Mac's Law

by Sarah McCarty

  The muscles in his jaws bunched. He was grinding his teeth, she knew. A habit she’d caught him at frequently since they’d become lovers. He seemed to think she needed protecting from herself. Today’s accident wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.Stupid horse. She glared at the disreputable, sway-backed source of her troubles.

  “Look at him. He’s ancient. Pair that with the fact that neither Chuck nor Slim would harm a hair on my head, and I knew it was safe.”

  Mac’s eyes never left her face. “Uh-huh.” As if he realized his fingers were trembling, he pulled them into a fist and tucked them against her neck. They were warm, hard and comforting. She rested her chin against them. Her arm was really beginning to let her know she’d done some damage.

  “Don’t start with those uh-huhs,” she warned. A hard throb in her arm made her wince. His eyes narrowed on her face, studying her expression and his fingers stroked the back of her cheek.

  “Being able to resist a dare is a sign of maturity.”

  “I’m not impulsive,” she argued. “It’s just that everything the men have suggested has sounded fun.”

  “Climbing that old windmill was fun?” He shook his head at her, obviously not understanding what drove her.

  “They squealed on me aboutthat ?”

  “Honey girl, the men delight in telling me everything you do.”

  “You need to give them more work.” She held her arm a little tighter. The throbbing was definitely stronger now. “They’ve obviously got too much time on their hands.”

  He was not willing to be distracted. “Hell, woman! That thing is riddled with dry rot. The only thing holding it together is the determination of the termites calling it home.”

  “It was fun if you considered the view. I could see forever from up there.”

  And she’d felt connected to him up there, sharing something he had done. Something from his youth. A happy memory.

  He shook his head. “I can see I’m going to have to take care of this problem myself.”

  She did not like the sound of that. “You’re not planning anything…rash, are you?” Jessie had never had so much fun as she’d had since arriving in Round the Bend. Everyone with the exception of Jute, had welcomed her like family. The Circle H was fast becoming home. She shifted. Bone grated against bone. She couldn’t help her moan.

  “Shit.” Mac glowered in the barn’s direction. “Hurry it up, Rafe!”

  “On my way,” came the reply.

  “Don’t try to move again,” he warned her, his eyes running over her as if she might have fractured something else with so slight a movement.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  Though he was growling at her, his hands were incredibly gentle as they stroked her cheek and fingers. It made up for his arrogance as he said, “Good.”

  Jessie chewed her lip as a new, disturbing possibility occurred to her. “You’re not going to send me away, are you?”

  His thumb came to rest against her mouth. His expression was a mixture of regret, frustration and resignation. Not one of those emotions gave her a warm fuzzy.

  “We’ll discuss that later.”

  “Why can’t we discuss it now?”

  Mac glanced up pointedly as Chuck spoke up, “There’s no need to be making rash decisions, boss.”

  Oh hell, she’d forgotten they had an audience. “Chuck’s right. It’s never good to make decisions when stressed,” she told him. “We can talk about this later.”

  Mac’s expression was inscrutable as he pointed out, “I think that’s what I said.”

  “So it was.” A sick feeling having nothing to do with her arm settled into her stomach. Watching the uneasy glances the men exchanged between themselves did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves.

  She closed her eyes and braced herself as Rafe sat beside her. “You are not sending me away.”

  Above her she felt Rafe pause and then, as smooth as butter, say, “I wasn’t planning on it. Just a quick trip to the hospital and then right on back here.”

  “Shut up, Rafe,” Mac growled.

  In the distance Jessie could hear the sirens howling. She opened her eyes, defiantly met Mac’s, and laid down a law of her own. “I won’t go.”

  * * * * *

  “So what exactly were you talking about when you said you had to handle this situation yourself?” Jessie asked four hours later, sitting on the bed as Mac knelt on the floor tugging at her shoes.

  “What I should have done in the first place,” Mac retorted, looking up the enticing stretch of her denim-covered legs. “I’m going to make the announcement that the next man who dares you in over your head will be looking for a new job immediately.”

  The sneaker hit the floor, the second one not far behind.

  “Ordinarily, I’d argue such a high-handed interference in my life, but…”

  “Since I’m about to love you until your toes curl, you’re going to overlook it?” Mac interjected helpfully. The snap on her jeans was stubborn. It finally gave with a soft pop.

  She shook her head. “Not hardly. I’ve got so many painkillers in me I can’t stay awake.”

  “I’m crushed.” He tugged the jeans and underpants out from under her hips and down her legs while she braced herself on her right arm.

  “Somehow,” she said with wry amusement. “I have a feeling you’ve got enough arrogance to overcome this small setback.”

