by Nora Roberts
through life. She got a very nice settlement from Mac’s father, and blew through the bulk of it.”
She smiled. “Children hear things, even when they’re not supposed to know what they mean.”
“There had to be child support.”
“Yes. Mac was housed and fed and clothed very well. So, of course, was her mother. They both remarried before Mac was seven. Linda divorced again within two years.”
She paused as their tea was served. “After that, there were a lot of men, a lot of love affairs, and a lot of drama. Linda feeds on drama. Geoffrey divorced again, and married again. He has a son with his third wife, and they spend most of their time in Europe. Linda has a daughter by her second husband.”
“Yes, Mac told me she had two half siblings.”
“They rarely see each other. Eloisa spent, and spends, a lot of time with her father, who obviously loves her very much.”
“That must’ve been hard. To see her sister have that, while she didn’t.”
“Yeah. And because it was, for the most part, only Mac at home, Linda expected, demanded, used. It’s her way. She married again. Every time she married, they moved to another house, another neighborhood. Another school for Mac. Linda pulled Mac out of the academy when she divorced her third husband. Then put her back in, briefly, a couple of years later because, it turned out, she was involved with a man—a married one—on the board of directors.”
“No stability, ever. Nothing she could count on,” Carter murmured.
Parker sighed. “All of her life, Mac’s had her mother weeping on her shoulder over some slight, some broken heart, some trouble. Linda was raised to believe herself the center of the universe, and she did her best to raise Mac to believe it, too. She’s a strong woman, our Mac. Smart, self-reliant, brilliant at what she does. But this vulnerable spot is like an aching wound. Linda continually yanks the scab off. She grew up with callousness, and fears being callous.”
“She doesn’t trust us, because nothing in her life has ever given her the foundation to trust.”
“You do listen. That was one of the first things she told me about you. I’m going to give you an advantage, Carter, another thing she wouldn’t thank me for. I’m giving it to you because I love her.”
“I could use one.”
Parker reached out to lay her hand over his on the table. “I’ve never seen her the way she is with you, not with anyone else. I’ve never seen her care, so much. Because of that, what she has with you, what she’s finding with you, scares her.”
“I’ve figured some of that, at least the scared part. As someone who loves her, what would you advise me to do?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Parker said with a smile. “Give her a little space, a little time—but not too much. And don’t give up on her. The only constants in her life have been me and my family, Emma and Laurel. She needs you.”
“I can’t give up on her,” Carter said simply. “I’ve been waiting for her most of my life.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NEITHER THE CAR NOR HER MOTHER SHOWED ON MONDAY. ON Tuesday, when her patience ran thin, Mac’s calls to her mother’s house and cell went directly to voice mail.
By Wednesday, she actively entertained the thought of reporting her car stolen. But then she’d just have to bail her mother out of jail.
So she went over to the main house to mooch breakfast.
“Parker’s on an emergency house call. Saturday’s bride woke up with a zit or something. Emma’s waiting on an early delivery, so it’s just you and me.”
“Does that mean there won’t be pancakes?”
“I don’t have time for pancakes—and God, I wish Mrs. G would shake off the island sand and get home. I’ve got to make foliage and flowers. Have a muffin.”
“Did Parker have any idea when she’d get back?”
Laurel glanced up, stopped rolling out her flower paste. “Your car’s not back?”
“Both it and Linda are MIA. I’ve left a dozen messages. Her ears are going to bleed and fall off when she gets them. I threatened to report it stolen.”
“Do it. There’s the phone.”
“I’ll probably be arrested for sheer stupidity for giving her the keys. I’m going to go by her place. I have another shoot, and I need to pick up some custom paper that wasn’t ready Monday. And I think I want some shoes.”
“Haven’t heard from Carter?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re going to buy shoes, which is comfort food for you. Have you called him?”
“To say what? I’m sorry? I already said that. I was wrong? I was, I know I was wrong, but it doesn’t change what I feel.”
“Which is?”
“Confused, afraid, stupid. Double all of that because I miss seeing him,” she admitted. “I miss talking to him. So I think it’s better if I don’t see him or talk to him.”
