Saying I Do (Stewart Island Series Book 8)

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Not what I meant.”

  She knew it, too, since apparently the cat—who’d now moved on to washing the area where his bollocks had once been—was way more interesting than making eye contact with Joe.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything about you keeping your mouth shut,” he said.

  “Big gob, I believe, were your exact words.”

  Her gaze switched from the cat to his mouth, and the lingering caress of that heated glance suddenly made him wonder what he was doing, dragging up the past, which couldn’t be changed anyway.

  “Big gob comes from the Irish words for ‘very attractive lips.’”

  Those green eyes flicked up to his, creasing in the corners as she laughed. “You’re full of it.”

  Then some of the humor dancing in her eyes drained away, and the curve of her very attractive lips straightened and thinned.

  “You were right then, and you’re right now. I should’ve minded my own business.”

  “If it were you,” he said quietly, “would you have wanted to know, wanted someone to tell you what you couldn’t see for yourself?”

  She stroked a hand down Diablo’s spine, and the animal leaned into it, the purring ratcheting up a notch.

  “Would you want to hear that the person you loved didn’t love you in return?” he asked, leaning forward to still her hand on Diablo’s back. “That they were, in fact, only in love with the idea of your perceived net worth and that of your family?”

  She met his gaze straight on then. “Yes,” she said. “I would. But I guess I would’ve preferred to hear it from someone who loved me, not from a stranger.”

  And back then, MacKenna had been a stranger—or very nearly one. He remembered walking in the door of her bridal boutique for the first time, seeing the petite and pretty blonde who displayed a natural warmth as she shook his hand. He remembered thinking, as he’d left his fiancée in the shop, that the owner was attractive in a cute, girl-next-door way. Though not stop your heart gorgeous like Sofia, who’d captured his entire focus from the day she started as the receptionist at the Invercargill medical center where he worked.

  In hindsight, he could now interpret MacKenna’s body language that day toward Sofia as conveying restrained dislike. During those first turbulent weeks after Sofia left, he’d had the full Sofia-fuelled wrathful support of his family at his back, and a few, “I always suspected” comments from his parents and “What a bloody skank” remarks from his siblings. But would he have listened to them if they’d criticized Sofia before? If, after meeting her for the first time, his mam and da had been brutally honest instead of tactfully suspicious?

  “Sometimes strangers can see things more clearly than the people who care about you,” he said. “And if you hadn’t taken action, I would’ve married her and likely been divorced within a year.”

  Both thoughts contributed equally to the sinking sensation in his gut. If not for MacKenna, he’d have gone through with the wedding. Maybe he’d have found out Sofia’s true nature in a few months, or maybe it would’ve taken years. Either option would’ve meant a painful and expensive mistake. He’d been blindly in love with her, but in an instant, that love had died.

  Love was fickle that way. In love one minute, out of it the next. And he guessed that went both ways. Sofia had walked away from him first, kicked his arse to the curb, as the saying went. They’d avoided the messiness of an extended, painful breakup. For that, he could almost—almost—thank her.

  “I’m just sorry you had to find out the shitty way you did,” Mac said. “For the hurt and embarrassment I caused both you and your family.” Her voice softened on the last words.

  “I dodged a bullet, as far as my family’s concerned.”

  Diablo, deciding in feline subtlety that the absence of stroking and the weight of two human hands on him was too great, turned and nipped Joe’s wrist. Joe yanked his hand away with a muttered curse, keeping his eyes averted from MacKenna while his gut continued to twist and turn. He actually appreciated the timing of Diablo’s bad temper because Joe had no right and no reason to keep his hand on hers. He’d enjoyed the feel of her soft skin under his palm just a little too much.

  Joe gulped down his tea—burning the roof of his mouth a little in his haste—and stood.

  “And as far as you’re concerned?” MacKenna asked.

  As far as he was concerned? More clichéd phrases jumped into his mind.

  Plenty more fish in the sea. Better off without her. Time heals all wounds.

  That it did—but scar tissue could last a lifetime. He opened his mouth to offer a flippant comment and instead said, “You did me a favor. I should buy you a beer sometime to thank you.” As if she were one of the lads or a mate.

