Her hands rose, her arms cradling his shoulders, fingers sliding upward to stroke his hair gently, soothingly, her body pressing against his and somehow easing him, letting her calm infuse his desperation and quiet his angry, restless spirit…
Gradually he stopped trying to conquer her and instead became her partner, let himself ease away from the cliff edge and instead begin to sink into her.
Her lips withdrew from his and slowly began to cruise over his face, each one a drop of rain on a parched desert.
For a moment he felt…peace. For the first time in his life he went still inside as Rissa’s hands soothed, as her kisses calmed. A soft murmuring lured some naked part of him up from the barbed-wire, jagged-rock chaos that was always inside him except when he was focused on a mission or a moment when his entire being was balanced on the edge of life or death.
And for one second, Mackey bowed his head to her shoulder and let himself rest. Locked her in his arms and surrendered to the completely impractical urge to never let her go.
Rissa couldn’t say what had happened. It was like that moment when she and a fractious troubled horse finally found their way to unity. When the horse quit fighting her and finally saw her. Finally trusted.
Again she stroked his hair. “It’s okay,” she soothed.
And knew it was a mistake when he stiffened.
For an instant they hovered there together on the edge of something she couldn’t define, only that it was terrifying and that the fall would kill her.
So she, too, drew away. She wasn’t sure what the hell had happened just now, but Mackey’s body language made it clear that trying to discuss it would be a mistake.
“I’d better get you home,” he said tightly. “I assume you get up with the chickens.”
He was turned away from her, and the tension in his shoulders was back.
She wanted to protest that they’d never gotten to the good stuff. That she still wouldn’t learn what it was like to make out at the bluff—because what Mackey had done wasn’t make out. He’d…conquered. He’d pillaged and ravaged.
Though part of her had liked it. Thrilled to it, in fact. Her, the take-charge, take-no-crap woman. Who knew?
But she’d also discovered that behind Mackey’s nonchalance, his devil-may-care playfulness, there was a very troubled man inside.
Sure, she was up for a fling—with a killer sexy man like Mackey? No brainer.
But the rest? She already had a bitter, troubled old man in her life. She didn’t need to start grooming his replacement.
Mackey’s glance back at her was closed and tight. He might need care like one of her horses, but even if she wanted the job, his expression clearly forbade even acknowledging that the trouble existed.
So she treated him as she did her horses. She ignored the trouble and proceeded as though it didn’t exist, showing the horse a way out of his nightmare.
Mackey might not follow, but she was stuck with him on her ranch for some period of time, and they had to find some way to deal with each other.
“Speaking of chickens,” she said in a deliberately lighter tone. “How are you at gathering eggs?”
His startled expression cracked the ice that had frozen over their earlier camaraderie.
“What?”
She walked right past him and flipped over her shoulder. “I’m not running a bed and breakfast, Mackey. Ranch rules: you work if you want to eat.”
“But—chickens?” he spluttered.
“Gotta pull your weight, Hollywood.” She managed a smile and kept walking.
Chapter Five
The next morning, Mackey rolled out of the lumpy double bed, surprised that he’d slept so soundly. No nightmares, not even a dream he could recall.
Maybe it was the silence, he thought as he assembled the makings for coffee he’d found: your basic drip pot, filter and canned store brand grounds.
Idly he wondered how far away the nearest Starbucks was. Grinned to himself at the notion of asking Ruby for a latte—even if he liked the damned frothy things.
Strong and hot, that’s all that was important.
Like Rissa, he mused, spotting her out the kitchen window over the sink while he scratched his belly and yawned.
He checked his dive watch. Damn. She really did get up with the chickens. It was barely six, and she looked as though she’d been up for hours already.
She sure did make a picture, all long legs and full, proud breasts. Hips a man wanted to get his hands on, could grip and ride her hard.
The single tail of auburn bisected her back, and a beat-up old straw hat covered the rest of it. There was an unconscious grace to her movements, a sensuality she couldn’t hide if she wanted to. And the taste of her mouth…the soft pillowy lips…
Red was definitely not a kid anymore.
The rest of it, that odd sense of peace he’d felt, that was…unexpected. Though they were infrequent, he still had nightmares that made him a danger to be around. He was just as likely to wake to find himself with his knife in his hand, and he kept his guns locked up every night for that very reason.
He hadn’t known peace…ever. Finding it in the arms of Cousin Crankypants, well…a surprise at a minimum.
He watched her with the horse she had on the longe line, and he could only hear snippets of her soft, soothing tone. The beast was fractious and testy, dancing in protest, challenging her to prove herself trustworthy.
Through it all, her body language remained calm, and her hand on the line she was flicking over his head never wavered. There was nothing to indicate she was doing more than a walk in the park—
Abruptly the horse lunged at her, teeth bared, and knocked her to the ground…
Mackey dropped his cup into the sink, charging out the door in a flash.
“Oh, I know you want to bite me, but you’re just scared, you big baby,” Rissa soothed as she rose slowly and braced herself against the jerk of the rope, forcing herself to get right back in rhythm, turning in place.
