“Good.”
Erin watched him amble into the master bath, beautiful in his moonstruck nakedness, while tiny aftershocks and tingles of passion still worked their way through her system. She would remember this night as long as she lived. For once, she had been loved. Nothing had prepared her for Mac’s unselfishness and caring and exquisite tenderness. No, she would never forget this night.
Clicking off the bathroom light, he came back to her and slid under the sheet to gather her close. “Okay?” he murmured, settling her head on his shoulder and kissing her hair.
“Much better than okay,” she replied, trying to ignore the guilt she felt for continuing to live this lie. But selfish or not, she wanted these few precious moments with him before she told him the truth. Wanted the wonder of lying here in his arms feeling warm and safe and whole and cherished.
I’ll know if you betray me, Erin.
A shudder racked through her. Mac jerked his head up in concern. “Terri? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“No, I—I just got a chill. I’m all right.”
“Just a chill,” he repeated quietly, and she heard his voice cool a notch. He released an impatient breath. “All right, it was just a chill.”
Erin lay there stiffly as Mac settled his head back on the pillow, the mellow mood broken. It was several moments before he spoke again. “You know…it’s been obvious from the start that something’s going on with you. But if you won’t tell me what it is, I can’t help you. And I want to help.”
Erin shook her head against his shoulder. He couldn’t help her; helping her could put him in jeopardy, and she couldn’t have that. She also couldn’t put him off forever without at least admitting there was a problem.
“You’re right,” she returned, swallowing. “There is something. But please…don’t press me about it. Can we just have this time together and forget about everything else for a while? Please, Mac.”
She was still in his arms, but with every breath she took, Erin felt him slip further away from her, and it made her ache. In the ensuing silence, Christie’s soft baby breathing from the monitor sounded thunderous.
Mac slid his arm out from under her head, rolled to a seated position on the bed and reached for his jeans.
Impossibly, Erin’s spirits dipped even lower. “You’re angry.”
He sent her a forced smile as he stood, then pulled up his jeans and zipped them. “No, I’m hungry. I’m going out to the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
“Mmm-hmm. Do you like scrambled eggs?”
Fragile as tissue paper, that feeling of being cherished tiptoed back, but Erin was afraid to hold it too tightly. “Yes.”
“Then come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll make us some.”
Taking her robe from the hook on the back of the door, he held it, waited for her to leave the bed and slip her arms into it, then tied her sash.
Brimming with gratitude, she kissed his mouth. “I’ll put on a pot of decaf.”
“Do you have instant cocoa?”
“Cocoa? Yes, Christie likes it.”
“Then let’s have that instead. It’s a cocoa kind of night.”
She wasn’t sure what made it a cocoa kind of night, and he didn’t offer an explanation. But when he took her hand in his and led her to the kitchen, she knew she didn’t need one.
The eggs were good—though she noticed him wince when she put ketchup on hers—and the cocoa was sweet on her tongue. But not as sweet as Mac’s kisses after he accidentally knocked over the ketchup bottle and decided they should play spin the bottle for “favors.” They laughed and teased like randy teenagers in a parked car…until the kisses and requests became more intimate and electric, and it got hard to breathe.
“I’d better get back to Amos’s,” Mac groaned hoarsely, skimming her body through her open robe and burying his face in her hair. “It’s nearly midnight. If he wakes up, he’ll wonder where I am.”
“Or he’ll know,” Erin put in, tipping her head to give his slowly marauding mouth access to the throbbing pulse at her throat.
“’Night,” he whispered. He nuzzled her collarbone, nuzzled her breasts before coming back to her lips.
“You taste like chocolate,” she whispered moments later as they kissed and stroked their way into his room again.
Mac nudged the door shut with his bare foot, and they fell to the bed. His voice was low and trembling. “You taste like six weeks in heaven.”
