Knight of Hearts

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KNIGHT OF HEARTS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © Suzie Quint, 2011 ISBN# 978-0-9839726-8-6 Cover Art ® 2011 by Valerie Tibbs Edited by Julie Trevelyan Electronic Publication Date: November 2011 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Jupiter Gardens Press, Jupiter Gardens, LLC., PO Box 191, Grimes, IA 50111 For more information to learn to more about this, or any other author’s work, please visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/

Knight of Hearts Suzie Quint

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Chapter One "Hey, Sexy! Wanna get naked with me?" The words were out of Mac's mouth before he could stop them, but damn! Even from the back, the woman on the bar stool had the sexiest neck he'd ever seen. And since a major reason for this trip was to figure out how to get back into the dating pool, meeting women was taking up more than the usual amount of space in his brain. That had to account for why he'd blurted out such a blatantly sexist come-on. At least, that was his story, and he was sticking to it. As usual, it didn't get the response he hoped for. He could see that in her stiffened shoulders. The jukebox clicked over and started playing There's a Girl in Texas as she slowly spun the barstool around to face him, her eyes blazing in a cold fury. She was clearly ready to shoot a volley at the clod with the clumsy line. Mac's smile froze on his lips. Two rapid heartbeats later, he forced the smile into a leer. He could sell this. Sure, he could. After all, bluffing was one of the things he did best. He could convince her he'd known all along that she was his sister's best friend. That he'd just asked her to get naked with him as a joke. Right. But he couldn't help wondering how in the hell he'd managed to never notice that sexy, swan-like neck before. Oh, yeah. Masses of long, dark hair had hidden it. He'd never seen her with short hair. But it was ultra-short now. Her angry features melted away, flowing into warm recognition. "Mac! What are you doing here? Claudia said you wouldn't be in Galveston until next week." He caught Rachel's concierge jacket before it slid from the back of her stool onto the floor. "Got the chance to get out of Dodge early, so here I am." He avoided looking into her face as he squared the jacket's shoulders over the stool's yoke, then he settled onto the bar stool next to her. Time to sell the joke. If only it wasn't typical of the way he kept putting his foot in his mouth whenever he'd met an attractive woman since his divorce. "From the look on your face, I'm guessing that's not a great way to pick up a woman." Rachel grimaced and laced her fingers around her Bloody Mary. "As pick-up lines go, it sucks. Believe me, you don't want the women you'll catch fishing with that kind of bait." Mac sighed theatrically to hide his relief. She'd bought it. He'd sidestepped that embarrassment at least. "Once upon a time, I would have agreed with you, but I'm not the hunk I once was." Ignoring her neck, concentrating instead on her dark, doe-brown eyes, he forced a playful smile. "Couldn't I just throw back whatever I catch in the morning?" Rachel hoisted an eyebrow at him. "You're just trying to play on my sympathies." He twitched his eyebrows suggestively. "Is it working?" "Not even a little." "Damn. And here I thought you might do a friend a favor."

Rachel's lips tightened, expressing her skepticism. "I suspect you've got plenty of women willing to do you that kind of favor." She unlaced her fingers and took a sip of her drink. "Not as many as you might think," Mac said, trying not to let any self-pity show. The bartender slowed as he passed them on his way to the beer tap. "Hey, Mac. Glad you made it." Mac's fist met Pete's in a series of complicated movements Pete had taught him on past visits to Galveston. "Chivas rocks, when you have a chance," Mac said when they'd finished greeting each other. Pete moved on down the bar, and Mac was alone with Rachel again. Okay, this was ridiculous. So her neck had caught him off guard and made him think lascivious thoughts for a few seconds. She lived in Texas; he lived in Colorado, so it could never be more than a fling. Not that he was opposed to flings, but she was also his sister's best friend, so he'd better just get over it. Mac leaned away to rake Rachel with his gaze. Her eyes darted away as she took another sip of her Bloody Mary, then came back to meet his. "Hm," Mac said, in his best noncommittal tone. He leaned forward, caught her chin with his fingers, and tilted her head away from him, checking out her hair. It really was short. Cut close to her skull, it reminded him of Halle Berry's in that James Bond movie, Die Another Day. "I like your hair," Mac said, suppressing the urge to say: I like your neck even better. She glanced at him, as though trying to gauge whether he was sincere or just telling a polite lie. "What made you cut it so short?" She lifted her fingers self-consciously to the nape of her neck and Mac smothered a groan. "Well, you know . . . It's so humid here, and it just kept . . . getting in my way." His eyes tracked the motion of her fingers as she smoothed the dark hair above her neck. "I was sorry to hear about you and Gloria," she said, not letting on that she was as shocked as everyone else on God's green earth by his divorce, for which he was grateful. He'd heard it so often he could do it by heart now. How they were everyone's Golden Couple. The shining example of how a marriage should look. How disappointed—no, make that stunned—everyone was by the breakdown of their marriage. Blah, blah, blah. He was sick to death of hearing about it. Mac compressed his lips as he shifted his gaze to the collection of autographed photos above the backbar's mirror—generations of Texas cowboys who'd made good on the rodeo circuit. He hoped she'd take his obvious lack of interest to heart and change the subject. "Don't be. We've been going through the motions for a long time now. Probably my fault." She was a smart girl. He could practically see her searching her mental files for another topic as she sipped her Bloody Mary. And then he surprised himself by saying, "I spent too much time at the bar. She'd come down sometimes, but when you're running a tavern, especially one that's making money, it's not like you're really spending time together." Where had that come from? His marriage was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Especially with his sister's best friend. The reasons for his failed marriage weren't Claudia's—or

anyone else's—business. He looked at Rachel sideways, gauging her reaction. Open. Interested, but not too interested or sympathetic. Maybe she wouldn't repeat what he'd just said. So now he'd shut up about it. So of course, he said, "Then she started making friends with the customers. Marriages get real shaky real fast when your wife's friends are all single." Rachel looked like she wasn't buying his matter-of-fact tone; he wasn't sure he did either. Twelve years was a long time to get over so quickly, and he was offering too many excuses. Not that it was any of her business. "Doesn't look like she cleaned you out," she said, as Pete set Mac's glass of high-end Scotch on the bar. Mac nodded his thanks at Pete. "She wasn't unreasonable." He took a sip before adding, "At least we didn't have to worry about custody battles." He was impressed with how casually he said that. As though it was of no importance. "Does Claudia know you're here already?" Rachel asked. "Called her when I hit the bridge. Figured we'd go to dinner. You're welcome to join us." Rachel shook her head. "I've got next week's schedule to plan." "Boy, you live an exciting life," Mac teased, glad to finally not be the topic of conversation. Rachel unhooked one foot from the brass foot rail and held it out in the narrow space between their stools, wiggling her nylon-encased toes. "After the day I've had, kicking off my shoes and soaking my feet’s about all the excitement I can stand." Her shoes lay haphazardly beneath her stool. "I could rub your feet for you." His words were spoken soft and low, unintentionally sounding like a lover's offer. Rachel's spine stiffened. She shot him a quizzical look. If he'd had any doubt before, he knew for certain now that he'd better make sure any interest he inadvertently showed could be laughed off. "Is that a better line?" Her face cleared. "Barely. What am I? Your guinea pig for pick-up lines?" "Do you mind? Twelve years is a long time. I seem to have forgotten how to flirt." "It'll come back to you." Rachel turned her attention back to her drink. "Maybe. I haven't had much luck so far." That was the understatement of the century. "Unless I can get a friend to go stomp on some woman's foot, free foot rubs aren't likely to be useful that early in the game." "Just point me at the woman you want," Rachel offered. "Really?" Now there was an idea. Recruiting a front man—or woman—to help him out couldn't hurt his chances. "What are friends for if they won't do a little foot stomping?" And that quickly, Mac discarded the idea. She just looked too pleased with her virtuousness. As though she was offering to throw herself on a live grenade for her buddy. Before he could offer

his not-so-heartfelt gratitude, Claudia emerged from the short hallway at the end of the bar that led to her office. "Mac! You made it!" He slid off his bar stool to meet her bear hug standing. Dark haired with wide-set blue eyes like his, his sister was only a few inches shorter than he was. Mac endured her determined embrace. Not that he was complaining. It felt good to know someone was this glad to see him. A little of the soreness he'd been carrying around in his heart eased. "How's everyone at home?" Without giving Mac a chance to answer, she held him at arm's length. "Are you all checked in?" "Everyone's fine," Mac said tolerantly through the grin he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. "Just like they were three days ago when I told you I was coming to visit, and yes, they gave me a nice suite with"—he prissied his voice up so she wouldn't miss that he was making fun of the travelogue mindset—"an enchanting view of valet parking." He dodged the fist she aimed at his shoulder. "You ready for dinner?" Mac turned back to the bar and tossed back the last of his Scotch. "I'm starving." "Bad news." Claudia winced. "I can't go. Jane just called in sick. I have to cover her shift." Mac searched her face, hoping she was yanking his chain. She looked serious. "Don't you have a backup bartender you can call?" The look Claudia cast Rachel's way was as pointed as a freshly sharpened pencil. "I did, but Rachel's brother made off with her." Rachel grimaced, accepting the guilt Claudia was laying on her the way he'd seen women do with their close friends. "It probably won't get me off the hook that Mama says they're getting married." "No!" Claudia's astonished tone sounded like a high school girl who’d just heard that the quarterback on the football team had dumped the head cheerleader for a president of the chess club. "When?" "The end of July." "That's less than three weeks away!" Claudia shook her head. "It's always the quiet ones." She turned back to Mac. "I'm going to shoot the next one of her brothers who comes near one of my bartenders." "Since you feel that strongly about it," Mac said, grinning as he winked at Pete, "I guess it's a good thing Pete's not my type. Being your brother probably wouldn't get me an exemption." "Yes, it would." Claudia draped an arm over his shoulder. "If it were you, I wouldn't shoot to kill." "Such a comfort," Mac said dryly. "Well, since you can't have dinner with me and Rachel won't, I guess I'll be eating alone." "Rachel won't have dinner with you?" Claudia turned to her friend. "Why not?" "I've got schedules to do," Rachel said. Her shoulders were stiff again, as though she knew Claudia wasn't going to let her beg off. Mac wondered why she wanted to. Maybe he hadn't

convinced her as well as he thought that he was only kidding about wanting to get naked with her. "And I've got to work a bar shift," Claudia said. "Since that's your brother's fault, the least you can do is keep my brother company over dinner." "Great," Mac moaned. "Now my sister's trying to get me dates." "It's not a date, Mac," his sister chided. "It's just dinner." Claudia leveled a stern look at her friend. Rachel sighed and grabbed her jacket off the bar stool. She really didn't want to have dinner with him, Mac realized. Had he made her that uncomfortable with his come-on? Well, he could behave himself. In spite of her neck. Maybe he needed to prove that to himself, because he suddenly wanted to take Rachel to dinner even more than he wanted to see his sister. "In that case, I really do hate eating alone. Will you please let my sister guilt you into joining me? I'll buy." Rachel bit her lower lip. In spite of the wariness in her eyes, she finally said, "Okay. But be careful. Buying me a meal almost qualifies as a date." Which was more action than he'd had since his marriage ended. But that was okay. This was Rachel. His sister's best friend. Off-limits. And maybe a woman friend was what he needed anyway. ~* * *~ In Mac's 1965 restored GMC pickup, Rachel hit the play button on the CD player, just to see what kind of music Mac listened to. The distinctive guitar riff of Lynyrd Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama exploded from the speakers. Her hand collided with Mac's as they both reached to turn it down. "Sorry," Mac said. "It never seems that loud when I'm alone." "That must be because of your obvious hearing loss," Rachel said as she tried to rub the lingering feel of Mac's touch from her skin, and with it, her heightened awareness of him. Mac grinned, cupping a hand behind his ear. "Eh? What's that you say?” Rachel rolled her eyes. So he listened to rock music. At least it was Southern rock. What was wrong with her? Rachel wondered. Why was she rebelling so hard against going to dinner with Mac? It wasn't as though Claudia's brother was a public embarrassment. Far from it. She glanced sideways at him as he steered the pickup out onto the street. His chestnut brown hair fell over his forehead, and the ends that curled around his ears begged to be touched. At thirtyfour, he already had the beginning of laugh lines around his eyes. Rachel liked what those lines said about him. Fun to be with was what they said to her. Not critical. As a man, he had a lot of appeal. And he was so far out of her league it was laughable. No man with that much going for him needed to settle for a woman with all the issues she toted around. "You wanna swing by my place, so I can change?" Rachel asked. Mac followed her directions, parking on the curb in front of her one bedroom cottage. "I won't be long," she said. "Do you want to come in?" "Sure." Mac got out of the truck and followed her up the walkway to the front door.

Rachel was all too aware of him behind her. She felt as though his eyes were on her, taking her in. Even though it was just her imagination, it made her self-conscious. She glanced over her shoulder as she stuck the key in the lock to catch sight of him turning to gaze back out at the street. As she'd suspected, it was all in her head. "It always amazes me to see palm trees here," Mac said. "In Galveston, palm trees are just ordinary trees." The humidity had risen and the door was sticking again. Rachel bumped the door with her hip, promising herself she would pick up WD-40 on her next day off. Sure you will, her mental voice mocked. She'd been making that promise nightly for the last month. She bumped the door again and it swung open. The coolness from the air conditioner she let run all day welcomed her after the sweltering ride in Mac's pickup. "Nice place," Mac said as Rachel threw her keys on the kitchen drain board next to the door. "Small though." "With the hours I spend at the hotel, I don't need much." "That's good." Mac looked around the kitchen-living room combo. "Because that's what you've got. Did it come furnished?" "Uh-huh." The furniture was about ten years short of being nostalgia pieces, and Rachel had another bout of self-consciousness. She'd done little to cheer it up. The forest-green-and-cream afghan her mother had knitted lay over the back of the couch. A professional photo of her parents taken on their thirtieth anniversary sat in a heavy silver frame on top of the TV she never watched. That was it. More proof she wasn't in Mac's league. But if her home wasn't as nice as the one Gloria had made for him, at least it was tidy. And it wasn't as if she was applying for a job as his housekeeper. Or anything else. She set her purse on the easy chair next to the couch then peeled off her concierge jacket and dropped it beside her purse, just to show how much she wasn't interested in competing with Mac's ex in the homemaking department. Mac didn't even glance at her demonstration of defiance, so she headed for her bedroom. She closed the curtain that passed for her bedroom door and dug out jeans and a tank top. "What kind of food do you want?" she called as she changed. "Something I can't get in Colorado," Mac replied in a loud voice as though they were talking through a real door. "How’s Fisherman's Wharf sound?" She could at least show him she knew her way around Galveston. "Good. I like seafood." When she emerged, he was poking his nose behind the bi-fold doors that hid her small pantry and her washer/dryer stack. Any residual discomfort disappeared in a wave of annoyance. "Thinking of renting when I move out?" she asked, closing the doors while he was still looking. He turned away and opened one of the kitchen cupboards, not even embarrassed about being caught snooping. "You ought to go grocery shopping once in a while. You might get hungry someday and want to eat. You don't even have crackers."

