The Secret Wife

J.D. glanced at his watch.

“It’ll wait till morning. That way you’ll be…um…refreshed before you see him.”

“That way you can warn him I’m here.”

He rubbed his chin. “The thought crossed my mind.”

“No way. I want to see him now.”

“Can’t. He’s racing just outside of town. That’s why he missed the reunion dinner. His priorities are kinda mixed up.”

“No kidding.” Maggie glanced meaningfully at David. “You said racing?”

“Yeah, you know the stuff. Where the guys drive round and round the track until all of them are wrecked or somebody wins.”

“Of course I know racing. It’s where I met Eric. But he’d given it up. He told me—”

“And you believed him?”

Shifting in her seat, Maggie couldn’t decide which was worse, the guy knowing how completely gullible she’d been, or the extent of her desperation.

“No, not completely. I tried to call him when I didn’t receive divorce papers, but couldn’t reach him at any of the emergency numbers he’d left in the past. Then I checked the Internet at the library. He wasn’t registered anywhere on the amateur stock-car circuit.”

“And you didn’t find him under Eric MacGuire, with an A?”

“No.”

“How about Johnny Bravo?”

Bingo. His favorite cartoon character. J.D. had just handed David’s lovable, lowlife, scum-sucking, no-good jerk of a father to her on a silver platter.

CHAPTER THREE

MAGGIE SURVEYED the cramped lobby while she swayed from side to side, David’s head growing heavy on her shoulder. The motel was neat and clean. Not luxurious, but certainly not a dive—and way off the beaten track.

She watched J.D. set down her suitcase to pull a wad of bills from his pocket. He peeled off several and tossed forty bucks on the counter like it was pocket change. Maybe for some people.

The room was paid up for one night, and one night only. Noon checkout, and Eric’s brother expected her to be long gone by then.

He had a lot to learn about her.

What she might lack in worldly knowledge, she more than made up for with grit. How else would she have survived till now?

J.D. handed her the key card. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her face.

She kissed the top of David’s downy head, avoiding J.D.’s questioning gaze.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

God, she was getting tired of saying that. Tired of depending on a stranger. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d get her mortuary-science degree, become the best damn funeral director in Phoenix and then she’d never have to rely on anyone again.

“Go get some rest. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning and take you to see Eric. They serve juice and doughnuts right here in the lobby, so you don’t have to go anywhere for breakfast.”

The threat was implicit.

He didn’t want Eric’s second wife parading around where anyone could see her. Just wanted her to disappear like a wisp of smoke. No ugly scene. No smudge on the sainted McGuire name. Sure, she’d let him savor that little fantasy a while longer.

“Oh, good. I’m really beat. We’ll just get settled in, get rested up….”

“Do you need me to carry your suitcase to your room?”

“No, I can handle it.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.”

She nodded.

He turned and strode out the door without a backward look. Problem solved. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see him dust his hands.

Maggie slid the key card into her back pocket and watched him get into his candy-apple-red pickup. She’d dropped him off to get his truck, then followed him to the roadside hotel. When she’d lagged behind, so had he. There was no way her little Toyota could outrun him, so she’d had to wait for an opportunity to ditch him.

Shaking her head, Maggie had a hard time believing J.D. and Eric came from the same family. He was everything Eric wasn’t—solid, dependable, controlled. An accountant hiding out in a football player’s body. The kind of guy who should have a four-door sedan, a Volvo station wagon even. Something safe, reliable. Boring.

If J.D. was a station-wagon kind of guy, then Eric was definitely meant for sports cars. Lots of flash and excitement, but never dependable. And her Toyota, where did that fit into the scheme of things?

A little battered, but reliable and good on gas. But underneath the hood, the little import longed to be a sports car.

David shifted in his sleep, settling against her shoulder with a sigh.

But sports cars weren’t conducive to children. And if she were one of the little Toyotas in a world of sports cars and SUVs, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be as successful as the next person. It would simply take more work.

Maggie fought a wave of loneliness as she watched the taillights fade into the distance. J.D. wouldn’t be back until morning. Lifting her chin, she shook off the pressure in her chest. Getting sappy wouldn’t pay her tuition.

Maggie waited a good fifteen minutes after J.D. left. When she was sure he wasn’t coming back, she settled David in his car seat and continued her mission.

The racetrack wasn’t hard to find once she stopped at a convenience store for directions. Straight through town, five miles on the other side, just where the clerk had said.

She swung the little car into the dirt parking lot and wedged the car into a space at the end of a row. In Arizona, the dust would’ve choked her. But here, it was the mosquitoes. They swarmed around her as she exited the car, ravaged her bare legs when she reached in to remove the sleeping baby from the back seat.

She wrapped a lightweight cotton blanket around David to protect him from the cloud of insects.

Unfortunately, her shorts left plenty of bare skin for the little bloodsuckers. One voracious mosquito died from her stinging smack, only to be replaced by ten more. Finally, she gave up.

Glancing around, Maggie was glad to note that she wasn’t late. People streamed toward the entrance gates. She let the crowd swallow her until she neared the ticket booth. There, she split off to the left, following the chain-link fence that separated her from her destiny.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the pit entrance. Her face warmed with embarrassment. It wasn’t right to avoid paying. But it was the only way.

Maggie raised her chin as she passed the big-bellied guy checking passes. Juggling the baby and the diaper bag, she worked on an innocent fluster—as opposed to a guilty one. The blanket inched down to reveal David’s face.