Maleficence of Magnolia

By A. L. LaFleur

Maggie Sumner just lost her mother, a loss which leaves her lonelier than ever before. Especially since she is no longer tasked with being her indigent mother's sole caregiver. But where one door closes, another opens, and for Maggie, this is presented as a new love interest, and then another. First, the doctor who cared for her mother entices the nurse in Maggie, with his sophisticated medical knowledge and his status as an established physician. The other, a mysterious stranger, matches Maggie's passion and wit. As she reels, mourning her loss, she must come to terms and to a decision about which man best suits her. In the meantime, something just isn't right about her new suitors, and Maggie must figure it out before its too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504966467

A. L. LaFleur

A. L. LaFleur is a feminist and a professional whose expertise has encompassed areas of forensic nursing that relate to interpersonal violence and violence against women. As such, she has developed robust knowledge of the dynamics and issues involved in those types of situations. Further, having personally experienced some of the aforementioned circumstances, she has chosen to take a stand and speak out against some of the social injustices that continue to plague women. LaFleur lives in a historical neighborhood in Oklahoma City, where she thoroughly enjoys spending time with friends, family, and the occasional walk to the local bar.

Book preview

Chapter One

Maggie Sumner slowly began to rouse from her luxurious slumber, blinking several times, having difficulty placing her surroundings. The feel of the silken sheets and thick down comforter told her where she was before she saw the curtained posts of the massive bed in which she had been sleeping.

She slowly sat up, stretching and taking in her surroundings. The room was bathed in the afternoon sun, and was more impressive in daylight where one could more fully appreciate the antique furnishings and other rich milieus. Judging by the satisfied ache in her muscles, she had slept long enough…although in this lush environment, she could have easily hibernated until summer.

Moving to the gilded antique vanity mirror, she gave her reflection a cursory glance, briefly attempting to tame her riot of red curls, a curse she had battled since she was a child. With an exasperated sigh, Maggie rolled her eyes and rubbed her face, resigning herself to the fact that on this day, she would allow her hair the freedom of being untethered, stemming more from a lack of energy to fight with it than from the decision that it was in any way desirable to her. She made her way to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway.

Descending the stairs, Maggie could hear a deep voice alternating with a hearty chuckle emanating from the bowels of the house; at least that’s what it sounded like. The voices spoke in a rich tongue, and as she reached the bottom of the staircase and headed toward the kitchen, they became louder and clearer. Rounding the corner, she arrived at the source and discovered that it was Shannon exchanging jokes, and punches, with John.

What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake, mate? she heard Shannon query as she entered. Approaching the duo, she could see John thoughtfully contemplating the riddle.

His coy grin indicated that he wasn’t really sure, yet it didn’t keep him from answering. One person wishes they were dead, and the other one is?

This elicited a grand round of laughs, and it was obvious to Maggie that the two had already drank quite a bit. Her suspicions were confirmed when she caught the strong scent of whiskey wafting from their general direction.

No! Shannon managed to squeak out, after catching his breath from the laughs racking his chest and abdomen. There’s one less drunk, there is! His answer elicited another wave of raucous laughter that was contagious, and Maggie found herself giggling along with them.

When the two men noticed her, they nodded in her direction, acknowledging her. John poured another drink for them. Will ye have a glass with us, lassie? Shannon asked Maggie, holding up his own to her in inquiry.

She stared at it for a moment, considering her plans for the day. Deciding that she may as well enjoy her time away from work since the passing of her mother, Maggie accepted Shannon’s offer. She didn’t fail to notice the large grin that spread across Shannon’s face, splitting it in two. Once filled half-way up, the three clinked their glasses together and up-ended the contents into their awaiting gullets.

Maggie immediately felt her face become flushed, along with the pleasant burn in her tummy that always accompanied a shot of whiskey for her. When the contents of her glass were empty, she looked up and realized that both men were staring, appraising her.

Ye got some Irish blood, do ya? Shannon asked, the smile remaining on his face. John obviously interpreted his statement as a request for more and happily obliged, refilling the three tumblers. Maggie returned Shannon’s stare shyly, feeling as though he was looking into her soul. Suddenly, the spell was broken when John handed them each their drinks.

