At Your Command Read online

  "Oh, my." Shelley looked totally flustered now. Andy giggled and kicked Tom's boot.

  "Tom's from...well, Tom's from out of town." God, that was an understatement.

  "Oh, is that so? Where are do your folks come from, then?"

  Maggie answered before Tom could open his mouth. "Tom's family's from Italy." That should be far enough away. "The southern part," she added.

  "Oh, well then, that explains it."

  Following Shelley's glance, Maggie saw that half of Tom's naked lady remained on the window. She erased the rest of it with Tom's hat, then tugged on his arm until he bent low so she could pull it down over his ears.

  "Is Tom an artist?"

  "No." This time Tom answered too quickly for Maggie to intervene. "I used to work for one of the old masters in Verona, but that was centuries ago. Now, I'm taking care of Maggie."

  Shelley didn't seem at all surprised by his statement, only amused. "You find that a full time job then?"

  This had gone on long enough. Maggie's hands shook when she put Tom's gloves on for him. "Doesn't Andy have to be in school today?"

  "Are you crazy? It's Saturday." Andy kicked Tom's boot again. Tom ignored him.

  "That's not nice, Andy. Sorry, Maggie. I can see you're in a hurry. I'll call later and we can talk. Okay?"

  "Sure, you do that. Tom, let's go."

  Tom gave Shelley one last dignified bow and winked at Andy, sending the boy to the floor in convulsions of laughter.

  Maggie didn't realize how hot she'd become until the outside air bit her cheeks. Tom waved again to Andy, who had smashed his mouth and nose against the other side of the window. After Mr. Pederson waited for Tom and Andy to exchange tongue wags, he turned the sled full of groceries over to Tom and handed Maggie the bill to give to her mother.

  Before they could get away, Shelley came after them, Andy only half-dressed against the cold. "I almost forgot. Please tell your mother how much I enjoyed her book. I'm really looking forward to her next one."

  "Mom's book?" Did she really want to admit she had no idea what Shelley was talking about? Probably not. That would only take more time and Andy was busy making snowballs. Tom would catch on in a minute. "Sure, Mom's book. I'll tell her you liked it."

  When she turned back, Tom was easing a tin of sardines out of a grocery bag and slipping it into his pocket. An orange followed. Food for the road?

  She took another look at the grocery bill. They were costing her mom a bundle in food. Maggie didn't need some fool hanging around eating her mother's groceries and pretending to grant wishes.

  "What I need is a job," Maggie mumbled. "That would be a wish worth making."

  Tom looked at her, eyes steady and guileless, despite the food secreted in his pockets. "Is that your last wish, my Maggie? A job?"

  Had she spoken aloud? "Are you pretending you can read my thoughts now?"

  "Of course, not. That would be silly." Slower now that he pulled the filled sled, he started down the path for home, fitting his boots in the prints he'd left in the snow. "I can only read your wishes."

  "Great, just great." Maggie pulled her scarf over her mouth so she wouldn't have to say any more. Tom did the same, but he probably had other reasons. His lips were turning blue. Definitely from California. She lengthened her stride. It didn't pay to saunter at twenty below.

  Chapter 4

  AFTER THEY PUT away the groceries, Maggie showed Tom how to remove snow mountains with a shovel. At the start, he wore an incredibly grim expression, but after he cleared the initial path in front of the garage door and she retrieved a second shovel, his mood improved. Improved almost too much.

  By the time her mother called them in for lunch, Tom had dumped more than one shovel full of snow on her head. For sixty magical minutes, Maggie forgot about lost jobs, lost fiancés and even delusional, drop-in guests. Like the mornings of her youth when word came through the much-listened-to-radio. No school today! Maggie spent the day happily shoveling snow. The chore was a game when accompanied by those three magic words.

  Tom was a day without school.

  After devouring two cans of chicken noodle soup, he pronounced himself fit for duty and her mother sent him out in the snow wearing dry clothes and armed with a new list of chores.

