The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie

by Bonnie K. Winn

  “Busted!” Matt shouted directly behind her.

  Pivoting, she shrieked before she could stop herself, her flailing arms and legs causing a downpour of leaves that rained over her head and body.

  And met laughter that fell from Matt’s lips to bounce between them.

  “You’re too easy,” he told her. “A suggestion, one little nudge, and I could tell you were going to hit those leaves in less than ten seconds.”

  Brynn tried to remain indignant but his laughter was contagious. Her lips twitched, crept upward and then opened as a gust of laughter enveloped her. Brushing at the leaves adhering to her hair, she only succeeded in tangling them further. Still laughing, Matt reached out, fashioning the leaves into a lopsided crown by adding a few more from the pile at his feet.

  Touching the makeshift crown, Brynn cocked her head. “Bet you can’t make a cape and scepter to go with this.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brynn wished she could recall them. Because a devilish gleam lit his eyes, suggesting she would regret the challenge.

  “A cape? Full length or just a wrap?” He advanced.

  She retreated.

  “Actually I’d much rather just stick with the crown. It’s a very nice crown.” She patted her leaf-decorated hair to prove her point.

  “But the outfit’s not complete without the cape,” he warned.

  “You can’t possibly get that many leaves to stay on me,” she tried again, guessing he planned to drown her with the entire pile.

  “Good point.” Looking as though he was recalculating, he shot out his arms suddenly, grabbing her around the waist. “It’d be much easier to put you into the cape.”

  “You wouldn’t!” she screeched just as he upended her into the pile of leaves. Spluttering, blowing leaves from her mouth, she scrabbled to surface.

  And Matt’s reaction was pure laughter. It doubled him over, puffed out his lean cheeks, and brought tears to his eyes.

  The spirit of Stephanie, fair play, or her own buried self rose. Grabbing Matt’s ankles, she tipped him over before he realized her intent. As he landed in the leaves, she scooped up handfuls of leaves to dunk at him.

  But he was fast. Before her well-aimed lobs could get him, he yanked her forward, reburying her in the leaves.

  Pushing at the leaves near her head, she grabbed a fistful and shoved them into the open neck of Matt’s shirt.

  “Ah! Playing dirty, are you?”

  Seeing he planned to repay her with far more leaves, Brynn jumped up, started to sprint away and found herself dangling helplessly as Matt grabbed her belt, then filled the back of her shirt with leaves.

  “Stop that! Now, Matt!” She laughed, screeched and squirmed as he continued stuffing the leaves until she began to resemble a scarecrow.

  “You going to give up?” he asked, not giving her an inch, still stuffing her cotton shirt with leaves.

  “Never!” she gasped out, trying to twist away.

  The leaves tickled and itched as he continued. When they began filling her sides, she pulled away, only to find herself back on the ground.

  “Coward!” she taunted recklessly.

  “Glutton for punishment,” he retorted, tickling her.

  Brynn tried to hold out, but she’d never had any resistance to being tickled. “Uncle!” she finally yelled, her sides aching with laughter.

  Lifting her up and settling her back on her feet, Matt wiped his hands together in satisfaction. “A job worth doing is a job worth doing right.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” she replied, turning around and pulling the tails from her blouse, allowing the leaves to fall free. Her back still to him, she cupped her hands and caught some of them.

  Spinning quickly, she managed to douse his head with a good-size pile before she took off, not waiting to see the expression on his face when it was free of leaves.

  Hearing footsteps pounding behind her, she put some of her earlier ballet training to good use, grateful for once for her mother’s insistence on dance lessons. Her long legs stretched out, lithely jumping over crevices, gliding effortlessly over the wild grass.

  Like a gazelle, Matt thought, amazed. She looked as though she belonged amid these woods. Gaining on her, he doubled his efforts, reaching out to catch her. Miscalculating the distance and the strength he put into the jump, he tackled her instead.

