“It’s not Maggie,” Connor had said decisively, putting an end to Lucinda’s blathering.
But he knew the damage had been done. Maggie had arrived right after he and his brothers had viewed the tapes. They all knew who the guilty party was. The videotape was a powerful indictment. But the sheriff had suggested it would be easier to deal with Lucinda if she would just confess. Connor had been willing to go along with his request, but regretted it the second he saw Maggie’s reaction to his silence.
“Damn it.” Connor should’ve grabbed her in his arms the instant Lucinda began to spew her venomous accusations.
He’d been glaring at Lucinda, but she’d been standing directly behind Maggie. So now he wondered if Maggie might’ve thought his glares had been aimed at her.
“No doubt,” Connor muttered, and rubbed his jaw in frustration. Maggie would naturally default to the worst-case scenario, and he couldn’t really blame her in this situation.
She’d been through enough trauma in her life. Connor was sick at the thought that he might’ve given her a reason to doubt that he was completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with her.
Now he needed to find her and convince her otherwise.
* * *
Maggie barely made it to the suite and got the door closed before the tears threatened to fall.
But she was sick to death of tears. Yes, her heart was breaking, but she refused to cry about it.
And to think that she’d gone downstairs to find Connor and tell him she’d fallen in love with him. She had foolishly thought he’d be happy to hear it and would respond by telling her how much he loved her, too.
How ironic. It seemed that circumstances had played a cruel joke on her. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So much for taking risks.
“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered. “But don’t you dare cry.” She grabbed her suitcase and opened it on the bed. Then she began to toss her clothes into the open bag.
She couldn’t wait to leave this damn hotel and go home to Grandpa and the goats.
“Goats? Really?” She sniffled a little at the thought of the goats, then rolled her eyes. How pathetic could she get? She was reduced to depending on goats to comfort and sympathize with her in her moment of misery. It just added to the misery.
She heard the suite door open and knew that Connor had come back. Could things get any worse? She wanted to hide under the bed, but she’d been hiding for way too long. No more hiding, Maggie. She’d grown so much in the past few years, and these past few days had made her feel more powerful than she ever had.
Besides, it was a platform bed, so there was no place to hide anyway.
She really didn’t want another confrontation with Connor, but she couldn’t avoid it now and she figured it was long past due. But at least she knew that his last impression of her would not be of red-rimmed, swollen eyes and tear-drenched cheeks. Nope. She was not going to cry and look like some pathetic water rat.
But then, why would he care what she looked like? He thought she was a saboteur—or worse.
He stood in the doorway, watching her.
“Hello, Connor,” she said, and dropped her shoes into the suitcase. “Did something else happen that you can accuse me of doing? Maybe I tainted the water supply? Released a dirty bomb? Stole your underwear? Take your best shot.”