Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses)

by Grace Burrowes

  “Alert the media: MacKenzie Knightley will openly condone the consumption of potato chips by somebody other than himself.”

  * * *

  “Family meeting,” James said, taking his sister-in-law’s hand in his and towing her down the hallway toward his brother’s office. “Is Trent in?”

  “He should be.” Hannah, bless her, fell in step beside him. “Is this a good family meeting or a hard one? Since when did we start having family meetings, much less on company time?”

  “Since Mac has fallen ass over tin cups for the lady who bought the home place. Her and her foster kid.” James paused to knock on Trent’s half-open door. “Trent, I’m stealing your wife.”

  “Not again.” Trent opened the door the rest of the way. “Mac has taken to swiping Hannah for lunch. Now you’re absconding with her too. Maybe you should get wives of your own?”

  James let that pass—the only woman he’d want for a wife didn’t want him—and pulled Hannah into Trent’s office, shutting the door behind them.

  “I just got a call from Mac,” James said. “He’s organizing the demolition of the hog house at the home place, and doing it because Social Services is threatening to jerk the foster care license of the family living there. Seems the two-seater is a public health hazard or some such bull—baloney.”

  “It is a health hazard,” Trent said, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. “Or it would be, if anybody had ever used it. Why can’t it just be filled in?”

  “Mac wants to sell off the barn lumber,” James explained, “which is a good idea. Interior contractors down the road will pay through the nose for it.”

  “For barn lumber?” Hannah asked. She crossed to her husband and straightened his tie, which sported Pooh, Tigger, and Eeyore on a blue silk background. James could almost hear his brother purring, which was…fine. It was fine that Trent and Hannah were so goddamned happy. Fine that they were comfortable letting James see how damned happy they were. Every time they were in each other’s damned happy company.

  Hannah had asked a question, something about…

  “Weathered barn lumber is the latest craze in paneling the den,” James said, “the rec room, the conservatory, and so forth in those McMansions sporting dens, rec rooms, and conservatories. There’s only so much vintage barn lumber left these days. Selling it isn’t a bad idea—mahogany’s no less dear—but it’s complicated.”

  “As hog houses go, ours was enormous,” Trent said. “The building has to be forty feet long.”

  Forty by twenty-eight, give or take. “The point is Mac, not the damned hog house. When’s the last time MacKenzie Knightley took an interest in something outside this law firm?”

  “He shoes horses at the therapeutic riding place,” Hannah said. “He does our horses.”

  “That’s obligation, not an interest,” James said. “This is the woman who kissed him in public. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but our brother has been missing in action since lunch today.”

  “Mac’s a big boy,” Trent said, his expression considering. “He’s overdue for some kissing.”

  Marriage made perfectly sensible people stupid. “First you tell me he hasn’t dated since law school. Now you tell me he’s overdue for some kissing. Of course he’s overdue, but this will get complicated in a hurry, Trent.”

  “Why should it? Adults kiss all the time.” Trent kissed his wife, who smiled up at him beneficently. “The lucky ones do, anyway.”

  Blessed baby Jesus.

  “Have you considered who this kid’s lawyer might be, Trent?” James fired the question with more intensity than he’d intended. “The boy’s an out-of-county transfer, and I’m under the impression Legal Assistance dumps those on you.”

  Trent’s expression sobered. “They invariably do.”

  Hannah looked from one brother to the other. “Uh-oh?”

  “Right,” James said. “Big flipping uh-oh.”

  * * *

  “James just called back.” Mac stuffed his phone back in its holster. “We’re set for Saturday, assuming the weather cooperates.”

  “Just like that?” Sid hunched forward on the swing and braced her elbows on her knees. “You make a few phone calls, and, boom, we’re good to go?”

  “I make a few phone calls, James makes a few phone calls, his friends make a few phone calls, and yes, we’re all set. You’re all set.” Thank God, fraternal loyalty, and good cell reception. “The timing is perfect, because the construction season is only now getting under way. Demand for your lumber should be high.”

