“We were your biggest supporters before her and Twy, and in this family, a guy can have an unlimited number of biggest supporters. We should knock out the wall on the far side of the mail room. Give you a separate entrance, tone down the visible security, get some copies of Progressive Farmer for your lobby, that sort of thing. I’m sure one of Inskip’s daughters can handle your front desk.”
For improvisation, that was a good list, good enough to have James looking thoughtful. “Makes sense, but we should probably run it by Trent.”
“Next partners’ meeting.”
Another few strides, while Mac tried to sort out what he was feeling, besides relief that his brother was back on track with Vera. Without Vera’s hand on the tiller—so to speak—James would soon have run himself aground.
“I wanted to tell you something else,” James said. “About the home place?”
“You’ll farm it. I got that much, James. Just for God’s sake be careful.”
“I doubt I’ll be on the tractor much, but I will be careful. Very careful. Did you know the property has no mortgage?”
“Every farm has a mortgage.”
“None. I looked up the land records, thinking I could maybe find the interim owners and get some idea who left Daisy and Buttercup in the pasture or returned them there, but I also wanted to know how leveraged the land was before I sank a lot of money into farming it. Farming it again. Tony Lindstrom bought the place free and clear, except for honoring the land-use leases that conveyed with the title. Sid inherited in fee simple absolute.”
A load off Mac’s mind, for sure, but he hadn’t wanted to snoop into the land records himself.
“Then I’d say she needs a good agribusiness lawyer. Approach her carefully. The estate is taking its good old time settling, and Sid has no use for lawyers generally.”
Flat hated them, which could be a small problem.
Or a huge one.
“Then I won’t approach her as a lawyer. I’ll approach her as a neighbor with some business expertise and an eye for profit.”
“Approach her soon. She’s broke, and you can’t raise a kid on dreams and good intentions.”
“There’s something else, MacKenzie.”
MacKenzie. Whatever it was, James was serious about it, and he’d taken to within fifty yards of the courthouse to work up to it.
“Spill. I’m supposed to be at Sid’s for dinner tonight, and as pleasant as this constitutional is, defending the downtrodden today has built up an appetite.”
“Vera and I are getting married.”
“One concluded this.”
That got him a smile, though Mac knew what was coming next: Would he stand up with his brother? Of course he would. No question he would. Though the saying about always being a bridesmaid trailed through Mac’s mind.
“One concluded this, did he? Yeah, well, Carnac the Amazing, did one also conclude his prospective sister-in-law would ask him to be her maid of honor?”
It was Mac’s turn to smile. A sweet, pleased grin he didn’t bother hiding.
“Just don’t make me wear pink, and no ruffles on the hem of my dress. I look like hell in pink, and ruffles make my ass look fat.”
* * *
“I’m discovering I like dirt.”
Sid made this pronouncement while she tried not to watch MacKenzie Knightley consume a modest slice of blueberry pie with cream cheese filling in a flaky homemade piecrust. The man was a sybarite, savoring each bite, sliding his fork slowly, slowly out of his mouth.
He studied each forkful before he closed his lips around it, a silent moment of gratitude maybe, then he shut his eyes as if to catalog the flavors and textures hitting his tongue.
Sid knew things about that tongue, wonderful, scary, intimate things.
“What’s not to like about dirt?” Mac asked between bites.
“What’s to like about dirt?” Luis countered. He was putting away the vanilla ice cream, a fat scoop of which sat melting on a slab of pie that was bigger than Sid’s piece and Mac’s combined. “You’re forever washing my duds, scrubbing the floor, cleaning the windows, like dirt’s Public Enemy Number One.”
He brought his bowl back to the table and took a chair.
“Not that kind of dirt,” Sid said. “Soil, earth. I never knew there were different kinds, and that different kinds of plants like different kinds of dirt. I never thought about it. Some plants like a lot of sun. Some don’t want as much. Some want a lot of watering. Some will drown if you water them too much. Plants and soil are like people: they have personalities, likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses.”
“You going to be a dirt psychologist?” Luis asked.
“Elbow, Weese.” That from Mac, who was studying another bite of pie. Luis lifted the elbow he’d propped beside his bowl, but disgruntlement flittered over his features.
“I’m going to be a gardener,” Sid said. “I’ll start with the easy stuff, like tomatoes, squash, and beans, but we have lots of good dirt and lots of free fertilizer.”
“That you do,” Mac said. “The old muck pit out behind the barn should have some of the best topsoil in the valley. We had cows, horses, and sheep here for most of the years we farmed, and the muck pit was full up when we sold the place. I don’t think anybody ever thought to dig it out and spread the contents on the fields, so it’s thoroughly composted topsoil at this point. First-rate stuff.”
Clearly, Mac liked dirt too. “Will people pay money for it?” Sid asked.
Mac set his spoon down into his empty bowl. No clatter, just the smallest “plink!”
“They will, and this is the time of year to sell it. You can put a sign at the end of the lane, run one of those quickie ads, and you’ll have a regular parade of trucks here come the weekend.”
