Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Mac - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 11

1

“WHO ARE YOU? Where’s Buddy? I need to talk to Buddy. When will he be back?”

Luke MacKenzie grabbed a rag from the floor of the airplane hangar and wiped the grease from his hands. As he approached the counter, he studied the woman who had burst through the door just a few seconds before.

Her dark hair was windblown and the color was high on her cheeks. His gaze dropped to her lush lips and perfect white teeth. Her expression, though tense with anger, did nothing to diminish her natural beauty. In truth, he hadn’t met anyone quite so beautiful in a very long time.

Mac grinned lazily and walked up to the counter. “Which one of those questions would you like me to answer first?” he asked, leaning closer to her.

Her scowl deepened. “Where’s Buddy?”

“He’s in the hospital having his hip replaced.”

The news seemed to take her by surprise and he detected a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. “Oh,” she murmured. “He did tell me that. When is he going to be back?”

“About three weeks,” he said. “Maybe a month.”

“And who are you?”

“Luke MacKenzie,” he said. “They call me Mac.” He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out. To his surprise, she took and shook it firmly. Mac held on for a few moments longer, enjoying the feel of her slender fingers resting in his palm.

“Mr. MacKenzie, I—”

“Just Mac,” he insisted, giving her hand another squeeze.

She straightened her spine and met his gaze, then slowly tugged her hand from his. “Well, Mr. Just Mac, let me give you the 411 because obviously Buddy didn’t fill you in before he left. The next time Charlie Clemmons shows up and wants you to haul that ridiculous Marry Me, Emma banner all over the sky, you’re supposed to tell him no!”

“And your name is...”

“Emma,” she murmured. “Emma Bryant.”

“Well, Marry-Me Emma, Buddy might be able to turn down two hundred dollars for an airborne marriage proposal, but I don’t have that luxury. As long as Charlie’s money is green, I’m gonna take the job.”

“But you don’t understand. This has become an obsession with Charlie. And I’m not going to marry him. Not now. Not ever. So he can waste all the money he wants but I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Maybe he’s in love,” Mac suggested.

“And maybe he’s completely insane,” she countered.

“Why don’t you want to marry him?”

“Haven’t you been listening? He’s insane. He just won’t let go. It’s not healthy.”

“Is there another reason you don’t want to marry him? Maybe there’s someone else?”

She gasped, then fixed him with a glare that could melt steel. “That is none of your business! And if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to town gossip.”

“There’s gossip? I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. I’ve got a few minutes. Why don’t you fill me in? Can I get you something cold to drink? I’ve got a Yoo-hoo back in the fridge.”

She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to strip naked and join him in a round of “The Hokey Pokey.” “I’m sure you think you’re charming, and I’m sure that charm works on a certain element of society, but it’s not going to work on me.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“You didn’t ask me a question,” she said.

“Sure I did. I asked if there was someone else. A boyfriend or a fiancé? I could see how a stray marriage proposal might be problematic in that situation.”

She really was a beautiful woman, Mac mused. Her short dark hair curled gently around her pretty face, enhancing wide eyes and a lush mouth that had been made to be kissed. She also had thick lashes that ringed her brilliant green eyes—eyes that seemed to see right into his soul.

“Just don’t fly any more of his banners,” she warned. She spun on her heel and started for the door, but he called her name and she stopped and slowly faced him.

“You know, the fastest way to get rid of the old guy is to take up with a new guy.”

“You think I don’t know that? When you live in a small town like San Coronado, decent men are in short supply. Believe me, I’ve been looking.”

“Maybe you haven’t been looking hard enough,” Mac suggested.

She strode toward the door, but before she had a chance to pull it open, he spoke.

“You could go out with me,” Mac said. “I’m new in town, and I haven’t met many people. It would be nice to have someone show me around.” He’d issued the request more as an experiment than an actual invitation. And as an excuse to keep her in the shop just a little bit longer.

He found her quite fascinating, this stunningly beautiful girl who couldn’t seem to find a man. But now that he’d made the invitation, he wanted her to accept. “Let me get you that Yoo-hoo and we can talk over the particulars. Give me a chance to apologize for the whole banner problem.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “You’re asking me out? On a date?”

“Yes,” he said.

“We just met. And I don’t think I like you.”

