Honey to Burn (Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance Book 10)

by Cathryn Cade

  And yet now, she would do it all over again, a hundred times, to hold him like this.

  "8 pounds, 3 ounces," Mac said proudly. "He's a big, healthy boy. Heart's good, has all his fingers and toes, and he's all boy—has a fine set of equipment."

  His report was all well and good, but she'd check her son all over for herself later. For now she just wanted to hold him and feel his living weight on her breast.

  But sleep pulled her down, and she woke with a start of fear as the baby moved on her chest and she realized she was not holding him securely enough.

  Again, Mac was there. "Hush, now, mama," he told her soothingly. "You get some rest. I got the baby till you wake up."

  "It's my turn to hold him," Rae's mother said.

  Rae sighed inwardly and let her eyes close. Mac and Ellen could duke it out—she was going to sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was a damned good thing Mac was there for Connor’s birth and had that time with him, because in the weeks to come, he had to fight for every minute with his son.

  Whenever he texted Rae or dropped by, either she didn't answer, which he hoped meant she and their son were sleeping, or she did answer, sounding frazzled, and told him Connor was asleep and she had laundry to do, so now was not a good time.

  "And so it begins," Mac muttered to himself the umpteenth time this happened.

  He'd hoped for more, both with his son and with Rae. Rae was making it clear that wasn't gonna happen with her. She didn’t approve of his lifestyle, the people he hung out with, that was fine with him.

  It was fuckin’ fantastic, in fact. He'd just have to make sure it did happen with his son.

  August, 2003

  RaeAnn sat in the rocking chair Linda had given as her shower gift, in her tiny living room.

  Rae was barely rocking, just enough to keep the baby in her arms from fretting.

  Connor had a fever and a rash. Just rosacea her pediatrician had assured her. Extremely common in infants and nothing to worry about, as long as he was getting enough fluids and nutrition. If his fever rose too high or he became lethargic, she was to call them immediately.

  That was good to know, but Rae was exhausted. She hadn't slept in days, except for a few hours here and there. Connor wanted to be held and rocked and nursed even if he didn't want the milk. He wanted the comfort.

  She got that. She wouldn't mind somebody holding and rocking both of them right now.

  Her phone sounded the few notes of 'Big Daddy to the Rescue,' a silly 60s song that Lacey had added as Mac's ringtone. Since Rae lacked the energy to do anything more than care for the baby and feed herself, she hadn't bothered to change it.

  She picked up her phone. "Hello," she croaked.

  "Rae?" Mac said. "You okay? Connor okay?"

  "He has rosacea. We're two—no, three days in. Pediatrician said he should be feeling better soon." She yawned uncontrollably and swiped tears from her eyes.

  "All right," he said. "I'm off work today and tonight. On the way over to help out."

  Rae opened her mouth to protest and then realized she would be crazy to do so. Although dangerously sleep deprived, she wasn't so far gone she didn't know she needed help.

  "Okay. I'll leave the front door unlocked. Just come in."

  He arrived half an hour later, clad in faded jeans and a white Harley Davidson tee, bringing in the scents of summer with him, sunscreen and hot skin and the neighbor’s fresh-cut grass. He closed the door behind him, pulled off his Mariners baseball cap, and ran a hand through his short, sweat-damp hair.

  Rae stared at him. "You got a haircut." All his pretty waves, gone. And another stylist had done it—had had her hands in his hair, stood close to him, and all the rest.

  She wanted to cry, which was stupid. She was just tired, that was all.

  "Yeah, I did. Let me go wash my hands and I'll take Connor. Then you can go get some rest, and maybe take a shower—you look like you could use one."

  Rae flinched. She didn't think she would have minded the remark if she hadn't been so darn tired, but with her mother off at fashion market in Chicago, she'd had no one to help her with a sick baby.

  While Mac was at her kitchen sink, washing up, she surreptitiously swiped away a few tears that had snuck out. Darned if he would make her cry anymore.

  She rose, keeping her eyes on the baby, and when Mac approached, she handed their son over.

