MacKenzie's Woman

by JoAnn Ross

  Reminding herself that if she pulled this mission off, the exotic photographs she’d already taken on this trip might just buy her freedom from her nine-to-five routine, K.J. stiffened her aching back. And her resolve.

  “Gracias.” K.J. reached into her canvas tote bag, pulled out some of the colorful bills she’d changed her American money into when she’d first landed in the country, and managed to find, deep inside her, a reasonably friendly smile.

  “Could you please take my bags to the hotel?” She pronounced it the way her three-day speed Spanish and Portuguese language course had taught her, dropping the h.

  When he just looked at her, K.J. pulled out the pocket-size Berlitz language guide and began leafing through the pages. “El refugio,” she said, trying the Spanish word the book assured her was used to describe a small inn in a remote region. In K.J.’s mind, it would have been impossible to get more remote than this.

  He merely shook his head, his expression suggesting that only a crazy American would be foolish enough to expect any type of accommodations in this primitive outback. She tried again, making the slight verbal shift to Portuguese. Then, thinking perhaps he was having trouble with the word bags, she tried several that seemed to refer to suitcases. Still nothing.

  All right. She could handle this, K.J. assured herself. The same way she’d handled every other horrendous thing that had happened to her since she’d first stepped off that plane into this steaming sauna the natives insisted on calling a country. The first order of the day was obviously to find someplace to stay.

  “Do tourists ever come here? Turistas?”

  “Oh, sí.” His teeth flashed beneath the drooping mustache and he nodded his head vigorously. “Many turistas.”

  Now they were getting somewhere, she thought with a burst of optimism she hadn’t felt for days. “Bien. A donde...” her exhausted mind went blank “. . . do they stay?” she finished in English.

  “At the lodge. It is nuevo. New,” he translated. “It was built with a grant Señor Santos got us from the government.”

  Although she had no idea who Señor Santos was, relief flooded over K.J. in a cooling wave, washing away her pessimism. A lodge! And one that had been built recently! She could not have been more thrilled if he’d informed her that Windsor Castle had been airfreighted to this jungle outpost.

  “Well, then, the lodge sounds muy bien,” she said, like him, continuing to utilize a mixture of English and Spanish. Deciding that things were definitely looking up, she bestowed her most dazzling, appreciative smile upon him. “Could you take my bags there while I meet with Mr. Mackenzie, por favor?”

  “Lo siento, señora.” He shook his dark head. “I cannot do that.”

  A frustration that was becoming all too familiar flared like a bonfire in her gut. K.J. managed, just barely, to control it As well as her temper.

  “Why not? If it’s a question of money—”

  “Oh, no, señora.” If the boatman was at all intimidated by her tone, he certainly hid it well. K.J. also fleetingly wondered how he knew she was married, but concerned about where she was going to spend he night, she didn’t dwell on that question very long. ‘The lodge is sold out. For the festival,” he explained helpfully.

  Since she couldn’t care less, other than that it teemed to be keeping her from locating a bed for the night, K.J. didn’t ask what festival.

  She huffed a frustrated breath, realizing that she was undoubtedly coming close to the ugly American stereotype, but exhaustion and frustration, laced with rising desperation, had begun to whittle away her social graces.

  “Well, I certainly can’t return to the trading settlement now that I’ve come all this way.” K.J. feared it night sound as if she were whining. At this point, she also didn’t much care. “Especially with the rains about to begin.”

  When planning this spur-of-the-moment trip, K.J. tad failed to factor in the monsoon season.

  Growing increasingly cranky, she splayed her hands on her hips and exhaled another frustrated breath. “So, do you have any suggestions where I night be able to sleep tonight?”

  “Lo siento.” He didn’t look all that sorry, K.J. hought suspiciously. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at the expense of the foolish American señora. “I do not know.” His expression brightened. “You ask Señor Mackenzie. He will tell you vhat to do.”

