Despite the medication, his leg pained him, forcing him to stay sitting in the main room while the others worked. He desperately wanted to rub the sore knot but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He'd seen the pity on Tiff's face when Cara had mentioned the bomb blast.
Pity was the last thing he wanted, from her or anyone else.
Getting fit enough to get back to work was the only thing he wanted.
Without distractions like a pretty little blonde who appeared in far more of the photos he'd snapped than she should.
She hadn't struck him as a Martha type, one to hide away working hard behind the scenes. When he’d taken those pictures in the store of her swirling around expensive dresses from the designer racks, he’d marked her as the type who'd want to be centre stage, like her actor brother.
But there she was, clearing away dirty crockery and cutlery from the tables with her parents. No matter how grudgingly he admitted it to himself, he had to respect her willingness to get in and do the dirty jobs, not just the fun ones.
His initial assessment of her as all on the surface, all about appearances, about looking good, seemed to have been wrong. Now, she intrigued him, made him wonder who the true Tiffany was, hiding behind her fashionable clothes and flawless mask of make-up.
Across the big room, Nick and Cara, dressed in Santa and Mrs Claus outfits, sat in a circle of jokes and smiles. Nick hammed it up, obviously relishing the attention. Tiffany’s older twin Zoe handed out the gifts Nick pulled from his big sack.
They were the people he should be photographing. The happiness of the homeless men and women unwrapping the presents Nick had bought at Pettett and Mayfield’s. Not Tiffany's quiet longing as she glanced toward the laughing group.
The face he saw in the viewfinder held a sweet yearning, her body a balanced tension, as if she thirsted for water that was out of reach.
He was used to assessing faces and bodies. That was part of his job. But there was something different about the way he watched Tiffany. She had him thinking like a poet, not a photographer.
He wasn't sure he liked the feeling.
He longed to help her with the tray of dirty dishes she carried, a burden that looked far too heavy for her small hands.
He didn’t.
He couldn’t risk stressing his leg any more today, with the medical so close. His wound had left him unable to help himself, let alone anyone else.
Just like he'd been unable to do anything for that kid.
Frustrated guilt welled up once more, tightening his throat and clenching his jaw. He didn't need this.
As he was about to swing the camera around to the people he should be focusing on, Tiffany looked up, right at him. For a long charged moment their eyes met. Something hung in the air between them. Her hands stiffened on the tray, and it jerked upwards a little. Quickly, she turned away.
Whatever it was he felt, it seemed she felt it too. All the more reason to avoid her.
He stood and turned clumsily toward the group across the room, jarring his leg in the process. He’d fail that fitness medical for sure. A curse rose to his lips, quickly bitten back before he spoke it.
His anger with God didn't mean he intended breaking the habit of a lifetime. If he slipped into using the language of the Jocks he worked with in the Middle East, he’d slip up and use it at home too, and upset Mum and Dad. One more thing he and Tiff had in common. Both one of twins, and both pastors’ kids, with all the pressures and expectations that went with that.
Now he did growl at himself under his breath. He had to get his mind off the lass, and onto his work instead.
Turning his back on her, he stomped across to the gift giving in front of the Christmas tree. He planned to give each resident a gift too, a personal portrait he'd take today, print out, and bring back for them the next time he came. With the weather so cold and yesterday's snow still on the ground, most would stay around a few days rather than moving on.
Concentrating on getting the best images he could of each guest, many of their faces haggard and worn by their tough lives, gave him the challenge he needed to forget Tiff. Looking to capture the truth of who they were, getting the light and the angles right. That was his job.
But when she didn't join the group for the carol singing with her parents forty minutes later, and Darren shambled off after all the gifts were opened and didn't reappear, concern for her chilled him. That lad was trouble.
His instinct had gotten him out of tight spots in the past. The sense of wrongness he sometimes felt was something he’d learned to trust.
It had been a tragic few seconds too late, in the case of the bomb blast, but not too late this time, he hoped.
Putting down his camera, he limped as fast as he could toward the kitchen to find her.
Senses on high alert, but hoping this was a false alarm, he took a slow deep breath to calm himself before opening the kitchen door open carefully. No way of knowing what he'd find on the other side. But if he was overreacting, he didn’t want to charge in with all guns blazing.
Neither Tiffany or Darren showed they’d noticed the door open, they were focused on each other. Darren’s hands were on her shoulders, and she didn’t appear to be resisting him.
“Come on baby, just one kiss. You were flirting with me earlier. You know you want it,” Darren murmured.
Seemed his instinct about trouble brewing was wrong this time. And obviously, he’d misread her reaction to him earlier, too. This looked like a very willing embrace. He turned to leave.
Just as he was closing the door, he heard Tiffany speak. “Leave me alone. You’re a great guy but I have a boyfriend. I’m sorry.”
Her voice sounded strong and calm, but he heard fear wobbling at the edges.
He swung back into the room.
Tiffany had turned her face away, evading Darren’s kiss.
“No, I said no, and I mean no.” She pushed him, her small hands flat against his chest.
