland to nominal amounts. Few storms of any intensity ever reached the protected sound.

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  Chapter Nine

  AFTER LUNCH WAS OVER, Mike was designated cabin boy and ordered to clean the dishes. He grudgingly obeyed, after trying unsuccessfully to enlist help from either of them.

  The boat remained anchored in the cove, with Maggie and Wade relaxing on the cushioned seats of the aft deck.

  Her yellow Windbreaker was zipped to the throat, her hands stuffed in the front pocket. Thus protected, she leaned back to enjoy the brisk air, tangy with the scent of the sea.

  All was quiet except for the lapping water against the boat's hull and the whispering breeze talking to the rustling leaves on the island's wooded interior. And, of course, there was the clatter of dishes in the cabin galley below.

  "You've made a good job of raising Mike," Wade remarked quietly.

  "I haven't done it alone. You've contributed, too." Maggie met his look, aware of its gentleness.

  "The credit belongs to you. He's with you much more than he is with me. But thanks for making me feel I've had a hand in it."

  Looking away from her, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like a sigh. "Today you said you would want me to talk to Mike before you got married. Are you planning to marry again?"

  "Someday, when I find the right man." The prospect looked dismal. "Like you, I don't want to make another mistake. The next time I want to be very, very sure."

  "You don't have anyone in mind, then?" His gaze returned to her, dark and impenetrable.

  "Not any one person. There are a few prospects on the horizon, but —" Maggie shrugged "— I'm not going to rush into anything."

  "You said something the other day that's been bothering me."

  His expression was thoughtful, slightly distant.

  "What was that?"

  "You said that after you'd wiggled out from under my thumb, yon learned to value your freedom. What did you mean by that?"

  Before she attempted an answer, Wade went on. "Granted, you said it in a moment of temper. But you rarely say things in the heat of anger that you don't mean.

  "When we were married, you were always free to do as you pleased, within reason, of course."

  "In theory, I was." At his gathering frown, Maggie tried to explain.

  "All day long you gave orders to your employees. When you came home, you continued to give orders. You never seemed to ask me to do anything, you were always telling me.

  "Instead of giving orders to the people who worked under you, you gave them to me — and I was much too independent to stand for that." A wry smile dimpled her checks.

  "I never intended them to be orders."

  "You probably didn't, but that's the way they came out."

  "I'm … sorry." There was a certain grimness to his mouth.

  "Don't be. It's in the past and forgotten." But Maggie guessed he was filing it away for future reference, something he didn't want to repeat in his new marriage to Belinda.

  It hurt.

  "I'm done!" Mike popped up the steps. "Can we fish now?"

  The quiet interlude was over. Wade straightened from his comfortable position with obvious reluctance. "Get the bait out of the refrigerator while I find the rods and reels," he directed.

  "Are we going to fish here?"

  "Why not? If the fish aren't biting here, we'll move someplace else," Wade reasoned.

  As far as Maggie was concerned, she found Mike's presence, his steady stream of chatter and expectant excitement, better than the confiding quietness when she and Wade had been alone.

  He kept her mind from thinking intimate thoughts and envisioning hopeless dreams.

  The fishing turned out to be not very good in that cove and Wade moved the boat to another. Early afternoon was not the best time of day for fishing, but at the second place they stopped, Mike did catch one that was big enough to keep.

  They all threw several back. After they had moved again, Wade caught the next.

  A fine mist began to fall, but despite their partial success, the weather didn't interfere with their sport. It dampened their clothes, but not their spirit. The water in the third cove was fairly deep.

  A fish nibbled on Maggie's baited hook, then took it. She began reeling it in, feeling it fight and certain this time she had got a big one.

  "Got a fish, mom?" Mike glanced over his shoulder from his position on the opposite side of the boat next to Wade.

  "A fish or a baby." She had reeled in too many small ones that she thought would be large to brag about this one.

  "At the rate your mother is going, you and I are going to be the only ones with food on our plates tonight, Mike," Wade teased.

  "Yeah, and she's got to cook it for us."

  Maggie kept her silence with an effort, ignoring the way they were ganging up on her. The fish broke surface and she had to swallow back her shout of glee. It looked big enough to keep. Now all she had to do was land it. A few minutes later she had it in her lap — literally, its tail flapping on her jeans while she tried to work the hook out of its mouth.

  "What ya got their, mom? A goldfish?" Mike teased.

  "No, I have a real fish." She struggled some more but couldn't work the hook free. "He's swallowed the hook."

  "It's the only way she could have caught it," Wade laughed. "Watch my rod while I help your mother." He walked over and Maggie surrendered her catch, a shade triumphantly, to him.

  "You really hooked him. That's too bad." He crouched on the deck beside her and gently began working the hook in the gaping fish's mouth.

