Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(45)

“And does he know about your little situation?” the priest murmurs.

“Which situation?” I ask.

“How you’re looking for a nice man to marry?”

Shit! Hopefully, Malone didn’t catch that. His scowl tells me otherwise. Ears like a bat, that Malone. Chantal speaks up. “Father Tim, honey, I was wondering how a poor widow like myself, or a nice girl like Maggie, should meet some new people. Because just between the two of us—well, the four of us,” she amends, leaning forward, her cle**age clamoring for release, “we women have certain needs. Desires. And it’s so hard to meet anyone really decent. I mean, a roll in the hay is one thing, but finding a husband is another. Right, Maggie?”

“I think I’ll go say hello to Jonah,” I blurt, ignoring the terror in Father Tim’s eyes. “Didn’t see him today. I’ll just go check in with him. See how he’s doing. If he needs anything.”

I practically fly across the room to my brother, but it’s no use. Malone is right behind me.

“Maggie,” he says. “Listen.” His voice is very quiet, just a bare rumble of distant thunder, and I can barely hear him. He pauses. “My daughter’s been visiting,” he finally says.

“Hey, no problem,” I answer. “You can do whatever you want. See whoever you—what did you say?”

He frowns. “My daughter. Emory. She was visiting for April break.”

“That—that was your daughter?” The woman I saw him with had to be twenty-three, twenty-four at least. Didn’t she?

“Ayuh.”

“How old is she?” I demand. Bob Castellano pushes past me with an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

“Seventeen,” Malone answers, a black eyebrow rising.

“She’s seventeen? Your daughter is seventeen?”

He scowl deepens. “Why, Maggie?”

“Well, how old are you, Malone?” My face burns painfully.

“Thirty-six.”

I do the math…so he was nineteen when his kid was born. Huh. Okay. I guess that fits, given the little I know about Malone.

“Who’d you think she was?”

It takes me a second to realize I’ve been busted. I risk a look at Malone’s face and wish I hadn’t. “You know what?” I babble. “There’s Jonah! I think I’ll go say hi to Jonah.” I gesture to my brother, who is making out with the pretty woman from before. “Actually, I guess I’ll hit the loo.” And I flee.

In the safety of the bathroom, I lean against the sink and take a few cleansing breaths. God, what a stew of emotions out there! No wonder my hands are shaking. I’m mad, frustrated, horny (let’s be honest), guilt-ridden and irritated. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My face is flushed, my hair lank from the humidity. Why does Chantal look like a dew-kissed apricot when I look like a drowned rat? I wet some paper towels and press them against my cheeks.

Malone could have saved me a little trouble with a phone call, couldn’t he? I ask myself. Hey, my daughter’s in town, and I’ll be a little busy. But no. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We don’t have any relationship. He can’t even pick up the phone to tell me something simple like Catherine Zeta-Jones is his child. For heaven’s sake.

A little voice in my head wonders if he’s telling the truth. During the brief time I was at his house, I didn’t see any pictures of a beautiful young woman, did I? No, there were just pictures of a little girl. No seventeen-year-olds. And frankly, the woman I saw last week looked older than that to me.

Well. If he says she’s his daughter, she probably is…after all, in a small town like Gideon’s Cove, that would be a pretty big lie to pull off. The thing is, it doesn’t matter, does it? Emory—cool name, if I cared to think about it—doesn’t have anything to do with the lack of communication between her dear old dad and me. I’m a roll in the hay as far as Malone is concerned.

I wish I could meld Father Tim and Malone into one. Malone’s sex appeal and single status, Father Tim’s everything else. Well, maybe a few more things from Malone. He’s hardworking, not that Father Tim isn’t, but Malone is the kind of guy who can get things done. Fix-your-car-type things. Father Tim’s helpless at that. And Malone is…well, shoot, I don’t really know what he is, do I? I know he has a certain effect on me. That’s it.

When I come out, our little party appears to be breaking up. Chantal wriggles from her seat, making sure everyone sees her lush behind as she smooths her tight jeans. Malone hands Chantal her coat.

“Thank you, Malone, sweetie. Maggie, Father Tim’s giving me a ride home,” Chantal says. “I think I’ve had too much to drink,” she pretends to confide.

“I see,” I sigh. She could drink a roomful of firemen under the table.

“Would you like a ride, as well, Maggie? The rain’s punishing out there. I’d be happy to drop you off.” Father Tim pleads. His eyes are begging…I’m sure there are rules against priests driving loose women home, and even a castrati would need a chaperone when alone with Chantal.

I glance out the window, which is too steamy to give me an actual view. Will Malone offer me the olive branch of a ride? To apologize for not calling, for not telling me his daughter was occupying his time for the past week?