by Gina Wilkins
“Yeah—so do yourself a favor and choose wisely.”
“You going to take advice from the player who’s been doing your sister, Brad?” Jimbo jeered.
“Shut up, Jimbo!”
Even as Brad rounded on his companion, Mac was moving. A moment later, Jimbo was pinned against the brick wall behind him, Mac’s hands fisted in the boy’s designer-label shirt. Caught completely by surprise, Jimbo had gone pale, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. He was perhaps an inch taller than Mac, but there was no doubt who was the dominant male in this confrontation.
“One more word out of your mouth about Brad’s sister, and you’ll be sorry you were ever born,” Mac said very quietly, his nose only inches from the kid’s. “Is that very clear?”
“Let him go.” Brad sounded both furious and terrified. “He didn’t mean anything.”
Keeping his eyes on Jimbo, Mac asked, “You let your friends talk about your sister that way, Brad? Does she really deserve that?”
“He was just trying to make you mad.”
“It worked.” Mac tightened his hands on Jimbo’s shirt. He wouldn’t really hurt the kid, of course—but he’d make him think he would.
“Hey! Let him go, Cordero.” The order came from just behind them.
Maintaining his grip, Mac glanced over his shoulder. Officer Dodson was approaching at a half run, his gloomy face creased with a frown. “What’s going on here?”
“Just having a chat with the boys, Officer,” Mac replied affably.
“He’s—he’s crazy, Dodson. Arrest him or something,” Jimbo stuttered.
“I think we’ve heard enough of your opinions, Jimbo,” Mac suggested.
“Okay, Cordero, let him go. You can’t go around town assaulting our kids—not unless you want to end up in jail.”
“Okay, Jimbo, I’m letting you go,” Mac said. “I’m assuming you’ve gotten my message. Watch your mouth from now on.”
The boy stumbled when Mac abruptly released him. “Well?” he demanded, turning to the hovering officer. “Aren’t you going to cuff him?”
Mac smiled faintly. “I think Officer Dodson understands that I wasn’t assaulting you. Just giving you a little demonstration. If you’re going to act like a tough guy, you better be tough enough to deal with the trouble you stir up.”
Dodson didn’t look as if he knew what to do. His first choice would probably be to lock Mac up just for causing trouble. Another part of him seemed to want to just walk on and have his dinner, forgetting he’d seen anything at all.
Taking pity on the guy, Mac stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped away from the boys. “Trouble’s over, Officer. I’ll behave.”
Looking relieved, Dodson nodded curtly. “Good. Don’t you boys have somewhere to go? Brad, ain’t your sister waiting for you at her shop?”
Shaken, and keeping his gaze averted from Mac, Brad nodded and took a few steps away.
Jimbo was still staring at Dodson in disbelief. “You’re not going to do anything? You’re just going to let him strut away like he’s some kind of big shot or something?”
“Give it a rest, Jimbo,” Dodson said wearily. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
The boy gritted out a curse that was even uglier because of his age, and spun on one heel. “C’mon, Brad.”
“Brad,” Mac said as the boy scuttled past him.
Brad gave him a nervous, angry look. “What?”
“For your sister’s sake, I’m letting you off the hook about my truck. I won’t be so generous a second time.”
The boy’s eyes were so hot with emotion it was a wonder Mac’s skin didn’t blister. But then he turned and stamped off in the wake of his obnoxious pal.
Dodson gave a heavy sigh. “Do you go looking for trouble, Cordero, or does it just follow you around?”
“Let’s just say I deal with it when I find it.”
“You’re starting to worry me, Cordero. I don’t think you fit in around here.”
Mac chose not to comment.
The officer shook his head, his expression morose again. “I’m hungry. I’m going to eat. Stay away from the kids, okay? I can’t let you get away with something like that a second time.”
“There shouldn’t be a second time. Enjoy your dinner, Officer.” Mac turned and headed back toward his truck. He was no longer hungry.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“YOU HAVEN’T TOUCHED your dinner, Brad. Aren’t you hungry?”
Brad looked up from playing with his food. Something in his eyes made Sharon’s throat tighten. He looked so troubled. “Brad? Honey, is something wrong? You’ve been so quiet all evening. Aren’t you feeling well?”
He shrugged. “I feel okay.”
“Didn’t you and Jimbo have a good time at the arcade?”
“Jimbo can be a real jerk sometimes,” he muttered.
So that was the problem. Brad had quarreled with his friend. She relaxed a little. That wasn’t so bad. Teenagers squabbled all the time. And she’d been wanting him to spend less time with Jimbo, anyway. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? I can be a good listener.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Fine. There’s no need to snap.”
Brad muttered something incomprehensible and went back to toying with his dinner.
“I talked to Emily Davenport this afternoon,” she said, trying again to make conversation. “She said Clay is really glad you’re coming to his house tomorrow. He likes you, you know.”
“He’s a kid.”
“He’s a nice kid.”
“He’s okay.”