  "He'll need to eat in an hour or so," she said stiffly. "Wake me up, please."

  Then she turned and left the room, closing her bedroom door behind her.

  She selected her clean nursing bra, a white tank top with clever hidden openings in the pleated bodice, and a pair of black gym shorts. For now, they were a lifesaver. They fit her changing body, they didn't dig into her poochy belly, and they were easy to get on and off.

  The shower felt wonderful. Rae forgot all about Mac and the outside world and just enjoyed shampooing and conditioning her long hair, washing all over. She even got to shave her legs and underarms, which she hadn't done for more days than she cared to count.

  It might be summertime, but the only one who wanted to get up close and personal with her was Connor, and as long as she had two arms and a nipple to offer him, he didn't care about the rest of her.

  Probably no one else would for years, either.

  With this woeful thought, she dried her hair, then crawled onto her bed and fell sound asleep.

  She woke to the sound of Connor's kitten-like whimpers escalating to his angry tom-kitty squall. Sitting bolt upright in the bed, Rae shoved back her hair and stared blankly around her. Then she sighed with relief.

  Connor was safe, at least. Mac stood in the doorway of her bedroom, jiggling the baby gently in his arms. Mac had a pale blue burp towel over one broad shoulder. He looked healthy and vital in the feminine space.

  Connor’s tiny nursery had spilled over into her bedroom. Diapers were stacked by the wall, his diaper bag spilled over next to it, and his swing stood nearby. A pile of his tiny garments sat underneath in a laundry basket, waiting to be washed and dried over at Ellen’s house.

  But all the baby’s things were pastel, as were her own bedroom furnishings. Against them, Mac looked even more masculine than usual.

  "Sorry," Mac said, his gaze on his son. "Let you sleep as long as we could. But now this guy needs some nourishment."

  Rae held out one arm, reaching under her tee to unfasten her nursing bra with the other hand. "Give him to me."

  Mac brought the baby to her. Connor was crying so hard his face was dark red, his little fists waving angrily.

  "Sh-shh," Rae crooned, pulling him close. "Sh-shh, baby. Mama has you. Here you go." So intent on giving him what he wanted that she forgot to be self-conscious in front of Mac, she pulled open her top and bra and offered her bared nipple to the baby.

  He smacked her with his tiny fists as he fought to latch on, then settled down to work at suckling. His eyes opened and then closed as he worked, and one tiny hand opened like a starfish on her breast.

  Mac perched on the edge of the bed at her side and chuckled softly. "That's the way, little man. Get that milk. Looks like he’s nursing real well."

  Rae glanced at him and found his gaze fastened on their son, his expression full of love and what looked like awe.

  So that's what he looked like when he truly cared about someone.

  Well.

  As long as Connor got that look from his daddy, that was fine.

  She didn't need that from Mac, not anymore.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The years fly by...

  September, 2003

  Mac was spending an afternoon with his daughter in the Tri-Cities. It was a warm, sunny day, so Mac and Cassie were at the park. He wore a tee and a baseball cap with his jeans. She wore a little denim jacket with a pink flowered tee underneath, jeans, and a little pink ball cap he’d brought her that said ‘Daddy’s Girl’.

  "Daddy?" Cassie asked, kicking h
er feet under the bench where they sat. "Why can't I see my baby brother?"

  Mac had just finished showing her pictures of Connor, snuggled on a soft blue blanket, his eyes open for once. "Because, he's too little to travel. When he gets a little older, I'll bring him to see you."

  She scowled, the look comical on her sweet, round face under the mop of golden curls. She kicked harder. "Then why can't I come see him?"

  He hated this question. This wasn't the first time she'd asked it since Connor was born, and it likely wouldn't be the last. And every time he had to give the same goddamn answer. "Because, sweetheart, your mama don't want you leaving her."

  Cassie squirmed off the bench and stood on the dried grass, hands on her hips. "Why not?" she demanded. "Zachary and his mommy don't live with his daddy. But he gets to go see his daddy alla time. Why can't I?" She stuck her lower lip out and it trembled—just a little, but enough to melt Mac’s heart.