It was nearly impossible for Erin to temper her joy or the radiant smile she wore to Amos’s the next morning, though she knew she had to try. The raw, whisker-burned spot on her chin—coupled with the happy glow she’d seen in the mirror when she awoke—was tantamount to putting an ad in the paper saying that Erin Fallon had been thoroughly, gloriously bedded the night before. So for privacy’s sake, she did temper that smile, but inside there was a party going on.
He thought she tasted like six weeks in heaven.
“Good morning,” she called, shepherding Christie inside and letting the back screen door shut behind her. Mac was just hanging up the phone in the kitchen, dressed for work in faded jeans and a black cotton shirt with the long sleeves rolled back. He looked sexy and dangerous, and her nerve endings curled as she recalled every heated touch, every murmur, every second of being held in his arms. “Hungry?” she teased in an undertone, expecting him to answer in kind.
When he didn’t return her smile or tease back, she blamed it on Amos coming in from the living room. “Not particularly,” Mac said. He motioned to the coffeepot. “I started the decaf. It’s just about done.”
His remote look and tone stopped her for a moment, then she told herself again that he was just being discreet, and was doing it badly. She smiled again. “Thanks. I’ll pour you a cup when it’s ready.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll get it myself.”
He’d get it himself? Erin stared at him in confusion and her pulse raced anxiously. What was going on? Why was he suddenly so distant? What had happened in the seven hours since he’d left her bed to make him act this way? Then half-a-dozen possibilities coalesced into one unshakable realization, and her heart shattered.
He’d finally gotten what he wanted. Now that the chase was over, she no longer interested him.
“Great,” she said, fighting tears. “You do that.” Then she turned away from him, started Amos’s breakfast, and in time, worked up enough anger to burn away her misery.
For the next ten minutes Mac watched her set the table, pour coffee, stir oatmeal and chat with Amos and Christie as though nothing important had happened. If Amos had picked up on the tension between them, or noticed the whisker burn on Terri’s cheek and chin, the old man kept it to himself. Mac was relieved. He wouldn’t tell Amos the truth, and he didn’t feel like making up a story.
Last night he’d let sex get in the way of getting the answers he wanted. But he’d wanted more of her, and she’d wanted a moratorium on questions, and they’d both come away satisfied—then. Now he was furious at himself for deciding to accept her, secrets and all. Not that his resolve had lasted long. By the time he’d crashed in his old double bed upstairs, he’d known he couldn’t live that way. Not after being married to the freaking Queen of Deception.
Walking to the sink, Mac drained his coffee cup, rinsed it, then returned to the table where Terri was wiping Christie’s hands and face with a washcloth. “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked as Amos carried his decaf into the living room.
The chill in her eyes could’ve stopped a bird in flight. “PT at one o’clock, then back here. Why?” she asked pointedly. “Do you need something from me?”
Holding back a curse, Mac listened for the clunk of Amos’s recliner tipping back, then stepped closer to explain his mood. She’d shared nothing but her body with him last night, but being a hell of a nice guy, he would give her an explanation. Then Amos’s recliner thumped down again, telling h
im his granddad was on the move once more, and he did swear—beneath his breath.
“No, I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be meeting Shane tonight, so I won’t be home for dinner.”
“Fine,” she answered, lifting Christie down from her booster chair.
“So glad you approve.” Looking at her made him want her all over again, and that only increased his aggravation. “I’ll be home to shower and change, but I’ll be taking off right after that. Sophie’s coming by around six, so you won’t have to stay late.”
She sent him another “Fine,” and carried Christie’s dishes to the sink.
Amos shuffled into the kitchen, his cane nowhere in evidence. “You boys stay away from them girlie clubs tonight.”
“It’s a business meeting, Granddad.”
“It’s monkey business if Shane’s goin’,” Amos returned. “He’s a good egg, but that boy loves the women. Got himself in a pickle before, didn’t he? Ended up needin’ some penicillin.”
