He had to have known that his presence would annoy Maggie. He had to have known he was a thorn in her side—he wasn’t stupid!
“Oh, well,” she said with another sigh.
She suddenly slowed her steps. Just ahead of her was a house— Dallas’s house, the one he’d had constructed after his marriage. Until now she’d had no interest in this home. For the most part Dallas had been away and there’d been no reason to even go near his house.
Maggie eyed it for a few moments, making out its low-slung style, noting its dark windows. Unlike his father’s home, Dallas’s place had no yard lights. Of course there could be dozens of outside fixtures and Dallas simply hadn’t turned them on, Maggie realized. It struck her then that his house looked lonely, even a bit ghostly in the moonlight. Was he a lonely man? Did her mother’s opinion regarding Dallas’s long mourning period have some validity?
But if that really was the case, why had he come on to her so strongly? Maggie wondered uneasily. You’re the first woman that has made me feel like a man in a very long time. Wasn’t that one of the things Dallas had said to her?
It just wasn’t possible for her to understand that man! Maggie stood still for another minute or so, wondering why she would even want to understand Dallas. And yet there was a curiosity that she couldn’t seem to stem.
She began walking again, this time slowly and cautiously, thinking that she would curl up and die if anyone spotted her snooping around Dallas’s house in the middle of the night. Not that she would allow herself to get so close to the house that a potential onlooker could misconstrue her midnight stroll as snooping.
But she knew she was snooping, and it made her nervous. Not so nervous that she turned around and left, however.
When she spotted the gazebo, a beautiful little structure to the right of the house, she sighed longingly. Her own dream house, which she had very little hope of ever attaining, included a gazebo. She had to take a closer look at this one. This was probably the only chance she would ever have to do so. Gearing up her courage by telling herself that there wasn’t a soul awake on the entire ranch, and that even the yard dogs that wandered at will were either sleeping or off exploring one field or another, Maggie stealthily began tiptoeing toward the gazebo.
Sitting in the gazebo, nursing a drink of scotch and a splash of water, Dallas suddenly became alert. Someone was out there, moving very quietly but unquestionably coming closer. Who on earth would be wandering at this time of night? Twisting around, he peered through the slats of the latticed wall behind him—and nearly choked. Maggie! He could hardly believe his own eyes, but yes, the night-wanderer was definitely Maggie Perez.
Dallas narrowed his eyes to see her better. She was heading straight for the gazebo. A small smile toyed with his lips. Since she couldn’t possibly know that the gazebo was a favorite spot of his when he suffered from insomnia, it stood to reason that she also had no idea that he might be in there. This could turn out to be very interesting.
Soundlessly he set his glass of scotch on a small table, and waited.
Maggie approached the short set of stairs leading up to the floor of the gazebo, then came to a sudden halt. The interior of the structure looked black as pitch; obviously the moon, bright as it was, was not a strong enough light to insinuate itself through the narrow openings of what she could now see were latticed walls. She stood there thinking about what she was doing. Hiking around the ranch at that time of night was one thing; entering a building that was strictly private property was quite another.
But if she took just one quick look and left immediately after, who would ever know? Dallas wouldn’t. His house was completely dark; he was undoubtedly fast asleep.
So there really was no one to worry about, Maggie decided. Before she could talk herself out of trespassing on Dallas’s personal property, she tiptoed up the wood stairs and then took one step into the gazebo. It wasn’t nearly as dark inside as she’d thought when she’d been outside, but the first thing she really saw was the shadowy figure of a man getting to his feet.
“Hello, Maggie,” Dallas said quietly.
She let out a shriek of pure terror and turned to run. She shrieked again when Dallas caught her by the arm and stopped her.
“Hey, it’s just me! Calm down and stop screeching,” Dallas said. “You’ll wake up everyone on the ranch.”
It finally registered on Maggie’s shattered nervous system that the man gripping her arm so tightly was Dallas.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. She’d been caught in the act—and by Dallas himself. Humiliation and embarrassment nearly destroyed her. Her knees got so weak that it was a wonder her legs held her upright. “I— I’m sorry,” she whispered tremulously.
“Maggie,” Dallas said gently, “you can come to this gazebo anytime you wish. Don’t be sorry.”
“B-but I trespassed on…on your home!”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dallas scoffed. “Come over here and sit down.”
Maggie didn’t have the strength to resist, and she let him lead her to a padded bench along one of the walls. He sat next to her and then pressed a glass into her hand.
“Take a swallow of this. It’ll calm you down,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Scotch and water. Go ahead, take a swallow.”
She couldn’t deny that she needed something to quiet the persistent racing of her pulse, and she lifted the glass to her lips and took a big swallow. She choked and coughed on the hard liquor going down her throat.
“This is a lot more scotch than it is water,” she gasped.
“Guess it is, but it will make you feel better. I didn’t mean to scare you to death, you know. Have another swallow.”
The first swallow was warming her insides, Maggie realized. Not that she felt totally calm, by any means. She’d have thought that Dallas would be at least a little put out over her nervy invasion of his home, and it was rather amazing to Maggie that he wasn’t. In fact, he was trying to make her feel as though she’d done nothing wrong! Could he really be the nice guy her mother proclaimed him to be? But if he was, why had he propositioned her in such an insulting way?
Confused by it all, Maggie lifted the glass for another swallow. This time she didn’t choke on the scotch, and, in fact, decided it definitely contained medicinal properties. She never had been much of a drinker, especially of hard liquor. A glass of wine now and then was pretty much the extent of her experience with alcoholic beverages. Not that she intended rushing to Red Rock and buying herself a bottle of scotch at the first opportunity; it certainly wasn’t that tasty.
In fact, two swallows of it were enough. She handed the glass back to Dallas with a quietly stated, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You can finish it all, if you’d like.”
“No, I’ve had enough.” She peered at him in the semidarkness of the gazebo. “Why are you out here at this time of night?”
“Probably for the same reason you are. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Is—is insomnia a common