  Mac reached down, caught her by her tiny waist, and swung her up to stand on his knees as he sat on the bench. She stared back at him with big, hazel eyes just like his. He guessed she'd also gotten his stubbornness. His own mother always said he'd never known when to quit.

  "Because," he said in that voice parents use when they're done arguing. "Your mama says. And until you're a good bit older, you've got to do what she says. And nothing Daddy can do about it."

  And didn't that sting to admit. There wasn't a father alive who didn't want to be the solver of all problems, slayer of all dragons for his little girl.

  Cassie's lip quivered again, and she opened her mouth to argue some more.

  Mac stood, bearing her up with him in the crook of his arm. "Hey, how about we go get you a great big ice cream sundae, with a cherry on top. Yeah?"

  Her eyes brightened. "Not a sundae. Want ice cweam cone."

  He grinned at her. "Sounds good to me. Let's go. You want to ride piggyback, or on daddy's shoulders?"

  "On your shoulders!" she shouted, arms straight up in little kid triumph.

  Chuckling, Mac hoisted her up onto his shoulders, and with a grasp on both of her tiny ankles, carried her across the park to the ice cream stand.

  Another crisis averted.

  Somebody hand him a big, red cape.

  Christmas Day, 2006

  RaeAnn waited in her open front door, arms folded against the cold. She smiled as Mac came slowly along the snowy driveway in his truck, with Connor, three years old, beside him in his car seat. Connor's face lit up when he saw her, waving at her as they drove up.

  Mac got out and helped Con down, and her son raced to show her the new Transformers he'd gotten for Christmas from his grandparents in Wenatchee. His words tumbled over each other as he tried to tell her all at once about the dogs, and the cousins he'd played with, and the other presents he'd gotten.

  Mac carried Connor's things to the front door, gave her a curt nod, his son a hug and kiss, and drove away.

  His abrupt departure left Rae wishing, just for a moment, that they could be like one of those families on the Hallmark channel, finding their way to some magical Christmas reconciliation. Then she shook her head and reminded herself that she was just fine with the way things were.

  She had a great job at a beauty salon in the valley, she had Conner, and soon they'd be moving to a place of their own.

  Summer, 2007

  Mac finally took Conner, three and a half, to meet his older half-sister. The two of them eyed each other suspiciously and then bonded while playing with the neighbors' new kittens. Mac watched them with his heart about to bust out of his chest with love and pride.

  And he wished, for the thousandth time, that he could have both of them full-time.

  He sighed as he accepted reality, which was that he was lucky to have as much time with each of them as he did. And that lots of people had fractured families, this was just the way it was.

  And as a Devil's Flyer, he'd suck it up and get on with it

  Fall, 2008

  “Daddy?” Connor asked, looking up from the toy motorcycle he was driving around, complete with sound effects, on the worn carpet of his father’s living room floor.

  “Yeah, son?” Mac answered absently, his gaze on the football game on his TV. The Seahawks were down ten points against the Green Bay Packers, but they might pull a win if they got their act together.

  “How come you and Mommy don’t live together? Don’t you like her?”

  Mac froze, his longneck Bud halfway to his lips. Then he carefully set the bottle down again on the end table.

  Shit. Here was a wild pass out of left field. He guessed he should have been expecting this, though. Con was in kindergarten now, surrounded by other kids. And kids talked about their families.

  How to word this so a five-year old would get it. Mac scratched his head. “Well… your mama and I, we made you, and we’re both real happy about that. But, uh, we just decided it’d be better if we didn’t live together.”

  Connor’s lower lip thrust out. “But why? My friend Jason’s mommy and daddy live together, and they do stuff together, like go to the lake in the summer. And play Candy Land with him.”

  Mac groaned silently. Fuck, why him? Couldn’t very well say, ‘Well, son, I wanted us to live together, but your mama turned into a stone cold bitch, and shot me down.’

