by JoAnn Ross
Mac ran a hand down her bare back. “If I’d known you had that in mind, I would have blown it right there on the dance floor and forced Kara to arrest me for indecent exposure,” he said.
“It was an impulse,” she said. “Did you enjoy it?”
“What do you think?”
She shimmied a bit against him, causing another sharp twinge of hot need. He was turning into an addict, Mac realized. And luscious, tasty, very hot Annie Shepherd was his drug of choice.
“I think we’ve now had the entire prom experience,” she said on a light laugh. “Because I’ll bet we’re not the first couple to have sex in his dad’s car in this parking lot during a dance.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. Which, for a fleeting moment, had him wondering again about the possibility of locking Emma into a chastity belt as soon as she reached her teens.
Then, because he was trying to be a grown-up, he said, “I hate to bring up practicalities at a time like this, but we didn’t use anything.”
“I know.” She sighed, as if he’d brought her crashing back to reality.
Way to go, Culhane, he thought as she reached behind her and zipped the dress again. He felt a literal ache of loss when she returned to her own black leather bucket seat. “But you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to get pregnant. And you said you hadn’t had sex since you left the the service.”
“I haven’t.”
“So you would’ve been tested in your separation physical.” She fastened her seat belt. “And I had a test myself when I discovered Owen had been cheating on me. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah. There is.”
“Oh?” She glanced over at him.
He reached into the pocket of his jacket, which he hadn’t had time to take off. “Whether this is going to be enough for the rest of the night.”
The string of condom wrappers was as long as a kite tail.
Her merry laugh sounded like sunshine in the fogged-in car. “We’ll just have to try to practice restraint.”
“Yeah.” He clicked his seat belt, and pressed the ignition. “Good luck with that.”
52
They might have three nights together, but that didn’t mean that Annie didn’t still have to go to work and that Mac didn’t want to be there when Emma woke up.
So as much as Annie would have loved to stay in bed all day the morning after the dance, they were back in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He was dressed in the jeans and T-shirt he’d brought over, she was wearing her red sundress again, wanting to keep every memory of last night’s dance alive as long as she could.
“What did you mean?” he asked. “Last night in the car when you said I didn’t have to worry about you getting pregnant.”
“Exactly that.” Having known this was coming, she’d also decided, while they’d been driving each other crazy in the shower that morning, that the time had come to tell him about the real reason for the failure of her marriage.
So, haltingly at first, because it was much more difficult to tell someone she’d been so intimate with than to tell a girlfriend, she related the story of her marriage. Of her too high expectations, of how she’d pushed her husband into the arms of another woman.
“He should have been honest with you from the beginning.” Mac was not going to let her take the blame. “If he’d told you from the start that he had no intention of having children, then it wouldn’t have even gotten to the point of IVF treatments or adoption.”
“Maybe he tried. And I just didn’t listen.”
“Okay. Let’s try something. . . . Stand up.”
Curious, she did as instructed. He stood up, too, face-to-face, his hands on her shoulders. “Annie. I know it’s soon to talk about this. But you’ve gotten under my skin. In my blood. And my heart. Everyone in my family cares for you as much as I do. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you. So, here’s the deal. . . .
“I don’t care if you can have a child nor not. What happened to you was a tragedy. Especially given that you always wanted to be a mother. But there are other ways to get to the prize. If you want to try to do it with in vitro, that would be okay with me. If you want a surrogate, hey, that’s okay, too. Or adoption would be cool. Your experience is proof that there are lots of kids out there in need of a good home.”
“That’s what I told Owen.”
“Forget Owen. He’s an idiot douche. He’s in the past and we’re not looking back. And there’s another thing. You want a child. I have a child.” He smiled down at her. “See how easy that is?”
Despite the seriousness of their situation, she almost smiled back. But even with easygoing Mac Culhane, it couldn’t be that easy.
“That’s what Sedona said.”
“She’s a helluva smart woman. You should listen to her.”
“But what if you want another child and none of those other things work out for one reason or another?”
“Do you always plan for the worst?”
“I think I do,” she admitted.
“That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”
“No. It’s only practical. Everyone’s always big on going with the flow. Well, it seems to me it’s easier if you know what might be lurking around the bend.”
“Me.” He took her hand in his and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’m what’s waiting around the bend. And, hey, not only am I an only child, but I was kind of adopted, since my dad adopted me after my birth father died. And look how good I turned out.”
“Another thing Sedona said. Maybe you two ought to be together.”
“I like her. She’s pretty, friendly, smells like vanilla all the time, and is smart as a whip. But she’s not you.” He held her close, this time not to arouse but to comfort. “She’s not the sweet, sexy, also very smart, not to mention hot woman I’m falling in love with.”
“You said you thought you were.” She couldn’t say the words. Not out loud. It was as if her saying them might ruin everything.
“I lied. I know I am. Hell, I’ve already fallen for you. I just didn’t want to scare you off before I could convince you what a dynamite catch I am.”
