Rick shrugged. “What if I am?”
Mac looked at him for a moment then tipped her chin and laughed. She was laughing so hard that she started doing that snorting thing.
“You’re right,” Rick muttered. “It’s hilarious.”
“Rick,” Mac began once she stopped with the snorting. “Charlie is like my brother. I burp in front of him. He’s seen me naked—”
“What?”
“I was seven. It was a dare. I lost. He cheated.”
Rick couldn’t help chuckling. His clenched muscles relaxed.
“Besides that,” Mac continued, wrapping her arms around her bent knees, “Charlie Johansson is a nightmare for all womankind. His dates should be given emotional condoms as standard issue.”
Okay, Rick couldn’t help laughing at that. He loved the way their laughter together echoed through the quiet house.
“You feel that?” he asked, staring forward.
“Feel what?”
He turned to her. “The heat.”
“Yeah,” Mac said after a moment. “It’s getting, um, warm in here.”
Rick loved how the color of the fire was catching the light in her hair. He could look at her forever. Suddenly, there was a tightness in his chest.
Jeremy. Charlie.
Brandy…
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.
“Well, what do we do now?” Mac asked.
“Do you feel like exploring the kitchen?” he suggested, thinking it was best if they weren’t in the same room for a while. “I’ll stay here and make sure the fire keeps going.”
Mac’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. She could be so easy to please sometimes.
Thirty minutes passed in relative quiet. While periodically adding more logs to the fire, Rick checked his messages and returned some e-mails. All the while, he listened to Mac banging around in the kitchen.
When the scent of something spicy wafted around his nose, he closed the fire shield and walked into the kitchen.
Mac was in that black V-neck top again, but at least a white apron was covering most of the front. She was barefoot and the long cuffs of her jeans were rolled up.
“Did you cook?” he asked, a bit dumbfounded. From what he knew, Mac had never been much of a chef.
“Pulled pork,” she said, washing her hands over the sink. “It was precooked and sealed. I just added some seasonings and barbecue sauce. It’s simmering.”
“Smells delicious.”
She draped a hand towel over one shoulder. “Thank you. I think I’m going to shower now. Will you keep an eye on this?” She pointed to the stove as she breezed by. “If it starts to bubble, turn it way down. Pull out some things for a salad,” she continued. “And check the fire, too.”
Rick couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, dear.”
She gave him a smile over her shoulder as she turned to go. Her jeans had dried and were tightly formed to her body. Admiringly, Rick watched her walk the whole way.
Chapter Sixteen
“Are you taking care of my man?”
“Who?” Mac asked, switching her cell phone to the other ear.
Brandy laughed. “Who do you think I mean? Rick.”
“Oh.” Mac shook her head. Of course. “Um, yeah. He’s fine.” She glanced toward the open door, hearing Rick snapping more twigs. She bit her lip, wishing she were down there watching. “Fine, fine,” she repeated. “He’s building a fire and I’m about to hop in the shower. It’s been a long day.”
“Don’t forget to shave your legs,” Brandy suggested.
“Why?” She knew she wouldn’t have to shave her legs for Jeremy. Nonetheless, she found a razor at the bottom of her bag and pulled it out.
“Rick told me there’s an outdoor hot tub,” Brandy said. “We all might want to take a dip tomorrow night.”
Mac nodded to herself at this sound logic then pulled out a large bath towel from under the sink.
“Can you imagine Rick coming out of the water?” Brandy said. “All broad shouldered and muscly. Total sexpot.”
“Yeah.” Like a natural reflex, Mac automatically pictured his chest once more, the cut of his stomach muscles, how the hair trailed down toward—
“Hey, Kinz?”
Mac nearly walked headfirst into the bathroom door. “Yes?” she said, feeling a bit too warm.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
She heard her cousin sigh. “The guys I’ve been with lately have not been nice,” she began. “And Rick is pretty amazing. I can’t believe he’s been sitting there single all this time and someone hasn’t snatched him up.” She exhaled a soft, lilting laugh. “I’m so grateful to you for setting us up. He’s exactly the type of guy I can see myself falling for.”
Mac stared at her refection in the mirror. “You’re…” She swallowed hard, wanting desperately to say what she knew she shouldn’t. After a deep breath, she simply said, “You’re welcome.”
After she got off the phone with Brandy, Mac spent a very long time in the shower, not ready to go back downstairs. Halfway through shaving her left leg, she worried that she might be completely depleting the water heater tank. Maybe she should have let Rick shower first. Though thinking of Rick in the shower was not speeding her progress.
With her hair wrapped in a towel, she pulled on dry jeans and a very non-sexy flannel shirt that she’d brought along to wear for atmosphere. Where else would it be completely appropriate to wear plaid if not at a cabin in the woods? Plus, it was warm and soft, if not a little too big.
She dried her hair, moisturized her face and hands, and headed downstairs.
She felt a wave of pleasure when she saw Rick sitting on the couch. He was wearing dark jeans, a white T-shirt, and some kind of black, zip-up jacket/sweater thing. Socks, no shoes. His hair had that barely damp look and was curling at the ends. He must have taken a really quick shower. She hoped she hadn’t used up all the hot water.
