MacKenzie Fire

by Elle Casey

  “Come on, let’s get inside. Ian, will you grab Candice’s bag for me?” Andie’s sliding down off the front seat and onto the snow-covered ground below her. Now who’s the stuntwoman?

  “Yeah, I got it.” Ian disappears behind the truck, probably to go abuse my luggage some more.

  I cringe at my girlfriend, worrying she’ll bite the dust when she makes contact with all that frozen water. But it appears as if my worry is unfounded. She has obviously done this a lot. She lands safely with just a tiny crunch of snow and turns around to wait for me.

  Attempting the same dismount, I’m not nearly as sure-footed or successful. Thank goodness I was holding onto the door with one hand and the seatbelt with the other using my kung-fu grip, otherwise I would have taken another tumble, only this time in Oregon and not Idaho. I backpedal for a few seconds before my feet decide it’s time to grip the ground for me.

  What. The. Hell. I’ve never been so clumsy in my entire life.

  What is it with these top-left states anyway? Why can’t they be more like Florida or Georgia, states in the bottom-right of the map? I never ever fall in the bottom-right states. I’m graceful and elegant there, like a swan or a flamingo. Here, I feel like a water buffalo or something. And that makes sense, since they have buffalo here and water with all this snow. I’ll bet water buffalos originally come from Oregon, which is how they got their name. I’m going to have to Google that when I get a chance, but until I verify, I’m going to go with it as fact. It totally makes sense.

  “Careful,” Andie cautions, “the ground is really wet. And hard.” She holds out a hand to steady me.

  “Yeah, I know.” I roll my eyes at her as I gain my feet again. No way am I going to take her offer of help. I’ll end up taking her roley poley self down with me and causing her to go into labor, and I am not into seeing baby goo. I leave that kind of nonsense to the doctors. “I have the proof of how hard this ground is on my ass, thank you very much. I’ll be bruised for the whole week.”

  “Well, that’s great. It means you’ll have a whole two weeks of not being bruised before you have to go back.” She grins. She really is cute when she does that, but I’m not falling for it.

  “I can’t stay for three weeks, I told you that. Two weeks only. That’s all the time I have.” I feel a little guilty about it since I hardly ever see her anymore, but not as much as I did on the airplane. The snow and the ice have tempered my enthusiasm for this place considerably. Screw pom-pom boots. The fashion isn’t worth the butt-cheek frostbite I’m suffering right now. Nothing better fall off, that’s all I’m saying.

  “Oh, she’s here!” exclaims a voice from inside. The porch door flies open and an older woman with poorly-died brown hair swept up in a bun comes running out. She’s wearing heavy house slippers with jeans and a man’s flannel shirt over a turtleneck. I can’t help but smile at her lovely face and sadly coordinated fashion.

  “Hi, Maeve! So nice to be here!” I shall now commence the lying. I’m happy to be with these people, yes, but not in this frigid place.

  “Come, come, come … get in the house. It’s terribly cold out today. Unseasonably so, isn’t it Andie?”

  Andie snorts behind me as she clomps up the stairs. “Oh, yeah. Normally it’s super balmy.”

  “You’re so bad,” Maeve scolds her daughter-in-law as she ushers me into the house. The door bangs shut behind us with the force of Ian’s brawn.

  The warmth envelopes me in its arms, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. My nostril hairs are instantly thawed. I inhale and wiggle my nose just to be sure there are no remaining icicles in there. Having one of those drop out would be more than a little embarrassing. Nope. No crunching.

  My smile is genuine. “Thank you so much for having me, Maeve. I really appreciate it. I don’t want to be a bother, though, so I’m happy to stay in town.”

  “Nonsense! You’re staying here with Angus and me. We wouldn’t hear of you staying so far away.”

  The three of us girls walk into the kitchen and take seats around the dining table. They have a perfectly nice living room, but as far as I’ve seen it never gets used. The wood stove is in the kitchen and that’s where everyone congregates, even in the summer.

  “Where do you want her bag?” Ian asks from the doorway.

  I try not to look at him, but it’s impossible not to. His presence is totally commanding. I’ve heard that expression before, but until being around him I never really appreciated what it meant. He’s like the boss of my eyeballs or something.