"Is that it? You're looking for food?" "Did I not mention I was starving?" His stomach growled as though to prove the point. Rachel's annoyance evaporated into laughter. "All right, I get the message. Let's go." Located at Pier 22, Fisherman's Wharf had a prime location on Galveston's waterfront. They paused near the door to look over the room. Lots of tourists, as Rachel expected. She caught the manager's eye and nodded a greeting. The woman started toward them as Rachel had known she would. One of the fringe benefits of being a concierge in one of Galveston's better hotels was that restaurants did everything they could to impress her, knowing it would result in recommendations to the hotel's guests. "Could we get a table for two, please?" Rachel said. "I think we have something with a view of the water. Will that do?" "That would be lovely." The manager led them to a table that looked out over the port. She laid menus on the table as they sat. She didn't actually ignore Mac, but she knew Rachel was the one who mattered, and subtle as it was, her manner deferred to Rachel. Mac was nearly inconsequential. "I'll send a waitress right over." Mac's smile blazed, and the manager stopped, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Aha! She'd known his claim was phony. There wasn't a damned thing wrong with the way he approached women. But he already had his nose in the menu. Rachel opened hers. "You really must be hungry. You didn't even notice the way she looked at you." Mac looked up. "How did she look at me?" "Let's just say if you asked her to get naked with you, I don't think you'd have to tip her." Mac snorted and went back to perusing the menu. "Yeah, I could tell from the way she ignored me how much she wanted me." "Do you always play this hard to get?" "I wish I could afford to play hard to get. You women have wised up a lot in the last decade or so. None of my old lines work anymore." "You mean 'wanna get naked' doesn't have women falling all over you?" Mac peered at her over the top of the menu. "Hey, that's my best one." "I'd hate to hear your worst." "Yeah, you would." He set the menu down and leaned in as though about to say something confidential. "I crash and burn a lot." Rachel stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he kidding? He had to be. But there was something in his expression. A plea maybe. She almost believed him. But then common sense set in, and she knew he was setting her up for a Gotcha! She knew from listening to stories Claudia told that his sense of humor had that kind of edge to it. Claudia's school years had been replete with embarrassments, compliments of her brother

setting her up. Rachel didn't want to become his latest victim. Not that he was always like that. She had also heard—more than once—the story of how Mac had driven across eight states, from Colorado to Florida, in three days to rescue Claudia from the abusive marriage she'd found herself in at twenty. Even before she'd discovered, years later, that he'd missed his college finals and nearly had to repeat that term, Mac had become Claudia's hero. A cute and perky waitress approached to take their order, saving her from having to find a graceful way to call his bluff. To Rachel's amazement and disbelief, she could almost see the gears grinding in Mac's head, sorting through tacky lines. Ignore it, Rachel counseled herself as she unfurled her napkin. It's not your problem. But his chest expanded as he drew in a breath, and she knew, unbelievable as it was, that Mac was on the edge of proving just how quickly he could become a flirting casualty. So unable to take her own advice, she reached across the table, lay her hand on his to get his attention, then shook her head just enough to tell him not to do it. He cocked his head, lifting an eyebrow as though he didn't know what she meant. She didn't buy it for a second. The waitress took their order without knowing how close she'd come to being caught in Mac's crosshairs. Rachel ordered red snapper. Mac ordered lobster, Chivas for himself, and a Bloody Mary for her. He cocked his eyebrow again when the waitress left with the menus. "Aside from how bad your lines have been so far," Rachel said, "you don't make points flirting when you're with another woman." "I wasn't going to flirt with her," he said in a tone of stunned innocence that was no more convincing than his earlier incomprehension. He was more right than he knew. If wanna get naked was an example, his come-ons were more harassing than flirtatious. Rachel couldn't understand why he thought he needed to try so hard. He was more than good looking enough to attract women without saying a word. She tried to assess him as a stranger would. Tall, dark-haired, with sparkling blue eyes and a great body. His black T-shirt that declared: Sex is Good But Poker Lasts All Night also revealed muscles more sharply defined than she remembered. "Have you been working out?" His reluctant smile revealed his pleasure that she'd noticed. "It's too easy to go to seed when the most strenuous thing you do at work is hoist a few cases of beer and your idea of play is a good poker game." "That's right!" she said, pointing at his shirt. "I'd forgotten about that pastime of yours." "That's a kind way to describe it." Mac's lips thinned as though recalling some less benevolent descriptions. "So poker was a sore spot." "Uh-huh." "I can see why if you were losing regularly."

"Who says I lose?" He cocked an eyebrow, pretending to take offense. "Don't you?" "Everyone does sometimes, but I win more often than not. And always when it counts." Rachel smiled to herself. Who would have guessed Mac was vain about his poker skills? "All right, so you were out playing cards when you should have been home with your wife." Mac raised his eyebrows so high his forehead crinkled. "Do you have any idea how many hours an actuary works?" Rachel shook her head. "Try eighty hours a week. On a good week." And he was willing to take the blame for their breakup? "I didn't think Gloria was that driven." "Yeah. Well, you only saw her when I insisted we take a vacation." Rachel wasn't sure if she heard resentment in his tone or not. His broken marriage really was too personal a topic. "So how long are you going to be in Galveston?" He glanced out at the port, his eyes exploring the tall ship Elissa docked one pier over. "I don't know. Until I get some things sorted out in my head, I guess." His gaze returned to meet hers. "I don't need to worry about the bar. Baby brother Justin's taking the fall semester off from college, so I have whatever time I need." "So you don't know if that's a week or a month," Rachel said. Mac shook his head. It would be too easy, with her inborn need to fix things, to be sucked into Mac's problems. She'd learned the hard way that people didn't appreciate it when she turned the talents that made her so good at her job on them. And they didn't like her, either, for doing it. Rachel consciously backed away from the temptation. "Well, Claudia can help, I'm sure." "No, not Claudia. She's got no objectivity. She'll always take my side." His tone and expression were both pensive. "Sides don't matter anyway. I'm not looking to lay blame. I'm trying to look forward, not back." "That's a mighty grownup attitude," Rachel said in surprise. Not what she expected from someone just four months after his final divorce decree. "I'm trying, but it's weird, you know." Mac's gaze locked on the fork he was tapping against the tablecloth. He looked as though he needed to talk, but as with most men, the more serious the topic, the more difficult it was. "When you think you've got your life in order, but then it changes direction on you . . ." He heaved a deep sigh, then started again. "After twelve years, you'd think I'd miss Gloria, but . . ." His mouth tightened as though he was searching for the right words. "It's the idea that my marriage failed that bothers me. A lot more than the fact of it." He glanced up at her. "That probably doesn't make much sense." "Not a lot, but then I've never been married." And it didn't take a crystal ball to know she never would be. Rachel shoved down the regret that threatened to rear its head. More surprising was the envy she felt, and yes, resentment. She would gladly settle for just one chance to make a

good marriage. Mac had blown his, but in all likelihood, he was going to get a second chance. Why was he more deserving than she? Mac lifted his eyes and looked into hers. "My folks were married for thirty-seven years, and I just figured that's how it would be for me. Instead I'm divorced and having a hard time adjusting to that image of myself." "So the cure is getting married again?" The resentment she'd felt grew a little. Mac barked a laugh. "God, no! At least not right away. Not until I work through this. But I wouldn't be averse to having a woman in my life. Or at least feeling like one would have me." "So you're just looking for a good time?" Rachel asked, trying to keep the snarky tone out of her voice. Resentment filled her stomach, feeling hot and sour. She recognized that she was flipflopping, and in the process, maneuvering him into a no-win position. When had she become such an irrational bitch? She tried to force herself to be fair. Mac was entitled to rebuild his life any way he wanted. Which, of course, would mean finding a woman who wouldn't shy away from a physical relationship. Which left her out. She'd once hoped that she'd be able to overcome her aversion to being touched intimately, but it hadn't worked, and not wanting to become known as Galveston's Ice Queen, she'd quit trying. It wasn't that she wanted to be the focus of Mac's interest, she assured herself. And yet she was woman enough to wonder why he was blind to her when she was sitting right across from him. And to be hurt by it. "What's wrong with a good time?" Mac said, defending his position. "As long as it's mutual. It's not like I'm looking to take advantage. I'm not trying to impress anyone with how suave I am—" Rachel couldn't help laughing—suave Mac was not—and with her laughter, she forgave him for not seeing the woman across the table from him. Mac's eyes narrowed, obviously reading her reaction as an affront. "—or how rich, or even housebroken." Her resentment evaporated in her laughter. Rachel shoved her amusement down. Mac was being serious. He deserved better from her. And there was nothing wrong with Mac wanting a woman who could be physical in her responses. Rachel found she could be fair after all. "You're right. You're not promising anything." The waitress brought the drinks they'd ordered. Rachel ate the olive as Mac took a first sip of the Chivas. "You own a bar, Mac. You should be meeting women all the time." He smiled as though he had an amusing secret. "Let me tell you about the bar." And he started telling stories about a place that sounded like a cross between Cheers and Peyton Place. Rachel laughed until her sides hurt. In spite of the evening's rocky moments, she ended up glad Claudia had twisted her arm and made her go to dinner with Mac. It had been far too long since she'd enjoyed the company of a man.

Her amusement seemed to encourage him, and he went on to describe some of the more colorful of his regular patrons. His stories lasted through dinner and into dessert and coffee. When he discovered she wasn't easily shocked, his stories got more risqué. She laughed until she sputtered. They let the waiter fill their cups again. "It sounds like an incestuous little group you've got there," she said after a particularly amusing story about a round robin of dating that involved four interchanging couples. "It is. God help the tourist who walks in, expecting to have a quiet drink. The men all act like wolves scenting fresh meat on the wind." "I guess it makes sense you'd want to get away while you sort yourself out," Rachel said. "Sounds like you'd only pick up bad habits in a place like that." "Bad habits and no one nearly as attractive as what I've seen in Texas." His eyes glinted, letting her know without a doubt that he meant her. Rachel tried to hide her blush behind her coffee cup. Okay, so maybe he did see her as a woman. Not that she really wanted to encourage that, still it warmed her. "Now that almost sounded sincere, Mac." He shook his head as though amazed by her resistance. "I went up to Denver a couple of times, but I discovered I'm not good at connecting with the kind of women I like. I need to get reprogrammed somehow, but you saw up close how bad I am at conversation starters." "You don't seriously think lines like 'wanna get naked' work, do you?" He hadn't acted as though he'd expected her to take him seriously. "Did you not hear the stories I just told?" "Touché." She laughed. "So you've come to your sister for help." "More like a place to lick my wounds." He forked up the last bite of the banana cream pie he'd ordered. A speculative look appeared in his eyes. The look lasted through the process of swallowing, but Mac dropped his gaze when he laid his fork down. He picked up his coffee, meeting her eyes over the rim. "I could use a guinea pig though. Or guidance counselor. Whatever you want to call it. I don't suppose you'd consider tutoring me?" "Claudia would probably be more help. All day in the bar, she hears what works—" "And what doesn't." "Yes." "Maybe I could run the lines past Claudia, but there's more to flirting than lines. Working on that with my sister would just be"—Mac actually shuddered—"too Deliverance." Rachel laughed again. "You have a point, but honestly, my flirting skills leave something to be desired." Both of Mac's eyebrows rose. "A woman who looks like you? With those big, dark, waif eyes?" Mac's questions hung in the air even as his eyes seemed to focus on her mouth for a moment before he shook his head. "You're not going to convince me of that." Rachel blinked hard and forced herself to take a breath. Had Mac just told her she was pretty? His sights really had come down since Gloria; his ex-wife had centerfold-quality looks

with the added bonus of brains. Rachel tried to keep the warm flush caused by his compliment— and that momentary slip of his gaze—in check. "Look," Mac set his cup down on the table. "I obviously need someone who'll keep me from making a damned fool of myself, like you just did with the waitress. Believe it or not, men are more likely to encourage each other to do asinine things. Even if all you can tell me is what would work for you, that's a leg up for me." "I don't know." Rachel couldn't quite picture herself as a Henry Higgins for divorced men. "Do you really want me wandering around Galveston asking strange women to get naked with me?" "God, no!" "Then help me!" Mac demanded, his voice rising enough to draw curious looks from customers at nearby tables. The mental image of Mac accosting female tourists was so appalling Rachel almost agreed, but she couldn't teach him what she didn't know, and if she let him talk her into it, her need to fix things wouldn't let a minor detail like that get in the way. "I can't, Mac. I'd be lousy at it." "Will you at least think about it? I don't know anyone else to ask." She was tempted to say yes just to spite him. Instead, she agreed to think about it so he'd stop asking. "All right, but I'm not making any promises." Mac grinned like he'd won the round. "I wouldn't ask you to," he said, but she knew that was a lie. Men always pushed to get their way. ~* * *~ As they pulled up in front of Rachel's cottage, Mac was unexpectedly struck by how much he'd enjoyed the evening. Rachel, laughing at his stories, had felt like a fresh breeze blowing out the stress he hadn't quite managed to leave behind on the drive from Colorado. When she'd thrown back her head and laughed, Mac found a little of what he'd lost in the last ego-bruising, heart-stomping days of his marriage. It felt so good to see her smile and know he was the cause. It had made him reach into his bag of bar stories, to pull out and shine up the best of them, just to entertain her. He hated letting the evening end. "Can I buy you breakfast?" he asked on impulse. He was surprised to see suspicion in her eyes. "What?" he asked, feeling like an innocent man unjustly accused. Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Did you just try out another line on me?" Mac drew his hand over his face. "Christ, I am so bad at this. No, I meant it as a thank you for pretending you weren't bored out of your mind, listening to my woes." She had no idea how desperately he'd needed an evening like this. Rachel relaxed. "I wasn't bored." She paused before tentatively offering, "I really don't know enough to coach you, Mac." Then she threw him a bone. "I do know that women don't like men who are too eager. It's a fundamental rule that you can't look needy."

"Rule One," Mac said, cataloging it. Maybe he could suck her into helping him one tidbit at a time. Rachel chuckled. "Yeah. Rule One. And I really wasn't bored." Mac found himself grinning at her. "You've almost convinced me. How about if I offer steak and eggs for breakfast?" "Breakfast is the only meal I eat at home. If you’d bothered to look in the fridge, you'd have figured that out." "How about dinner then?" Rachel sighed theatrically. "Rule one?" "Don't be too eager." But he couldn't help smiling as he said it, and he knew that ruined any chance of looking like he took her advice seriously. Rachel nodded her approval anyway as she let herself out of his pickup. "Good night, Mac." He watched as she walked to her front door. She had a sexy little sashay in her walk. He found himself wishing—and not with innocent intent—that he'd gotten her to agree to have breakfast with him. How dumb would that be? Rachel was Claudia's best friend. That practically made her his kid sister by proxy.