“Your logic doesn’t resemble the logic of humans.”
“He probably doesn’t want to see or talk to me anyway.”
“Coward.”
“Maybe. I’m a coward without a car.” She waited in silence while Laurel rolled out her paste. “You could lend me yours.”
“I could. But that would be enabling, which is what you continue to do with Linda. I love you too much to do that.”
“It’s not enabling. It’s business. I could cram my equipment into her ridiculous little toy, but funny, she left the car and not the keys. It’s not the client’s fault I caved or she’s so self-centered she hasn’t brought it back.”
“No, it’s not.” With care, Laurel used a template and began cutting out the first flowers.
“I’m so pissed off. I admit the pissed off portion helps balance out the sheer misery of the Carter situation, but at this point I’d rather be miserable about him and have my wheels. Why does she
do this? And don’t say because I let her. I swear, and I’ll swear it in blood, I had no intention of lending her the damn car. I never would’ve put myself in this position again if it hadn’t been for those exact circumstances.”
“I’d like to believe that, but here you are, Mac, paying the price as usual. While as usual she pays nothing. No consequences for Linda. She’ll bring your car back when she’s damn good and ready. You’ll confront her, bitch, complain. She’ll pull out all her usual crap. Then she’ll forget the whole thing because she’ll have gotten and done what she wanted, and topped it off by being the center of your world while you bitch and complain.”
“What am I supposed to do? Beat her to death with my tripod?”
“I’ll help you hide the body.”
“You would.” Mac sighed. “You’re a true friend. I’m not a coward or a pushover about most things.”
“No, you’re not. Anything but. I guess that’s why it irritates me down to the marrow when you are. When she causes you to be both. Make her pay for once, Mackensie. I bet once you do, the next time will come easier.”
“How? Believe me when I say I want to. I can’t actually call the cops. I gave her the damn keys. And maybe I think—know,” she corrected, “it was passive-aggressive bullshit that she didn’t leave me hers, it still . . .”
“I like that look. That is not the look of cowardly pushover. What?”
“She left her car.”
“Oh, oh, we’re going to smash the toy. I’ll get my coat and Del’s old baseball bat.”
“No. God, you’re a violent soul.”
“I like smashing. It’s therapeutic.”
“We’re not going to beat up the car. It’s an innocent bystander in this. But I am going to have it towed.”
“That’s not bad, but having it towed to her house just means she doesn’t have to bother to come get it.”
“Not to her house.” Mac’s eyes narrowed as she thought it through. “Remember a few months ago, that guy rear-ended Del’s new car. It had to be towed. The guy, the mechanic guy who took care of all that. He’s got the tow truck, th
e garage, the lot. Damn it, what’s the name? Where is Parker with her magic business cards?”
“Call Del. He’ll remember. And let me just say this is why we’re friends. When you get your teeth into it, Mac, you’re beautiful.”
“So lend me your car.”
“Make the calls, and it’s yours.”
SHE FELT RIGHTEOUS. SHE FELT STRONG. BY THE TIME SHE’D completed her shoot, run her errands, stopped off to buy more twenty-gauge wire for Laurel, she decided she deserved new shoes. Maybe, considering the trauma and triumph of the last few weeks, she deserved new earrings, too.
Earrings for Linda, she decided. Shoes for Carter. Celebration and commiseration.
Maybe she’d go by his place on the way home. While she was feeling strong and righteous. They were two smart people who cared about each other. Surely they could find a compromise, some middle ground, some solution.
She didn’t want to lose him, she thought. She didn’t want to go through her life Carter-less.
She wandered through the mall until she hit the Holy Grail. The shoe department at Nordstrom.
Maybe she needed new boots, too. You could never really have too many boots. New shoes
and new boots would give her that firm sense of self-reliance she needed to go to Carter’s. She could pick up a bottle of wine, like a peace offering. And they’d talk, and he’d look at her that way he looked at her. And . . . that would be pulling a Linda, she decided, as she had Laurel’s car.