The kid staggered back. Then he came in again, cornering her between the big industrial refrigerator and the stove. Her hands raised to push him away again.
She couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. A kitten would have more chance of defending itself if Darren pushed things.
Hot anger coursed through Mac, and his muscles tensed. Darren wouldn’t get the chance to paw her again.
"Get your hands off her," he growled, ferocious in tone but not in volume. "Now!"
The angry sergeant-major voice coming from his mouth sounded nothing like his own. Even so, he doubted anyone would hear them over the raucous carol singing next door.
Darren let her go and turned toward him, face contorted, fists clenched and raised. “What’s it to you?”
Normally, Mac could wipe the floor with the lad, but wounded, he’d prefer things didn’t escalate to a fight.
"I wouldn't recommend it," he warned in a quieter voice, stepping further into the room.
He kept his gaze on the lad, not making eye contact but maintaining a tight focus.
Tiffany didn’t take the chance to get out the door as he’d hoped. Instead, she came to stand beside him and laid an almost possessive hand on his arm. She raised her head bravely, but the hand trembled slightly.
“See Darren, I told you I had a boyfriend. This is Mac. He works with the British Army and has done unarmed combat training.”
The lad scowled at them for a charged heart-pounding moment. “I can handle myself, too.”
Mac stood tensely, ready to push Tiffany behind him if Darren attacked.
Darren looked him up and down, as if calculating his chances.
"I'm wounded, sure," Mac said, in an almost conversational tone. "But you'll leave my lass alone, if you're thinking straight at all."
He doubted Darren was thinking straight, under the influence of alcohol and whatever else he'd taken earlier.
Then either his words seemed to sink into the lad's brain, or their height difference made him realis
e backing off was the wiser course. Darren lowered his fists and his pugnacious gaze faltered. He slithered sideways out the door without a word.
Tiff stood still and tense beside Mac, as if rooted to the spot.
"You should have run," he growled, surprised by the depths of his anger with her. "The first rule of survival. Get yourself to safety as fast as you can, and get help."
She didn’t cry or collapse or have hysterics as he’d expected. Instead, she stepped right up to him, and glared at him.
“I could have handled him,” she snapped. “Nobody thinks I can take care of myself, but I can.”
She looked so much like an indignant kitten, he wanted to laugh. A smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
“What, you think I’ve never had a guy come on to me before?” She shook her head and pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “I know how to deal with it. I was managing him just fine.”
“Sure you were. That’s exactly what it looked like to me. The lad is twice your weight, drunk and drugged, and he had you trapped in a corner. But you were managing just fine, until your ‘boyfriend’ came and ruined it.” Sarcasm curled in his voice.
Her shoulders stiffened and her fists clenched at her sides. “You didn’t need to barrel in and play hero, just because you’re in the habit of rescuing people.”
He looked to the ceiling, jaw clamped tight, and his own fists clenched.
Just what he needed. A five foot tall Goldilocks living in a fairy tale, not realising she poked at a wound far deeper than his leg.
“I don’t always manage to pull off the rescue,” he gritted out through his teeth. “Just be grateful I did this time. What if you hadn’t handled him? What then? Any idea how ugly things could have got?”
She stared up at him for a moment. "I… I would have screamed," she stuttered. “God wouldn’t have let anything happen. He would have sent me help. Someone would have come.”
Her eyes closed, and her lips trembled.
The fury drained from him, and compassion for her helplessness ached in his throat.
Something about her reminded him of his brother Brodie. That same attitude, but with sweet softness instead of Brodie’s sharp edges. He’d rescued Brodie from trouble often enough when they were kids.
Not that Brodie appreciated it, either.
“What, someone like me?” His question was gentle, rueful. “It appears God was a bit early in His timing. He didn’t wait for you to scream.”
Her defiant attitude crumbled. She seemed to collapse in on herself, wrapping shaking arms across her chest.
The sight knotted his belly. He hadn’t meant to upset her.
His arms opened wide, and she came into them as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to seek comfort from him.
She nestled against him, the top of her head barely grazing his shoulder, and his arms closed around her. He felt her rapid gasping breaths as her chest rose and fell. The faint scent of something subtly floral tickled his nostrils.
"Och, I'm sorry, lass. He scared you, didn't he?" His voice dropped to a murmur as he stroked her soft hair. "You're safe now. It's okay to have a good cry. No-one can hurt you."
He felt her trembling stop and her breathing slow. Saw the wild pulse beating in her temple calm. The hug changed, stopped being comforting and became something more. His hand on her hair became a caress.
Warm awareness of her femininity jolted him. His hand stilled and his breathing hiccupped.
She lifted her head from his chest and gazed up at him.
In the silent kitchen, his heart thundered. Though they'd only just met, some part of him badly wanted to dip his head and taste those sweetly parted lips. But if he did, he'd be taking advantage as surely as Darren had tried to.
Slowly and gently, he took her shoulders and eased her away from him. No matter how lovely she was, anything more was a complication he didn’t need.
