Saying I Do (Stewart Island Series Book 8)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Mac shook her head. “But I didn’t. I sneaked over to the living room window and watched Mum follow Dad out to his truck parked in the driveway. There were suitcases and cardboard boxes stacked in the bed of the truck, and he climbed inside with Mum pleading and weeping and clinging to his arm. He shook her off, and I heard clear as day what he said to her. He said, ‘Being sorry doesn’t fix what’s broken, Cheryl.’” MacKenna sucked in a breath. “And in the weird way that dreams have, it wasn’t Dad driving away, but you. And it wasn’t Mum pleading for forgiveness, but me.”

  “You woke up and got scared you’d do something wrong, and I’d walk away from you?”

  “Silly.” She gnawed an eyetooth on her bottom lip. “I mean we’re only…”

  “Only fooling around?” he supplied for her. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not walking away from this—from us. Not anytime soon. Are you?”

  Her mouth quirked up in a small smile. “No.”

  Joe picked up his knife and fork. “Then eat your breakfast while it’s hot.”

  Five minutes later, he was about to convince Mac to try a sliver of his black pudding when her pocket started ringing. She held up a finger and arched away from his black-pudding-laden fork and hauled out her phone. Her pretty forehead creased as she stared at the screen.

  “Kerry?” she said.

  Joe could only hear the tiny squeak of his sister’s voice down the line, but the rapid patter of it had him setting his fork back on his plate. Something was up. And going by the deepening frown on Mac’s face…

  “Of course I can. I’ll get right on it and it’ll be ready by Wednesday morning.”

  Kerry’s wedding dress? Mac wasn’t supposed to finish it for weeks. Joe rose slowly to his feet, an icy chill rolling down his spine.

  “You want me to what?” Mac’s eyes popped wide. “Kerry, I…”

  More tinny, gunfire-fast words from the other end of the line.

  “Yes, he’s here. I think you’d better speak to him.”

  Mac passed the phone across the table, drawn lines appearing either side of her mouth. Joe could hear his sister’s words clearer now.

  “I don’t want to talk to that feckin’ arsewipe who calls himself my bro—”

  “What’s going on, Kerr?” he asked.

  Immediate, icy silence.

  “Put MacKenna back on.” His sister’s regal command.

  “No. Tell me what you’re up to, else I’ll be catching the next flight to Queenstown to wring your neck.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Tell me.” He resorted to the stern doctor tone he took with some patients when they balked at doing what was best for them.

  “Fine, then,” she said with a huff. “You’ll get the abridged version. Aaron and I are getting married next Tuesday. In Las Vegas. You can come and be a part of it or not; I couldn’t care less.”

  Joe sat down with a thud, trying to process Vegas, next Tuesday, marriage, and the underscore of hurt in his sister’s half-arsed invitation to her wedding.

  “Are you serious?” he croaked.

  “Oh, very. Aaron and I took the money we’d saved for the reception and bought our flights.”

  “But Vegas?” City of Elvis impersonators and showgirls in tacky feather outfits? Joe shook his head. “Why Vegas?”

  “Because we’ve always wanted to go there. And because of Luke and Kyle,” Kerry said. “With Luke in San Fran and Kyle in Phoenix on business, they’re just a short flight away. Luke’s offered to pay for our accommodation at The Venetian, so we just need to pay for the wedding itself, and the honeymoon’s built in.”

  Jaysus. Kill him now. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Quite a plan you’ve worked out in a short amount of time.”

  “I know, right?” Kerry said, faux cheerfully. “Mam and Da have booked their flights this morning. They’re being very supportive.”

  “Oh, they are.” Unlike him, the stick-in-the-mud brother, her tone implied.

  “Mam’s always wanted to see Las Vegas, too. She has quite the crush on Elvis, and the only thing she was a little disappointed about was me putting my foot down about not having a Blue Hawaii-themed wedding.”

  “Good to hear.” He jumped as two hands settled on his shoulders and began to gently squeeze. Mac—he’d forgotten she was even in the room.

  “Will you come, Joe?”

