her on his grandfather’s diet. If she was cleaning, he was close at hand, as though making sure she wasn’t going to steal the family silver or something.
And at all times she felt his dark gaze on her as she would a touch.
In fact, the only time she felt as though she wasn’t being watched was the evenings, spent in her own little house. But even then there was no peace. Because her dreams were full of him.
His dark eyes. His well-shaped mouth, long fingers and leanly muscled body. In dreams he did more than watch her. In dreams he held her, kissed her, tasted her, explored her body with his own and every morning she woke up just a little bit more tense than she’d been the day before.
Every nerve in her body felt as though it were on fire from the inside. There was a coiled tension within her that made every breath a labor and every heartbeat a victory.
Up to her elbows in hot, soapy water, Maggie swished the scrubbing sponge over a mixing bowl, rinsed it out, then set it carefully in the drainer. Shaking her head, she yawned, blinked tired eyes and whispered, “It’s only been three days. If this keeps up, by the end of summer I’ll be dead.”
“What?”
She jumped, splashing a small wave of hot water onto the front of her pale pink T-shirt. When the adrenaline rush ended, she sighed, glanced down at herself, then lifted her gaze to Sam, standing in the doorway. “You have got to stop sneaking up on me.”
A brief half smile curved one corner of his mouth, then was gone before she could get a good look at it. “You would have heard me if you weren’t talking to yourself,” he pointed out.
“Right.” She used the tips of her fingers to pull her wet shirt away from her abdomen, then gave it up and reached into the water for the next dish. “Before you ask,” she said while she swiped a plate, rinsed it and set it to dry, “Jeremiah ate a big breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Toast and juice.”
“Cholesterol Surprise for a heart patient. Good thinking.”
Turning her head to glare at him, she said, “We’ve been through this before. It’s turkey bacon, egg substitute and wheat toast. Perfectly healthy.”
Frowning, he walked into the room and stopped alongside her. Turning, he leaned one hip against the counter, folded his arms across his chest and said, “Sorry.”
“Wow,” Maggie countered. “An apology. This is so exciting.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Guess I owe you more than one apology, huh?”
Turning off the rinse water, Maggie grabbed up a flowered dishcloth, dried her hands and faced him. If he was suddenly in the mood to talk, she’d take advantage of the situation.
“You’ve been following me around for days,” she said quietly, trying to keep the ring of accusation out of her voice. “It’s like you’re trying to find something wrong with me and what I do for your grandfather. I want to know why.”
Sunlight pouring in from the kitchen windows played across his features and spotlighted the worry gathered in his eyes.
“Because this is making me crazy,” he admitted finally with another shake of his head. “Pop won’t talk to me. Said he’s got nothing to say until my cousins Cooper and Jake get here.”
More Lonergan cousins to keep an eye on her. Yippee.
“When will that be?” she asked.
He pushed away from the counter, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and walked across the room, his boot heels clacking noisily against the linoleum. “I don’t know. Jake was in Spain at some road rally when the old man sent for him. And Cooper… well, he locks himself away when he’s working. God knows if he’s even gotten the message yet.”
“I’ve read a couple of his books,” Maggie said.
He turned to look at her. “What’d you think?”
“They terrify me,” she admitted with a small smile. The last Cooper Lonergan thriller she’d read had forced her to leave her bedroom light on all night for nearly a week. The images he created were so real, so frightening, she didn’t know how the man himself slept at night. “He must be one scary man—because he’s got a really twisted imagination.”
A sad smile raced across Sam’s face. “He never used to,” he said. “Cooper was always the funniest one of us. The one nothing bothered. At least until—” His voice faded away and even the echo of that smile disappeared from his eyes. “Things change.”
Maggie’s heart ached for him.
For all of them.
Even though a part of her wanted to shout that it had been fifteen years. Long enough to come to terms with a tragedy.
Instead, though, she only said, “You could try talking to Doc Evans again.…”
He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll be helpful. He just keeps muttering about doctor-patient confidentiality. No. Whatever’s going on here, Jeremiah and the doc are in it together. And they’re both too stubborn to break.”
“Stubborn must run in your family.”
“Yeah?” One dark eyebrow lifted.
“Well,” she said, tossing the dish towel over her left shoulder, “you’ve already admitted they’re not going to tell you anything and yet you don’t stop trying. What’s that if not stubborn?”
“Dedicated?”
She laughed and she saw a flash of appreciation dart across the surface of his eyes. And in response, a sweep of something warm and delicious rushed through her. Her hands trembled, so she pulled the dish towel off her shoulder again and wrapped it through her fingers. She pulled in a couple of short, uneasy breaths and told herself to get a grip.
“Who’s that?” he asked suddenly and Maggie’s head snapped up.
She looked out the kitchen window and saw one of their neighbors, Susan Bateman, rushing across the yard, her four-year-old daughter Kathleen cradled in her arms.
“It’s Susan,” Maggie said, already moving for the back door. “She and her family live on the ranch down the road. And something’s wrong.”
She threw open the door and Susan raced inside, her features taut, her blue eyes wide in a face gone pale. Blood blossomed on her white collared shirt, and the little girl in her arms whimpered plaintively. She hardly looked at Maggie, instead turning her gaze directly on Sam. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Susan,” Maggie said, “what—”
“I heard in town,” the other woman kept talking, “that you’re a doctor. You are, right?”
Sam stared at her and looked as though he wanted to deny it. But the sense of desperation clinging to Susan—not to mention Kathleen’s muffled whimpering—was impossible to ignore.
“Yeah,” he said tightly. “I am.”
“Thank