Chapter Two The concierge desk was humming as a convention of tattoo artists checked in the next morning, and Rachel barely had time to draw two breaths in succession. Amidst all the turmoil, she found herself thinking about the way Mac approached women. In spite of his conviction, being female didn't mean she knew the first thing about what worked on other women, but even she could see he was trying too hard. She could tell him that, but it would be like throwing someone into a lake and telling them to swim when they'd never even heard the word before. Even having nine brothers didn't bestow any great advantage. While she suspected none of the five over eighteen were virgins, their mama made it clear she expected her children to live by the morals they'd been taught. And they all respected her enough to pretend they did. Which only made sibling blackmail that much more effective and had each of them guarding the more intimate aspects of their lives. Alliances were built on the mutual vulnerabilities of knowing each other's secrets. Since she had nothing of substance on any of her brothers—and they had nothing on her to ensure her silence—none of them was likely to share anything beyond the surface details of their love lives, even if she asked. Sadly, even their surface details would provide more information than she had on her own. In a momentary lull around lunch time, she called her parents' ranch, hoping her brother Zach had come to the house to eat. "I just called to congratulate you and Maddie," she said when he came on the line. "Thanks, Rach, but according to Sol, you're supposed to congratulate the bride and wish the groom good luck. I guess he thinks I'm gonna need it." "Ouch." Rachel winced. She knew Sol had the etiquette backwards but, since their oldest brother's marriage ten years previously had lasted only weeks, she also knew he wouldn't care. "You'd think he'd be over being sour about marriage." "I don't see that happening anytime soon. You gonna come to the wedding, ain'tcha?" "I lost an intern yesterday, but I've got enough staff it shouldn't be a big problem." Rachel paused, knowing he was going to think she'd lost her mind. "I got a question for you, Zach." "Shoot." "When you met Maddie, what was the very first thing you said to her?" "Hell, I don't know." His voice faded as he moved the phone away from his mouth. "Hey, honey, c'mere." Rachel heard their muffled exchange then Zach came back on the line. "Maddie says it was 'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?'" "And she didn't shut you down?" Rachel asked in astonishment. "Amazing, ain't it?" he said with a smile in his voice. "A'course, she was drinking at the time." "I think she'd've had to be."

"It ain't what I said anyhow that hooked her. She thinks my drawl's sexy." Rachel shook her head. "No accounting for taste I guess." Her own drawl was less pronounced than her brother's only because she'd struggled hard to sound more like the people she worked with. It would never disappear entirely, but at least she made her East Texas grammar conform. Most of the time. Zach's voice dropped. "Listen, Rach, I gotta warn you. Mama says you should bring a date to the wedding." "What?" Rachel's voice rose to a squeak. "Why? Why would she think that?" "You know Mama. She wants us all married and having babies. We can probably thank Sol for how patient she's been, but I set something in motion here. I think she's done made a list, and you being the oldest girl, you're at the top." Rachel's mouth went dry. "This is all your fault." "I know. And I'm sorry 'bout that, but I ain't letting Maddie get away just so's Mama don't meddle in your love life." "What am I going to do?" Rachel said, more to herself than to her brother. She couldn't stand the thought of hearing that tone in her mother's voice. The one that made her feel like she'd let her mother down and suggested that, if Rachel tried just a little harder, she'd have a husband to take care of her, and her mama wouldn't have to worry so much. "I suggest you bring a date." "Thanks a heap, Zach. You give such sage advice." Rachel let sarcasm drip off her voice. He could afford to be casual about this. He was this week's fair-haired son. He was getting married. "At least I warned you." "I'll get you for this," Rachel said, only half kidding. If throwing him to the wolves would get her off the hook, she'd do it in a hot Texas heartbeat. "You'll have to go through Maddie to get to me." The smile in his voice came through the telephone clearly. "Hiding behind a woman's skirts already." Zach chuckled. "I think that's the luck part Sol mentioned." "Would you hate me if I didn't come to your wedding?" Rachel asked, already grasping for some way out. "That ain't gonna work. Mama knows you make the schedules." He was right. Unless she manufactured a last minute staffing emergency. Even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn't have the nerve to tell that lie. She hoped Maddie took her sweet time getting pregnant. Then the heat would be back on Zach to start making babies. Too bad it wouldn't be soon enough to save Rachel. ~* * *~ Mac flipped on the television in the bedroom of his suite. Daytime TV. Now that would rot his brain. He started flipping through channels. Even with cable, his choices were sparse. He was going to have to find some way to amuse himself during his sister's working hours. It shouldn't be too difficult. Galveston was a tourist town, but he knew it wouldn't take long,

seeing the sights by himself, before he'd start feeling the emptiness of the spot beside him. That spot where someone should be standing. Someone he could share his discoveries with. He clicked the remote several times in rapid succession to get past the cable shopping networks. Whoa! Wait a minute! He clicked back a channel. How long had it been since he'd seen Wait Until Dark? Too long, he decided as he settled in on the bed, his back braced against the headboard. On the screen, Audrey Hepburn, playing a blind woman, cringed away from James Coburn as he lit match after match in her face. Mac's heart tightened just as it had when he was a kid, watching it on TV, back when AMC still showed real Hollywood classics. Because their dad had been a huge fan of Hollywood's Golden Era, Mac and Claudia had seen just about every classic there was. Sophia Loren had been his dad's idea of a real movie star, but Mac had always been partial to Audrey. Sophia was a beautiful woman, but Audrey had a sweetness, an innocence, an approachability that had always been more Mac's taste. And of course, she had that incredibly sexy neck. Her neck had won her the starring role in more than one of Mac's pubescent fantasies. He turned the sound down low and watched Audrey on the screen. This movie was still one of his favorites. Audrey's hair was cut short-short, showing off that swan-like neck. ~* * *~ Rachel was usually proud of her ability to multitask—she couldn't do her job without it— but it could also be a curse. She made tee-time reservations, tracked down a guest's lost wallet, managed the fax machine, and arranged last-minute airline tickets for a guest with a family crisis. Through it all, she fretted over finding a date for Zach's wedding. Even the hotel's lobby, with its subtle Antebellum theme of open, airy spaces combined with richly upholstered furniture and large floral displays, failed to lift her spirits as it normally did. Taking a date to a family wedding was a big deal in Rachel's world. Even if she knew someone who would pretend a romantic interest in her, she'd be asking for more than just an afternoon of his life. With the drive to and from the family ranch, her date would have to commit at least two days—three, if Rachel didn't want to hear about her hit-and-run visit from her mother. She had just two weeks to think of a solution. Shortly before her shift ended, she heard, "Hey, sexy! Is it hot in here, or is it just you?" Rachel turned and shot Mac an exasperated look. "You haven't actually used that on anyone, have you?" "You're the first." Wearing a blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, Mac leaned on the counter of the concierge station. "Let's hope I'm the last, too." She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?" "I was hoping you'd know." He didn't seem too concerned that she might not have a clue. "Hell, I don't have any idea how to attract the opposite sex," Rachel said as she verified that the tickets messengered from Galveston's Opera House were in the sections the guests had been promised. "When the opposite sex is a guy, it's not that difficult." Mac crooked his index finger, enticing her closer.

She leaned toward him. He shook his head at her and sighed in fake exasperation. "That was a demonstration, Rachel. That's all it takes to bring a man around." Rachel flushed, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word. "At least y'all aren't subjected to all sorts of cheesy lines." "You can put a stop to that. All you have to do is agree to coach me." She hadn't figured out anything that would help Mac, but her hands froze in mid-task as she suddenly saw a way to save herself. Mac continued talking while Rachel's mind turned the idea over, looking for flaws. When she tuned back in, Mac was looking at her like he was waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry," Rachel said. "What did you say?" "I said that Claudia and I are eating dinner in the bar. You wanna join us?" Rachel met Mac's eyes. "Yes. And if you still want me to coach you, I will. But there's strings attached." The grin that had erupted on Mac's face turned to suspicion. "What kind of strings?" Rachel mentally winced. "Well, not strings so much. Just one string. A favor really." Mac's gaze dropped to where he traced the wood grain of the concierge counter with one finger. "Hmm. I know you were just humoring me when you said you'd think about it, so it must be some favor to turn you around so suddenly." He lifted his eyes to meet hers. But the lobby was far too public a place for Rachel to explain. She glanced at the clock behind her station. Her shift was almost over. "Meet me in the bar in twenty minutes, and I'll explain my proposition." Mac's suspicion disappeared to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile. Rachel's heart gave an extra enthusiastic thump. "A proposition?" Mac rubbed his hands together in a Snidley Whiplash impression. "Oh, boy. You mean the cheesy lines have been working? Are we going to have hot, sweaty sex?" "Not hardly," Rachel said dryly before shooing him off. Twenty-five minutes later, Rachel found Mac having a drink at a table with his sister. "Mac tells me you've agreed to coach him on how to meet women," Claudia said as Rachel fell into one of the padded chairs. "Maybe. There's a price tag attached." "If the price is letting you sample the product," Mac said with an exaggerated leer, "I'm in." Rachel rolled her eyes. "Was he always this lame?" she asked Claudia. "I don't remember him being so obvious, but . . . maybe. When I wasn't around." Rachel put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Here's the deal. Mama wants me to bring a date to Zach's wedding. If I don't, she's going to be all over me for months, wanting to know . . ." Rachel closed her eyes as the peril of her situation hit home ". . . details about my social life, so she can figure out what I'm doing wrong. I can't share that kind of thing with my mama." Especially since she'd have to make them up. "So I need a date for the wedding." "You don't think that'll just make it worse later?" Claudia asked.

"It won't be fun, but she's four hours away. I can handle weekly phone calls asking how Mac and I are doing." Inspiration struck while Rachel was talking. "And just maybe, if I tell her how he broke my heart after we get back, I can get enough sympathy to buy me some peace." "Christ, you're devious," Mac said. "In my family, you have to be to survive." "Don't believe her, Mac," Claudia said. "I've met most of them. They're not that bad." Mac's eyebrows rose as though he'd noticed, as Rachel had, that Claudia hadn't actually said they were nice people. "Easy for you to say," Rachel said. "They're not your family." "Okay." Mac leaned forward, mirroring Rachel's posture. "I accept the deal, on one condition." "What's that?" "By the time the wedding rolls around, I've had at least two dates with the same girl. A pretty girl. And I get at least one kiss from her. One that's not chaste." That shouldn't be difficult, Rachel thought. Mac was more than presentable. If he could get a conversation started, she had no doubt everything else would fall in place. She extended her hand, and they shook on it. ~* * *~ It proved more difficult than she'd imagined. They went to one of the many singles bars on the Strand the next night, walking in separately, but sitting near each other at the bar, so Rachel could eavesdrop. She pointed out a pretty dark-haired girl sitting half a dozen bar stools away. "You'd look good together." Mac barely glanced at her before shaking his head. "She's out of my league." "Not hardly," Rachel scoffed. "Maybe not if I were up to speed, but I'm way out of practice. And look at the competition." Mac gestured to the crowd around them. Lots of cowboy hats, but they were on the heads of vacationing mail-order cowboys. So what if they were mostly twenty-something guys? Mac was seasoned. "Oh, for crying out loud." She rolled her eyes then slapped his shoulder. "Don't be such a baby. So what if she shuts you down? She might not. And there's lots of other fish in the sea if she does." She made a shooing motion. "Go. Get your feet wet." ~* * *~ Mac weaseled into the spot beside the brunette. As he waited for the bartender to notice him, he appraised the girl. Too pretty, he thought, his hopes sinking. Kate-Jackson-in-herCharlie's-Angels-days cute, she was probably used to men making fools of themselves over her. Someone bumped into Mac from behind, causing him to jostle the pretty brunette in turn. Feeling like a lumbering lummox but knowing Rachel's ears were tuned in, he said, "Hi," when the brunette looked at him. She smiled. "Hello." Mac reminded himself to smile. What did he say now? "Nice bar."

She nodded, still smiling expectantly. "Do you come here often?" She looked a little surprised. "No. I live in Corpus Christi." "Tourist then," Mac said. "No, I'm visiting my brother." "Really? My sister lives here." "Where are you from?" she asked. "Colorado." "Oh!" She nodded as though saying of course. "Snow country." "Do you ski?" Mac thought: Maybe. "Only on water. You?" Mac shook his head. "Snow." And that seemed to be the end of any forward motion in the conversation. What the hell? Mac thought as the silence between them stretched. What do I have to lose? It's not going anywhere anyway. "Can I see your tan lines?" ~* * *~ Listening to Mac's painful attempt to talk to the woman was only the first time that night that Rachel mentally groaned. By the time he'd asked the third woman what time she was due back in heaven, she wanted to hide under her bar stool. Halfway through the evening, she jerked him aside, pointed at an attractive girl who was tapping her foot to the music and ordered him to go dance with her. "I don't dance," Mac growled over the too-loud rendition of Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. He was clearly as frustrated as she was; Rachel hadn't seen his natural smile all night. The nervous smile he'd started with had given way to something Rachel could only call a panicky grimace. The deeper his frustration grew, the more he looked like Little Red Riding Hood's wolfish grandmother trying to pass a snarl off as a smile. "What do you mean you don't dance?" All of Rachel's brothers, even Tobias, who was only eleven, could Texas two-step, country swing, and line dance. Women salivated when her brothers walked into a dance bar. "My idea of dancing," Mac said with a scowl, "is holding the girl as close as I can and swaying from foot-to-foot. That's not I-just-met-you dancing." Rachel walked away, rubbing her temples, to order another Bloody Mary. The next day, she made up a list of topics that didn't include Galveston's humidity, angels falling from heaven, or tan lines. She made Mac memorize the first five. He managed to mangle them so badly Rachel decided his IQ dropped fifty points whenever he came within arm's reach of an attractive woman. Keeping tabs on his progress—or lack thereof—wasn't easy. If she had drunk all the alcohol men kept buying her, Rachel would have ended up on her lips every night. As lame as Mac's lines were, she quickly discovered they weren't any worse than the ones other men used. Or at least not much.

