Kitabı oku: «The Secret Wife»
“There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”
Wife?
The word bounced around Maggie’s head, slid down her throat and swirled in her stomach before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at Wal-Mart.
“Th-that’s impossible, I’m his wife.”
“Look. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”
“At least we agree on something.”
Eric had been a jerk occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk. She couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.
But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. And when she told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he'd just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently.
No. He wouldn’t be that cruel.
“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman.”
“Nope. I was their best man. And if there had been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”
That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.
Dear Reader,
You may find The Secret Wife a slight departure from my previous books. Like many of my stories, the family theme and a journey of discovery are still present. But The Secret Wife also contains an element of suspense.
Maggie McGuire’s arrival in her estranged husband’s hometown sparks a chain reaction of conflict and intrigue, with her nine-month-old son at the center.
As in real life, the opportunity for greatest personal growth sometimes arises from difficulty and heartbreak. Maggie and her new champion, J.D., certainly find this to be true as they search for meaning in a senseless tragedy.
I hope you enjoy my foray into romantic suspense. I found it both challenging and rewarding to write—so much so that I gave one of the characters an important role in my next book.
I love hearing from my readers. Feel free to contact me by mail in care of Harlequin Enterprises, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada. Or I can be reached via www.SuperAuthors.com.
Happy reading,
Carrie Weaver
The Secret Wife
Carrie Weaver
This book is dedicated to the real Tinker brothers, Jack and Alex (aka Dad and Uncle Alex), along with their wives, Mary Ellen and Patty (Mom and Aunt Patty). Thanks for all your love and support.
P.S. I promise the ladies will receive top billing next time.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
FOURTEEN DOLLARS, thirty-seven cents—all that stood between Maggie McGuire and destitution. She slid the change into her pocket, along with the damp crumpled bills.
The Oklahoma rest stop was unusually desolate for a Friday morning. Or so she guessed. Maggie had rarely ventured beyond the Arizona borders.
Peeking through the open car window, she watched David squirm in his sleep. The car seat was too confining. The baby needed room to stretch out and roll.
What kind of mother hauled an infant clear across the country to Arkansas? And for what? The off chance that Eric would surface at his family reunion? Eric, who thought family was an unnecessary drag on his life?
Maggie had told herself it wouldn’t come to this, that losing her job wasn’t the end of the world. But she’d quickly discovered there weren’t many jobs where she could take her baby along, especially working nights. The child-care center where she’d been employed for the past six months had been ideal. But the building was scheduled to be demolished and replaced with a strip mall.
Brushing her hair off her forehead, she figured her ponytail had come undone somewhere in New Mexico. Now it was loose and wild, a copper-colored reminder that she couldn’t afford haircuts.
Eric.
She leaned against a primer-gray fender, glancing up at the clear sky. The air was fresh and warm. Innocent.
She’d been innocent once. A long, long time ago.
David whimpered.
Maggie let her eyes feast on the glorious sight of her child. Her David. A wave of protectiveness washed over her.
Eric had sidetracked her dreams, but he’d left her with a precious gift.
A gift that was nearly out of formula and diapers.
Panic hit as she inventoried the contents of the thrift-store diaper bag. Four diapers, four scoops of formula. Her eyes burned as her fatigued mind did the math.
That bought her six hours, tops.
And it was at least eight more hours till McGuireville.
As if on cue, the baby’s hungry wail echoed through her head. Huge blue eyes beseeched her. As if maternal guilt wasn’t enough, she was certain, somehow, some way, the authorities would know the minute the last drop of formula passed David’s sweet lips. And they’d take him away. Just like they’d taken her niece, Emma.
Maggie straightened her shoulders and shook off the specter of losing her only child. Nobody would be able to say she was an unfit mother once she had a degree in hand and a decent paying job. But until then, the rent was behind, her tuition was due and only fourteen dollars stood between Maggie and the nameless, faceless authorities who haunted her dreams.
David’s hungry cry galvanized her into action. She opened the car door and unbuckled the restraint harness. He stilled, waiting expectantly.
She kissed one tearstained cheek, then the other. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to make everything right. Soon.”
Only eight more hours to McGuireville.