“’Tis one thing to be tempted,” he murmured. “Another to fall.”

“Do you really believe a little Shakespeare is going to make me swoon for you?”

“Swoon? What does that mean?”

“Look it up,” she said.

“I left my dictionary in my other toolbox,” he teased. “Do you like Shakespeare?”

“He’s only the greatest writer who ever lived.”

“So where do you come down in the authorship issue? Are you a Stratfordian or an Oxfordian?” Clearly his question had taken her by surprise. He also noticed a bit of interest in her expression. “I just finished a new book on the subject.”

“The Weight of the Words?” Emma asked. “I loved that book.”

“We should get together and discuss it,” he said.

Emma opened her mouth, then frowned, shaking her head. “Just don’t do it again,” she warned. With that, she walked out of the hangar and into the bright sunshine of the October day.

“Do what again?” Mac shouted. “Ask you out on a date? Or fly that banner?”

He strolled over to the door and stared out, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her. But she’d already hopped in her car and started to race the battered Volvo station wagon down the airstrip road, a cloud of dust trailing behind it.

J. J. Jones, Buddy’s mechanic, strolled around the corner of the hangar wall and handed an old hydraulic pump to Mac. “Was that Emma Bryant?”

“Yeah,” Mac said.

“I told you not to fly that banner,” J.J. said.

“What do you know about her?” he asked.

“Know about her?” He grabbed the pump from Mac’s hand. “We went to school together. She’s the same age as I am. Twenty-seven. She’s the town librarian. Her dad died when she was young and her mom passed away about three years ago after a long illness. Emma was devoted to her. Cared for her at home for almost four years.”

“If she’s such a saint, why do people gossip about her?” he asked.

J.J. gave him an uneasy look. “What do you mean?”

“She asked if I’d heard the gossip around town about her. What gossip?”

“Listen, I don’t like tellin’ tales. My mama said if I keep my mouth shut and my hands clean I’d go far in life. I always follow my mama’s advice.”

“Come on. If it’s something everyone around town knows, why can’t you spill?” Mac prodded. “Is she crazy? Like bunny-boiler crazy?”

J.J. shook his head. “She’s real nice. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Always very generous with her time. Everyone loves her. Everyone.”

“So she’s perfect?”

He nodded. “As close to perfect as you’re going to get,” J.J. said. “You won’t catch me saying anything bad about her.”

Mac sighed. “You think she’d go out with me?” he asked.

“I doubt you’d be her type,” J.J. said.

“She’s picky, then,” he said.

“She’s careful,” J.J. countered.

Mac frowned. What did that mean? Careful? She was a twenty-seven-year-old single woman. If she was looking for love, she’d have to take some risks to find it. “So she hangs out at the library?”

J.J. grabbed the pump. “I gotta get back to work. That pump on your plane is shot. We should probably replace both of them while we’re at it. Want me to order two?”

“No, just get me one,” Mac murmured. “And find me a decent price.”

“I will,” J.J. said.

Mac’s gaze was drawn back to the road where Emma Bryant had disappeared. This was a strange feeling, Mac mused. It wasn’t often that he found himself genuinely intrigued by a woman. His reactions to the female gender came in one of two varieties—she’s hot and I’d like to take her to bed...or, no, thank you. But this was something very different.

“Emma Bryant,” he murmured to himself as he walked back inside. Marry-Me Emma. If he took the proposal sign up again tomorrow morning, he could be assured that she’d stop by again and register her opinion.

* * *

“I THINK HE asked me out.” Emma paused, then shook her head. “Or maybe I just imagined it. Everything just happened so quickly. The conversation jumped around so much I could barely keep up. But I’m pretty sure there was an invitation in there.”

“What did you say?”

“I can’t remember.” Emma turned to her best friend, Trisha Kelling, and shrugged. “I wish I could rewind the whole thing and listen to it again.”

“Wait,” Trisha said. “Pull over.”

“What?”

“Just pull over. We need your full concentration.”

Emma did as she was instructed, steering the station wagon to the edge of the dusty road. She threw it into Park and faced her friend, taking a deep breath.

“What did he look like?” Trish asked.

“Cute. No, handsome. Really sexy. Dark hair, pale blue eyes. You know like blue denim that has been faded by the sun.”