  “So to what do I owe your generosity?” He dropped them on the floor, grabbing the scissors. He’d never get what was left of her sleeve over that cast.

  “To the fact that from the looks I saw on the hands’ faces when we headed out to the hospital, no one is going to say ‘Hi’ to me, let alone enter into another one of our wagers.”

  “Pretty grim, eh?” He cut up the sleeve of her shirt.

  “Damn grim.” She looked down to see how he was doing.

  Mac sighed and shifted her head aside as the scissors glided over her shoulder with efficient snips. “With your track record, I shouldn’t tell you this—”

  “But you’re going to anyway?”

  He tossed the scissors on the nightstand and pulled the shirt off, leaving her in her pale blue bra, and nothing else. The bruise on her far breast made him frown. He was going to have to be very careful of her for awhile. He got rid of his own clothes before sitting on the bed beside her and admitting. “But I’m going to anyway.”

  Mac cupped her uninjured breast in his hand. The small, pink nipple beaded instantly. He smiled contentedly. He liked the way she responded to him. “It seems Jute slipped a metal burr under the saddle blanket.”

  It took her a moment to absorb what he was telling her. Probably because it was so incomprehensible. “So that’s why—!” Her green eyes narrowed, the long lashes shielding their expression from view, but the tense pressure of her shoulder against his side told him she was ticked. “I’m going to bake that bastard a chocolate cake.”

  “The punishment hardly seems to fit the crime.” He unfastened her bra, and eased it down her arms. He added it to the collection of clothes on the floor before turning her gently against him, supporting her cast on his forearm as he lay back on the bed.

  “I intend to substitute a box of those chocolate-flavored laxatives for baking chocolate,” she muttered into his chest.

  “You’ve got a vindictive streak.”

  Her “So?” was slightly defensive.

  “I like it.”

  Her snort could have been disgust or laughter.

  “You’re a sick man, Hollister.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He smiled and flicked her nose. “I’m almost sorry the men took care of Jute for us. It would’ve been fun to see how you handled him.”

  “What do you mean ‘took care of’?”

  “Nothing serious.” He grabbed a pillow and slipped it under her arm, bringing it across his stomach. “Considering Jute almost killed you with that stunt, I think taking him out to the woodshed for a less
on wasn’t excessive.”

  “Uh-huh. Just how thorough was this lesson?” she asked.

  He found he also liked the softness in her character that put that touch of worry in her voice for Jute.

  “Not too bad. Will said he walked away when he finished with him.”

  Two steps, Mac qualified silently. The bastard had managed two steps before he’d collapsed. His brother Jeremy had to drive him to the hospital. The same hospital Jessie had just left.

  As far as Mac was concerned, that was two steps too far. Jessie could have been killed. And all because that bastard Jute thought she should be sharing his bed. The thought made Mac burn. He’d shared women in the past and never given it a thought. As long as everyone was a consenting adult, why should he?

  But Jessie was different. She was his and his alone. Under his protection, and that bastard had dared to hurt her simply because of that. Mac fought a killing rage. If the fool thought the beating was the end of it, he had another think coming. That was just the beginning of the bad luck that would plague Jute for as long as it took Mac to get the image of Jessie flying into that fence out of his head. He pulled her closer.

  Jessie looked up, a question in her sleepy green eyes. The drugs were kicking in. He shook his head and placed his mouth over her soft, generous one. Gently. Lightly. So lightly he could feel every curve, dip and hollow. She had an amazing mouth. An amazing everything—from her sense of humor to her sense of adventure. He nipped her plump lower lip before sucking it into his mouth and soothing the slight sting with the tip of his tongue. It was going to be tough curbing her wild streak, but when a man had someone like Jessie, he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. Even if that meant protecting her from herself. She shifted in his arms. He pulled back, and Jessie blinked at him sleepily.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, touching a fingertip to the crease in his chin. “I’m just too tired.”

  “No need to be sorry,” he replied, pulling the sheets over her. “Considering all you’ve been through today, and the size of that shot the doctor gave you, I’m surprised you didn’t pass out long before this.”

  “Are you sure you want me in here?” she asked, stifling another yawn, accidentally nudging her thigh against the rising ridge of his cock in the process. “Won’t it…bother you?”

  Mac looked down at the woman cuddled in his arms. His woman. Her lower lip was slightly puffy from his kiss, and her hair spilled over his arm in a shimmer of sleek honey-gold. Despite her injuries and the medication, shades of passion flickered in her deep green eyes, but what really turned him on was the smile on her lips and the acceptance overflowing her gaze. He dropped his gaze to the clunky white cast protruding from the bright red comforter, and smiled. Any lovemaking he got up to for the next six weeks was going to have to fall into the creative category.