CHAPTER ONE
MAGGIE SQUARED her shoulders and prepared to do the impossible. Make a scene.
The door to the Grand Ballroom wavered before her eyes. A hunger headache and David’s cries made it nearly impossible to think.
“Shhh.” She bounced the baby on her hip. “Mama’ll make it better, sweetheart.” Her voice lacked conviction, and only made him wail louder.
It had to be done. There was no other way.
She flung open the door before her stomach could rebel at too little food and an abject fear of confrontations. A wave of air-conditioning and escalating conversation washed over her.
Lush aromas taunted her. Beef, catfish, potatoes, vegetables. It all made her mouth water, her stomach growl. Even David seemed mollified by the plenty.
She hesitated, but only for a second.
Her gaze swept the room. Searching. She’d know him anywhere. She could be deaf, dumb and blind, and she’d still know if he was near. The mere electricity of his presence was enough to send prickles down her spine.
Nothing.
She eyed the lovely dresses, the summer suits. Her tattered pair of denim cutoffs and worn out tennies didn’t even come close.
“I think I’m underdressed,” she whispered against the baby’s downy hair. “Wish me luck.”
It seemed like it took years to traverse the ballroom, even though she knew she must look like one of those racewalkers, elbows flying, intent on the finish line.
Finally, she reached the raised dais at the front. She turned, facing the room full of lovely people.
“Excuse me.” Her voice didn’t carry to the first row of round dining tables.
“Excuse me.” A little louder this time.
They barely paused in their conversations.
Her face burned. She didn’t belong here. And if she were really, really lucky, the ground would swallow her up whole.
Then she looked down into her son’s bewildered eyes and decided the old Maggie would have to learn new ways.
She would stuff away what little remained of her pride. And she’d make the biggest, noisiest, nastiest scene she could. Until Eric crawled out from under his rock and accepted responsibility for his son.
What she needed was a megaphone. Her gaze swept the dais.
A podium stood nearby, complete with a microphone. Probably for long-winded dissertations on how the saintly McGuires had founded the town. Single-handedly prodded the economy. Provided scions of business.
Except Eric, of course. The black sheep.
She scanned the crowd one last time, hoping to settle this quietly, discreetly. But she didn’t see him anywhere.
Probably at the hotel bar, picking up a cocktail waitress.
Well, she’d make darn sure he heard her. Even in the lounge.
The new Maggie stalked over to the microphone and grabbed it off the stand. An earsplitting squeal startled David.
Silence descended on the high-ceilinged room. Except for David’s offended screech.
She jogged him on her hip as she tried to attract attention.
“Sorry to interrupt all you nice folks during your dinner. Can you hear me there at the back of the room? No, well let me speak a little louder.” Maggie raised her voice until it bounced off the walls and tinkled the crystal chandelier.
“Good. I’ve got your attention. Just tell me where that lowlife Eric McGuire is and I’ll let you get back to your meal.”
Her only response was a room full of gaping mouths. Maybe they were all mentally deficient. Maybe Eric had been the sharpest knife in their family drawer.
The thought made her speak very slowly and distinctly, as if they didn’t understand English. “I said…where is that lowlife, scum-sucking, lazy, no good SOB, Eric McGuire?”
They must’ve heard her this time, because they gasped in unison, every set of eyes as big as half dollars.
“You can’t hide from me, Eric. I know you’re out there. So get your hands off that waitress and come out here and face me like a man.”
She watched the double doors, but no lowlife, or anyone else for that matter, entered the room.
An elderly woman in the second row of tables gasped for air. Some guy with a shaved head and shoulders the size of Mount Rushmore handed the woman a glass of water and patted her hand solicitously.
David suckled on her shoulder, leaving a big wet ring on her last clean T-shirt. The baby was hungry and patience wasn’t one of his virtues. Just like his daddy.
“Look. This is David. He’s Eric’s son. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just need some…help.”
It was nearly impossible to spit out the last word. To beg for what should have been hers.
The old woman gasped, fixed her with a weird stare. The Vin Diesel look-alike whispered something in the woman’s ear, squeezed her shoulder and headed for the stage.
The guy was pure enforcer. From the top of his well-shaped head to the toes of his size-twelve dress shoes. He tugged at his crisp, white collar as he ambled toward her. His jacket fit, but just barely.