  The sass vanished from Kerry’s voice, leaving only a masked pleading behind. Joe closed his eyes, making a forcible effort to relax under the soothing pressure of Mac’s fingers.

  “I’ve already asked MacKenna to come and bring my dress—not just because of the dress, but because I’d like a friend there,” Kerry continued. “More than that, I want my big brother at my wedding, even if he doesn’t agree with my decisions. So will you come?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He handed the phone back to MacKenna, who continued with wedding talk while Joe picked up his knife and fork and pretended he still had an appetite.

  Kerry was eloping. He’d agreed to stand by and witness her marriage to the wrong guy.

  Viva feckin’ Las Vegas.

  Chapter 14

  Mac stitched the last section of Kerry’s wedding dress hem by hand. Neat, even stitches that wouldn’t pucker the dress’s flowing fabric, a painstaking task that required all her concentration to slip the needle through the satin’s fine weave. And blinkers-on concentration was what she’d required this past week just to get through it with sanity intact.

  She was going to Vegas. For seven days. With Joe. Tomorrow.

  “This wasn’t how I’d envisioned our first vacation away together,” he’d said to her when they’d got off the phone with Kerry. “But would you hold my hand as my little sister walks down the aisle?”

  She’d given her answer in the form of a kiss, one that had led them back to Joe’s bedroom for another tumble between the sheets.

  Joe had arranged everything. Flights, a room at The Venetian, and a rental car in LA road trip with—and she was beyond denying it now—a man she was falling for.

  MacKenna clipped off the last thread from the dress and stood back to admire it. It made even the plain white dressmaker’s dummy look glamorous. The long, clean lines were reminiscent of a 1940s gown, with an overlay of ivory lace that finished in pretty cap sleeves and a V-neck secured with a hand-stitched beaded rose. She gave herself a little hug and a pat on the back with a most un-Mac-like giggle then let out a little chirp of excitement when the doorbell buzzed.

  She sprinted to the door, opened it, and leaped into Joe’s arms.

  He caught her with a laugh. “How’s the craic?” he asked, then kissed her soundly.

  Gripping his waist with her thighs, she flung up her arms. “We’re going to Vegas, baby!”

  “Maybe I should take you away more often.”

  He carried her into the entrance and set her down, then returned outside to drag in one medium-sized suitcase.

  “Where’s the rest?” she teased, pretending to crane around his shoulder to look at the car parked outside.

  Joe tapped the suitcase handle. “Shorts, shirts, sunblock. What more do I need?”

  He grinned, and her heart gave a little squeeze at how relaxed he sounded. Perhaps the few days they’d spent apart were enough to calm him down after the shock of his sister’s elopement plans.

  “Where’s yours?”

  Mac pointed to the entranceway wall, where one large suitcase bulged at the sides, and a medium-sized empty one, which Kerry’s dress would be carefully packed into later, rested.

  “I’m glad I booked a car in LA with bigger than usual trunk storage,” he said then froze as his gaze zipped past her to the wedding gown. “Is that Kerry’s?”

  “Yes.”

  And when he continued to stare, saying nothing, she quickly filled in the gap.

  “I kicked Reid off this project and worked on it myself. I want
ed it to be perfect for her. She’ll look so beautiful on her wedding day, don’t you think?”

  “You did an amazing job,” he said. “I’m touched you went the extra mile.”

  A warning prickle skimmed over Mac’s scalp at Joe’s avoidance of the upcoming wedding, but she shoved it down deep.

  “I miss construction.” She slipped an arm around Joe’s waist and leaned into him. “The practical sewing bit was always my favorite at design school. Getting to turn something two-dimensional and shapeless into something beautiful. It’s a rush, and one I don’t get often now with the wedding planning and overseeing of the shop. I let Reid and Laura do their thing, and I do mine, making sure everything runs like clockwork.”

  “And does it?”

  Mac slid a glance toward Reid’s room. He was out tonight, but she’d gotten a funny vibe off him when she’d announced she’d be sewing Kerry’s dress. A year ago, and he would’ve fought her, telling her to butt out, it was his job, but this time he’d merely shrugged. As if he were relieved not to add the gown to his workload.