  Hearing a whoosh as they landed, Matt immediately turned her over, certain he’d hurt her. “Brynn, are you all right? I didn’t mean to hit you like you’re a linebacker for the Cowboys.”

  When she didn’t reply, he smoothed the ebony hair away from her face, absently plucking the errant leaves from silken strands. “Brynn, I’m sorry. I must have knocked the air out of you. I forgot you’re just a delicate female.”

  He saw her glasses sprawled in the grass beside them. Her eyes remained ominously closed, her thick fringe of dark lashes swept over pale, fair skin.

  His hands closed over her arms, giving her a little shake. “Wake up, Brynn. God, what have I done?”

  Her eyes popped open as though operated by a light switch. “You nearly killed me, that’s what you did.”

  Matt stared for a moment.

  Then her lips started to twitch. “Had you going.”

  “You, you...”

  “‘Delicate female’?” she suggested.

  “Ready to get dunked again?” he threatened.

  But her body was shaking with laughter. “Nope,” she managed between hiccups of laughter.

  Disgusted, he stood and started to walk away, but her feet were faster, quickly scissoring out in front of him. “One trip deserves another,” she announced.

  But she’d miscalculated his fall. Before she could roll out of his way, he landed on top of her, his chest pressed to her breasts, his hips abrading hers, his legs sprawled intimately over and between hers.

  Knowing she should say something, anything, instead her words froze, her mouth open, gasping tiny puffs as her eyes stared into his.

  Each point of contact seared and the smoke from the scorching trail clouded her senses.

  And took jackhammer swings at his. He should move...roll over...laugh at the absurd situation. Instead he stared, watched as her eyes darkened, read the recognition and felt his own response.

  He wanted her. Deep in his gut. Somewhere in his mind. And in every need-filled spot between.

  “Brynn.” The word was part groan, part plea.

  One delicate, long-fingered hand reached up to tousle the leaves from his hair, stilled, then lingered.

  Knowing he could get lost in the depth of her incredible blue eyes, he eased one thumb over her cheek, feeling the satin of her skin, imagining the same satin in the breasts that were so close to his touch. The telltale pulse nestled at the junction of her fragile collarbones now leaped out of control, its ragged beat matching the awareness on her face.

  A face he’d wondered about. How could he have not seen her beauty from the first instant? How could he have ever imagined that his brother would have missed this treasure?

  The unwanted trace of Gregory seeped through. The woman on the ground beneath him, the woman who made him laugh—made him want—didn’t belong to him.

  For the first time in his life, Matt envied his brother. Wanted what Gregory had. And knew it was one contest he could never win.

  Chapter Ten

  Brynn loved the air of excitement that filled the lodge. Matt had returned two days earlier from Washington. He had news that negotiations for Gregory’s release might begin soon. The State Department promised they would move as quickly and as safely as possible. While nothing positive had been accomplished yet, the family was filled with renewed hope. Brynn shared their excitement, but somewhere during the celebrating she realized that she was more excited for the MacKenzies than for herself.

  Disturbed by the sensation, she’d tried to conjure up the excitement she always felt when thinking about Gregory but hadn’t been able to. Finally, she’d slipped away
from the others.

  Pulling out the wedding album to look at his picture, she realized she hadn’t opened it in far more than a week. Far a time, she’d sat staring at the book, remembering how she’d barely been able to keep her hands off it, knowing why that had changed.

  Before she could spend much time considering the shift in her feelings, she’d been drafted into helping prepare for the Harvest Ball. The MacKenzies, with at least a bit of good news about Gregory, were putting their renewed spirits into this fall celebration dance. It had become a celebration of hope, as well. And soon Eagle Point was awash in preparty activity.

  Corn husks, stacked hay bales, ornamental gourds, multicolor Indian corn, pumpkins, hurricane lamps, and a few genuinelooking scarecrows populated the lodge and outbuildings. A new coat of lemon wax shone on the furniture, leaving a pleasant tang in the air that combined with the ever-present woodsmoke of the huge river-rock fireplace.

