Just throw her over my knee and paddle her. I didn’t sleep at all last night and had to stop myself from marching down to her house and having it out with her several times. When she’s all fired up, and in a temper, it doesn’t do any good to try to reason with her.

I love her fiery personality, but it frustrates the hell out of me.

If I weren’t completely and utterly in love with her, I’d walk away. Be content with being her eldest brother’s best friend, and that’s it.

But I’ve had a thing for Maggie since I came back to town when she was about twenty, and I discovered that she’d grown up into a gorgeous, interesting woman.

Unfortunately, she was already married to the asshole who would eventually try to destroy her.

We all knew Joey was an idiot, and no one liked how he spoke to Maggie when we were around. I can only imagine what it was like for her when we weren’t around. Until he died, she didn’t say much about it. After he had the heart attack, we learned that he’d been cheating for years.

What a complete moron.

I should have made her stay put last night. Made her listen. But it’s not easy to make Maggie do anything she doesn’t want to do.

It’s one of the things I love about her.

I’ll go find her later this morning and smooth things over. She might have an Irish temper, but she doesn’t stay angry for long.

I rinse my coffee mug and set it in the sink. Grabbing my keys, I open the front door and then stop short.

“That’s twice in less than twenty-four hours I’ve found you outside my house.”

Maggie’s on the steps, her back to me. She sits up tall when she hears my voice. I walk over and lower myself next to her. She’s in a puffy orange jacket with a gray hat over her red hair. She’s holding a pink box and has two cups sitting on the step next to her sneaker-clad feet.

“I brought you coffee and donuts,” she whispers. “Because I’m a jerk, and I need to apologize.”

“You’re not a jerk, Mags.”

“Yeah, I am.” She shrugs a shoulder and finally turns her sweet face to me. She has tears in her gorgeous green eyes. “I’m sorry I’m a moron.”

“If you don’t stop calling yourself names, I’m gonna get really mad.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “What kind of donuts did you bring?”

“French crullers.”

“Those are my favorite.”

“I know.” She passes the box over to me and then grabs one of the cups, offering me that, as well. “And coffee. Black.”

“You should yell at me more often. I get good food out of it.”