“Oh, God, I love that kind of blue,” Trisha said. “What else?”

“Straight nose. Not too big. Just right. Nice teeth. And a really nice body, at least, what I was able to see of it.”

“What about the goods?” she said. “Did you check that out?”

“No! Why would I check out his...crotch?”

“All right. Was he charming or just kind of full of himself?”

“A little bit of both. But I think he might have been teasing me. He was clever. He seemed really smart. He quoted Shakespeare at me.”

“Really? What did he say?”

Trish was an English teacher at the high school and knew her Shakespeare. Emma searched her memory for the phrase, but she couldn’t recall the exact words—a sign that Luke MacKenzie had really flustered her. “Something about being tempted and then falling.”

“’Tis one thing to be tempted? Another thing to fall?”

“Yes! That’s it. As You Like It?”

“I should remember where it comes from and don’t you dare tell anyone that I don’t.” Trish pulled out her phone and punched in the quote. “Measure For Measure. What do you think he meant?”

“I’m not sure.” Emma rubbed her face with her hands. “After that he started talking about the authorship controversy, the Oxfordians versus the Stratfordians. It was as if he knew I was fascinated with the subject and he was tempting me.”

“’Tis one thing to be tempted...” Trisha said.

Emma smiled. “This could be it. He could be the one. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“He’s handsome and sexy. He appears to have a brain. And an abundance of charm.”

“And he’s only going to be in town for a short time. Six weeks at the most. That’s perfect,” Emma said. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to rid myself of this awful virginity. I’ll have sex with this man and it will finally be done.”

Emma drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d never intended to remain a virgin for this long. It had just happened. Each year had passed without a potential lover in sight and before she knew it, she’d ended up here, more than halfway to thirty and still as chaste as a nun.

“I shouldn’t have walked out,” Emma said. “I should have flirted with him.”

“You could always go back,” Trish suggested.

“Under what pretense?”

“An apology for being such a bitch?”

“I was a bitch. I just couldn’t believe he was serious. A guy like that...and me. Marian the Librarian.”

“You could take him a book!” Trisha said. “You know he reads Shakespeare. If he likes Whitman, then he’s the ultimate sex machine.”

“Whitman? No, that would seem so...obvious. And a little desperate.”

“But you are desperate,” Trish said. “Maybe it would be best to just admit that right at the top. There is something sexy about a woman desperate to copulate.”

“Copulate?”

“My mother always taught me to use the proper terms for sex.”

“Alice Pettit told me to keep my knees together and my feet on the floor,” Emma said. “Marliss Franks warned me that naughty girls burn in hell and Reverend Kopitsky said that my body is sacred and my virtue worth more than gold. It really didn’t matter, though. Once I got that stupid brace, the boys stayed away.”

Her teenage years had been lonely at best. She’d been diagnosed with scoliosis at age thirteen and had worn a back brace through most of high school. Burdened also with massive orthodontia and a bad case of acne, she hadn’t been the most attractive option for a prom date. Just months after the brace came off, her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and Emma’s attention had turned to nursing her. There’d never been time to date, and without dating—and living in a small town—sex had become an unreachable goal. Now, after all these years of chastity, she felt vulnerable, unprepared for a relationship. She had no idea how to talk to boys or flirt. She still felt like the girl with the back brace and the pimples.

She’d always taken solace in her studies, graduating at the top of her high school class. After high school came college and grad school. She’d lived at home, for both convenience and cost, and so she could watch over her mother’s care.

Four years ago, she’d finished her masters in information sciences and been offered the head librarian’s job at the small library in town. Though she’d always dreamed about leaving town and starting life somewhere new, Emma stayed to see her mother though the last stages of her illness.

The people of San Coronado had always stood behind her and her mother, Elaine. Elaine had been a beloved kindergarten teacher at the local school and everyone had known her. During her illness, there’d been lots of volunteers who’d arranged fund-raisers—spaghetti dinners and bake sales and benefit concerts—all to help with her mother’s medical costs. A prayer circle had spent two hours a week praying for her recovery. How could Emma refuse the job and a chance to return something to the community that had given her mother so much love and attention?

