by Gina Wilkins
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAC FELT as though dozens of people were watching when he climbed out of his truck at the Garrett house. As if there was someone standing in every window, gaping and speculating. He hadn’t felt that way when they’d left the site together, but he did now. Things had changed.
His concern was for Sharon, not himself. Knowing the way rumors circulated in this town, and the pleasure the locals took in embellishment, he hated to think of Sharon being the subject of those tales. He hadn’t given much thought to it before, never having cared particularly what people said about him, but it was different now. He found himself suddenly feeling protective and possessive, two emotions he hadn’t intended to feel.
He’d told himself all he wanted from Sharon was some information, not sex. Now he didn’t know what the hell he wanted. He only knew he couldn’t let Sharon be hurt by his personal vendetta. For the first time since his world had fallen apart two years ago, he cared about someone else’s feelings besides his own.
He helped her out of his truck. She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed, her hand resting so trustingly in his, and it made his stomach tighten.
He wouldn’t hurt her, he promised himself.
“I have to go back to the shop,” she said, making little effort to hide her reluctance.
He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he did. “I know. I have to get back to work.”
“Mac?”
She’d learned to say his name so beautifully. The single syllable sounded almost musical from her lips. And he was starting to feel like a foolish sap standing here mooning over her. “Yeah?” he asked, more gruffly than he had intended.
“I had a great lunch.”
Damn, he wanted to kiss her. It was only the thought of those watching eyes that held him back. “So did I,” he said, instead.
Proving she wasn’t oblivious to possible onlookers, either, she glanced quickly at the house before reaching out to touch his hand. “No regrets,” she reminded him.
Damning to hell anybody watching, he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a quick, hard kiss against it. “I’ll call you later,” he promised as he released her and stepped back.
She smiled, and turned toward her car. Something stopped her just as she reached for the door handle. “Emily Davenport invited me to a party at her house tomorrow afternoon,” she said, looking at him over the top of her car. “She encouraged me to bring a friend. Would you like to go as my guest?”
A party at the Davenport house. He was sure every McBride in Honoria would be in attendance, maybe a few from out of town. A great chance to get a good look at them, maybe pick up a bit more information, he realized. This was the reason he’d cultivated Sharon’s friendship from the beginning, wasn’t it? Because she gave him better access to the McBrides. So why was he suddenly feeling like a snake?
“I’d really like you to come,” she added when he hesitated.
“Is your brother going to be there?”
She bit her lip, and he could tell that she’d forgotten her brother temporarily—and that she was flooded with sudden guilt because of it. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “He’ll be there. But he’ll behave himself, I guarantee that. And maybe after you spend a little more time with him, you’ll realize that he couldn’t possibly have…well, you know.”
Mac glanced at the scrape on his truck, and remembered that fleeting glimpse of Brad Henderson disappearing around the corner of a building. Because he’d made a vow to himself that Sharon wouldn’t be hurt, he chose to keep that memory to himself. He could handle a punk kid with an attitude problem. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be out of place, I’d like to come with you tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Great. Do you want to ride with us or meet us there?”
“I’ll meet you,” he decided, choosing to forgo the car ride with her brother.
“Okay. See you there. One o’clock. Do you know where they live?”
Wade and Emily Davenport lived in a house that had been built by Josiah McBride Jr., who had a one-in-three chance of being Mac’s father. “Yeah. I know where they live.”
“Great. Um—call me tonight?”
“I will.” He watched her get into her car and drive away, giving him a little wave as she disappeared down the driveway. It took him back for a moment—his wife used to wave to him like that when she drove away.
She hadn’t waved when she’d left the last time. Her shoulders had been slumped with grief and defeat as she had driven away. And, knowing when it was time to let go, Mac hadn’t tried to stop her.
He’d decided his course that day—that he would find the answers to the questions that had haunted him all his life. That he would make someone pay for the pain he and his mother had suffered. Pain that had carried over to destroy his marriage. And now another woman was in a position to be hurt by him.
If there was a curse involved with being born a bastard McBride, then the most generous thing for him to do would be to stay far away from Sharon Henderson. Unfortunately, he was afraid it was already too late to protect her.
“Hey, boss,” a jovial carpenter called out on his way to the supply building. “Didya’ have a nice lunch?”
Mac’s first instinct was to belt the guy. And then he realized the question had been asked without any ulterior meaning, that he was the one who was making too much of it. “Yeah, it was fine,” he said, trying to keep his tone pleasant. “How’s it going in there?”
“Moving along at a good pace. This house is going to be spiffed up and ready to sell in no time.”
As far as Mac was concerned, it couldn’t be too soon.
He was beginning to think he’d made a terrible mistake by coming to Honoria.
SHARON MADE SURE her hair was neat, her lipstick was fresh, her clothes were straight and her expression was unrevealing before she entered her shop. Finally confident that there were no clues to be found in her expression about how she’d spent her lunch hour, she walked in with her head high and a cheery smile on her face.
“Oh, my,” Tressie said after taking one look at her. “You must have had an interesting lunch.”
