Flirting With Disaster. Sherryl Woods
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scowled at him.
“I have to say, I think Warren is right,” Dinah chimed in. “I think you latched on to Warren as if he were the last life raft in the ocean.”
“Oh, what do you know?” Maggie retorted. “You and Cord are so into each other you barely know anyone else is around.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Dinah asked, completely unfazed by Maggie’s nasty tone. “We can’t be that self-absorbed.”
“How did you find me, by the way? I thought I’d covered my tracks pretty well.” The truth was, she hadn’t tried all that hard. In fact, in her state of self-pity, she hadn’t been able to imagine anyone caring enough to come after her.
“I’m a journalist,” Dinah reminded her. “I know how to make phone calls. Besides, I know you. I knew you’d never go too far from home. Charleston is in your blood.”
“More’s the pity,” Maggie grumbled. She really did need to broaden her horizons. Maybe that was what was wrong with her life. She’d never had any desire to be anyplace except South Carolina’s Low Country. Maybe if she’d traveled the world the way Dinah had during her career as a foreign correspondent for a TV network, Maggie would have discovered some other place where she could be perfectly happy. At least it would have gotten her out from under her mother’s judgmental gaze.
“Do you really want to talk about the pros and cons of living in Charleston?” Dinah inquired tartly.
“Not particularly,” Maggie said.
“Then let’s focus on getting your life back on track. Moping around out here all by yourself is not you, Maggie.”
“I’m not moping,” Maggie retorted. “I’m on vacation.”
“Oh, please. You were halfway through that pint of ice cream when we walked in,” Dinah responded. “That’s moping. Believe me, I know all the signs. It’s obvious you’re in trouble and we want to help.”
“I really don’t need the three of you sitting here with these gloomy expressions on your faces trying to plan out my life. Hell, Dinah, you’re the one who talked Warren into going out with me in the first place. Considering how things turned out, I should hate you for that.”
In fact, she was pretty darn irritated about it. If it hadn’t been for Dinah’s meddling, Maggie would never in a million years have fallen, however halfheartedly, for a man like Warren Blake. Rock-steady and dependable might suit a lot of women, but such traits had always bored Maggie to tears. She preferred dark, dangerous and sexy. Men like Cord Beaufort, as a matter of fact.
If she were being totally honest, she’d have to admit she’d known all along that with Warren, she was settling for someone safe. He might not rock her world, but he’d never hurt her, either. As it turned out, she’d been wrong. He had hurt her, though mostly it was her ego that was bruised. If a man like Warren couldn’t truly love her, who would?
That was what she’d been pondering in her Sullivan’s Island hideaway for a few weeks now. If she wasn’t interesting enough, sexy enough or lovable enough for Warren, then she might as well resign herself to spinsterhood. He was her last chance. Her sure thing. Sort of the way Bobby Beaufort, Cord’s sweet, but dull-as dishwater brother, had been Dinah’s backup plan till her hormones and good sense had interceded.
Even as Maggie was struck by that notion, she realized she should have seen the handwriting on the wall. Wasn’t she the one who’d told Dinah that safe was never going to be enough? If it wasn’t good enough for Dinah, why had she, Maggie, ever thought it would work for her? They’d always been like two peas in a pod when it came to choosing between conventional and unconventional.
“Mind if I say something?” Cord asked, his gaze filled with surprising compassion. He spoke in that slow, lazy drawl that had once sent shivers down Maggie’s spine till she’d realized he’d never want anyone but Dinah. She’d learned to ignore the attraction and look in other directions. Warren, unfortunately, had been in the vicinity.
Maggie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Here’s the way I see it,” he began. “Nothing’s stopping you from sitting in this cozy little beach house all the live-long day, if that’s what you want to do. I’m sure your art and antiques gallery can pretty much run itself, thanks to those competent employees you’ve hired. And if it doesn’t, so what? You’ve got a nice little trust fund from your daddy. You don’t need to do a thing.”
Maggie bristled. She’d never liked thinking of herself as a spoiled little rich girl who didn’t need to work for a living. She’d poured heart and soul into Images, a high-end shop that catered to Charleston’s wealthier citizens and the tourists who visited the city’s historic district. She’d never treated it like a hobby, and had taken pride in its success. She also felt a certain amount of perverse satisfaction just knowing that it drove her mother crazy to think of her daughter being in “trade,” as she put it. Juliette Forsythe should have lived in some earlier century.
As for her employees, Maggie didn’t know where Cord had gotten the idea they were competent. She’d be lucky if they didn’t run the place into bankruptcy. Although, until right this second with Cord taunting her, she hadn’t much cared.
But if Cord was aware of her growing indignation, he gave no indication. “Maggie’s a smart woman,” he continued mildly, aiming his words at Dinah and Warren and leaving Maggie to draw her own conclusions. “This has obviously been a trying time for her. I think we should let her decide for herself how she wants to spend her days. She can go back to work running her business, if that’s what matters to her. She can come on out and help us with our project and make a real difference in someone’s life. Or she can sit right here and feel sorry for herself. It’s her choice. I think once we clear out and give her some breathing room, she’ll make the right decision.”
Maggie saw the trap at once. If she did what she wanted to do and hung around here wallowing in self-pity and Häagen-Daz ice cream, they’d worry, but they’d let her do it and they wouldn’t think any the less of her, because they loved her. But in her heart, she’d see herself for the ridiculously self-indulgent idiot she was being.
She’d lost a man. So what? Warren wasn’t the first and undoubtedly he wouldn’t be the last, despite her current vow to avoid all males from here to eternity. Leave it to a man as sneaky and surprisingly insightful as Cordell to appeal to her floundering self-respect.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Tell me again about this stupid project,” she said grudgingly.
Cord, bless his devious little heart, bit back a grin. “We’re going to be building a house for someone who needs one. The church’s congregation got the idea, a benefactor donated the land, and the preacher asked me to put together a volunteer construction crew. We’ll be working mostly on weekends, since that’s when people are available. Dinah and her mama are in charge of raising money for whatever building supplies we can’t get donated.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Maggie asked suspiciously.
“What you’re told,” Dinah said with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Same as me. It’ll be a refreshing change for us. At least that’s what Cord says. We’ll be hammering and painting right alongside everyone else.”
Maggie turned her gaze on Warren. “And you?” she asked.
“That’s up to you,” he replied. “I said I’d help, but I’ll stay away if you want me to, Maggie. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Maggie wasn’t sure Warren had any essential skills for building a house, so sending him away might not be much of a loss, but why bother? Maybe it was time to show all of Charleston that she was holding up just fine after her broken engagement. It was past time she held her head up high and behaved like the strong, independent woman she’d always considered herself to be.
“Do whatever you want to do,” she told Warren with as much