Late Tuesday afternoon, Asher checked his pockets for his keys, about to leave their town house to drive Ruth into Bozeman for Hebrew school at their synagogue.
“Why are we leaving Jackson at home?” his daughter asked, tone suspicious.
“Because Maggie’s coming with us. Remember how I wanted the three of us to spend time together? And she and I are going to go to the hardware store while we’re waiting for you.” And planned on going out for dinner. Even though he and Ruth had talked about him dating, he didn’t want to force the issue. If she asked, he’d be honest. But he wasn’t going to wave his dates with Maggie in his daughter’s face. Tough, given all he wanted was to touch and kiss and tease Maggie in that obviously intimate, we’re-a-couple way that an overly analytical ten-year-old would cotton onto in a second.
Frowning, Ruth checked her backpack. Asher knew the routine. Notebook, stuffed dragon, quidditch pencil case. And the ribbon-tied packet of letters Alex had written to Ruth. The scan must have passed muster, because she zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulders.
“Why does Maggie coming mean Jackson can’t?” she asked. “He loves her.”
“But he won’t love getting left in the car.”
His daughter said a dramatic and elongated goodbye to the dog, and sulked in the back seat on the short drive to Maggie’s.
Maggie was waiting on the porch, and as she slid into the front seat, he leaned forward to give her a kiss. Oh, crap. So much for being on guard. He tried to cover the instinctual action by leaning into the back seat and grabbing a tissue out of the box on the floor of the car. He caught Ruth’s quizzical gaze out of the corner of his eye. Schooling his expression, he straightened and pretended to blow his nose. Hopefully that hid the freaking joy jumping in his chest at the mere sight of Maggie with her curls held back with pins and face framed by the swoopy scarf wrapped around her neck.
Blowing your nose before the second date even starts. Way to be hot, Matsuda.
But the unattractive move was better than kissing Maggie in front of his daughter, so he’d have to eat the embarrassment.
Maggie turned to greet Ruth, and her gaze homed in on Ruth’s long face. “Why so sad, kiddo?”
“Dad left the dog at home.”
“I’m glad to hear you like spending time with him,” Maggie said carefully. “But it’s okay for him to be alone sometimes. He likes his crate.”
“He’d better—it’s taking up a third of our living room,” Asher mock complained.
“You didn’t adopt a Chihuahua, that’s for sure.” Maggie laughed. “So, tell me about how our techniques are going, Ruth.”
Ruth brightened as she launched into a minute-by-minute rundown of the practice she’d put in with Jackson since her class with Maggie. He drove, shaking his head a little. It felt like they were running on alternate timelines. One where he had to keep Ruth’s needs in mind, slowly easing into a relationship with Maggie. And his, where it had been over two weeks since he’d gotten to spend the night in Maggie’s bed and he was eager to ease back between those sheets with her.
Once Ruth exhausted her Jackson stories, she fell back into near silence, despite Maggie’s attempts to draw her into conversation. Asher glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His daughter’s cheeks were flushed, and she was hugging her rib cage. Was she still bothered by the dog being left at home? Or had she picked up on him almost kissing Maggie? They were almost at the synagogue, and with Maggie in the car, it wasn’t possible to have another State of the Family discussion.
“You okay, peanut?”
“My tummy hurts a little.”
Damn. He hated to think she was having a resurgence of the physical grief symptoms that had plagued her for the first year after Alex’s death. She’d been doing so well, especially with the addition of Jackson to the family and with the promise of ski lessons. Had he disrupted that progress by putting him dating on the table? He shared a quick glance with Maggie. Her mouth twisted in sympathy.
“You going to be okay for Hebrew school?” he asked.
Ruth looked out the window and nodded, her hair falling in a sheet across her cheek.
“Have I told you about the puppy I’m going to be training next, Ruth?” Maggie asked.
His daughter shook her head.
“I was supposed to get her today, but I have to wait for two more weeks. She’s sixteen weeks old. A chocolate Lab. I’m going to assess her to make sure she has the right temperament—personality and attitude—to support someone with autism. You said you had a friend in New York with an autism support dog, right?”
“Yeah.” The tiny voice was barely audible from the back seat.
“They’re very useful. All support animals are. You know who’s the funniest working animal in Sutter Creek?”
“No.” Another whisper.
Asher’s chest clenched, and he tried to watch his daughter and the road at the same time.
“Well, Beverley’s not technically a service animal—pigs don’t qualify—but he definitely thinks he’s a lapdog. All 90 pounds of him. And he helps his owner with her anxiety, so they’re a good match. But seeing a potbellied pig on a pink harness and leash never fails to make the tourists do a double take.”