  Maggie's panic was intense but short-lived. How much damage can he do in one afternoon? Tomorrow, he'll be running back to California and sunshine. She spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through boxes her mother had stacked in the living room. Report cards starting with the first grade, a half-finished beaded campfire girl headband, pay receipts from her summer as lifeguard.

  Nothing required more than a cursory glance before she shoved it into a bag destined for the dump. By the time she finished, all that remained of her childhood was a short story she'd written in eighth grade and her high school diploma. She didn't know why she saved either one. The story was nonsense about a girl kidnapped by elves who decided not to return home. The teacher had corrected the punctuation.

  Maggie hadn't noticed the room grow dark until her mother walked in and snapped on the light. "How's it going?"

  "All through." Maggie looked at her mother. A woman of wisdom and age, Tom called her, with an old sorrow. She looked like Mother to Maggie. "I ran into Shelley at the store today."

  "Yes, Shelley and I see quite a bit of each other. We're in the same study club group. I hope you find time to spend with her while you're here. She needs someone her own age to talk to."

  Shelley needed someone to talk to? She hadn't when she was homecoming queen and Maggie's claim to fame was being second best flute player. "She said something about you having a book. What's that about?"

  "Oh, I must have mentioned it, dear. I had my first book published in July. It's a romance, nothing you'd be interested in reading."

  A romance novel? Her mother? She didn't have a romantic bone in her body. "I'd like to read it sometime."

  "There must be a copy around here someplace." Her mother didn't move to find one.

  Maggie felt relieved. She didn't think she wanted to learn that much about her mother's fantasy life.

  Her mother closed the scattered, empty boxes one by one and stacked them by the television. "I have a deadline next month so I asked Tom to move my computer downstairs tomorrow morning. The poor boy looks all worn out. I sent him up to take a hot shower. Are you sure you two are comfortable? You can use the other bedroom. I still have a double bed in there."

  Oh, God, she thinks we're sleeping together.

  Maggie had no idea where Tom slept last night or the night before, assuming he hadn't snuck up the back stairs that first morning she'd discovered him in her bed. "Tom doesn't need much to be comfortable, and he's not going to stay that long. Tom's just a friend."

  "I suppose it is too soon after breaking up with Chet to make any decisions. Speaking of decisions, I'm going to put the house on the market this spring. That's why I'm cleaning things out. Will that give you and Tom enough time to find someplace else to stay?"

  "Mom, listen, there is no me and Tom." It took her several heartbeats to understand the rest of what her mother had said. "Selling the house? Are you sure that's what you want to do? Dad hasn't been gone that long."

  "Your father's been dead five years, Maggie."

  Am I the only one who still has dreams about him? "That's really not that long. You haven't had time--"

  Maggie looked up from her hands, which had curled in her lap. Her mother stood over her.

  "I loved your father very much." She knelt now, taking Maggie's hands in hers. "We had a wonderful life together and he was taken away much too early. I would change that if I could, but I can't. It's time for me to move on."

  "But what are you going to do?"

  "Travel, maybe. See some of the country. Decide where I want to live. Your father and I settled here thirty years ago after we got out of the service. I joined the Navy to see the world. I'm not sure how I ended up back here after only four years, but
I'm ready to get back to traveling."

  The earth was shifting and soon all familiar landmarks would be gone. "When did you know you loved Daddy? How did you know? The very first time, I mean."

  Her mother slipped beside her on the sofa. As she had so often when she was little, Maggie let her head drop to her mother's shoulder.

  "I remember the exact minute."

  This was what she needed, guidance. A path to follow. She wanted what her mother had had, a husband and children to love, a family. Her mother's unhappiness was temporary, a pleasant ache that followed feeling so fulfilled it couldn't be duplicated. "Tell me."

  "Well, once upon a time," Sarah began, "long ago, we'd celebrated our first anniversary the week before. I remember, because I couldn't drink the champagne he'd bought. He finished it all himself, became quite tipsy, and broke his ankle when he tripped on the back stairs."

  Maggie realized with a start that she'd heard this story before. More than once, prompted by a picture of her father wearing a cast on his right leg, she had asked him to show her the place where he'd fallen.