So she’d thrown herself into her work, completely updating the library’s catalog system, rearranging the floor plan and adding new programs for children and seniors. And though her mother had urged her to get out and socialize, it was easier to just work into the late hours and then flop into bed when she got home.

She’d had dreams once. She and her mother had always talked about traveling together, taking the summer to see exotic places. They’d pored over travel books and planned itineraries, keeping their notes in leather-bound journals.

New Zealand, Indonesia, Portugal, Finland, Costa Rica. Lists of things to see and do, places to eat. Even during the worst of her mother’s illness, they’d kept at it, as if the work held some magic cure.

And once it was clear there would be no cure, her mother made her promise that she’d find a way to go on her own. She’d save her money and buy a ticket to one of the places that had fascinated them both.

As for her lack of social life, that had really been her own fault. After her mother’s death, she’d given herself the chance to grieve. It had been easy to shut herself in the house and avoid people. The more time that passed, the more overwhelming getting back out there became. She pushed aside thoughts of a social life to focus entirely on a rigorous work schedule. But now, she felt as if the world had passed her by.

There were a few available men left in town and at least one of them was interested. But trying to start a relationship underneath a microscope was daunting. Everyone seemed a bit too invested in her happily-ever-after.

“I know how difficult it’s been on you,” Trish said.

“I’m not complaining,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a lucky woman. I have a wonderful job and a wonderful best friend. I don’t need anything else.”

“Yes, you do!” Trish cried. “You need to feed your soul and your heart. You need passion in your life. And a few really good orgasms. I think this Mac guy is the answer to all your problems.”

“Let’s say I do decide that I want to pursue something...carnal with Mac,” Emma said. “I have to be ready to do it. I mean, it could happen quickly, right? Sometimes, the passion is so overwhelming you just can’t help yourself.”

“Sometimes,” Trisha agreed.

“So, I should buy some sexy underwear and do the whole wax thing. And a mani and a pedi. I’ll get my hair cut, too, so I don’t look like a demented bear the morning after. Oh, and I have to be ready to provide breakfast if he stays the night. I’ll have to plan a menu. And I probably should brush up on...you know...sex.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“We have a whole section of books in the library in our self-help section. They’re quite informative. I expect he’s going to be good at it, so I’d like to return the favor.”

“There is a possibility that you might be overanalyzing this,” Trish said. “I’ll be honest with you, once you start taking off your clothes, there’s not a lot of time to think.”

“Great advice,” Emma murmured. She reached out and restarted the car, then pulled it back out onto the road. She gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers, her mind spinning with the possibility that her long ordeal might be over soon.

There were some women who chose to be virgins until they married. But Emma knew she’d never marry. And sex was something that she wanted to experience, a simple human need that had to be satisfied.

“There is another option,” Trisha said. “I was reading an article a couple weeks ago about a brothel in Nevada that had men on the menu. You could always pay for it. For the right price, I bet Joey would consider it.”

“You’re offering up your husband?” Emma asked.

“Not to you,” Trish said. “Besides, you’re looking for a perfect male specimen, not a guy with a furry chest and the body of a teddy bear.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I find the man incredibly sexy. And he’s always been so enthusiastic in the sack. And he’s got the goods.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, but I’m going to have to refuse. But I will buy you lunch.”

As they drove toward town, past pastures and vast irrigated fields, the windows of the car open to the afternoon breeze, Emma felt happy, as if the future had suddenly opened up in front of her. There weren’t many days when she didn’t think about the lack of passion and adventure in her life. But today, she was different. There was an excitement that burned inside her...a delicious anticipation that her life was about to change.

* * *

MAC STARED UP at the facade of the San Coronado Public Library. A bronze plaque beside the door designated the neoclassical building as an Andrew Carnegie library, one of over a thousand built by the wealthy industrialist in the early part of the twentieth century in small towns all over the US.

Though he’d been asking J.J. about Emma since he’d met her the day before yesterday, the most he’d been able to pull out of the other man was that she was the town librarian and that everyone loved her. He didn’t really need much more. She’d most likely be inside and when she saw him, they’d talk.

He smoothed his hand through his hair, then took the steps two at a time. As he opened the front door, two younger boys slipped inside before him and he noticed a crowd gathered in the lobby. Mac had expected a quiet interior where people spoke in hushed tones. But instead, the place was bustling with noise and activity.