Asher smiled, and damn, did he appreciate Maggie’s efforts, but Ruth wasn’t going to thaw. She gave a half-hearted “That’s cool,” and dug in her backpack, taking out her dragon and the letters. She spent the rest of the drive rubbing a dragon’s wing between a thumb and forefinger and clutching the packet in her other hand.
Asher and Maggie made small talk about the last few things he had to finish for the interior of the training barn, including the cabinet handles that they needed to exchange before dinner.
He pulled into the parking lot and into a visitor’s spot. “We’ll just be a minute,” he said to Maggie, who nodded in understanding.
“Ruthie,” he said, after they were both out of the car and walking toward the front door. He put his arm around her narrow but sturdy shoulders. “What’s on your mind?”
“Papa. And my stomach ache.”
He tucked her hair behind her ears. “Want to talk about it?”
“I have class.”
“You feeling good matters more,” he assured her. “If you’re not okay, we can head home.”
She shook her head, canceling out his efforts to keep her hair tidy. “I’m fine. And you don’t have to walk me. I know the way.”
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she scurried off, head ducked and thumbs looped in her backpack straps.
His deep breath failed to ease his concern, and he walked out to the car, legs heavy. He slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel.
“Hey.” Maggie settled a hand over one of his. “I thought you said Ruth seemed okay with us dating.”
He released the wheel with one hand so that he could link fingers with Maggie. “She did. Something set her off about leaving the dog at home, though.”
“She hasn’t confided in you?”
“Not yet. She often needs a day or two to mull over whatever’s bothering her.”
She nodded. “She knows she can trust you, Asher. That much is obvious. No way would I have let my dad put his arm around me when I was mad at him.”
“Well, that’s something. You think I should dial down the paranoia?”
“You’re having to compensate for being her only living parent. Having extra worry is probably normal. I just wouldn’t panic about her having a quiet moment,” she said.
“Okay.” Maybe the wave of guilt that he still wanted time alone with Maggie was overkill, too, then. Or at least he’d tell himself that so that he could enjoy the next couple of hours. “Hardware store first?”
“Yeah, and after, I have somewhere to show you.”
“No dinner? I wanted to take you out to a nice restaurant. Somewhere without a platoon of well-meaning senior citizens breathing down our necks.”
“I don’t need anything fancy. I just like spending time with you. Let’s hit up a drive-through and then I’ll take you for a tour.”
Which is how he ended up full to the brim with a double cheeseburger and fries, parked under a private overhang of trees by the river a few minutes out of town. Lap full of woman. He’d left the keys in the ignition and the battery on, some folk rock setting the mood.
“You’re sure this is private enough?”
“A friend of mine owns this property. No one’ll come down here.”
“Maggie Reid,” he murmured, kissing a line from her throat to her ear. “Are you taking advantage of me?”
“You seem like you need to loosen up, Asher. And while I don’t think you’re wrong to try to suss out what’s on Ruth’s mind, she’s busy at the moment.”
He cupped one of her breasts and flicked her hardening nipple with his thumb. She whimpered.
“So we should get busy, too?” he asked.
“I’ve had worse ideas.” She circled her hips over his half-hard penis, and pleasure rushed downward. Man, he could get used to having her straddle him in the front seat of his car. He would dearly love to throw himself off an emotional cliff with this woman, but until she was more comfortable, that would be like jumping without a parachute—
“Asher?” Stilling her movements, she blinked and palmed his chest. “Are you not into this?”
“Uh, you can’t tell?”
“An erection isn’t consent. And you seem distracted.” Her teeth tugged at her lower lip.
“Sorry, love. I’m fully yours. So long as some deputy isn’t about to come arrest us for public indecency.”
“Promise, we’re alone.”
Kissing her, delving under her shirt and bra with his hands, he did his best to prove he was willing to take advantage of their privacy. Her body was strong, from working with animals, no doubt, but she had a hell of a lot of soft parts, too. And his hands were still getting used to that, to the feminine. He loved touching her. Exploring her curves, coaxing out moans. And discovering how wet she was when he slipped his fingers under her skirt and shifted her panties to the side.
He groaned his appreciation and teased a languid pattern on her slick flesh. “You feel so good, Maggie.”
She squirmed against his hand, gripping his shoulders hard enough for her short nails to sting through his shirt. “Not...quite...good enough...”
“Can’t have that.” Rubbing her nub with his thumb, he thrust two fingers inside her wetness and pressed her inner wall. He settled his mouth over hers, a deep kiss mimicking the rhythm of his hand.