They discussed what to charge, and whether to sell some of the soil bagged, while Luis silently finished his dessert. Sid barely noticed when he took his bowl to the sink and slipped up the stairs, so fascinated was she by the idea of selling her dirt.
Topsoil, rather. Her thoroughly composted, first-rate topsoil.
“You up for a walk, Sidonie?” Mac asked as he set the last bowl into the drain rack to dry. His voice was casual, but heat leaped in Sid’s middle at his question.
“Are we taking a blanket to the pond, MacKenzie?”
She would have given a great deal to see his eyes, but he was watching the dishwater swirl down the drain.
“We can take the blanket, but we never finished the discussion we started there last time.”
Discussion? She cast her mind back, leapfrogging over thank-God-I’m-a-country-girl pleasure, over physical and emotional intimacy every bit as alluring as the pleasure itself, over his cell phone going off at the worst, worst moment.
“I’m happy to continue that discussion, MacKenzie.”
He wrung out the dishrag to within an inch of its life, and folded it exactly in half over the spigot.
“Tell Luis we’re going for a walk. I’ll fetch the blanket.”
There was no hurry to him, no display of eagerness, no winking, leering suggestion they were about to get naked under the moonlight again. The questions Luis had raised earlier popped into Sid’s head: How did a farrier afford the house Mac lived in by himself? Two late-model trucks? The landscaping, the plasma TV, the pool table?
Mac was on the porch when Sid left the house, the blanket slung over his shoulder.
“You were quiet at dinner,” Sid said, taking his hand. His fingers closed around hers, and she was feeling sufficiently insecure that even such a small contact was reassuring.
“I was enjoying you and Luis getting after each other. He seems a little testy to me. School going OK?”
Testy. A good word to describe a cranky teenager.
“Big exam in trig today, and he did seem sullen. He say
s he likes you, though. I try not to micromanage his moods, and appreciate that he doesn’t micromanage mine.”
They walked along in silence for a while, Sid listening to the peepers chirping in trees. The air was milder than it had been even a week ago, and when she scanned the hills to the east, she could see exactly where the moon was about to break over the horizon.
“Lovely night,” Sid said.
Mac stopped walking and slid the blanket from his shoulder. He settled his hands on Sid’s biceps, a gentle, implacable grip, then lowered his mouth to hers.
His dinner conversation might not be his greatest strength, but, oh, the man could kiss. His mouth plied her lips delicately, languorously, until Sid thought if he took his hands off her arms, she’d melt into a heap at his feet.
“Now, it’s a lovely night. Do you know what a distraction you’ve become for me, Sidonie?” He rested his forehead against hers, and just like that, Sid’s world became again a cheery, hopeful place, where many good things were possible, and not every challenge had to be faced alone.
“Is that what you wanted to discuss, MacKenzie? Because if it is, I will listen very patiently while you regale me with the details of your tribulation.”
“Witch.” An endearment, coming from him. He picked up the blanket, tucked his arm across her shoulders, and started them walking again. “I can’t be distracted when I work. I’m being well paid to keep my mind on the job.”
“You mean the horses might kick or stomp you if you blink?”
“That too. Tell me again what the social worker said when she called.”
Even Eden boasted the occasional serpent. Sid recounted the conversation again, as close to word for word as she could. That Mac would listen so attentively, that he would care enough to listen, to ask again, helped another increment of Sid’s anxiety for Luis abate.
“You do love that kid,” Mac said as they spread the blanket under the trees. “I suspect he loves you too.”
“I don’t say the words to him, because I don’t want him to feel obligated to say them back.”
“Say them anyway. Love is the furthest thing from obligation.”
Sid tried to see Mac’s expression in the darkness, but the moonrise still wasn’t quite visible. She liked the sentiment though, understood it. Nothing about raising Luis or dealing with all the convolutions and challenges of his foster care situation was an obligation.
“Sit with me.” Mac thumped the blanket beside him, leaving Sid to wonder how, exactly, she could get around to relieving him of his clothes and getting his hands and his mouth and his mind on her again.
She settled on the blanket and took off her shoes while Mac slid off his boots.
“Come here, Sidonie.” He hauled her into his arms, to sit between his upraised knees, then gathered her against his chest and rested his chin on her crown. Maybe having his hands on her like this—slow and warm and knowing—was enough. As Sid cuddled into the solid muscle of his chest, he started rubbing her back.
“You seem preoccupied, MacKenzie. Is work going OK?”
He was quiet for a moment, maybe deliberating on an answer, or maybe, like Sid, trying to spare a corner of his brain for making conversation, when his entire mind wanted to focus on the pleasure of touching and being touched.
Do you know what a distraction you’ve become for me? To Sid, Mac’s question had been sweet, made even nicer by the note of genuine bewilderment in his voice when he’d asked it.
“James is getting married,” Mac said.
Ah. That would preoccupy MacKenzie Knightley. “Do you approve of his choice?”
“I do, and she wants me to stand up with her.” He sounded perplexed now, in a pleased way. “I thought maybe Trent would get tapped, or maybe James has asked Trent, but it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t miss this ceremony for the world.”