Mac snatched his hat from the peg near the kitchen door. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d have all the enamel ground off his back teeth. “He was nineteen and stupid, Granddad. Hopefully, he’s a little brighter now. Have a good PT session.” He hesitated on his way down the back porch steps and met Amos’s gaze through the screen door. “Don’t forget to ask Vicki about your working a few hours a week.”
Amos lit up like a Roman candle. “First thing we’ll be talkin’ about. Have a good day.”
“You, too.” Tugging his Stetson low, Mac stalked to the store’s old Chevy truck thinking sarcastically that it would be an absolutely stellar day. He still had no idea what he was going to say to Millie Kraft when he got her on the line, but by God, he would be talking to her today.
Erin rushed to the pantry and tried to pull herself together, but hot tears splashed over her lower lashes, and the racking sobs came. What had happened? Everything was fine when he left her last night! Why was he being so cold?
She sank back against one of the painted white posts that supported the shelves.
When would she ever learn that she was the world’s worst judge of men? Hadn’t her past relationships taught her anything? Grabbing a bunch of paper napkins from the bag on the shelf, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. When it came right down to it, were all men alike?
She’d thought Mac was different. She’d trusted him, deluded herself into believing that there was something special between the two of them. Now she felt fragile and betrayed, and her lungs wouldn’t work without pain.
Christie ran into the pantry, her eyes bright. “Bahney is on!” But a second later her tiny brows dipped uncertainly.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Erin said, sniffing and shoving the napkins in the pocket of her jeans. She crouched for a hug. “I’m just getting the sniffles. Remember when you had them?”
Christie nodded vigorously. “Want to watch Bahney wif me and Papa Amos?”
“In a little while, honey. Mommy needs to finish the dishes.”
“I will help!”
Erin’s heart clenched as Christie ran into the kitchen, then scraped and dragged a chair noisily over the linoleum toward the sink. Christie was her future. She had to remember that. Mark had been a cheat, Charles had been a monster, and Mac…Mac was worse. Because of him, for a few hours, she’d let herself hope.
Millie Kraft’s tone was cool and tentative. “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name when you introduced yourself. Could you repeat it for me, please?”
“It’s Corbett. Mackenzie Corbett.”
“Thank you, Mr. Corbett. Now…why are you interested in obtaining a reference at this time if Terri’s been working for you and your grandfather for a month?”
Mac withheld an irritated sigh. He was supposed to be asking the questions. “Because my grandfather apparently didn’t make this call, and I need to know that the woman who’s taking care of him is reliable and trustworthy.”
“I see. Well, if you don’t know the answer to that by now, then I can see why you thought this call was necessary. You’re obviously not a very good judge of character.”
Mac rubbed the headache brewing over his eyes. “Look—never mind about the reliable and trustworthy stuff. I guess I do know that about her. I just—I just need to know a few things. She says she’s lived a lot of different places, and that makes me uneasy.”
“It shouldn’t. Not if you know she’s trustworthy, and if her job is as temporary as you’ve said.”
This was getting him nowhere. Better add some honesty. And in the blink of an eye, finally having to come up with an excuse for his questions told him why the answers were so damned important to him.
“Mrs. Kraft, I…I’m beginning to care about her, and for reasons I won’t get into, I can’t care about her before I know more about her past. I ask questions, and she either hedges or changes the subject.”
The quiet reply on the other end of the line was a long time coming. “So you want me to tell you things that she won’t?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. Friendships don’t work that way. I will tell you that she’s a good girl. If you do care about her, give her some space. It took her nearly five months and a lot of coffee to open up to me.”
Mac waited, but Millie Kraft had finished speaking. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?”
“That’s it. Well, maybe one more thing. Her life hasn’t been easy. So if she does let you in…you be good to her.”
Wonderful. He was nowhere closer to knowing her than he was before. “Are you going to tell her I called?”
“No, she calls me. I don’t know where she is, and I don’t want you to tell me. But I think you should let her know that we’ve spoken.”
