More Than Willing by Laura Landon Read Free Book Online

strike her, she wasn’t sure.
    “Delaney !” Fletcher’s voice from behind her stopped him.
    He blinked, his eyes focusing, and she realized he finally saw her.
    A confused mixture of horror and disbelief covered his face and he held out his open hand as if to ward her off. He gasped for breath, his nostrils flaring with each intake. He didn’t speak, only shook his head as if in denial—or in warning—then backed away from her, one unsteady step at a time.
    “Leave him go,” Fletcher whispered in her ear and she nodded.
    “Is he all right?”
    “Give him time, lass.”
    Maggie stared at Delaney’s rigid back as he walked toward the nearest exit. The gate stood open and he turned right on the cobbled path that wound around the back of the brewery to where the Rushbourne River provided the brewery with the clear, clean water it needed to brew ale.
    Linden , oak, birch and pine trees formed a barrier on both sides of the riverbank and he might seek refuge in the shaded covering. She’d gone there herself more than a few times when she needed to escape.
    Maggie watched until he was out of sight , then turned as if she intended to go back to her office. But Lyman’s man waited for her there and she had no intention of seeing him. Not today. She was too curious and concerned about Grayson Delaney to see anyone just now.
    She walked instead to her father’s office and closed the door. The minute the solid door clicked, she pressed her back against the wood and stood there for several long seconds. She shouldn’t intrude on his privacy. He’d suffered through a harrowing ordeal and deserved to be left alone. But he was her employee and she was obligated to see to his welfare.
    She stepped to one of the two windows that overlooked the back section of Bradford Brewery and looked down.
    Her mother had made a small park of sorts behind the brewery. Several resting areas angled from the cobbled pathway, each with a wooden bench on a semi-circle of cement. From each location a panorama of lush plants and flowering bushes bloomed throughout the spring and summer. In the background the Rushbourne River rushed quietly along.
    Her mother would often sit on one of the benches and gaze at the beauty. She used to say she could think better here, could plan what improvements to make with the little money that was left after paying the bills.
    Maggie thought the same. The garden was peaceful, which was why she knew when she pulled back the curtains she’d find him there.
    She spotted him with little effort, as a magnet is drawn to metal. He stood bent at the waist with one palm pressed flat against the trunk of a large oak tree, the other braced against his knee. The material of his shirt stretched taut with every labored breath he took.
    A heavy weight sank to the pit of her stomach. She wanted to go to him yet knew she couldn’t. This was a private moment and he wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. But she couldn’t leave him either. She’d glimpsed another side that was completely opposite from the self-assured, devil-may-care, person he’d spent years convincing everyone he was. The role of the womanizing gambler he’d cultivated so exquisitely may not be the real Grayson Delaney. But she didn’t have any idea who that real person might be.
    After several agonizing minutes he pushed himself away from the tree and took his first step back toward the brewery. He staggered, pressed a hand to his chest, then seemed to gather control as he resumed his pace. His long, confident footsteps ate up the cobbled path with amazing speed. If she hadn’t seen his torment only a few moments ago, she’d never think he was capable of letting anything bother him.
    Maggie watched until he was out of sight, then dropped the drapes back into place and turned around. Everything in this room reminded her of her father, a man who’d rather drink the ale they produced than work an honest day to produce it. A man who’d risk a whole year’s