was before she knew who he was.
But whether Holt stayed or not was his call. Right now, she sensed he would bolt. The sight of her couldn’t have made his day. To say he’d been stunned was too understated. She had seen a glimpse of the same raw shock she felt mirrored in his eyes. He’d seemed to recover more quickly, replacing that rawness with a cynical contempt aimed at his father.
But she knew she had read him right when he refrained from looking at her after that one time their eyes had locked. Her instinct had told her that had been intentional.
As she finished her tea, Maci heard a tap on her door. For a moment, she froze, fearing who was on the other side. Then feeling foolish for such an irrational thought, she said, “Come in.”
“How’s Jonah?” Seymour asked, making his way into the room, stopping only when he reached the midway point.
At the mention of the baby’s name, she smiled. “Just fussy because he’s teething.”
“Hopefully by now he’s settled.”
A short, but heavy silence followed his words. Maci wanted to fill it, only she didn’t know quite how. She hated this awkwardness that existed between her and Seymour. The wedge between them seemed to grow wider each day.
“Did you and Holt resolve your differences?” she asked, bridging the gap of silence before it lengthened.
“For now,” he said in a harsh tone, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you were counting on more.”
Seymour shrugged. “I still haven’t played all my cards.”
Maci thought that was an odd thing to say, but she didn’t pursue it. She hadn’t been privy to what had taken place between father and son early on and she didn’t suspect her asking questions now would change that.
“I hope you don’t mind having a guest for a while.”
“Would it matter if I did?”
He gave her a strange look. “No, not in this case.”
Feeling that awkwardness deepen, she forced a calm to her tone. “But of course I don’t mind. If he can help you, I want him here.” She turned away so that he wouldn’t notice that her eyes failed to back up her words.
“For sure he can help me. Holt and I might disagree on everything else, but I’ll have to hand him his just deserts—he’s a crackerjack attorney.”
She forced a smile. “Maybe this tragedy will allow you two to patch up your differences.”
“I doubt that.” Bitterness lowered Seymour’s voice. “His mother stands between us and always will.”
“That’s too bad.”
“That’s the way it is, and I’ve accepted it.” Seymour paused and walked toward her. “It’s certainly nothing for you to worry about. As I’ve already told you, the past is the past and not to be reopened. Besides, I have another son, thanks to you, who’s not going to disappoint me.”
“Let us pray,” Maci said lightly.
He smiled. “Prayer has nothing to do with it. I’m going to see that he follows in his old man’s footsteps.”
Jonah might have something to say about that, she almost blurted out. But since that decision was a long way off, she didn’t see any reason to start an argument by disagreeing.
“I know this mess has been hard on you,” Seymour said, “but rest assured our lives will be back to normal soon.”
For some reason that statement, reeking of smugness, irritated her. “I know you say Dodson’s death was an accident—”
“It was,” Seymour cut in sharply.
“Still, I don’t understand how you can take no responsibility or feel no remorse.”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“Well, do you?”
“No. The death was accidental.”
“Still, a man’s dead.”
“He isn’t the first patient I’ve lost nor will he be the last.”
Maci massaged her temple. “That sounds so—”
“Callous,” he said, finishing the sentence for her.
“Yes, that’s a good word.”
“That may be. But like I’ve maintained all along, I was in complete control of my faculties, which absolves me.”
Was there no end to his arrogance?
Suddenly, Maci stared wide-eyed at the man who was her husband and saw him with clear objectivity. She didn’t like what she saw. The man with new creases around his eyes and less hair on his head, the man she’d pledged to love and honor until death parted them, no longer measured up.
In fact, she felt like she no longer knew him.
Perhaps she never had. Perhaps the magic of who he was and what he could offer her had been so dazzling, she’d been blinded to the truth.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Seymour sounded contrite. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
He was within touching distance of her now, watching her with a glint of desire in his eyes.
Every nerve in her body rebelled as he reached out and touched her face with the back of his hand. It was all she could do not to flinch.
“It’s been too long since we made love,” he said, his tone having dropped to a husky pitch.
“Seymour—”
He smiled, only that smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a headache.”
His intention was to tease, she knew, to lighten the tension circling them. It didn’t work. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her. Hiding her feelings was her only option.
“I really do have a headache,” she murmured.
His look was one of disbelief; then his hand fell to his side. “You’re serious.” He made a flat statement.
“Yes,” she whispered, moving out of his reach.
His features blanched and his mouth tightened. “Another time, then.”
With that he turned and walked out the door.
Maci’s fingernails dug into her palms while tears dampened her eyes, but she refused to give in to any further weakness. She would deal with her disintegrating life with her head up and a smile on her face.
Even