He moved with graceful control, like the guys she’d seen on televised bodybuilding competitions. The evil glint in his eye told her he’d take great pleasure in throwing her out on her rear.
The man stepped up on the dais and stood in front of her, his shoulders effectively obscuring her view of the assembly and vice versa.
He seemed ready, willing and able to block her only chance at making a better life for her child.
“Eric,” she yelled. “All I want is to talk to—”
Her jaw dropped as the enforcer produced a cracker and handed it to David. His baby sobs were muffled by the ecstatic gumming of salt and carbohydrates. Then the man pried the mike out of Maggie’s hand and grabbed her by the upper arm.
“But—”
“You wanna know about Eric?” His voice rumbled low in his throat.
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Then come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not till I talk to Eric.”
The man ran a hand over the black stubble on his head and took what looked like one of the deep cleansing breaths she’d learned in her childbirth class. She half expected him to start the hee-hee-hee breaths through clenched teeth.
Instead, he fixed her with a bright, white smile. One that didn’t come close to easing the tight lines around his eyes.
“You’ll talk to Eric.” His voice was soothing. And totally insincere.
She stood her ground and glared at him. He intended to trot her out the door and hand her over to security.
“Everyone’s been through enough.” He gestured toward the roomful of silent onlookers. “They don’t need this—” His eyes narrowed as he turned to survey the baby. “And neither does the kid.”
“He has a name. David McGuire.”
The man stared long and hard. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the old woman. When he addressed Maggie, his voice was low, desperate.
“Please. We’ll go somewhere, get a bite to eat. There’s a diner nearby. The baby…David, is it? He’s gotta be tired and hungry.”
Her tummy rumbled at the mere mention of food. Her son squirmed on her hip. Dampness saturated her shirt where it was wedged between her body and the baby’s. Warm and pungent, it would be only a matter of minutes before the odor of baby urine spread across the stage.
“Only if you promise to tell me about Eric. Promise?”
“Of course.”
David cast his vote, by way of an angry screech. The cracker was gone and he demanded more. Now. And a dry diaper, too.
“Okay. But this better not be a trick.”
He held out his hands to the baby. David smacked them away. If the man didn’t hold crackers or a bottle, he wanted nothing to do with the stranger.
“Follow me.”
She nodded, but apparently he didn’t believe her. He grasped her elbow and hauled her out of the room. She could feel two hundred sets of eyes follow their progress out the double doors.
Pandemonium broke out before the doors swished shut. Everyone babbled at once. She’d succeeded in making quite a scene.
As she followed the enforcer through the lobby, Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how she’d gotten to this point. The point where she’d sacrificed her self-respect and values.
But it really wasn’t a mystery. It all came back to Eric. She hadn’t had a chance. Not from that first glance.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAN HESITATED, then held the lobby door for Maggie. His tight expression said he wasn’t sure she merited the courtesy.
Maggie held her head high as she passed. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.
“Where’s your car?” he asked. His long strides put him ahead of her in no time.
“East lot. Why?”
He turned and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a car seat, I presume? My truck isn’t exactly equipped for kids.”
“Oh.”
To his credit, he didn’t even blink a few minutes later when they arrived at the poor, tired Toyota with the mismatched fenders. He simply waited while she tried to get David into his car seat.
But the baby had fury-induced rigor mortis. His face was squinched up and red; his arms and legs were stiff as boards.
“Do you have any more crackers?” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she begged for food. No decent mother let her child get this hungry.
He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”
“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”
“Not on your life.”
She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.
“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.
David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.
Or was that simply what she wanted?
They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.
The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.
The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.
“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.
“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”
“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”
“Nope. Couple miles.”
“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.
He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.
He shook his head and grunted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”
“I don’t need gas—”
“Like hell you don’t.”
“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”
“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”
Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.
She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”
“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”
J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.
Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.
Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.
He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.
As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.
The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.
Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.
Nope. This woman was different.
But the same.
Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.
J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.
“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”
David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.
The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.
Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.
“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.
Nothing, just more screaming.
He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.
That only made the kid madder.
Then inspiration hit.
He ripped open the box of baby biscuits and offered him one.
The kid gave him a look that said, “It’s about time, stupid,” and snatched the cookie from his hand.
Furiously gumming the goody, he surveyed J.D. with interest. Waving a little fist, his squirming changed to a happy wriggle. Legs and arms bounced, never still. David cooed his approval.
It kinda made J.D. feel good.
He twisted and withdrew from the back seat, sure he’d need to see a chiropractor the next morning. Straightening, he grinned at the woman.
“I got him to stop crying.”
She nodded her head but didn’t meet his eyes.
His accomplishment left her monumentally unimpressed.
Silence surrounded them as she replaced the nozzle. Crickets tuned up for their evening encore.
Then she looked up and met his gaze.
Something about her eyes disturbed him. They were green. Deep. Sincere.
“Thank you.”
He grunted some sort of reply, Lord only knew what, and got back in the car.
They headed to the diner in silence, broken occasionally by a contented gibberish from the baby.
When they pulled into the parking lot, he gestured toward the back seat. “There’re diapers in the bag, if you think he might need a change.”
The woman looked away for a moment, brushed her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged.
Charity. Might as well get it over with in one big horse pill to swallow. He didn’t like to give it, couldn’t imagine taking it and completely understood how hard it was to accept. For a gold digger, Maggie seemed unusually sensitive about asking for help.
“There’s formula and some other stuff, too.”
Her eyes locked with his, her pretty little mouth turned down at the corners.
He held up a hand forestalling her protest.
“Now that’s the way we are around here. Southern hospitality, nothing more. And you can pay me back when you find your debit card.”
“Yes. I’ll pay you back.”
A cold day in hell.
“Why don’t you change the baby. I’ll go on ahead and order us some food. Burgers okay?”
She nodded. He watched as she flipped the seat forward, contorted her spine and reached for the car-seat latch. Her faded T-shirt inched up toward her ribs. A ribbon of skin peeked out of the gap, pale and vulnerable.
J.D. turned and headed for the restaurant before he did something stupid. Like placing his palm against the warm, bare small of her back. Somehow he didn’t think she’d buy his pretext of helping.
He found a booth and watched her lumber toward the restroom door, her child on one hip, an enormous diaper bag banging against the other.
She was thin. Way too thin. Eric didn’t normally go for the anorexic type, though J.D. had to admit there was a certain charm to her wide-eyed, heart-shaped face.
He accepted the menu from the waitress while mentally castigating his brother. Disgust and disappointment got all tangled together in one messy package.
Damn him.
Damn Eric for lying. For saying he’d changed. Damn him for putting their grandmother through this. For being the favorite, whether he deserved it or not. And damn him for dumping one more mess in his half brother’s lap.
J.D. didn’t realize he’d been brooding until the waitress cleared her throat.
He looked up and she flashed a smile. She looked familiar. She’d graduated with Eric. What was her name?
“Darlene,” he read off her name tag. “Sorry, guess I was daydreaming.”
“No problem, J.D.”
How’d she know his name when he couldn’t remember hers without reading it?
It was simple really. He was a McGuire, even if only by name and not blood. The McGuires stood for something in this town—they were respected, if not revered. Their money bought a lot of goodwill.
He made a mental note to leave her a generous tip, then ordered cheeseburgers for himself and the redhead. French fries. Coleslaw. Two large sweet teas. Eric’s latest mistake looked like she could use some protein. That, carbohydrates and caffeine might get her through what he had to tell her.
J.D. watched her make her way to the table. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked like she might blow over with the slightest breeze.
Maggie swallowed, forcing herself to meet J.D.’s gaze as she made her way around the tables. It wasn’t a crime to be poor, but the pity on his face said it sure was sad.
Smoothing her hair, she wished she’d had a place to shower and change before confronting the McGuires. Despite splashing her face with cold water and finger-combing her hair, she knew she looked like hell. Her mother would have disowned her.
Maggie stifled a hysterical chuckle as she slid into the booth. Her mother had disowned her. But for crimes much more serious than a lack of personal grooming.
The man watched her bounce David on her knee. The cookie was long gone and he started to fuss. Poor thing, it had been a long day for them both.