A blur of movement to her left. A shout—“Hey!”
She whipped her head around to see Mackey, who’d cleared the five-foot fence like it wasn’t even there, his eyes wide, his hair looking like an eggbeater had been at it.
“Quiet,” she said between gritted teeth.
Quatro danced again, head jerking.
She lost the rope. “Damn it, Mackey. You’re not helping.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who knocked you down. What are you doing with this big brute? And why hasn’t anybody cut him?” He glanced at her. “A stallion, for chrissake?”
“I know what I’m doing. Get out of my ring.” Though she kept her voice low and spoke slowly, the horse was picking up on the tension.
Rissa dragged in a deep breath, then exhaled. “I’m fine, Mackey, I promise.” She resisted the urge to rub where Quatro’s teeth had caught her arm.
“You shouldn’t be working with him,” Mackey insisted.
“Whose business is this? And what the hell does a SEAL know about horses?”
“I have six,” he said.
She glanced over and got a good look at those acres of bare chest. Sweet heaven, the man was built. “Really?” was as much as she could manage in the way of conversation.
“Really.” His green eyes caught hers. Then his mouth curved as though he heard her thoughts. “Like what you see, Red?”
She should be grateful to resume the lighter tone of their interactions. She’d been afraid they’d be unable to get past her quick glimpse of his pain. “I just see a pretty boy, all convinced the little woman can’t take care of herself.”
“Pretty boy—” A sharp bark of laughter burst from him, and Quatro danced again.
“Would you please get out of here and go put on a shirt? I promise you this is hardly the first time a horse has knocked me on my butt.”
His grin widened. “And a very fine one it is, Sugar.” He shrugged. “It’s gonna be hot today. I’d just sweat through a shirt.”
His eyes flared with mischief.
“Go away, Mackey. You’re bothering the horse.”
“Bothering the lady more,” he quipped as he strolled out of the pen, vaulting over it again as though it didn’t exist. “I’ll bring you some coffee, Cousin Crankypants. Seems like you might need it.” He walked away, whistling.
She grinned with her back turned, then looked at Quatro. “All right, you big baby. Let’s start over.”
As long as he didn’t stand up too fast, his head didn’t spin. For a man accustomed to extreme fitness, it was a pain in the ass to have to watch his movements, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t had to rehab his body before. Getting shot twice in shoulder and chest in combat had played hell with the range of motion in his left arm, but he’d gotten it all back, hadn’t he? He’d heal from this, too.
Meanwhile, it was a novel experience to simply be in the moment, to be mucking out stalls and grooming horses after breakfast—he’d escaped egg-gathering duties, thank goodness—no schedule to keep, nothing more important on his plate than working his way through this barn.
And thinking about how he was going to get Rissa on her back in his bed.
He frowned, thinking of all the lumps in that mattress.
Not great, but her bed wasn’t an option. James Gallagher would probably geld him if he caught Mackey getting his daughter naked.
But the ranch was big. And there was always the bluff.
He needed to replace last night’s memories, anyway.
What the—? A scrabbling sound over his head. Way too big for a mouse, he thought. Maybe a barn cat.
He returned to forking hay, welcoming the burn of his back muscles. A gym workout was easier to regulate, but it was so…sterile. Though, he had to admit, there were no girls with buns of steel in the barn at the moment, either, more’s the pity.
He wondered how Red would look in spandex.
No. Don’t think about that now. You’ll hurt something.
Dirt fell on his head.
He heard whispers. He glanced up and spotted the distinctive shape of an eye through the boards above him. “You gonna come out or you planning to stay there and just watch?”
More whispers. Movement headed away from him, toward the edge.
At last one head of dirty blonde hair appeared, followed by a pair of blue eyes.
“You talking to yourself or your partner gonna show his head, too?”
Slowly a second head, this one brown curls, popped into view.
“We weren’t doin’ nuthin’,” said the blond boy, who appeared to be maybe six or seven.
“That’s not true,” said a brown-haired girl near his age. “We were waiting for you. He wants you to show him.”
“Show him what?”
“He saw you rescue Aaron.”
“I can speak for myself,” protested the boy.
“You got a name?” Mackey asked. “Either of you?”
The girl giggled. “I’m Samantha. My mommy cooked your breakfast.”
“Celia’s a great cook. Your friend got a name?”
“He’s not supposed to be here,” Samantha said.
“Why not?”
“I can talk for myself!” yelled the boy.
“No shouting around the horses,” Mackey ordered. “So…talk.”
“Rissa lets me. She doesn’t mind,” the boy said mulishly. “She likes me.”
“Does she know your name? Maybe I should go ask her.”
A reluctant grin. “I’m…Eric.”
“And who do you belong to, Eric? Who doesn’t want you to be here?”
“His mom,” chimed Samantha. “Her boyfriend is mean to Eric.”
“He’s not my dad,” the boy snapped. “He just sleeps with my mom sometimes. He doesn’t give a crap about me.”
“Whoa there. Watch your mouth,” Mackey ordered.
“Make me.” But there was fear in those eyes. “I’m not scared.”