Sharon’s jaw nearly dropped. “Why did you say that?”
“You were with Mac Cordero, weren’t you?”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell by the glow in your eyes.”
Sharon scowled.
Tressie laughed again. “I’m only teasing you, Sharon. Kyle McAllister stopped by for his wife’s wallpaper borders, and he said he saw you and Mac picking up barbecue at Bud’s.”
“Dammit, can’t someone even eat a sandwich in this town without everyone talking about it?” Sharon felt like stamping her feet in frustration. It was hard enough trying to figure out for herself what was developing between her and Mac. It made it even more stressful when she knew everything they did was being watched and whispered about.
Tressie merely shrugged. “You know this town, Sharon. It’s infuriating at times, but that’s just the way things are. How do you think I found out my weasel of an ex-husband was running around with that health-club bimbo, hmm? I always suspected he had some emotional problems, but I never knew he was completely stupid. He seemed shocked that I heard about his affair—he thought he’d been so very clever. He should have remembered that secrets have a way of coming out in this town.”
For some reason, Tressie’s words made a funny prickle of apprehension course down Sharon’s spine. She didn’t know why. While she was trying to keep her relationship with Mac private for now, it wasn’t as though they were trying to conceal any great secret. They weren’t doing anything wrong. They were falling in love, and they didn’t want to do that in the public eye.
She felt the blood drain suddenly out of her face. Falling in love? Was that what they were doing? She didn’t know about Mac, but the words felt all too right to her.
Tressie was looking at her in concern now. “Sharon? You okay?”
Forcin
g a smile, Sharon pressed a hand to her stomach. “Barbecue in the middle of a workday. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon popping antacids.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to talk about anything? I’m a pretty good listener, you know. And, believe it or not, I can keep my mouth shut when I’m asked to.”
Knowing the offer was sincere, and that Tressie really would respect her privacy, Sharon was tempted. It might make her feel better to share what she was going through with another woman—her excitement, her worries, her hopes, her fears, the roller-coaster of emotions that went along with falling in love.
While Sharon had a lot of women friends, there was no one she felt comfortable confiding her most private emotions to, especially since her closest friend from high school had married and moved away a year or so ago. Her mother and Bobbie McBride, two confidantes she’d always counted on, wouldn’t be back for a while yet. She’d been keeping so much to herself lately—her dissatisfaction with the rut she and Jerry had fallen into, her developing attraction to Mac, her growing concerns about Brad. She would certainly value any advice she could get.
Still, she heard herself saying, “Thanks, Tressie, but everything’s fine. Just busy, as usual. Did you hear anything yet about that order we placed for Mabel Watson?”
Tressie was obviously reluctant to change the subject, but a long look at Sharon’s expression must have convinced her that she really had no choice. She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll go call about it right now.”
“Thank you. I have some paperwork to do, so I’ll be at the computer if you need me.”
“And you know where to find me if you need me,” Tressie countered.
“Yes, I do. Thank you.”
Sharon spent the rest of the afternoon trying to concentrate on work and failing abysmally. The heady euphoria of lovemaking had faded, leaving only a deep, warm glow inside her. An occasional flash of memory made her catch her breath and close her eyes, instantly transported back to the bed in Mac’s apartment. But for the most part she found herself spending more time worrying than savoring.
She kept picturing that ugly scrape on the side of Mac’s truck. Whoever had inflicted it had wanted to cause damage. It had been malicious and calculated. A random act of vandalism or a personal attack against Mac? Who in town disliked him that much?
Other than Brad, of course.
She didn’t want to believe her brother capable of something like that, even though it was obvious Mac didn’t share her faith. Brad was her little brother. He went to church with her. His raggedy old teddy bear still sat on a shelf in his closet. He wouldn’t have deliberately caused hundreds of dollars’ worth of damage just because he’d taken an irrational dislike to Mac, would he? Of course not.
But what if…?
The telephone rang. Knowing Tressie was busy with a customer, she reached for it, grateful for the distraction. “Intriguing Interiors. May I help you?”
“Hey, sis. Tommy’s having a pool party next Friday and he wants to know if me and Jimbo can spend the night. His mom will be there and everything. Is it okay?”
Thinking of Mac’s truck again, she wondered if she should ask Brad about it. If there was any chance he’d been involved…
“Tommy’s mom said you can call her if you want to ask her anything, but she’d like to know as soon as possible so they can make plans. Is it okay?”
She gave his request another moment’s thought. She was beginning to have doubts about Brad spending so much time with Jimbo, but Tommy seemed like a decent kid. She’d met his mother, a PTA officer and soccer mom who, while spreading herself a bit thin with all her volunteer activities, seemed involved in her two sons’ lives. “I suppose there’s no harm in it.”
“Cool. Thanks, Sharon.”
He sounded so genuinely pleased and grateful that she couldn’t help softening. “You’re welcome, Brad. Promise me you’ll be good.”
“Sure. No problem.”
The guarantee was given so glibly that she couldn’t take much reassurance from it. “Brad,” she began impulsively, suddenly needing an answer about Mac’s truck.
