Keep On Loving you

by Christie Ridgway

  Zan thought he might hit the local slopes one of these days, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “I lived here as a kid. With my grandfather. He passed, so I’m here to sort out things.”

  “Oh, sorry, man.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  The bartender wasn’t done with him, however. The night, apparently, was that slow. “Then you’re going back to...what?” he asked, swiping at the bar again.

  What was he going to do after this? Zan had come back to town sick, which had taken a few days to clear. Then he’d been caught up in his grandfather’s business, but that wasn’t going to last forever.

  Maybe it was time to do a little thinking.

  Where would he go next?

  What did he want next? After graduating high school, he’d promised his grandfather he’d stick around until getting his bachelors in anthropology. At a college he’d commuted to down the hill, he’d managed to finish in three years. Since that time he’d wandered, and then wandered with the Earth Unfiltered crew, and now he didn’t have a plan.

  Or a clue.

  A commotion at the entrance to the bar caught his attention. A knot of young women were laughing and jostling each other on their way to a couple of round tables they shoved together in one corner of the room. Under their arms were gifts wrapped in silver and white and each of the women had a poufy bit of transparent white fabric pinned to her hair.

  It was the Walker sisters, with a posse of their girl pals, all wearing veil-like things on their heads.

  Most settled into chairs. Two separated themselves from the group and approached the bar. The guy manning it moved to greet them.

  “Hey, Sean,” a redhead called.

  “Hiya,” he answered. “You ladies celebrating tonight?”

  “Yes, we are. And we have a designated driver and everything, so no watering down our drinks.”

  “As if I’d do that, especially with brides-to-be in the party.”

  “Then we want two pitchers of beer and two pitchers of margaritas.”

  “Coming up.”

  The ladies seemed content to wait for them, as there was no server on duty that night. Zan watched them through the mirror as they chatted with each other.

  He slightly turned his shoulder when he heard them mention Mac, and he kept his ears open. They were talking about the woman who’d once written him a poem rhyming Zan with lamb. The woman who’d pasted that poem into a scrapbook she’d made for him when she was seventeen. He’d pored over it the night before, memories flooding in, memories of the woman he’d traveled as far from as he could.

  But she’d been in his arms not long before and he’d seen the lost expression on her face when they’d visited the cabins. So he was going to eavesdrop and not even feel guilty about it.

  Though guilt—or something like it—sliced through him every time he recalled her whispering to him, That girl? Can’t we just let her be?

  “She’s quiet,” the redhead was saying now to her blonde friend. “Weird-quiet.”

  “Yeah,” the other woman said. “Do you think it’s because we saw Jeff at the last bar?”

  Jeff? Wasn’t that the name the courier had mentioned to her on Zan’s doorstep? Who the hell was Jeff?

  “And Adam.”

  “Adam?” the blonde squeaked out the name. “Adam was there? I didn’t see him.”

  Adam?

  “He was at a table behind you, with a woman wearing a dress that was way, way too short.”

  The blonde shook her head. “Mac wouldn’t care about Adam seeing someone, not even someone wearing a too-short dress.”

  “Maybe not before,” the other one said. “But now...now with her two sisters getting married and Brett having already tied the knot... I don’t blame her for feeling a little, well, left behind. For acting a bit removed, maybe?”

  Removed? Not Mac Walker, who was rooted to her mountains and to her family, no matter what their marital status.

  But he thought again of that expression on her face as she stared at the cabins and his gut tightened, wishing like hell he hadn’t been forced to tell her that one of those very roots that were so much a part of her character was now severed.

  Pitchers in each hand, the women returned to their friends. Zan swallowed more beer, but it didn’t relax that knot in his belly. What crap news to deliver to an old friend. If he thought for a second she’d give in and let him sell her the place—hell, he’d gift her the property—he could feel more settled. But he could tell—at least for now—she wasn’t budging on the issue.

  With business in the bar slowing down again, the bartender wandered back. “I saw the way you were checking out those ladies,” he said. “They’re lookers.”

  Zan hadn’t noticed. He’d been focused on their conversation, not anything else. Laughter came from the bridal corner and he studied the party in the mirror. Mac’s back was to him, so he couldn’t judge whether she was quiet, weird-quiet or otherwise.

  But he couldn’t get the women’s words out of his head.

  Feeling left behind. Acting a bit removed. He didn’t like the sound of either, not at all, because he well knew the feeling and he never wanted that for the woman who’d once rhymed Zan with lamb.

  He continued keeping an eye on the celebration, so he was aware of the moment when Mac abruptly rose from her chair and wandered away from the tables. No one else seemed to be aware of her leaving...nor should they, he supposed. Likely she’d left to freshen up.

  But she didn’t turn in the direction of the restrooms.

  With no coat over her little dress, she opened the front door and slipped out.

  It was nothing, he told himself. She’d forgotten something in her car. She was dashing outside for better reception on her cell.

  But when five minutes passed and she hadn’t returned, he threw some cash down on the bar and followed. They might have been over long ago, but that didn’t mean his need to watch out for her had died. Hadn’t she helped him through the flu just days ago?