  “Thank you.” She figured that after their battle, Alec might have a few choice words on exactly what he could do. Unfortunately, in her view, there was more than enough blame to go around. They’d both nade mistakes. Now it was time to remedy them and get on with their individual lives.

  She looked at the three canvas suitcases, which had turned out to be about two and a half more than she’c needed for this excursion She’d discovered the firs day that the hair dryer was definitely overkill, since there wasn’t any place to plug it in out in the jungle And when her makeup had melted off her face within the first hour, she’d given up even trying to wear any thing but sunscreen.

  “Will my bags be safe if I just leave them here unti I talk with Senor Mackenzie?”

  Openly affronted, the boatman pulled himself up to his full height of approximately five foot four and gave her something just short of a glare. “There are no thieves in this village,” he informed her with the haughtiness of an ancient Inca king. “Except, perhaps among the white Norteamericanos who come here for the festival.”

  Well, she’d certainly been put in her place, K.J thought with a sigh.

  She’d truly hoped that when the boatman had miraculously shown up at her darkest moment, inform ing her that he was headed home to the very village she’d been told Alec was staying in, that his appear ance was an omen. A portent that her luck—whict had been miserable for the week she’d been on this wild-goose chase—was about to change. Unfortunately, it seemed she’d been wildly optimistic.

  “Lo siento,” she said contritely, using his language to emphasize her regret. “I truly didn’t mean to insult you. Or your neighbors.”

  She took out a disintegrating tissue and wiped a the moisture that continued to pearl on her forehead “It’s just that this has been a very long and trying trip and I’m afraid my patience is beginning to wear thin.’ She figured that bit of English would undoubtedly be way over his head.

  “You do not concern yourself, señora.” His teeth lashed assurance in his square dark face. “You ask Señor Mackenzie. He will fix things right.”

  “One can only hope,” she murmured.

  She paused, eyeing the cantina across the village square with very real trepidation. Then, bolstering up her flagging courage, and hooking the strap of her camera bag over her shoulder, she waded into the breach.

  “SHE’S ARRIVED.”

  Alec glanced up at Rafael. “It’s about time. Men have gotten to the moon in less time than it took her to each us.”

  “She has not had an easy time of it.”

  “No.”

  Alec had known that the trip would provide a great deal of culture shock, but even he couldn’t have pre dicted Kate’s continual run of rotten luck. He’d been keeping track of her since her arrival in the country; when it had appeared that she was actually going to end up stranded at that trading post upriver, he’d sent me of his men to fetch her.

  “And I have a feeling it’s not going to get a great leal easier.”

  His long-time friend eyed him with interest. “I didn′t realize you held such a deep grudge.”

  Irritated by the way her arrival had him feeling unreasonably nervous, Alec took a long drink of beer. ′I′m a Scots Highlander.” Indeed, Fionn Loch, one of he most remote and isolated areas in the Gaelic land of Gairloch, in what was now the British Isles, had been ruled by his ancestors for generations. “We′re warriors. Holding grudges is a national pastime.”

  “You’re third-generation American,” Rafael countered. “It’s been a very long time since your clansmen have put on their tartans and followed a piper
into battle.”

  “True.” Alec had always considered it a shame that he’d missed that era of clans and all-powerful lairds and raids. It might have been deadly, but at least a man wouldn’t have been bored. “But it’s in the blood.” He shrugged. “Who am I to fight nature?”

  “Who indeed?” Rafael agreed. “After all, it is something in my blood that brought me back to my own homeland when I could have become rich and famous practicing environmental law in your country.... Ah, it appears your wife has found you,” he murmured as the door opened, filling the cantina with a flood of light. “And now I finally understand why you are so obsessed with the woman.”

  At any other time, Alec would have argued the use of the word obsessed, even though, in truth, he’d have to admit that it fit. But at the moment, as his palms went sweaty, all he could do was stare at the vision backlit by the soft, shimmering afternoon light.

  She’d paused in the open doorway, as if waiting for her eyes to adjust to the interior darkness, giving Alec an opportunity to study her undetected.