  He shifted against the porch post he was leaning on, stifling the urge to sit on that swing with her. Luis was upstairs doing his homework, leaving Mac and his conscience—his self-discipline—without any reinforcements.

  “Won’t it be hard for you,” Sid murmured, “to flatten a building that was here when you were a child? Didn’t you name your 4-H pigs after Daisy Duke or something?”

  “I told the social worker the truth,” Mac replied. “We never raised hogs. My mother said the good Lord put bacon on sale at the grocery store for reasons. Dad said she’d get to naming the hogs, and it’s never a good idea to name animals you’re bound to butcher. We ran dairy cows, dairy goats, laying hens, and farmed hay and crops.”

  Sid fell silent, her expression hard to read in the gathering darkness. The temperature was dropping too, making Mac think again of wrapping his jacket around her shoulders.

  “What is that bird?” she asked, head coming up. “I’ve heard it the past few nights because I’m sleeping with my window cracked for fresh air.”

  “It’s not a bird, it’s a tree frog. A chorus of tree frogs. They probably have some fancy name. I always knew them as peepers, and they sing in spring to attract their mates.”

  This year, they were right on schedule, a comfort to any man raised on a farm.

  “That’s sweet. Frogs in my trees, lonely frogs.”

  Horny frogs.

  Mac pushed off the porch railing. “I’d best be going. If you want to know who Luis’s lawyer is, call the courthouse with his case number. Have Luis call, on second thought. They might not give any information out to you over the phone.”

  “Then they probably won’t give it out to him either,” she said, rising. “The joys of foster parenting are without number.”

  She’d said it ironically, a little edge to her humor. “Every night I go to bed, MacKenzie, and I thank God for one more day when that kid didn’t have to face turmoil and upheaval. I thank God he ate at my table, threw his wash into my machine, and didn’t think twice about whether he’d still be here when the sun set again. He has taken months to reach this point, and I don’t know what I’d do…”

  Sid fell silent and crossed the porch.

  “Thank you.” She went up on her toes, and while panic welled in Mac’s gut, pressed her mouth to his. “Thank you so much.”

  She subsided, leaning on his chest, while her scent hit Mac’s nose, and pure animal lust went ricocheting in all the wrong places.

  Step back.

  Except the porch railing blocked that maneuver.

  “You smell so good, MacKenzie,” she said, sighing against his chest. “You taste good.” She kissed him again, and in the half second when Mac might have asserted reason over instinct, her breasts pressed against his chest.

  “Sidonie.” He closed his eyes and heard the tiny peepers singing their hearts out in the chilly spring air. “I can’t—”

  She was a delicate kisser. Mac withstood the pleasure and pain of that as long as he could, letting her tongue feather across his lips, feeling her body tucking more closely against his. He slid a hand into her hair at her nape, and anchored her gently while his free arm wrapped around her.

  To hold a woman, to have her close and warm and willing in his arms…

  It had been so
long, so wretchedly, desperately long. Years of telling himself nobody ever died of celibacy.

  But he had died. Died a little every night, died of knowing he wasn’t desired and couldn’t reciprocate even if he had been. Died every time he heard his brother James casually picking up some eager female over the phone, died both times when he’d stood up at weddings with his brother Trent.

  Mac came back to life as a blaze of lust ignited him from the inside, and what started out as a gentle kiss on Sidonie’s part turned into a pillaging rampage on his. His grip on her became commanding, his mouth voracious. He rocked his body into hers, insisting that she feel his arousal as intensely as he did.

  “MacKenzie.” She pulled back, gaze searching his face. “God in heaven.”

  Then she was back like the second half of a hurricane, burrowing into him, her mouth open beneath his, her tongue questing for his while her arms lashed around his neck.

  “Want,” Sid growled, pushing against his erection. “God, how I want.”

  She got a hand between them, going for his belt buckle right there on the porch. Mac’s heart leaped as another thought battered its way into his brain.