“I already know that.” She wanted to say the same thing back to him. But for some reason, she was tongue-tied.
She’d decided, after leaving Owen, that she was probably destined to spend her life alone. Which didn’t mean she’d be lonely. Her life would be—and was—full. It would have meaning. She’d have friends. She just wouldn’t have a husband. Or children.
That had been her plan. Carefully conceived during her long drive across the country. Logical, she’d assured herself, as she’d crossed the Rocky Mountains. To a fault.
But she hadn’t prepared for Midnight Mac.
And she definitely hadn’t prepared for love.
Although she trusted him, she couldn’t quite ignore what a lifetime of experience had taught her.
“Think on it,” he said easily. “Meanwhile, want to have dinner over at the house tonight? Dad grills a mean burger.”
“Why don’t you and Emma come over here?” she heard herself saying. “I’ll toss together something after work.”
“Seriously? You’d cook for us? Like homemade food not from the microwave?”
“Of course.” How hard could it be? Other women did it all the time. “What’s Emma’s favorite meal?”
“That’s easy. Mac and cheese.”
Relieved, she gave him her best smile. “Piece of cake.”
She hoped.
53
Annie was standing in the aisle of the market, holding the familiar blue box in her hand, amazed there were so many choices to the staple she’d grown up eating, when Maddy suddenly turned the corner and came to an abrupt stop.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Wha
t does it look like? I’m shopping.”
“For what? A chemistry experiment?”
“As it happens, I’m cooking dinner for Mac and Emma tonight.”
“Not with that, you’re not.” Maddy snatched the box from Annie’s hand and put it back on the shelf.
“I realize you’re a famous gourmet Culinary Institute of America–trained chef,” Annie said, taking the box down again and putting it into her cart. “But Emma is six years old. She doesn’t like oysters with bacon, or smoked salmon pizza, or truffle oil—”
“Truffle oil’s become dreadfully overdone,” Maddy countered. A bit huffily, Annie thought. “I only use it on the very rare occasion.”
“Fine. My point, and I do have one, is that six-year-old girls like macaroni and cheese.”
“Everyone likes mac and cheese. Especially if it’s done right. Which you’re going to do.” She took the box from the cart and put it back on the shelf again.
Then she took her cell phone out of her bag and dialed a number. “We’ve got a 911 situation,” she said. “Annie’s cooking for Mac and Emma. . . . Yeah. That’s pretty much what I thought.”
“I’m not that bad,” Annie complained. “I’m merely a novice home chef. Not a professional.”
“You’re a home defroster and microwaver,” Maddy corrected, then turned her attention back to her conversation. “You have to save her, and that poor child, by e-mailing me the ingredients for your chocolate lava cake. Then e-mail the instructions to Annie. . . . Great. Thanks.” She ended the call.
“While she’s getting your dessert ingredients to me, let’s start shopping.”
For the next ten minutes she bossed Annie around the store like a drill sergeant ordering an enlistee through boot camp. Though, having tasted Maddy’s lobster mac and cheese, Annie wasn’t exactly complaining.
“This is Gruyère,” she said, picking up a block of cheese. “It’s from Switzerland. It’s sweet but slightly salty, and really nicely creamy and nutty when it’s young. As this is. It becomes earthy and more complex when it ages, but for Emma’s palate, this will be perfect.
“It’s also one of the best melting cheeses. I use it in the restaurant’s mac and cheese, and to top my French onion soup and in what was called croque-monsieur on the menu when I was cooking in New York City, but is basically a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
“And you need some extra-sharp Cheddar to balance it out.”
By the time Sedona had e-mailed the ingredients for what Maddy assured her was a cake even a six-year-old could make—which wasn’t the most complimentary thing she could have said, Annie thought—she’d filled her cart with ingredients, including a variety of spices that Maddy assured her Emma wouldn’t resist.
“On your way home, stop at Farraday’s. They just got some fresh lobster flown in from Maine. They also had some good slipper lobster. Just tell them what you’re doing and they’ll sell you what you need.”
“I am not murdering lobster. Especially for a six-year-old girl who won’t even appreciate it.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. “The lobster’s for the adult version. And they’ll take care of that for you and sell you the meat out of the shell.”
“I’m making two dishes?”
“Let me throw that question back at you. Is Midnight Mac worth a little extra work?”
Annie sighed. “You win.”
“Believe me,” Maddy said. “While man may think he lives by sex alone, he also has to eat. And if it isn’t true about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach, then why did you cheat and ask me to cook the fried chicken and potato salad for your basket?”
“I hate it when you’re right,” Annie grumbled. She’d admittedly changed the menu from the crab sliders and slaw she’d intended to take out from the Crab Shack when she discovered that Mac was bidding on her basket.
“If you two are as serious as you looked last night, you really need to take one of my basic beginning cooking classes,” Maddy said. “If for no other reason than it’s kind of hard on a romance when you give the guy food poisoning.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Annie muttered.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be great,” Maddy assured her as she pushed the cart toward the bakery aisle, leaving Annie to follow.