She didn’t know where Terri was, and she didn’t want him to tell her? What the hell…?
“Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Corbett, I have customers.”
Mac sank back in his chair in the feed shed’s small office, his mind shooting off in all directions. “I’m sorry to keep you,” he muttered. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
Mac replaced the receiver. After a minute’s thought, he glanced at his watch, mentally calculating the time between the next shipment, the start of Denny McCallin’s one-o’clock shift, and Terri and Amos’s departure for PT. His pulse picked up speed. He could easily get away from the store around noon if he had coverage and he was back in an hour.
He picked up the phone again. “Denny, it’s Mac,” he said when Jeff Delaney’s carrot-topped, teenage replacement answered the phone. “Any chance you could come in an hour earlier today? I have a few errands to do, and I need someone down here at the Feed & Seed shed.”
“Sure!” he said, obviously thrilled.
“Great. I’ll see you at noon, then.”
“Yeah! See you at noon!”
Mac hung up, only slightly unsettled by what he was about to do. Despite Millie’s advice to give Terri some space, he was through sitting on his hands. He’d given her ample time to “let him in” last night after they’d made love the second time, and she hadn’t shared a damn thing. Not the reason for her “sudden chill,” not the slimmest scrap of information. Now he’d find those answers himself.
By 12:40 when he uncovered $13,000 in cash under the paper liner in Christie’s pajama drawer, Mac’s heart was pounding.
What in hell was she into?
Swearing again, he straightened the stack of pajamas and closed the drawer, then went to the kitchen, checked a number in the phone book and dialed. He hung up before it rang at the police station.
He couldn’t ask Dave Kendall to check her out; what if she’d stolen the money and was running from the cops? Instantly he shook that thought from his head. Terri and handcuffs didn’t even remotely go together. But if there was something in her past that she was running from, and the authorities were looking for her, Dave would be obligated to pick her up.
Aft
er another moment of indecision, he dialed Shane’s sister Sally’s number from memory. When Shane answered, he got right to the point. “I need a favor. How good are your sister’s computer skills, really?”
Shane laughed. “So good we don’t want the Feds to know about her. Why?”
“Can she…” Mac hesitated, knowing he was asking a lot. “Can she access certain databases?”
Shane didn’t speak for a moment, then said cautiously, “I suspect that depends on what kind of information you need and what you plan to do with it. What’s going on?”
“Not on the phone. I’ll tell you when I pick you up at six.”
Chapter 13
Sally Garrett rolled her chair back from her computer and shrugged. “Sorry. I tried several different spellings for Terri and for Teresa, but there’s no woman by that name and approximate age in any of the databases I accessed.” She turned to glance wryly at Mac, her chin-length brown hair swinging. “Found a guy named Terry in his early thirties, but I guess that won’t help you much.”
“Guess not,” he replied. Maybe Terri was supposed to remain an enigma. Maybe fate or karma or whatever forces ruled the planets had decided he wasn’t supposed to know anything about her.
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist,” Sally went on. “It only means that I can’t find her—yet. Are you sure Teresa’s her first name? I have a friend named Linda, but most people know her by her middle name—Susan.”
“I don’t know. Hell, the list of what I do know about her is damn short.”
Sally’s gray eyes softened. “Look, if you want, you can call me later with her license plate number. You could also check her owner’s card and insurance information for her full name. Most people keep them in their vehicles in case they’re stopped for a traffic violation. We’ll see if any red flags pop up.” She chewed her lower lip as she came to her feet. “But Mac—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to anyone. Believe me, this isn’t something I’m proud of.” The truth was, he was less proud of himself with each passing moment. Going through her things, digging into her friendship with Millie Kraft, asking Sally to access police files… He didn’t get off on invading people’s privacy, but dammit, he wasn’t just ticked off at her. After finding that wad of cash, he was worried.
Run to Me Page 17