Sharon considered telling Brad that Mac would be attending the cookout too. She rejected the idea because he was already in such a bad mood. He was likely to refuse to go altogether if he knew Mac would be there. She had to trust that he wouldn’t be terribly rude in front of their friends. And that spending more time with Mac would help her brother accept him better.
Brad shoved his plate away. “I’m really not very hungry. I think I’ll go read or something.”
She started to remind him about the dishes, but decided she would just as soon do them herself tonight. It seemed easier in the long run than dealing with Brad in this disposition. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
Rubbing her aching temples, she started cleaning up when he left. She was so tired. She looked forward to being alone in her bedroom where she could think about the events of the day and prepare herself for tomorrow.
The telephone rang just as she finished cleaning the kitchen. She sensed who was calling even before she answered. Her hunch was confirmed when Mac spoke. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“It’s a little strained around here this evening,” she answered candidly. “Brad’s in one of his moods.”
“Did he mention his encounter with me earlier this evening?”
She frowned. “You talked to Brad today?”
“I ran into him and his friend when they were coming out of the arcade. I don’t blame him for not wanting to tell you about it, but I imagine you’ll hear soon enough. I’m sure there were witnesses.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, her head starting to pound harder. She just knew she wasn’t going to like this. “What happened?”
“Not a lot. Brad’s buddy Jimbo shot off his mouth and I politely informed him that his attitude could use some adjustment.”
“Brad seems angry at Jimbo tonight.”
“He should be. The guy’s a certifiable jerk. Why do you let your brother hang out with him?”
“They’ve been friends for years. Jimbo has some family problems. His parents are divorced and his father’s out of the picture, which gives the boys something in common. He’s living with his grandparents now while his mother tries to get her life back together. He’s not a bad boy, really—just angry and hurt.”
“Excuses only go so far, Sharon. He’s old eno
ugh to make his own choices now. Someone needs to make it clear to him that his choices have consequences.”
Sharon wondered if they were talking about Jimbo now—or Brad. “What did you say to them?”
“Not much. I just made it clear that I won’t tolerate much from either of them. And I told them to stay away from my truck.”
“You still think Brad did that?”
“If he did, I’m sure he had help and encouragement from his buddy. Your brother seems to be more of a follower than a leader. He’s going to have to watch that he doesn’t follow someone straight to jail.”
Growing defensive now, Sharon lifted her chin and tightened her grip on the telephone. “Thank you for the advice, Mac, but I know my brother. He isn’t quite as weak-minded as you believe.”
“I never said he was weak-minded. I just pointed out that he’s walking a thin line.”
“Then I’ll help guide him. It’s support he needs, not threats.”
“When it comes to teenagers, it sometimes takes both.”
“I’m sure you mean well, Mac, but—as people often say—it’s easy to tell other people how to raise their kids when you don’t have any, yourself.”
The silence that followed her words was so heavy and so fraught with tension that she realized she must have unwittingly hit a nerve. Always overprotective of her family, she’d allowed his criticism of Brad to make her angry, and she’d struck back. She drew a deep breath. “Mac, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” he cut in. “You say anything you feel like saying to me, okay? I’m not interested in tiptoeing around in carefully polite conversations with you. That’s not what I want from you.”
“What do you want from me, Mac?” she risked asking.
After another momentary hesitation, he replied, “That’s not a question I can answer right now.”
“Fair enough,” she murmured, telling herself it was foolish to be disappointed.
His short, dry chuckle was barely audible through the phone lines. “You’re going to be satisfied with that? You don’t want me to start spouting poetry or promising you the moon and stars?”
“I don’t want poetry or promises. I just need you to be honest with me.”
There was another pause. And then Mac cleared his throat. “I’m trying.”
Something in his voice made her sense deeper meaning to his words. She knew there were things about Mac he hadn’t told her. Parts of himself he hadn’t yet allowed her to see. But they’d only known each other a matter of weeks. The explosive connection between them had developed so rapidly. The rest would come with time, she hoped. For now, they had to rely on trust.
She was painfully aware that she had already taken a huge risk of trusting Mac with her heart.
“Maybe it would be better if I skip the cookout tomorrow,” he suggested after a moment. “You know everyone’s going to be watching us. And your brother would certainly enjoy the party more if I’m not there.”
Her first reaction was to adamantly shake her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “No. I really want you to be there. You’ll meet my friends—the ones you haven’t already met, of course. As for Brad, he needs to spend more time with you to get over his initial antagonism. And frankly, I think you need to be around him for the same reason.”
“You think we’ve got a testosterone tussle going on, do you?” he asked, sounding amused now.
She smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way, but it’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it is,” he surprised her by admitting. “A new male has moved into the area and the young studs are peeing all over the place to mark their territory.”
She was startled into a quick laugh. “I definitely wouldn’t have phrased it in those terms.”
“That’s because you’re not a guy.” He sounded almost cheerful all of a sudden.
Bemused by his rapidly changing moods, Sharon decided to encourage this one. “I’m glad you’ve noticed.”
“I noticed that right off.”
“So you’ll be there tomorrow?”
“If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m very sure. I want you there.”
“And I want you—anywhere I can get you.”