Scattered about was a display of model cars and trucks, made from the kits he’d enjoyed as a kid. Mac smiled as he wandered around the room, remembering the times he’d spent meticulously piecing each model together, then painting it. It was one of the after-school activities at the local Boys and Girls Club. After the disappearance of his parents, he’d been put into the foster care program and had spent most afternoons at the club, finishing his homework and working on models with a few friends.

The models had kept him off the streets and out of the gangs. And when he finished one, he’d gather up the money he made on his paper route and buy another. They’d been stacked from floor to ceiling in their boxes, tucked inside his closet.

On the day he’d turned eighteen, he’d packed his bags and walked away from foster care, leaving the cars and the memories of his boyhood behind. In a single day, he’d become a man, wholly responsible for his own life. He could no longer busy himself with childish things.

He’d found a job, a cheap room at a local boardinghouse and had begun his life, scraping together money for flying lessons and a few classes on engine repair. He taught himself to weld and though he couldn’t afford college, he’d gotten a library card and begun to educate himself.

“It’s a ’57 Chevy! Not a ’56. See?”

He glanced down at a young boy who was pointing at a model. “You’re right. You can tell by the trim. But I prefer the ’56. There’s just something about it. The softer fin or the trim piece that curves down.”

The little boy smiled. “I prefer it, too.”

“We both have excellent taste.” Mac winked at him, then moved on through the crowd to the circulation desk. He scanned the counter for Emma’s pretty face, but didn’t find her. He decided to get a library card first and make a casual inquiry about Emma at the same time.

“I’d like to get a library card,” he said to the woman at the front desk.

“Do you have identification?”

“I do, but it doesn’t have my local address on it.”

“Do you have a utility bill or something to prove you’re a resident of San Coronado?”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Anyone who could vouch for you?”

“Yes. Emma Bryant could. I understand she works here.”

The woman smiled. “She does.”

“Is she working today?”

“Yes, she’s downstairs in our archives cataloguing some items that were bequeathed to the library last week.”

Mac took the form. “I’ll just go get her signature and be right back.”

“Down the hall and through the door on the right, then down the stairs,” the librarian said.

As he followed the directions, Mac felt an odd rush of anticipation. Women had always been a commodity in his life. Though he appreciated each for their individual attributes, Mac found it difficult to make any long-lasting connections.

When the time was right, he made sure he was the one who walked away first. There had been a few women who had been difficult to leave, but he could never truly believe they had any kind of future together. Without trust, any deeper emotions were impossible.

He already knew ending things with Emma would be painful. He was already obsessed with her. She was unique, intriguing, wildly sexy and smart—a deadly combination. It would take a careful approach to charm her, a disciplined plan to hold her and every ounce of his determination to leave her.

The basement of the library was dark and musty and he followed the sound of music through the rows of shelves and storage cabinets. Finally, he reached a central area of tables illuminated by florescent lights. Mac stood in the shadows and observed her for a moment, taking in the scene in greater detail.

An old gramophone sat on one end of the table and it played a classical piece that sounded like a Mozart string quartet. Emma was seated with her back to him, her legs tucked up beneath her, her attention fixed on a paper she was reading.

The dark waves of her hair fell around her face and his fingers twitched as he imagined how it would feel to smooth a curl from her temple and tuck it behind her ear. He’d touched her once, when he’d held her hand, but it hadn’t been enough.

He’d known a lot of women whom he’d considered beautiful, Mac mused. But now, he realized that they hadn’t really been beautiful at all. They’d made themselves up to reflect what society considered beautiful—blond hair, full lips, high cheekbones, striking eyes.

As he looked at Emma, he saw something simpler, much more pure. There was no need for paint or artifice. It was all there in its natural form. A shiver skittered through his body and his breath caught in his throat.

Emma jumped, then turned around in her chair to find him watching her. She scrambled to her feet, dropping the letter on the table and struggling with the chair. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Mac said.

“You did! Why are you here?”

He held up the application for a library card. “I need you to sign this. I wanted to get a card but I don’t have the proper identification with me. If you vouch for me, they’ll give me one.”

“But I don’t know you.”

He grinned. “Sure you do. I’m the guy who’s working for Buddy while he recovers from his surgery.”