It was dark outside, but the room was bright. Everything was pretty and warm. She bit her lip and wondered what it would be like to live in a cozy place like this with somebody who talked to her and laughed with her and built her a fire and held her all night.
She jumped when Rick made a noise. He was looking at his phone and scowling.
“Hey,” she said. “Is the food ready?” She pulled off the lid.
“You better read this.”
The look on his face made her lower the lid. “What?”
He stood up and handed her his phone. She took it and read in silence. Her heart beat fast, then her stomach tanked.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Rick offered. “It’s just a prelim poll—barely even that. It’s just one person telling one source how he thinks the city council will vote on Thursday.”
Mac lowered the phone and looked at Rick. He was leaning on the back of the couch.
“Did you write this?” she asked, displaying his phone in her palm.
“Of course not,” he said. “And nothing was written, per se.”
“Well, it’s online on your newspaper. Someone had to have written it.” She felt herself getting angry but she couldn’t stop it. “Are you saying the buck doesn’t stop with you? You’re the owner.”
“Not everything goes through me, Mac,” he replied. “The paper had working management before I got there. I haven’t done anything to change the flow of approved information.”
“Well, I know how things like this work.” She held up the phone again and felt like throwing it through one of those huge windows. “And this just killed any chance of saving the park.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s one person’s opinion on how the vote will go. That’s it.”
“You know it’s not that simple. People read polls, and if they were undecided, they figure they might as well side with the team that’s already winning.”
“You’re being simplistic,” Rick said. “And we’re not talking about the general public here. It’s the city
council who will vote.”
Mac exhaled. “Well, it feels like a betrayal.”
She made herself turn away. She was frustrated and ticked off, but she also wasn’t in the mood to get into something with Rick. If he started defending the ethics of the newspaper again, she knew they would argue.
“You’re right,” Rick said after a few moments.
Confused, Mac looked at him.
“The buck does stop with me. In a way, I did give my approval for this information to be published.” He ran his hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry you feel betrayed.”
Mac had nothing to do but accept his apology. It had been irrational to take it out on him in the first place—she knew he hadn’t written it. She’d been with him the last five hours; he couldn’t have snuck away to call in some big scoop. And if he had, why would that be the first thing he showed her when she came downstairs?
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “That wasn’t fair. My sister says that when my temper flares, I project my anger improperly.”
Rick chuckled softly. “You’re telling me.”
Mac laughed, too. “I’ll work on it.”
“Is Justine a psychologist?” he asked as they both walked to the kitchen.
“She’s still in school,” Mac replied. “She graduates with her masters in May, but she’s been psychoanalyzing me my whole life.”
“Tough gig,” Rick said. “Which school?”
Mac pulled the pot of pork off the stove and opened the lid. “Undergrad at Franklin and Butler for her masters.”
“That’s where I went.”
“You went to Butler?” Mac asked. “How did I not know that?”
Rick was quiet for a minute. “I guess we don’t talk about that kind of thing. Did you go to Franklin, too?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mac said, then she thought for a moment. “Butler has a great business school. Is that why you decided to run the paper?”
“I studied journalism all though college. Until last year, I had no intention of doing anything other than writing.”
Mac thought for a minute. She remembered how she, Tess, and Jack had been shocked when they found out that Rick was really the owner and not just the new reporter at The Franklin Standard. There was something about some dead relative and a will. At the time, it sounded a bit like Rick had been forced into it, but Mac had never bothered to follow up. And after she’d found out who his father was, she’d run from the whole thing.
“Your…grandfather, right?” Mac asked, suddenly remembering a little bit of the story.
Rick nodded.
“He wanted you to run the paper. He left it to you.”
“Controlling interest,” he said. “In his will, he said he would shut it down if it didn’t stay in the bloodline. My father has no interest in it and my brother is a real estate lawyer.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t let an ensign like The Franklin Standard go under, not while there is a breath left in my body.” He shrugged. “Since I was the only one in the family with any kind of newspaper background…”
“It fell on you,” Mac finished for him.
“Yeah,” he said, quietly.
“You saved it.”
“It’s a great paper.” Rick leaned against the counter. “And like I said, it was being managed very smoothly when I arrived. Which is lucky. I’m a journalist. Reporting and writing is my passion. I’d rather do that any day of the week than run a business.”
She nodded at this. It made sense. But there was something else, a sharp question that gnawed at her insides. Still trying to grab it, she watched as Rick turned his head and ran a hand under his chin in the exact same manner she’d seen Mr. Duffy do the night of the chamber dinner.
Mac was staring at Rick now, a wave of dread rolling in her stomach. Even though she had been avoiding the subject for a month, she had to know…now.
“When you were growing up,” Mac began again, tentatively, stirring the barbecue, “were you aware of your father’s business ventures?”
“Do you need some help with that?” Rick asked, coming to stand beside her at the stove.
Mac lowered the spoon and looked at him, dread giving way to alarm when he didn’t give her an actual answer. “Why are you dodging the question, Rick?”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What question?”
