What Makes a Family by Debbie Macomber

Author:Debbie Macomber
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2019-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

Maryanne was much too furious to stand still. She paced her living room from one end to the other, her mind spitting and churning. A slow painful death was too good for Nolan Adams.

Her phone rang and she went into the kitchen to answer it. She reached for it so fast she nearly ripped it off the wall. Rarely did she allow herself to become this angry, but complicating her fury was a deep and aching sense of betrayal. “Yes,” she said forcefully.

“This is Max,” her doorman announced. “Mr. Adams is here. Shall I send him up?”

For an instant Maryanne was too stunned to speak. The man had nerve, she’d say that much for him. Raw courage, too, if he knew the state of mind she was in.

“Ms. Simpson?”

It took Maryanne only about a second to decide. “Send him up,” she said with deceptive calm.

Arms hugging her waist, Maryanne continued pacing. She was going to tell this man in no uncertain terms what she thought of his duplicity, his treachery. He might have assumed from their evening together that she was a gentle, forgiving soul who’d quietly overlook this. Well, if that was his belief, Maryanne was looking forward to enlightening him.

Her doorbell chimed and she turned to glare at it. Wishing her heart would stop pounding, she gulped in a deep breath, then walked calmly across the living room and opened the door.

“Hello, Maryanne,” Nolan said, his eyes immediately meeting hers.

She stood exactly where she was, imitating his tactic of leaning against the door frame and blocking the threshold.

“May I come in?” he asked mildly.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He was wearing the raincoat again, which looked even more disreputable than before.

“I take it you read my column?” he murmured, one eyebrow raised.

“Read it?” she nearly shouted. “Of course I read it, and so, it seems, did everyone else in Seattle. Did you really think I’d be able to hold my head up after that? Or was that your intention—humiliating me and…and making me a laughingstock?” She stabbed her index finger repeatedly against his solid chest. “And if you think no one’ll figure out it was me just because you didn’t use my name, think again.”

“I take it you’re angry?” He raised his eyebrows again, as if to suggest she was overreacting.

“Angry! Angry? That isn’t the half of it, buster!” The problem with being raised in a God-fearing, flag-loving family was that the worst thing she could think of to call him out loud was buster. Plenty of other names flashed through her mind, but none she dared verbalize. No doubt Nolan would delight in revealing this in his column, too.

Furious, she grabbed his tie and jerked him into the apartment. “You can come inside,” she said.

“Thanks. I think I will,” Nolan said wryly. He smoothed his tie, which drew her attention to the hard defined muscles of his chest. The last thing Maryanne wanted to do was notice how virile he looked, and she forced her gaze away from him.

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