  Do not look at his package, Candice. Do not look at his package. My eyes move of their own accord. Oh dammit, you looked at his package! And … oh my … Oh my, my, my … There’s a giant bulge! Hooray for giant bulges and the jeans that let me see them!

  “Put her in Mack’s room,” Maeve says, getting up from the table. She has no clue that I just eye-groped her son, thank goodness.

  “But that’s …” He clamps his mouth shut and says nothing more.

  “That’s what, dear?” his mother asks, getting out mugs and turning on the coffee pot.

  “He was going to whine that it’s too close to his bedroom,” says Andie in a teasing tone.

  “Nooo, Ian wouldn’t say that,” says Maeve, laughing it off. “He’s a big boy.” She looks up at her son. “You’re not afraid of a girl being across the hall from you, are you Ian?”

  He shakes his head as he turns to leave. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He and his glorious package are gone and my luggage goes with them. And oh my goodness does he not have the finest ass there ever was? Yes, sir, he does. That’s one thing I remembered from my last trip out here. No man has ever filled out a pair of jeans like Ian MacKenzie. Too bad that ass is connected to a big dope of a guy.

  Still, he doesn’t need to be a nice guy to be a good roll in the hay. I smile at the idea that’s forming in my brain. Note to self: Ask Andie if they have hay anywhere around here.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask, jerking myself away from the sexy thoughts in an effort to control my raging hormones. Normally I’m not all that into buttage, but Ian has some weird power over me that makes me stupid. Must be the pheromones. I’m totally not rolling in the hay with him. I don’t care how big that bulge is.

  “Oh, he’s just fussy is all,” says Maeve. She sounds a little sad.

  “Fussy? I call it assholey,” says Andie.

  “Now, now.” Maeve brings over empty mugs and sugar. “Don’t let his moods get to you.” She pats Andie on the cheek gently before returning to the coffee pot. Apparently, being pregnant gives Andie a free pass to be bold-faced honest about Maeve’s son. It’s actually pretty impressive. I’m not sure who to admire more for it, Andie or Maeve.

  I kind of melt a little inside seeing Maeve be so sweet to my friend. Andie’s real mom is a real piece of work. My BFF deserves to have a loving mommy in her life.

  “Kind of hard when he’s all up in my butt all the time.” Andie says it under her breath, but it’s clear she’s not trying to keep her opinion from her mother-in-law.

  “He just needs more time,” Maeve says.

  “What he needs is a swift kick in the patootey if you ask me,” says Andie. “He’s had plenty of time to get over his broken heart. Now he’s just wallowing.”

  Maeve stands at the coffee maker, watching the dark liquid drip out from the grinds. “Everyone has his own timeframe for grieving. His is just longer than the average person’s.”

  “Grieving?” I ask, looking from Maeve to Andie. “Did someone die and I didn’t hear about it?” I wonder if it’s that Booger guy Andie’s talked about before. He’s a friend of the family and apparently has been for most of Ian’s and Mack’s lives. She hasn’t mentioned him in a while, though.

  “No, nobody died,” Andie says, obviously not impressed with her brother-in-law’s grieving process. “He got dumped at the altar or he dumped someone at the altar and he still hasn’t gotten over it. It was, like, years ago.” She rolls her eyes
.

  “It was three years ago, and granted that’s quite some time, but he’s still genuinely hurt. He’s sensitive.” Maeve turns to look at us. “You can’t know what it’s like to have someone be dishonorable towards you until it happens to you personally. No one knows how they’ll react when trust falls apart, so we shouldn’t judge.”

  Andie casts her eyes down to the tabletop. “I’m not really judging. I’m just mad at him for being sad all the time. He deserves to be happy.”

  “Agreed,” says Maeve, taking the half-full pot off the burner and bringing it over to our mugs. “And he will be. Someday soon, I hope. We all hope.” She pours out some steaming liquid into a mug for me and I waste no time dumping four teaspoons of sugar into it and a bunch of milk, followed by a healthy dose of vigorous stirring with my tiny spoon. It takes a little while, but soon I have some almost-foam floating on the top of my drink.