Feeling the cool glass in her palm, she studied the amber liquid, considering the man she had shared her bed with the day before. Though she had just met Shannon, she was becoming more attracted to him by the minute. In fact, she knew very little of him, but her ignorance was offset by her normally astute judgment of character. Smiling to herself, she decided that he was likely a good person and she wanted to get to know him better.

Her private musings were interrupted by John sharing a joke of his own. Maggie wondered if this was a game they played: a shared joke followed by tossing back a glass. What did the drunk Irishman say to the drunk bloke that was stealin’ his hooch?

Shannon was quiet for a moment, a look of concentration plain on his face, obviously contemplating the answer to the riddle. Maggie, being not nearly as intoxicated, fixated on his facial expressions with interest. When it became clear that he could not come up with the answer, she piped up, What did the drunk Irishman say to the drunk bloke that was stealin’ his hooch, attempting to imitate the brogue as closely as her limited experience with the Irish lilt would allow.

Shannon blinked at her, agreeing, Aye, that’s the riddle, Lass. He then turned back to study John, whose face had broken into another wide grin as he watched Maggie. Realizing Shannon’s confusion, John let out a hearty chuckle and informed him, The girl is not nearly as thick-skulled as you, my old friend.

Maggie couldn’t help but laugh with John, to Shannon’s dismay. After darting glances back and forth between the two of their guffawing faces, he slapped himself in the head and laughed along with them. Aye, she is not at that! he agreed, finally catching the joke. Chuckling heartily, he raised his glass in a toast, prompting the other two to join him, upending their drinks in unison.

Once the containers were drained, the two men looked at Maggie expectantly. Baffled by their stares, her face reddened, and she looked at them askance. It’s ye’re turn, love, Shannon informed her. She blinked at him until comprehension finally dawned.

Racking her brain in search of a joke, she finally offered, Okay, how do you get a redhead to argue with you? As soon as the words had left her mouth, the eyes of both men ascended to her disarray of crimson hair. John’s mouth turned up slightly at the corner, and Shannon’s face turned a darker shade of red as he watched her, considering her riddle. Er, ye tell the wee lass that men are the brighter sex?

Maggie’s face turned an angry red, an automatic reaction to his sexist comment. Infuriated as she was at his misogynist remark, she was tempted to stomp on his foot. However, considering the answer to the riddle, she scowled at him, and then revealed the answer.

No. You say…something, Maggie told him, staring him in the eye as if daring him to make another rude comment. Though she was generally very irritated by sexist comments and behavior, the broad, good-natured grin that broke out on Shannon’s face, followed by his gales of laughter, had her smiling at him. Noting John’s embarrassed grimace, which she figured was probably an attempt to hide his amusement, she decided that he was smarter than his friend, and likely had more training in the art of the avoidance of insulting women.

Her amusement was interrupted by Morgan entering the kitchen. Sounds like a bunch of monkeys in here, she commented, smiling, and kissing John passionately on the lips. He pulled her into him and the two appeared lost in each other for the moment, oblivious to the world around them.

When the silence became awkward for the two left out of the intimate embrace, Shannon refilled the whiskey glasses. Ahem! Shannon cleared his throat before continuing. A bit louder, he offered, Would ye like to have a spot o’ whiskey, little miss?

At this, the lovers finally looked up. With a quick shake of the head, Morgan answered, No. I’ve never really had a taste for it. But I’d love some Captain Morgan, if you have some, John, she requested, gazing at John suggestively.

John moved away from the counter he had been leaning against, and taking her by the hand, walked through the kitchen door with Morgan in tow, leaving Shannon and Maggie alone.

Staring at each other in the awkward way of lovers who had experienced each other sexually but knew little else of the other, the silence stretched. It was broken by Maggie clearing her throat. Shall we try for another round? she asked him.

He jumped, startled as if goosed from behind. Hiding his embarrassment, he grabbed the bottle swiftly, pouring them each a nearly full glass.

