A flare of indignation burst into life inside her. “That is so typical, Justice. You go through your life self-sufficient and expecting everyone else to do the same. Do it yourself or don’t do it. That’s your style.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he argued. “A man’s got to stand on his own.”
“Why?” She threw both hands high and let them fall. “Why does it always have to be your way? Why can’t you see that everyone needs someone else at some point?”
“I don’t,” he told her.
“Oh, no, not you. Not Justice King. You never ask for help. Never admit to needing anyone or anything. Heck, you’ve never even said the word please.”
“Why the hell should I?” he demanded.
“You’re a hard man,” Maggie said.
“Best you remember that.”
“Fine. I’ll remember.” She stepped up close to him, helped him up from the chair despite his resistance and when he was standing, looked him dead in the eye and said, “As long as you remember that if you want to get your life back, you’re going to have to take orders from me for a change.”
Late that night Justice lay alone in the bed he used to share with his wife. He was exhausted, in pain and furious. He didn’t want Maggie looking at him and seeing a patient. Yet, all afternoon she’d been with him, taking notes on his progress, telling him what he’d been doing wrong and then massaging his leg muscles with an impersonal competence that tore at him.
Every time she’d touched him, his body had reacted. He hadn’t been able to hide his erection, but she’d ignored it—which infuriated him. It was as if he meant nothing to her. As if this were just a job.
Which it probably was.
Hell, what did he expect? They were divorced.
Grabbing the phone off the nightstand, he stabbed in a number from memory and waited impatiently while it rang. When his brother answered, Justice snapped, “Get her out of my house.”
“No.”
“Damn it, Jefferson,” Justice raged quietly with a quick look at the closed door of his bedroom. For all he knew Maggie or Mrs. Carey was out wandering the hall, and he didn’t want to be overheard. Which was the only thing that kept his voice low. “I don’t want her here. I made my peace with her leaving, and having her here again only makes everything harder.”
“Too bad,” Jefferson shot back. “Justice, you need help whether you want to admit it or not. Maggie’s a great therapist and you know it. She can get you back on your feet if you’ll just swallow your damn pride and do what she tells you.”
Justice hung up on his brother, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Swallow his pride? Hell, his pride was all he had. It had gotten him through some tough times—watching Maggie walk out of his life, for instance—and damned if he was going to let it go now, when he needed it the most.
He scooted off the edge of the bed, too filled with frustration to try to sleep anyway. He could watch the flat-screen television he’d had installed a year ago, but he was too keyed up to sit still for a movie and too pissed off already to watch the news.
Disgusted by the need for it, Justice reached for his cane and pried himself off the mattress, using the thickly carved oak stick for balance. His injured leg ached like a bad tooth, and that only served to feed the irritation already clawing at his insides. Shaking his head, he hobbled toward the window but stopped dead when he heard…something.
Frowning, he turned toward the doorway and the hall beyond. He waited for that noise to come again, and when it did, his scowl deepened. What the hell?
He made his way to the door, flung it open and stood on the threshold, glancing up and down the hallway. The wall sconces were lit, throwing golden light over the narrow, dark red-and-green carpet, which lay like a path down the polished oak floors. The hallway was empty, and yet…
There it was again.
Sounded like a cat mewling. Justice moved toward the sound with slow, uncertain steps. Just one more reason to hate his damn cane and his own leg for betraying him. A few months ago he’d have stalked down this hallway with long strides. Now he was reduced to an ungainly stagger.
He followed the sound to the last door at the end of the hallway. The room Maggie was to stay in while she was on the ranch. At least he’d been able to order that much. He’d wanted her as far from his bedroom as possible to avoid the inevitable temptation.
Outside her door he cocked his head and listened. The house made its usual groaning noises as night settled in and the temperature dropped. Seconds ticked past and then he heard it again. That soft, wailing sound that he couldn’t quite place. Was she crying? Missing him? Regretting coming to the ranch?
He should knock, he told himself. But if he did and she told him to go away, he’d have to. So instead, Justice turned the knob, threw open the door and felt the world fall out from beneath his feet.
Maggie.
Holding a baby.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Hello, Justice. I’d like you to meet Jonas. My son.”
Chapter Four
“What? Who? How? What?” Justice jolted back a step, hit the doorjamb and simply stared at the woman and baby on the wide, king-size bed.
Maggie’s gaze locked on his as she answered his questions in order. “My son. Jonas. The usual way. And again, my son.”
Pain like Justice had never known before shot through him with a swiftness that stole his breath and nearly knocked him off his feet.
Maggie had a son.
Which meant she had a lover.
She was with someone else.
Everything in him went cold and hard. Amazing, really, how big the pain was. He’d told himself he was over her. Assured himself that their marriage was done and that it was for the best. For both of them. Yet now, when he was slapped with the proof that what they’d shared was over, the sharp stab of regret was hard enough to steal his breath. The thought of Maggie lying in another man’s arms almost killed him. But then, what had he expected? That they’d get a divorce and she’d join a convent? Not his Maggie. She had too much fire.
Clearly, it hadn’t taken her too long to move on. Her son looked to be several months old, which meant that she’d rolled out of his bed into someone else’s real damn fast. Which made him wonder whether she’d been involved with someone else already when they’d had that last weekend together. That thought chewed on Justice, too. All the time they’d been rolling around in his bed, she’d had another guy waiting for her? What the hell was up with that?
He wanted to shout. To rage. But he didn’t. He locked up everything inside him and refused to let her see that he was affected at all. Damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of knowing that she still had the power to cut him.
He had his pride, after all.
“Not going to say anything else?” she asked, swinging her legs off the bed and lifting the baby to sit at her hip.
He wiped one hand across his whiskered jaw and fought for indifference. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Fine. I said it.” His gaze stayed locked on hers. He wouldn’t look at the chubby-cheeked infant making insensible noises and gurgles.
“Don’t you want to know who his father is?” she asked, moving closer with small, deliberate steps.
Why the hell was she doing this? Did she really enjoy rubbing the fact of her new relationship in his face? He hoped she was enjoying the show because, yeah, he did want to know. Then he wanted to find the guy and beat the crap out of him. But that wasn’t going to happen.