Pulling the bottle from a side pocket, she said, “I mixed it with warm water in the restroom.” Help, so rare and unaccustomed, left a lump in her throat. How different things might have been if… She refused to go there. “Thank you. For the formula and the other stuff.”
“No problem. Southern hospitality.”
She could get used to this Southern hospitality. And it scared her.
“Give me the receipt. I’m a student and I’ll pay you back when…”
When?
When she paid the rent? When she had cupboards stocked with food and wipes and diapers? When she graduated from college, her mortuary-science degree in hand?
That was the only chance she might have of repaying the man.
“Here. You pay me when you can.”
She accepted the folded slip of paper and just about drowned in the kindness in his eyes. Slipping the paper into the diaper bag, she didn’t even look at the amount. Didn’t have to. She could tell to the penny what he’d spent, allowing for regional differences. Doing without had made her a great comparison shopper. And she knew convenience stores charged an arm and a leg for this stuff. Including the cheeseburger, she owed the guy close to forty bucks.
“You know babies pretty well. You have children?”
He seemed startled at the suggestion. Why? He looked to be in his midthirties. Solid. Kind. Good-looking, in a rough sort of way. A man who should probably have a wife and a few children at home.
“Nope. Couple of my friends do, though. Once they get to that age—” he nodded to David cradled in the crook of her arm sucking greedily on the bottle “—a cracker’ll get them to quiet down if they’re hungry or bored.”
“An astute observation, J.D. I didn’t catch your last name? Though with the reunion in town, McGuire would be a safe guess.”
His lips twitched. So, he had a sense of humor.
“Yep. You nailed it. McGuire, J.D. McGuire. And you are?”
“McGuire. Maggie McGuire.”
His eyes widened at that. Then the frown was back. As if she’d uttered the most despicable thing in the world.
“That’s not funny,” he said.
“It’s not intended to be.”
“Passing yourself off as his wife won’t help.”
Maggie straightened her aching spine. She wasn’t ready for this kind of confrontation. Eric, yes. She’d had several thousand miles to prepare for dealing with Eric. But this guy? He made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Something immoral.
“I’m not passing myself off as anything. I’m merely being polite and introducing myself. You draw your own conclusions.”
“My conclusions have nothing to do with this. There are already two Mrs. McGuires. One is my grandmother. The other is Nancy, Eric’s wife.”
Wife?
The word bounced around her head, slid down her throat and twirled in her stomach, before dropping to the bottom, like one of those penny wishing wells at the Wal-Mart store.
“Th-that’s impossible. I’m his wife.”
“Look, lady, I don’t know you. But you seem like a nice enough person. My brother’s done some pretty crummy things in his life, but he wouldn’t stoop to bigamy.”
“At least we agree about something.”
Eric had been a jerk occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But he’d been a charming, loving jerk most of the time. She simply couldn’t believe he would do something to hurt her so badly. To hurt his son so badly.
But doubts tiptoed through her mind. He’d never really believed David was his child. Their argument over his paternity had been intense. She’d started spotting immediately and feared she might lose the baby. After that, Eric had neither accepted nor rejected paternity. He had simply humored her, made sure she ate right, got enough rest, suggested a few names for the baby.
And when she’d told him he was listed as David’s father on the birth certificate, he’d just smiled a sad little smile and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he’d taken the newborn from her arms and settled into the hospital rocking chair.
No, he wouldn’t be that cruel.
“Maybe she’s mistaken? This Nancy woman?”
“Nope. I was best man at their wedding, right after Eric graduated high school. And if there’d been a divorce, I would have heard about it.”
That’s when the second shock seeped in. Everything she’d believed to be true was in jeopardy. J.D. was lying. He had to be lying.
“Look, is this some sort of sick practical joke?” Maggie held her breath, waiting for a camera crew to come out of hiding, hoping against hope that this was a new reality TV show designed to humiliate the unsuspecting.
“Is it? A joke?” she asked.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared off in the direction of the door. As if he would rather have been anywhere in the world but here, breaking bad news to a stranger. “No, it’s not a joke.”
“If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, squeezing the baby so tightly he protested, “that means I’m not married. And David is—”
“A beautiful, healthy child.” He leaned forward. “That’s all that matters.”
“Why are you being so kind?”
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