But she’d run out in such a hurry, she’d left her bitters at the bar, and her bartender’s notebook with the notes she’d taken before…
Well, before things went alarmingly downhill.
She couldn’t get anything done without them, so rather than make herself even crazier than she already felt, she got back in the car and once again drove the familiar stretch to the bar.
Stepping into the restaurant, the night didn’t feel as far behind her as she’d hoped. Everywhere evidence of their activities glared accusingly at her. He’d folded the blanket and straightened the office, but he hadn’t touched anything in the bar. That was her space, and he knew better than to go there. So she had to face their empty glasses, the candles a pool of wax on the wood. Her stomach twisted, a tremor spreading through her hands. There was no denying what had happened here, no matter how much she wanted to pretend.
Yes, there were times when in theory it seemed like sex, any sex, was preferable to another night alone. But she’d always resisted, because she knew how she would feel the next day. And now she’d gone ahead and broken down with Connor?
You don’t shit where you eat. Period. And despite what last night’s dalliance suggested, she’d meant what she said. She did have standards.
There were guys who wanted to take her out after her shift, see where things would go—once upon a time Connor had been one of them, the very first night he arrived in Gold Mountain. But Mack couldn’t help it. She was picky. Not only about physical aspects, although she liked guys bigger than her, which counted as just about everyone, but not so beefy that she’d be crushed. She also liked kind eyes, big smiles, messy hair—which was lucky for her, since the skiers that came through in the winter and the hikers who passed through year-round were known for the tousled, hat-head look.
She wasn’t so into the suits who came up skiing for the weekend and then went back to Seattle and their fancy jobs—and, she suspected, their wives and girlfriends. She wasn’t much for the ski bums, either—which was what Connor had been when he’d arrived. Not because those guys didn’t match her idea of hot, but because they were so transient.
And that was the real problem she had with dating up here. The problem she’d had with Connor as soon as he walked into the bar and started chatting her up. Most of the men who passed through Gold Mountain were just that: passing through. If she wanted someone to stick around, she should have picked a town where people settled down instead of a resort where they were always on the go.
She knew what Agnes, her old social worker, would say. Did Mack think it was possible she’d chosen a place where people were always leaving precisely to protect herself from anyone getting too close? It sure seemed awfully convenient that she could always say no to someone on the grounds that they were halfway out the door.
Mack may have been well beyond needing the state to sign off on her, but if Agnes were here, Mack would have given the exact same response to that question as when she was a smart-mouthed fourteen-year-old with her nose freshly pierced, her knuckles bruised from the latest fight she’d never squeal about. “Anything’s possible. Look up, there’s a pig about to fly!”
Poor Agnes. Stuck being the one constant in Mack’s life until Mack turned eighteen. Fortunately by that time she was busy bussing tables at Billy’s, and that was where she’d stuck around, learning the trade, working her way up until she was practically running the place. That was her world.
And then Billy died, the rent on the bar went through the roof, and it seemed like people didn’t come around the way they used to. They still had their regulars, but they needed new faces, too. Mack’s boyfriend at the time suggested not so subtly that it was time for her to get a “real” job. And Mack decided that as much as she hated making changes, she’d drown if she didn’t start to swim.
She knew how it felt to watch a business go under. But this time, she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d been here before Connor, and she’d be here long after. This was her home, her bar, and one night in which she’d acted counter to her best interests wasn’t going to ruin that for her.
She used a knife to flake the hardened wax off the bar and threw out the candle nubs. She was fine, she was in control, it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong. Stupid wasn’t a crime.
Then she heard a crinkle and realized she’d stepped on the condom wrapper, and an electric current zapped her right through the center of her chest. She’d jumped up that morning like she’d seen a tarantula in the blanket. Even now, throwing the wrapper away, it seemed impossible that she’d woken up in Connor’s arms. He wasn’t just bad news because she knew he’d leave her, leave this town, walk away without a backward glance. It was that he didn’t even like her. She’d just happened to be around when he couldn’t get with somebody else.
Mack remembered vividly the first time Connor came to the bar. He was up snowboarding with his little brother, Matthew, and it was hard to decide which of them was cuter. A lot of women would choose Matthew because he was built, but for Mack it was all about lean muscle and facial scruff—anything that scraped against her thigh. They’d been snowboarding, and their cheeks were flushed and windburned. They had a giddiness that lit up the room.
Connor had set his sights on her immediately. And although Mack was used to ignoring guys at the bar, she’d liked him. He was funny. He seemed smart, too. Interesting—like he had substance. When she talked to him, it was because she wanted to, not because she was gunning for tips.
But then she asked where he’d come in from. She was just making conversation, but he talked about meeting up with Matthew on his farm in Oregon and hanging out there for a while. “I’ve got no idea what comes next,” he’d added lazily. “I might go up to Canada. Cross into the Rockies. I’m not big into plans.”
