“Peach and blueberry tart with ice cream,” she answered.
Jennifer clattered around the kitchen, already scooping out servings. “Can’t really resist that, now can I,” he acquiesced. “So…yes, please. And stop calling me Mr. Griffith. Mr. Griffith is my father or my uncle.”
Maggie put on coffee while Jennifer finished doling out servings of the tart, taking hers and escaping to the den and the television. When Maggie placed the dessert before him, the smell alone was enough to remind him of home. Sweets weren’t something he indulged in much anymore, but his mother was a fantastic baker and plied him with goodies whenever he visited. Right now the scent of fruit and cinnamon took him back to when things were much simpler. Made him wish this were that simple, instead of him having to work his way through hidden motives. But this was the closest lodging to where he needed to be and the most private. There hadn’t been much of a choice, so he had to work with what he’d been given.
“What made you decide to take on a business such as this?” He decided to draw her out by talking about herself. “It has to be a huge job for one person.”
Maggie avoided answering by pouring coffee into thick pottery mugs.
“I had this house and a whole lot of empty rooms,” she explained. Her pulse quickened as she was drawn back nearly twenty years. “I had a house and a baby and a foster child and needed to support us all.”
Nate’s fork paused midair. “Children? As in plural?”
Maggie smiled thinly. “Yes, for a while I looked after my cousin, until he grew up and did his own thing. He’s thirty-one now.”
His fork dipped into a slice of peach but Maggie noticed a pair of creases between his brows. She tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke. “Now you’re doing the math. How old must I be to have an eighteen-year-old daughter and a foster child of thirty-one?”
He swallowed and reached for his water as a snort of mirth bubbled out at her directness, easing the tension. “I guess I am.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m forty-two. I was twenty-four when Jennifer was born. Mike was thirteen. He came to me when he was eleven— when I was twenty-two.”
She passed him the cream and sugar, then resumed her seat. “And now you want to ask the question and don’t know how to do it politely.”
Her heart fluttered. Talking about it was hard, and no matter how many times she answered, it never seemed to get any easier. But by now she knew that it was best to get it over with, quick and clean.
Nate had given up all pretense of eating and was watching her closely, so she tried her safest smile. “When I was twenty-five, my husband, Jennifer’s dad, was killed in a work accident.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Conversation halted. Probing the topic further would be presumptuous, which was part of the reason why Maggie tended to get it over with as soon as possible. Once it was out there, most dropped the subject, uncomfortable with the idea of asking how it had happened, or worse, why she hadn’t married again. She knew her reasons. That was enough.
Nate put a bite of pastry and ice cream in his mouth. Her answers had been plain at best, and he knew she was skimming the surface, evading deeper responses. It would be rude to press further. And how much did he really want to know? He was here for a short time. It would be best if he stayed out of her way as much as possible, kept her questions to a minimum. Get the answers he needed and no more.
Besides, there were some questions about his life he wouldn’t want to answer. If she wanted to keep her life private, that was fine by him. What he needed from her had nothing to do with her private life beyond Jennifer’s—and her—involvement.
The candle at the center of the table flickered and he watched the flame dance.
Maggie sipped her coffee and changed the subject. “So what brings you to back roads Alberta? Most would choose a more touristy area. Like Banff, or somewhere south of the border. Montana or Colorado. There’s nothing around here besides snow and prairie and a bunch of ranches mixed in with the gas industry.”
“If this is your tourism pitch, I can see why your beds are empty,” he joked.
“This isn’t our big season,” she answered. “Like I said, most would head to the mountains for the skiing and richer comforts. We get most of our traffic in the summer.”
“I’m surprised you don’t vacation in the winter, then,” Nate suggested.
When she didn’t answer right away, he peered closer at her face and it struck him. “You do usually travel, don’t you? Is my being here…” He paused, knew he was right by the uncomfortable way her gaze evaded his. “You canceled plans because I was coming.” He hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought of anything beyond doing this assignment, and then dealing with the details.
She shook her head. “It’s no bother. I hadn’t even booked anything yet.”
“But you were going to,” he confirmed.
Maggie looked up at him and he was struck again by how young she looked. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought they were close to the same age.
“Mexico isn’t going anywhere.” She smiled shyly, and their gazes caught.
She tried to cover the moment with her own question. “How long have you been a marshal?”
“Five years. Before that I was in the marines.”
“Oh.”
He grinned at her. “And now you’re trying to do the math. I’ll save you the trouble. I’m thirty-three.”
“And you like it?”
“I couldn’t do it otherwise.”
Somehow their voices had softened in the candlelight, taking on an intimacy that surprised him, pleasantly. He watched as Maggie bit the inside of her lower lip and released it. She had a beautiful mouth. A mouth made for kissing.
When he lifted his gaze she was watching him, and her expression was fascination mixed with shock that he’d been staring at her lips.
Attraction, he realized. It had been a long time since he’d felt it. But there was definitely a familiar surge in his blood as his eyes locked with Maggie’s, blocking out the muted sound of the television coming from the den. Maggie Taylor raised his temperature and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
It was a complication he didn’t need.All he really wanted to do was what he’d been sent here to do. He’d put on a good face; pretended this was just a vacation for some relaxation, but he wouldn’t have chosen this for a holiday. His idea of fun wasn’t in the middle of some godforsaken Canadian Prairie at a bed and breakfast. He certainly hadn’t expected to feel whatever it was he was feeling for the proprietress. He wasn’t sure if the desire to flirt with her was a detriment or a bonus.
The light from the candles sputtered, throwing shadows on her face. She was as different from his regular type as sun was from rain. Subdued, polite, grounded, yet anything but boring. It took a woman of character and stamina to lose a husband so young and still bring up a family and run a business. How had she done it all alone?
Jen coughed in the den and Maggie looked away as the moment ended. Nate caught his breath as the color bloomed in her cheeks. He hadn’t imagined it, then.
“Excuse me, I should clean this up.” Her voice was overbright as she scrambled up from the table, knocking over her empty mug.
It crashed to the floor, breaking into three distinct pieces.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Without looking at him, she knelt to the floor to pick up the pieces. Nate watched, amused. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman who