“I had a steak in mind.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The cool response made his lips curve. Yes, he definitely preferred her this way. “I haven’t eaten.”

“Sorry.” Maggie began to straighten her sheet music. “I don’t happen to have one handy.”

“There’s a place about ten miles out of town.” He took her arm to draw her to her feet. “I have a feeling they’d treat a steak better than you would, anyway.”

She pulled away, stood her ground and studied him. “We’re going out to dinner?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

He took her arm again, so that he wouldn’t ask himself the same question. “Because I’m hungry,” Cliff said simply.

Maggie started to resist, though he didn’t appear to notice. Then it struck her how much she wanted to get out, to get away, just for a little while. Sooner or later, she’d have to be alone in the house, but right then— No, right then, she didn’t want to be alone anywhere.

He knew, understood, and whatever his approach, Cliff was offering her exactly what she needed.

Though their thoughts weren’t particularly calm, neither of them spoke as they walked through the door together.

Chapter Five

Maggie set aside the next day to complete the title song for the movie score. She made a conscious effort to forget everything that had happened the day before. Everything. She wouldn’t think of what had been buried and unearthed so close to her house, nor would she think of police or investigators or medical examiners.

In exactly the same way, she refused to think of Cliff, of the one wildly exciting kiss or of the oddly civilized dinner they’d shared. It was difficult to believe that she’d experienced both with the same man.

Today, she was Maggie Fitzgerald, writer of songs, creator of music. If she thought of only that, was only that, perhaps she could convince herself that everything that had happened yesterday had happened to someone else.

She knew there were men outside spreading seed, planting. There were shrubs going in, mulch being laid, more brush being cleared. If the landscape timbers she’d seen brought in that morning meant what she thought, construction was about to begin on her retaining wall.

None of that concerned her. The score demanded to be completed, and she’d complete it. The one form of discipline she understood perfectly was that a job had to be done no matter what went on around you. She’d seen her father direct a movie when his equipment had broken down and his actors had thrown tantrums. She’d known her mother to perform while running a fever. Much of her life might have been lived in a plush, make-believe world, but she’d learned responsibility.

The score came first today, and the title song would be written. Perhaps she’d even add some clever little aside to C.J. at the end of the tape before she mailed it off.

It certainly wouldn’t do to mention what was going on in her side yard, Maggie thought as she meticulously copied notes onto staff paper. C.J. wouldn’t be able to find enough antacids in L.A. to handle it for him. Poor man, she mused, he’d been worried about the roof caving in on her. In a totally unexpected way, it certainly had. If he knew there’d been policemen swarming over her land with plastic bags, he’d catch the next plane and drag her back to L.A.