  "Anyway, the next week, I held my first baby in my arms. A beautiful, perfect little girl we named Margaret, after my mother. I knew then I'd made the right decision and could never regret it. I had my Maggie in my arms and that made everything right."

  "But that happened after you married. I meant when did you know you loved Daddy, that you wanted to marry him?"

  "I told you, dear. I loved your father very much. He gave me three wonderful children. But now it's time--"

  Her mother wiped her face with her hands. Crying twice in one week. The world was ending. Maggie's world, and for some unknown reason, her mother's.

  "Time for me to go to bed." Her mother turned out the light when she left, going to the downstairs bedroom, the boys' old room. Maggie sat in the dark a long time before she found the strength to climb the stairs.

  Maggie knocked before entering her room. Tom sat on her bed, petting Sam, her mother's Siamese cat. The room smelled of sardines. The corner of a cracker box peeked out from under the bed and crumbs covered the floor.

  The cat was purring. Sam didn't purr for just anyone, but people who fed him sardines were high on his list. Both males looked fed and content. Neither intended to leave her bed tonight.

  Yesterday, Tom was a hallucination. Maggie hadn't cared where he slept. Tonight, he was an exotic creature with delusions of godhood, or genie-hood, who kissed her feet. She had to admit that now she was used to the idea of him being real, she found him more attractive. After their morning together, she considered him a friend in the way she'd learned to measure friends in California, quickly, before they disappeared.

  She and Chet had spent so few nights together. He was always working late, saying there would be time for that later. Tom apparently had nothing better to do than sit on her bed waiting for her next command.

  I must be crazy, most women would kill to have Mr. Wonderfully-Built, if slightly crazy, waiting for them in bed.

  Tom spoke before she could throw him out or ask him to stay. "I must sleep someplace else tonight, my Maggie."

  Finally, some sense from the man.

  "I have consulted several people--your mother, the food vendor, the United States Post Office. They all concur. I must find separate quarters unless you wish to wed me. You do have one wish left."

  He looked sane enough, even hopeful, asking if she wanted to marry him with the same calm detachment of asking if she wanted him to shovel the snow from the neighbor's drive.

  The same way Chet had asked her six months ago.

  "Let me get this straight. You've been going around town telling people you're sleeping with me and asking them what they think about it?" She had liked it much better when he was a figment. Now the entire town knew about her crazy life. But, what the hell, it wasn't as if she planned to stay here. Think job in Peru, think Peace Corps, think Antarctica!

  Tom nodded, a pleased grin on his face. "Your mother has kept me quite busy. I went out into the cold to deliver a package to the United States Post Office. A very efficient organization, and very friendly. They do not charge for information, only for stamps."

  Great! The post office! Everyone in town would hear about her strange friend by the middle of next week. "What other errands did you run?"

  "I delivered groceries to Old Lady Hanson, your piano teacher. You must play this piano for me some time. It sounds most complicated. She demonstrated the instrument for me."

  Maggie tried to picture Tom on Mrs. Hanson's doorstep, shoulder length hair, bedroom-brown eyes, and all. "I hope you didn't call her Old Lady to her face."

  "She is a very old woman, much venerated in the community." He spoke so solemnly she had to giggle. Tom puffed out his impressive chest, bare at the moment, and continued to stroke the cat with his large hands. "Tomorrow, I will move furniture for Sarah and she will make me beef stew. She offered chili, but I told her I had had enough of the cold today."

  She coughed to hide her laugh this time; although, she was curious to see if he could expand his thoracic region further. "I'm glad to hear you've been entertaining my mother."

  If only he could manage to cheer her up. Tom was right. Her mother was unhappy about something.

  He accepted her praise with another nod, his expression now more distracted than smug. Maggie hadn't realized she'd taken off her shoes and socks until she caught him staring at her feet.

  With exaggerated care, he set the cat on her pillow and left the bed. "If my Maggie desires, I could continue to warm her feet, as part of her first wish. No need to waste another."