The murmured comment made her blush. “Mac—”
“Weren’t you the one who said you want me to be honest?” Without giving her a chance to respond, he added, “See you tomorrow, Sharon.”
He hung up without further comment.
Sharon replaced her own receiver slowly. She thought about going straight up to Brad’s room to talk to him about this irksome feud he had going with Mac, and to confront him once and for all about whether he’d damaged Mac’s truck. But something held her back, just as it had during dinner. She found herself oddly afraid to challenge him—maybe because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
Just the possibility that Brad had been involved was overwhelming to her. She felt totally unqualified to deal with anything of this magnitude. Property damage that extensive was a matter for the police to handle, not an older sister. It should more likely result in someone being sent to jail, not sent to his room. Maybe she didn’t want to admit the culprit could be Brad because she just didn’t know what she would do if it had been.
Mac had assured her he’d taken care of the problem. Was she being totally cowardly and irresponsible to leave it at that?
She just couldn’t handle this tonight. Too much had happened today. She couldn’t process any more. Her whole life had changed that afternoon and she needed some quiet time alone to deal with that. There would be time tomorrow to figure out what to do with Brad.
She had fallen in love. Surely she deserved at least a few hours to savor the feeling before dealing with the inevitable ramifications.
EVEN AS HE PARKED his truck in the Davenports’ crowded driveway, Mac was half convinced he was making a mistake. His relationship with Sharon was complex enough in private; taking it public this way could only complicate everything. Add to that his secret connection to the McBride family and this afternoon was likely to prove very awkward for him. He wasn’t crazy about parties, anyway—and he definitely had no experience with family gatherings. So what the hell was he doing here?
Okay, so he already knew the answer to that question. He was here partly to discover more about the McBrides—but mostly because Sharon was here.
An aging pickup Mac recognized as Trent McBride’s pulled into the long driveway and parked behind Mac’s truck. Trent climbed out of the driver’s-side door, then turned to assist his fiancée out. “Hey, Mac,” Trent said, showing no surprise at seeing him there.
“Hello, Trent.”
“You remember my fiancée, Annie Stewart?”
“Of course. It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Stewart.”
Petite and deceptively delicate-looking, she smiled up at him. “Please call me Annie.”
“Only if you’ll call me Mac.”
“Of course. Trent’s been keeping me informed about the progress of your renovation project. He said the house is going to be spectacular when it’s finished. I know the cabinetwork will be beautiful,” she added with a proud look at Trent. “Have you seen any of the furniture Trent makes, Mac? He’s very talented. He’s made some of the most beautiful rocking chairs I’ve ever seen.”
“Annie,” Trent murmured, looking abashed by her bragging.
Mac looked from one to the other. “I’d like to see the rockers. I’ve always got an eye out for quality furniture.”
“I’ll show you sometime. Right now, I’m more interested in lunch.” Trent reached into his truck and pulled out a small cooler. “C’mon, Mac, we’ll show you around.”
“Can I help you carry that?” The cooler looked heavy, and Mac knew that Trent had sustained a back injury in the plane crash.
Trent scowled. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
Annie rolled her eyes in response to her f
iancé’s curt tone. “He never admits that he needs help, whether he does or not,” she murmured.
“I said I’ve got it. Now, do you two want to eat or stand here running your mouths?”
Mac chuckled and held out his arm to Annie. “Shall we?”
She slipped her hand beneath his elbow and dimpled up at him. “Why, thank you, sir.”
Trent glanced over his shoulder. “Careful, Mac. I’m the jealous type.”
Aware of the dry humor in Trent’s voice, Mac responded in kind. “Don’t worry. I think of her almost like family.”
It was a sick joke, of course, and at the McBrides’ expense. But Mac had to entertain himself somehow.
Following Trent around the side of the big old white-frame, black-shuttered house with its wraparound porch, Mac steeled himself for what was to come.
The backyard was large and nicely landscaped, shaded by big, spreading trees and decorated with masses of colorful flowers. It was a warm, cloudless day, and the adults and children mingling around a large, smoking barbecue grill and several picnic tables were dressed in lightweight, brightly colored clothing. Quite a welcoming and domestic sight, Mac thought wryly. Like a scene from a Disney movie.
Probably because he was looking for her, he spotted Sharon immediately. She was standing beside one of the picnic tables talking with three other women. He identified the striking redhead as Trevor’s wife, Jamie. Though he hadn’t been introduced to her, he’d seen her entering the law firm enough times to know who she was. The fresh-faced blonde was Emily Davenport. He had seen her from a distance, though he’d made no effort to meet her before now. He didn’t recognize the cool-looking woman with dark auburn hair standing next to Sharon. He’d never seen her around town.
They were all very attractive, but the only one who made Mac’s pulse rate increase was Sharon. She wore her hair down in a smooth, glossy curtain to her collar. The bright sunlight brought out rich, warm highlights, and he could almost feel the silken strands in his hands again, almost smell the clean, fresh scent of her shampoo. She wore a sleeveless, scoop-neck white blouse that closed down the front with tiny buttons, and khaki shorts that revealed a modest, but delectable stretch of legs.