Mac's Law

by Sarah McCarty

  “Three days.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “She’s the best student I’ve ever had,” Zach called out.

  “She’s the only student you’ve ever had,” Mac corrected.

  “You’re ruining my concentration,” Jessie informed him, facing the target. “So please, just hush up and trust me.”

  Mac opened his mouth to argue, but Coulton’s hand on his arm distracted him long enough for the other man to point out, “As she’s determined to do this, you might want to contemplate increasing the odds in your favor by closing your mouth.”

  He had a point. Mac shut up, and as her arm drew back, prayed. The first knife missed the saddle by a good four feet. It damned near missed the target altogether. He closed his eyes and didn’t breathe as she released the next two. When the last thud indicated she was out of knives, he opened his eyes. Not a single knife was embedded in his saddle. Two were in the target. One was nowhere in sight. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his companion.

  “I think you’ve got sheetrock work to do.”

  Mac slowly unclenched his fists. “That’s easier than breaking in a saddle.”

  Coulton grinned and started clapping. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  Jessie, her face glowing with success, took a bow. The front of her dress gaped far enough for Mac to ascertain she wasn’t wearing a bra. He shot a glare at Coulton. “Don’t even say it.”

  The other man laughed but switched to swearing so fast, Mac was left blinking. “Even Jess wouldn’t dare…”

  Mac swung around to face the stage and the blood drained from his face. Zach was tossing knives in the air and catching them. One of the dancers was carrying off the saddle, and standing in the middle of the round target was Jessie. Her arms were above her head, her hands sliding into straps on the outer circle of the target. With her feet, she searched out the stirrups at the bottom.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Ordinarily, I’m not one for interfering,” Coulton began, his voice more of a hiss from between his teeth, “but if you don’t step in here and stop this lunacy, I will.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mac countered, already in motion, “This has gone far enough.”

  Jessie stepped into the stirrups and rocked the target experimentally. “I think it’s fine, Zach. What do you think?”

  “Looks good from here.”

  “It looks like hell,” Mac countered, stepping onto the stage. Zach caught his knife and put it with the others in his right hand. He looked entirely too happy for a man on the verge of death, Mac thought.

  “Hey, Mac. How are you enjoying the show?”

  “It’s been interesting.” He walked past Zach and stopped directly in front of Jessie. “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No, you don’t. You promised you’d stay in your seat and that’s where I want you to go now.” She rocked the target again.

  “Tough.” He slid his hand behind her waist and pulled. She anchored her good hand in the strap, and held on.

  “I asked you to trust me, Mac.”

  “No.” He pulled again. Harder. The target slid forward a couple inches, then stubbornly caught. Jessie was equally stubborn. She trapped his gaze with hers.

  “I’m only asking you to trust me, Mac. Is that so very much?”

  He looked over his shoulder at Zach who was arranging his knives. He looked down at Jessie as she arched over his arm, her head thrown back as she strained against his grip. The whiteness of her throat, the thrust of her collarbone all conspired to enhance her appearance of vulnerability. “Yes, it’s a lot to ask of me when all it would take is a twitch on Zach’s part for one of those knives to…” He traced the vee-neck of her low-cut dress with his finger. “I don’t want to lose you Jessie,” he finished hoarsely.

  She raised her broken arm, awkwardly touching his cheek with her fingers. “And I don’t want to lose you, so why don’t you just trust in my judgment and go take your seat?”

  He caught her cast in his hand, kissing her fingers. “I can’t.”

  She pulled her hand free. “You’re going to have to if you don’t want me to walk out that door.”

  Astonishment relaxed his grip. She slowly subsided against the target as he asked, “You’d leave me over this?”

  “No. I’d leave you over your lack of faith in my judgment.”

  “Ah, Jessie.”

  “Go back to your seat, Mac.”

  He stood there, waiting for her to understand, waiting for…hell, he didn’t know what he was standing there for. He just knew going back to that table was more than any man could be expected to do.

  Zach touched his arm. “Go back to your table, Mac.”

  “If you throw even one of those knives—”

  Zach raised his eyebrows and looked down the length of his big nose. “Now who’s being a fool?” He pointed a knife in Jessie’s direction. “You willing to lose that woman over a few measly steps?”

  Mac’s hands bunched into fists at his side. “It isn’t a few measly steps and you know it.”