  Her red hair, a rich vibrant shade somewhere between a Highland sunset and the flames of an ancient pagan fire, was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat he recognized as native made. But escaped tendrils clung wetly to a long lissome neck that on that long-ago night had smelled of Ivory soap. Her normally creamy complexion was lobster red, evidence that the hat hadn’t entirely kept the sun off her face.

  Her body, beneath a very unsexy and drab pantsuit, appeared even more slender than that night he’d bought her the red wedding dress. The damp trousers clung to her legs.

  She looked hot, sweaty, exhausted, cranky, and downright wrung out. But she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And from the expressions on the faces of the other men in the cantina, Alec suspected he wasn’t alone.

  “Good luck, my friend,” Rafael murmured as he drifted away from the table, apparently choosing to view the reunion from a safe distance away at the bar.

  Alec barely noticed his departure. Instead, his attention remained riveted to the doorway. When his breath caught in his lungs in a way that was all too familiar, it took him a painful minute to remember how to breathe.

  Annoyed by the surge of sensual hunger her appearance invoked, he didn’t rise to greet her. Refusing to give her the upper hand, he merely lifted the dark brown bottle in a laconic salute that was at odds with his white-knuckled fingers.

  “Well, Mrs. Mackenzie. Fancy meeting you all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  For a woman who’d shown a great deal of determination and fortitude while tracking her husband all the way to this back-of-beyond settlement, Kate sure as hell didn’t seem all that eager to see him. In fact, he couldn’t help noticing the way she flinched at his use of her married name. Tough.

  As angry as he still was at her, Alec couldn’t help admiring the way she stiffened her spine, then crossed the room to the table.

  “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” she asked. Her cool tone was laced with a sarcasm that only made Alec more determined not to go easy on her.

  “Cute, darlin’,” he drawled. Leaning back in the chair, he linked his fingers behind his head and flicked a bland gaze from her head to her toes, then back up to her eyes. “And, I suppose, reasonably appropriate under the circumstances. So, to what do I owe this visit?”

  Unwilling to surrender the upper hand, she shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been working horrendous hours lately. I figured it was time for a vacation.”

  “And all the Caribbean resorts were sold out?”

  Another shrug. “The Caribbean has been overdone. I was looking for new frontiers.” Quickly tiring of the game, she took a deep breath and shoved at some damp curls that had fallen across her eye. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  “I figured that might be the case. So, how did you find me?” he asked with an outward lack of interest.

  “Your agent told me where you were. And that you were still searching for your barge of gold.”

  She was holding her camera bag in front of her like a talisman. Or, Alec considered, a shield. She’d taken off her dark glasses upon entering the bar, allowing him to view those wide, thickly lashed eyes that were as blue as her blood. And at the moment, guarded.

  “It’s proven more elusive than I’d hoped,” he admitted. “However, since I’m a stickler for protecting my privacy, I’m surprised she told you where to find me.”

  That was a flat-out lie. He’d given both his agent and editor instructions that if Katherine Jeanne Campbell was to ever break down and call, she was to be told where he was. Then he was to be notified immediately.

  “I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it,” she said.

  “I remember.” His smile was slow, wicked and designed to bring back sensual memories of all the hot, sexy things she’d begged him to do to her. With her.

  The way she honestly looked dead on her feet began to strum reluctant sympathetic chords, so he stood and pulled a bamboo chair up to the table, positioning her across from him. “You’ve come a long way. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll order you a beer?”

  “I don’t drink beer.” She did, however sink down onto the chair with a grateful sigh. “Although I think I’d kill for a glass of water.” How was it, K.J. wondered, that her mouth could have suddenly gone so dry when the jungle air had to be made up of at least ninety percent moisture?

  “Your call. Although I have to warn you, sweetheart, you’ll be up half the night regretting it.”