But she could still go by, still take the wine. She could ask him to dinner at her place. It could be a kind of joke, an icebreaker. Hey, I brought you this wine. Why don’t you come over for dinner later tonight and bring this with you? Of course then she’d have to stop off and buy something to fix. Or she could just raid Mrs. G’s supply.
No, no, she thought as she picked up a pair of electric blue ankle boots that sang her name. She had to
cook. Had to show him he mattered enough for her to make the effort. He mattered. It all mattered.
Which was why she was so screwed up over it in the first place.
“It’s . . . Meredith, isn’t it?”
Mac turned, glanced at a vaguely familiar blonde. “No, sorry.”
“But aren’t you the wedding photographer?”
“Yes. It’s Mackensie.”
“Of course! Sorry. I’m Stephanie Gorden. I met you at my cousin’s wedding last Saturday.”
“Oh, right. How are you?”
“Surrounded by shoes. I’m great. What fabulous boots! Corrine and I are playing hooky this afternoon. Corrine! Come over and meet Mackensie.”
Oh God, Mac thought. How could fate hand her fabulous boots and a kick in the ass at the same time?
“Corrine, this is Mackensie. She’s a wedding photographer, and a
very good friend of Carter’s.”
“Oh?”
And Corrine was perfect, Mac thought. So make that a kick in the ass along with a slap in the face. She glided over in exquisite red peep-toe pumps with her glossy dark hair spilling in romantic curls to her shoulders. Eyes, deep and sultry, scanned Mac as her soft, shapely lips curved in a cool smile.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Great shoes.”
“Yes. I think they’re going to be mine.”
Even her voice was perfect, Mac thought bitterly. Low and just a little throaty.
“So, you know Carter Maguire.”
“Yes. We went to high school together. For a while.”
“Really?” Absently, Corrine picked up a pair of kitten-heel slides. “He never mentioned you. We were involved for quite some time.”
“Corrine and Carter,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “It was practically one word. It’s so funny running into you like this. I was just telling Corrine I’d heard Carter was seeing someone, and that I’d seen you together at Brent’s wedding.”
“Funny.”
“And how is Carter?” Corrine asked, as she set the slides back down. “Still buried in his books?”
“He seems to have time to come up for air.”
“Haven’t been seeing him very long, have you?”
“Long enough, thanks.”
“You two should compare notes.” Stephanie gave Corrine a friendly hip bump. “Corrine could give you a lot of pointers where Carter’s concerned, Mackensie.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun? But, I like the discovery. Carter’s a fascinating and exciting man, entirely too much of one for notes. Excuse me. I see a pair of slingbacks with my name on them.”
As Mac aimed for the other side of the department, Stephanie arched her eyebrows. “Exciting? Carter? He must’ve evolved since you dumped him, Cor. I have to say, he did look on the hot side when I saw him Saturday. Maybe you should’ve hung on there a bit longer.”
“Who says I can’t have him back if I want him?” She looked down at the pumps. “In fact, I may take my new shoes on a little visit.”
Stephanie snickered. “You’re a bad girl.”
“What I am, is bored.” She frowned over at Mac. She thought
she should be the one to have those boots. They’d certainly look better on her than some skinny, orange-headed tight ass. “Besides, why should she have Carter? I saw him first.”
“I thought Carter bored you.”
“That was before.” On a long sigh, Corrine sat, scanned the small mountain of shoes she was considering. “The trouble with you, Steph, is you’re married. You’ve forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the competition. The score.”
She slipped off the pumps, slipped on a pair of spikeheeled sandals in metallic pink. “Men are like shoes. You’re supposed to try them on, wear them awhile—as long as they look good on you. Then toss them in the closet and shop for more.”
She stood, angled to study the results in the mirror. “And every now and then, you pluck something out of the closet, try them on again and see how they look.”
She glanced over, scowled when she saw Mac trying on the blue boots. “The one thing you don’t do is let somebody else go rooting around in your closet.”