Her mouth fell away as she cried out, her sex pulsing around his fingers. Heat pooled in his groin, the satisfaction of having helped her find her release fueling the desire to find his own. He withdrew his hand and gave her back a stroke.
Chest heaving, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “Now that was enough,” she mumbled.
“Sounded like—”
His ringing phone, connected to his hands-free system, interrupted. He glanced at the display. “Ah, crap, it’s the synagogue.”
Maggie stilled in his lap, and he answered.
“Asher? It’s Jill Kaufman.” Ruth’s teacher’s voice rang with concern. “How far away are you? Ruth got sick to her stomach during the history lesson.”
His own nausea reared at the teacher’s news—guilt induced, of course. Killed his sexual desire, too. Damn it. He never should have sent Ruth tonight. Had he let the time with Maggie cloud his judgment?
After assuring Ms. Kaufman that he’d be there in ten minutes, he hung up, and helped Maggie over the console and back into the passenger seat. They both straightened out their clothes. He peeled out of the riverside site, driving as fast as he could get away with.
“Sorry, Maggie,” he said, rubbing his chest. Where was his container of antacids when he needed it?
“Don’t apologize. I just hope she’s okay. Want me to drive home so you can sit with her in the back seat?”
“Maybe.”
Ruth’s spiking temperature answered that question for him. He let Maggie take over the wheel so he could be closer to his now-feverish daughter. She rested her head in his lap on the trip back to Sutter Creek, dragon tucked under her chin.
“You must have a stomach bug, Ruthie. Sorry I didn’t notice,” he said. Though part of him was almost happy it was a virus—maybe her gastrointestinal troubles were unrelated to her mental health.
Even so, between missing her illness and having to cut his date with Maggie short, he was letting down the people he cared about on all sides tonight.
“Sorry I threw up. The garbage can was too far away, and I made a mess on the floor.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Some of the other kids laughed. The rest ran to the other side of the room.”
“That’s rotten, honey. They’ll forget by next week, though. Everyone throws up in public at some point.”
He wasn’t paying much attention to where they were going, so when Maggie pulled into his driveway, he startled. “I’ll drop you off, Maggie. It’s freezing out.”
She shook her head and got out of the car, snatching her purse from the floorboard as she exited. “I have gloves and a hat—I’ll walk home. You take care of your sick one.”
He lifted a corner of his lips and slid out himself, taking Ruth’s backpack with him. His daughter wobbled a bit when she stood, and he went to her, lifting her into a spider monkey hug like he’d done when she was a preschooler.
Maggie unlocked their front door and rubbed Ruth’s back. “Call me later?”
“Yeah.” He loved the idea of ending the day with a phone call. He just wasn’t sure Ruth was actually ready for Maggie being in his life.
Hours passed before Asher got the chance to call Maggie like she’d asked. Having been unable to convince Ruth to have a piece of dry toast, he’d settled for getting her to take in as much electrolyte drink as he could. Instead of going to an after-hours clinic, his brother had come by to check on Ruth. He and Caleb ended up chatting and playing fetch with the dog in the backyard for an hour after Ruth fell asleep.
By the time his brother left and he showered off the sickbed grime, it was already past ten. Instead of risking waking Maggie up, he sent her a text, asking if she was awake.
He was going to need to apologize—with Ruth ailing, he’d be housebound tomorrow night, which would put him behind on the renovation project. Garnet was saving his ass when it came to finding child care—she’d volunteered to spend her day off with Ruth so that he could work his usual Wednesday shift at the library—but he couldn’t justify working through the evening as well, or taking Ruth along with him while she felt so crummy. Which would mean being short for the fees that were going to be due for the ski club in a couple of weeks. To borrow one of Maggie’s phrases, fudge crackers.
She replied a minute or so later.
I’m in bed, but awake.
He smiled. The possibility of ending off the night with conversation rather than vomit and money worries was welcome. As was the mental picture of Maggie in bed. A teeny pair of sleep shorts would showcase her toned legs in all the right ways.
He dialed her number.
Maggie answered on the first ring and settled against her pillow, sure to add extra innuendo to her tone. “What are you wearing?”
Laughing, he replied, “Afraid I sleep fully clothed. T-shirt and boxers.”
Mmm. Hot. “You say that as if you in a T-shirt and boxers is a bad thing.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Maggie Reid.”
“Too bad it can’t get us in the same bed.” She sighed. She felt badly that she hadn’t gotten the chance to make him feel as good as he had for her, before they got interrupted. “How’s Ruth doing?”
He gave her a rundown of his evening, then paused awkwardly.
“Everything okay?” she asked. Ruth had been irritable at times on the car ride to Bozeman, and she wanted to be sure the mood had been illness-related, not caused by Maggie’s company.