  The kid was right upstairs.

  Being found in flagrante delicto on the porch with the neighbor was as good a way to cost Sidonie her foster care license as decorating the property with derelict outhouses.

  Mac lifted his head but held her to him tightly. “Sweetheart, whoa. Luis—”

  “Right.” She nodded, and Mac was pleased to hear her panting, to feel her panting against his chest. “Luis, but God, MacKenzie.”

  He ran a shaky hand over her hair. God, indeed. “It’s been a while for me, Sid.” Lame, but the truth. “I’m sorry if I got a little too—” What? Enthusiastic didn’t begin to describe the end of a ten-year drought.

  “It’s been forever for me,” she said, “but you…” She pressed her forehead to his sternum. “You’ve been saving up, or you’re hiding your light under a basket. I have never before in my life been kissed dizzy.”

  She was clinging to him, leaning on him to stay upright.

  “I kissed you dizzy?”

  She patted his chest, right over his heart. “It’s like I can feel the pull of the moon on the tides in your kisses. See the stars, hear the angels singing. Crap.”

  “Crap?”

  “Analogies and bodily urges are a disastrous combination. Hold me, MacKenzie.”

  Mac tucked his chin over Sid’s crown and stroked his hand along her back, learning the feel of her. She seemed content to be held, and he was thrilled, beyond thrilled, to hold her.

  As his libido’s clamoring subsided to a simmering grumble, Mac realized something else: Sidonie Lindstrom was a foster parent. She couldn’t be as wedded to traditional ideas about family as the average female if she was willing to go through hell to adopt one teenager.

  Emily Dickinson’s “thing with feathers” perched in his soul took wing.

  With Sidonie, for the first time in years, Mac acknowledged that there could be hope. He gathered her more tenderly into his embrace, pressed his lips to her hair, and closed his eyes.

  He swallowed hard, inventoried his courage, and found it wasn’t even a matter of courage. The sensation was just there, in his body, his mind, his heart: hope.

  * * *

  “Here comes the entertainment.”

  Mac growled the words, but loudly enough that Sid could hear him. A black SUV was bumping up the lane, joining the line of pickups and vans in the barnyard. The guy who got out was tall, blue-eyed, blond, and Sid would have classified him as drop-dead gorgeous if she hadn’t met his more rugged older brother first.

  “You must be James,” she said, walking forward to take a Dutch oven from his hands. “I’m Sid. Thanks for coming.”

  “Greetings, Sid.” He flashed her a megawatt smile, and tipped his cowboy hat, for God’s sake. Entertainment indeed. “That’s the signature Knightley brothers’ potato salad, which recipe has not been improved upon even by MacKenzie himself. Mac.” James smiled up at his brother, who was glowering from the porch. “Things under control?”

  “For now. Trent, Hannah, and the hooligans will be here any minute.”

  “I’ll pay my respects to Daisy and Buttercup then. Sid, nice place you have here.”

  He winked at her and sauntered off with the gunslinger gait of a man who’d have good moves on the dance floor, and probably in a few other choice locations too.

  “That boy needs a spanking,” Sid said as Mac came to stand behind her. “Just on general principles, he needs regular spanking.”

  “Don’t tell him that, or he’ll be inviting you over to admire his toy collection.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Mac was smiling at his brother’s retreating back.

  “That was teasing, wasn’t it, MacKenzie? You don’t honestly think he’d be that gauche, that forward?”

  “Not now. A couple years ago, James was in constant rut, but he seems to have settled down.”

  “Is there a woman involved?” Mac had never said much about his family, but they’d certainly stepped up for this demolition party.

  “A good woman, thank God. She’s making him work for it. Simple strategies are often the most effective with dumb animals. Best get that stuff in the fridge if we’re not going to eat for another hour or so.”

  In addition to being a farrier—that was the word—Mac seemed to be something of a foodie, so Sid took his advice and headed for the kitchen.