“You won’t hit him, right?” asked Samantha. “’Cause you’re a Navy SEAL and a war hero.”
Not such a hero, little one. The ones who died are the heroes. “Of course I won’t hit you,” he said, looking into Eric’s eyes. “I’m getting a stiff neck. You coming down here or shall I come up?”
The boy studied him but didn’t move.
“You got it, then. Scoot back.”
After a moment’s hesitation they complied.
Mackey flexed his knees and leaped up to grab hold of the loft edge, then curled his body and flipped himself over the top.
“Wow!” Samantha’s eyes rounded.
Hellfire, he thought, gripping the edge and hoping his vision would settle so he wouldn’t throw up. That’s what you get, Showboat.
But he’d long ago learned to suck it up. Grin and bear it.
“How did you do that?” Samantha asked. “I want to learn.”
“You’re a girl, stupid,” Eric said.
“I’m smarter than you!”
“You are not—”
“Hey.” Mackey’s tone brooked no argument. “Girls can be strong, too. Haven’t you seen Rissa?”
Eric looked mutinous until his hero’s name was mentioned. “Yeah, but Rissa’s special.”
Samantha’s lower lip quivered. “I can be special, too. I can’t help it if I’m little.”
Mackey didn’t have much practice with kids. “Of course you can be special, but our bodies are different. Women don’t have the same upper body strength men do.”
“Hah!” Eric crowed. “Told you!”
Samantha scooted forward, her lower lip quivering. “So I can’t be a SEAL?”
Eric snorted. “Duh.”
Mackey cast him a quelling glance, then turned back to those enormous brown eyes. “Never say never, honey. But regardless, women can serve their country in a lot of other important ways.”
She drew herself up to her full four feet, fists on hips. “Well, that’s just sexist.”
He had to fight not to chuckle at this pint-sized feminist. “How old are you?”
“I’m six, and I can do anything a boy can do.”
“You can’t pee standing up,” Eric contributed.
“I could if I wanted to—”
Exactly when had this conversation gone off the rails? Mackey wondered.
Right about at Hi, best he could tell.
“Just remember that women can do a lot of amazing things men can’t, honey.”
“Rissa says calling a woman honey is sexist.”
Mackey rubbed at the headache that was blossoming but had nothing to do with his accident. “So what are you two up to right now?” he asked, desperate to derail the gender war.
“You were going to show me how you rescued Aaron with the rope,” Eric supplied.
Mackey wasn’t sure his ribs were up to more strain, but… “Okay. You climb down,” he said to Samantha. “You know where my truck is?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“It’s not locked. Get the blue rope from the back and bring it here, okay?”
She scampered off.
He turned to Eric. “If I had the proper rope rescue equipment, you could lower me down.”
“No way!”
“Way. Pulleys are an amazing invention. They transfer weight and disperse it to make it manageable. You’re transferring the load from one direct pressure and distributing its impact. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.”
As Mackey watched the boy, he thought he glimpsed a sign of old bruising.
If that was the mom’s boyfriend at work, he would not stand for it.
How could any man do that to a child? How could any mother allow it?
“So were you scared when you were a SEAL?” Eric asked out of the blue.
“Fear is part of all of us. The difference is in how you deal with it. You should respect it as a mechanism for survival, but the difference is that we train and train endlessly to be ready for anything. When you have the skills to deal wi
th the situation, you don’t focus on your fear.”
“Teach me to fight,” Eric said, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable.
Oh, God. “Fighting’s not the answer.”
“It’s the only answer.”
“No. You need to know how to defend yourself, for sure—but you also need to know when to use it.” His heart broke a little for this boy who seemed so alone. “You don’t take on a fight you can’t win. You outsmart your opponent.”
“I don’t know how.”
Oh, he was sailing into deep waters here. What did he know of this boy’s life?
“Does your mom know you’re scared?”
“I’m not scared.” Then his shoulders sank. “She can’t help me.”
So this valiant boy was trying to protect his mother at his own expense.
Mackey had faced terrorists intent on killing him, had been shot and tortured and had the living crap beaten out of him—
But he’d never felt so out of his depth.
“Do you have any other family? Any adult you can go to? What about your teachers?”
“Rissa’s the only one who knows. She…found me one day. She told my mom she’d shoot him herself if he didn’t leave me alone.”
Mackey was caught between grinning and horror. He didn’t doubt for a second that she’d done exactly that. Even if the guy had outweighed her a hundred pounds, that wouldn’t stop her.
God above, what was the woman thinking? “What happened?”
“He hasn’t been around since, but my mom wants him to come back. She cries about it.”
And this poor kid was at the mercy of a woman like that.
Mackey had no idea how to help this boy.
But he was damn sure going to have a chat with Rissa and figure it out.
Rissa had been on her way to find Mackey and see if he needed something cool to drink. The temperature was already in the low 90s and rising. She didn’t know a lot about L.A., but she was pretty sure the weather was milder.
Then she shook her head and laughed at herself. He’d been a SEAL, for Pete’s sake. He likely knew more about survival than she could begin to imagine.
Texas Wild: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Book 2 Page 7