Mac squeaked and launched herself at him. Her arms noosed around his neck, her legs banded around his hips, and his hands were forced to grab two handfuls of her sweet arse to keep them from both tumbling over.
“Where? Where?” she bellowed into his ear.
He shuffled in a turn to show her the spot where a dried-up old stick lay innocently on the ground. “My bad. It was a stick.”
“You can’t tell the difference between a snake and a stick?”
“Does it matter?” he countered with a grin. “Considering, if it were a snake, I’d be the one bitten since you’re safely off the ground.”
She released her grip on his neck long enough to smack him on the shoulder. “Maybe you were just looking for a convenient excuse to grab my ass.”
“I don’t need an excuse. Your arse is mine.”
“You think you own my ass or any other body part? Think again.”
She huffed and squirmed in his arms, but he merely adjusted his grip, positioning her right against the body part of his that emphatically disagreed.
Chest hitching, she dug her nails into his flesh.
“I don’t own any part of you, MacKenna, nor would I ever claim to,” he said. “But nevertheless, you’re mine.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits under her baseball cap, which was sitting cutely askew on her head. “I really, really don’t like you, Joe Whelan.”
He narrowed his eyes right back at her. “Bullshit. You’re as head over heels in love with me as I am with you. And tomorrow you’ll marry me at one of those wedding chapels you found so bleedin’ hilarious.”
For once in her life, it appeared Mac didn’t have a sassy comeback. She unhooked her legs from around him and wriggled until he let her go. They stood toe-to-toe, the only sounds the sough of the breeze picking up leaves and tossing them into the canyon’s depths.
He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. He’d silently rehearsed at least a dozen different heartfelt variances of, “I love you. Will you marry me?” on the drive up there. Somehow, the heartfelt had been swallowed up by the gut-deep, frustrated passion she always seemed to invoke. But he meant it. Every damn word, and every one of the other, more flowery variations of the same thing: He loved her, she loved him, and he wanted to make a commitment to her there and then. There was no other crazy-magnificent-beautiful-intelligent-infuriating-wonderful woman he would even consider spending the rest of his life with.
She was, without a doubt, the one.
“Are you”—Mac’s hands fisted at her sides, and the tip of her tongue swiped along her lower lip—“are you proposing or planning to abduct me?”
His sassy woman was back. But he knew her well enough to understand the humor was a deflection to buy time. He could almost see the wheels spinning inside her brain. But he got it, he did. The wheels in his brain had been spinning pretty constantly once he’d allowed himself to admit the truth.
“Proposing. Badly, as you can see.” He held up a finger in a silent order to wait then dug into his pocket, where he’d used the hotel’s complimentary sewing kit to attach the cord of a small velvet bag to his shorts, so he wouldn’t—heaven forbid—lose it on one of the canyon trails.
Her eyes flew open wide. “What are you doing?”
His sweat-slicked fingers fumbled with the gathered edge of the bag, and he couldn’t for the life of him pry it open to reach the ring inside. Smooth, Joe. Real smooth like. The knot finally gave, and he was in, fingertips closing on smooth gold with a plain but beautiful solitaire diamond. He drew it out of his pocket, the diamond winking once in the dying rays of rosy sunlight. The gold was slightly faded from the years, and he’d had no time to resize it after asking his mam to slip it off her finger before he’d left her and Kerry the day before, so it’d be too big. But it was right for his Mac—perfect.
“What I’m doing,” he said, getting down on one knee, and to hell with the snake threat, “is telling you I love you and asking if tomorrow you’ll be my wife.”
“It sounded more like a demand to me.”
“Yes. Yes, it did,” he said. “That’s because I’m bloody determined to win you over with my good looks and wit.”
“I’m not the first woman you’ve asked this question to.” She cast a glance down at the stick-snake, as if a real snake would be less of a threat than his marriage proposal.
