her heart to pitter-patter like a schoolgirl’s.
She considered steering the conversation so that Jen didn’t monopolize it, but she realized two things. Jen was more animated than she’d been the whole break, and Maggie was learning a whole lot more about Nate by sitting back and listening to their exchange.
“So, Nate…when you’re not vacationing, what’s your job like? Are you like a regular cop or what?” She popped a spoonful of soup into her mouth while waiting for his answer.
Nate concentrated on adding grated parmesan to the top of his soup. “No, not like a regular cop. I get to do special stuff. A lot of what I do is finding fugitives, people who have committed crimes and are on the run.”
“You mean like America’s Most Wanted?” Jen leaned forward now, her dinner forgotten.
Nate nodded. “Exactly like that. And sometimes I’m sent out on high profile security details, too.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Maggie’s voice intruded. A cop was bad enough, but even she knew that a police officer dealt with a lot of the mundane. This seemed like a whole other level. “Don’t you worry about getting killed?”
His eyes were steady on hers. “Yes, but not as much as I worry about getting the job done.”
Maggie’s chin flattened. Tall, strong and handsome was one thing, but having a target painted on his chest was quite another. She couldn’t imagine anyone choosing such a lifestyle.
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Jennifer!” Maggie put down her spoon and glared at her daughter for her crassness in asking such a thing. Nate’s eyes made the transition to look at Jennifer, the smile disappearing completely.
“Jen, that was beyond inappropriate.” Maggie spoke sharply. “Please apologize.”
But Nate shook his head. “There’s no need. It’s a valid question. I get it a lot.” He took a drink of water. “I work as part of a team. And our goal is to bring fugitives to justice, or to protect those we are assigned to protect. Of course we prefer to bring them in unharmed. But if we’re fired upon, we have to fire back.”
Silence fell over the table.
Maggie tried to fill the uncomfortable gap the way a hostess should, yet all she could see was Nate, holding a smoking gun. The thought chilled her considerably.
“That must be very stressful.”
Nate nodded. “It can be, yes.”
Jen’s voice interrupted again. “Is that why you’re here?”
Maggie kicked her beneath the table. Jen bit down on her lip but watched him, undeterred.
Nate swallowed. “Part of it, yes. I was directed to take some time off after a…particularly challenging case. A little rest and relaxation is just what the doctor ordered.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t as warm as before. “In keeping with that, I’d appreciate if you’d keep my presence here low-key. I realize it’s a small community, but right now I want to enjoy the outdoors and not worry about speculation.”
Maggie aimed a stern look at Jennifer before turning to Nate and answering.
“Of course. You are a guest here, and of course we’ll respect your wishes. That’s what the Haven is all about.” At least she didn’t have to worry right now. He was on vacation. What he did for a living had no bearing on anything.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He picked up his spoon again and resumed eating, and Jennifer wisely let the subject drop for the rest of the meal.
“Dessert, Mr. Griffith?”
Nate looked up at Maggie as she removed his plate and bowl. The meal had had its uncomfortable moments, but he was actually glad the questions had been asked and answered. He got the feeling that Maggie would have been too polite to ask point-blank what her daughter had. Not only that, but the questions had provided a natural way to introduce his cover. Even if he did feel a bit guilty about the half-lie. He’d deliberately prodded her about some things, like asking if she ran the bed and breakfast alone when he knew darn well she did. Still…it was all necessary.
Maggie was waiting, her lips curved pleasantly in what he now realized was her hostess smile. “I shouldn’t…but maybe you could tell me what it is first.”
Her lips twitched…a good sign, he thought. She’d looked far too serious throughout the rest of the meal. If he could get her to relax a bit, it would go a lot easier toward getting what he needed to know without her feeling like she was being questioned.
“Peach and blueberry tart with ice cream,” she answered.
Jennifer clattered around the kitchen, already scooping out servings. “Can’t really resist that, now can I,” he acquiesced. “So…yes, please. And stop calling me Mr. Griffith. Mr. Griffith is my father or my uncle.”
Maggie put on coffee while Jennifer finished doling out servings of the tart, taking hers and escaping to the den and the television. When Maggie placed the dessert before him, the smell alone was enough to remind him of home. Sweets weren’t something he indulged in much anymore, but his mother was a fantastic baker and plied him with goodies whenever he visited. Right now the scent of fruit and cinnamon took him back to when things were much simpler. Made him wish this were that simple, instead of him having to work his way through hidden motives. But this was the closest lodging to where he needed to be and the most private. There hadn’t been much of a choice, so he had to work with what he’d been given.
“What made you decide to take on a business such as this?” He decided to draw her out by talking about herself. “It has to be a huge job for one person.”
Maggie avoided answering by pouring coffee into thick pottery mugs.
“I had this house and a whole lot of empty rooms,” she explained. Her pulse quickened as she was drawn back nearly twenty years. “I had a house and a baby and a foster child and needed to support us all.”
Nate’s fork paused midair. “Children? As in plural?”
Maggie smiled thinly. “Yes, for a while I looked after my cousin, until he grew up and did his own thing. He’s thirty-one now.”
His fork dipped into a slice of peach but Maggie noticed a pair of creases between his brows. She tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke. “Now you’re doing the math. How old must I be to have an eighteen-year-old daughter and a foster child of thirty-one?”
He swallowed and reached for his water as a snort of mirth bubbled out at her directness, easing the tension. “I guess I am.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m forty-two. I was twenty-four when Jennifer was born. Mike was thirteen. He came to me when he was eleven— when I was twenty-two.”
She passed him the cream and sugar, then resumed her seat. “And now you want to ask the question and don’t know how to do it politely.”
Her heart fluttered. Talking about it was hard, and no matter how many times she answered, it never seemed to get any easier.