Not all the men were so clumsy, but she turned away the few who weren't, just as she did the others. She was there for Mac, she told herself, and Mac was proving to be a full-time job. "How in the world did you ever manage to get married?" Rachel asked at the end of another evening. "Gloria thought I was smart," Mac said as he held the passenger door of his pickup for her to get in. It was one of the little things she'd told him would win him points. "Not about women, you're not." "I never claimed to be." He shut her door and walked around the truck. "How did you meet Gloria anyway?" Rachel asked as he slid into the driver's seat. "We were in the same study group in college. I started helping her with her homework." "Let me guess. Her idea." "She was having trouble with a statistics class." Rachel blinked several times as she waited for the punch line. When it didn't come, she thought she must have gotten confused about Gloria's career. "You did say Gloria's an actuary?" "Yeah." Maybe she only thought she knew what an actuary did. "And that's one of those people who calculates, I don't know, the odds at the racetrack or how long I'm going to live so neither the track or insurance company goes broke, right?" "Yeah." So sure, Rachel thought sarcastically, it was only logical Gloria had had problems with statistics. Because actuaries never, ever worked with statistics. "In other words," Rachel said patiently, "she's the one who got the ball rolling." Mac stopped with the key halfway in the ignition. "I guess she did. I never really thought about it." Men could be so dumb. Rachel leaned her head back against the seat and covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. Why had she ever thought this would be easy? ~* * *~ Mac woke up unexpectedly early Saturday morning with a hard on and Rachel on his mind. He wasn't sure those two things should be linked—he was pretty certain Rachel would be appalled—but he didn't try to turn his thoughts in another direction either. Closing his eyes, picturing the way her hips swayed when she sashayed toward her front door, he stroked himself to full erection. In his mind, he heard her laughing at his bar stories, and he didn't feel the least bit guilty about letting it play into his morning arousal. The forbidden added extra spice when he envisioned how her full, bare breasts would look and feel in his hands, but he saved the best for last. He came to the fantasy of kissing his way up her so-sexy-it-should-beillegal neck. A trace of guilt tapped him on the shoulder as he cleaned up with the towel he'd dropped by the bed the night before. He shouldn't have indulged himself, but he'd been having minor fantasies about Rachel since he'd walked into the bar the day he hit Galveston and saw her in

that haircut that left her neck shockingly bare. Wanting to see the rest of her naked had felt like a natural progression, even before he'd known who she was. Most of the time when he was with her, her bossy nature kept him distracted but there were moments . . . Oh, there were moments. Mac was just dropping back off to sleep when someone pounded on his door. He jerked awake and glanced at the clock. It was only ten. The hell with it. No one needs to talk to me this early. Another round of pounding had him pulling on his jeans, so he could kill whoever it was and go back to sleep. He yanked the door open to find Rachel standing there in sweats and sneakers. And her goddamn neck just taunting him. "We're going to try something different," Rachel announced without preamble. "Get dressed and meet me in the gym in ten minutes." Hell, her neck's not that good. "Are you trying to kill me?" Mac yelled at her back as she strode down the hall toward the elevators. "Just do it!" Rachel commanded, her voice raised but not yelling. Mac grumbled under his breath, but Rachel looked all soft around the edges in those sweats. And of course, her neck really was that good. And that was when he decided he shouldn't let her play around in his fantasies. ~* * *~ It was nearly half an hour before Mac appeared, resentful and surly. Rachel was in no mood to put up with his bad attitude. "You better put a pleasant look on your face, or I'm going to consider my obligation to your education forfeit," she threatened. "Fine. Has it occurred to you that we were out until after two o'clock this morning?" "Hey, I was there, too. And I've been getting up and working every day while you slept in. Now get yourself over to that weight machine and do crunches until you turn into a human being again." Mac grumbled but he went. After ten minutes, Rachel brought him a frothy orange juice. "Thanks," Mac growled, but he sounded less like the hibernating grizzly she'd awakened. Rachel went to work on the treadmill. Ten minutes later, Mac approached her, a towel draped around his neck. Without a word, he turned on the machine next to hers. He started slow, but before long, he'd pushed the speed and grade to the point where his legs were pumping. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip and molded his shirt to his chest and back. Rachel couldn't help but admire the lean strength of his legs even as she tried with only marginal success to ignore the way the sweaty T-shirt clung to his upper body. He kept it up for twenty minutes before he slowed the machine and started cooling down. She was waiting when he stepped off. He wiped his face with the towel and followed her to the juice bar where she got them both bottles of Evian. "Thanks," he said, his legs extended under the table. One arm draped over the vacant straight back chair beside him. "I needed that."

"You're not much of a morning person, are you?" Mac grinned, his spirits obviously better now that he'd sweated out some of the toxins he'd drunk the night before. "Too many years running a tavern. I haven't used an alarm clock in ages. I'll bet you bounce out of bed with the first rays of sunshine." Rachel snorted. "I hate mornings. But if I don't keep a schedule, I'm a real bitch." Mac lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, worse than normal." "I didn't say it." "You didn't have to." Diplomacy was an essential part of her job, but once she was off the clock, if they weren't hotel guests, people could take her as she was or leave her alone. She looked around. "Look, this is an environment where you're at home. There's stuff to talk about besides 'can I get in your panties?' When the women start coming in, I want you to pick one and talk to her. Start casual. Ask about the machine she's on. How it works, how much weight to use, number of reps, whatever it takes to get a conversation started." When Mac rubbed the stubble on his chin, Rachel thought maybe she should have given him time to drag a razor over his face. Then she decided she liked the raw, unshaved look. "That sounds like it might work," Mac said. Rachel saw two attractive blondes walk into gym. "Quick, give me that towel." He looked surprised, but he surrendered it. "You're in good shape, Mac. Show off your body. Work up a sweat, then use your shirt to mop your face. Now go!" She waved him toward the gym. "I don't know, Rachel—" She flared her eyes at him. "Okay!" He held his hands up as though defending himself from the laser beams that were going to shoot from her eyes. Five minutes later, he had one of the blondes showing him how to use the leg press machine, as though he didn't do fifty reps on it every morning. The blonde stayed with him, counting repetitions. Everything looked like it was going according to Hoyle. Watching them, a vague but unrelenting yearning grew in Rachel's gut. In spite of the frustration Mac could engender, Rachel admired his courage. He wanted back into the dating pool, and he was willing to risk his emotions and his ego, not just once—or even once a day— but over and over, and though he grumbled, he let her send him out to face the next rejection, sometimes with no recovery time in between. The blonde bent over Mac, asking a question. His response made her laugh before she adjusted his weights, and an arrow seemed to take Rachel through the chest. She wanted that. She wanted someone to stand over her; someone who would encourage her and make sure she wasn't trying to lift too much weight by herself. Rachel knew she wanted it more than Mac did, but she was a bigger coward. She couldn't take the risks he took. Oh, she could laugh and flirt. Sort of. She could date and hold hands and share tender kisses, but when it came to the clench—when the kisses went from tender to passionate—she froze. An ice sculpture.

Mac's face glistened with sweat as he finished his reps. Unable to banish her longings completely, Rachel resolutely ignored them to focus on Mac and the blonde as they moved to the cross-over machine. Rachel whispered encouragement he couldn't hear. "Take off your shirt, Mac. Come on." She wouldn't have admitted even under torture that she was looking forward to the vicarious thrill of seeing him bare-chested. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. Rachel made a strangled noise of frustration. Then he stood and turned his back toward her as he removed his shirt. Rachel groaned softly, her frustration undiminished. The blonde had been reaching out to touch him, but as the shirt came off, she recoiled. In less than a second, she recovered. Wiping his face with his shirt, Mac hadn't seen. Stretching her neck forward as though the extra inch or two would help her read the woman's expression, Rachel watched the blonde's face with growing apprehension. Did she see sympathy? That was good, wasn't it? The two talked for several minutes. Mac's side of the conversation was accompanied with gestures toward his torso. As he continued talking, the woman started glancing to the side as though seeking escape. At least, she had enough class to hang in until she got Mac situated on the machine before heading off toward the sauna. Rachel wanted to pound her head on the top of the table. It had looked so promising. Whatever had happened, it had to be Mac's fault. She wanted to throttle him so badly she didn't dare approach him. When he joined her, he was wearing his shirt again. "What in the Sam Hill just happened?" Rachel demanded. "I don't know." Mac looked as clueless as she felt. "What did you say to her?" "She asked about my scar, so I told her." "What scar?" Too late, Rachel realized she should have tried to sound sympathetic, then she thought: Oh, hell. It's not like I need to act all nurturing. We're never going to date. Mac pulled his shirt up, revealing a wide, white scar that evenly divided the strip of dark, curly hair over his abs. Extending from just under his rib cage, the scar swiveled around his navel and disappeared into his sweat pants. "Good Heavens! It looks like you've been cut in half with a rotary saw! What happened?" "Open appendectomy. It's what they do when they're in a hurry going after a hot appendix." He dropped his shirt. "They really spread you wide open." Mac shrugged. "Sometimes the appendix isn't exactly where they expect it to be. I damn near died. Wasn't nearly as painful though as the kidney stone that ended up in my urethra two years ago." "Eewh! You didn't tell her about that, did you?" Mac's guilty expression answered for him.

Her residual regret over never dating Mac silently died. "Why in heaven's name would you talk about that?" "Why wouldn't I?" "Fine." She threw up her hands in disgust. "If you want the reaction you just got." The man needed a governor on his mouth. "Are we going out tonight?" Mac asked as though he hadn't just torpedoed his best chance so far. "No. I'm going to spend the day figuring out what to do about you, and tonight I'm going to bed early." A twinkle appeared in Mac's blue eyes. "So should I call you in the morning or just nudge you?" Rachel glared at him, but he just smiled invitingly back at her until she laughed. In spite of the corny lines, Mac did have a certain charm.

Chapter Three As out of character as it was, piling late nights on top of the demands of her job had Rachel sleeping in on Sunday. She attended the late morning church service, praying Mac would get his dates and go to the wedding with her, so she wouldn't have to look into her mother's anxious eyes. Afterward, she grabbed lunch and headed for the hotel. She found Mac up and dressed, still drinking coffee in the dining room. Rachel took the nearly empty cup from him and tugged on his hand. "Come with me." "I'm not done here," Mac protested. "Yes, you are." When she saw his jaw set, she added, "I've got a new game plan. This is going to work. Money-back guarantee. You'll have women all over you before you know it." That got him on his feet. Rachel stopped by the check-in desk to borrow the keys to open the iron gate that separated the bar from the lobby. She pulled the gate closed behind them but didn't lock it then turned the muted lights up. "What are we doing?" Mac asked as Rachel fed a dollar bill into the jukebox and started punching numbers. Claudia knew Rachel's taste in music and made sure it was on the bar's jukebox. "You're going to learn the Texas two-step," Rachel said as the first notes of Beer For My Horses by Willie Nelson and Toby Keith started. Mac chuckled. "You think you're going to teach a man who doesn't know his right foot from his left how to dance?" Rachel punched in the number for Walk the Line by Johnny Cash before stepping to the edge of small dance floor. "Come here." "Do I get to hold you?" Mac leaned against the end of the bar, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dubious. "Yes." "Close?" Rachel was proud of him for not leering, but the deep gleam in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. Down, girl. That's just a reflection of the bar's lighting. "If you get good enough." He grinned as he pushed off the bar. "What are we waiting for then?" "The steps are quick-quick, slow, pause," Rachel said as she placed his right hand on her waist. "Start on your left foot." Rachel placed her left hand on his shoulder, her right hand in his. She took a steadying breath and looked straight ahead at his chest, pretending the hand at her waist belonged to one of her brothers until it no longer made her feel unsteady. "Ready?" He promptly stepped on her foot. "Your left foot, you lumbering ape," Rachel snapped. "Over here." She rattled their clasped hands. Snarling at him felt good, as if she were in control of the situation. She pretended Mac’s hand wasn’t burning a hole in her back and making her knees wobble. They started again with Rachel directing the steps like a square dance caller. "Quick, quick, slow, pause—Pause, dammit!" she swore when he stepped on her foot again.

"Then how do I get back on my left foot to start again?" "You don't. You step into it with your right to keep the rhythm." "You didn't tell me that," he said resentfully. Laughter echoed in the empty bar, startling Mac into stepping on her foot again. She shoved him off. Rachel's brother leaned against the wall by the door, a big grin under his gray cowboy hat. "I ain't seen nothing so damn funny since Billy Ray Cyrus on Dancing with the Stars." "God spare me that," Rachel said. "This is Claudia's brother, Mac. Mac, this is my brother Jacob." "Jake," her brother corrected as they shook hands. "Jake's taking some summer courses at A&M Galveston," Rachel said. "He's agreed to help teach you how to dance." "You didn't tell me he was another Billy Ray," Jake complained without rancor. "I didn't know, okay?" Rachel's attempt to keep her irritation out of her voice was only partially successful. "I take it that's bad," Mac said. "Very bad," Jake assured him. "Asking a dancing bear to tango wouldn't've been as painful to watch. Let's see if you can overcome it." Jake dropped his Stetson, brim up, on one of the tables and offered Rachel his hand. "Let's show him how it's done, Sis." They stepped off together, in perfectly synchronized step. It was as simple as a cake walk with Jake. How could Mac not feel the rhythm? After the first circuit of the dance floor, Jake spun Rachel under his arm. She came back into his arms, facing the same direction, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her fingers curled around her brother's. Jake spun her again then went under her arm, as smooth as ball bearings. "That's pretty," Mac said as they finished their third circle of the dance floor. "It's easy once you got the basic steps," Jake said. "When do I get to hold her close?" "When I don't have to worry about you stepping on my feet," Rachel snapped. Jake just grinned. "How close do you want to hold her?" "Close." "Show me," Jake said. With some trepidation, Rachel took the opening position with Mac. He slid the hand on her waist around to the small of her back and pulled her snug against him. At the intimate feel of him, a strange bubbly sensation, as though she'd swallowed an entire box of Alka-Seltzer dry, hit Rachel low in her stomach. She wanted to step back, but Mac's hand held her too firmly. "You want me to teach you how to screw my sister on a dance floor?" Jake's tone was noncommittal, but his voice seemed to have dropped about half an octave, as though prepared to take Mac apart if Mac's answer didn't please him. "Uh, well, not your sister specifically," Mac said, his expression a little sheepish.