  From the kitchen, the aroma of snickerdoodles, gingerbread, and rum-raisin cookies blended with the bubbling scent of caramel for dipping apples and freshly pulled taffy. Jugs of fresh cider were set around the kitchen waiting to be spiced.

  Paper lanterns decorated all the paths that led around the lodge and Brynn stood precariously on the top rung of a handyman’s ladder hanging more lanterns on the terraced patio. She loved the bustle, the noise of voices calling out to each other, the way the family and staff worked together. Not that they didn’t all have their own way of doing things, but tradition ruled. It was an easy feeling, one that made her want to linger over the job, stretching it out.

  While she was no expert party decorator, she figured it didn’t take a professional to hang lanterns. And when she was done with that task she had a basket of candles to distribute. The lighting for the dance was to be both old-fashioned and subdued—a night, she’d been told, that would resemble dozens that had preceded it.

  The lodge was filled to capacity. The traditional celebration was popular with guests, many of whom came back year after year to join in the festivities. And the town considered it their celebration as well. Brynn was reminded of the stories her grandmother used to tell of bow villages came together, the spirit they shared.

  Driving another nail home, Brynn looked back at the neat row of lanterns she’d tacked up—not a feat of great skill, but she was pleased.

  “You grinning about anything in particular?” Matt questioned from somewhere beneath the ladder.

  Peering downward, Brynn saw him immediately. His muscled arms were filled with an intriguing load of boxes. In response, she waved her hammer. “Just checking over the lanterns.”

  “Not much you can do to mess them up,” he replied with even humor.

  “Thanks a lot.” She craned her head backward. “I think they look cheery, waving in the breeze.”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “They’re not the only things waving in the breeze. That ladder looks ready to topple.”

  She waved her hand airily in dismissal. “It’s been perfectly fine.”

  “You don’t want to land on your head.”

  “That didn’t seem to bother you the other day when you dumped me in the leaves.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Brynn froze, remembering just how that day had ended. The painful intensity, the equally painful silence as they’d returned to the lodge.

  Matt’s hands tightened around the boxes, but he kept his tone light. “I doubt Gregory would appreciate our letting you break your neck.”

  Brynn lowered herself another rung. “I’m almost done.”

  Matt shifted the boxes, perching them on a nearby redwood bench. “I’ll hold the ladder.”

  “That’s not necessary, I’m steady.”

  Ignoring her, Matt gripped the ladder with both hands.

  Self-conscious now, Brynn hurriedly tacked up the last lantern, then turned and glanced at Matt.

  “Is that the last one?” he asked.

  She stepped down another rung until they were nearly eye to eye. “That’s it.”

  His gaze didn’t leave hers. “Well, then.”

  Lifting the hammer, Brynn clenched its cold steel. “Yes...”

  Matt’s gaze slid toward her lips, before it shifted upward. “Yes.”

  Brynn knew she should say something—anything—but she didn’t want to break the moment. Or the connection that lingered between them.

  As though silently shaking himself, Matt stepped away abruptly. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “I didn’t mean to hold you up.” Since she hadn’t asked for his help, they both knew she didn’t need to offer an explanation, but she felt compelled to fill the awkward silence.

  Matt grabbed the heavy boxes as though they were weightless, striding off with them. Though he didn’t look back, Brynn kept her gaze riveted on him until he disappeared. But even after he was out of sight, the sensations tripping through her continued—making her wonder, making her question everything. Including herself.

  MIRANDA HELD THE NEWLY pressed party dress out to Brynn for the second time. “Surely you’re not planning to pass up a dress like this to wear... that.”

  Brynn sniffed, then sighed away her momentary affront as she glanced down at the plain, loose-fitting outfit she’d chosen after her run-in with Matt. “Does it really look that bad?”