  "Why is that too bad?" Maggie demanded to know.

  "Because it isn't big enough to keep."

  "It is, too!" she declared indignantly. "It's just as big as yours was."

  "No, it's a couple of inches smaller," Wade replied.

  "You have to throw it back, mom," Mike inserted.

  "You just stay out of it," she told him, and turned angrily back to Wade. "You get out your fish and we'll see if mine is smaller."

  He smiled. "I don't have to get out my fish. I already know yours is smaller — too small to keep." He freed the hook and tossed the fish ov
er the side.

  "My fish!"

  Maggie wailed, and dived toward the rail, as if thinking she could catch it before it reached the water.

  There was a splash before she even reached the side of the boat. Her hand went out for the railing to stop her progress.

  The steady mist had coated the railing with slippery beads of moisture and her hand found nothing to grip on the wet surface of the rail and slid beyond it. The unchecked forward impetus carried her against the low rail, pitching her body over it.

  Her startled shriek of fright and alarm was echoed by Mike's "Mom!"

  Something grabbed at her foot and in the next second she was tumbling into the water. Immediately instinct took over. Holding her, breath, she turned and kicked toward the surface, taking care to avoid the hull of the boat.

  She came up spluttering, gasping in air. She was shaking all over, more from cold than the initial fright. The first sound she heard was laughter, Wade's deep, chuckling laughter.

  When he saw Maggie was safe and unharmed, Mike joined in.

  "Have you found a new way to fish?" Wade mocked.

  "You …" In her surge of anger, Maggie forgot to tread water and ended up swallowing a mouthful of the salty stuff.

  Coughing and choking, she resurfaced and struck out for the boat ladder. The weight of her saturated clothes pulled at her body.

  His hand was there to help her aboard. With the fingers of one hand around the lowest rung, Maggie paused in the water to glare at him and the dancing light in his black eyes.

  Ignoring his offer of his assistance, she pulled herself aboard unaided.

  Standing on deck, a pool of sea water at her feet, water streaming from her sodden clothes, she looked first at Mike, who was giggling behind his hand. Her hair was plastered over her forehead, cheeks and neck. Water ran into her eyes and she wiped it away to glare again at Wade. A smile was playing with the corners of his mouth, regardless of his attempts to make it go away.

  "You think it's all very funny, don't you?" she accused, her teeth chattering with an on-setting chill. "I could have drowned while the two of you were laughing!"

  "That's hardly likely, Maggie. You're an excellent swimmer," Wade reminded her in a dry, mocking tone.

  "I could have hit my head on the boat or a rock or something!" she sputtered.

  "The water is fairly clear," Wade pointed out. "I could see you weren't in trouble. Here." He reached down and picked up a tennis shoe from the deck — Maggie's. "When I grabbed for you, all I got was your shoe. At least it's dry."

  Maggie snatched it from his outstretched hand. "What good is one dry tennis shoe —" she waved it in front of his face "— when I have one wet one? Not to mention that my clothes are soaked! A dry tennis shoe just doesn't go with the rest of my outfit!" In a burst of temper, she hurled the lone, dry tennis shoe over the side, where it floated on the quiet surface.

  Mike gasped in surprise, then broke out laughing, finding the scene uproariously funny.

  It didn't help Maggie's growing sense of frustration one bit.

  "You'd better practice your casting, Mike, and see if you can't hook that shoe before it sinks," Wade advised, keeping the amusement in his voice at a minimum. "As for you, Maggie, I think you'd better go below and get out of those wet clothes before you get chilled."

  "Chilled! What do you think I am now?" she cried angrily. "My legs are shaking so badly now that I can hardly stand up."

  "I'll help you."

  Wade took a step toward her.

  "No! I don't need any help from you. You take one more step and I'll push you overtime side; then you can see what it feels like to be drenched to the skin," she threatened, and not falsely.

  "And stop giving me orders! I'm an adult. I know I have to get out of these wet clothes, you don't have to remind me of that."

  The latter half of her statement wiped the gleam from his eyes. They were flat black as he stepped to the side, indicating by his action that he would make no move to help her.

  Maggie swept by him to the steps with as much dignity as her dripping figure could muster, but her chattering teeth destroyed much of the effect.

  Below, she tugged the saturated clothes from her body and piled them in the sink.

  Taking a towel from the lavatory, she rubbed her skin dry until it burned. A second towel she wrapped around her straggly wet hair, securing it on top of her head with a tuck in front.

  Then came the problem of something dry to wear. She opened a drawer, looking for a blanket. Inside were folded flannel shirts, men's shirts. A red and black plaid was on top.

  At this point Maggie wasn't particular. Anything that was warm and dry and permitted movement would do.