Rachel's face felt hot as a branding iron, and Jake's laughter rang out again. "Any guy who can make my sister blush like that deserves some kind of reward." Mac's grip loosened as he pulled back to look at her face. She took the opportunity to step away from him. "If you two are through bartering like a couple of polygamists looking for a third wife—" "Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Rach," Jake said as he stepped behind the bar and got himself a long neck Lone Star from the cooler. "What'll you have, Mac?" "Chivas on the rocks." Jake pulled a bottle from the shelf, filled a rocks glass with ice and set both on the bar. "What do you think you're doing, Jake?" Rachel asked. "A little lubrication might help Mac relax enough to keep him off your toes. Unless you want to be limping tomorrow?" Rachel surrendered. She didn't have any better ideas. "Fine." She'd settle with Claudia later. "If you want one of those complicated Bloody Marys, Rach, you're going to have to make it yourself," Jake said. "I'll take a red beer." Mac poured a couple of fingers of Scotch into his glass as Jake tapped the beer. When Rachel had it in her hand, Mac lifted his glass in a toast. "To the Texas two-step." With a grin, he added, "And to screwing pretty girls on a dance floor." Jake hoisted his beer as Mac opened his throat and poured his Scotch straight down. Rachel shook her head. "A waste of good Scotch," she said, pretending it didn't sting that Jake couldn't imagine someone like Mac taking her seriously enough to take umbrage at Mac’s toast. "Not if it helps him learn, it ain't," Jake said, his eyes on Mac, friendly and approving. "That juke got any Brad Paisley on it?" he asked Rachel. "I'm sure it does." "Play some." Rachel held out her hand. "Give me a buck." "Hey, this is your party," Jake said. "You supply the music." With that logic, it was really Mac's responsibility. Rachel held out her hand to him. Mac shook his head ruefully but dug out his wallet to give her three ones. "Start with Make A Mistake if it's on there," Jake said as Rachel scanned the listings. "Is that a good dance tune?" Rachel heard Mac ask behind her. "It's all right." She could practically hear Jake's shrug in his voice. "I just like the song." Rachel found it and punched FF06. She followed it with Waylon's This Time and Willie's On the Road Again, choosing them for their solid danceable rhythms and because she liked them. "I hope you really want to learn to dance," Jake said to Mac behind her. "Yeah. I do." Mac's tone was hesitant, as though he wasn't sure at all. "Why? Is there something more to it? Some secret handshake or something?" "No, it's just Rachel don't do nothing by half measures. And she's . . ."

Rachel tilted her head, trying to catch Jake's suddenly lowered voice. ". . . kinda bossy." Jake's opinion didn't surprise her, but that he felt the need to warn someone—a stranger—hurt her feelings a little. Not that she'd ever let on. Mac's laugh boomed across the room. "Well, yeah," Mac said, not seeming to care if she heard. "But at least I never have to wonder what she's thinking. You have no idea how nice it is not to have to read a woman's mind." At least someone appreciated her. Even if it wasn't quite the defense of her character she would have liked. Rachel punched the number for Jerry Jeff Walker's Mr. Bojangles and turned back to the men. "You ready?" she asked Mac. Rachel had begun to think she'd found Billy Ray's twin when, a couple of Scotches later, the steps suddenly clicked for Mac. Rachel found herself moving easily across the floor, his arm comfortably around her. "Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?" Mac grinned down at her, pleased with himself. Inordinately so, in Rachel's opinion, but since he wasn't stepping on her feet, she decided to be magnanimous and not burst his bubble. When Jake was satisfied Mac had a few turns down well enough that all he needed was a chance to practice, he picked up his cowboy hat and settled it on his head. Just before he let himself out through the iron gates, he touched two fingers to the brim and said, "Welcome to Texas, Mac." ~* * *~ Mac was sorry to see Jake go. He came across as an uncomplicated guy. Someone Mac could see himself hanging around with in spite of the dozen years difference in their ages. Uncomplicated was not a word Mac would ever apply to Jake's sister, however. Rachel was as multi-layered as the proverbial onion. He thought she enjoyed the time they spent together, accepting him for the clumsy, inept man he was, even as she harangued him for being clumsy and inept. She bossed him around ten times worse than his own sister ever had, but she sure didn't feel like a sister when he danced with her. And when he pressed her up against him, his blood hummed through his veins in a distinctly un-brotherly way. Without asking if she wanted one, he tapped another beer, adding tomato juice from the can Jake had left half-empty on the bar. "So where are we going dancing tonight?" "You need more practice before you try this on a crowded floor." Rachel settled into one of the wrap-around padded chairs at a table by the dance floor. "You're probably right. It doesn't get too crowded in here on Sunday, does it?" Mac brought her beer and the last of his Scotch to the table. Rachel's bare feet were propped up on the seat of another chair. "No, but my feet are tired. I think they need a night off." Mac swung his chair toward her and pulled her feet onto his lap as Clint Black started singing A Good Run of Bad Luck—Mac's selection—on the jukebox. "What are you—?" "You let me step on your feet, now shut up and let me rub them." He'd already figured out that polite requests didn't get you much from Rachel.

"I should have worn steel-toed boots," Rachel complained, but without any heat. "Did I not just say 'shut up'?" She fell silent as he started on the foot he'd repeatedly insulted, rubbing the area behind her toes with his thumbs. Mac had to fight the urge to brace her heel against his crotch. He kept his face lowered to keep her from seeing his flush when he realized how putting that idea into practice would embarrass them both. "You're hired," Rachel murmured. Her head had fallen against the back of the chair, her eyes closed. "What?" "The hotel doesn't have a foot masseuse." She spoke as though it took too much effort to move her lips more than the minimum needed to form the words. "An obvious oversight on management's part. I've decided to rectify that. The job is yours." Mac chuckled. "Sorry. It takes more than money to get this kind of treatment." "Name your price. It's yours." She melted in her chair as Mac rubbed his thumb over the ball of her foot. "You should be more careful with your blank checks, lady. If I were the unethical sort, I might ask for something you're not ready to give up." She lifted her head and met his gaze. The air around Mac shivered with sexual tension. Before either of them could make the next move, the metal gate clanged, and Pete walked in to open the bar. Mac bent his head and shifted his fingers to the arch of Rachel's foot. ~* * *~ The pressure of Mac's fingers was having a decidedly unsettling effect on Rachel. She'd read somewhere once that there were pressure points in the feet that connected to every organ in the body, but the effect was supposed to be relaxing. Healing even. For Rachel, it was proving to be anything but. As Mac worked over the muscles in the arch of her foot, tingles ran up her legs, through her abdomen, and into her chest, making her heart palpitate, her nipples tighten, and her mouth as dry as the Sahara. Most disturbing was the Alka-Seltzer sensation that was back in the pit of her stomach. Mac's thumbs pressed deeper into her arch and heat stirred in her loins. Her leg twitched, almost spasming with her need to get away from his hands. He lifted his head, and Rachel thought she saw something smoldering in his eyes. One hand crept up to massage the twitchy muscle in her calf. Rachel forced herself to look away. A purely physical desire to have his hands move further up battled her instinct for selfpreservation. The sound of Pete settling the cash drawer in the register and the clink of beer bottles as he restocked reassured her that self-preservation would win, if only because they weren't alone. It also bumped up the effect of Mac's touch several notches into erotic. The need to run became nearly irresistible, but not for God, love, nor money did Rachel want Mac to know what a destabilizing effect he was having on her. She forced herself to lay

her head back and close her eyes, focusing hard on the sounds of Pete's opening rituals as Mac's fingers found the spot on her foot that directly connected to every sexual organ in her body. ~* * *~ He might not be any good at meeting women, but Mac knew sexual tension when he saw it, and Rachel was flooded with it. He felt it in the muscles that refused to relax under his kneading. He saw it in the way her chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths, and in the way she repeatedly forced her hands to stop clutching the arms of her chair. His eyes traveled up the leg of her snug jeans to her crotch. The urge to scoot his chair between her legs and massage her there hit him with the force of a locomotive. He tore his gaze away, afraid she'd open her eyes and see his thoughts reflected on his face. The strength of her reaction was balm to his ego. In the end, he took pity on her and let her go with only token attention to her other foot. That and Pete behind the bar. Long dormant habits weren't as easily suppressed as he expected, however. When he was done, he lifted Rachel's foot and kissed the arch. Rachel seemed to lift straight out of her chair. Her eyes were wide with shock when gravity pulled her back down. "That got your blood moving again," Mac said, pretending he'd planned his action for that effect. "I'd say so," Rachel responded as though her blood hadn't already been stirred up. She pulled her foot out of his lap as she sat up straight in the chair. "Look, I've got laundry and—and stuff to do." Rachel slipped on her shoes. "I'll talk to you later." She walked out as though she was trying to keep from running. Mac missed the natural sway of her hips. He sighed then picked up his empty glass and carried it to the bar. "What's going on with you and Rachel?" Pete asked when Mac straddled a bar stool. "Nothing." "Didn't look like nothing to me." "She and Jake came in to teach me to dance. I stepped on her toes a few times." "Ahh," Pete said, but the knowing smile on his face said he wasn't buying it. "What?" "I was just thinking about what my wife would do if she ever caught me rubbing another woman's feet." "Why? It's just a foot rub." "Have you ever rubbed the feet of a woman you didn't want to sleep with?" Pete asked, one eyebrow cocked. "The only other woman's feet I've rubbed were my ex-wife's." "You just made my point." "All that proves is that I haven't rubbed a lot of feet." Pete set both hands on the edge of the sink under the bar and leaned forward. "Mac, in my single days, that was my main move for getting a reluctant woman to cross the finish line with me."

"Really?" Pete smiled. The kind of smile a man wears when he's about to lay down a Royal Flush. "That's how I snared my wife."

Chapter Four Why, Rachel wondered, didn't she feel relieved as Monday passed with no sign of Mac? If he wasn't there, he couldn't knock her off balance. She hated being off balance. Near the end of her workday, Jake walked into the lobby with a wide grin on his face. "Hey, Rach. You seen Mac?" Just the mention of his name spiked the tension in her body. "Not today," Rachel said, striving to sound as though she wasn't bothered. "What's got you so happy?" "Nothing in particular." Jake tipped his hat back as he leaned on the counter. His tone was nonchalant, but he was grinning like a kid with a secret he was dying to tell. "I'm just a couple hundred dollars richer than yesterday, and I didn't have to bust my butt for it." "If it's only a couple hundred dollars, I guess you didn't knock over a bank," Rachel said as she reached for the phone to order theater tickets for the hotel's guests. "Nope. I sat in on a card game Mac found." Rachel returned the receiver to its cradle. "What?" "I said—" "I heard what you said. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know. It costs a lot to send you to college, and you're out gambling it?" "I wasn't gambling." Jake scowled at her, clearly unhappy she didn't see the fun in his escapade. "They needed a fourth player, so Mac said he'd stake me. And I didn't lose money; I came out ahead." "Only because they couldn't figure out if you were playing tight or loose," Mac said as he came up behind Jake. All day she'd been watching for him, yet somehow she hadn't seen him until he was standing right behind Jake. "Pure beginner's luck," Mac assured Rachel as he leaned on the counter. She frowned at him. "You should’ve seen him, Rach." Jake's eyes gleamed. "He never twitched once. Not even when he was into the pot for six hundred dollars. He may not be able to dance, but he's a stony-eyed poker player." Six hundred dollars! Rachel's mouth dropped open. On one hand? Jake playing poker was bad enough, but gambling that kind of money was appalling. "Hey," Mac objected. "I was dancing yesterday." "You learned to crawl yesterday," Jake said. "You wanna learn how to rub belt buckles? Teach me to play poker." "Now there's a straight-up proposition," Mac said. "Jake—" Rachel started to admonish her brother. "Don't be a kill-joy, Rach," Jake said, barely sparing her a glance. She tried a different tactic. "Mac, you've already got a full plate. I've got less than two weeks to get you hooked up with someone." "Don't worry. Luck's a fickle woman," Mac winked at her. "I'm sure Jake will get his ass spanked tonight. No one can pull cards like that two nights in a row."

"Tonight? You're playing poker again tonight?" She looked from one to the other in dismay. "They want a chance to get their money back," Mac said. "It's only polite to let them try." "But . . . I thought we'd . . ." "I figured even in Galveston, Monday would be a slow night for picking up women," Mac said. He was right, but she didn't want him leading Jake down the devil's road. Even more, she didn't want to explain to her mother that her wedding date was teaching Jake gambling's finer points. "I thought it would be a good chance for you to practice." Really? The skeptic in her head asked. Or am I just offended that he'd rather spend his time with a bunch of men in a smoky room with a pack of cards? When had she become so irrational? "We'll practice dancing tomorrow night," Mac said. "I promise. And with Jake helping, I'll be able to whirl you around the dance floor at your brother's wedding." "You're taking Mac to the wedding?" Jake's elevated eyebrows seemed to question if there was more going on than he'd thought. "Just to keep Mama off my back," Rachel said, scowling at her brother. "Stop looking at me like that, Jacob." Jake threw his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say a thing. Let's go find that game, Mac." Rachel watched them walk away, trying to figure out why she felt as though she'd just gambled and lost. ~* * *~ Rachel couldn't deny it was good for Mac's education when Jake started going out dancing with them. Having Jake there giving pointers did something undeniable for Mac's confidence. And sitting at the bar with her brother, Rachel got the added benefit of being left alone by men on the make. Just the same, by Thursday, she wished Jake would disappear in a cloud of smoke. Mac was turning to Jake for advice more often than to her. "I know Mac really appreciates your help," Rachel said as they sat on the bar while Mac tried his luck with another pretty girl. "But you can't let your grades suffer. Daddy's paying a lot of money to—" "Don't sweat it, Rach." He was looking over her head, watching Mac coming off the dance floor. "The courses are easy. I got A's across the board." Of course he did. And the bitch of it was that he deserved to have some fun this summer. He'd already packed nearly four years of coursework into three. His summer classes were all electives he should have taken in his first couple of semesters, but his animal husbandry courses at Texas A&M College Station kept distracting him. A smile touched Jake's lips. "Bingo," he said softly. Rachel turned just in time to see Mac slide into a chair at a crowded table next to the girl he'd just been dancing with. "Don't get excited yet," Rachel warned. "He could still blow it. I've seen him do it before." "Have a little faith, Sis. This is the one. I can feel it."

Rachel glowered at the girl's blonde head as she leaned into Mac to say something in his ear. No one's hair was naturally that shade of gold. Fool's gold. That's what it was. But she didn't stop to figure out who was playing the fool. ~* * *~ The waiter came around right after Mac sat down, so he bought the table a round. "What are you, some kind of rich?" the girl asked. Mac flushed. Was it gauche buying a round for people he didn't know? The bar back home had too much of a regulars clientele for him to be sure. "No. I just got lucky in a poker game." "What kind of poker?" She tilted her head and her blond hair shone even in the dim bar lighting. Her make-up made her blue eyes look exotic and innocent at the same time. Hell, she probably was innocent. She couldn't be more than a senior in college. "Texas Hold 'Em is the hot game of the moment. Do you play?" "No, but I've watched it on TV." "It's not much of a spectator sport." Maybe he had a chance with this girl. "I'd love to learn." Mac swallowed. Here I go. Diving into the deep end of the pool. He hoped he wasn't mistaking it for the kiddie pool. "I've promised to teach my friend, Jake. I could teach you, too." "I'd love that." Her eyes lit up. "When?" "Uh—" Mac punted. "Saturday night. About seven." She dug into her purse, found a pen, and had Mac write down his hotel and room number on one of the bar's napkins. She wrote her number on another, in case something came up and he needed to reschedule, and gave it to him. Having her number in his hand was more intoxicating than the Scotch he was drinking. He wanted to sit and talk with her some more, but he was all too aware he could stick his foot in his mouth all the way up to his hip with no warning at all. Mac gave himself ten minutes to make careful small talk and let their legs brush under the table. Then he made an excuse and got away before he could sabotage himself. He couldn't restrain a grin as he approached Jake and Rachel at the bar. "Her name's Cheryl"—it was printed on the napkin she'd given him. "Yes!" Jake pumped his fist. "She wants to learn how to play poker." His grin got bigger. "I hope Saturday night's good for everyone." “I knew this dog could hunt!” Jake swung his arm in a round-house motion. Mac's hand met his in a victory slap. Rachel's expression was less enthusiastic. Of course, she had the right to be skeptical. She'd seen him blow it more times than Jake had. "Now," Mac said, "Shall we get out of here before I do something stupid?" ~* * *~ The panic didn't set in until Friday afternoon. No way was Rachel going to be sympathetic. That left Jake.