  She was probably imagining things.

  “It’s worked well for years. We’re a team.”

  “With you holding the tight reins of control,” he said.

  “Someone has to take charge.”

  Mac scooted around to face him and placed her hands on his hips, drawing them into alignment with hers. She rose on tiptoe, brushing her mouth over his, thrilling to the bigger rush that swept all her doubts aside when Joe cupped her face and kissed her again. Once they were both gasping for air, he pulled back and scooped her into his arms. She wrapped an arm around his neck as he carried her up the stairs toward her bedroom.

  “Why don’t you take charge for the next hour?” he said. “Then we’ll switch.”

  Mac laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. Joe had the best ideas.

  “What do you think?” Joe asked.

  Mac squinted at the long, box-shaped convertible that gleamed under the Californian sun in a parking lot of other enormous cars, all with tires probably melting in the relentless heat. She wriggled her toes in her flip-flops, which the sun-baked asphalt was also probably melting.

  Go to the States, they said. It’s lovely there in September, they said. Yeah, if you weren’t an Invercargill girl not used to the US temperatures of low seventies. A nice fall day, according to the rental car guy. But after a thirteen-hour flight crammed next to Joe—who, by the way, slept like a baby the whole trip—she’d been looking forward to a nap. A nice long nap that wasn’t gonna happen in a convertible.

  “It looks like a giant blue Smurf,” she said. “If the Smurf was blown up and tortured on the rack.” She wondered if she should just head out to the palm-tree-lined street and find a cab driver willing to make the five-hour drive to Sin City.

  “It’s a 1967 Lincoln Continental.”

  Joe picked up one of her suitcases and dragged it over to the blue monster. He opened the boot—trunk, Mac corrected herself—and turned back to her.

  “Isn’t she grand?” he asked.

  Okay, his boyish glee was kind of adorable. Annoying for someone who’d had only two hours’ sleep in the past twenty-four hours and could feel a tell tale sunburn tingle on her winter-white skin, but still, adorable.

  “A classic.” She forced an I’m having so much fun smile as the monster’s gaping maw swallowed her first suitcase and then had seconds and thirds. Man, she really needed a nap—a shower and a nap. And coffee.

  He slammed the trunk and turned a dazzling smile her way. And she was dazzled—even sleep and caffeine deprived and probably smelling more like a hobo than the deodorant she’d reapplied in LA International’s restroom—Joe’s smile dazzled her. And she found herself returning a goofy, sappy smile back because all things aside, there was nowhere and no one else she’d rather be with.

  “Let’s Thelma and Louise this thing,” she said and climbed into the Lincoln. And promptly leaped up again as—holy cow—her butt had just caught fire from the black leather bench seat.

  Joe threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh.

  “I really, really don’t like you, you know,” Mac said, her butt cheeks still raised a few inches above the burning seat.

  His eyes twinkling, Joe climbed in beside her. Since he wore longer length shorts, his butt was fine. Bastard. Mac gingerly lowered herself back onto the seat, and Joe stroked a hand down her bare thigh. That almost made up for the fact her bottom was on fire.

  “Just for that,” she grumbled as the engine roared to life, “I’m not going to share my sunscreen with you. You, smartass, can burrrrrn.”

  His wandering hand tickled her upper thigh then dropped away to slot the transmission into gear. He slanted her a glance that nearly singed her panties to ashes.

  “Oh, I’m burnin’ up already, darlin’.”

  They stopped for coffee along the way, MacKenna coming back to life with the buzz of caffeine and the sheer excitement of the adventure. And while her hair looked like a crazed bird’s nest—until she tied it in a ponytail and tugged on the LA Dodgers cap she’d bought from a store next to the coffee shop—she was enjoying the hell out of being with Joe in the blue behemoth. Classic rock poured through the speakers, and the air grew drier and hotter as they continued on the I-15. Who needed to nap when there were miles of desert landscape so different from home to look at?

  Lunch was at a small-town diner where, after creamy, cold milkshakes and burgers, they’d taken selfies with Elvis and The Blues Brothers statues positioned in the dining room. He’d even dragged her across the Lincoln’s bench seat and kissed her soundly under the endless blue arch of the Nevada sky once they crossed the state line.

