Lady with a Past Read online

  “Not really. Why won’t you call me Connor?”

  She gave him a killer smile, a weapon left over from her life in the fast lane. “I treat all people of your advanced age with respect, Mr. Garrett. Let’s get moving. It’s getting cold out here and you’re keeping me from my dinner.”

  Connor dropped in behind her again, making a soft “meow” sound deep in his throat. She glared at him over her shoulder, but kept walking. Connor’s low-slung canary-yellow rental car looked quite ridiculous next to her rugged power-wagon. It also appeared…locked. With the keys in the ignition.

  “Are you kidding me?” Maxie walked around the car, trying both doors. “What kind of idiot locks his keys in the car?”

  “I resent that,” Connor said in an injured tone. “Are you implying I did it on purpose? You have a definite ego problem if you think I want your story that bad.”

  “What about the sunroof? Maybe we could slide it—”

  Connor tried to look suitably mournful. It was difficult, considering he was enjoying himself enormously. “The sunroof doesn’t work. It’s broken. I plan on giving that rental company a piece of my mind when I return the car. I was assured this car was in perfect working—”

  “Oh, shut up.” She stared at him, murder in her violet eyes. “You probably worked this whole thing out in advance. Locked the keys in the car, glued the sunroof closed—”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Besides, you told me to shut up.” Connor tried both doors himself, grunting as if exerting great effort. “Well, this is a stroke of poor luck.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it.”

  “I’ll have to call a locksmith. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

  Maxie was getting a migraine, her first in two years. “I’ll tell you something, Garrett. Even if I was your missing model, which I’m not, I would never, ever, ever consent to an interview with a sneaky, opportunistic, underhanded, oily—”

  “Oily?” Sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded Connor could live with. Oily was a slur on his personal hygiene. “That was below the belt, Ms. Calhoon. You know, I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to come out here. If I could get in my car, I’d say good riddance and leave this very minute.”

  Maxie deeply regretted never training Boo to kill on command. How could so much go so wrong in such a short period of time? Life had been so wonderfully uncomplicated when she’d walked into Howdy-Do Farm & Feed that morning. She’d just come from the bank and felt optimistic about her loan. Knowing both she and her cows would have money for food during the coming winter was a tremendous relief. She’d stopped at the donut shop and enjoyed the best apple fritter of her life. She was a contented woman.

  And then Connor Garrett had stuck that lousy photograph under her nose and the bubble had burst.

  “I don’t like you,” she told Connor succinctly, eyes narrowed. “You have no redeeming qualities.”

  “You don’t know me yet,” Connor pointed out. “It’s much too soon to make a judgment call.”

  “Believe me, I know you as well as I’m going to.”

  He gave her a slow smile, a light of challenge in his dark eyes. “Wanna bet?”

  While Maxie fortified herself with a Twinkie, Connor called a locksmith, but had to leave a message on his voice mail. When he hung up the phone, he looked at Maxie’s stormy expression and shrugged helplessly. “What am I supposed to do? Is it my fault he’s the only locksmith in Oakley? I’m sure he’ll get back to me as soon as possible.” Then, glancing beyond the kitchen window, he said, “I suppose I could wait outside. It looks like it might start raining again, but I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Why don’t I just wait on the porch swing? With any luck, the locksmith will get the message before I freeze to death. I’ll just leave you in peace, all right? I don’t want to be a bother….”

  His wounded-puppy-dog act had no effect on Maxie. Still chewing, she shepherded Connor to the front door, pulling an afghan off the sofa along the way. “How considerate of you. Here, take this blanket. Wrap up snug and tight, and you probably won’t freeze to death.”

  The glint of humor in Connor’s expression faded abruptly. “The hell you say! You actually expect me to wait outside?”

  “It was your idea, Mr. Garrett,” Maxie said cheerfully. “I’ll turn on the porch light so you won’t be scared of the mutant rabbits. Bye-bye.”

  “Wait just a damn min—”

  She shut the door on his protest without even the tiniest qualm of conscience. Then with an evil smile she turned on the porch light as promised. She knew how happy all the mosquitoes in a five-mile radius would be to have fresh meat on the porch.

  She went back to the kitchen, choosing a juicy red apple from her fruit basket on the table. As she crunched on it, she found left-over roast chicken in the fridge and popped it into the microwave. She noticed the wind was turning rather fierce outside, rattling the kitchen windows in their frames.

  What a shame, she thought. This would certainly ruin the last of her petunias in the garden.

  She took her dinner back to the living room and flicked on the television. She always looked forward to Friday nights. There was a wonderful show on cable called A Day in the Life of a Veterinarian. It was very educational.

  She had a pad of paper and pencil standing by in case she wanted to take notes. Tonight’s episode dealt with “The Lurking Peril of Brucellosis.”

  And speaking of lurking perils…. For the first timesince shoving Connor out the door, she glanced outside. There he was, huddled on the swing, the afghan pulled up to his eyeballs. He caught her eye and lifted the tips of his fingers far enough over the edge of the afghan to give a pathetic little wave. His new tangled dreadlocks gave evidence of the night wind’s ferocity.

