Читать книгу Keep On Loving You - Christie Ridgway - Страница 11
ОглавлениеZAN ELLIOTT PUSHED open the door of Oscar’s Coffee, situated smack-dab in the middle of the village of Blue Arrow Lake. Already chilled by the short walk from his car, the inside heat hit him like a slap, and a shudder racked his body. He clutched the jamb as the world tilted for a moment. When it righted again, he shrugged off the brief disorientation.
A caffeine deficit, most likely. Or it could be that the altitude was getting to him. Though he’d traveled to higher elevations in the past ten years, it had been that long since he’d visited these particular mountains.
He was surprised by how...not odd it was to be back.
That befuddled him, too. He’d never considered the environs of Blue Arrow Lake truly home—that had been the beach house where he’d lived with his parents and siblings until he was nine—yet coming back four days ago he’d experienced an unexpected settling of his restless soul.
It should worry him a little, he thought, as he stepped up to the register and gave the order for his drink. Christ, did it mean he was getting old?
Then he moved toward the pickup counter, his gaze landing on the man standing directly in front of him—and suddenly he was a boy again.
Aware of the grin stretching his mouth, he clapped his hand on Brett Walker’s shoulder. “So you’re a husband now. It boggles the mind.”
Brett turned, and his familiar gray eyes widened, then narrowed. “Zan.”
“In the flesh.” He rocked back on his heels, studying his old friend. While he’d seen Brett at a distance when he’d crashed the wedding reception, he hadn’t been near enough to completely register the changes the years had wrought. The other man’s hair was shorter now, and scars slashed his eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose. He’d probably gained thirty pounds of pure muscle. “I’m not sure I’d beat you at arm wrestling like I used to.”
“That’s revisionist memory, pal,” Brett said, then turned back when the barista called his name. Swiping up his drink, he didn’t give Zan a second glance before strolling around a corner to the seating area.
“Well,” Zan said to the empty space around him, “thanks for the effusive welcome. It’s great to see you again, too.” Not sure if he should be amused or affronted, Zan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Apparently Brett wasn’t interested in hashing over old times.
Not that Zan mulled over them very often himself. He wasn’t a person who liked to look back, and it didn’t take a genius to understand it stemmed from the family tragedy he wanted to forget. Still, he’d had many good times with Brett. He’d been living with his grandfather just a few weeks when after school one day the towheaded oldest Walker had casually asked him, “You fish?”
Zan had lied, of course, and said yes. Little time passed before they were fishing buddies, and biking buddies, and, later, chasing-after-girls buddies. Nearly inseparable, though their temperaments were not completely aligned. When Zan had proposed trouble, Brett had counseled caution. Zan ran red lights, Brett took note of stale yellows. During the execution of Zan’s wildest pranks, Brett had participated only as lookout.
But they’d both had a dogged determination, so when his own tall Americano was ready, he took the same path as his old friend. He really wanted to have a conversation with the other man. What was the story about his wife and marriage? How were the rest of the Walkers faring?
Sue him, but he was curious about what Poppy and Shay had been up to during the past ten years.
Not to mention their older sister.
Turning the corner into the seating area, he caught sight of Brett in the far corner at one of the brightly painted picnic tables set on the scarred cement floor. Across from him sat dark-haired, blue-eyed Mackenzie Walker.
Zan’s world spun again as a thousand memories assaulted him.
Cheeky little-girl Mac, with her gamine grin and her resolve to do anything and everything along with her big brother and his best friend. Like Brett, he’d ignored her, teased her and even went to great lengths to ditch her until her pouting lower lip would melt his will.
Coltish preteen Mac, all skinny arms and legs and big eyes that followed his every movement. She’d had dark mutterings about every high school girl who caught his and Brett’s attention freshman year.
Then she’d been in high school, too, and other boys were fixating on her. For a time, he’d fooled himself that his own interest in Mac was merely brotherly—and that the eye daggers he threw at the guys who hit on her were because he only had her best interests at heart. Then one summer afternoon, a playful wrestling match rocked his world when he flipped her to her back and found himself hovering over her, his hips between her spread legs.
This is Mac, he’d tried telling himself. Mac, who in winter had a habit of shoving snow down the back collar of his jacket. Mac, who’d once pretended to have a leg cramp while swimming in the lake so he’d jump in to save her—wearing his favorite leather boots. Mac, who’d hidden his car keys when he was sixteen so he was late to pick up Hot Body Harmonie Ross the night he was her date to her senior prom.
Mac, he’d thought, as he’d lowered his head and kissed her.