  As she turned to go, she could have sworn Mac patted her fanny.

  She whipped around to take him to task, but he was walking away. From the back, he looked like the grown-up version of James, who was plenty on the tall side. It’s just that Mac didn’t need to swagger, while James needed to make that good woman see reason.

  Sid realized she was comparing male tushes. How lovely.

  She was still smirking when she took the potato salad into the kitchen, though she spared one particular porch post a glance as she went by. In the four days since Mac had kissed the living daylights out of her, she’d made sure to get all-weather cushions on the porch swing. She had plans for that swing.

  When Mac had driven up this morning, she’d had a hard time not hyperventilating, she was that giddy to see him again, which was ridiculous. A woman who had long since celebrated her thirtieth birthday had no business—

  No, she had every business. If he was the right guy, she had every business in the world ogling him, being giddy over him, and generally thanking God every waking minute that, contrary to established convictions, one man remained on the face of the planet about whom she could get stupid.

  Wheels crunched on the driveway as she put the potato salad in the fridge and went back out on the porch. Another truck was pulling up, the kind with a backseat.

  Yet another good-looking Knightley brother got out, this one sporting dark hair, about as much height as James boasted, and a quieter smile. An auburn-haired lady climbed out of the passenger’s side, and two little girls soon emerged from the backseat.

  “This is where Dad grew up?” one of them asked.

  Both girls were dark-haired. One sported two braids, the other a single plait. The one with two braids took her mother’s hand, as both mother and daughter peered around.

  “He did, but first we should greet our hostess,” the lady said. “Hi, you must be Sidonie, and I’m Hannah. This is Grace, and that’s Merle.”

  “And I’m Trent.” The guy stuck out his hand, and Sid was treated to a firm shake. “Can we bring in the loot, or have you set up tables somewhere else?”

  “Tables are around back. James just got here and is flirting with Daisy and Buttercup.”

  Trent and Hannah exchanged a smile.

  “He has a certain charm, our James,” Hannah said. “Girls,
best behavior. Stay away from the hog house where the crews are working, or you could get hurt. Let Uncle Mac and Uncle James know you’re here.”

  They tore off, best behavior apparently encompassing a dead run toward the pasture.

  “They’re horse savvy,” Trent said. “And uncle savvy. Do you need help with anything?”

  “If she does”—Hannah linked her arm through her husband’s—“I can assist. You get to pound nails, or pull them out, and say bad words as long as the girls are out of earshot.”

  “The keg’s on the picnic table,” Sid added. “Luis won’t rat you out if he hears the occasional colorful expletive.”

  Trent saluted, blew his wife a kiss, and headed for the cacophony of hammer blows, shouts, and power drills at the hog house.

  “Leaving us to set up lunch,” Hannah said. “I’m happy to answer any questions you have about MacKenzie, except I’m relatively new to the family myself.”

  “No questions,” Sid said as they retrieved bags of cups, napkins, and paper plates from the truck. “On second thought, what on earth do his brothers get that man for Christmas?”

  * * *

  “As I see it, you have two problems.” James reached out to the nearest mare, Daisy, and the horse obligingly sniffed him over.

  “She remembers you,” Mac said, pleased for James’s sake.

  “All the ladies remember me.” James grinned, but Mac could spot the counterfeit humor in his youngest brother’s smile.

  “You have things patched up with Vera yet?” Mac asked.

  “I do not.” James scratched Daisy behind one big hairy ear. “I’m not used to doing the chasing, Mac, and I’ve bungled it. I’m even more clueless when it comes to patching up what I’ve put wrong. I’m off stride.”

  “I’m guessing Vera is a gal who appreciates the direct approach.”

  James looked intrigued. “Groveling?”

  “Groveling is very direct, but far be it from me to offer advice for the lovelorn. What are my two problems?”

  James dropped his hand, and the mare ambled off. “First, what the hell are you doing hanging around this place? The memories, at least the last ones, aren’t good. Not for any of us.”