  Miranda pursed her lips. “I didn’t mean to sound insulting. The dress isn’t bad. It’s just that it doesn’t have much shape. And you, my dear, do. But in that dress, nobody would know it. If you were my age, I could see it, but—”

  “What do you mean, at your age?” Brynn demanded. “You expect me to wear this—” She stared at the provocative dress Miranda held. Then her eyes narrowed. “Just what are you planning to wear?”

  Miranda shrugged. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  Brynn stared at the still-attractive, single woman. “Why not?”

  “My time’s past,” Miranda replied. Her fingers stroked the party dress. “I suppose you guessed this dress was special to me and so was the man who was supposed to escort me to the Harvest Ball.” Her voice started to warble and she took a moment to control it. “But that didn’t happen.”

  “Wasn’t that...quite some time ago?” Brynn asked hesitantly.

  “Yes. And now I’m a confirmed spinster.”

  Brynn’s heart went out to the other woman. “I told you before I didn’t believe in that.”

  Miranda waved a hand. “Pish.”

  Brynn looked between the dress and Miranda, knowing she could make a sacrifice if it might mean helping Miranda. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll wear the dress—” Miranda’s face broke into the beginning of a grin “—if you’ll wear something just as stunning.”

  Miranda’s grin dissolved into a grimace. “I would, but I’m afraid ‘stunning’ is beyond me.”

  Brynn remembered the picture in the journal—Miranda’s hopeful young face filled with love. Love that had disappointed her. “I think you’ll look even better than stunning.” She gently took Miranda’s arm. “Let’s go raid your closet.”

  “But—”

  Brynn uncharacteristically took the lead. “Come on. I suspect you’re holding out on me.”

  Miranda grumbled as they walked to her suite of rooms. And once inside, she threw up her hands after pointing out her closet.

  But Brynn refused to be discouraged. Even after she’d picked through the first row of clothes and found nothing appropriate. Miranda had a good selection of clothing but nothing with the special flair Brynn was looking for.

  Later, almost at the back of the closet, Brynn was nearly ready to admit defeat. She couldn’t make a wonderful dress appear just because she believed Miranda deserved to be dressed in one. She reached for one of the last hangers that held an oversize winter coat. Ready to turn away, she automatically pushed the coat aside to look at the last item in the closet. A transparent plastic bag covered golden fabric. Feeling a spurt of excitement, Brynn lifted the coveri
ng and found just what she’d been looking for.

  The gold silk was a rich yet gentle color that wouldn’t seem harsh. Instead it would highlight, soften. The simple lines of the dress gave it luster and style. An off-the-shoulder neckline fed down to elegant dolman sleeves and a classic A-line swirl. It was a garment that flattered, and if Brynn guessed correctly, would make Miranda shine.

  Triumphantly, Brynn held it aloft like a trophy as she emerged from the closet.

  But she was surprised when Miranda’s reaction was a groan. “Not that.”

  Brynn re-examined the dress. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I might as well wear a beacon that says Look at Me!” Miranda complained.

  “And why not?”

  Miranda planted her hands on her hips. “I should think that would be obvious.”

  Brynn called on her now close-by imp, wanting Miranda to find her own piece of happiness, even if it meant pushing her into trying new things. “But that’s what you wanted me to do.”

  Miranda’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “But you’re young!”

  “So you’re saying that only the young deserve attention.”

  “Well, no, but—”

  Brynn moved in for the kill, knowing she couldn’t keep up her uncharacteristic behavior much longer. “Then if you want me to wear the party dress, you’ll wear this one.”

  “But—”

  “A deal’s a deal.” Brynn gestured at the shapeless beige linen she wore. “Unless you’d rather I wore this.”

  Miranda threw up her hands. “Fine. Guess it won’t be the first time everyone in town thought I looked like a fool.” She sighed with resignation before her gaze narrowed. “I’ll be along shortly to put your hair up and help with your makeup.”

  “Makeup?” Brynn repeated nervously, wondering just what she’d started.

  “Of course.” Miranda smiled slyly, transforming into a cat that had swallowed far more than just the canary. “Without your glasses you’ll want a touch of makeup.”