Mack had swallowed hard and pried herself away to mix another drink. In the end, Connor had gotten the hint and gone back to the table his brother was holding, where—how convenient—two other women had already joined them.
Mack knew perfectly well there were no guarantees in this world. She wasn’t looking for forever, or even something long term. But she couldn’t do people coming in and out of her life for a night or two at a time. Call it a mental block. Call it a problem she had. It was a simply the way she’d become.
She’d thought she was protecting herself, keeping things safe, the kind of thing she’d congratulate herself for later on. Or else she’d forget about him completely, because who cared? Out of sight, out of mind.
Only he hadn’t left, that bastard. He’d stayed.
He came by the bar the next night. And the next, picking up one woman after another right under her nose.
Proving that even if he physically stuck around for a little while, it didn’t mean anything. She’d sworn he wasn’t going to try her out like that. Only now she’d gone and broken her resolve anyway.
The memory came to her of his hands grabbing roughly at her hips, turning her around and pinning her to the bar, his growl in her ear—“Tell me how you want it”—and she’d said… Oh God, how could she have said that? How could she have begged for him, the echoes of her cries still ringing in her ears, “Harder, harder,” her breath, her whimpers, her body betraying her with every thrust?
Her phone vibrated, and she grabbed it, her first thought that it must be him.
But it was her friends, making sure the storm hadn’t affected her too much. Claire and Abbi had heard from Sam that electricity was out at the restaurant. Back on track, Mack wrote. I’m here checking up on things but heading out soon. There was nothing more to tell. If she repeated that enough times to herself, it would be true.
No one else needed to know. She couldn’t bear their questions about what it meant or what came next. Plus, Connor was friends with her friends. Friends sleeping together could get messy, fast, and Mack didn’t want anything with her life in Gold Mountain to change.
But now, as she went around the bar hiding the evidence of their tryst, packing up the bitters,
and trying to get herself back to before things went horribly wrong, to when she was tasting the elixirs and deciding if they were any good, she realized there was something even worse than having their night be discovered.
It was called silence, and she hated it even more than she’d hated that smug satisfaction on Connor’s face when she came.
Every time a car drove by, she looked out the window, tensing in anticipation. Was it him?
And then the car kept going and she felt a sinking mix of disappointment and relief.
Followed by a hot wave of anger that she’d let herself feel a thing. That she cared what he thought about seeing her again.
It wasn’t like she’d hoped Connor would text, or call, or whatever. He might make it into a thing. Or else pretend it never happened, and she couldn’t decide which would be worse: him thinking he’d finally gotten his shot with her, or him treating her like just she was just another stop along his way.
But it didn’t matter, because she heard nothing.
And then it was days with no word, and she knew she had her answer. Connor didn’t need to say anything to make the message clearer. Nothing was happening between them. She couldn’t go around thinking things had changed.
Chapter Eight
Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this focused. Was it the sex? No, he couldn’t think about that right now, or figure out what—or what not—to do.
It was because he had an idea.
It was the cocktails. He could picture the row of bottles labeled in Mack’s slanted script, dozens of them lined up behind the bar. They’d have a menu describing each flavor, with a note explaining how their bitters were made in-house and rotated on a seasonal basis. Who else in the area had that? No one for miles around.
But it was more than the bitters alone. It was how that common thread unified the menu, making each drink part of a greater whole. It turned the drinks into a conversation starter, something people could taste, discuss, get excited about. It created an experience to share.
Mack had surprised him in more than one way during that storm. Now that she was a step ahead, he had to catch up. It was up to him to prove the food at a fine dining restaurant could be the attraction Gold Mountain needed. Otherwise, he’d be stuck using his father’s money to open a place called Mackenzie’s—and he didn’t want to think about how Christmas with the Brandings would go when he had to justify that. He wouldn’t even make up the investment before the whole thing tanked.
He spent three days holed up in his house, the windows open, his notes and revisions and ingredients all over the place. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked like this, not calling anyone, barely sleeping. Just doing what he loved, which was to cook.
Finally, he was ready to pick up the phone and call Mack.
“Where have you been?” she said right away, not bothering with a hello.
“What are you doing right now?” he asked.
“Suddenly you care?”
“Just tell me you’re free, you’re hungry, and you’re meeting me at the restaurant. Okay?”
“No, Connor, not okay. I’m not going to drop everything because you happen to suddenly call.”
That was when he realized his mistake.
“Mack, I’m sorry. I didn’t call earlier because I—” He stopped. He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Because you ran out so fast, I didn’t think you’d want to come near me again. Because I thought we’d agreed to pretend that never happened. Because I never really thought you were interested in me to begin with. Somehow the reasons had made sense in his head. He wondered, though, whether his head was always a reliable source of information when it came to all things Mack.
But he wasn’t such an idiot as to think she needed him, thought about him, was pining for him after one night. When he didn’t hear from her, he figured she was home regretting the shit out of it, if the way she’d hightailed it out of there that morning was any indication. He didn’t want to crowd her or get in her way.