She’d tasted like cinnamon candy and paradise. Sweet, burning heaven.
He and Brett had gone a round or two about the change in circumstances until Mac herself waded in and made clear—with a fist to her big brother’s gut—that being with Zan was her choice. And no one was fiercer about getting what she wanted than Mackenzie Marie Walker.
They’d been together as a couple for two years while he finished up his college degree. After fulfilling that promise to his grandfather, he’d left town, hell-bent on quenching his wanderlust.
A decade had passed since he’d held her in his arms...until the night of the wedding reception. Impulse had directed him to slip behind her and pull her against him. He’d breathed in her scent and enjoyed the slight weight of her against the frame of his bigger body.
But he’d resisted allowing her to look at him then.
And now, as if she sensed his presence and his thoughts, her head shifted slightly and her gaze left her brother’s face for his.
He went dizzy and for a moment she wavered in his line of sight like a mirage.
When his vision cleared, his pulse was going too fast and there was a clammy sweat on the back of his neck. He hauled in a steadying breath and reminded himself that this beautiful woman was the same old Mac of his youth.
At the wedding, she’d naturally looked different in her bridesmaid getup and her hair in a fancy twist. But he hadn’t taken the opportunity to notice other changes. Now they were all he could see.
Without thinking, he walked slowly toward her, drawn to the fine-boned elegance of a face that, in the past decade, had lost all remnants of childhood. Her cheekbones were etched, her nose straight and small, her lashes and her mouth lush. Her blue eyes, he saw, were the icy shade of water beneath the thin frozen surface of a mountain lake.
And he didn’t remember them ever looking so cold.
Brett must have noticed his sister’s switch in attention, because he glanced over his shoulder as Zan approached their table. When Zan put his cup on the table, the other man didn’t say anything, but he did slide along the bench to allow Zan space beside him.
The movement was begrudging and Mac’s stare still so very chilly.
“Is this any way to greet the guy who knows your deepest, darkest secret?” he joked, settling into place.
When they didn’t answer, he tried out a smile. “The hollowed-out log near the cabins? The secret compartment to keep hidden treasures?”
Brett’s mouth twitched. “God, what must be in there? Mac, didn’t you stash that unicorn Beanie Baby in the hole, sure it would be worth a mint in a few years?”
She made a face.
Brett pointed at Zan. “And it’s where you hid your Molotov-cocktail supplies, so they’d escape your grandfather’s detection.” His expression turned serious. “Hey, about that. Condolences on his passing.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Zan stared into his cup of dark brew. “And the same to you for the loss of your mother.” Though Dell Walker had passed about two years before Zan left, his wife hadn’t died until after Zan had been gone from the mountains. It was the Walker parents who had provided the warm influence an orphan needed in the earliest years, though to be fair, his grandfather had never complained about the kid foisted on him late in life.
When he’d left the mountains he hadn’t parted harshly from the elderly man, but they’d kept in touch only on a semiregular basis. While they’d actually met up a few times, twice in London, and then in Prague and Lisbon as well, Zan hadn’t been at his side when he’d died.
Nor had he returned directly upon the man’s passing, when he might have managed to stop his cousin from running amok. “You heard about Vaughn?”
Brett flicked a glance at his sister. “Actually, my wife and I were involved in his capture.”
His attorney had shared that the old man’s will had left a lot of furniture and memorabilia to the Mountain Historical Society, which had auctioned off the items in a very successful fund-raising effort. But Vaughn Elliott, bitter that he hadn’t been named in the document, had taken it upon himself to recoup the “lost” objects by stealing them from the winning bidders.
Zan frowned, thinking that over. “God, I’m sorry. Grandfather left his entire estate to me, and Vaughn didn’t take it well.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you won’t be offended that I’ve retained good defense counsel for him.”
“Out of your own pocket, I suppose,” Brett said.
“It appears Vaughn ran through his own monies a few years back.”
His old friend shrugged. “I understand. Angelica and I weren’t injured in the incident... As a matter of fact, you could say it brought us together.”
“Your Angelica?”
“That’s right,” Brett said, his mouth curving in a satisfied smile. “Angelica Walker.”
Zan glanced over at the silent Mac. “What about you? Husband?” At that wedding reception, had he cuddled close to a married person? The nights since, had he been spinning little fantasies—and he had, no point in pretending otherwise—about some other man’s woman? His stomach churned at the thought and a chill rolled over him. He pushed his coffee away, no longer interested in it. “Well?”
Mac held up both bare hands, clearly showing she wore no rings, wedding or otherwise.
