The Secret Wife

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…”