Asher cleared his throat. “I’m not going to be able to come in tomorrow to finish up Lachlan’s office. It’s going to push it forward a few days, because Thursday is parent-teacher night at Ruth’s school and then Friday’s family night, and Saturday there’s a Shabbat service...”
Maggie sucked in a breath. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Doesn’t sound like it’s entirely fine. I’ll give your brother a call tomorrow to explain.”
She rushed to correct his misinterpretation of her tone. “The schedule change is honestly not a problem. I’ll tell him. He has classes next week, but as long as he gets the multipurpose area set up for then, I’m sure he’ll be okay if his office is in shambles.”
“I don’t like not being able to follow through.”
She paused. She had to ask him about Ruth, otherwise she’d never get to sleep. “Speaking of follow through, I wanted to make sure you still think this is a good idea. Ruth was less than happy to see me today.”
“Right, uh, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but we can talk more if you want. Do you want to video chat me instead?”
“What, so you can destroy my sense of reason with a smile and a wink? I seem to be pretty weak when it comes to your face, Asher. Especially when you’re wearing your glasses.” Which was most of the time, given he rarely wore contacts.
“I’ll keep the winking to a minimum.”
“And smiling?”
“No guarantees. It seems to be my natural state when you’re around.”
Her heart pattered.
They connected via the app thirty seconds later, and his appreciative half grin filled her phone screen. Pushing up his glasses with a finger, he winked at her “Hey.”
“Told you not to do that.”
“Not happening, Maggie. I might be tired, and it might take me days to get the scent of puke out of my nostrils, but you make me happy.”
“That’s...” She glanced away from her phone. Ugh, it was harder to guard her feelings over a video connection.
He didn’t fill the silence, though, and she appreciated the time to gather her thoughts.
“I didn’t like Ruth being grumpy with me today,” she confessed.
“I know,” he said. “But she was coming down with the flu. I’m pretty sure that her mood was from her feeling sick, not her opinion on our relationship.”
“If you say so. I have no frame of reference. I mean—” she stared into his understanding gaze “—how am I supposed to know how to raise a child? I had the worst example.”
He nodded slowly. “Is that why you don’t want to have a baby of your own?”
“No,” she said. “I just—I’m not a baby person. That was never going to be for me. I find it easier to connect with older children. Whether or not I would be any good in a parent role, though? I’m going to need some time.”
He rubbed his cheek, smoothing out his beard.
Dang, this conversation would be so much easier if she was lying next to him, running her own fingers along his facial hair.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I explained to her there were no guarantees.”
Her chest cramped at his words. “It doesn’t seem like enough. Are you sure it’s okay?”
“I’m sure that I like seeing you. And that I want to keep doing that, even if it means having to stop myself from kissing you in the car like I had to earlier tonight. I lose my head a little when I’m around you, Maggie.”
“You do the same to me.” She couldn’t tell him everything she was feeling. But that little admission seemed a fair compromise. And the smile it earned her kept her happy for days.
By Saturday morning, Ruth was on the mend.
Asher, however, was hanging over the toilet, wishing he’d never heard of such things as breakfast and coffee.
“Dad?” His daughter hovered outside the bathroom door. “Guess we’re not going to temple this morning?”
“Sorry, peanut.” He dragged himself to the sink and rinsed out his mouth. “That’s going to be a no. Movie marathon?”
He spent the day in a blur of Netflix and flu symptoms. Ruth got a crash course in paying for delivery pizza, lest Asher pass the bug on to the unsuspecting delivery person, and they both went to bed early, Ruth still being tired from three days of the flu. Asher was up most of the night, glad he had an en suite so he didn’t disturb his daughter across the hall. He woke up Sunday morning, a sweaty, shaky mess.
No way was he going to be able to go into the clinic and knock off the rest of the finishing work in Lachlan’s office. His stomach clenched, from guilt and disappointment instead of nausea.
He’d have preferred nausea. Letting down Maggie and her brother made him feel like an absolute heel.
After a shower, he shuffled to the living room and downright oozed onto the couch across from Ruth, who was lying curled on the floor with Jackson, watching a Disney cartoon. An empty bowl sat on the coffee table beside her with the dregs of milk and Alpha-Bits—her weekend treat—in the bottom.
“You look like you’re going to puke again.” She studied him, dark eyes full of concern. “I don’t think we should go to Maggie’s today.”
“I don’t either,” he croaked. He’d have to call and cancel, and then figure out where he could make up the time. Damn it. Lachlan was supposed to be holding a class there tomorrow.