Rachel's brother responded quickly to Mac's SOS. He'd barely tapped on his door when Mac threw it open, grabbed Jake's arm, and hauled him into his room, nearly jerking him off his feet in the process. "Thank God, you're here." "Calm down, Mac. What the hell's happened to your confidence?" "It went north for the summer when I started thinking about tomorrow night. Specifically, I started thinking about the end of the night." Mac already had a Scotch poured. He picked up his glass and started pacing as Jake fell into a chair in his sitting room. "What if she wants me to kiss her and I can't tell?" Mac threw back his Scotch as he paced. "Or what if I try, and she doesn't want to? What if she wants to and I do, but I slobber all over her? What if everyone's here to see it?" The rhythm of his heart seemed to double with every unmanageable scenario until it seemed like he had a terrified rabbit's heart in his chest. "Christ on a crutch, Mac. What if a meteor hits the planet, and we all die before the date even starts?" "What?" Mac stopped in mid-stride. "You know, I'm not convinced that would be a bad thing. Cheryl's pretty but she can't be more than twenty-two. I've got at least twelve years on her. What's she going to see in me?" Mac tried pouring another Scotch, but his hand trembled so badly that the bottle beat a staccato rhythm on the rim of the glass. He put the Scotch down and resumed his pacing. Sprawled comfortably with his long legs extended, arms spread across the back of the chair, Jake shook his head. "What happened to Mr. Stony-Eyed Poker Player?" "He's gone home to Manitou Springs and left me here to fend for myself." "At least you've still got his sense of humor." "That's fading fast, so I wouldn't count on it in a crunch," Mac said. "You need to get a grip, Mac. Sit down." "I can't." "Sit!" Jake commanded as though Mac were a poorly trained dog. Mac gave up the idea of a drink and sat. He hated relying on others for direction, but he was so far out of his element. He just hoped that when the time came, the feel of the cards in his fingers would remind him there were things he did well. "No. Over there on the couch," Jake said. "Why?" "Coz I said so." Mac shifted to the couch. Hoping reality would follow appearance, he mimicked Jake's comfortable posture. Where was the sympathy he'd thought Jake would have? "I never realized how much you sound like your sister," he said. "Insult me like that again," Jake said, shaking his finger at Mac, "I'll leave you here to work yourself into a heart attack." "Sorry." Mac tried to sound repentant. "How can you be so good at poker and still not read when a woman wants kissed?" Jake asked.

"I play poker all the time. I know what I'm doing there. Besides, poker's only about money. This is . . ." He held his hands up in surrender, not even knowing how to finish that statement. Poker was about skill. Dating was . . . personal. Who he was at the core and what women thought of that. It was about being worthy. Yeah, that sounded good. And maybe it even played a part in what happened. The deep-down truth was much simpler. When a woman looked at him, when he knew she was assessing his potential, when everything was on the line, his heart started missing beats, his breath came short, and his brain turned to mush. What surfaced in that mush were all the stupid, sexist lines he'd heard from the guys back home who were constantly on the make. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't control it either. Jake just shook his head and didn't press. "First of all, even if Cheryl leaves before everyone else, no one's gonna see how you handle the end of the date. If she leaves at all—" "What do you mean?" Mac's heart threatened to stop as he sat forward abruptly. "I just met her. She wouldn't want to spend the night. Would she?" Mac realized he hadn't learned a damned thing watching the regulars in his bar. Except he'd thought, no, he'd hoped Cheryl would be classier than that. "Probably not," Jake said, "but it has been known to happen. You got condoms?" "Condoms?" Had dating always been this complicated, or was he getting senile and just couldn't remember? "Christ, Mac!" Jake looked disbelieving as he pushed his hat onto the back of his head. "You'd think you got married in the dark ages. Yes, condoms. You probably won't need ‘em, but if you ain't got any, get some. But for pity’s sake, don't carry one in your wallet. You're too old for it to look cool." Like he needed to be reminded of that. Jake leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. "You are going to kiss her tomorrow night, I can almost guaran-damn-tee it." "How?" "Coz you're gonna do what I tell you. When she leaves, you're going to walk her to her car. Almost no one does that anymore, so it'll impress the hell out of her. Makes girls feel protected. They like that. She'll be ready to be kissed." Mac opened his mouth, ready to deny it. Instead he just swallowed. "You'll see. It'll work out." Mac shook his head. "I'm not going to have the nerve." Jake sighed. "I think I'm supposed to pass on the tricks of the trade to my kid brothers, but I'll make an exception for you. I'll talk to Rach and Claudia and make sure they understand we're not going to play cards all night. After a couple of hours, we're going to sit around and talk. You make sure you're on that couch beside Cheryl." Mac took a breath. It felt like the first one in hours. "I think I can handle that." "So you're going to have your arm around her—" Jake stopped, eyeing Mac skeptically. "You're going to have your arm across the back of the couch behind her," he amended. "Let us carry the conversation. You start playing with her hair. Not too much." Jake motioned as

though curling a strand of hair around his fingers. "You watch and see how she reacts. If she don't pull away, she's ready to be kissed." "You're kidding!" Mac said. It couldn't be that easy. "Scout's honor. It's a tried and true barometer." "Are you sure?" "I'll prove it to you. Rachel's still downstairs. We'll get her up here on the couch beside you. I'll get her focused on me. You start playing with her hair. If you see Cheryl react the way Rach does, don't even try to kiss her." Jake held his hands up like he was fending someone off. "Rachel doesn't have enough hair to play with." Jake started as though Mac had said something surprising, his face blank. "Don't you ever look at your sister?" Mac asked. "Well, yeah, but . . . she's my sister." Jake shook off the setback. "So we don't have a test run. Trust me. Play with Cheryl's hair and watch what she does. It's foolproof." "Do you know what happens when you make something foolproof?" Mac asked. "No." "God makes a better fool." And Mac felt like the prototype. "Well, that won't be you. Not tomorrow night." Mac focused on just breathing for a minute. Jake seemed sure of himself. It was almost easy to believe him. "Okay. Let's say I can figure out whether Cheryl wants me to kiss her. Let's go all the way out this limb and say she does." Even the thought made Mac's heart pick up an extra beat. "I can guarantee I'm going to be scared spitless." "That'll solve the slobbering problem anyway." Jake grinned. "Real funny," Mac said sarcastically. "But I have no problem envisioning taking home the gold medal for world's worst kisser." "You must have known what you were doing at some point. Rachel says your ex-wife's a major hottie." "Maybe that's why she's my ex." Jake shook his head and rolled his eyes. "If you expect me to give you lessons in kissing, you're going to be sorely disappointed. And I ain't turning you loose to practice technique on any of the girls I know." "I wasn't suggesting . . ." "Maybe Rachel knows someone in the hotel you could practice on. Hell, if she wants a date for Zach's wedding bad enough, maybe she'll even agree to coach you herself." Mac could envision kissing Rachel surprisingly easy. She didn't make him stutter or babble, and yet the thought of kissing her made Mac's jeans feel too tight. The way she’d all but run out of the bar after his foot rub, he doubted Rachel was that desperate. What a pity. "You'll get here early tomorrow, right?" Mac asked. "You won't leave me be alone with Cheryl right away." "I don't know how you ever got married," Jake said, shaking his head. Mac was starting to wonder the same thing. ~* * *~

Claudia was the first of Mac's "guests" to arrive on Saturday. She pushed a room service cart of goodies and snacks in front of her and started transferring them onto the table she'd swiped from a conference room. "Okay, Claudia," Mac said as he helped her, "It's time to come clean about Rachel's mother. Why is she so hell-bent on having a wedding date? Is her mother really that bad?" Claudia sighed. "It's not her mama. At least, not the way you're thinking. Rachel's mom . . ." Claudia paused and her expression went thoughtful. Mac waited patiently for her to find the right words. When she did, Claudia talked and worked, arranging things on the table. "You wouldn't know it to look at her now, but I've heard the stories about Mrs. McKnight. She was really something when she was young. She worked as hard as any man on that ranch. She'd go bear hunting, sometimes without the men, bag one, and pack it home on her own. Mr. McKnight says she rode broncs as well as he did in his prime—and he's got a few rodeo buckles from those days." Claudia nodded her appreciation of a woman who sounded like a tough role model to live up to. "Mrs. McKnight's a good woman and her kids respect the hell out of her. She set a high standard for them, raising them to be respectful and kind and moral. They don't always live up to her standards." The grin that broke out across Claudia's face was so infectious that Mac couldn't help smiling with her. "And it can be really entertaining, watching them doing their damnedest to keep her from finding out when they don't." Her face lost its amused glow. "Rachel . . ." Claudia bit her lip. "She takes living up to her mother's expectations seriously. Her mom's approval is important to her. She wants her mother to be proud of her so badly, but she just can't seem to believe she's earned it. I don't think she'll ever believe it." "Well, that's just dumb," Mac said. "That may be," Claudia said, "but the Texans I know are all a little that way about their families. It's a huge part of their culture, and you make light of it at your own risk." It sounded as though a frown of disapproval from Rachel's mother could deep six a guy from Rachel's life, but since he wasn't actually courting Rachel, he didn't need to worry about impressing her mother. Mac breathed easier. ~* * *~ "What are you getting Zach and Maddie for a wedding present?" Rachel asked Jake as they sat in Mac's suite, waiting for Cheryl to arrive so the poker lesson could start. "I'm still looking," Jake said. "Good," Rachel said. "Because I been wanting to ask you—" "No way," Jake said, preempting her. "You don't even know what I was going to ask." "Sure, I do. You want me to find you something to give Zach and Maddie. I ain't gonna do it." "What aren't you doing?" Claudia asked as she set down a tray of appetizers. Rachel was disappointed to see she'd brought her sometimes-boyfriend Ted. She hadn't counted on being

the only girl there without a date. It was going to feel awkward. She gritted her teeth and told herself to get used to it. "I ain't picking out a present for Rachel to give Zach and Maddie," Jake said, answering Claudia's question. "Good grief, I would hope not," Claudia said. "What?" Rachel felt blind-sided by her friend's defection. "Why are you taking his side?" "Because you've roped me into that before," Claudia said as she laid a second tray on the side table. "Torture me all you want. I will never do that again." "Why?" Rachel asked defensively. "What's wrong with helping me out? I've been busy— with your brother, I might add. I haven't had time to shop." "First," Claudia starting ticking reasons off on her fingers, "don't try to drag me into this deal you and Mac made. That's between the two of you. Even if it wasn't, you're getting compensated. Second, it's not a matter of having time; you hate to shop." "A woman who hates shopping?" Mac reached over Claudia's shoulder to filch a sushi roll. "That's unnatural, isn't it?" Claudia ignored him, ticking off another finger. "Third, I've been down that road, remember? Nina's bridal shower? Nothing I picked out made you happy. I returned four different purchases before you grudgingly accepted what I chose, and then, I swear, it was only because I dragged you, kicking and screaming, to the store with me." Rachel tried to protest. "But what you got was so—" "There was nothing wrong with any of the first four purchases," Claudia cut Rachel's protest off. She turned her attention to Jake. "You stick to your guns, Jake. Don't let her rope you into something you'll only regret." Rachel had hoped Claudia might help her out if Jake wouldn't, but she could see now that wasn't going to happen. Dammit. She should never have given them a chance to unite against her. Claudia slapped at Mac's hand when he reached for another sushi roll. "Rachel really doesn't like shopping?" he asked. "Look in her refrigerator sometime," Claudia said. "If you find anything beyond eggs, bacon, and maybe bread, I'll eat it; whatever it is, however much mold is living on it." "There's nothing moldy in my fridge!" Rachel objected, offended by the implication. "That's why I'm not afraid to make that offer," Claudia said. "You're a neat freak, but you hate to shop, even for groceries." "Except for the groceries thing—and I can cover that—I think I'm in love," Mac said as he munched on the sushi. "Gloria used to bring these frou-frous home. Totally useless junk. She got hooked on that Chihuly glass. We could have paid off the mortgage with what she spent on that alone." "All right!" Rachel said. If there was one thing less interesting than shopping, it was hearing about what other people bought. "I'll find something myself. Since no one wants to help me out, I'll take an afternoon off and go shopping." Immune to Rachel's poor-me machinations, Claudia rolled her eyes at Jake. "Mac—" Rachel started.

"Hey!" Mac held up his hands as though Rachel were pointing a gun at him. "I wouldn't know what to get them. I don't even know Zach and Maddie." "I wasn't going to ask that," Rachel said. At least not right away. And not at all now. "I was going to ask if you brought anything you can wear to the wedding." "Why? Are you going to go shopping for me if I didn't?" Mac teased. When Rachel glared at him, he relented. "I've got a sports jacket. Will that do?" "I suppose," Rachel said grudgingly. "What color is it?" "It's gray suede." Rachel immediately pictured Mac in a gray jacket with a red tie. Before she could ask if he had one, there was a knock on the door. The only one left to arrive was Cheryl. "Show time," Claudia said. Mac suddenly looked as though he expected to open the door on a hungry tiger.