  Hell. What was that all about? But it was too late to rephrase the veiled invitation to spend time with him. Too late to deny that a part of him really wanted to spend more time with her.

  MacKenna offered him a leashed smile and made a polite noise in the back of her throat.

  “No thanks necessary,” she said, also standing. “Like you, I imagine, I’d rather forget the whole thing.”

  When he continued to stand looking at her like a big gammy eejit, Mac snatched up her mug—nearly slopping her untouched tea over the side—and scuttled into the kitchen.

  “Do you mind taking Diablo outside with you?” she said, safely behind the kitchen counter. “He should get the hint to go home where he’s wanted.”

  “Sure.” Because what else could he say when it was obvious that Mac wanted him out of the house just as much as the cat? Both males had outstayed their welcome. “See y’round, then.”

  Joe scooped up the black cat, who strained to head butt Joe’s chin in misplaced affection. He carried the cat into the hallway and jammed his feet into his hiking boots, not bothering to tie the laces.

  The cat’s sudden change of heart wouldn’t last long once Joe booted Diablo out into the cold. And neither would Joe’s warm fuzzy moments that rose during his interaction with Mac.

  Chapter 5

  It was midmorning two days later when Joe finally hit State Highway 6 that led north from Invercargill to the tourist capital of the South Island, Queenstown, where he planned to casually stop by and take his sister to lunch. He counted himself fortunate that for all Stewart Island’s harsh winters, the one good thing for a doctor was the slowing down of patients at the little medical center. Aside from the normal rounds of the flu, the persistent coughs, and everyday illnesses and injuries, during winter Joe had a little more spare time on his hands. Come spring, leading into the high season of summer, the influx of hikers and tourists would keep him and Maggie busy. But he enjoyed the slower pace; it gave him a chance to breathe and catch up with his friends and family on the mainland.

  He’d made good time on the mostly two-lane highway, and he rolled down the window, breathing in a lungful of fresh air, his gaze skimming over green field after green field. He punched a button on the dashboard and the car’s stereo kicked on, blasting the local radio station into the car. Joe sang along as he drove through the tiny township of Kingston on the shores of Lake Wakatipu.

  The narrow part of the deep-blue lake stretched out into the distance until it bumped against the towering, snow-covered peaks that surrounded the Z-shaped lake. Breathtaking was the only adjective to describe this part of the country. The lakes, the mountains, the sprawling magnificence…

  Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is” came over the speakers.

  His brain automatically zoomed back to when he’d stopped for coffee at The Great Flat White Cafe on Oban’s wharf yesterday morning. He’d spotted MacKenna’s flyaway blond hair whipping around her face as she boarded the ferry. His heart had thudded so loudly he’d given Erin, serving at the counter, a concerned glance in case she’d heard the thunder of it. But she’d continued to make polite small talk as she snapped the lid on his to-go espresso. Joe had mentally kicked his arse a half-dozen times for considering that
the hollowness aching in his gut was due to something other than a need for one of Erin’s famous muffins. So he’d bought two, eating one defiantly on the way back to the medical center and his first patient of the day.

  Joe gripped the steering wheel, goose bumps rising along his arms as Lou Gramm sang about having lived with heartache and pain and then finding the courage to change his lonely life. Lonely? He wasn’t lonely. He had his family, his work, and his mates, and he was part of a close-knit community that’d quickly accepted “that Irish fella” as one of its own. And he also had the occasional woman sharing his bed.

  He scrubbed the heel of his palm down the length of his denim-covered thigh and grimaced. Yeah, and it’d been a while now since some fine thing had warmed his sheets for more than a weekend hookup.

  He still wasn’t lonely.

  Joe punched another button on the stereo and got another radio station. Heart’s, “Alone.” Shite. He hit it again. John Waite’s “Missing You.” Was the universe screwing with him? Eighties music from one feckin’ end of the dial to the other, as if all the DJs had conspired to make him think of MacKenna.

  He twisted the off knob and listened instead to the rush of wind through the open windows as he guided the car around the sharp turns following Lake Wakatipu into Queenstown.