Dialing Maggie’s number, he sandwiched his cell between the cushion and his ear so that he didn’t have to hold his gelatin-muscled arm up for any length of time.
“Morning, sunshine,” she greeted, sounding disgustingly chipper. “When are you coming to work? I might head to church this morning. My friend Emma is playing the piano for her mom, who’s singing. I like to go for moral support. You’ll probably be started on the last cabinet doors by that point.”
He tried to reply with words, but a low groan came out instead. “Maggie, I...”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing big, I just—”
“Cut the crap.” She spoke with the firmness of a medical professional well used to getting emergency phone calls from people dealing with illness. Animal sickness, mind you, but ailing creatures just the same. “You’re sick.”
“As a dog. Better to be a dog, really. You could medicate me.”
“You don’t want to call Caleb?” she suggested.
“Just a virus. Need to sleep it off.” He glanced at his daughter. Aside from crapping out on Lachlan and Maggie, he was cheating Ruth out of her weekend, too. And the dog would need to be walked. He groaned again. Where was his get-out-of-adulting-free card?
“I’m coming over,” Maggie announced.
“You don’t have to.”
“You need me to,” she insisted.
She was right. He so did. “Thanks, love,” he murmured before hanging up.
His eyes fluttered closed, and God, just a little sleep would do wonders... Like, maybe a week or so.
“Daddy?” Ruth whispered.
“Mmm-hmm?”
“You called Maggie ‘love.’”
Oh, hell. He didn’t have the energy to sit up, let alone navigate another complex conversation about grief and love and moving forward. He cracked one eye open. “I did, Ruthie.” Not exactly a lie. Why he’d started to use the endearment when he’d never used it before in his life, he didn’t know. The other options—babe, sweetheart, beautiful—didn’t seem quite right for Maggie, though. “It’s just a nickname.”
Also not a lie. Had he been thinking, he would have waited to use the word in front of Ruth.
“Do you...” Her face screwed up on one side, and she curled up tighter against the dog, who lifted his head to lick her cheek. “Do you love Maggie?”
His heart launched into his throat. “Not yet, honey. Are you okay with her helping us today?”
“I can help you. I can make toast and tea. Or soup.”
“I know. And we’re a good team. But you need a functioning grown-up around.”
Her face clouded with anger. “If we hadn’t moved, then Grandma could help.”
Oh, he had no doubt of that. His mom had bent over backward trying to help Asher and Ruth after Alex’s death. But she’d supported his decision to take a new job, as well as his hope that somewhere new would be a good foundation for a new start.
Had he made the right choice? Seeing the uncertainty and mistrust on Ruth’s face, unable to even sit up because his muscles felt like they were made up of processed meat—how was he supposed to stay optimistic about his decisions?
He wasn’t going to begrudge Ruth her moment of wishing for her grandmother. Hell, a bowl of his mom’s miso matzo ball soup sounded exactly right.
His stomach churned at the thought.
Okay, correct that. It would be the perfect remedy in another day or so when he was able to smell food without gagging.
“You want to give Grandma a call, honey?”
She nodded.
After unlocking his cell with a weak press of his pointer finger to the sensor, he handed her the device. “Help yourself.”
Ruth took the phone, and a short time later was chattering happily to her grandmother. Dramatically recounting their bout with illness, more accurately. Great, his mother was going to worry that he’d was on death’s door by the way Ruth was describing his symptoms.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he called feebly.
“He’s gray, Grandma.” Ruth wandered out of the living room and in the direction of the kitchen, Jackson on her heels.
“You’re way too cheerful about my suffering, Ruth.”
She paused in the kitchen doorway and turned to him. “You’ll be okay in a couple of days, Dad. I’m fine now.”
He should be counting his blessings, really, that she was being so relaxed about him being sick. The last time Ruth had seen a parent stricken with nausea, it had been Alex during chemotherapy treatment.
“I don’t know where Uncle Caleb is.” Ruth cocked her head, clearly listening to something his mom was saying. “No, Dad’s girlfriend is coming over.”
Oh, hell. He held out his hand. “Ruth, let me talk to Grandma.”
“He wants to talk to you,” Ruth relayed. A long silence followed. “Okay, bye!”
He lifted a brow at his daughter. No way had Ruth’s use of girlfriend not aroused his mom’s curiosity. She must have decided to take pity on his flu-ridden self. “She didn’t want to say hello to me?”
“She says she’ll call you when you’re better. That she loves you, and is proud of you, whatever that means,” Ruth passed along. “And you need fluids, and to use bleach spray on anything we’ve touched.”
“Of course. Priority, germ eradication.” As soon as he could summon the energy to stumble to the kitchen, he’d get right on that.