  The shirt engulfed her, the tails reaching to her knees, the sleeves almost as far. After a few awkward attempts she managed to roll the long sleeves up to her forearms and button the front.

  With that accomplished, she began trying to towel her hair dry.

  "How are you doing?" Wade called down.

  "Fine," she snapped, and muttered to herself, "as drowned rat."

  She was still shivering.

  After glancing around, she called, "Is there any cocoa?"

  Instead of answering, Wade descended the steps as soundlessly as a cat. "If there isn't cocoa, there's instant coffee. With sugar, it will probably do you more good than cocoa."

  "I know there's instant coffee. I would have made a cup if you'd told me there wasn't cocoa."

  "Your temper still hasn't cooled off, has it?" he observed dryly, and walked to the cupboards above the galley sink.

  "It's the only part of me that hasn't," Maggie muttered.

  "I don't see any cocoa."

  Wade moved items on the shelf around. "You'll have to settle for coffee."

  "I can fix it myself," she insisted when he filled the kettle with water.

  "Shut up, Maggie." It was said quietly but no less firmly. "Stop being so damned independent and go sit down." He saw the flashing green fire in her eyes and added, "Yes, it is an order. Because at the moment, you're so angry you'd cut off your nose to spite your face."

  "Not mine," she retorted. "But I might cut off your nose!"

  "I'll get the coffee, then give you the knife." He lit the gas burner and set the kettle over the flame. Shaking his dark head, he murmured, "Only you could get into these kinds of scrapes, Maggie."

  Maggie didn't argue any more about making the coffee herself.

  Neither did she go sit down as he had ordered. She resumed the brisk rubbing of her hair, deep red gold wavelets rippling over her head.

  "I certainly didn't intend to fall overboard," she muttered.

  "All because of a silly little fish." The corners of his mouth deepened.

  "That you threw away," Maggie reminded him.

  "It was too small."

  "It was almost big enough to keep," she argued.

  "There, you just admitted it yourself." Wade smiled, without triumph.

  "Okay, so I admit it."

  She tossed the towel aside.

  "What are you doing in that shirt?"

  The change of subject startled her. Her winged brows drew together in a frown and a short, disbelieving laugh came from her throat.

  "I'm wearing it," she retorted.

  A raking, impatient glance swept her from head to foot. "I suppose you think you look sexy wearing a man's shirt that comes to your knees, with shoulder seams that practically reach your elbows."

  "It never occurred to me how I might look wearing it!" she answered defensively. "It was warm and I could move around freely while I was wearing it. If it reminded me of anything, it was a flannel nightgown. I wasn't even thinking about being sexy. The only male around here that I care about is Michael."

  And she denied the thudding pulse racing in her slender neck.

  "Believe me, you don't look a bit like my grandmother did in her flannel nightgown." Wade spooned coffee crystals into a mug and gave her a black, smoldering
look. A muscle stood out along his jaw. "When a man sees you like that, dressed in a man's shirt without a stitch of clothing under it, looking lost and vulnerable, he wants to hold you in his arms and —" He snapped off the rest of that sentence. "As if you didn't know, you look damned cute!"

  "I don't know if that's a compliment or a sin."

  Confusion tempered her defensive anger as she turned aside.

  His hand gripped her elbow to turn her back.

  "The only place you have in my life is as the mother of my child."

  The brutally frank statement stung.

  "I know that," Maggie retorted, choking, unable to shrug out of his hold.

  "Then explain to me why I can't forget that you're my wife?"

  His grip shifted to clasp both her shoulders in hard demand.

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  Chapter Ten

  HER LIPS PARTEDto draw in a fearfully happy breath. As she gazed up at him, a fine mist of tears brought a jewel-like intensity to the green color of her eyes. She heard the groaning sound he made before his finger tightened to dig into her flesh and draw her to him.

  The crush of his mouth ignited a sweet fire that raged through her veins.

  Curving her arms around his neck, Maggie slid her fingers into his shaggy mane of black hair. The drifting mist of rain outside had left his hair damp and silken to the touch.

  Behind the spinning wonder of his kiss, the recesses of her mind knew it couldn't last.

  The knowledge that Wade belonged to someone else made her hungry response more desperate, savoring every fragment of the stolen embrace.

  The driving possession of his mouth bent her backward while the large hand on her spine forced the lower half of her body against him. His muscled legs were hardwood columns, solid and unyielding.

  The wideness of the shirt's collar made the neckline plunge to the valley between her breasts. With masterful ease he unfastened the single obstructing top button. His hand slid inside to mold itself to the mature curves of her breast, swallowing its fullness in the large cup of his hand.

  Maggie shuddered with intense longing. His searing caress burned her already heated flesh.

  The male smell of him was a stimulant more potent than any drug. Her heart was beating so wildly that she couldn't think.