  The Alpine-styled tourist town was packed with just that—tourists. People with cameras looped around their necks, trying to line up shots of the snow-capped Southern Alps in the background, people in ski jackets and pants, snowboards tucked under their arms or skis on their shoulders, people spilling out of the town’s cafes and pubs and into the many narrow streets in the town’s center. Parking, of course, was a nightmare—and forget about admiring Queenstown’s famous lakefront drive; he wasn’t barking mad.

  Joe finally pushed open the tour company door, and Kerry, seated behind the reception desk, a headset hooked over her dark-brown hair, glanced up, her eyes flying open wide. Freckles danced across her cheekbones as she smiled at him, holding up an index finger to indicate she’d be just a moment.

  Since Kerry was in the office alone, Joe wandered over to the desk and perched on the edge, studying his sister out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t look any different than she had the last time he’d seen her, six months ago at their mam’s birthday party in Nelson. Same long, dead-straight brown hair, same green-blue eyes and the same smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks—freckles she’d tried to remove by dabbing hydrogen peroxide on them morning and night when she was a teenager.

  He grinned, his gaze skimming down to the massive handbag she lugged everywhere with her, dumped beside her chair. A hairbrush handle, two bottles of something, and a folded sheet of Happy Birthday wrapping paper spilled out from the bag’s bulging sides. And—Joe’s eyes narrowed—a glossy magazine with a cover showing a beaming young woman in a white gown surrounded by a plethora of flowers.

  Huh. Well, now.

  Kerry disconnected from the call and pulled off the headset, swiveling to face him in her office seat. “Come to take me to lunch, have you? Good, I’m starving.”

  “So long as you behave, I’ll spend a few quid to see you’re fed and watered,” Joe said. “But no opting for salad then stealing my bloody chips.”

  “Stolen chips always taste the best, you git.” Kerry snickered and bent to shove the contents of her bag back inside. “Fancy trying a new cafe that’s opened on the Mall? We can laugh at the tourists queuing up like lemmings ready to be hurled up and down the Kawarau River.”

  “Don’t you take bookings for that jet boat company here?” he asked as she stood and pulled on her coat.

  She slung the bag over her shoulder and ducked out the other side of the desk from where he was sitting to turn a ‘back in an hour’ sign over in the door. “Oh, for sure. But jet-boating? Please. It’s for baby thrill-seekers only. I’m quite certain I dozed off the first time I went for a whirl.”

  Joe snorted and followed his sister outside. “How many bungee jumps are you up to now, then?”

  Kerry checked the office door was locked behind them, and they set off on the short walk to Queenstown’s lakefront via the Mall, Kerry’s boots clicking loudly on the fake cobblestoned sidewalk. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  “Seven,” she said. “Plus, I went parasailing last birthday; my girls paid. And they’re springing for my first tandem skydive before—” Her fingers tightened on his arm, and she ducked her head. “Before Aaron and I get married.”

  “Might put a dampener on the wedding night if you’re in a full-body cast,” he said mildly.

  Kerry didn’t break stride. “Mam and Da told you.”

  “Did you truly expect they wouldn’t?” He was genuinely curious.

  Not many secrets stayed secret in his family. Only one, in fact. And that was MacKenna’s part in the whole Sofia debacle. He’d never mentioned her name to either his parents or his siblings, and he couldn’t one hundred percent work out why he’d lied when his family had gently grilled him on how exactly he’d found out about Sofia’s…indiscretions. That’d been his ma’s word for it. Her indiscretions.

  “No. I knew they wouldn’t be able to help themselves, and I figured it’d be best to give you some prewarning before you went all caveman like at the encouragement of Luke and Kyle.”

  “You told them?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “In a roundabout way.”

  Code for she’d left it up to Mam to contact Luke, who was working in Silicon Valley, and Kyle, who was currently in the US Midwest. Joe had resisted the temptation to contact his brothers, figuring they’d call if they needed him to draw up a full dossier on this Aaron character. Though perhaps his younger siblings didn’t think much of Joe’s investigative skills since the radio silence from the States hadn’t been broken.