  The heavy door squeaked as he stepped out, the area dimly lit by a few canned lights built into the restaurant’s overhang. Glancing around, he saw her by one corner of the building, her body half-turned, her shoulders by her ears, her hands clutching her elbows.

  He made for her, going slowly to give himself a chance to suss out her mood. But his steps quickened when he saw her shiver. He took his leather jacket from over his arm and draped it across her shoulders.

  She started, glanced around, her eyes wide.

  “Just me,” he said, studying her face in the half shadow. “You okay?”

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah? You always venture into temps below twenty degrees when you’re awesome?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s cool.”

  He watched a tremor run through her and clamped down on his temper. “Cool enough you’ll get frostbite out here, dressed like that.” The material of her dress was thin and clung to her curves. She wore it with tall boots, but they couldn’t provide nearly enough warmth on a night like this.

  “I’ve got a coat inside.”

  “You’re standing outside, Mac.” And it bugged him, that she’d felt the need to get away from her sisters and her friends.

  He stepped closer, hoping some of his body warmth would transfer through the chilly inches between them. He was in jeans, a T-shirt and a wool sweater, much better dressed for the weather. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  Her gaze slid away from his. “I should probably return to the party.” She didn’t move.

  He used a single finger to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. The strands felt cool and he had to bank the piercing need to pull her close and warm her with his body. “Feel like talking?” he asked again, intentionally softening his voice.


  “To you?”

  “Why not?” He wouldn’t let her wariness put him off. “I’m here.”

  She still hesitated.

  “And I’m interested,” he added. Then, frustrated by her continued lack of response, he took her by the arm and practically hauled her to his SUV. At his urging, she hopped into the passenger seat and he considered it a win that she didn’t climb back out as he made his way to the driver’s side. Once there, he started the engine and nudged up the heat.

  Turning to her, he found she was texting. Maybe her escape really had been a search for cell reception.

  “Mac?”

  She shut down the phone. “I texted Shay I ran into someone so they won’t worry.”

  “Why did you run in the first place?”

  “Well...” In the glow of the dashboard he saw her gaze slide right.

  Thinking she might be more forthcoming without that light on her face, he dimmed the dash, plunging the car into an intimate darkness. Then he touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

  She jumped.

  He stroked her cheek again.

  Reaching up, Mac pushed his hand away.

  He let it fall but asked his question again. “Why’d you run?”

  “If you really must know...”

  “I must.”

  “Fine.” There was an unfamiliar note in her voice. Embarrassment? “I was getting a little sniffly.”

  “Sniffly?” Zan figured at times bridal celebrations might naturally bring out a few tears between sisters and friends. “So?”

  “It would diminish my rep.”

  He frowned. “What rep is that?”

  “My tough-girl, unsentimental rep. The reputation of Mac Walker being untouched and unaffected by mawkish sentiment.”

  How he wished he’d left the dash light on, he thought, staring at her, trying to figure her out. On a night like this, the Mac he’d left behind would have written a poem rhyming bride and sigh and she would have been mopping up weepy tears with that fluffy veil still pinned in her hair.

  “That girl...” he murmured.

  “What girl?” Mac asked.

  “You asked me to let her be.” He couldn’t help it, he touched Mac again, drawing his fingers through her hair. “But I want to know... God, I want to know where she went.”

  In the darkness, he sensed the shrug of her shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure. Maybe she disappeared when you did.”

  Taking with her Mac’s old exuberance, her optimism, the shine that she insisted on for Poppy.

  He didn’t want to think it was his fault, and she wasn’t placing the blame squarely in his corner. But still, the loss of the old Mac stung. It made his chest ache like a bitch. For a second he wanted to shake both fists at the night sky.

  “I sense you don’t care much for the new Mac,” she continued, her tone nonchalant. “But—” The word ended in a yelp when he took hold of her shoulders and yanked her forward.

  For a kiss. A hot, demanding, message-filled kiss that arose out of that sting, that ache, the frustration he felt about not understanding where this change in her had come from.

  Don’t think for a moment I don’t care for you, he was trying to tell her.

  Don’t think for a moment I can’t see through that tough exterior you show to the world.

  Don’t think...

  And then he wasn’t, his entire focus only on sinking into another taste of Mac. There was the tart lime flavor of margarita on her tongue, but beneath that, it was Mac, his Mac. The female half of Mac and Zan, the yin of their young-lovers legend.

  For a moment she was stiff in his hold, unresponsive, and then her hands shot into his hair and she gave herself to the kiss, gave herself to him. He wanted closer, more, the weight of her against him, and though it had been years since he’d made out in a car, flipping his seat to lie it flat was the work of a moment and then he was lifting her over the console.

  His jacket fell from her as she allowed him to pull her on top of him.

  Their mouths broke contact for a breath, but then they were back at it. Her knees were on either side of his hips, and he ran his hand down her spine, encouraging her to settle on him as their tongues tangled and their hearts beat like mad against each other.

