Judy Duarte - Almost Perfect

“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.

“You did have a rebellious streak, Jake.”

“Still do.”

She laughed. “I don’t doubt it. But your uncle wasn’t that bad. He never gave your sister a hard time.”

“Sharon was a straight-A student. Like you, Magpie.”

“Maybe you should have tried harder.”

“Maybe so, but I never liked school.” Any of them. He’d lost count of all the schools he’d attended in the early years. So by the time he was old enough to ride a bike, he began playing hooky every chance he got. Folks just thought he was a truant and a troublemaker, but Jake saw it as a means of self-preservation.

Chasing away the painful memories, he focused on Maggie. At one time, he’d actually had a crush on her, a sort of younger guy-older woman thing. He doubted that she’d ever picked up on it, though, since he’d been shy around girls back then.

He wasn’t shy anymore.

Of course, he didn’t allow women to get close enough to figure out what a good actor he was, or how he skated around the truth and kept them at a safe distance.

“You know,” Maggie said, “I was really sorry to hear about Sharon’s death.”

“Me, too.” Jake had loved his sister and would miss her. She’d been the only family he had left, and her death had been a senseless blow.

But in addition to grief, Sharon’s death had also saddled Jake with the dude ranch he’d always hated and thrust him into instant parenthood, something he knew nothing about. As much as he loved Kayla and Sam, he was still uneasy around his niece and nephew, still worried that he’d screw up something important in their lives.

Maggie stepped onto the escalator and turned to face him, as he got in line behind her. Their eyes met, and he caught a whiff of her floral scent. Something purple. Lilacs, he guessed. “Let’s talk about California.”

She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. After this weekend, I’m going to tie up some loose ends, then move my practice.”

He’d always been the kind to skip out on problems, not Maggie. But Jake was the last one in the world to say anything about leaving old memories behind. “How much time do we have before this hoopla?”

“Just enough time to go home and change clothes.”

Twenty minutes later, Maggie unlocked the door and let Jake into her home—a small, renovated apartment she’d temporarily moved into. The place was clean, with white walls and shell-colored carpet.

Another woman might have hung a brightly colored, artsy print on the wall, put a vase of flowers on the barren fireplace mantel, but Maggie hadn’t gone to the trouble.

What did it matter? She’d be moving to the West Coast soon and had no reason to decorate or entertain anyone.

Jake glanced at the stark white walls. “Nice place you have.”

“I suppose it needs a bit of color,” she said, wishing she’d put a little more effort into decorating.

“I’m used to motels. If the place is clean, all I need is a soft bed and somewhere to hang my hat.”