His world tilted again... Christ, was that really relief? Before he could convince himself otherwise, Brett had his own question. “So, back in town, huh?”
“Yeah. And I’d sure like to spend a little time with my favorite mountain family. Not to mention meet your wife.” He glanced over at Mac. “I confess I crashed your wedding reception for a few minutes.”
“What? You should have spoken to me.”
“I didn’t want to draw attention to myself on someone else’s special day. But I’m surprised Mac didn’t mention it to you. We, uh, had a moment.”
Brett’s brows rose. “I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to me, either.”
“I forgot all about it,” the woman said. “I was there with Kent Valdez, remember? He occupied my thoughts.”
“Kent Valdez?” Zan could remember the guy. “Wasn’t he president of the Future Pig Farmers of America or something in high school?”
Color washed up Mac’s beautiful face, and for the first time her blue eyes looked heated. “Are you really going there?”
Zan felt woozy again, but that didn’t stop him from running his mouth. “C’mon. He was a head shorter than you and harassed all of us as the self-appointed hall monitor.”
Mac glared. “The only one who is small right now is you.”
Had they ever argued when they were together? Maybe she was mad about that little surprise move he’d made on her at the wedding. “Take it easy,” he muttered. Why was his head pounding so?
Mac’s spine straightened. “Take it easy? Pl—”
“Maybe we should save this for another day,” Brett put in hastily.
“I don’t know why.” Zan pressed his fingers to his temple. “I’m only trying to catch up with old friends, for God’s sake.”
“That’s why you’re back, to catch up?” Mac asked.
Her image was wavering again. “I’m here to manage some details of Grandfather’s estate. It should take a week or two. Then I’ll be gone again.”
“Of course you will.”
There was subtext to the four words that couldn’t penetrate the throbbing in his head. His skin flashed hot then cold and the roots of his hair began to hurt. He rose to his feet, one hand on the tabletop to keep him steady.
“Zan?” Brett questioned. “Are you all right? You don’t look so good.”
He didn’t feel so good, either. “Uh...” The room was revolving around him.
“Do you need—”
“Just some fresh air,” he said, trying to shake off the dizziness. “I’ll see you later.”
Then he began to walk away, all the pleasure he’d felt in seeing the Walkers again tarnished, but he couldn’t figure out why.
He glanced back at Mac. She was watching him leave, but the expression on her lovely face didn’t exactly shout warm welcome, that was sure.
They said a person could never go home again... Apparently he couldn’t even go back to the place that had been the next best thing.
Or to the girl who had once been the first in his heart.
* * *
ONE MOMENT MAC was watching Zan thread his way through the tables toward the exit and the next she found herself on her feet.
“What are you doing?” her brother asked.
“I’m not going to miss this opportunity to give him a piece of my mind,” she said. “You heard him. He doesn’t plan to be around long.”
“Now, Mac, is this about him crashing the reception? Because—”
“Don’t ‘Now, Mac’ me,” she said. She wasn’t going to share with her brother about that “moment” they’d had on his big night, but it still embarrassed her to recall how readily she’d responded to Zan’s encircling arms. Not that she intended to get into that with Zan—but she had other things to say to the confounding man. “Have you forgotten on his way down the hill ten years ago he warned other guys to stay away from me?”
Brett rubbed his hand over his mouth as if to wipe away a sudden grin. “Who would take that seriously?”
“Maybe my perfect man!”
This time her brother laughed out loud. “How would he be perfect for you, then?”
She ignored his logic. “And what about those postcards? Ten years of finding reminders of him in my mail, with that Z as the only message. Don’t I deserve an explanation for that?”
Now she looked toward Zan, noting he’d been stopped by a middle-aged couple at a table on the other side of the room. The Robbinses had recently began living full-time in the mountains and were clients of her Maids by Mac business.
Without another word to her brother, she headed in that direction, prepared to engage Zan when he wrapped up his conversation with the pair. And she didn’t feel the least bit guilty over eavesdropping in the meantime.
“Ash came home exhausted but exhilarated from his experience with your documentary crew,” Veronica Robbins was saying.
Documentary crew? Ash was the Robbinses’ twentysomething son, and she’d heard the woman mention him spending time traveling since an internship ended in the fall.
“When will we get to see Earth Unfiltered?” she asked.
“It’s in postproduction now, but the IMAX theater dates should be nailed down fairly soon.”
“Nine years in the making,” Veronica gushed. “Footage from the remotest locations in the world.”
“I’ve been lucky to be a part of it,” Zan said.
