explanation, expecting an apology. But, if possible, his calm demeanor and that devilishly sexy grin on his face made Maddie even more determined.
“I’m going to win,” he said with conviction.
“Yes, Mr. Foley, you are.” She allowed herself a moment to enjoy his startled expression, before adding, “Just not the way you think.”
It was dark when Maddie arrived at her apartment, the converted upstairs of a souvenir shop in Traverse City’s quaint downtown. The shop had long since closed for the day, but several nearby restaurants and bars were open, so the streets were cluttered with tourists—“fudgies” as the locals liked to call them. The term was both derogatory and affectionate. The area’s economy—including its fudge shops—largely depended on downstaters, but no one particularly cared for the staggering crush of humanity that invaded the northern Michigan town almost as soon as the ice melted on the bay.
Maddie had no view of Lake Michigan’s lovely aqua water from her tiny living room window, and a closet might have been more spacious than the place’s only bedroom. It was a definite step down from the comfortable house she’d grown up in, and a huge tumble from the large Grosse Pointe estate she’d last called home. Its main selling points were cheap rent and a central location. She could walk to work—a definite plus since she didn’t care to drive even though she had a car, and the exercise was good physical therapy.
She toed off her flats, leaving them on the mat by the front door. A lamp burned cheerfully in her living room thanks to a timer, but other than that the place was dark and quiet. Lonely quiet, which was why she preferred to work late. No reason to rush home to an empty apartment. An empty life.
As she crossed the room to draw the blinds, she glanced hopefully at the answering machine. No messages. She picked up the phone, dialed the familiar number and waited. Her mother answered on the fourth ring, the South thick in Eliza Daniels’s honeyed tone.
“Hello, Mother. It’s Maddie.”
“Why, Madison, this is a surprise. It’s rather late. Your father and I were just getting ready for bed. How are you, dear?”
“I’m fine.” The polite response slipped effortlessly from Maddie’s lips. She shook her head, tried again with the truth. “Actually, Mother, I’m not fine. In fact, I’m having a really bad day.”
On the other end of the line, Eliza made an appropriately sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry to hear that you’re under the weather. Is it your...infirmity that’s giving you trouble?”
If it hadn’t so perfectly summed up the awkwardness of their relationship, Maddie might have chuckled at the discreet euphemism and the way her mother’s tone grew hushed whenever she used it.
“I am a bit sore today, but that’s not what’s bothering me. Do...do you know what today is?”
“Today? Hmm. I’m afraid not.”
For some reason—call it blind hope—Maddie had expected her mother, of all people, to know, to remember.
“Today should have been Michael’s birthday.”
“Michael’s birthday?”
“If he’d been born on his due date, he would have turned one...today.”
Maddie had spent her lunch hour beside his small gravesite—a gravesite only she had ever visited. Silence greeted her stifled sob, and she kicked herself mentally for seeking comfort and commiseration where neither had been forthcoming in the past.
“A good night’s sleep is what you need, dear. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“My baby will still be dead in the morning. No amount of sleep is going to change that. Why can’t we ever talk about what happened, Mother?” she be-seeched.
Eliza Daniels considered an emotional outburst as gauche as wearing white shoes after Labor Day. It simply was not done. She went on as if Maddie had not spoken. “Do you have any of those pills left that the doctor prescribed after the accident? Perhaps you should take one.”
Ah, yes, as far as her mother was concerned, there was nothing a little Valium couldn’t fix. Maddie shook her head in sad acceptance. Arguing would be pointless. “Yes, perhaps I’ll do that. I should have thought of it myself. Thank you, Mother.”
Relief evident in her tone, Eliza replied, “You’re welcome, dear. Sleep well.”
“I’m sure I will. Give Daddy my love.”
Maddie hung up, feeling even more fatigued. Her limp was more pronounced as she trudged down the short hall to the bathroom and turned on the tub’s faucet. She wouldn’t resort to a tranquilizer, but a nice long soak might ease the aching pain in her knee and hip. She added a capful of lavender-scented bubble bath.
She shed her clothing, secured her hair in a quick topknot, and gingerly lowered her scarred body into the bathwater. As it had for the past several months, work remained her best source of escape, so she redirected her thoughts to Cameron Foley and the unconventional bargain they’d struck earlier in the day. He said he wanted to be left alone, but despite his vehement words, Maddie hadn’t been convinced. It was the aching loss evident beneath his gruff words that had prompted her to put her livelihood on the line to find him a match. He seemed so in need of a happy ending.
“A happy ending,” she mused aloud. The words echoed in the tiny bathroom, taunting her.
Cameron Foley had accused Maddie of being a fraud, and perhaps she was. At the very least, she knew she was guilty of living vicariously. There would be no happy ending for her.
She glanced at her left hand, which was ringless now. The sad truth was that as hard as she worked to find matches and mates for her clients, at twenty-eight, Maddie Daniels was divorced, broken and alone. And she had long since given up any hope of knowing or deserving the kind of true love that caused Cameron Foley to still mourn a wife who’d been dead three years.
Chapter Two
Thursday dawned clear and bright, the perfect weather for a drive. The roads were dry, the sun a warm, glowing orb climbing higher in the eastern sky. Even so, Maddie’s footsteps were hesitant as she walked to the parking lot behind the souvenir shop. Her slow pace had nothing to do with the stiffness in her leg and hip. In addition to her trepidation about seeing Cameron Foley again, she hated to drive.
Biting her lip, she slid onto the front seat of her car and fastened the safety belt even before inserting the key into the ignition. Since the accident fifteen months earlier, she’d gotten past the paralyzing fear of being in an automobile, but not the passionate dislike of operating one.
Driving five miles under the posted speed limit, she pulled onto Highway 22 and headed north toward the tiny, artsy town of Suttons Bay. To her right, sunlight danced on the calm waters of the west arm of Grand Traverse Bay. To her left, vacation homes dotted the hillside. The farther she drove, however, the more rural the landscape became. She smiled as row after row of cherry trees replaced man-made structures on the rolling countryside. The trees were heavy with fruit now, their boughs seeming to bend under the weight of sweet cherries that already looked ripe and inviting. This was cherry country, and despite the constant development pressure farmers felt to sell off the prime land their orchards occupied, the local people were proud of their crop. Eighty percent of the nation’s cherries were grown here and in a handful of other Michigan counties.
Recalling the statistic, Maddie wasn’t surprised when five miles outside of Suttons Bay, she spotted the big red sign that read Foley Cherry Farm.
“Of course.”
She might have guessed Cameron’s occupation. His tanned face and forearms, as well as the well-worn denim that had hugged his powerful build, had all hinted at time spent outdoors.
Gravel crunched under her tires when she turned the car onto Mockingbird Lane, nothing but a plume of dust visible through her rearview mirror.