  He huffed out a sigh as Kerry pointed to a brick building overlooking Lake Wakatipu and the crowds of people strolling alongside the quaint stone wall that spanned the length of the main lakefront.

  She aimed a worried glance up at him. “How pissed are you, on a scale of one to ten? Eleven-point-five?”

  Joe looked down at his sister’s face, and his heart gave a little wobble. As a seven-year-old, he’d stood over his newborn baby brother. Another one, he’d thought with some disinterest and a little jealousy. But when his gaze landed on the tiny infant dressed head to toe in pink—a sister!—he’d felt a funny churning in his stomach. He was her big brother, and it’d be his job to protect her. He’d sworn then—by the Holy Mother, who was the most powerful lady he knew other than his mam—that he’d die a million times over to keep her safe.

  “Would I be buying you lunch at this posh place if I were still fuming?”

  Her blue eyes narrowed, and she let go of his arm. “You’re acting the maggot.”

  Joe showed her his palms and forced his most honest-to-God smile. “I’m not. I wouldn’t dare, you fine, fierce thing.”

  “Don’t you be buttering me up now.” She stood aside while Joe tugged the glass door open for her. “I’m twenty-seven and old enough to know my own mind. You won’t change it—and Aaron’s a good man.”

  “You can tell me about him over a few scoops and a plate of steak and chips.”

  “I’m having a salad.” Kerry tipped her freckled nose into the air and strolled inside—but she was smiling. “Order extra chips, though, all right?”

  Twenty minutes later, the server delivered Joe’s steak and extra-extra chips and Kerry’s roast pumpkin and feta salad to their table. Kerry promptly stole a chip and nibbled on it, her eyes rolling in culinary bliss.

  She then cast a lustful glance at his medium rare T-bone steak. “I don’t suppose you’d spare your baby sister a bite of that, would you? Aaron doesn’t eat animals, so I haven’t had meat in ages either.”

  A bus-driving, tattooed vegetarian was planning to wed his sister? Like hell.

  Joe sliced off a corner of his steak and dropped it on
to Kerry’s plate. “Won’t eat anything that had a face, eh?”

  Kerry pounced on the steak, sawed it in half, and popped a large chunk into her mouth. Again her eyes rolled blissfully. Joe’s gut gave a sharp little twinge. Was his sister’s new man already dictating what she could and couldn’t eat?

  She chewed and swallowed. “God, that’s good.” Then she glanced guiltily at Joe. “Actually, Aaron won’t eat any animal or use any products containing dairy, and he wouldn’t like your jacket,” she added, nodding toward his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair.

  “Jaysus, Kerry—you’re going to marry a feckin’ vegan?” Which kind of came out of his mouth in the same tone as he would’ve said satanist, but still…meat and three vegetables had been the staples of his family’s diet right up until he and his siblings left home.

  Kerry threw back her head, laughter pouring out of her throat. She laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks, and she had to haul open her handbag to drag out a small packet of tissues. She blotted her cheeks and got control of herself.

  “And here’s me, thinking you’d worry about his ink or him driving a bus for a living.” She gave another little chuckle and shook her head.

  Oh—but he was worried. He was just wise enough to choose his battles. His gaze landed on her open purse and the glossy bridal magazine still tucked inside. The idea struck and warmed his gut like a swallow of good Irish whiskey. He knew exactly what tactic to take.

  “Yeah, well.” He picked up a chip and gestured casually at his sister with it. “So I notice your magazine there; have you found yourself a dress yet?”

  Kerry’s smile flipped into a frown. “I’d thought of hiring one from the place in town.” Her gaze shot down at her handbag. “Anything in there is way out of my price range.”

  “I have a friend who owns a bridal shop in Invercargill.”

  “Next Stop, Vegas?” Kerry’s eyes flew open, and she lunged for the magazine in her bag. “MacKenna Jones is a friend of yours? Bloody hell. Her designs are brilliant. Look.” She plopped the magazine open beside her plate and flipped through the glossy pages, stabbing a photo with one finger. “This is one of hers. It’s gorgeous.”