From the corner of her eye, Mac studied him. Was he a documentary filmmaker? Really? That would mean that while she’d stayed home and cleaned up other people’s messes, he’d been traveling the world, gaining sophistication and savoir faire.
Not that he looked all that urbane at the moment. He was paler than he’d appeared when he first arrived. Her brother was right, Zan didn’t look so good. Was he sick?
Not that she should care. And she didn’t care that building a business in Blue Arrow Lake likely wouldn’t impress one of the creators of some IMAX theater-bound film called Earth Unfiltered. Zan had been born to a world of privilege but she’d been born to the mountains and considered that the best advantage of all.
She wasn’t afraid of hard work and she wasn’t impressed by material wealth. As a matter of fact, the Walkers and other longtime locals were quite suspicious of the moneyed flatlanders who moved up the hill. Zan’s grandfather had turned his vacation place into his permanent retirement home, but even though the luxury estate had been in the Elliott family since the early 1900s, he’d never achieved homegrown status in the eyes of the full-time mountain residents.
“I’ll see you later,” she heard Zan say to the couple, and then he was again on his way to the exit.
She hurried after him, frowning when he bumped into a table and then into the newspaper stand. Its metal frame rocked back and forth and Zan himself seemed ready to topple. Her hand shot out reflexively, and she grabbed his arm to steady him.
Slowly, he swung about, then stared down at her, blinking as if surprised to see her.
He wore dark jeans and a cashmere sweater that clung to his wide shoulders and broad chest. How had he gotten so big? Maybe he’d grown taller after leaving Blue Arrow Lake. She couldn’t remember his exact height then, but surely he hadn’t made her feel so...feminine. So fragile.
She shook off the thought. Feminine and fragile sounded like weak and wussy, and no man was going to make Mackenzie Walker that way. Especially not the guy who had left her—and left a warning behind for the other guys in town. “I have a few things to say to you, Zan.”
“God, you’re beautiful. More beautiful than ever.”
The words instantly flustered her. “Well...” She rubbed her hands down the legs of her ancient jeans, suddenly aware she was dressed for work in threadbare denim and a sweatshirt with pilled ribbing around her hips and at the bottom of the sleeves.
“You were gorgeous as a girl and took my breath away dressed as a bridesmaid,” he said. “But now, like this...” His hand waved to indicate her figure.
Mac gaped, supremely aware she was dressed like a ragamuffin. “Are you blind or are you making fun of me?”
He blinked again. “Remember that day at the hot springs?”
She barely resisted squirming. “The time I had to come get you and Brett because the both of you had downed too many beers and weren’t sober enough to drive? When Missy Waters puked out the car window on the way home and I threatened to make you clean it up with your tongue?”
He winced. “Not that time. Our time. Your first time.”
“Shh!” She glanced around. “We’re not talking about that.”
“I dream about it sometimes. Do you?”
Gah! The man was making it hard to hold on to her mad. “I never think of it,” she said. Oh, but she did. Wouldn’t every woman remember her first time? Summer again, both of them in bathing suits at the remote hot springs that could only be reached by starting from the Walkers’ private land.
Upon becoming a couple, they hadn’t discussed the day, or if there ever would be a day, when she’d give him her virginity. But the knowledge that she wanted to be with him like that had hovered over her for weeks. Months. Years. Even when he’d seen her only as his best friend’s pesky younger sister.
Maybe she’d not had all the details of that kind of intimacy quite worked out when she was a girl, but anything she’d had then, she’d wanted to be Zan’s.
She’d been so gone for him.
Just as she’d been that lazy afternoon at the hot springs when she was seventeen. They’d had a cooler containing green grapes, a plastic container of chocolate chip cookies she’d baked from scratch and a thermos of iced tea. They’d immersed themselves in a spring, and then, when they were too hot to stay in a second more, they’d stretched out on double-wide-striped beach towels and let the afternoon breeze cool their skin.
Propped on an elbow, she’d fed him grapes, her breast pressing against his bronzed biceps, her nipple pebbled to a tight bead at the contact. He’d let his fingertip drift over the bumps of her spine until it touched the bow of her bikini strap at the middle of her back.
His gaze never left hers as he slowly picked up the end of one damp string and pulled it free. Her breath ragged, she’d sat up and loosened the top bow herself. The scraps of fabric had fallen into her lap.
Second base, as she’d still referred to it then, hadn’t been new to them. But it was the first time he’d played with her breasts when the only other item she wore was a tiny pair of bottoms. Even now, she could remember the brush of his wet hair on her skin as he sucked on her nipples. She’d clutched the heavy bone of his shoulders, her breath shuddering in her lungs.
