did that yourself, too!” she said, scowling at him. Then she put her cool hand against his forehead. “Fever’s gone.”
He caught her fingers in his, kissed the back of her hand. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m not a hundred percent, but I know where I am now. Who I’m with.”
Her gaze shifting away from him, she tugged her hand from his clasp. “Um...”
“This is a first,” he said. “We never woke up beside each other, did we?” While they’d made love dozens of times, they’d never had the luxury of spending an entire night together. Maybe he should have coaxed her down the hill at some point and booked a hotel room, he thought, frowning. Why hadn’t he done that?
“I beg to differ,” Mac said now. “I recall several times waking up with you in that old tent we pitched in our backyard.”
He nodded, conceding the point. “When we were kids. All of us packed in there, Brett, you, Poppy, Shay and me. It smelled like mildew and Poppy screeched at every critter scurry.”
“Our scaredy-cat.”
“When we finally stumbled into your kitchen in the morning your mom would make cheesy scrambled eggs and bacon. I’ve had some good meals in my life, but those breakfasts were the best.”
“Yeah,” Mac said, reaching out to brush his hair back. Then her eyes went wide, as if bothered by her own offhand, clearly unplanned intimacy. “Um...why don’t I make those for you now? Could you eat?”
His stomach growled in response. “What do you think?” And he watched her roll off the bed. He was sad to see her go, but happy to have one of his oldest friends heading down to the kitchen, where they would share a meal.
By the time he got down there himself, however, freshly showered and shaved and feeling somewhat close to human, Mac had that chip squarely rebalanced on her shoulder; he could tell by the wary way she eyed him as he entered the room, her cell phone to her ear. “He’s here now, Brett. We’ll eat some breakfast, and then I’ll be off to work.”
After ending the call, she slid her phone into her pocket and turned toward the pan on the stove. “Cheesy eggs,” she said, spooning them onto plates. “OJ and bacon out already.”
He glanced over to see the small breakfast table in the nook had been set. Taking both plates from her, he carried them over himself. Once they were settled on the place mats, he pulled out her chair for her.
Mac’s brows shot up in surprise. “Manners?”
Showing her he had them might dull her at-the-ready thorns and render her a little more approachable. He was serious about wanting to reconnect with the Walkers, if only for his short time in their mountains.
Noting the two pain reliever tablets set by one of the glasses of orange juice, he smiled a little. “Taking care of me some more?” he asked, scooping them up. “Is that what you do—nursing?”
She made a face. “Hardly.”
Odd that she didn’t elaborate. “Well? Should I guess?” He cast his mind back to her childhood ambitions. “Snake charmer? Fortune-teller?”
At her snort, he tilted his head, considered the lovely angles of her face and the crystalline quality of her blue eyes. “Fashion model?”
She rolled them. “No.”
He waggled his brows. “Lingerie model?”
A flush pinkened her face. “I clean houses.”
“Clean houses.”
“Yes! There’s nothing wrong with honest work, you know.”
“I never said there was.” Jeez, she was so touchy now. “You clean houses. Good for you.”
“I run my own business,” she mumbled, gaze on her plate. “Maids by Mac.”
“I’m not surprised, Mackenzie Marie.”
Her head came up, her eyes narrowed. “What? That I clean up other people’s messes for a living?”
“That you’re a businessperson. That you’re in charge.”
“Oh,” she said, her expression evening out.
“You always were a bossy little thing,” he added.
“Oh!” She tossed her balled-up paper napkin at him.
He laughed. “Tell me everything about everyone. About Brett and Poppy and Shay. And anyone else I used to know.”
“Does that mean you’ve missed us?”
“I...” Christ, had he?
Instead of waiting for him to answer, she began to talk. It was grudging at first, he decided, but soon her voice warmed as she filled him in on her brother and sisters. In a few minutes he knew about Brett’s landscape business and his wife, Angelica, about Shay with a stepdaughter-to-be and the builder she was about to marry. Finally, he heard about Poppy, her little boy, Mason, and Ryan Hamilton, former actor-turned-producer whose bride she would become in a few weeks.
“How could all this have happened?” he wondered aloud.
“Ten years,” Mac said, her demeanor cooling again. “It’s been ten years. Maybe if you’d bothered to stay in contact, none of this would come as such a shock.”
He hadn’t wanted to stay in contact. At the time, it had seemed smartest to leave without backward glances.
“So...you?” Mac gathered up their plates and took them to the sink.
“Let me do that,” he protested, but she ignored him.
“Pay me back,” she said. “Your last ten years?”
Exciting. Challenging. Wearying.
“Something about a documentary?”
At his puzzled glance, she explained. “I heard you talking to Mr. and Mrs. Robbins at Oscar’s yesterday. Earth Unfiltered?”
“Oh. Yeah. In my travels, I stumbled upon the crew in their early days. Joined them. Learned a hell of a lot, at first from just humping shit from place to place, then I did more. Research, camera work, a little writing.”
“Wow.”
It had been wow so much of the time. But there’d been arduous treks, long delays, bad reactions to strange foods...and, finally, a pervasive sense of dissatisfaction. “Traveling to remote corners of the world has a way of making one feel small. And unconnected.”
Mac was looking at him funny. He tried to make a joke of it. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“A person can feel alone anywhere,” she said, then turned her back to put the plates and utensils in the dishwasher.
A weird vibe entered the room. Zan rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to dissipate the sense