I say we just sip it this time. I canna come up with any jokes I would deem appropriate for yer ears at the present moment, he explained. She obediently sipped, the room falling into uncomfortable silence.

Eventually, motivated by her liquid courage, Maggie asked, So you’re from Ireland, like John? After his brief nod she continued, Do you have any one special in your life? A misses Shannon?

He choked on his whiskey at the sudden turn of conversation, and Maggie had to pound him on the back to assure he was moving oxygen effectively into his lungs again. Finally, with a reddened face, he answered, Nay. That is…well…me wife, though a bonnie lass, was also found to be quite bonnie by some other bastards, and…well…wife is a right nicer term fer her than I would choose ter call her at the present moment. He finished his explanation bitterly, downing the rest of his alcohol.

Maggie noted his cynical smile, but sensed a hint of sadness as well. His expression quickly turned sour then, and he added angrily, It’s no matter though. I’m no needin’ to be tied just at the moment to anyone, and besides, who really wants ter father a bastard child; she told me, she did, tha’ she ha’ been pregnant many times over the years. I couldna ever even say for sure that they was mine. Introspectively, he added quietly, No tha’ it matters, since she saw fit to get rid o’ the wee ones early on without ever telling me.

Maggie regretted bringing up the subject; it made her feel uncomfortable, and as though she was getting more of a glimpse into Shannon than he would have chosen to reveal if he had been sober. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she grabbed the whiskey bottle from behind him and refilled their tumblers. Handing his to him, she raised her glass and confidently declared, To not being tied down to worthless asses! He touched her glass with his and with a nod of agreement, downed it in one gulp.

Aye, that is a worthwhile toast, he concurred. Maggie drained her own glass a moment later, and Shannon took his turn refilling them. How ’bout you lassie? Anyone special ye’re attached to?

Maggie had brought the rim of the glass to her lips, but at his query, pulled it back, and staring into space, mused, Mmmmm, not currently. Bringing her eyes to meet his, she stated, My mom, you see, she was very ill for a long time.

As Shannon’s expression became confused, she elaborated. You see, my mom has lived with me for the last few years and I took care of her. I’m a nurse, and the type of medical care she needed would have been very expensive, had she been hospitalized. She quickly caught her mistake and wanted to correct herself to include the fact that her mom had just passed, but his perplexed look persisted, so she continued. Well, most guys, at least the ones I’ve gone out with, don’t stick around very long after they find out about my decrepit mother living with me.

Shannon’s expression conveyed understanding which quickly changed to indignation as he exclaimed, What kinda silly hog swallop is that? Ye mean ye were caring for yer mum an’ it made the boys not interested in ye? When Maggie nodded, he continued, Tha’s daft! What do the wee knuckle heads be thinkin’? If they were to mate yer, they’d be lucky, cuz then ye’d be more likely ter be carin’ fer the likes of them when they get to passin’. An’ correct me if I’m wrong, as I’ve got no medical knowledge to speak of, but don’ women outlive men by plenty these days?

Maggie watched him silently, fascinated, as his accent thickened in his worked up state. She couldn’t help but smile, wondering if Irish culture was in general that much different than American culture.

Well, it certainly has made the prospect of dating disappointing, Maggie admitted, as she sipped her whiskey. Absently, she remarked, I’ve kinda sworn off men for the time being, in fact. It’s just gotten too hard to handle the repeated rejection once I tell them about my mom. Looking into his face she confessed with a bitter smile, I’d actually gotten into the habit of telling them from the outset of my mom’s illness, just to head off the chance of getting to know them better. It’s amazing how quickly they hit the road sometimes, and how easily you can read their expressions when they’re deciding that they want nothing to do with a chick that cares for a helpless patient full time.

Shannon’s eyes became somewhat distant and Maggie figured that despite his condemnation of the men she had dated, he was probably thinking how he, too, would have escaped, had he found himself in that position with her. Wanting to drown the hurt from her painfully persistent memories of rejection, she took several large gulps, emptying her glass.