“Did you follow Duffy Industries when you were growing up?”
“Not at all. Why?”
She dropped the spoon onto the counter, keeping her eyes locked on his. “So then…you didn’t know.”
“About what?” Rick asked. “Here, give me that.” He took the spoon and slid the pan off the burner.
“You didn’t know about the Elm Street factory.”
Rick stirred the barbecue then put the lid on the pan. “I’ve heard it mentioned,” he said. “It used to be a metal plant, one of the first to be closed for outsourcing. That’s all I know.”
Mac crossed her arms and took a few steps away.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, eyeing her.
“My father worked there,” Mac said, staring at him from across the kitchen. “For fifteen years. He was the head of the union, and practically overnight, it was all gone. No benefits, nothing. Hundreds of workers lost their jobs, just like that.”
Rick opened his mouth but didn’t speak at first. Finally he said, “Because my father shut it down.” He dropped his chin. “Bastard.”
“Do you know how hard it is for a metal worker to find a job? It took my father years.” Mac roughly brushed a tear off her cheek and turned away. “Things were never the same at home, then my parents divorced and…”
“That’s terrible,” she heard Rick say.
She wheeled around to him. “They were laughing about it, Rick. Your father was, with that other guy. He was looking at me and laughing.” Her chest shuttered with a sob. “Like he knew who I—”
“The other night,” Rick cut in, walking over to her, “at the chamber dinner. That’s why you were so upset.”
Mac nodded miserably, feeling tears sting her eyes. “He was laughing.”
Rick was just looking at her, his expression broken and confused. Then suddenly, his arms were around her, pulling her in. “Mac,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for what he did to you, to your family.” His hand was cupping the back of her head. “My father can be the biggest, biggest jackass when it comes to business.”
He was stroking her hair. He was strong and warm, and she felt instantly safe when he held her closer, irrationally trusting.
“Please believe me,” Rick said, his mouth at her ear. “I am nothing like him.”
Mac was nodding, feeling a lump grow in her throat as the truth was sinking in.
The Rick she’d first met six months ago, who sported tweed jackets and mussed-up hair… That was the real Rick, not the guy posing for a picture while shaking some boring millionaire’s hand. The real Rick was the one who had sat at her kitchen table and laughed with Justine. The real Rick brought along Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper on their road trip, took her hand when she felt out of place, and wrapped his arms around her in the snow, making her feel warm and cherished.
Just like right now.
Practically of their own accord, her hands slid around his waist and she nuzzled in, pressing her cheek against his hard chest, breathing him in, relaxing with him for the first time since their kiss six months ago. When his hand ran down her spine, it left a trail of heat.
“I believe you,” she whispered as she pulled her head off his chest.
Rick was studying her face. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands sliding off her shoulders.
“Yeah.” Her heart was pounding, so she took in a deep breath as well as a pretty healthy step backward. Rick gave her a look. “Sorry,” she said, wiping the corner of her eye.
“Don’t be,” Rick said, still studying her. He opened a cabinet and pulled out two glasses. “I had no idea. You should’ve told me about the co
nnection between our fathers.”
“I know.” Mac took one of the glasses by the stem. “I thought about it a million times, but I could never find the right words.” She chuckled. “I teach the art of speaking! Why don’t we ever talk?”
“Oh, we talk, all right,” Rick said. “Just never about anything important. Until now.”
When he brushed her arm, the little hairs stood to attention.
“Will you promise to communicate with me?” Rick asked. “Even if it’s tough?”
Mac nodded, willing to promise him anything that he asked.
“If I had known, we would have skipped that dinner and any other place my father might have been,” Rick continued, uncorking a bottle. “I would much rather be anywhere than kowtowing to a bunch of city councilmen.”
“Council members,” Mac corrected automatically.
Rick grinned. “And there’s the Mackenzie Simms I know.”
Mac felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. But when Rick looked at her, his gaze sliding to her mouth for a second, directly on the heels of that relief, she felt something hot.
Then she felt panic.
“Will you pull some veggies out of the fridge?” she asked, needing to escape for a minute. “I’ll be right back.”
She barely made it up three stairs before her knees gave way and she had to sit. Hearing Rick’s words of explanation and then understanding what they meant to her heart… She had been so blind and stubborn. She’d practically seen it coming since the day she’d introduced him to Brandy.
To her utter dismay, Mac had set another woman up with the man of her dreams.
“What have I done?” she whispered into the palms of her hands.
…
The sun had just set and Rick could hear the wind howling outside. They would be lucky if the power didn’t go out.
While he was assigned to slice tomatoes and pickles in the kitchen, Mac set the table and dished out the salad. She seemed happier now, more relaxed as they worked together. And the way he caught her looking at him once or twice…it was as if that barrier between them was finally coming down.
He understood now why she hadn’t opened up to him before. It was his father. Damn him. Mac had probably assumed he was exactly like old Arthur Duffy: do anything to score the big business win. After she told him about what happened with her father, and Rick had pulled her into a hug, he could actually feel tension leaving her body. He might have felt more relieved about that than Mac.
Speaking of Love Page 12