  Before she could stop him, he was kneeling before her.

  She had every intention of stopping him, every intention, but then she noticed how cold her feet had become. She would make him stop as soon has her toes were warm.

  Instead of starting with his hands, he used his mouth to warm her feet. Without stopping, he eased her onto the bed, brushing the cat aside with his arm. Sam hissed when he flew off the bed. Maggie could only sigh with pleasure.

  This was crazy. Tom was crazy. Maybe crazy was what she needed. Her mother was right, she should have the experience of falling madly, hopelessly in love, just like in the movies or one of those romance novels. That would never happen if she married Chet.

  Not that she was falling for Tom, of course. She was too sensible, but Tom was just the ticket for getting over Chet. Besides, Chet had never made her feel this way--all tingles and glows spreading up from her feet.

  All the delightful feelings stopped when Tom backed away. His brown eyes were black now and bottomless. "Sarah said we might have the bedroom next door. I have checked the accommodations and find them suitable. Do you wish to take the larger room or should I leave."

  "No, don't go!" The words left her mouth before she could stop them. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she liked having Tom in her bedroom, in a perverse sort of way. Some neurotic reaction to having called off the wedding, no doubt. She contemplated checking her e-mail account to see if Chet had answered her message, but decided she no longer cared what his opinion was.

  "No?" Tom looked puzzled. His placed his hands on her feet again. "Do they still feel cold?"

  Maggie wiggled her toes and Tom smiled. It was relief to see his strained expression relax. Despite his mental derangement, he deserved a chance to smile. He had spent the day running errands. Now Maggie wiggled her toes in response to the uncomfortable feeling she'd been taking advantage of Tom and his affliction. Certainly not professional behavior.

  "Tom?"

  "Yes, Master Maggie." He raised her feet to his lips again, and kissed them.

  "You can take the larger bedroom."

  He lowered her feet to the bed and bowed. "As you desire."

  "Tomorrow, I'll make my last wish and then you'll go away. In your box, I mean."

  Was it her imagination, or did his expression change then? He eyes looked older, by thousands of years. His jaw
tightened and he tugged at his collar before he spoke. "After you make your last wish, I must leave."

  He was sticking to his story. She tried not to feel disappointed, but the pit of her stomach betrayed her. How would he handle it? Would he walk away after he pretended to grant her last wish? He couldn't hide in a town of twelve hundred. Where would he go? If he tried to live on the streets, he could die this time of year. Mom had mentioned a blizzard expected in two days.

  Tom turned to go, the cat sticking close to his heels. Sam knew a good deal when he saw one. They both stopped at the door. "If Master Maggie would consider a delay?"

  Ah, now it came. Tom hadn't figured out how to pull off this returning to the bottle thing. He needed to delay granting the last wish if he wanted to keep his delusion intact. That might be for the best, until the weather improved. Of course, in Minnesota that could mean April. Maybe Chet knew this guy and would call when he got around to reading his e-mail.

  "Sarah asked for a favor, which I granted. I told her I would have to ask your permission, of course."

  Maggie could just imagine her mother's reaction to that. Such a considerate young man, and so well mannered. No, Mom, just crazy. All the good ones are.

  "She will soon depart to the land of Losvegas to meet with the sages who write. During her absence, I will perform certain chores. Painting. Wall papering. I'm not certain what that is, but I am confident I will discover its mysteries."

  "No doubt." When Tom gave her a hard look, she endeavored to smile sweetly.

  "So," he continued, looking uneasy now, "if you could delay making your last wish until I am able to complete my tasks--"

  "Are you sure you're not stalling?" He looked so very serious it was difficult not to tease. "I think you're afraid to go back into your box. Maybe I should find it and make that last wish tonight."

  Looking even more uneasy now, he tugged at his necklace. "As you wish."

  For a self-proclaimed mythical creature in a cold Mid-Western bedroom, he looked unusually hot. A light sheen of sweat made his face and bare chest glow. When she stared at the silver ring around his neck, he pretended interest in his hair, running his fingers through it.