Almost Perfect

Maybe she should have feigned an attack of appendicitis. Or put a cast on her leg. She could have called the dentist and scheduled an unnecessary root canal. How was that for desperation?

She blew out a ragged breath. No matter how plausible the excuse, it didn’t matter. Dr. Margaret Templeton would arrive on time, dressed to the hilt, looking comfortable on the outside, while childish insecurities ran amok on the inside. At least she’d have Jake at her side. But Maggie wasn’t sure that seeing him again would make her feel any more secure.

A voice over the intercom announced his plane had arrived from Houston, and her steps faltered.

He was here. Would she recognize him after all these years?

Maggie stood transfixed, searching the steady stream of disembarking passengers for someone who resembled the gangly teenager who’d once been her best friend.

Did he still wear his hair long and slightly unkempt? Had he finally grown taller than her? Did he still prefer Wrangler jeans, a worn Stetson and scuffed boots?

As a tall, lean cowboy, dressed in black, sauntered through the door, her breath caught. Jake?

Bright blue eyes, the color of a Texas summer sky, crinkled in amusement, and he flashed her a reckless smile. “Hot damn, Maggie. You grew up good.”

“So did you,” she managed to say.

Jake Meredith now stood six-two or more, broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hips. Sporting a black suede jacket and Stetson, the man caused more than one head to turn for a double take.

He hadn’t shaved this morning, she noticed, but the dark stubble looked good, giving him an intriguing, rugged appearance—a look even her most conservative side found appealing.

A small, jagged scar marred his left brow. The physician in her wondered how it had happened.

The woman in her wanted to trace it with her finger.

Whoa, she told herself, pulling out of the awkward trance. Jake was her friend, her escort. She had no intention of stretching their relationship beyond that. Sharon, his sister, had said he was a charmer, a real ladies’ man, and Maggie wasn’t about to become another notch on his bedpost.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, trying to remember her manners as well as hide her surprise.

“I’m glad I could help out.” He brushed a soft kiss on her cheek and gave her a hug. The scent of peppermint, leather and musk lingered long after he released her.

“How much do I owe you for the airline ticket?” Maggie asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” He placed a hand on her back and ushered her through the terminal. “This wing-ding must be a big deal.”

“It is,” she told him. But she doubted he really understood.

She’d worked hard to see the new pediatric ICU become a reality, as had Rhonda Martin, another pediatrician in her office. Tonight’s formal event, El Baile Elegante, was a gala intended to thank donors and secure their ongoing financial support. Even though Maggie could no longer stand being in the same room with Rhonda, professionalism demanded she attend.

“There’s got to be a hundred guys in this city who’d love to take you to that shindig. I still don’t understand why you asked me.”

“Because I want a real friend to accompany me, and there don’t seem to be too many friendly faces in Boston anymore.”

His expression sobered, and he paused before responding. “I’m not like the people you usually hobnob with, Maggie. And I hope you don’t expect me to be.”

She didn’t. When they’d first become friends at Buckaroo Ranch, Jake had been a rebel, a James Dean on horseback. And Maggie had been a young Marian the Librarian. She doubted he’d changed much, if at all, which was all right with her. Jake had a way of making life seem simple and uncomplicated. And he’d had a way of making her smile when life seemed unbearable.

She slid him a quick glance. The skinny kid had sure filled out. And grown up.

They continued toward the exit, walking along with other travelers who’d made Boston their destination.

“I’m sorry about your divorce,” he said, his soft Southern drawl washing over her like a warm summer rain. “Are you doing okay?”

Not really, but she was making progress. “My pride took a bigger hit than my heart, but I’ll be all right.”

Jake didn’t comment, and she was grateful. Lord knew she’d psychoanalyzed herself enough in the past six months.

Learning that her husband Tom and Rhonda had conceived a baby had hurt, particularly since they hadn’t waited until Maggie and Tom had officially separated to do so. Still, the split had been somewhat clean and amicable, but only because Maggie refused to make a scene or act as though Tom’s affair had bothered her more than a broken nail.

She’d fought long and hard to become a professional, and that’s the only behavior she expected from herself.

The voices from the past that sometimes nagged at her, jeered at her now, pointing out her shortcomings and hanging them out to dry.

What’s wrong with you, Maggie? Stupid girl. Can’t you do anything right?

She’d grown up with insufferable criticism. Her mother’s third husband had been a drunk. An alcoholic, her clinical side corrected, although either diagnosis seemed to fit.

Oftentimes he’d said things that were cruel and untrue, but Maggie had proven him wrong. The valedictorian at Valley View High had gone on to receive a full academic scholarship at Radcliffe, then transferred to Harvard Medical School, where she’d graduated number two in her class. Dr. Margaret Templeton wasn’t stupid.

Or a failure.

And she hoped appearing at El Baile Elegante with Jake would show her colleagues that the failed marriage was merely a joint decision to end what wasn’t working. Maggie Templeton, they would realize, was doing just fine without a husband.

She glanced to her side and found the handsome cowboy perusing her with a crooked grin and a glimmer in his eyes.

Jake couldn’t help but admire the pretty doctor—in more ways than one. She’d achieved everything she’d set her mind to. And what’s more, the quiet teenage girl he’d once called Magpie had grown up to be a real head-turner, the kind of lady a man couldn’t help but notice.

Her hair, no longer the color of corn silk, had darkened to a golden blonde. And those caramel-colored eyes still held a tender heart, as well as a sadness few people could see.

Fifteen years ago, she’d been all knees and elbows, but she’d become womanly, with the kind of gentle curves a man liked to run his hands along all through the night.

“How are you, Magpie? Or should I call you doctor?”

“Just Maggie will do.” She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse. “I sure appreciate your coming out here like this.”

For three long-ago summers, her grandma had shipped her off to Buckaroo Ranch, where Jake lived with his sister and tough-as-rawhide uncle. The sad-eyed bookworm had become the only friend he’d had growing up.

He gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “I owe you one, remember?”

She’d protected him from a beating when he was sixteen by saying a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniel’s had belonged to her. It hadn’t, of course. Maggie had always been a moral crusader when it came to alcohol, unlike Jake who’d thought drinking and smoking made him more manly and grown-up.

Because she was a paying guest at the ranch, his uncle had merely poured the whiskey onto the dirt, then threatened to send her packing if it ever happened again. Uncle Dave wouldn’t have been that easy on Jake.

And Jake hadn’t had any other place to go home to.

“Are you talking about that bottle of Jack Daniel’s?” she asked.

“My uncle would have given me the boot. He never did appreciate having to raise his brother’s ornery son.” Nor did he ever let Jake forget what a disappointment he was.