After several moments of companionable silence, his eyes adjusting, he looked at her dry cup, and grabbed for the bottle. Then, as if reconsidering, his hand stilled, wrapping around it as he studied her face. Would ye like to have a sit down fer a moment, lass?

She looked up at him, realizing that she was well on her way to being drunk, and smiled contently.

Straightening himself to his full height, Shannon started for John’s office, which currently served as his makeshift guest room. He moved slowly; tentatively. Likely so that she could accompany him. When she began walking, her knees weakened from so much alcohol in such a short period of time. Stepping back suddenly, he wrapped his arm around her waist, steadying her. Maggie enjoyed his solid presence and his strength, wondering if he too cherished her being there.

He was tall, as was she, but he still dwarfed her. She felt that they fit nicely together…especially when her careless footing nearly caused her to topple over. He saved her, swiftly grabbing and righting her, pulling her into him more firmly. Maggie smiled shyly up at him, leaning heavily into him. More to feel his hard body than to lean on his strength.

As they entered the study, Shannon helped Maggie to the couch. Sitting next to her, he poured himself more whiskey. Her glass was empty, as was her chest, and she planned to remedy both problems. Lifting her glass close to his face, she gave a silent bid for more.

Turning to her, he appeared mildly surprised that she would want to be more intoxicated than her present drunkenness already allowed. Want some more do ye? I don’t suppose ye’ve got Scottish or Irish blood in ye, the way ye throw back the whiskey, lass?

Glass satisfactorily filled, she emptied it in a quick burning swallow. Considering her ignorance of the answer to his question, she felt embarrassed for a moment, but then replied, I don’t really know, actually.

His puzzled look prompted her to continue. I’ve never met my father. It was always just me and my mom.

She wasn’t sure how he’d take her admission, since often when she had made it, she was promptly treated by many men as diseased, or like she had the Ebola virus. At this point of intoxication, however, she was past the point of caring, and would no longer keep her dirty secrets hidden in hopes of avoiding rejection. Somewhere, something within her had changed. Her mother’s death, followed by empty sex with the doctor, reminiscent of the endless meaningless dates with anonymous superficial jerks…somewhere warped in those events she had finally decided that she would no longer hide that which she had no control over. Nor did she any longer care what others thought of it.

At this point, she made a snap decision. Fueled by her newfound motivation, mingled with a deep-seeded anger stemming from her past experiences, she decided that she was going to in fact become heavily inebriated; also that she wanted the sizeable man sitting next to her to be inside of her again. However, considering her scant experience with flirtation, she cursed her naive skills of seduction.

Taking the plunge, she decided to go after what she wanted, consequences be damned. Boldly placing her hand on his thigh palm down, she smiled at him, holding the tumbler out for more whiskey.

Shannon had been watching her, his look of surprise changing to one of concern. Taking the glass from her, he set the bottle down, placing her glass on the floor next to it. I think ye’ve had enough for a time, lassie, he cautioned, looking down at her. This prompted her to cross her arms over her chest and pout like a petulant child.

She felt her face begin to redden in the process, comprehending that she was being unreasonable. Further, his mouth curved up in one corner while he worked to console her with a lopsided smile. It’s not that I terribly mind if ye get drunk, ye see, I jus’ want ye not ter do it so bloody fast. He seemed to think he was being very reasonable and looking out for her best interests, but his patronizing tone and solid reasoning only infuriated her further.

He continued to watch her face silently and carefully, as if she were a ticking time bomb. She was becoming angrier by the second, as though coiled and ready to strike, although she kept her eyes trained on the floor at her feet. She knew her face must match the hues of her crimson hair, and she couldn’t seem to control her frantically twitching foot as she sat next to him and the tension continued to build. Her nervous energy was soon rising out of control and she had to move, or else she felt sure her head would explode.

Suddenly, she jumped up off of the couch as though something had bitten her, and began pacing the room like a caged animal. Noticing his confusion, she thought it likely that he couldn’t discern the source of her agitation, though he seemed fascinated by her pacing movements as he tracked