Of which he was sucking at so, so badly. He could see doubt written in every tense line of her body. Doubt of his feelings for her, perhaps doubt of her feelings for him. He hesitated, the grit and tiny, rough rocks under his kneecap digging into his skin.
“No. But you’ll be the last because you’re the only woman I can picture at my side through better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” He rolled a shoulder. “I’ve never had the clarity with anyone else—with Sofia,” he added. “The vision, or whatever you’d call it, I’d had in my head of our future together was always hazy and always of inconsequential good times—her throwing dinner parties for our friends, or her holding our perfect baby who never cried nor dared to puke on his mother’s shoulder.”
Joe stood then and laced their fingers. “But when I see our future, Mac, I see you with my nanny’s ring and your wedding band in a dish on a windowsill to keep safe while I make love to you in the middle of washing dishes. I see muddy walks on Rakiura, backyard barbecues with our friends, with our snot-faced kids playing with their snot-faced kids, fights where we have amazing makeup sex, and dancing to Springsteen and Madonna and Bananarama if that’s your choice. It’s crystal clear and so feckin’ real. Can you see it, too?”
Mac leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest. “I can see it, and I want it.”
Her free hand landed on his hip, fingers hooking into the waistband of his shorts. She dragged him closer. “That’s your nanny’s engagement ring? The one your mother was wearing the other night?”
“Yeah. Mam’s folks were married fifty-one years.” He gently twisted Mac’s ponytail around his fist and tilted her head back. “I never considered asking her for the ring up until now, and she never offered it to me for any woman before you. But it’s right that you should have it—if you’ll have me.” His gut plummeted as Mac’s huge green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“I’ll have you,” she whispered, brushing a soft kiss on his mouth. “And you’re right, I am in love with you…”
“But you need to think,” he finished for her. “Because this is all happening so fast and you must think me completely insane, not to mention a bloody great hypocrite.”
“I’ll need a little time to think things through and question both our sanity.” A smile played over her lips. “But I really, really love you, Joe Whelan.”
His heart sung the “Hallelujah Chorus” and he turned them toward the setting sun and the shadows deepening in the vast canyon. “That’s a good enough start for me.”
Chapter 17
Five Years Earlier…
“Being your maid of honor is doing nothing for my reputation as a straight man,” Reid said from Mac’s left side.
Grumbled, really. Mac appreciated her friend’s attempt to distract her. But the bats that had been roosting in the hollow cavern of her belly quietly for the last forty-eight hours had awoken. Richard was waiting in a century-old church that his parents had insisted on—because while Richard didn’t believe in God or compromise, he did believe in his financial inheritance—a fifteen-minute drive away from Mac’s dad’s house, where she’d stayed the night. And they were already halfway there, she and Reid squished together in the back seat since Holly won rock-paper-scissors and rode shotgun with the driver.
“Your horoscope for today looked good, sweets.” Holly, wearing a peach-colored dress, turned around. “It said ‘trust that the path you take today is the one to lead you to future happiness.’”
“You’re making that up,” Mac said.
Reid folded his arms across his black suit—with coordinated peach tie
since he was her “maid of honor” or at least her male assistant. Richard had insisted his side of the wedding party was full, and as Reid was her friend…
Richard had insisted on a lot of things concerning their wedding. He and his parents had pretty much taken over the whole planning, but that was okay, right? It meant Mac could just relax and enjoy spending time with the man she loved. When he was home. When he was in a good mood.
Ohshitohshitohshit!
“Turn on the radio,” Mac said.
Holly twisted the dial, and Cher’s gorgeous, rich voice blasted through the sound system, singing about love being in his kiss.
“Oooh. I love this one,” Holly said, shoop-shoop-shooping along.
Ohshitohshitohshit!
What if it wasn’t in his kiss? What if…
Mac grabbed Reid’s hand that rested on the seat between them and squeezed like a woman giving birth. He glanced over at her, his neutral expression immediately crumpling into concern.