  “Oh yeah, it will, most definitely bother me.”

  The soft body resting against his went taut. One muscle at a time. When he looked down all he could see was the top of Jessie’s head. In contrast to her body language, her tone was pure conversational as she said, “Maybe I’d better sleep in my bed tonight.”

  Well hell, she was hurt. He stopped her from leaving simply by curving his arm around her back. He kept her from hiding by snagging her chin on his index finger and tilting up her face. “Let’s get something straight between us. I’m always bothered when I’m around you, but I would be a hell of a lot more bothered if I had to spend a night without you in my bed.”

  “Are you trying to make me cry?”

  “Hell no!”

  As Jessie grew thoughtful, he hastened to add, “And don’t go thinking to get around me with tears whenever we argue.”

  She managed to look affronted. “I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “It means that I’ve seen you in action too many times to believe that you wouldn’t use tears to leverage yourself out of a sticky situation.”

  Jessie clutched her chest with her hand. “I’m wounded.”

  “More likely you’re frustrated with having your plans discovered,” he retorted, tucking her back against him.

  She laughed and turned further into his embrace, balancing her cast on his stomach. “I’ll have to work on my technique if I’m that easy to read.”

  He hugged her, loosely absorbing the knowledge that he’d meant what he said. He couldn’t imagine a night without her in his bed. “It’s not your technique that needs polishing, honey girl.”

  “Oh?”

  “Uh-uh,” he said as he reached over and turned off the bedside light. “It’s your expression. It gives everything away. Don’t ever play poker,” he advised. “At least not for money.”

  Her cheek pressed against his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Silence reigned for all of two minutes before she piped up. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me lessons?”

  “In playing poker?”

  “Yes.”

  “We couldn’t play for money,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

  “Maybe we could ante up kidney beans?”

  “No fun. Not interesting enough.”

  “Oh.” One sigh of disappointment was all the warning he had before she closed the door on his plans. “As you said, I probably wouldn’t be any good at it anyway.”

  Since when did his Jessie Girl give up?

  “You’d just be bored,” she added sighing again.

  Not likely. Not if they played for the stakes he was working up to. “I’m sure I’d manage to enjoy myself,” he countered.

  “No. You’re right. Someone of your experience would be bored teaching a newbie.”

  Her fingers stroked the side of his neck. Her breath came in slow even passes, in no way preparing him for the solution she came up with.

  “I heard Rafe talking about a game the other day. Maybe he’ll teach me.”

  “No need to bother Rafe,” he interjected quickly. That’s all he needed, Jessie going to the young and handsome Rafe for her lessons. One “I dare you” and she would be engaged with another in the very game he was trying to coax her into.

  “Rafe seems very patient. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  Mac was sure he wouldn’t either, but then he’d have to beat the man for poaching on his woman, and since Rafe was a friend, he really didn’t want to go that route. “I’ve thought of a way to teach you, and to make it interesting.”

  “And how’s that?” she asked, tilting her head back and meeting his gaze with total trust. The perfect lamb to slaughter.

  He touched her lower lip where his teeth had nipped. She’d be something, all bare from paying up, and all ticked off from losing. His breath caught as his voice roughened with the effort to speak normally. “We could play strip poker.”

  “Well, I don’t know…”

  “It would be fun.” He smoothed his finger over the skin under her chin, loving the way it felt against his finger. Soft, smooth. Addictively smooth. So different from his.

  “For you maybe, considering you have all this experience, but I probably wouldn’t win a game.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine after a few practice hands.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. How about we get started after church?”

  She dipped her chin and caught his finger in her mouth, sucking on it before asking, “Don’t you find it a little reprehensible to be planning a strip poker date for immediately following church?”

  Her mouth was hot and wet around his finger. If her eyelids weren’t dropping faster than her words were forming, he might have tested out his creativity, but she needed holding more than she needed loving. He slid his finger a little deeper, pressing down on her tongue, making her work just a little harder. “That depends. Does it turn you on?”

  She nodded, releasing his finger. Her cheek snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder.
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  “Then no.”

  She laughed softly. Lazily. Her breath came slower and deeper. “You are a shocking man, Mac Hollister,” she whispered.

  “But you love me anyway.”

  Her answer was a quiet little mutter, so low he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He spent the night debating whether those two syllables had been an “Uh-huh” or an “Uh-uh”.

  Chapter Ten

  She was going to hell for sure.