Twenty minutes later, she emerged from her room feeling much more refreshed and capable. Her rewashed hair was still somewhat damp—the downside of being blessed with lots of hair—but it was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, except for the shorter tendrils the flames had styled for her that made her think she might like to try bangs for a change. Now demurely dressed in jeans and a turquoise-blue T-shirt, she returned down the hallway. All she heard were cooking sounds; she didn’t hear any conversation. Was that good news or bad?
Turning the corner to a tantalizing aroma of onion, peppers and sausage, she saw her uncle sitting at the table sipping coffee and seemingly engrossed in the newspaper, while Mack worked at the stove. The incongruous sight had her stopping in her tracks.
“I heard the door open,” Mack said, glancing over his shoulder. “Here’s your coffee.” As she came to get the mug, he said quietly, “Let me see your hands.”
“They’ll be fine,” she replied, keeping her voice just as low.
“You didn’t have bags, did you? And I’ll bet you got the blisters wet, and the sores exposed to perfume and chemicals.”
“It seemed more important to get it done and get back out here.” Taking a sip of coffee, she said less secretively, “That looks and smells wonderful. Uncle Duke doesn’t abandon control of his kitchen to just anyone, do you?” Certain she felt his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder to find she was right.
“What?” Duke asked. “Did you say something to me?”
Alana just smiled, and asked Mack, “Is there something that I can do?” Glancing around, she noticed biscuits in the oven.
“I’ve got them,” Mack said. “They need three more minutes.”
“I should have known a Special Ops guy would have cooking down to mathematics.”
“Who said I was that?”
Casting him a speaking glance, she went to sit down, although she wasn’t prepared to pick up the conversation with her uncle where they’d left off. Unfortunately, he quickly folded the paper and set it all aside on the empty chair beside him, indicating that he had a different idea.
As she lifted her mug to her lips again, he focused on her hands. “You should have gone to the hospital.”
“That’s exactly why really sick or injured people have to wait so long to get help at an E.R.—other people crowding the place that don’t need to be there.”
“More scars that you’ll be wearing for years.” Duke lifted his own mug. After another sip, he dove right into what was really on his mind. “At the very least, an interview with Walt would be smart.” Seeing her stiffen, he motioned for her to hear him out. “You know that I don’t care for the man any more than you do. His politics are transparent, he’s thin-skinned and he enjoys playing God too much. But if you refuse to talk to him, instead of doing a flattering report on the accident, he could paint you in an extremely different light. Hell, knowing the way he spins things sometimes, he could end up blaming us for the plane coming down in the first place.”
Alana knew exactly what her uncle was also driving at. As small a town as Oak Grove was, editor-in-chief of the Oak Grove News Walt Biehl knew exactly how many times she’d been to a hospital, and it wouldn’t be beneath him to insinuate that there was another reason or reasons for them rather than riding accidents and being in law enforcement.
A quiet seething began to burn in her belly as she pictured Walt’s thinning hair, greasy from hair product, and his smug expression as he posed whatever questions he chose. What if those questions turned to Mack? They were sure to; keeping him a secret was no longer an option. If people had filmed yesterday’s events, he was on camera, too. Very close to her. Very much part of the events that had occurred. Mack was too physical a presence not to draw attention to himself. If questions weren’t being asked yet about the mystery man in town, they would be soon and when they learned he was Fred’s son, and a veteran soldier, inquiries would be made into his background. No, she would not be the one feeding him to the wolves.
“Tell everyone you care to, including Walt, that I’m grateful things turned out as well as they did,” she said to her uncle. “But I’d appreciate it if my privacy was respected.”
Without missing a beat, Duke said, “Ally...you’re not thinking clearly. I’m asking you as the person who has stood by you from the start—do this for me.”
Dear God, she thought. He knew exactly how this would get attention off the department and onto Mack. “No, you’re not. You’re thinking as the chief of police.”
The sound of the oven opening and closing jarred Alana out of her glaring match with her uncle. She looked over to see Mack take the golden, fluffy refrigerator biscuits from the pan and pile them on a plate.
Bringing them to the table, he said, “Don’t wait. Dig in. It might keep one of you from saying things you know shouldn’t be said.”
Yes, she thought, things were on a slippery slope. Alana closed her eyes, praying her uncle stopped talking, stopped pressing and recognized that she understood she owed him a great deal, but that this was no longer about just the two of them. She believed there was something, someone of greater importance to protect—a real hero.
“I’m not going to talk to Walt Biehl or anyone else,” she said with quiet dignity.
Nodding slowly, the lawman compressed his lips into a tight line, then replied, “Consider yourself officially on leave.”
“What for? How long?” There was nothing Alana could do to keep her voice from shaking. This was a crushing, although not entirely surprising, blow.
“Until I say so.”
“That’s no answer.”
“Then until a proper investigation is completed.”
That was ridiculous. The only investigation warranted would be conducted by the FAA. Someone might want to interview her regarding that, but she would undoubtedly be only a minimal part of their report. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
Fisting his hands on either side of his plate, Duke slid her an unflinching look. “My job. No preferential treatment.”