  Maxie pulled a face as she heard the first drops of rain on her tin roof. Darn. Even she couldn’t leave the man out in a rainstorm. She had a hard enough time leaving her cows outside during poor weather.

  Scowling, she gestured for him to come inside. He hopped off the swing with the speed of a naughty little boy who’d been forced to sit in a corner, dashing across the porch and inside with the blanket held over his head. A freezing spray of rain and wind came inside with him.

  “It’s l-l-like a hurricane out there.” His lips were frozen, the color faded to an interesting pale blue. “I hope you’re happy.”

  “Of course I’m not happy,” Maxie replied. “I hate to see any animal suffer.” Then, grudgingly, she gave up her place on the couch. “Sit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

  Connor burrowed into the sofa cushions, staring at the plate of chicken bones on the coffee table. “You had chicken.”

  “You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I love chicken.”

  “I ate it all.”

  “Of course you did,” he muttered.

  Maxie glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t worry about feeding me. I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

  She took a deep breath. “You do like playing the martyr, don’t you? How on earth did a delicate soul like yourself ever survive playing professional football?”

  He brightened considerably. “You watched me play pro football?”

  “Never. I just heard somewhere you played football before you became a reporter.”

  “Well, I didn’t play much,” he admitted. “Two games and I was out for the count. I blew out my knee when—”

  “Do you want something to eat or not?” Sitting there on the sofa with his wet mop of hair, melting brown eyes and touching tale of woe, he was almost endearing. Maxie couldn’t afford to feel sympathetic. “If you’re really hungry, I’ll fix you a plate of…something.”

  He smiled weakly. “Before you go…would you mind covering me with the blanket? I’m still a little chilled.”

  “Fine.” She whipped the blanket out of his fingers, spreading it over him. “There
we go, Mr. Garrett. All tucked in, nice and cozy. Is there anything else I can get for you? A hot-water bottle? Earmuffs? Perhaps a mustard poultice?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any brandy, would you?”

  “Brandy? I can barely afford hay for my cows!”

  “Don’t get all prickly on me,” he said. “You’re probably tired. When you’re well-rested, I’m sure you have a very nice personality.”

  “Nope,” she retorted, heading for the kitchen. “This is as good as I get.”

  “And that’s good enough,” Connor murmured. He nearly snapped his neck following her exit. She had the most provocative sway to her hips, languid and sassy at the same time. He could just imagine her strutting the runway in a wispy dress that began late and ended early, her luscious hips rolling like thick honey, violet eyes half-closed, that swollen, edible mouth painted the sumptuous color of late-summer roses….

  He grew conscious of a heated tightening in his groin. He tugged the blanket away from his body, sucking in a deep breath of air. For a man who’d just spent an hour in the deep freeze, he was suddenly and suffocatingly hot.

  Three

  While Maxie was in the kitchen, Connor took the opportunity to nose about the room. Other than a single photograph on the mantel above the fireplace, there were no items of a personal nature, certainly no mementoes from Maxie’s former life in the limelight. The lone photograph on the mantel was slightly yellowed; a picture of a young bride and groom posing in front of a tiny, white-spired country church. The groom looked highly uncomfortable. His mouth was pinched tight and the arm he had placed around his bride’s waist looked as if it was made out of cardboard. The bride, however, was smiling lovingly at her husband, her dark curls loose and dancing in the sunlight. Her beauty was staggering. Like Maxie, she possessed incredible cheekbones, a generous mouth and stunning, wide-set eyes. Like mother, like daughter.

  “What are you doing?” Maxie demanded.

  Connor turned on his heel, flushing slightly. His reluctant hostess was standing in the doorway bearing a tray of food and a ferocious scowl.

  “Nothing,” he said, perhaps a shade too quickly.

  “Nothing? You’re snooping.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Connor avoided her accusing eyes, reclaiming his seat on the sofa. “Why did you put that picture on the mantel if you didn’t want anyone to look at it?”

  Maxie slammed the tray down on the coffee table. “I put it there so I could look at it. No one else, just me.”

  “That’s your mother and father,” Connor said, as if daring her to deny it. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.”

  “My mother still is a beautiful woman. Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

  “Is this the way you treat all your visitors? It’s not very hospitable, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’ve never had—” Too late, Maxie realized what she had been about to say. As did Connor, judging by the look of stunned incredulity on his face.

  “No visitors?” he said. “Ever? That’s a little tough to believe. Glitter Baby didn’t exactly have a reputation as a loner. How long have you lived here?”

  Maxie closed her eyes and counted to three. She was going to count to ten, but she lost her temper at three. “How long I’ve lived here is none of your damned business!” she snapped, stamping one booted foot on the floor. “I’m none of your business! My photographs are none of your business! Now eat your SpaghettiOs before I pop you one.”

  “Before you pop me one?” Connor’s answering laughter died an abrupt death as he looked down at his dinner. “You weren’t kidding,” he said slowly. “You fixed me SpaghettiOs.”

  “Let me guess,” Maxie said flatly. “You’ve never eaten SpaghettiOs.”