Chapter Five "Cheryl seems like a nice girl," Claudia said softly, leaning in toward her brother as he mixed drinks on top of the minibar. She had another tray of appetizers in hand that the kitchen had sent up. "She's a little young for you, but nice. I'm glad you met her." Her voice dropped lower. "I was starting to worry about all the time you've been spending with Rachel." "Worry? Why?" Mac was completely taken by surprise. "Don't get me wrong. I think the world of Rachel, but . . ." Claudia looked over her shoulder at her best friend, who had just slugged Jake in the shoulder for something he'd said. "I don't know. She's got some kind of baggage." "Don't we all?" Mac said, dismissing Claudia's concerns. "Yes, but . . ." "But what? She has a mystery meat barbecue whenever she breaks up with someone?" "Of course not!" Exasperation tinged Claudia's voice. "She's not Hannibal Lecter." "Hey, you're best friends. Don't you know all her secrets?" Mac asked. "Don't kid yourself," Claudia said. "She looks like she's all what-you-see-is-what-you-get, and mostly she is. But there's a deep-down core she doesn't share. And somewhere at that core, she's got baggage. Hell, she's got a steamer trunk with chains and padlocks. I love her to death, Mac, but she's not good mate material. She hardly dates at all. Maybe two guys in the entire five years I've known her and neither of them for more than a few months. Perfectly nice guys she just suddenly loses interest in, like someone flipped a switch somewhere." Mac cast a covert glance Rachel's way. Was the haircut a tipoff? Was it a little butch? No. No way. Besides, as long as she'd been friends with his sister, he trusted that Claudia would know. So why would she waste her prime dating years? "Maybe those guys weren't good enough for her," he heard himself saying his thoughts out loud. But that didn't explain why she didn't find someone who was. She was certainly attractive enough to draw men, even with that bossy streak. Some men even liked take-charge women. Claudia raised an eyebrow. "Just don't go thinking you're the one who can fix her problems, okay?" Mac snorted. "That's a woman's hang-up, thinking you can fix someone." He headed for the card table with his tray of drinks, thinking how men usually didn't even realize anything needed fixing until it was too late. Cheryl came in from the bathroom and slipped into the chair beside Mac. He handed out the cheat-sheets that showed how the hands ranked and dealt a few dry hands, explaining as they went what made a good Texas Hold 'Em hand and how to evaluate the other players' face-up cards. That was enough for the first lesson, so Mac eliminated the blinds, Texas Hold 'Em's unusual form of ante. Rachel wanted to play penny-ante, but Mac nixed the idea.

"You don't learn how to bet, playing penny-ante," he told her as he dealt the first cards. "There's not enough at stake to make you worry about losing. If you want to win, you have to learn to fold more often than you bet. If the stakes are too cheap, you won't learn that." Though it felt like penny-ante to him, he agreed to a five dollar limit for raises. Like a true gentleman, or at least one who was trying to impress a girl, he offered to stake Cheryl. She took him up on his offer. He didn't play at all the first hour. Instead he watched, following the play. Two cards, face down to each player, followed by a round of cautious betting, then the flop—three face-up community cards. The betting got bolder then. Like most poker rookies, they all wanted to see that fourth and fifth community card, so no one wanted to fold. Mac put on his poker face and watched without comment. After each hand, he analyzed how each of them had played, laying out the hand just played, one card at a time, showing how the odds changed, and how the betting had progressed, giving tips on how it should have been played. "How do you remember all that?" Cheryl touched his arm as though needing to get his attention. Hardly necessary; whenever he was in his chair, Mac could feel her presence on his skin. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was invigorating. He folded his arms on the table in front of him. "Do any of you know what muscle memory is?" "Sure," Claudia said. "It's why I can type faster if I don't think about what my fingers are doing." "It's kind of like that," Mac said. "When you've done this long enough and played about a million or so hands, you can follow the progression without having to think about it." Jake dealt out the next hand, and Mac changed his focus to breaking the unconscious mannerisms that gave away the strength of their cards. He slapped Rachel's hand as she played with the hair on her neck, chastised Jake for changing the tilt of his cowboy hat when he had a good hand, scolded Claudia for not paying attention, and took away the toothpick Ted was chewing that he thought made him look cool. "What's my tell?" Cheryl asked. Mac frowned as though in thought. In spite of his confidence at a poker table, he'd been too nervous to watch her closely. He just knew that if she met his eye, instead of holding her gaze and letting her know he was interested, his eyes would slide away. Best not to risk it at all. Cheryl looked pleased when he didn't have any immediate criticism to offer. "She squints when her cards are bad," Jake said. Cheryl's shoulders slumped, deflated by Jake's observation. Mac nodded, pretending to agree, not sure if he should be grateful for Jake's observation or if he should just thump him. Thumping seemed to offer more satisfaction, but he restrained himself. Having had the benefit of Mac's guidance on previous occasions, Jake distinguished himself as the better player, taking several healthy pots and sensibly folding when the odds were too long. After an hour, Mac dealt himself in.

~* * *~ Rachel knew subtle was not an adjective that applied to her. She quickly saw that winning at poker required being able to bet in a way that kept others guessing about what she had; getting them to think they could win when they couldn't and deciding they couldn't when they could. It required accurately reading an opponent who was trying to make you think the same thing. It was subtlety raised to a fine art. She stank at it. But she was too competitive to let anyone guess how much she hated that she stank at it. When Mac finally dealt himself in, Rachel breathed a mental sigh of relief. Sitting across the table, he couldn't look over her shoulder and see how ineptly she played her cards. She wasted no time folding on a seven of hearts and a ten of spades before the bidding even started. Without the pressure of coping with her own hand, she found it easier to see what Mac had been trying to point out. When the cards hit the center of the table, she was sure Ted was going to fold. Cheryl probably should, but Rachel thought both she and Claudia would stay in. Jake was harder to read, but Rachel thought he, too, would stay in. Mac—hell, Mac was a sphinx. And who knew a sphinx could be so attractive? It was the confidence he exuded, Rachel decided. He was like a different man at the card table. Assured. Sexy. Cheryl certainly saw it. She kept finding small ways to touch him. A hand on his bicep when she spoke, a touch on his shoulder when she got up from the table. She was probably rubbing against his leg under the table like a damned cat. Rachel hoped her face wasn't betraying the spike of unexpected jealousy she felt as she watched Cheryl lean into Mac to whisper something in his ear. Mac's head lifted the second Cheryl's breast pressed, ever so lightly—and not innocently, Rachel was sure—against his arm. His glazed eyes stared straight ahead, directly into Rachel's. Suddenly, he was just Mac again. Helpless and unsure about women. She doubted he even heard what Cheryl said, but it didn't matter. Whatever Cheryl had whispered hadn't been the real message at all. Poor Mac. Rachel smiled encouragement at him. His eyes suddenly focused again, and he smiled ruefully back. Rachel looked at the flop: six of diamonds, eight of spades, nine of diamonds. Not much to build on, she thought. Then she realized what she was looking at and felt a jolt hit her body. Crap! If she'd stayed in, she would be holding a straight in five cards. She checked her cheat sheet. With the cards showing, a ten-high straight was the best hand anyone could have. Crap! Would it have been enough to win? Rachel sat up a little straighter, watching with more interest than she'd had all night as Claudia started the betting. Ted dropped out as Rachel had expected. Jake raised, Cheryl matched it, and Mac doubled the bet. Another round, with Jake and Mac raising. Cheryl hung

on but Claudia folded. Finally, Mac was satisfied to match Jake's last raise and dealt the next card. Waiting for the card to hit the table, Rachel tensed, forgetting for a moment that she'd folded. An eight of clubs. If someone held a pair of eights, her straight would have lost, but what were the odds? They couldn't be good. Could they? Jake and Mac went through another frenzy of betting and raising. Clearly, the game was between the two men with Cheryl merely hanging on to see if the last card would turn her hand into something worthwhile. She hadn't learned the lesson Mac had stressed about folding. But of course, why should she? Mac was staking her, so she wasn't gambling her own money. Rachel looked around and realized everyone else was watching to see if Jake would pull a coup on the "Master." She wondered who everyone was rooting for. Even though she was already out, Rachel found herself hoping that neither of them could beat a straight. When the fifth and last community card hit the table, the spectators all groaned. A queen wasn't likely to help anyone's hand. Jake eyed Mac speculatively before tossing in a five dollar chip. "Feeling confident, I see," Mac said, his first words since the hand had begun. Jake shrugged. "What the hell. This may be my only chance ever to beat you. I'd pay good money for them bragging rights." "I'm sure going to hate disappointing you," Mac said with mock sincerity. "You let me worry about that. Put your money where your mouth is, hot shot." Neither of them seemed to have noticed that Cheryl had quietly folded. It was about time, Rachel thought. She eyed Jake's remaining chips. He'd bet everything he'd won over the course of the evening and probably some of his own money on this hand. Rachel doubted she'd have had the nerve to stay the distance. Just watching the two of them go head-to-head had her jittery. She glanced at Mac and suddenly saw what had made Jake call him "stony-eyed." His eyes were locked on Jake, and Rachel was sure nothing short of a fire in the room would have made him break away. Rachel suddenly didn't care if her abandoned hand would have won. She'd have folded just to get out from under that unflinching gaze. "It's time, Mac," Jake said. "Raise, call, or fold." "What the hell," Mac said. "In for a penny, in for a pound." He raised the limit. Jake matched it and raised him back. Mac sighed and folded his arms on the table in front of him. "I've got to leave you lunch money," he said as though he regretted the need to be magnanimous. "I call." A grin spread across Jake's face as he tipped his cards over to reveal an eight and a jack. With the community cards, that gave Jake three of a kind. Rachel's heart suddenly started pounding. Three eights was a good hand, but her straight still would have beaten it. The question remained: what did Mac hold?

Mac's gaze held Jake's as he turned his first card over. A six. Two pair: sixes and eights. Jake still had him beat, but Mac was so cool, it was hard to believe he didn't have the winning cards. Folding when she did might not have been smart, but she was suddenly sure it had been the right move. Rachel's eyes were locked on Mac's last card, but she could feel everyone leaning in, just as she was. Without looking, Mac turned his last card over. An eight. "Full boat," Mac said. ~* * *~ Jake fell back in his chair. "Damn!" He shook his head. "You're one stony-eyed poker player, Mac." Mac grinned. His features always felt as though they were cracking a little when he let go of his poker face. "In this crowd, it's like taking candy from a baby." "Well, this baby's been spanked enough for one night," Jake looked around at everyone. "I've had enough whore-de-vwars," he said, intentionally mangling the French. "What say we get some real food and order a couple of pizzas? Mac can buy since he took all my money." "Order something good then, with lots of meat and mushrooms," Mac said, pointing at the phone. "Where did you learn to play like this?" Rachel asked as Mac gathered up the cards. "Didn't I tell you," Claudia said when Mac only shrugged, "that he goes to Las Vegas every year for the poker championship?" "You didn't tell me he played in it." "I don't play the professional circuit," Mac said. "I go to pick up side games." "But you've played with some top-ranked players," Claudia said. "And you don't always lose." Mac, aware that his face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm, shot her an offended look. He wished Claudia had chosen her words more carefully in front of Cheryl. "That damns me with faint praise." "You know what I mean. If you can beat those players even some of the time, you know you're good." "Why don't you play professionally?" Cheryl asked, leaning in toward him. Mac's careful façade of "cool" fissured a little when her breast casually brushed his forearm. He cleared his throat and said, "Too many people would know me. Then I'd never get a game with pigeons like you." Claudia and Ted moved the table back into a corner, then they all settled into the sitting area. Cheryl sat between Mac and Jake on the couch, while Rachel and Ted took the chairs. As the professional bartender, Claudia insisted on making them all drinks then sat on the floor at Ted's feet, an arm braced on his thigh. Mac envied how comfortable they looked. He casually slung his arm across the back of the couch the way Jake had told him to. They talked poker for a while, but when the conversation shifted to other things, Mac fell silent, afraid to risk opening his mouth and have something stupid fall out.

As young as Cheryl seemed to him, the others didn't intimidate her. He watched her animated participation and wished he didn't feel so old sitting beside her. When she leaned forward to make a point, Jake caught Mac's eye. His brow lowered, eyes narrowed, as he lifted his hat to run his fingers through his hair in the unmistakable message that Mac should get on with it. Cheryl's golden hair did look soft. When she leaned back, Mac set his jaw and casually brushed a strand back over her shoulder. His breath hitched as she turned her head, but her smile was warm, and her clear blue eyes shone with what looked like pleasure. If Jake's theory was true, she'd want him to kiss her later. Mac's chest tightened with fear, but the fear was also laced with exhilaration. His blood pumped faster, reminding him he was alive. ~* * *~ Rachel was the first to call it a night. She had a million things to do after church in the morning, she told them, but the truth was that she couldn't stand watching Mac and Cheryl any longer. It was bad enough when he'd been playing with the girl's hair, but when he dropped a mushroom from his pizza, Cheryl picked it up from the inside of his thigh and fed it to him, her fingers lingering on his lips longer than strictly necessary. Rachel hadn't had a date in almost two years. It was her own fault; she'd given up. Habitually now, she deflected every approach thrown her way. Most of the time, she was able to convince herself that she was fine without a love life, but watching Mac and Cheryl, Rachel knew she was missing something. The longing she usually suppressed so well—for a home, a husband, children; things she knew she would never have—bubbled up, threatening to overflow the dam she'd built inside herself. Even if she were willing to try one more time—in spite of knowing how it would end— Mac was Claudia's brother. She wouldn't risk the friendship. Rachel knew her personality could grate on people, so when she made a friend, she didn't take the friendship lightly. She wasn't willing to risk Claudia's good will for what could only be a short-lived relationship with Mac. And why was she even thinking about Mac? He wasn't interested in her. Why would he be? He had Cheryl. ~* * *~ "I had a great time tonight, Mac," Cheryl said when Mac walked her to her car in the hotel parking lot. "I'm glad. You picked up the basics well." He opened the car door for her, but she didn't move to get in. "Anytime you want to give another lesson, let me know. I'd love to be able to fleece my friends." She smiled warmly at him. Mac refrained from telling her that if she fleeced them too often, she wouldn't have any friends. She stepped closer, driving even that thought out of his head. He hadn't been able to envision how to make the next move, so when she did it for him, he lost his grip on the door. The latch clicked softly as it fell closed.

A muscle memory he hadn't expected kicked in, and he opened his arms. It wasn't a hotand-sweaty-sex kiss, but neither was it chaste. His hands dropped to her slender waist as she opened her lips to him. Their tongues jousted tenderly for a few moments. "How come a guy like you is unattached?" Cheryl asked as she stepped back. For once, he said the right thing. "That's second date information. Maybe even third." She smiled. "I can hardly wait."