  “What’s that all about?” Andie asks, sipping at her black coffee with a grin while she looks pointedly at my mug.

  “Backwoods cappuccino. You should try it. It’s delish.” I take a sip and pretend I’m telling the truth again. Bleck. This stuff is awful. I keep smiling through the pain. I’m going to be so awesome at lying by the time I leave here, I should probably start playing poker so I can clean up at the Hard Rock Casino when I get back.

  “Whatever gets the blood pumping, right?” Maeve is sitting down opposite me and smiling into her cup too after exchanging glances with Andie.

  I nod, like I know what she’s talking about. Maybe there’s a joke going on here, but I don’t want to act paranoid and demand to know what it is. It’s probably one of those country bumpkin things I wouldn’t understand being a bona fide dyed-in-the-wool city girl.

  What I can’t figure out is how it is that Andie’s melded so well into this lifestyle. It’s like she’s been here her whole life, and I know very well she hasn’t. She’s just like me. Her favorite thing to do on a Thursday is to go for mannies and peddies at the Blissful Spa downtown at lunchtime followed by an all-nighter at the law firm doing massively boring research. This whole great-outdoors, freezing nostril hairs, pulling cow babies out of bovine VJs, wearing unflattering puffy jackets thing? No. That’s not Andie.

  Maybe I should spend some time out here trying to convince her to come back to civilization. She did tell me that Mack would follow her wherever she goes. I chew on my lip as I try to decide whether to plan this out or not. I’m probably going to have to fake an injury or something to make it work. Like an aneurism, maybe. But that’s no biggie. I could limp around with crossed eyes for a few days. I’m really coordinated when I’m not on ice.

  “I see your hamster running,” Andie says, putting her mug on the table. She tilts her chin down and looks up at me, just staring. She’s totally got the scolding mother thing down pat.

  I don’t know what the hell she means about hamsters, though. “What?” I look behind me, misgivings taking over my thought process. Does Maeve keep hamsters in the kitchen? Is that even sanitary? Why would she do that? Oh … my god … Does she eat them? I’m picturing horrific hamster kabobs when I face Andie again. “Oh my god, I am totally not eating a hamster while I’m here. I’m serious, Andie.” I look over at Maeve. “I know you eat cow balls and all that, but I’m not going there. Not even if Andie threatens to withhold crowning me godmother.” I shake my head and clamp my lips together so she can see how hopeless it will be trying to convince me otherwise.

  Andie’s laughing so hard she can barely get the words out. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the one who brought up hamsters. What are you talking about?” I’m missing out on the joke once again. I hate when that happens.

  “I said I can see your hamster. The one running on the treadmill in your head powering your brain. He’s about to pass out from asphyxiation brought on by acute overstimulation, Candice. Stop scheming and planning.”

  How dare she figure out what I’m thinking! So rude! My most innocent expression comes in to save the day. Up go the eyebrows and eyelids, making my eyeballs as wide as possible. “What on earth are you talking about? I’m not scheming. I never scheme.”

  “What am I missing?” Maeve asks, looking first at Andie and then me.

  Andie points at me. “Look at that expression on her face. Memorize it. Whenever you see it, run. Grab the fire extinguisher. That’s her scheming look. Bad things happen when the hamster runs out of breath.”

  I frown, playing it off. I cannot believe she’s reading me like that. And there ain’t no hamster running this super computer, either. More like a panther or a leopard. I’m going to have to Google spying techniques so I can hide my intentions better. At this rate, they’ll know my deepest secrets by Tuesday.

  “She’s crazy,” I say, my tone casual. She’s the nutty one, not me. “I never scheme. I’m a rational, adult woman, who just lives her life and lets other people live theirs.” I snort for emphasis. “As if.”

  “So now we know she was planning on interfering in someone’s life.” Andie nods knowingly at Maeve. “I can read her like a book.”

  “That’s impressive,” Maeve says, still smiling. “Who’s life will it be, I wonder?”

  I put my mug down and hold up my hand. “Okay, okay, joke’s over. Ha, ha, very funny.” I place my palm flat on the table and lean in a little. I look like an anchorwoman getting ready to report the most amazing, juiciest news of the year. “Can we please get back to the subject of this baby thing? Because I’m a little stressed if you must know the truth.”

