Mary Baxter - In Hot Water

Maci didn’t move once he was gone. Anger and shocking disbelief threatened to engulf her. When had Seymour gotten so arrogant? Were the drugs responsible for this haughty and unrepentant attitude? For all their sakes, she prayed Seymour was right and that his son would show up and clear his father’s name. If Holt was the crackerjack attorney Seymour and Keefe said he was, then he would be their savior on earth.

Suddenly, Maci felt the urge to see her son. Jonah seemed to be the only thing that grounded her. When she walked into his room, Liz rose and smiled at her before glancing at the child who was sound asleep on a pallet. “He just conked out.”

Maci squatted, then leaned over and grazed Jonah’s apple-red cheek with her lips before standing to full height. “That’s good. We played long and hard last night.”

“Ah, so you let him stay up late?”

Maci gave her a sheepish grin. “Actually, I’m guilty of two infractions. I let him sleep with me.”

“I bet he loved that.”

“We both did,” Maci responded, settling her gaze back on her baby. “I just don’t want the little bugger to think it’s going to be an every night thing.”

Liz’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’ll check in with you later on today. I’m off to see a client. Call if you need me.”

“You know I will,” Liz said, an uncertain look crossing her face.

“What?” Maci prodded, sensing there was something else on Liz’s mind. “Hey, don’t ever hesitate to ask me anything, especially if it pertains to Jonah.”

“I’m not sure I should take him out today, like to the park, for instance.”

A frown marred Maci’s unblemished features. “You shouldn’t. That pack of media wolves outside will probably attack you as well. No way will I put Jonah or you through that abuse.”

“Is…is Dr. Ramsey going to be all right?”

Again Maci heard the reluctance in her voice, and while she didn’t want to talk about the dreadful situation, she had no choice. Liz had become part of the family shortly before Jonah’s birth, following a slow and in-depth search for the right person to help care for her son. The young woman, who had yet to marry and have a family of her own, had turned out to be a jewel. Maci knew she owed her an explanation.

“Let us pray that he is,” Maci said at last. “As of two days ago, he was released on his own recognizance, and that’s a positive thing.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that he was out of jail.

“He’s such a nice man. I can’t believe this is happening to him.”

“Thanks for your concern, Liz. Just keep us in your thoughts, and take care of Jonah. That will help us as much as anything.”

“You can count on that. Those people with the microphones and cameras don’t scare me.” Her tone was defiant.

They do me, Maci almost said but didn’t. “That’s the attitude. I’ll see you both later.”

On her way downstairs Maci smelled the strong aroma of fresh coffee. She peered at her watch. She had time for another quick cup. Food, however, was out of the question. She hadn’t eaten anything since Seymour’s arrest anyway.

Once she reached the sunny breakfast room, Annie brought her a cup of coffee. Drinking leisurely, Maci stared out the window, taking in the beautifully manicured rolling lawn. Flowers splashed the lush greenery with vivid color.

She loved this place, loved the grounds and the old colonial pillared house that Seymour had purchased long before he married her. She had refurbished it to suit her tastes with Seymour’s encouragement. He had told her the renovations were long overdue. Maci had been relieved as she and the first Mrs. Ramsey had nothing in common when it came to interior design.

“Mrs. Ramsey, you have a call. It’s Mrs. Trent.”

“Thanks, Annie.” Maci reached for the phone, grateful her favorite client and friend chose that moment to call. “Hey, Bobbi, I was just on my way to see you.”

Thank God, she had her work to keep her mind occupied.

“Keefe, may I get you another drink?”

“No thanks, Maci. I’m fine.”

“I’d like another one,” Seymour said with a smile. When Maci hesitated, he raised his glass to her, his eyes mocking. “Never mind. I’ll get it myself.”

Maci ignored him and smiled at Keefe. “I hope dinner was to your satisfaction.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Keefe said in a slightly flustered tone. “Your housekeeper outdid herself.”

“Actually, it was Maci who made the shrimp dish,” Seymour said. “My favorite, by the way.”

Keefe returned the favor with a smile. “Well, as I said, it was delicious.”

“When I have the time, I love to cook.”

A silence fell over the study for a long moment, then Keefe set his drink down and cleared his throat. “Seymour, has it dawned on you yet that Holt is not coming?”

The doctor placed his drink on the mantel before leveling his gaze at his attorney. “Did you hear from him?”

“No.”

“Enough said.”

“No, it’s not,” Keefe rebuked in a blustering tone, only to quickly modify it when color surged into Seymour’s face.

Maci knew Seymour was agitated that Keefe had crossed him. But she was glad the attorney had done so since she hadn’t made a dent in Seymour’s armor at breakfast. Maybe together she and Keefe could talk some sense into him.

“I’m telling you, we need to call another attorney,” Keefe stressed. “Jack Little—”

“Not interested.” Seymour leaned his head back, drained his glass, then plunked the glass down on the bar and promptly refilled it.

Maci winced. She feared her husband was replacing drugs with alcohol as he’d overindulged every night since his brief incarceration.

“All right, Seymour, you’re the boss,” Keefe said with obvious displeasure.

“That’s right.” Seymour took another sip, then turned to Maci. “How about I make you a drink? Your coffee cup’s empty.”

Maci shook her head. “No, thank you.” Then to Keefe, “Is there a chance that Seymour could be convicted?”

“More than a chance. It’s a real possibility.”

“Dammit,” Seymour lashed out, “don’t discuss me like I’m not here.”

The chiming of the doorbell forced a silence.

Maci stood, turning toward the French door of the study as it opened. At first, Maci thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, that the man who stood there with his hands in the pockets of his shorts was a figment of her imagination.

“Holt,” Seymour exclaimed, dashing across the room, hand outstretched. “I knew you’d come.” Even though his hand was ignored, the gleam remained in the doctor’s eyes when he swung around and faced Maci and Keefe. “See, I told you my son wouldn’t let me down,” he added in a gloating tone.

Maci remained upright by sheer force of will. Yet when she tried to open her mouth to speak, she couldn’t. Her throat, along with her entire body, seemed paralyzed.

“Maci, meet my son and your stepson, Holt.”

No. God, no. It couldn’t be. She swallowed a mournful cry. The man she’d made passionate love to on the beach in Jamaica and her stepson couldn’t be one and the same.

Only they were.

“Maci, are you all right?”

She heard Seymour’s question, but she couldn’t answer. Her throat was so tight that no air could get into her lungs. The room spun and she feared she would faint.

Digging her hands deeper into the leather-backed chair, Maci forced herself to smile, all the while feeling as if her composure might crack under the pressure of this shocking encounter.

“Maci, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

Seymour’s harsh tone broke her out of her catatonic state. “I’m actually not feeling well,” she responded in a halting tone.