Alana shook her head. “You’ve always been tougher and stricter on me than you have been on anyone else in the department because you didn’t want me to have my job in the first place.”
“No—because I was afraid this would happen.” He pointed his finger at her. “You had no business going into that building alone.”
“I was the only one there.”
“Ed said he was there right away.”
“Ed is full of—” Alana caught herself. Taking a stabilizing breath, she amended, “I don’t know where in town he was, but he hadn’t yet arrived when I did.”
“A police car beat me to the scene by only seconds,” Mack said, carrying a cast-iron skillet with a fluffy frittata to the table. Also holding his own mug, he set the plate down, and slid into the seat beside Alana. “I take it that could be your officer. He never did more than look at the building, even though he had to have seen Alana’s squad car parked at the corner and assumed where she was. While I ran in to help Alana, he prepared to direct traffic on the highway.”
Alana watched as her uncle and Mack had a stare down. “Great,” she muttered. “Knock it off, you two. A man is alive. The department’s insurer doesn’t have to pay medical expenses for me or anyone else, let alone funeral costs, or face a civil lawsuit. What was I supposed to do,” she added, when her uncle refused to respond, “stand outside with Ed and wait for them to carry out carbon ash?”
“That’s enough!” Duke rubbed at his fatigue-lined face. “Ally...I probably would have done the same thing. But for the right reasons. Not for the one we both know caused you to take that risk. Now, enough is enough. You take some time off and decide. Are you going to romance life—or death?”
* * *
The instant he heard those words, Mack knew Duke had made a grave, perhaps relationship-ending mistake. It was one thing to tell a cop or soldier that they were on relieved duty after an episode that could, probably would, have
psychological ramifications, but what on earth had compelled him to treat the most precious thing in his life this way?
“Duke.”
Before Mack could say another world, Alana was out of her chair. She ran to the entry area where she grabbed a set of keys from a hook filled with a number of sets, then fled outside, slamming the door behind her. He knew they were the keys to her truck parked outside. Duke had seen to it that it was returned, just as he suspected her patrol car had undoubtedly been secured and brought to the station.
As the powerful engine roared to life, Mack returned his gaze to Duke, who at least had the grace to flinch. “That wasn’t a fumble, that was a bungle.”
“You may be the son of the man who was my best friend,” Duke replied, his voice unsteady, “but don’t push your luck. You haven’t walked this road. I respect that you’ve dealt with your own issues, but if they involved other people, none of them were likely your own flesh and blood.”
‘No,” Mack replied, “my issues didn’t involve my own family, thank God. But they were the finest people anyone could hope to serve with. And the last thing I would want to carry every day of the rest of my life is that I’d told them just before they died that we were in the mess we were because it was somehow their fault.”
Duke went pale. “I didn’t mean it that way.” He looked around the room as though he prayed the answer was written on some wall. “If she just...stopped...”
“What?” Mack asked. “Caring? Feeling? The way the rest of us manage to do so we can get on with our days?” Mack asked.
Duke hung his head.
Feeling a dread building for Alana, Mack got up and headed for the door. By the time he came outside, he saw that she hadn’t left the property, but had headed for the barn and stables. Despite the hot sun baking down on him, he experienced the cold chill of dread rush through him. He knew it was empty hope to try to convince himself that she only planned to soothe herself by talking to Tanker and maybe feeding him some carrot sticks.
Hurrying to his truck, he sped that way hoping he might be able to reach her before she’d managed to saddle her horse. The condition of her hands should slow her down, he assured himself.
Yeah, right.
When he braked outside the barn, he skidded to a stop, creating a cloud of dust. There was another cloud at the other end of the building. Alana was galloping away—and riding bareback!
Mack swore. He didn’t want to think of what managing a beast as big as Tanker was going to do to her hands, especially without a saddle to hang on to. But now what? He would be a fool to try to get on a horse himself. His only chance of stopping her was the truck—and to pray that she didn’t think jumping a property-line fence would be a good way to avoid him.
By the time he drove around the buildings, Alana was out of sight. He was forced to follow the trail that he hoped she’d taken.
The farther he drove across the pasture, the greater the challenge it was to navigate the terrain. There were more dips and rises than what she’d driven him through at Last Call. Alana could have veered off in either direction in one of those draws. Then a movement ahead caught his eye, and his stomach clenched.
She was up ahead—and jumping.
There was a clearing set up as an equestrian jumping rink, but a strong storm had brought down several pine trees to complicate things. Nevertheless, Alana was putting Tanker through his paces. There was no denying that she was magnificent, riding as one with her mount. Horse and woman were a perfect match in grace and skill. But the damaged trees compromised the clear space she needed to give the horse maximum opportunity to set up for each jump. As Tanker balked at the next obstacle, and almost sent Alana flying over his head, Mack felt a dread equal to what he’d experienced last night.
His blood ran cold when he saw the complicated series Ally was directing Tanker toward next. The horse might be able to manage the jump all right, but could she stay on him without a saddle?