She leaned closer and spoke so only he could hear. “If I ask you to do something, promise you won’t question me, and promise you’ll never, ever speak of it again.”
“Anything,” he said.
Mac’s heart gave a little squeeze because Reid meant it. He’d do anything for her, as she’d do anything for him. And oh God, she already knew the answer, but she had to do it now or forever hold her peace.
“Kiss me,” she said. “And I don’t mean a friendly peck on the cheek.”
His eyes bulged comically. “You want me to kiss you?”
Mac was losing her nerve, so she squeezed his hand harder. “Yes. Just shut your eyes, and kiss me like I’m one of your French girls.”
Reid rolled a shoulder, shuffled closer on the seat, cupped her jaw with a big hand, and lowered his mouth to hers. Mac shut her eyes because it was just too weird seeing Reid’s face in the kissing zone. They’d shared one drunk-on-her-part kiss before, back in their first year at design school, and decided quickly after it that their chemistry was average even if their compatibility as friends was off the charts.
Mac released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as Reid’s warm lips touched hers. Firm, smooth, the tiniest bit hesitant, he kissed her lightly, then pulled back. Her eyes popped open.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” she whispered.
“You’re the best I’ve got,” he whispered back. “My best friend. And it’s fucking weird to be kissing you on your wedding day.”
“Just do it, wuss,” she ordered.
He swore, and this time when he kissed her, there was nothing hesitant at all. He took her mouth, her lips, her tongue, and swept her away for a moment with a deep, head-rushing kiss. This time when he pulled back, he raised an eyebrow.
“Did that answer your question about whether I’m a good kisser?” he asked.
Mac pressed a fingertip to her lips, which were still a little tingly. “I always knew you were a great kisser,” she said. “You’ve had many satisfied customers.”
“What’s going on, Mac?”
Mac shot a glance to where Holly was still grooving along in the front seat. “You kissed me, and I had a nice little buzz going. For a moment I wasn’t aware that we were sitting in a car on the way to my wedding.”
“And that’s bad?” he asked. “There’s always been a little bit of attraction between us. Just not enough to replace a solid friendship.”
“I know.” Mac sucked in a deep breath. “But when I’m kissing Richard, I never forget where we are or what we’re doing or that I need to take pork chops out of the freezer for tomorrow night’s dinner.”
“Shit, MacKenna.” Reid raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Pork chops?”
He didn’t need to say more.
“Yeah.”
“He loves you, in his own way,” Reid said. “But I think I’d be more heartbroken if you walked away than he would.”
“I’m not walking away from you, Bean, you dumbass,” Mac said.
She didn’t wish to comment on the rest of his statement. In his own way wasn’t exactly a glowing commendation of a forever kind of love. But she was hardly one to talk, since apparently she was more “in love” with her best friend than she was her husband-to-be. And she wasn’t in love with Reid; that much she did know.
They sat in silence the rest of the way to the church, Mac’s pulse racing like a greyhound, her fingers numb from squeezing Reid’s hand so hard. In fact, her whole body felt numb. Felt as if a tiny alien had set up residence in her brain and directed her limbs to move up, down, left, and right, as they pulled up in front of the church, and Reid helped her out. Mac hoisted up her OTT princess gown, and they walked into the church’s peach and white rose-decorated foyer. Mac didn’t particularly like roses, but whatever…
Mac’s dad waited in front of the closed church doors and came rushing over, his beaming smile slipping when he got a good look at Mac’s face.
“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” He then switched a wide-eyed glance at Reid. “Cold feet?” he stage-whispered to him.
Reid shot Mac’s dad a male I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her look and held out both palms.
Holly handed Mac her bridal bouquet.
“It was that Cher song, wasn’t it?” she said. And before Mac could open her mouth, she added, “Dammit, you can’t trust a hippie rock star’s advice on whether Richard is the man for you. You should know.”
“Wait a minute, what’s going on?” Mac’s dad wrapped an arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Is this more than just cold feet?”