  He groaned, his hands wandering everywhere, taking in every inch of her slim body. His palm slid below her booty and he realized the hem of her slinky dress had ridden up and his bare flesh found her bare flesh. She moaned, lifting a little into the contact, and he didn’t contemplate his next move.

  His next move was dictated entirely by that sweet sound coming from her throat.

  As they continued devouring each other’s mouths, he drew his touch up the naked back of her thigh...all the way until he found the edge of a silky pair of panties and his fingertips delved under. Her head shot up and she pulled in a ragged breath of air. He took the opportunity to find her throat with his lips, and he felt the shudder of pleasure run through her at his exploration of this new territory. Her hands clutched his shoulders as he tongued and sucked on her tender skin, not hard enough to mark, and not hard enough to satisfy that growling voice inside of him.

  Mine, mine, mine.

  His name came out on another of her breathy moans. He couldn’t chance she’d question any of this; if she asked what the hell they were doing he had no good answer, so he silenced her again by tipping her head back down to his and clamping his teeth around her full bottom lip.

  She jolted, and his fingertips tucked just beneath the elastic moved, sliding a few inches toward her soft center.

  Her body froze.

  But all Zan felt was heat.

  There was no stopping him...unless she said the word, and she didn’t. Instead, she thrust her tongue deep in his mouth and Zan slid his fingers just a few more inches.

  The danger zone.

  When they’d first got together, that’s what he’d called it in his mind. It had been Mac, new in his arms, his best friend’s little sister. Hell, she was one of Zan’s best friends, and he had never wanted to scare her off by pushing too hard, too fast. For a long time he’d kept them on a strict course of wet kisses and full-body hugs. Then it was touching over clothes.

  And ultimately it was everything.

  He was glad to know that what hadn’t changed about Mac was the way she responded to him. Just kissing—okay, deep kissing—and she was soft and wet and searing-hot between her legs. With her knees on either side of him, her position allowed him to take full advantage of the danger zone. And he did, delving deeper beneath her panties to caress the soft folds, then sliding one finger into the wet grip of her body, then two. She had her weight on her knees and her hips tilted to allow him that access and his muscles tightened as he played...keeping his touch intentionally away from the small knot of nerves he knew from experience was pulsing in anticipation.

  “You rat,” she said against his mouth.

  He smiled against hers. Then he pushed his two fingers deeper into the tight clutch of her, and then he gave in and brushed his thumb against her takeoff button.

  Seconds later, she flew.

  God, he loved sending Mac on a thrill ride.

  When she finally stopped shaking, she buried her face in his neck and he stroked the back of her hair as her breathing slowed. He felt her lips move against him. “I...I don’t know what to say, Zan.”

  He stroked her hair again and made his decision. “I do. I’m saying I don’t have a condom and, anyway, I think I’m too old to get any more adventurous in the parking lot at Mr. Frank’s.”

  Her head shot up. “We’re in the parking lot at Mr. Frank’s!”

  He winced at her near-shriek. “Nobody’s around us. Nobody saw anything.”

  She let her forehead fall
to his shoulder, where she bumped it lightly, over and over. “Why did this happen again? What the heck are we doing?”

  It happened because the chemistry between them was so damn strong. Because they’d always combusted when they were together...and he suspected that wasn’t ever going to change.

  But he guessed that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and he didn’t feel like arguing now, when his dick was hard as a pole and his brain was still smoky with lust.

  “For now,” he said, “what we’re doing is ending our little reunion so you can get back to your other party. I’m going to watch you go inside and then I’m going to head to my grandfather’s.”

  Where he’d take the fucking coldest shower in the universe.

  And that’s how it went. But as he drove the mountain roads, cold air blasting in from his open window cleared his head and realization rushed in. He had found at least one answer.

  What he wanted? In the short term, that was easy.

  Mac.

  This Mac. He wanted this maddening, prickly, tough-girl Mac in his arms, in his bed, her scent in his head, her taste in his mouth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS TILDA APPROACHED the door to the Maids by Mac office, a cup of Oscar’s coffee in each hand, it suddenly swung open and she was jerked inside. Then Mac locked the door and towed her quickly to the privacy of the back storeroom.

  “There,” she said on a sigh of relief.

  Tilda eyed her friend and boss. “Um, hi?” She handed over one of the paper cups.

  “Thanks,” Mac said, swallowing down some of the beverage immediately. “I need this. I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Are you going to explain?” Tilda asked. “I noticed the front room lights aren’t on and now we’re crowded in with the Pledge and the Windex. I assume we’re hiding?”

  “You don’t have sisters,” Mac said. “If you did, you’d know it was necessary. They’re relentless and nosy and they’ve been leaving texts about wanting to talk with me ASAP.”

  Tilda had been struggling with her own nagging worries after her date with Ash, but seeing the usually unflappable Mac so agitated was proving an interesting distraction. “Does this have something to do with your visit to Mr. Frank’s last night and how you abruptly disappeared?”