But Sam had emailed them with detailed instructions, saying they had another week—two, tops—to get their plan to her. By then the initial stages of the demolition would be finished, and it’d be time to start in on the details.
So he had to talk to her. Now. Whether either of them liked it or not.
“I didn’t ask you to call me,” she said, her defensive-o-meter ratcheting up to a thousand.
Shit. What if sleeping together had ruined any chance they had of making this work? He could tell just by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t any more likely to budge on the whole “Mackenzie” thing. If anything, he’d just dug himself an even bigger hole.
“I know you didn’t,” he said. “And I really am sorry. But I need you to do something for me.”
That was met with a wary pause.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t make me beg.”
Immediately his face went hot at the memory of how he’d told her to beg for it, to tell him what she wanted, leading him to imagine her as open, vulnerable, desperate for him. How could he have believed she’d wanted him? They’d been stuck together for the night, that was all. He could have been anyone. She’d probably wished that he was.
He coughed and tried again. “Just meet me at the restaurant. It’s about the business.”
“If you’d bothered to come by and keep up with the renovations, you’d know there is no restaurant. The inside is completely gone.”
“Which is why we need to talk.”
“We are talking.”
“I mean in person. Come over.”
“To your place?” She sounded like he’d suggested they go kick some puppies. Maybe hit up the elementary school to sell switchblades and coke.
“Okay, not my place.” He thought for a minute. “Meet me at the South Lake Trailhead. Four o’clock. But don’t leave the parking lot—wait for me there.”
“Are you serious?”
“You want to invite me over instead?”
“South Lake. Four. Fine.” She hung up before he could press his luck and tell her to bring wine.
The South Lake Trailhead began in a wooded area off a dirt road off the main drag through town. Connor made sure to get there early. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d agreed.
He sat on a bench and waited until she pulled up. It was the middle of the week, and theirs were the only cars in the lot. When she parked and walked over, she had questions all over her face. But he was more drawn to the jeans hugging her hips and the shirt that dipped dangerously low.
Don’t go there.
This was business. Not pleasure. He’d do better to remember that this time.
Before she could ask what they were doing, he got up and led her down a path. It was a walk he knew well, over a small hill shaded with trees until the trail turned a bend and opened up to South Lake nestled in the mountains. A figure-eight trail went around the lake, switchbacked up a pass between the mountains, looped around North Lake, and returned. But if you didn’t want to go that far, there were plenty of places to poke around on the closer shore. Connor told her that was where they were heading, but no matter how much she pressed, he wouldn’t say why.
They came down the trail and started in on the turn that would bring them to the lake. It was one of Connor’s favorite sites, where the woods opened to a shock of blue ringed by snowcapped peaks. The first time he’d seen it, he’d known he couldn’t just get on the road and leave this place behind—not right away, at least. But before they got there, Connor reached out a hand for her to stop. “This is where things get interesting.”
“What are you talking about?”
He raised a finger to his lips and pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket. It was dark, thick around the middle, and tapered at the ends.
“A rag?” she asked. “I know I drive men wild, Connor, but you’ve officially lost your mind.”
“You wish. Turn around, I’m putting it on you.”
Mack
burst out laughing. Which, to be honest, wasn’t the response he’d expected. “Like hell you are! Not without a safe word.”
Connor nearly tripped over his own two feet. While standing perfectly still. “Do we need to talk about…?”
“No.” Mack held up a hand. “We were drunk, it was late, we were stuck at the restaurant, it happened. It’s never going to happen again. But we still have to work together. So let’s move on.”
He bit back a grin. It sounded as though she’d spent all day practicing that little speech in front of a mirror, trying to get it just right. Maybe she hadn’t gotten over their night together as quickly as he’d assumed.
“I promise I won’t torture you with a reprisal,” he said. But he let his tongue tease out the word “torture.” He knew she had loved every second.
She set her jaw firmly. “Then what are we doing here? And why do you have that?”
She pointed to the blindfold.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” she said.
He smiled. “Will you do this anyway?”
She looked around. Tall hemlock and fir trees feathered their long green fingers over the trail. Sunlight dappled the mossy ground. He smelled rich earth and pine, a dampness that spoke of new life.
She turned to him, met his eyes, and said, “I thought we were going to the lake.”
He nodded. “We are.”
“Then why the blindfold?”
“I promise I’m not going to dump you in the water, Mack. No matter how tempted I get.”
“Well, that makes me feel better.” She took a step forward. When he didn’t move, she said, as though he was the one delaying, “Are we doing this or what?”
But why should he be so surprised? It wouldn’t be the most unexpected thing she’d done with him. Not even close.
He came up behind her and draped the cloth over her eyes, tying it tightly. Only allowing his fingers to linger so much.
“Yikes,” she murmured. “It’s dark in here.”
“Can you see anything?” he asked.
Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain) Page 5