Mac leaned into her dad, nodding against his broad, safe shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “But I do know. I know I want more than pork chop kisses and agreeing to a peach wedding theme when it’s the most boring fucking color in the universe just because Richard thought it would be easier on the eye than the bronzy-orange I wanted, and oh Go—”She whooped in a huge breath, stepped away from her dad, and shoved her bouquet of peach and white flowers back at Holly. “I’m really, really making a huge mistake if I walk down that aisle and say ‘I do’ to a whole lifetime of pork chops and peach.”
Holly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Mac. “I don’t know what pork chops have to do with anything, but I agree. You can’t marry a man you’re not in love with, and you can’t marry a man who wants you to be peach when you’re all about the orange.”
“I can’t.” Mac tightened her grip on Holly. “But if I go through those doors, I’m scared I will. Because I don’t want to hurt him or humiliate him in front of his friends and family.”
“Marrying a guy so you won’t hurt him is not a reason to tie the knot,” Mac’s dad said from behind them. “Knowing in your gut that you’re making a huge mistake is. You do what you need to do, sweetheart.”
“There’s a man out there for you, Mac, who’ll make you forget pork chops and everything else in your freezer,” Reid said. “He’ll love you even if you choose orange or chartreuse or bright fucking purple, so long as you’re happy.”
“Damn straight.” Holly released her and stepped back. “And I, for one, will happily wear any damn color when you do. Peach sucks.”
Mac gave her dad and friends a trembling smile then straightened her spine.
“Right, then.” She marched over to a table containing some printed church notices and picked up a pen, scribbling a quick, apologetic note on the back of one to Richard and then handing it to Reid. “Here. Since you’re my maid of honor, you get the sucky job of handing this to Richard.”
“You owe me.”
“More than you know,” Mac said.
Her dad dug into his suit pocket and dragged out a key ring. “Here,” he said and tossed them to Holly. “My truck’s out the back. As my daughter’s wingman, you get to drive the getaway car.”
“C’mon, sweets.”
Holly grabbed Mac’s hand, and they rushed out of the dull church foyer into the sunshine.
>
Chapter 18
For all the star-studded sky arching above the Lincoln as they drove back toward Nevada, the vast landscape cloaked in darkness, the head-knowledge that this enormous continent stretched behind them to the east for thousands of miles, Mac struggled to draw enough oxygen from the surrounding air into her lungs.
Joe loves me. Joe wants to marry me. Tomorrow.
Every time her mind skittered back into that endless loop, her pulse raced, and the confines of the Lincoln grew claustrophobic. It didn’t help that Joe had raised the convertible’s roof before they left the Grand Canyon. Not even the chilly evening breeze could blow thoughts of Joe-love-marriage out of her brain as they sped through the night. Round and round her mind went, zipping through rosy bubbles of excitement, happiness, anticipation, then free falling into doubt, insecurity, and panic before repeating the whole damn thing.
He touched her arm as they approached the turnoff toward the old stretch of Route 66 and the town of Seligman that they’d driven through earlier in the day.
“How about we go back that way?” he said. “Maybe stop for a rest break at that abandoned gas station we found just outside of town?”
“And test out that back seat?” she asked. “It looks very spacious.”
And the perfect way to distract her brain from the churning Joe-love-marriage loop. He chuckled and hit the turn signal.
Fifteen minutes later, the headlights cut across the ramshackle building surrounded by tall weeds. Joe followed the cracked and potholed driveway past what once was the gas station’s forecourt to the rear of the building and parked. He killed the engine and turned in his seat to look at her. Ready to—oh crap—talk.
No, no, no! She didn’t want to talk; she wanted to feel. Feel his smooth skin and the way they fit together so perfectly. See the way he looked at her as he worshipped her body. Taste her name on his lips as he lost himself inside her. Hear the roughness in his voice as he told her without words how she’d won his heart.
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