“Now, it’s still going to be a critical twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” the doctor cautioned. “But I have every reason to believe Lamar will come through this with flying colors.”
“It’s a miracle, that’s what it is,” Letitia declared, her cheeks damp.
“It is, indeed,” Jamal said. He turned to Ryan. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad I was able to help,” Ryan said, clearly uncomfortable with their gratitude. “And now that we know Lamar’s made it through the surgery, I’m going to get Maggie home. She was out with me most of the night trying to find you, Jamal. She’s beat.”
“I’ll come by later, though,” Maggie promised, too tired to waste any breath on a futile argument. “And if you need anything, anything at all, you call me.” She pressed a slip of paper into Letitia’s hands.
“Bless you, girl. You, too, Mr. Devaney.”
Outside in the crisp air, Maggie drew in a deep breath, then turned to Ryan. “I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am. You must be, too. And if we are, just imagine what Letitia and Jamal must be feeling.”
“They love their son. Of course they’re relieved,” Ryan said.
Maggie regarded him intently. “You know, Ryan, it’s possible that your parents did what they did because they loved you and your brothers.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“How will you ever know if you don’t try to find them and make them explain?”
“Why the hell would I ever want to see them again?”
“So you can put the past to rest.”
“If you knew the whole story, you’d never suggest such a thing,” he said fiercely.
“Then tell me.”
He sighed, a lost, lonely expression on his face. “Maybe one of these days I will.”
“Why not now?” she pushed.
“Because we’re both exhausted.”
“Buy me a strong cup of coffee and I can listen.”
He smiled wearily at that. “Trying to get me when my defenses are down?”
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.
He leaned down and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was sweet and all too brief. “Ah, Maggie, what am I going to do with you?”
“Are you seriously asking for suggestions?” she teased.
His gaze captured hers and held, amusement darkening into desire, then giving way to regret. “Maybe one of these days,” he said.
She bit back her own regrets. “I’ll hold you to that, Ryan Devaney.”
He laughed. “I don’t doubt that for a second. In fact, I’m fairly certain you have a whole list of things I’m expected to make good on.”
“None you can’t handle,” she said with confidence.
Chapter Ten
Ryan had absolutely no intention of allowing Maggie to drive all the way home in her current state of exhaustion. Since he wasn’t one bit better off, there was only one answer: she’d have to stay at his place. Proposing that, while making it clear it was an innocent suggestion, was going to be a neat trick.
He pulled to a stop in a parking space down the block from the pub and glanced over at her. She was struggling to keep her eyes open. He left the car and circled to open the passenger door.
“Okay, come with me,” he said, his tone firm.
“My car’s right across the street,” she said, when he steered her toward the pub.
“And if you get behind the wheel and drive as far as the corner, you’re likely to fall asleep and crash into something. I won’t have that on my conscience.”
She tilted her head and regarded him curiously. “Then what are you suggesting?”
“You’ll sleep at my place,” he said, trying to be grimly matter-of-fact about it.
“How intriguing!” A smile tugged at her lips. “Just minutes ago you vetoed that idea.”
Ryan laughed at her typically give-an-inch-take-a-mile response. “No, that is not what I vetoed. You’ll be sleeping in the bed. I’ll be on the sofa.”
A glint of amusement lit her eyes. “Now, where’s the fun in that, Ryan Devaney?”
He managed a severe expression. “Don’t you be tempting me, Maggie O’Brien. What would your fine father and brothers think of that?”
“They have nothing to do with my personal life,” she assured him airily.
“Do they know that?” he inquired with skepticism.
She sighed heavily. “Probably not.”
“Then perhaps we’d best do this my way for now,” he said as he led the way upstairs to his apartment over the pub.
When he walked through the doorway, he tried to view the room through Maggie’s eyes. The windows across the front let in a lot of light and the bare wood floors gleamed softly, but beyond a sofa, a comfortable chair and the television that he never bothered to flip on, there wasn’t much to recommend it.
To the left, the kitchen had new appliances he’d used no more than a handful of times because he took most of his meals downstairs in the pub. Even his coffeemaker was in like-new condition.
“The minimalist style, I see,” Maggie observed, still standing in the entry. “I imagine most people think they get a better sense of you from the pub downstairs.”
Her thoughtful comment made him wary. “And you don’t?”
“No, I think this gives away more. No clutter. No personal objects to give any hint about the man you are. All your secrets are protected here.” She met his gaze. “Is the bedroom any better?”
“Not if you’re looking to unravel any secrets,” he said with an edge of defensiveness.
He showed her the way, then stood back as she surveyed the king-size bed with its dark-green quilt tossed haphazardly over sheets in a paler shade of green, the oak dresser with nothing beyond a pile of loose change on top, the digital clock on the bedside stand and an antique rocker in the corner. She blinked when her gaze fell on that, then turned to him, her face alight with curiosity.
“A family heirloom?” she asked, crossing over to rub her hand over the oak wood with its soft sheen.
“Hardly.”
“You’re fond of antiques, then?”
“Not especially,”