ROUTINE, CARTER THOUGHT, HAD ITS PURPOSE. IT GOT THINGS done, offered a certain comfort and kept hands and mind occupied. He hung up his coat, went to his home office to lay his evening’s work on the desk. He checked his messages.
There was a pang when Mac’s voice failed to breeze into the room, but that was routine, too.
Parker had advised a little time and space. He’d give Mac more time. Another day or two.
He could wait. He was good at waiting. And more than anything, he realized, he wanted her to come to him.
He went downstairs to feed the cat and make himself some tea. At the counter, he drank the tea while he went through the day’s mail.
And he wondered if his life could be any more ordinary, any more staid. Would he find himself in this same loop—read rut—in another year? God, in another decade?
He’d been comfortable enough before Mackensie had reentered his life.
“It’s not as if I’d planned to be alone forever,” he said to the cat. “But there was plenty of time, wasn’t there? Time to enjoy a certain routine, time to enjoy my home, my work, the freedom that comes from being single. I’m barely thirty, for God’s sake.
“And I’m talking to a cat, which is not how I want to spend my evenings for the rest of my life. No offense. But no one wants to merely settle. To be with someone because being alone’s the only other option. Love’s not some amorphous concept created for books and poetry and not attainable. It’s real and vital, and it’s
necessary. Damn it. It changes things. Everything. I can’t be what I was before I loved her. It’s ridiculous for anyone to expect that.”
Having finished his meal, the cat sat, gave Carter a long stare, then began to wash.
“Well, she’s not as reasonable as you. I’ll tell you something else while we’re on the subject. I’m good for her. I’m exactly what she needs. I understand her. All right, no, I don’t. I
take that back. But I know her, which is a different thing altogether. And I know I can make her happy once she gets over being too pigheaded to admit it.”
He decided then and there she had another twenty-four hours. If she didn’t come to him within that time frame, he’d just have to take control of the situation. He’d need a plan of some sort, an outline of what needed to be said and done. He rose to get a pad and pencil.
“Oh, for God’s sake. The hell with plans and outlines. We’ll just deal with it.” Annoyed, he slammed the drawer on his finger. Typical, he thought, sucking at the ache. He decided to console himself with a grilled cheese sandwich.
If she’d come to her senses, they’d be together right now, maybe fixing an actual meal. Something they could talk over. He wanted to know if she’d gotten the big job. Wanted to celebrate with her. To share it with her.
He wanted to tell her about the funny short story one of his students had turned in—and about the excuses another had given him for not completing an assignment.
He had to admit the temporary amnesia gambit had been inventive.
He wanted to share all that with her. The big things, the little ones, all the bits and pieces that made up their lives. He just had to show her she wanted it, too. No, not only wanted it, he remembered. He had to show her she could have it.
He put the sandwich in the skillet, opened a cupboard for a plate. When the knock sounded at his front door, he barely missed rapping his head on the corner of the open cupboard.
He thought: Mackensie, and hurried out of the kitchen.
The image of her was already in his mind when he opened the door, so it took him several awkward seconds to process Corrine.
“Carter.” She came in laughing, did a graceful turn to end with her arms around him. She tipped her head back, eyes sparkling dark, and pressed her lips to his.
“Surprise,” she said, on a little purr.
“Ah, yes. It certainly is. Corrine.” He disentangled himself. “You’re . . . looking well.”
“Oh, I’m a wreck. I must’ve driven around the block three times before I worked up the nerve to stop. Don’t break my heart, Carter, and say you’re not happy to see me.”
“No. I mean . . . I certainly wasn’t expecting to.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“You are in.”
“Always so literal. Are you going to close the door, or make me grovel in the cold?”
“Sorry.” He shut the door. “You caught me off guard. What do you want, Corrine?”
“More than I deserve.” She took off her coat, offered it to him along with a plea in her eyes. “Hear me out, won’t you?”
Trapped between manners and puzzlement, he hung up her coat. “I thought I already did.”
“I was stupid, and so careless with you. You have every right to toss me out on my ass.” She wandered into the living room. “When I look back at what I did, what I said . . . Carter, I’m so ashamed. You were so good to me, so good for me.
