The Pregnant Ms. Potter. Millie Criswell
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Of course, there were some people—CEOs of large corporations, for example—who paid a lot of money to hear those very opinions.
She’d been on the fast track with Lassiter, Owens and Cumberland until her pregnancy had caused a derailment and brought her career to a screeching halt. But she refused to think about that now. It was too depressing! Better to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it later, tomorrow, never!
Hauling Maddy into the house like a sack of feed, Pete deposited her in the center of the front hallway, where they were immediately assaulted by a barking, tail-wagging mutt.
Smiling at the dog, he bent over to scratch him behind the ear and was rewarded with several enthusiastic swipes of his tongue. “This is Rufus. He’s harmless. And he likes women.”
The homely creature wasn’t a true Taggart then, Maddy thought uncharitably.
“Make yourself at home. Guest room’s on the left at the top of the stairs. There’s a bath attached and a clean robe hanging on the back of the door, if you want to take a hot soak. I’ll be back in a bit. I’ve got to check on my animals. Make sure they’re okay. Come on, Rufus.” He whistled for the dog, who followed him loyally to the door, though Maddy sensed he’d rather be anywhere but outside in the cold snow.
She nodded, too startled to say much else. And what she was tempted to say could only get her into a great deal of trouble, of which she had plenty already. “Thank you,” she finally managed, watching all six feet two inches of him disappear out into the frigid snowstorm.
Removing her shoes, Maddy wiggled her frozen toes, then padded across hardwood floors, inspecting first one room then another. The front parlor was filled with antique furnishings; knickknacks and framed photographs hung on rose-and-green-floral-papered walls. The Taggart family, she assumed, studying an old daguerreotype of two handsome men who looked enough alike to be brothers.
Goodness, but the Taggart men had great genes!
After making use of the bathroom, she entered the kitchen, where she found the makings for tea. Deciding to take Pete Taggart at his word, Maddy proceeded to make herself at home.
She was still cold, despite the fact the house was warmed by a very efficient woodstove. As she waited for the kettle of water to boil, she plopped down on one of the pine ladder-backed chairs at the long trestle table, which had seen some use over the years, judging from the deep scars and nicks, and surveyed the large room.
It had all the modern conveniences one would expect of a kitchen, but still retained an old-fashioned charm with the heart-of-pine cabinets and wide-planked pine flooring, covered in part by a round multicolored braided rug. Shiny copper pots hung over the center island, and cheery apple-patterned curtains framed the window over the double cast-iron sink.
The teapot whistled, and finding tea bags in one of the copper canisters on the counter, she fixed herself a cup of the steaming liquid. “Heavenly,” she murmured after taking a sip, allowing the warmth to penetrate and consume her.
The back door slammed shut, and Maddy turned to find her host entering the kitchen, Rufus following close on his heels. The dog flopped down on the braided rug and promptly went to sleep.
Pete had removed his jacket and boots, but his denims were soaked from the snow; they hugged his muscular thighs in a very intriguing fashion. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, not liking where her thoughts had traveled. If there was one thing she didn’t need right now, it was another complication. “I made myself some tea.” His face was chapped red, and he looked chilled to the bone.
“Don’t mind at all, if you’re sharing.” He blew into his hands to warm them.
She filled a ceramic mug with hot water and a tea bag, then set it down before him. “It’s a good thing you’ve got gas appliances, or we’d really be in a fix with the power out.”
“Only the stove’s gas, the rest are electric, so we’re still in a fix. But I’ve got plenty of kerosene lanterns, and the woodstove and fireplaces will keep the house warm.”
“Guess you’re used to this kind of storm.”
Pete shrugged, trying not to notice the way her soft brown hair, shot with streaks of gold, framed a very lovely face, or the way her eyes, the color of green clover, sparkled prettily. “I should be. I’ve had to live with them for thirty-six years.”
“Is there a town close by? I couldn’t see much of the surrounding area, with the way the snow was blowing. I need to get my car repaired.”
“Sweetheart’s about twelve miles to the west of us. It’s small, so there aren’t many amenities. If you want things like malls and movie theaters, you’ve got to drive to Colorado Springs or Canyon City, and I wouldn’t hold your breath about the car. If Willis can tow it out, and that’s a big if, it’s doubtful he’ll have the parts to make the repairs right away. He’ll have to order them from Denver, and that could take a while. Plus, Willis has a real aversion to working in cold weather.”
Maddy was genuinely concerned. “But I need my car. I need to—”
“No sense trying to buck the weather, and no use worrying over things you can’t control.”
“But I don’t want to be an imposition, Mr. Taggart. Is there a motel or an inn nearby where I can stay?”
Pete nodded. “There’s the Sweetheart Inn and Flannery’s Motel.” At her sigh of relief he added, “But they’re both full, because of the Christmas holidays. Looks like you’re stuck with me—for now.”
“Oh, I couldn’t…”
“Sweetheart’s not New York City, and that’s a fact, Miz Potter. I guess you’ll find that out soon enough.”
Sweetheart. There was a story behind that name, she’d bet money on it. Maddy thought about all the advertising possibilities it proffered and smiled to herself.
“Sounds familiar. I grew up in a small farming community in Iowa.” And hated every minute of it. She’d left as soon as she turned eighteen, not that her father would’ve noticed. Her mother had died by then, and Mary Beth had married her high school sweetheart, Lyle Randolph, so there’d been nothing to keep her there, certainly not Andrew Potter, whose only passion in life had been pigs.
She’d read once that an actress had been jealous of her famous ventriloquist father’s dummy while she was growing up, which was exactly how Maddy had felt about her dad’s stupid swine. He’d treated those pigs with far more affection than he’d ever shown her.
Her father was still living alone on the farm, still tending his pigs. Mary Beth kept in contact with him, but he and Maddy hadn’t spoken in years. They’d never had all that much to say to each other. Nothing good, anyway.
“New York must have been quite a culture shock after Iowa,” Pete remarked, drawing her attention back.
“At first, but I’ve grown to love it. It’s got a heartbeat all its own. And you never feel alone there.” Lonely, but never alone.
“I went there once with my—” He almost said wife, but caught himself just in time. Pete didn’t like discussing Bethany with strangers, with anyone really. If Maddy noticed, she didn’t let on. “Didn’t much like it,” he said finally.
Maddy continued sipping her tea. “Guess it’s not for everyone. It’s certainly not tranquil like this. How do you stand it? I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep without horns honking outside my bedroom window all night.”
He studied her thoughtfully for several moments, seemed disturbed about something, then pushed back his chair and said, “If you’re done, I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a fireplace, so you should be warm enough. Tomorrow I’ll try to hook up the generator.”
“I’m truly sorry to be such an imposition, Mr. Taggart. It’s kind of you to put me up.”
“We don’t turn away stranded folks out