"Okay now?" he asked as he pushed her away, a full arm's length. Even so, his hands tingled where they clasped her thin shoulders, reluctant to release her even though he knew he should.
She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
Uncertainty shook in her faint fragile reply, stirring his protective instincts. He bent to drop a light fast kiss on her forehead.
Intended to be a quick comforting press of the lips, like one would give a child, the kiss was far from childlike. His lips lingered on her soft warm skin. He heard her breath catch, and pulled away.
He had to lighten this up, and soon.
Looking down to the floor to avoid seeing her startled gaze and her flushed cheeks, he barked out a laugh. "No wonder you seem so much shorter than you did earlier."
Tiff looked down too, as if she'd forgotten what she had on her feet. Sometime since he'd seen her last, she'd changed from those ridiculous boots into a pair of men's thick woollen work socks, far too big for her tiny feet.
She rushed into embarrassed explanation. "Simon loaned them to me from the clothes cupboard. My feet were hurting in those heels." Her flush deepened. "I must look silly, I know."
Mac stopped before he told her what he thought.
The socks looked adorable.
She looked adorable.
It was the truth.
But saying it out loud was hardly the best way to stick to his resolve to keep her at arm's length. Tiff Gallagher and her surprising sweet vulnerability was an unwanted distraction from his main goal.
Getting fit enough to pass his medical, and getting back to work. That was the only thing that mattered.
Chapter 5
On top of having to fight off Darren, the hug from Mac confused Tiff. None of the guys she’d dated stirred her emotions the way he did. She stared up at him, cheeks flaming, feeling such a fool.
He’d only tried to comfort her, and she’d read so much more into his hug.
No wonder Mac’s scowl had returned.
She dropped her gaze, looking down at the thick brown socks he’d laughed at, wanting to run away from the embarrassment. Instead she stood there, battling a desire to step closer, hug him again.
But nothing in Mac’s expression suggested he’d welcome it.
Knights in shining armour like him probably went around hugging rescued damsels in distress all the time.
Her response to him was just reaction to a scary experience, that’s all. She’d fended off plenty of unwanted passes, but never one from a guy under the influence, who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Raising her chin, she met Mac’s dark unreadable eyes. “Thank you.” She forced a smile. “I still think I would have been okay, but thanks anyway. You stopped things getting uglier.”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t such a big deal. “No problem. What any boyfriend would do, right?” His light teasing tone gave no hint what he really felt.
Probably, he didn’t feel anything.
“Thanks for playing along. I guess now is when our lovely relationship ends, right?”
Stupidly, she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
Ridiculous to hope he’d say something sweet and romantic like, ‘No, this is where it begins.’
This was real life, not a movie. Mac wasn’t the sort of guy she wanted to date. And apart from doing his rescuer duty, she had no reason to think he cared whether he saw her again or not.
“Guess so,” he said. “It was nice while it lasted.”
She’d transferred her gaze to her feet when she spoke, so she had no idea what his reaction had been. Most likely, another shrug. His reply sounded totally bland.
A vote for ‘don’t care’, then. His next words confirmed it.
“Our shift is almost over, the afternoon volunteers will be coming in. You can go home with your family and enjoy the rest of your Christmas Day. Forget all about this.”
Tiff did glance up at that, but his expression gave nothing away.
She wasn’t sure she did want to forget about this.
Darren, yes, totally. Another cre
ep in the long line of guys that assumed a kind smile was invitation for something more.
Mac? Seeing that softer side he hid? Feeling the protection and care she’d felt in his hug? She wasn’t so sure about forgetting that.
She’d written him off as arrogant, using his wounded leg an excuse for a dour attitude. She was wrong. He’d been kind.
“I’ll get you out to your mother, and speak to Simon about Darren,” he said.
His voice sounded hard. But the big hand that took her elbow, warm through her sweater, felt gentle. Then he let go her arm, opening the door and looking around.
Unexpected regret at the loss of his touch jarred her.
“I don’t think I can face the big group just yet,” she murmured. Her heartbeat accelerated as she scanned the room for Darren. It felt as if so much had happened to her, but out here, everything looked the same.
“Don’t worry, I checked, he’s nowhere in sight.”
Relief warmed her. He’d already anticipated her fear.
He pointed at a cluster of chairs in a corner of the room, well away from the crowd still clustered around Nick and the rest of her family. “Sit here a moment. You can see everyone, but it’s quieter for you, until you catch your breath again.”
“Thanks.” Her smile up at him as she sat was a little shaky. “Nick loves being centre of attention, I don’t.”
Her shyness was what could have gotten her into trouble, if Mac hadn’t come in. The one introvert in a family of extroverts, she’d felt left out watching the others, unable to feel comfortable in front of people the way they all did. So she’d chosen to stay in the kitchen, with the excuse she was doing the last few cleaning tasks.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else but your Mum and Simon know what happened.”
Again, he’d answered the question on her lips before she asked it.
She nodded.
As he walked over to the group and quietly pulled her mom aside, she saw the effort he put into walking without a limp.
Mom shot an anxious look her way, and said something to Dad before heading over.
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 37