“You ever been married, Mac?” Sid didn’t know what prompted her to ask the question. Maybe it was Luis pointing out to her that Mac was well-heeled. Mac was also intelligent, damned good-looking, blessed with a wonderful family, and good with cranky teenagers. Some enterprising female should have snatched him up—assuming he was interested in being snatched.
“I have never been married.”
“Were you ever engaged?” She was wrapped up against his chest, his arms around her, his knees and thighs tucked right along her body. Her question produced a brief, subtle tension.
“Close to engaged. Engaged very briefly once, and turned down another time.”
“Two near misses?”
“Once in undergrad, once after that, both a long time ago.”
She levered up, pushing against his chest to peer at him in the gloom. “You’ve been on the shelf for a long time too, MacKenzie. Is there a story here?”
“Not a very interesting one.”
That meant he didn’t want to be cajoled into further disclosures, but Sid had to ask one more question. “Who broke it off the first time?”
“She did.”
“The woman was a fool. Both of them were hopeless nincompoops. If they didn’t appreciate what a treasure you are, to hell with ’em.” His gleaming teeth told her she’d provoked him into smiling. She cuddled back down against him, willing to leave the subject right there.
“Honestly, MacKenzie, young women are idiots. They don’t know what’s important in this life. Are you going to kiss me, or will I have to flirt you into it?”
Chapter 12
“You already have,” Mac said, shifting Sid so she leaned back against one of his knees, all the better to kiss the hell out of her.
He lowered his mouth to hers, his hand cradling Sid’s cheek in the darkness, not so much so he could find her, but so he could enjoy the feel of her lady-soft skin against his palm.
Though a question intruded on the sense of homecoming he felt as their arms went around each other: Was he kissing her to distract her from the miserable topic of his two failed engagements, or was he kissing her for the sheer, sumptuous pleasure of it?
Or was he kissing her because he was helpless not to?
Sidonie Lindstrom wasn’t a shy kisser. She made little sounds in her throat of pleasure, longing, and satisfaction. Her body participated in the kiss; her breasts pressed against him; her hands took a firm grasp of his hair. She moved against him, communicating urgency and desire more clearly than words could have.
And God above, it pleased Mac to be kissed back like that.
Healed a hurt in his soul.
His mind whipped out a memory from the previous winter, the office Christmas party, where as the managing partner, he was the informal master of ceremonies. Trent and Hannah had arrived together, Trent cutting a fine figure in his tux, Hannah looking both demure and sexy in a black silk dress.
Simply by watching Hannah and his brother, Mac had known they’d been intimate. Hannah had had a glow, and Trent’s gaze was both protective and possessive when he’d watched Hannah waltzing with James.
Mac had wanted to be near that glow, wanted it so badly, when the band had started up a slow dance, he’d simply taken Hannah by the wrist and led her onto the floor. Trent hadn’t objected, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off them either.
For a few minutes, Mac had allowed himself the pleasure of holding a woman’s softness and scent close. He’d felt the silky warmth of her hair against his cheek, held the lithesome, graceful heat of her in his arms.
The pleasure hadn’t been the least bit erotic, but a purely human, sensory sweetness. People weren’t meant to live life in complete isolation from one another. Mac’s body knew it; his mind knew it; his heart and soul knew it.
He’d led Hannah back to her chosen mate and smiled cordially while experiencing a new level of despair, and the despair had only worsened in the intervening months. Then he’d found Sidonie Lindstrom literally in his own—albeit former—backy
ard, waving her broom at two tons of indifferent equines.
Now, Sid was climbing Mac, twisting into him, and kissing him onto his back, pushing bad memories and cold winters far, far away. Mac ended up with Sid straddling him as he lay on his back, the moon rising beautifully over her shoulder.
“Better,” she said, her fingers going to the buttons of his shirt. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
Unfinished discussions too.
Mac stilled her fingers by enclosing them with his own. “I told you we’d keep our clothes on if you were unwilling to accept certain terms from me.”
If you allow me the privileges of a lover, then I will expect that for whatever time I enjoy that status, those privileges are exclusively mine. He willed her to recall the words, even as desire rose as luminously as that moon.
She climbed off him and sat with her back to him.
“I need to tell you a few things, MacKenzie. Things that will make it brutally clear I’m not—I’m not a player.” She sent him a peevish look over her shoulder. “You’d better not be a player either.”
The sense of her words was reassuring. The tension in her spine and the truculence in her tone was not.
Mac finished unbuttoning his shirt, and for the sake of his comfort, unbuckled his belt as well. He also got up off his back, for the sake of his ability to concentrate, and shifted so his legs were on either side of her.
“Tell me these things, Sidonie.”
“The topic is uncomfortable.”
He went to work unraveling her braid. “Take your time, then. We have all night. Or don’t tell me if you’d rather not.” Except he wanted her confidences. Craved them the way he craved her kisses and the exact, perfect weight of her breasts in his hands.
“I enjoyed an active social life in college.”
Mac waited, his fingers teasing her hair free from its plait.
“I was with some guys.”
When he had her braid undone, he finger-combed her hair from her shoulders to her waist, the contact soothing him even as he hurt for her.
“I was a tramp.”
Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses) Page 19