There didn’t seem to be any air to pull into them right now. Shoving the memory away, she folded her arms across her chest and tried to get a handle on the conversation. “Are you really a documentary filmmaker?” she heard herself ask. “Never mind,” she added hastily. “I want you to know that—”
“I wish I had that moment on film,” he said, his voice low and whisper-rough. “But I can close my eyes and see it in Technicolor. You had a sunburn on your nose and you bit your bottom lip when I—”
“Zan!” She felt her whole body flush. “Please. Stop.”
He smiled. “That’s not what you said then. Well, not the ‘stop’ part, anyway.”
“You’re a beast,” she whispered. “Now quit embarrassing me. I already have a bone to pick with you.”
“Yeah?” He seemed unconcerned as he reached out a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. The gesture was too familiar and even more so when he stroked his fingertips slowly down her cheek.
Chills tumbled across her skin and she batted his hand away, but his fingers tangled with hers and he lifted them toward his face, rubbing her knuckles against the rasp of his whiskered jaw.
She tried tugging free, but he tightened his hold. “Zan Elliott, what are you doing?” she said through her teeth.
There was a feverish light in his eyes. “Remembering how good we were together.”
She tried gathering her mad again. “Well, I’m remembering that you rode out of town, but not before apparently informing the male half of our community that I was still somehow yours.”
The corners of his mouth curled up. “But you were.”
“Zan! You left.”
He stroked the back of her hand against his face once again. He was hot, she realized. His skin burning up.
She frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Better seeing you. Always better around you. It’s been a long ten years.”
Something definitely wasn’t okay with him. Where he’d been pale before, now he had a definite flush and his lips looked too dry. As she watched, a fine tremor racked his body.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“I—”
“Oh. My. God. Zan Elliott,” someone called.
Mac closed her eyes. Hell.
“And with Mac Walker.” There was glee in the voice of the biggest gossip in the mountains. Missy Waters, she of the puking incident, who had never forgiven Mac for having “stolen” Zan—when the other woman had never had him to begin with.
“Hey, Missy,” Mac said, resigned to be the star of a story for the rest of the week.
“Missy...” Zan said, as if trying to place the name.
Irritation flashed across the woman’s face, then smoothed out. “I’d not heard you’d come back to town,” she said to him, her gaze dropping to their hands, still joined. “Or that you two have picked up right where you left off.”
Crap. “That hasn’t happened. That’s never going to happen,” Mac said, trying to free herself from him.
He had a grip like an octopus. “Missy!” he said, his memory obviously clearing. “Didn’t your hair used to be dark?”
It was platinum now, and Missy’s pride and joy. She fluffed it with her fingers and beamed at him. “Thank you for noticing. I went blond and have never looked back. Unlike Mac, I should say, who everyone knows is stuck in the past.”
“What?” He shifted his glance from Missy to Mac. “What’s that mean?”
“Nothing,” Mac said firmly. Desperately. “Missy, did you hear about Angelica’s new car? Brett gave her the sweetest ride as a wedding gift.”
“Really?” For a moment she was diverted. Then her attention went back to Zan’s fingers, still wrapped around Mac’s. “Zan, you haven’t let go of Mac.”
He followed her gaze, executed one of those odd blinks that seemed to suggest he was having trouble focusing. “No, I haven’t let go of Mac.”
This was getting out of control. At this point, she was willing to give up on the big tell-off she’d had planned for the man if only she could end this odd conversation. “I’ve got to get to work.”
When he didn’t release her, she jiggled their joined hands. “Work, do you hear me? That thing I do that allows me to put gas in my car and food in my belly.”
“I’ll do that,” Zan said. “Go out to dinner with me tonight.”
“I will not.”
Missy was following the exchange with unconcealed curiosity. “You should, Mac. It’s not like you have a steady guy or anything. Nobody thinks you’ll ever stick with anyone because—”
“Do you mind, Missy?” Mac asked, done with politeness. “This is a private conversation.”
“In Oscar’s?” she questioned. “I’m not the only one watching Zan stake his claim.”
“Good God.” Mac felt as if the walls were closing in on her. “That’s not happening. I’ll never be his to claim.”
“Wrong, Mackenzie Marie.” Zan’s cheeks were flushed even redder, and his eyes glittered feverishly. “You’ll always be mine.”
That was it. I’m done with this.
As she lifted her free hand to slap some sense into him, however, he collapsed. Catching him in her arms, she staggered, the two of them crashing into the nearby wall before sliding to the floor.
