Terry McLaughlin - Maybe, Baby

And Burke, the tall, dark and brooding man unpacking his bags in the small room next door.

The long evening had exhausted Ashley, and she drifted to sleep as she nursed. Nora gently lowered her into the crib and bent to kiss her good-night. Then she slipped out of her clothes and pulled on a practical flannel gown and a splashy silk robe, bracing herself to deal with whatever Burke might decide to discuss this evening.

She found him standing in the middle of the open front room, staring at the laptop in his hands with a frown.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Do you have a printer?”

“A printer?”

“For your computer.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“And I suppose that means you don’t know whether or not you have an Internet connection.”

“No,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew. “I can probably rig something up with my cell phone.”

“I don’t think that’ll work here.”

“Why not?”

“My cell works fine at the main ranch house. But this cabin seems to be tucked into some little pocket that doesn’t get any reception. Don’t worry, I have a regular phone,” she added quickly.

“But no cell reception.”

“That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No. No problem,” he said, although the way his jaw clenched around the words told her he was lying through his gritted teeth.

“All settled in, then?” She opened the woodstove and lit the kindling. “Do you have everything else you need?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to say more—perhaps to thank her for a fourth time—but he stood very still, staring at the fire.

She pulled a log from the crate beside the stove and shoved it on top of the blazing kindling. “This will help keep the place warm tonight.”

“Isn’t there a furnace?”

“Yes. But this is nicer, don’t you think?”

His silence told her precisely what he thought.

She turned to face him, twisting the ring on her right hand and willing herself not to scream away her tension. “Burke.”

“Yes?”

“Are you waiting until tomorrow to start in on me?”

He shifted his impassive stare in her direction. “I’m not planning to start in on you.”

“Oh, I see.” She paced to the kitchen area and back. “You just decided on a whim to come out to Granite Ridge to work for a while. A change of scene, a different Internet connection. Is that right?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the evening chatting. As we used to.” He set his computer on the small dining table tucked beneath a wide window and rested his hand on the dull metallic surface. “I’ve missed you.”

She paused, studying him, waiting to see if his serious words and somber mood were some kind of clever trap. And in the next instant, she felt ashamed for looking for an ulterior motive. They were friends, after all. And she’d missed him, too.

“Tell me about Fitz.” She folded her legs beneath her as she settled on one end of the sofa. “Has he been staying out of trouble?”

Burke lowered himself to the cushion beside her and leaned back with a sigh. “Fitz is playing the role of devoted husband and expectant father with such enthusiasm that it’s beginning to grate on my nerves. I wish he’d try a more subtle approach to this rash of exemplary behavior.”

She smiled and scooped her hair back. “Like you?”

Burke raised one eyebrow in his supercilious look. “I wasn’t aware that my exemplary behavior was either overstated or abnormal.”

“ No .” Good old Burke, he could always make her laugh. She ran her hand down his arm in a teasing stroke. “I meant subtle. Like you.”

Burke frowned. “Subtle is a difficult role for any actor.”

She leaned toward him. “Even for me?”

“Especially for you.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t play it?”

“Only if it were a role.” His face softened with a weary smile. “And then you’d be brilliant at it, as you always are.”

She closed the small gap between them and smacked a loud kiss on the tip of his nose. “I love it when you lay it on thick.”

“I’m only telling it like it is.”

She laughed at the sound of that phrase uttered in his thickest, upper-crustiest accent. “And how’s Greenberg?”

“Greenberg is his unsubtle and unexemplary self.” Burke shook his head with a sigh. “His latest lover moved on to a soap actor, which hasn’t improved his mood of late.”

Nora tensed. She’d hoped the conversation wouldn’t shift so soon to Hollywood business. But it was difficult for the two of them to avoid the topic for long.

“The preproduction budget for The Virginian is coming along as well as can be expected,” he said, “considering all the difficulties inherent in a project of this scope.” He frowned and shifted forward, his long fingers dangling between his knees. “Which means it’s been a struggle getting Fitz to focus and getting Greenberg to relax.”

“It’s rough being caught in the middle.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

The fire behind the stove grate snapped and roared. Burke twisted his fingers together and stared at the floor.

“Your daughter is very pretty,” he said after a while.

“Thank you.” Nora sighed and leaned her shoulder against the sofa back. She’d been waiting for him to mention her beautiful, precious daughter, waiting for him to lavish the praise she deserved. To lay it on thick.

But he hadn’t even called her by her name yet. “Her name is Ashley.”

“Yes. Ashley.”

Nora smiled. Her name sounded heavenly when he spoke it in those plummy tones. “She’ll be four months old in a couple of weeks.”

“So soon.”

“Yes, so soon. She’s growing so fast, changing every day. Time seems to pass more quickly now.”

“Yes, it does,” he said. “Everything changes and moves on quickly, whether we want it to or not.”

She tensed and twined her fingers through the sash of her robe, waiting for the first skirmish in the coming battle.

“Have you considered where you’re going to go after you leave here?” he asked.

“I’m not leaving for a while yet.”

“But you must have some idea.”

“Of course I have ideas. Lots of them.” She untangled her fingers and smoothed the ends of the sash across her lap. “Just nothing definite. Not yet, anyway.”

He glanced at her with a frown. “Fitz told me you’re thinking of putting your house up for sale.”

“That’s one of those ideas.”

“But you love that house.”

“Ken loved it, too.”

“Ah.” Burke took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for the unhappy memories.”

“You don’t have to be, since the ones you added were some of the best.” She pulled her hand from his and gave it a friendly pat. “I had some good times there. And, yes, I loved it. I loved living there and trying my best to make it a home, because it was the first place I could call my own. But there’ll be other places, and it’s a great time to cash in on the investment. I could use the money from the sale.”

“There are other ways to raise funds. Ways that would let you keep your house.”

“Why are you so concerned about my house?”

“Because you were, at one time.” He shifted on the sofa to face her. “Because I think you still are.”

She stood and moved across the room to shove another piece of wood into the stove. He was right, of course. But while she’d won the house in the divorce settlement, Ken had walked away with most of the cash needed for its upkeep. The thought of losing that house—the wisteria-covered porches, the sloping tiled roof, the tall windows and curved stairway, the dramatic sweeps and the intimate niches—twisted her heart like a rag and squeezed it dry.