  “I know, kiddo. And I’m real sorry you don’t get to do that with both me and your mama. But, we just don’t get along well enough to live together, and that’s all there is to it. So, you’ll do all those things with us, just… not at the same time.”

  When Connor hung his head, Mac reached down, lifted his son onto his lap, and kissed his silky blond hair. He smelled like baby shampoo and the Fritos they’d had with chili for their lunch.

  “Hey, buddy, the Seahawks are losin’ anyway. How about you and me go out and kick your soccer ball around, use that new goal net I bought you?”

  Connor thought this over and nodded. “Okay.”

  Mac blew a breath of relief as his son scrambled off his lap and ran for the front door of the trailer.

  Con had been introduced to soccer by his older cousins in Wenatchee and fell in love. Now he carried his soccer ball everywhere with him. Even slept with the damn thing and currently wore a little soccer jersey with his jeans and sneakers.

  So for now, the distraction had worked. But Mac guessed this would not be the last time the boy brought up his parents’ failure to cohabit.

  He probably should shoot RaeAnn a text and warn her.

  No, on second thought, let her deal with it. It was her damn fault the situation had even arisen. He’d been willing for the three of them to be a family.

  Spring, 2013

  Connor on a soccer field, wearing a U11 elite squad uniform, running down the field along with his teammates, while his parents watched, Mac at one end of the group of parents, RaeAnn at the other.

  Both of them watching their son with pride and love, cheering when he scored a goal.

  Just not doing so together.

  Fall, 2016

  Connor on a different soccer field, now wearing a U14 elite squad uniform, scoring a goal and sporting a grin like the sun coming out, even though the day was chilly and gray.

  His parents were there, as always—but this time they were each with someone else.

  RaeAnn stood with one of the other dads, who was divorced. She clapped for Connor, and he smiled down at her, sharing her joy.

  Mac stood at the other end of the group, close by a pretty redhead, both of them in riding leathers.

  Mac and RaeAnn waved casually at each other on arrival and exit, to show the world they were fine seeing the other with someone new, and would spare not a single moment to imagine the other in someone else’s arms.

  Spring, 2017

  “Mom, I don’t get why you hang around with that Niles guy,” Connor announced.

  He stood on the sparse grass in the backyard of the house they’d recently moved into, on a quiet street in Spoka
ne, just north of the river.

  The house was small, just two bedrooms upstairs and one bathroom. The backyard was small, too.

  But it was near a good high school, which Con now attended. And it was close to Rae’s new job at Brilliance Salon.

  Rae was relaxing in the warm spring sunshine, on one of the chairs in their new patio set, reading a book on her phone while Connor dribbled his soccer ball with feet, knees, and other body parts, seeing how long he could keep it airborne.

  Now she looked up, dismayed at her son’s truculent tone. “What? Why don’t you like Niles?’

  She’d met the British-born marketing agent at the salon, and they’d been dating for a month. Niles was charming, funny, and very good in bed. They’d only reached this stage the prior weekend, while Con was at his father’s house. Rae was looking forward to more.

  “He’s a weirdo,” Con informed her. “That lame way he talks—and I don’t like him touching you.”

  What the hell? “When exactly have you seen him touch me?” she asked, frowning at Con over her sunglasses.

  “When he came by yesterday,” her son said, flipping his soccer ball up with his toes and catching it. “Bringing you flowers, and touching your arm, ri-ight. Everyone knows what a guy wants when he does that. Real suave.”

  RaeAnn didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. Suave? Con must have gotten that out of a movie, because he sure hadn’t heard it at school, or from his father.

  “Hey,” she said. “First, Niles is not a weirdo. He’s a very nice man. And second… sorry, but you don’t get to decide who I date.”

  Con flipped the ball again. “Well I don’t like him.”

  Rae went back to her book. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  With an inner sigh, she gave up on the book and stood. Time to get supper in the cooker, anyway. Maybe some barbecued pulled pork sandwiches would take Con’s mind off his mother’s personal life.

  She paused on the tiny back stoop, one hand on the back door. “Just out of curiosity, do you like the women your dad dates?”