“Mmm? I’ve got to go. Jimbo’s waiting for me. We’ve got baseball practice.”
She swallowed the words she’d almost blurted. This wasn’t the time to question him, not about something so important. Not over the phone. And not while Jimbo was waiting for him.
Besides, she reminded herself, she didn’t really believe Brad had done it. More likely Joe Wimble had gotten drunk again and felt like causing trouble. Until someone had decided to try his hand at larceny recently, Joe’s drunken shenanigans had been the worst crimes Honoria had seen since Sam Jennings had been hauled off for murder more than four years ago.
Her little brother wasn’t a criminal. She was sure Mac would see that for himself soon.
They only needed time.
WORK FINISHED for the day, Mac locked the Garrett house and headed for his truck. He found Wade Davenport leaning casually against the driver’s side.
His first instinct was to curse. He was tired and confused, and he needed some time alone. He was in no mood to be interrogated by the police chief. His nod was curt. “’Afternoon, Chief.”
“Hey, Mac, how’s it going?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Nasty scratch on your truck here. Get too close to something?”
“Apparently.”
“Do you know who did this, Mac?”
“Not for certain, no.”
“But you have suspicions?”
Mac only shrugged.
“Officer Dodson’s concerned that you’ve got a feud going with someone. He said he got the feeling you were planning to handle this yourself.”
“Now comes the part where you tell me you don’t want any trouble around here, right? I know the speech, Chief. Your officer already gave it to me.”
“Yeah, but did you listen?”
Mac let silence be his answer.
Wade shook his head, glanced at the scarred truck again, then changed the subject. “We found the van that was used in the Porter robbery.”
That brought Mac’s head up. He was most definitely interested in any progress that had been made in apprehending the bastard who’d almost killed Sharon. “Just the van? Or did you find out who was driving it?”
“No, it was abandoned. And wiped clean. It doesn’t appear we’re going to learn much from it.”
“Registration?”
“It was stolen from a used-car lot in Carollton a couple of days before the Porter break-in. No witnesses to that theft.”
Hardly encouraging news. “Where did you find the van?”
“Officer Dodson found it in the garage of a vacant house a couple of streets back from the motel where you were staying.”
Mac sighed. “You don’t suppose I was driving the van and following Sharon in my truck, do you?”
Wade chuckled. “I doubt you’re that talented. You asked where the van was found. I told you. That’s all.”
“Still have your suspicions about me, Chief?”
Wade’s lazy grin never wavered. “Let’s just say you aren’t a man I would make the mistake of underestimating.”
“I’ve been invited to a party at your house tomorrow. Do you feel safe having me around your family, or would you rather I decline?”
If Wade was surprised, he didn’t let it show. “We’d be delighted to have you. Did Trent ask you?”
“Actually, it was Sharon.”
“I see. Well, any friend of Sharon’s—” He didn’t bother finishing the cliché, but straightened away from the truck and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then. My wife will be delighted to meet you. She’s heard about you, of course, and she’s been curious.”
Mac had decidedly mixed feelings about meeting Emily McBride Davenport, the woman who was either his cousin or his sister. “I’ll look forward to meeting her.”
“I guess I’d better get h
ome for dinner. If you change your mind about making a report on your truck, let me know.”
Without responding, Mac watched the chief climb into his Jeep and drive away.
Being among the McBrides tomorrow could be very interesting—or prove to be a huge mistake, he thought. One of many he’d made since coming to Honoria.
He hoped that making love to Sharon Henderson didn’t turn out to be the biggest mistake he’d made yet.
MAC DECIDED to eat at Cora’s again that evening. Because it was a Friday and many locals tended to eat out on weekends, there was more of a crowd than usual. He had to park down the street, close to the arcade. There was no group of boys on the sidewalk outside the place this time, he noted in satisfaction. He wasn’t really in the mood for another confrontation.
He had just reached the arcade when Brad stepped out the door, accompanied by the tall boy who’d egged him on the last time. Brad’s first reaction at seeing Mac was surprise. The surprise changed quickly to what Mac interpreted as half-guilty defiance. “Hello, Brad,” he said, meeting the boy’s eyes.
Brad looked down at his shoes and nodded stiffly.
Another couple of steps brought Mac closer. “How have you been? Keeping yourself busy?”
Brad shrugged.
“Oddly enough, I spotted a boy who looked very much like you in this same area just yesterday evening. He was running down the street. Like he’d done something wrong and was trying to get away before anyone saw him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brad muttered, his eyes shifting away.
“Hey, man, leave my friend alone,” the bigger boy said, stepping closer. “He ain’t done nothing.”
Mac answered without looking away from Brad. “If that’s true, he has no reason to be concerned.”
“Are you concerned about this guy, Brad?” the bigger boy asked mockingly.
“Be quiet, Jimbo,” Brad muttered. “I can handle this.”
Mac glanced dismissively at Jimbo before speaking again to Brad. “Looks to me like your buddy here is just itching to get you in trouble, Brad. Maybe you need to ask yourself if he’s really a pal.”
Brad straightened his shoulders. “I pick my own friends.”