“And that’s all I know. That’s not enough to get you a library card. Where do you live?”

“Right now, I’m staying out at the hangar. But I’ve been trying to find a place in town.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it sounded good. He had a cot, a bathroom and a makeshift kitchen at the hangar. It was rent-free and enough to meet his needs.

“But where do you come from? Where do you live when you’re not here?”

Mac wished that he had a better story to tell her, but he’d accepted the reality of his life long ago. “The last time I had a permanent address was the day before my eighteenth birthday. That was nearly ten years ago. I suppose I could give you that address.”

“Where was that?”

“Boulder, Colorado. It’s where my foster parents live. At least it was. I haven’t talked to them since I left, so they might have moved.”

She gave him a grudging smile, then held out her hand. Emma grabbed the paper and signed the bottom. “Raise your hand and repeat after me.”

Mac did as he was told.

“I, Luke MacKenzie, promise to treat my library books with care, read them promptly and return them before the due date, so help me God.”

Chuckling, Mac repeated the promise and when he was finished, she handed him the paper. “Thanks,” he said.

“Is there anything I can help you find? What do you like to read? Besides Shakespeare.”

“I’ve been reading the biographies of the great explorers—Columbus, Marco Polo, Amundsen.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“What do you like to read?”

She took a moment to formulate an answer. “My favorite is true-life adventure. Climbing Everest and surviving in a life raft for seventy days. Books about people with daring and courage.”

“And do you have daring and courage?” he asked.

“No,” Emma said. “Quite the opposite. That’s why I find those books so fascinating.”

“Note to self,” he murmured. “Add more adventure to Marry-Me Emma’s life.”

She giggled softly and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “There’s a new biography of David Livingstone. If you haven’t read it, you should. I thought it was excellent.”

“Good. I’ll read it. And maybe we could get together and have coffee and talk about it.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Mac had never needed to clarify his intent when it came to women, but he wasn’t quite sure if coffee and a book discussion qualified as a date. “Would you consider that a date?” he asked.

Emma thought about her answer for a long moment. “Probably not.”

“What would I have to add to make it a real date?” Mac asked.

“Maybe dinner? Definitely dinner. And a movie? But we don’t have a theater in town, so dinner would be enough.”

She blushed more deeply and Mac could see that the question had flustered her. “Emma, would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

She drew in a sharp breath, then nodded her head. “Yes. Yes, that would be lovely. When?”

“Soon? But I’m probably going to need three or four days to finish the book.”

“Or I could recommend a shorter book,” she said.

“How about Saturday?”

“The Livingstone bio is about four hundred and fifty pages long, including the notes and index.”

“I’m a fast reader,” Mac assured her.

“It’s a date, then. Saturday night.”

Mac wanted to stay longer, to find an excuse to grab her hand or steal a kiss. But he had officially secured a date with Emma and, considering her unpredictable nature, he thought it best to leave while he was ahead. “I’m going to go now, before I find a way to screw this up. I’ll see you Saturday night.”

“Where?” she asked.

“Great question. Any thoughts?”

“I’ll pick you up at the hangar and we’ll decide then.”

She smiled and Mac felt his blood warm a few degrees. “Good idea.”

“Enjoy the book, Mac,” she murmured.

“See you Saturday, Emma,” he said.

As he walked back upstairs to the circulation desk, Mac smiled to himself. He’d managed to play that perfectly, yet he hadn’t a clue how it had all happened. When he’d set out to find her, he hadn’t been sure she’d agree to a date.

With the exception of their love of books, they had absolutely nothing in common. She was a homebody, content in a small town, living a small life. Her only adventures came from books. She’d put down roots and was a respected member of the community. Emma had history that included friends and family.

Mac had no roots, no family, no past. He’d spent his adult life drifting from place to place, taking work when he needed it. Everything he owned fit into his plane. His freedom was all he’d ever required in life. He had nothing to offer a woman like Emma.

So why was he so determined to charm her, Mac wondered. Did he see her as a challenge? Or did he want to experience just a tiny bit of the life he’d never had? Or was she just so amazing that he couldn’t help himself?

“It’s just a date. You’re not climbing Everest.”

It was only dinner, and yet somehow Mac felt that it was the start of so much more.