  “Well, of course I…no, actually I think you’re right.” Connor thought back to his mother’s legendary Washington dinner parties. Never once did he recall seing SpaghettiOs on the menu. “This is a first for me. When I think of you out there in the kitchen, slaving over a hot pan of SpaghettiOs just for me…well, it does my heart good.”

  “You have quite an imagination, do you know that?” Maxie sat down on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. “I guess that’s a prerequisite for your job.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t deal in facts. You deal in fabrication, anything to make a story more interesting.”

  Connor shrugged, making a production out of stirring his SpaghettiOs. “If you say so. You’re quite defensive, do you know that? I think I understand why you never have visitors. Do you have any pepper to go with this?”

  “Who on earth puts pepper on—” Maxie stood up, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

  The instant Maxie left the room, Connor put his bowl of SpaghettiOs on the floor. Boo, who had been snoring beneath the coffee table, immediately sprang to life, gobbling down the major portion of Connor’s dinner.

  “What a good boy,” Connor murmured. He took the bowl back just as Maxie walked into the room. “I decided it didn’t need pepper after all,” he apologized. “Thank you, that really hit the spot. Now that I know what I’ve been missing all these years, I will certainly add SpaghettiOs to my—”

  “Oh, save it,” Maxie interrupted impatiently. “Boo has your dinner all over his face. I should have known you were a picky eater the moment I saw your jeans.”

  Dumbfounded, Connor stared at her. “My jeans? What about my jeans?”

  “They’re ironed,” she retorted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who irons a crease in their jeans.”

  “I do not iron my jeans,” Connor said quite truthfully. His housekeeper did, albeit on his orders.

  Maxie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet you starch your undershorts and wear little suspenders to keep your socks up.”

  “Of course I don’t starch my undershorts. What do you take me for?” There was nothing Connor could say about the “little suspenders.” He owned several pairs for formal occasions. “Why am I the one being interrogated? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

  “Ask away,” Maxie said. “Just don’t expect me to answer.”

  They stared at one another while the silence lengthened. Her expression was defiant, his frustrated. Connor decided to go for his trump card.

  “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “A quarter of a million just for letting me tape one little interview. I don’t know how much hay costs, but that’s got to cover your expenses for quite a while.”

  There had been a time in her life when a quarter of a million dollars was practically chump change. Maxie had no trouble remaining unimpressed. “No thanks,” she said. “I can take care of my own money problems. I’d rather mortgage my land than sell my soul. Besides, why would you want to interview an obscure dairy farmer? You’d be a laughingstock.”

  This time Connor was the one counting to ten. “I know who you are,” he said tightly. “You know I know who you are! Why keep playing this stupid game?”

  “You’re right,” she said, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “It’s a stupid game and I don’t want to play any more. I’m going to get my jacket, then I’m driving you back to town. You can arrange to pick up your car tomorrow. Our discussion is over.”

  Maxie left the room in an indignant huff. Connor’s thoughtful gaze followed her exit, then he stood up with a sigh and walked to the tiny coat closet and removed a metal hanger. He went outside and had the lock on his car open in less than two minutes. He walked back into the living room just as Maxie reappeared. She was wearing a denim jacket with sheepskin lining and had her cowboy hat planted firmly on her head once again.

  “Where did you go?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I thought I’d try opening the lock with a coat hanger,” he explained, holding the bent hanger up like a trophy. “It worked, can you believe it? The rain has stopped, too. I guess my luck is turning.”

  “I’m happy
for you,” Maxie said acidly. “Why didn’t you try to open the damn door before now?”

  Connor grinned, his eyes lingering on her beautiful mouth. “Because I didn’t want to open the damn door until now.”

  In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere between them changed. What had been impersonal suddenly became quite personal. The air in the small living room seemed to change as well, becoming thicker and oxygen-sparse. Maxie was having trouble breathing. She stared at the boyish tangle of damp hair across his forehead and had the inexplicable urge to smooth it back. He looked like a mischievous child standing there with his dancing brown eyes and that stupid hanger in his hand. Her gaze dropped lower, to the snug jeans slung low on his narrow hips. A whisper of pure sensuality reared its dangerous head, sending a prickle of goose bumps over her skin.

  “I want you to go now,” she said hoarsely.

  Connor nodded thoughtfully. “You’re going to make this a struggle, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to make it impossible. No interview, not now, not ever.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the interview, pretty girl.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re enchanting, Maxie Calhoon. Prickly…but enchanting.”

  Maxie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her brain was stalled in neutral.

  “I’m staying at the motel in Oakley for a couple of days,” Connor said. “If you change your mind about the interview—”

  “I won’t.”

  “Here.” He moved closer to her, then smiled as she nearly jumped out of her boots. “I just wanted to give your hanger back,” he explained, as if talking to a three-year-old. “I’ll leave it on the sofa here, all right?”

  “Fine. Go away.”

  Connor walked to the door, then paused. “You are Glitter Baby, aren’t you?” he said without turning to look at her. “Just admit that much.”

  Strangely, Maxie’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how far she ran, her alter ego still haunted her. She would never be judged for her own merits; she would always be Glitter Baby.