hair and he was neat as a pin, in blue jeans and a short-sleeved checked shirt. He was twenty-seven, years younger than Cord, but he seemed even younger at times. Cord mused that he’d lived through more than Davis probably ever would. It wasn’t the age, didn’t they say, but the mileage that made people old. If he were a used car, he thought, he’d be in a junkyard.
“I heard you were looking for me last night, boss,” Davis said at once, pulling out a chair to straddle. “Sorry, I had a date.”
“You always have a date,” Cord muttered, sipping coffee.
Davis grinned wickedly. “Have to make hay while the sun shines. One day, I’ll be ancient and decrepit like you.”
Cord’s mouth drew down sardonically. “And I’d just decided to give you a raise!”
“I’d rather have girls hanging out of my truck,” Davis said, but he grinned again.
“Never mind. We’ve got problems with that irrigation system again,” he added. “I want you to get that serviceman out there and tell him I want it fixed this time, repaired with new parts, not held together with duct tape and baling wire.”
“I told him that last time.”
“Then call the customer service people and tell them to send somebody else. The equipment’s still under warranty,” he added. “If they can’t fix it, they shouldn’t sell it. I want it up and running by tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay, boss, I’ll give it my best. But you probably should have a lawyer talk to them about their customer service department. I think they employ robots.”
Cord stifled a grin. “You took computer courses. Reprogram them.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Davis said, chuckling. But he didn’t get up. He stared at his boss, hesitating.
“Something bothering you?” Cord asked bluntly.
Davis traced a pattern on the back of the wooden chair he was straddling. “Yeah. Something. I promised I wouldn’t tell, but I think you should know.”
“Know what?” Cord asked absently as he finished his coffee.
“Miss Barton had a suitcase with her,” he said, noting the sudden attention the older man gave him. “She came straight here from the airport. She was in Morocco. She said it took her three days just to get home. She was dead on her feet.”
Remembering his cold treatment of her, Cord was shocked. “She was in Morocco? What in hell for?” he burst out.
“She said she’d just taken a job overseas. She was having a holiday with a girlfriend on the way. She came rushing back to see about you.” The younger man’s eyes became accusing. “She was walking back to Houston with her suitcase when I drove up beside her. I drove her to town.”
Cord felt the sickness in the pit of his stomach like acid. The expression that washed over his handsome features knocked the outrage right out of Davis’s eyes.
“Where did you take her?” Cord asked in a subdued tone and without meeting the other man’s gaze.
“The Lone Star Hotel downtown,” he replied.
Cord made an awkward movement. “Thanks, Davis,” he said curtly.
“You bet. I’ll get on that irrigation system,” Davis added as he rose.
“Do that.” Cord didn’t even see him go. He was reliving that painful few minutes with Maggie. He hadn’t told her that he was hurt because he’d thought she’d waited to come and see about him. He’d assumed that she’d been in town and reluctant to come around him. But she’d come halfway around the world as fast as she could, just to take care of him. He’d misread the whole situation and sent her packing. Now she’d be wounded and angry, and she’d go away again; maybe somewhere that he couldn’t even find her. That hurt.
He put his head in his hands with a groan. The most painful realization was that she’d taken a job far away. He remembered calling her and going by her apartment without getting an answer in the past two weeks. Now he knew why. She’d left the country. She’d given up trying to get his attention, and he hadn’t even noticed her departure. That must have hurt her. Maggie was proud. She wouldn’t beg for his interest. After all the years of being pushed away by him, she’d decided to cut her losses. If he hadn’t been injured, and Eb Scott hadn’t tracked her down in Morocco and told her about it, he wouldn’t even have known where she was. She’d have been gone for good.
Now that he knew the truth, it didn’t solve the problem. It only complicated things. He wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to just let her go, let her think he didn’t care about her, let her think that he was involved with June. But he was oddly reluctant to do that. It made him ashamed to think how much she cared, to come all that way, to sacrifice so much, because she was concerned for him.
There was only one thing to do. He had to go and find her, and tell her how badly he’d misjudged her. Then, if she left, at least they wouldn’t part with a sword between them.
* * *
HE HAD ONE of his ranch hands drive him into town, wearing dark glasses to maintain the fiction about his lack of sight. He got Maggie’s room number from the hotel desk, on the pretext of phoning her later. Then he ducked into the elevator, went up to her room, and easily let himself in with skills learned in a dozen covert operations around the world.
She was asleep in a huge double bed, moving restlessly. It was warm in the room, but she was huddled under the covers as if it were winter. He’d never known her to sleep with the sheet off, even in the hottest summer night when the air-conditioning in Mrs. Barton’s house was on the blink. Odd, that he’d never noticed that before...
She looked younger when she slept. He remembered the first time he’d ever seen her, when she was eight. She was clutching a ragged toy bear and she looked as if she’d seen hell and lived to tell about it. She didn’t smile. She hid behind Mrs. Barton’s ample girth and looked at Cord as if he were responsible for the seven deadly sins.
It had taken weeks for her to come near him. She loved Mrs. Barton, but she was uneasy around boys or men. He attributed that to her age. But as she grew older, she began to cling to Cord. He was her source of stability. She anchored herself to him and hid from any sort of social activity. Despite the age difference, she became possessive of him. When he got in trouble at the age of eighteen and was faced with the possibility of going to jail, it was Maggie who sat beside him and held his hand while Mrs. Barton had hysterics and became the voice of doom. Maggie, in her quiet, gentle way, gave him the comfort and strength he needed to face his problems and overcome them.
She’d only been ten years old, but she had a maturity even then that was surprising. She was an introvert by nature, but she seemed to sense that Cord needed someone bright and happy to bring out the best in him. So she developed a sense of humor and picked at Cord and teased him and made him play. Maggie had taught him how to laugh.
He studied her wan, drawn face on the white pillowcase and wondered why he’d always treated her as an outsider. He was alternately hostile and sarcastic, never kind or welcoming. Maggie had done more for him than anyone in his life except their foster parent. Maybe, he pondered, it was because she knew him so well. Despite his spiny outward appearance, Maggie knew him right inside, where he lived. She knew that he had nightmares about the