  “Trust me, Mac,” Jessie interrupted quietly.

  She wanted him to trust her when she was going to let a man throw knives at her? Was she crazy? He opened his mouth and then shut it just as quickly.

  “Please?”

  God! How was he supposed to resist when she turned those eyes on him? Begged him in just that tone of voice? He spun on his heel and stormed back to his seat. Coulton’s frown was the last thing he wanted to see. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like you’ve lost your mind? Now why would I do that?”

  Mac grabbed his forearm as he made to get up. “No.”

  “I’m not going to let her—”

  “We’re going to let her do whatever the hell she wants.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we don’t, she’ll only do something more stupid.”

  “It would be pretty hard to top this.” Coulton slowly resumed his seat.

  “Trust me. The woman is as inventive as all get-out. She’d find a way to top it.”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re letting her do this?”

  “No.” Mac shook his head, scanning the room all the while for where they’d hidden the phone, just in case he had to dial 911. “She asked me to trust her.”

  “And that’s it? You’re going to let that big guy throw knives at her because she asked you to trust her?”

  Mac shook his head. It did indeed sound crazy when put like that. Asinine even. He folded his arms across his chest. “Apparently so.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  He changed his mind almost immediately.

  “Do you want it spinning or stationary?” Jessie asked Zach as she stood inside that target, fiddling with one of the straps.

  “I’m feeling lucky tonight. Why don’t we let her rip?”

  Mac considered that a poor choice of words. Coulton echoed his sentiments. “Couldn’t he have chosen a different adjective?”

  Mac clenched his fists so hard, he lost feeling in his fingers. “Zach was never overly concerned with what other people think.”

  “Really?” The speculative glance Coulton cast toward the stage gave Mac pause. “Can he dance?”

  “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of him as a partner,” Mac answered dryly, “but he never seems at a loss for the beat.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Move away, Jessie,” Zach called, shifting the knives, “I want to take a couple practice shots.”

  The first one he threw hit the target high.

  “Damn,” Zach muttered.

  Mac echoed that damn along with a few stronger epithets. He stared at that knife as it quivered in the target. In his mind he measured the distance from the foot straps to the knife. If his calculations were on, the only bull’s-eye Zach was likely to find tonigh
t would be the one between Jessie’s eyes. It would be a cold day in hell before he would allow that. If Jessie chose to label his decisioninterference , so be it. He’d rather see her walk away than leave in a body bag.

  Jessie’s laugh filled the room. “Good thing we’re using this dummy rather than myself.”

  A dummy? Mac paused halfway to his feet. Feeling like a total fool, he saw Jessie crossing the impromptu stage dragging a straw dummy as big as she was along with her.Trust me, Mac .

  Hell. He sat down, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He didn’t need to feel like a fool. He really was one.

  “That should do it, Jessie.”

  “Good luck, Zach.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mac heard the voices, but since he didn’t care what was happening on stage, he didn’t look up. He had some major fence-mending to do, and he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

  Native American music filled the air. A chant backed by flutes and drums.

  “Hi, Coulton,” Jessie whispered as she came up beside their table.

  “You really had us going for a minute there.”

  From the corner of his eye, Mac saw Coulton’s smile flash brightly.Damned handsome bastard.

  “Really, Coulton, you should know me better.”

  “Apparently so.”

  Mac winced at hearing his words parroted so mockingly.

  “I assume this part of the show is for my benefit?” Coulton asked.

  “Yup. Zach thinks exotic dancing might be his niche, too.”

  “Isn’t he a lawyer?”

  She shrugged. “He said he could use a paid vacation.”

  “This business is good for that.”

  “Is he having trouble?” Mac asked with a frown.

  Jessie didn’t know. “He said it was personal when I asked.” She turned to Coulton. “Will you let him audition?”

  “He’s got the body to make money, and that ‘fuck the world’ attitude of his will have the ladies swooning for sure, if his dancing holds up better than his knife throwing, I’d be a fool not to take him on.”

  “Good.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Could you excuse Mac and me for a moment?”

  “No problem.”

  * * * * *

  There might be, Jessie thought looking over to where Mac sat hunched over. He had yet to look at her. She wondered if he ever would again. Some people had problems with getting the beejeezus scared out of them. And she knew she’d done that to him by giving the impression she was going to stand and let Zach throw knives at her. Foolish man. “Mac?”