  He watched understanding dawn in her exhausted eyes. Eyes that were clownishly white-rimmed from having been protected from the sun’s brutal rays by her dark glasses. The smudges of purple shadows beneath those white circles revealed a recent lack of sleep.

  Alec had always been able to sleep anywhere at anytime—indeed, his work demanded such talent. Yet he could understand how this alien environment—the nighttime roar of jaguars and the almost human cries of howler monkeys—could keep a newcomer awake.

  “Oh. Of course. I should have thought of that.” When she absently rubbed her temples, he noticed the unadorned ring finger on her left hand and experienced another surge of the icy fury he was determined to keep to himself. “I brought my own bottled water,” she said, “like the tour books suggested, but my last two are in my suitcase, back at the dock.”

  She absently bit her pouty bottom lip as she considered her options. Alec was irritated when he found the sight outrageously sexy and more than a little appealing. Her weary gaze shifted toward the rustic bar, where Sonia was doing a halfhearted job of washing glasses. The barmaid was pretending not to look at them, but Alec suspected those dark eyes weren’t missing a thing.

  “I’d kill for a Diet Pepsi. But I don’t suppose this place serves soft drinks.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  In an obvious gesture of frustration, K.J. pulled off the straw hat, tugged the elastic band loose and dragged her fingers through her tangled mass of damp, bright auburn hair. “Then it appears I don’t have much choice.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “We always have choices, Kate.”

  Alec remembered how she’d informed him that first night that she never allowed anyone to call her Kate. In turn, he’d assured that he wasn’t just anyone. Later, in bed, she’d been too diverted by other things to protest.

  She might have been visibly exhausted and appear as if her last nerve was on the verge of unraveling, but the way she suddenly thrust out that foxy little chin reminded Alec of how she’d looked when she’d informed him that she had no intention of traipsing off to some godforsaken jungle with him in search of buried treasure.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Me?” He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to touch her. Alec managed to resist both and instead put a hand against his chest in a gesture of innocence. “Why would I be enjoying seeing my bride look so miserable?”

  He almost felt sorry for her when she fli
nched again. Almost. “I’m not your bride.”

  “Point taken. Technically, I suppose after all these months we might be considered out of our honeymoon stage. If we’d had a honeymoon,” he added. “So, I stand corrected. You’re not my bride. You’re my wife.”

  She was biting that sexy bottom lip again in a way that, even as his irritation was soaring, made him want to soothe the red mark away with his tongue. Which left him feeling even more angry. At himself and at her.

  “Not really.”

  “That’s funny. I happen to have a paper saying you are.”

  He was now furious enough that if he’d been Angus Mackenzie, laird of the clan Mackenzie back in the 1500s, he wouldn’t have hesitated to haul her over his lap and apply a few smacks to that firm little butt. Civilization being what it was, Alec reluctantly decided he’d have to find some other way to discipline his bride.

  “And in case you weren’t paying attention when you signed our marriage license, no one penciled in a provision for alternate interpretations to that manand-wife-till-death-us-do-part clause of the contract,” he reminded her.

  “Don’t do this, Alec.” He watched, unreasonably fascinated, as her remarkable eyes went from fire to frost. He knew, without any doubt, that he could melt that ice before she could open her mouth to protest. “We both know that our marriage was a mistake.”

  Her firmly set lips were practically daring him to kiss them into pliancy. Once again, Alec resisted temptation as he arched a laconic brow.

  “Speak for yourself, darling.”

  Although he’d tried to tell himself these past months that he was getting over Kate, just looking at her, having her so physically close but emotionally so far away, hurt like hell. Her betrayal ripped at him, as sharp and lethal as it had that morning.

  “As a Campbell yourself, Kate, you should know that back home in the Highlands, a man’s word was always his bond. Hell, it probably still is, for that matter. The Mackenzies have always prided themselves on honoring their vows, and since I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, and you appear in fine fettle, albeit a bit road weary right now—” he skimmed a glance over her “—it appears, Mrs. MacKenzie, as if you’re stuck.”