“Don’t do it,” he prayed, and gunned the truck forward.
As she made her approach, Mack pulled ahead of her to block the landing side. “Ally!” he yelled, as he rushed out of the truck. “Don’t!”
She had already wheeled Tanker away from the jump the instant she realized what he was doing. Now she rode around to him and brought up Tanker. The great black beast was already pumped from the run down here, and undoubtedly sensed his mistress’s tension. Combined with being confronted by Mack, Tanker whinnied and danced sideways as he eyeballed Mack with uncertainty.
“Go away, Mack,” Alana said, tears making her flushed cheeks glisten. “I’d already decided against the jump.”
Thank heavens, he thought. Even so, something needed to be said. Slowly stepping closer, he eased his hand out until Tanker accepted his touch. He stroked the beautiful animal’s slightly dish-shaped face.
“Sweetheart,” Mack said to Alana, “how much do you have to hurt before you think it’s okay to be alive?”
She stared at him as though she’d never heard him speak before—or, he hoped, had never been challenged by that thought before. Looking suddenly exhausted, she leaned over Tanker’s neck and rested her head against the winded horse.
“I don’t know.”
Tanker nodded, and stomped the ground with one hoof, as though telling Mack, “I’ve got this, pal. Back off!”
Mack held the animal’s gaze, realizing his eyes were the same color as Alana’s. I know you understood exactly what torment she’s going through, he mentally told the wary horse. But so do I, and all I want to do is help her, too.
Slowly stepping closer until he could reach her, Mack lightly stroked her hair. “It’s all right. Come back with me, Ally.”
“No.” Sitting up, she wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hand.
Seeing what the strong hold on the reins had cost her hands, Mack winced. “You shouldn’t be doing anything so demanding for a few days. You have to get off that horse before the bleeding gets worse.”
Alana shook her head and averted her gaze. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to me.”
Understanding that she was fixated on Duke’s bad timing, and conduct, he replied, “He’s a human being and feeling his age. You gave him quite a scare last night—after an already tough day.” When Alana continued to looked away, Mack added gently, “I’m not asking you to go back to your house, I’m asking you to come back to Last Call. We’ll take Tanker to Eberardo for some spoiling. Then let me spoil you.”
As she looked back at him, there was a question in her lovely brown eyes that were shadowed by doubt. For the first time, Mack did something that a warrior knew was never wise to do—he lowered those inner shields that hid his thoughts and emotions, and let her see what he wanted, what he hoped for. Desire, need and dreams—all of them calling to her.
Alana’s lips parted in a soft gasp. “Mack...?”
With a reassuring nod, he took gentle hold of her hand and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. “I’ll get the gate.”
Their return was far more leisurely paced. Two Dog announced their arrival at the barn and Eberardo came out, pulling off gloves. “Buenos días, Señor Mack, Señorita Ally!”
“Morning, Eberardo,” Mack said, coming from his truck to grasp Alana’s waist as she slid from Tanker’s back. “I was wondering if you’d mind doing us a favor by taking care of Tanker? Alana’s not feeling well.”
The ranch hand quickly took hold of the big horse’s reins, and grew concerned as he caught sight of Alana’s pale face and distressed state. “Of course. I hear what you do last night—on the TV. Eberardo take care of things, señorita. No worry.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and let Mack assist her into his truck.
Mack hated the aura of vulnerability that continued to emanate from her as he drove them to the house. But, he reminded himself, things could be much worse. Regardless of what she’d said, if he hadn’t come after her when he did, would she still have chosen not to make that last ju
mp? With uncertainty haunting him, he helped her out of the truck and back into the house.
“Let’s rinse your hands in the sink,” he said, guiding her there.
“Don’t fuss, Mack. It’s not too bad.”
The deep growl in his throat was the best he could do to mute his opinion of that. Turning the faucet to Cold, he said, “I can get a bowl and fill it with ice water. You should probably soak again.”
Alana leaned her head against his shoulder as she held her hands under the spray. “Really, Mack, there’s no need. The bleeding has already stopped, see?”
He did. Planting a relieved kiss at her temple, he got a fresh kitchen towel from the drawer behind him to pat her hands dry. “Are you hungry? You barely got a sip or two of coffee.”
“No. I’m not sure my stomach could take anything right now. But you go ahead. You have to be starving.”
“I am.” As soon as Alana set the towel on the counter, Mack lifted her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasped. “Mack, you shouldn’t be—”
“If you don’t want this,” he said, taking long-legged strides toward his bedroom, “say it now.”
Instead, Alana wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his strong, fresh-shaved jaw. “I want it. I want you. Haven’t I been embarrassingly obvious?”
“That was sex—and mutual. This is different.” At least for him it would be. He needed to hear the words from her.
Setting her gently on the bed that she’d insisted on making up herself before they’d left, he lowered himself beside her. Resting on one elbow, he eased the band from her hair and tossed it onto the nightstand, only to return to her to fill his hands with the irresistible shining mass.
A Holiday to Remember Page 13
