Closest To My Heart

Chapter Eighteen

Maggie opened her mouth to respond but no sound would come out. He was taking her home. To his home, wherever that might happen to be.

Oh, my God! This is his idea of giving me space?

"Tag—" she started, although she had no idea what to say next.

"Tag?" a booming male voice echoed off the walls of the ferry, effectively filling the void so Maggie didn't have to. "Son of a gun, I thought that was you! How're you doing, son?"

Maggie breathed a sigh relief as Tag turned and climbed out the driver's side of the Jeep, buying her some time to gather her wits. He let the door fall closed behind him and reached out to shake the hand of a man that was maybe sixty-plus years of age, with wispy white hair and a crinkled, ruddy complexion.

"I'm good, Carl," he said. "And you? How's the family?"

"Good, good," the man now known as Carl replied, sliding a sidelong glance toward Maggie as she tried to sneak out on the other side.

"Oh! I'm sorry," Tag said, and Maggie froze. "Carl, this is Maggie O'Donnell. Maggie, Carl. Carl's been the captain of this boat for... what, twenty years now?"

"Twenty-seven this Fall," Carl corrected, and then nodded his head in Maggie's direction. "Pleasure to meet you, miss. This your first trip to the island?"

Maggie nodded, still unable to find her voice.

"Well, you picked the right tour guide," he assured her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he clapped a hand on Tag's shoulder. "Tag's a native islander. If anyone can show you the ins and outs of the place, it's this fella right here!"

"I'm not so sure about that, but I'll do my best," Tag said, tossing her a half smile before turning back to the older man. "If I remember right, you had another grandchild on the way the last time I was here, didn't you?."

"Yep, I did. Number six," Carl beamed proudly, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

Maggie looked at the pictures when they were handed to her, making the requisite oohs and aahs when necessary, which wasn't difficult considering how adorable all six of Carl's grandchildren were. She lingered nearby until the small talk drifted to topics that didn't require her participation, then slipped quietly away to the upper deck. There, she leaned against the railing and stared down into the water, trying to calm her jittery nerves.

No big deal, she told herself, taking deep, cleansing breaths. No need to panic.

But she was panicking. He was taking her home with him, for cripes' sake! To the place where he'd come from, the place where he'd been raised. Hell, for all she knew, his mother had probably given birth—

His mother! Maggie thought. Oh, God! Is he taking me to meet his mother?

Maggie glanced down at her clothes, the ones she had thrown on without a second thought when Tag had suggested going for a ride: Faded boyfriend-cut jeans rolled up past her ankles, with black flip-flops and her brother's old grey hoodie covering a plain white t-shirt underneath. She distinctly remembered running a brush through her hair before they'd left, but between the wind from the open windows of the Jeep, the old ball cap she'd pilfered from the back seat, and now the humidity of the ocean air, Maggie could only imagine the horrific state her hair must be in. And he was taking her to meet his mother!