  “A little different from Invers?” he asked as Vegas towers of glass and steel rose above the desert horizon.

  “Definitely not in Kansas anymore,” she said. “Look, there’s the pyramid!”

  Traffic crawled as they headed to Las Vegas Boulevard. MacKenna tried to look everywhere at once at the glittering signs, crowds of people, and the trucks towing billboards advertising beautiful women in string bikinis.

  “This is insane,” she said as Joe guided the Lincoln under The Venetian’s portico and parked.

  Black-and-red-uniformed valets and bellboys moved rapidly between the other cars, and a busload of future gamblers was disembarking, their voices raised above the rumble of motors.

  A valet opened her door with a wide smile. “Welcome to The Venetian, ma’am.”

  MacKenna had to keep her teeth locked together to prevent her jaw from sagging as she stepped into the hotel’s lobby. Flamboyant yet tasteful at the same time, the marble tiles and muted color scheme seemed to glow between the many columns, thanks to the light streaming over the fresco-painted arched ceiling.

  Joe waved her over to the elaborate gold fountain in the lobby center, while he stood in line to check in. Twenty minutes later, an elevator whisked them upward to their room on the sixteenth floor.

  “Oh. My. God,” Mac whispered as they entered the suite. A king-sized bed stood against one wall, and huge windows overlooked the snarls of traffic on the Strip many floors below. “Would you look at that? I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “I agree. My arse is quite spectacular,” Joe said, bending down to set Mac’s suitcase onto the luggage rack. “Perhaps you’d like to cop a feel of it while we mess up those sheets before dinner.”

  Mac continued to gaze lustfully into the all-marble bathroom and giant tub that could easily hold a wedding party of six. As much as she wanted to soak in a tub filled with bubbles, if she wasn’t to be a complete wreck meeting Joe’s family later, she needed to crawl beneath those sheets and sleep for at least an hour.

  “Shower and sleep,” she said. “I’m on an unstoppable trajectory to get clean and unconscious.”

  “Party pooper.”

  He grinned that sexy, promising a good time grin, and she nearly caved. Before Mac changed her mind, she ducked into
the bathroom and shut the door. Locked it. Keeping temptation out of reach—for her, not him. Tapping her phone, she selected her favorite playlist and cranked up the volume. Nothing like Freddy Mercury’s soaring vocal plea for someone to love to set the mood for a refreshing, loooong shower.

  Mac sang along—too bad if Joe didn’t like her voice—and took her time under the steaming-hot jets while Freddy gave way to Madonna, Bryan Adams, and Simple Minds.

  Once her fingers started to prune, she relented and got out, pouncing on the free bottle of expensive body lotion. While Cyndi told the world about girls just wanting to have fun, Mac finished slathering on the lotion. She’d been a little premature turning down the opportunity to mess up the sheets with Joe because parts of her were very refreshed.

  She flung open the bathroom door, shimmying everything she had, the chorus on her lips—and met the startled gaze of Joe, beer bottle in hand…and two other men.

  One sat on the sofa, the other reclined on their bed, beer balanced on his flat stomach. Three pairs of eyes locked on her assets, jaws sagged, followed by wide, appreciative smiles by the two strangers. Joe turned a murderous stare at the two men—who were obviously his brothers, judging by their same coloring and bright blue eyes.

  Mac froze momentarily, like a possum in a hunter’s spotlight, a flight or fight response kicking in, even though in this case, embarrassment would kill her before the adrenaline overdose. She bit down on the urge to shriek like a train whistle and slapped an attitude-infused hand on her waist instead. What was the point of rushing away when men had a photographic memory for boobs and bums? They’d be retelling this story for years.

  “You must be Joe’s brothers,” she said. “Nice to meetcha.” As if she met her boyfriend’s family bare-assed every day of the week.

  “Pleasure is all ours,” said the brother from the bed, lifting his beer in a silent toast. “I’m Kyle.”

  “Luke,” the older of the two men said, from the sofa. “We brought beer.”