  There. That’ll do it. Andie has baby fever, and I know once I get her tractor beam locked on this subject it’ll take nothing short of C-4 plastic explosives to get her off. Talk about scheming. She has no idea. I can control her mind without her even realizing it. I’m dangerous like that. She should fear me more than she does.

  Andie leans over her mug with both hands wrapped around it. She grins like a fool. “Yes, let’s do that. Let’s talk about babies.”

  See? Told ya.

  Maeve stands. “I’d love to, but I have some warm chicken buns that need to be relieved of their offerings. I’ll catch up on the baby talk later.” She walks out onto the back porch pulling the door closed behind her before I can respond.

  I look over at Andie. “Please don’t tell me she’s going to touch chicken poop.”

  Andie’s face is totally impassive. “Nope.”

  “Phew. That’s a relief.” I lift my mug to my lips. The coffee is awful but at least it’s warm, and Maeve just let in a big woof of cold air. The goosebumps on my legs are making stubble grow out instantaneously.

  “She is going to touch their eggs, though.”

  I pause before drinking, slowly lowering my mug to the table. Suddenly backwoods cappuccino doesn’t sound as appetizing as it once did. “Then she is going to touch their poop.”

  She laughs, sounding confused. “How so?” She takes a sip of her drink as she waits to be educated by me.

  I cringe. “Ew, Andie. Because the eggs come from their butts, of course.”

  Andie laughs so hard she spits coffee out at me. Then she bends over, riding the chair side-saddle since her belly is so big she can’t fit going forward. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She wipes tears away. “Oh, man, Candice, I sure have missed you.”

  I frown at her obvious ignorance of all things chicken. “I missed you too. But why are you laughing over simple scientific facts? Google is your friend, you know, Andie. You really shouldn’t neglect your Googling.”

  Chapter Three

  MACK’S ROOM IS SPARSE, WHICH doesn’t surprise me one bit. He’s a no nonsense kind of guy. Putting my clothes away only takes a short time, and twenty minutes in the bathroom puts my hair and face to rights. Now I can present myself to the rest of Baker City and not look like a granola hippy fresh off a cow pie commune. A spritz of my favorite perfume makes me feel almost human again.

  “Phew. Easy does it,” says Ian as
he walks past the bathroom, waving his hand in front of his nose. I can see his stupid face reflected in the mirror.

  “I’ll have you know that this perfume costs over a hundred dollars an ounce, and it’s from France.” I put the silver cap back on it and look at the small, round bottle, wondering if I should doubt myself. Pfft. Right. What does he know? He’s a total bumpkin. His idea of a delicious scent is probably fermented pig turds.

  His voice fades as he moves down the hall. “I’ll have you know that you’d’ve been better off spending your money on plain old soap.”

  My jaw drops open as he disappears into his room. How dare he insult my signature scent! I spent years waiting for the perfect one to come my way, and I happen to know for a fact that men love it. I have them following me around like puppies back home with just one whiff. This stuff is pure sex appeal captured in a tiny bottle.

  I put it down and step out of the bathroom. “Yeah, right,” I say, following him, stopping when I reach his doorway. “I’ll bet the women you usually go out with wear the stuff they buy in the grocery store. That stuff gives new meaning to the word eau de toilette, you know.” I lift my chin and sniff, confident in the knowledge that I am way more sophisticated than any girl he’s ever been with.

  “Yeah,” he says without even glancing my way, as he pulls a baseball hat out of his dresser drawer and puts it on his head. “It’s called soap.” He moves the hat up and down. “You should try it sometime.”

  “Not your color,” I say, ignoring his insult. I won’t even dignify that comment with a response. I use soap. Very nice soap, in fact. It’s got lavender essential oils, also from France.

  He frowns and pulls the blue ball cap off his head, staring at it. “What’s wrong with the color?”

  I roll my eyes and stride into the room, yanking the hat out of his hands. We’re both standing in front of his mirror over his dresser looking at his reflection. His hair is slightly skewed and his expression is disbelief mixed with shock. I love this look of confusion on him, since he always seems supremely confident, but I’d never tell him that.