  He didn’t look up. “What?”

  “I’d like to talk.”

  “Could you manage it without me?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Damn.”

  When he didn’t show any signs of moving on his own, she grabbed his arm and tugged. “C’mon, Mac. No one’s died of embarrassment yet.”

  “Uh-huh.” He sounded anything but sure, but he got to his feet. Once there, he held tight to her hand and gathered momentum. He didn’t stop in the hall, on the porch, or on the front lawn. He kept going until they came up against the corral.

  Jessie reached down and took off her remaining heel. She’d lost the other somewhere between the porch and here. The summer grass tickled her feet as she waited for him to speak. When he did, it was an accusation. “You deliberately made me think you were going to let Zach throw knives at you.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyone might have thought you meant it.”

  “Probably. Until a natural sense of disbelief kicked in. That’s the difference, Mac. When it comes to me, you have no common sense.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. To his credit, he didn’t argue, just curled his hand into a fist on top of the corral fence and admitted, “I owe you an apology.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  He looked down, the light from the setting sun striking across his eyes making him flinch.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Someone once mentioned the beginning was a good place.”

  His chuckle was weak, but there. Jessie viewed that as a good sign.

  “Want some help getting started?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you afraid of, Mac?”

  “I’m afraid of losing you, Jessie.”

  “To another man?”

  “No.”

  “To what, then?”

  With a sweeping gesture of his hand, he indicated the barn, the corrals, and the vast emptiness beyond. “I’m afraid of losing you to the land.”

  “You think I’m so in love with scrub brush that I’ll just wander off into it one day and not come back?”

  “Damn you, why are you making me laugh when I should be crying or down on my knees apologizing?”

  She stepped up onto the first rail of the fence. One step closer to Mac. “Maybe because I’m not interested in tears or apologies.”

  He turned to face her, his arm resting along the top rail. “So what are you interested in?”

  “I’m interested in getting to the bottom of whatever it is that’s driving us apart.” She slid her arms around his waist, loving the solid warmth that immediately encompassed her. “I don’t want to go anywhere, Mac.”

  His hand came up to cradle her head. “You want me to give you a reason to stay?”

  “That would be a start. Along with an explanation.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark with turbulence. She waited, knowing from the way his muscles tensed that he was ready.

  “My mom never adjusted to life out here. She liked parties and people. She loved knowing she only had to step out the door in order to feel civilization surround her.”

  “And she loved your father.”

  Mac sighed. “Yes, she loved my father.” He stroked her hair. “Dad said everything was fine at first. He met Mom at college in Dallas. They got married and lived their first two years in the city while Dad finished up his Bachelor’s in Range Science.”

  “So what changed things?”

  “Dad finished his degree. They moved to the ranch, and Mom got pregnant with my older brother Cord.”

  “A triple whammy.”

  “Yeah.” He paused, lost in the memories. He resumed stroking her hair, his words picking up the careful rhythm. “Mom never recovered from it.”

  “And you think this is what’s going to happen to me?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what? Exactly.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Jessie,” he burst out, his low drawl replaced by the staccato reverberations of memories, “watching someone you love sit day after day staring at a wall, slowly wasting away because they can’t see the point in eating, or drinking. And they can’t tell you why, because they can’t hold the thought long enough to form an answer—”

  “I’ve heard depression can be devastating to the entire family,” she cut in, not able to hear that much pain in his voice without doing something, even something as mundane as interrupting, to alleviate it.

  “It’s hell.”

  “I’ve also heard people can be genetically predisposed.”

  “I’m not like my mother.”

  Jessie reached up and touched his cheek, knowing another fear had just found its way to the light. “I suspect you’re a lot like your father, but Mac…”

  “What?”

  “I’m not like your mother, either.”

  He sighed and dropped his arms until both surrounded her waist. Then he hugged tight, rocking them back and forth. “It can be lonely and boring here, honey.”

  “I don’t find it lonely and I’m only bored when you curtail my fun.”

  He slid his arm around until he could tap her cast. “You take too many chances.”

  “Bull. The only chances I take are calculated risks. I never would have broken my arm if Jute hadn’t slipped that burr under the
saddle.”