• • •
The dinner, which turned out to be as manageable as both Sedona and Maddy had promised, was a hit. Emma, whose cast was almost entirely covered with princess stickers, had declared Maddy’s elevated mac and cheese the “bestest” she’d ever had.
Even Pirate had behaved. Although he’d meowed noisily while doing figure eights between Annie’s legs as she cut up the lobster for the adult version of the dinner, he’d spent most of the time curled up in Emma’s lap, purring like a small motor.
“Maybe we should get a cat, too, Daddy,” she suggested as Mac helped Annie clear the table—something Owen had always insisted Annie leave for the housekeeper or maid. “When we get a dog.”
“Let’s just start with the dog,” he replied. “Besides, a cat might decide to eat your goldfish.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” She went back to petting Pirate.
“You’ve got me looking forward to that basket tomorrow even more,” he said as he put the plates into the dishwasher while Annie cleaned off the counter.
How was it that the simple act of cleaning up after dinner affected her nearly as much as last night’s prom date? Despite the back-and-forth between the houses, she was beginning to think of them as more of a couple than she and Owen had ever been.
“I have a confession to make.” She may have pulled off the mac and cheese and the lava cake, but no way was she not going to give credit where credit was due. Especially for something she would never, no matter how many lessons, be able to duplicate. “Maddy’s making the chicken.”
He shrugged and placed the soap packet in the dishwasher. “You do realize that I’m not buying that basket for the food,” he said. “From the beginning it’s been all about you. You could have put sliders from the Crab Shack in there and I would’ve been just as happy.”
She laughed at that. “That’s exactly what I was going to do.”
He cupped his hand at the back of her neck and leaned down and kissed her. “Great minds.”
She was kissing him back when Emma, who’d gone upstairs to the guest bedroom to retrieve some of the cat toys, returned to the kitchen.
“Is this your scrapbook?” she asked Annie, who, unnerved at looking up to see that her deepest secret had been discovered, dropped a glass, which shattered on the floor.
54
She’d gone as pale as the gardenias he had fastened on her wrist last night as she insisted on sweeping up the broken glass by herself. Annie was, he’d discovered, a woman with secrets.
When she’d called in with a fake name at the very beginning, he’d realized right away that she was holding something back, but not wanting to push her, he’d waited, hoping she would eventually care enough to share it with him. Which she had done this morning, when she’d told him about her inability to have children. That made him sad for her, but it didn’t change the way he felt about her.
Except to love her even more for what she’d been through. And to admire the strong, confident woman she’d become.
“Emma,” he said, using the dad voice he didn’t pull out very often and still felt more as if he were imitating his own father whenever he did, “where did you find that?”
“Pirate chased a ball into Annie’s bedroom,” she said. “It was on the table.”
Glancing over at this woman he’d come to love, Mac saw his daughter’s lie in Annie’s gray eyes.
“Emma . . . ,” he said softly but firmly. “You want to try that again?”
“Daddy,” she said on something perilously close to a whine. Her eyes fill
ed with tears. But realizing that this was another of those damn grown-up situations, he held firm.
He went over to her, took the album from her hands, and placed it on the cleared kitchen table. “The truth this time.” He looked up at Annie, who gave the faintest shake of her head. “And I promise, Annie’s not going to be mad at you.”
“I was just looking for more cat toys,” she said, her voice quivering on the edge of tears. Mac suspected that wasn’t the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but he decided it was close enough. For now.
“And?”
“And I looked in the bottom drawer of her dresser.”
The obvious place anyone would keep cat toys. Not.
“It’s okay.” Annie stepped in to help him out. “And yes, it’s an album I received when I was a little older than you.”
She sat down at the table, and patted her lap, inviting Emma to sit on it. Which, with a little sniffle that Mac found an overdramatic bid for sympathy, his daughter did.
“I was a foster child,” Annie said. “Do you know what that is?”
“Angel and Johnny were foster children,” she said with a nod. “They had to move around a lot. Even more than when you’re a military family.”
“That’s true. And they were lucky. They found their forever-after homes with Dr. Tiernan and her husband.”
Watching her carefully, Mac noticed that her hands were less than steady as she opened the album. “This is my third-grade school picture.”
Her wild curls had been somewhat tamed into two ponytails. Although he could see that tension he’d learned to recognize in her eyes, she was smiling, revealing a lost tooth.
“This was a very nice family.” Her voice clogged a little. With tears? She turned a page. “This is a trip we took here one summer. To Shelter Bay.”
She was wearing a brightly flowered swimsuit with a little ruffled skirt, her hair a wild mass of black curls around her head as she stood on the beach with another boy and girl. The boy looked a year or two older and the girl was probably Emma’s age. Except for the fact that they were blond and she was not, there’d been no way, looking at the photo, to tell that she hadn’t been a full birth member of the family.