Chapter Six Rachel had been dreading her mother's inevitable phone call. Sunday morning before she left for church, the old fashioned phone she kept just because her mother refused to call her cell phone rang. "When are y'all coming up?" Ruth McKnight asked. "We'll be there in plenty of time. We're leaving Friday after Jake's last class." The wedding was on Saturday, just six days away. "He's riding up in your car, ain't he?" Jake's preferred mode of transportation was a Norton 650cc Triumph that added gray hair to their mother's head. "Yes, Mama. He's riding with me." "You should bring a date," Her mother said, getting to what Rachel knew was the real reason for her call. God bless Zach for warning her. She took a deep breath before committing herself. "Actually, I am." Mac had better come through, she thought, envisioning the tortures she'd inflict if he let her down. Those visions, as entertaining as they were, were replaced by imagining her mother doing cartwheels on the lawn, but her mother's voice didn't reveal the satisfaction Rachel knew she felt. "Is this a new fella?" she asked in a matter-of-fact tone. "He's Claudia's brother Mac," Rachel said, twisting the phone's curly cord in her fingers. Her mother was momentarily silent. "Ain't he kinda young for you, honey?" "Not her little brother, Mama. Mac’s her older brother." Rachel breathed in and out twice, waiting for her mother's response. "I thought he was married." "He was." Rachel grimaced. She'd forgotten to consider how her mother would view Mac's marital status. "He's not anymore." "A divorced man? You be careful with him then. Divorced men have expectations." "Mac's been a perfect gentleman, Mama." She would have to warn Mac to zip his lip if he felt a corny pick-up line coming on. "Who's going to be Maddie's maid-of-honor?" she asked, hoping to change the subject. "She done asked Hannah." "Hannah?" Rachel had expected Maddie to ask someone from her home in Wyoming. She never would have expected her to ask one of Rachel's sisters. "Hannah's twelve!" "And pleased as peach pie. You know how Hannah is about babies, and that young 'un Madeline's raising has her bewitched." The child was Maddie's orphan nephew. "Maddie's going to have free babysitting for life," Rachel said. "We'll put your fella on Solomon's couch until the wedding," her mother said, obviously only momentarily distracted by Rachel's subterfuge. And already planning how to protect her daughter's virtue.

Rachel refused to let herself be drawn down that road. "Where are Zach and Maddie going to live?" "We done ordered one of them manufactured homes. We're fixin’ to set it up on the corner of that poor piece of ground up Sing Along road. 'Til that's ready, Solomon's going to move into the house here so they can stay in his trailer." Rachel was willing to bet Zach and Maddie had already borrowed the use of Sol's trailer. From the day they'd met there in Galveston, they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Rachel wondered what it would be like to be that hungry for someone. "We'll be there late, probably after midnight," Rachel said. "Someone'll still be up, I'm sure," Ruth said. "It's a simple wedding, but there's still plenty to do. Maybe you should help Jake pick out something nice for a wedding present. And you be careful of that new boyfriend. Don't let him take no liberties." "Yes, Mama." She stared at the phone cord as she said goodbye to her mother. When had she tied it into a knot? She left the cord knotted after she hung up and buried her face in her hands. How had she so completely failed to consider her mother's reaction to Mac's divorce? Not that she'd had a bushel of men to pick from. Even with Mac, she'd had to cut a deal. And the wedding present. She'd been so focused on Mac she still hadn't figured out what to get her brother and new sister-in-law. Too bad she didn't have anything on Jake to blackmail him into shopping for her. In spite of what their mother thought, he would pick a better gift than Rachel would. At church that morning, Jake sat several pews away from her. Freshly inspired to make sure her part of the bargain with Mac succeeded, Rachel had difficulty concentrating on the service. When it was over, she corralled Jake outside. Her hand closed on his arm as she dragged him aside. "Did he get a kiss? Did he get a second date?" Jake made a disgusted face. "He didn't kiss her." "What?" Rachel ground out through clenched teeth. She had the strongest urge to break a commandment. Specifically the thou-shalt-not-kill commandment. If Mac's death would have gotten her out of the need for a date, she'd have considered giving into the temptation. Illogically, hiding behind her frustration, there was a tiny flicker of relief. She liked that Mac still needed her. "He lost his nerve. The good news is he's pretty sure she'll see him again." "Mama called this morning. I told her I was bringing Mac to the wedding." "That's a pretty stiff price for a couple dates and a kiss, Rachel." "I know, but I'm desperate. Do you think he'll still go if he doesn't get everything we agreed to before the wedding? I mean, if he didn't even try to kiss her, that's not my fault." "Mac's a good guy. I don't think he'll let you down." "From your lips to God's ear." It was a more fervent prayer than any she'd said in church. ~* * *~ Rachel drove to the hotel without stopping at home to change clothes. When Mac answered the pounding on his door, she swept in, forcing him to step back for her.

"There are moments when I swear you're blowing it on purpose." "Good morning to you, too," Mac said as he shut the door. In a sing-song voice that criticized her lack of civilities, he said, "Gee, you look nice. Would you like some coffee?" "I mean it, Mac. Why didn't you kiss Cheryl last night?" He dropped the pretense that they were having a civilized conversation. "I lost my nerve, okay? It's not as easy as you women think." He poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. Rachel accepted the cup without thanking him. "Look, I know you guys risk rejection every time you put yourself out there. It's scary. I get that. Even when you hide behind those stupid lines you use, you're braver than I would be." Mac flopped down on the couch, propping his bare feet on the coffee table and grabbing the T-shirt that was lying on across the arm of the sofa. Had she gotten him up? As Mac pulled on the T-shirt, Rachel couldn't help glancing toward his room. Through the open door, she could see his unmade bed. Were the sheets still warm? "Are you saying it would scare you to hit on a guy?" Mac's question snapped her attention back to him. "You're so tough I didn't think anything scared you." "Well, you're wrong." Rachel took one of the chairs that was tilted toward Mac. It was easier to remember how annoyed she was with him now that he was decently dressed. "So what scares you, Rachel?" Mac asked as though he really wanted to know. "Men with stupid questions. We're not talking about me; we're talking about you and your fear of rejection." "It's not rejection that scares me." "Then, for heaven’s sake, what is it?" Mac took his time, taking a sip of coffee and then swallowing. He was so obviously delaying answering that Rachel wanted to reach over and swat him. Finally, he said, "I know I don't have much to offer." When Rachel opened her mouth, he shook his head, censuring her protest before she even spoke. "No. I'm newly divorced. I know that makes me a bad risk. I know that unless I take up with a woman way too young for me or who's got a ton of her own baggage, women aren't going to see me as any kind of catch." "Bullshit, Mac." He'd obviously been thinking way too much about this. His eyes met hers in a direct challenge. "Oh? You want to tell me where I'm wrong?" "My pleasure." Rachel put her coffee down and ticked off her points on her fingers as she spoke. "First, you're housebroken. A lot of women will be reassured that you were married so long. They'll see you as a man capable of commitment. At your age, you don't start looking like a loser until you've got two or even three failed marriages behind you. "Second, you're a successful businessman. Women see men like you as winners. "Third—and okay, you may have to grit your teeth through the first part of this so you can see how it works in your favor—but most of the good men your age are married, which thins out your competition."

Mac had begun to look reassured with her first two points; on the third, he turned dubious. "And fourth, there are always a lot more good women out there than good men—take my word for it, it's true," Rachel said when Mac looked like he wanted to protest. "So you've got great odds of making a good match. Way better than the average woman in your age group has." He chewed on the inside of his lip as he gazed at his cup resting on the coffee table, but Rachel didn't think he even saw it. He was weighing what she'd said, deciding whether or not to be convinced. At last, he lifted his eyes and met her gaze. "If that were all of it . . ." Mac leaned back on the couch, ran his fingers through his hair, then threw an arm across the back of the couch. "I don't know if you can understand. I sure wouldn't in your place." He was silent for a moment, fingering the fabric under his hand, his gaze never rising to meet hers. "In twelve years of marriage, I never cheated on Gloria. I never so much as kissed another woman." Rachel heart twisted, touched that he'd confide in her. "You miss her." "No." Mac's laugh was humorless. "It's not that." He sighed. "In twelve years, you can get complacent. You know what to expect. Even sex starts to be by the numbers. Is it exciting to think about being with someone new? Absolutely. There's the possibility of passion, of feeling really alive again." He met Rachel's eyes. "But I don't know how to be with anyone but Gloria anymore. What if I can't read what someone else wants from me? What if I'm zigging when I should be zagging?" That so wasn't what Rachel had expected. And so beyond her expertise. "I'm sure you're worried about nothing." "I've tried telling myself that, but . . ." He shook his head. "Mom taught high school English, and she'd tell you that a noun is more important than an adjective, and in the phrase 'unreasonable fear,' fear is the noun. And it trumps the adjective all to hell." If her own fear about facing her mother unaccompanied hadn't been so strong, she might have empathized with him. If she hadn't been so embarrassed by the subject matter and afraid he'd figure out what a bad deal he'd made, choosing a tutor who didn't know a zig from a zag. "I think you should call Cheryl and arrange the second date," Rachel said, desperate to get the conversation back to tangibles she had a shot at dealing with. "You know, get back on the horse that threw you." Mac looked at her like she'd suddenly gone insane. "Now?" "Yes." "What happened to rule one?" "Rule one?" Rachel asked. What was he talking about? "Don't be too eager." It was a good rule but damned inconvenient. She needed to lock Mac into his end of their agreement. "Rule two: You gotta place your bet before the horse leaves the gate." “You're just making these up to suit your purpose, aren't you?" Mac accused. "Of course not. If the first date goes well—" "So rule one only applies when you say it does?"

"You're twisting what I'm saying. Trust me. You need to call her." Mac shook his head. "I don't think so." "For pity's sake, I almost think you don't want a kiss or a second date. She's everything you said you wanted. This is what you recruited me for, remember? To tell you what to do." "Sheesh. So controlling. You sound just like a wife." Mac shuddered. Rachel's mouth fell open. She'd never been insulted in quite that way. She didn't care for it at all. Before she could think of a reply, the phone by the window rang. Mac got up to answer it. When Rachel realized Cheryl had called to tell him how much she'd enjoyed their evening of poker, Rachel's heart started doing triple beats. She mouthed "ask her" at Mac. He turned his back and ignored her. "I'm not much of a beach person," Mac said. Rachel walked around him, giving him a stern frown. He lifted his shirt, reminding her of his scar, and turned away again. "I was thinking of checking out the flight museum while I'm here . . . Sure, I'd like company. Do you want to meet me at the hotel? . . . I'll see you in a couple of hours then." Rachel thought a couple of hallelujah choruses wouldn't be out of place. "Are you happy now?" Mac asked when he'd hung up. "Ecstatic." She shook her finger at him the way her mother always did when she wanted to emphasize a point. "So now she's called you. Heaven only knows why, but she likes you. You've got no excuse not to kiss her." "We'll see," Mac said. ~* * *~ He did kiss Cheryl at the end of the day. While it was pleasant, Mac realized why he had lied about the first kiss. He hadn't wanted to celebrate the kiss as a milestone. As pretty and as nice as Cheryl was, and as much as her attention boosted his ego, he wasn't interested in her. She was too young. Maybe even too easy to get along with. Beyond overcoming his own fears, there was no challenge. He wanted to kiss someone who made his pulse race. Someone who made him sweat not just whether he would get a kiss, but whether he would get her kiss. Someone who made him want madly to take her to bed. If he ended up taking someone like Cheryl to bed, his worries about whether he could perform well would likely become self-fulfilling prophecies, creating a muscle memory that would haunt him in the future. And that was something he wasn't willing to risk. Mac wondered what it would be like to kiss Rachel. Then he wondered what dark corner of his mind had spawned that thought. He remembered how she'd felt dancing in his arms, and how aware of her he'd been when he rubbed her feet. She was as prickly as a porcupine and bossy as hell, but his first night in town, she'd laughed at his stories over dinner. Getting a kiss from her--now, that would be a challenge. She had fulfilled her end of their deal. He'd had two dates and a kiss—two actually—from a pretty girl, but he knew he wasn't going to admit it. Ethical or not, he wasn't going to let Rachel stamp PAID on her end of their bargain.

~* * *~ Mac found Rachel at a table in the bar with his sister. They focused pointedly at him when he slouched in the chair next to Claudia, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles. "Well?" Rachel asked. "We had a nice afternoon." "Did. You. Kiss. Her?" Rachel accentuated each word individually. "It never seemed like the right moment," Mac lied happily. "Argh!" Her elbows braced on the table, Rachel buried her face in her hands. "I've gone and made a deal with the devil," she said through her hands. "Has your brother always been this backwards?" she asked Claudia. "I didn't used to think so," Claudia said. "You two are acting like life is over if I don't kiss Cheryl," Mac said. Rachel's arms dropped to the table. "My life may be." "Now you're just being overly dramatic." He was enjoying watching her panic. "The wedding is next Saturday. I already told Mama I was bringing you." Mac pursed his lips, pretending to consider his options. "I suppose we could renegotiate. I'm willing to extend your deadline and go to the wedding, but . . ." He could see Rachel holding her breath. "What?" She finally demanded. "What more do you want?" She was ready to agree to anything he asked. Could he trust her to fulfill her end if she already had what she needed? Yes, Mac decided, he could. She had too much pride to break her word once it was given. And he could always threaten to expose her lie if she tried to renege. He considered asking for personal kissing lessons, but even Rachel, desperate as she was, might balk at that. Besides, it would tip his hand, and where would the challenge be if she said yes? It was better to play it as though it were poker. He didn't just want to win one random hand; he wanted to walk away from the table with the big pot. "Three kisses." "Are you kidding me?" Rachel said. "Cheryl practically tied herself up in a bow, and you couldn't get even one kiss!" Mac shrugged. He held all the cards, and they both knew it. "Have a nice time at the wedding." He thought she might actually gnash her teeth. "All right," she ground out. "Three kisses." Mac threw her a bone. "One of them can even be chaste." ~* * *~ Jake hated Rachel's Mini Cooper. He always complained that his knees ended up around his ears, especially in the back seat. When he announced he was riding to the wedding in Mac's truck, Rachel knew the battle was lost even before she began waging it. Just as with renegotiating the deal with Mac, they knew they held the advantage; she had to arrive at the ranch with Mac beside her or suffer her mother's disappointment.

Friday afternoon, Rachel watched Mac's truck pull up in front of her place. In the back, a blue tarp covered something too large and lumpy for a gift box. What had Jake gotten Zach and Maddie? Rachel steeled herself to come in second as she opened the door to put her suitcase on the front step. Jake was already halfway up the walk with Mac a few steps behind. Mac grabbed the suitcase as Jake took the gift wrapped box from her hands so she could lock her door. She bumped it with her hip to be sure the lock had caught and it wasn't just sticking in the humidity. She still hadn't WD-40'd it. As Mac tucked her package securely in the back, Rachel picked at the edge of the tarp. Jake slapped at her hand. "What did you get them, Jake?" Rachel asked, hoping it wasn't something great. "Since they're already raising Maddie's nephew," Jake said, "I figured they might like a chair to rock him in, and they can use it when their own kids come along." "Well, that's just lovely," Rachel said, wishing she'd been so inspired. "What'd you get ‘em?" Jake asked. Rachel felt the heat rise in her face and prepared to defend herself. "A fondue pot." Jake sputtered laughter. "They still make those?" Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Yes. And what's wrong with it? I like fondue." "Jeez, Rach, you like it because it doesn't actually involve cooking," Jake said. "And they went out of style, what? Thirty years ago? Before either of us was even born." "They're making a comeback." Mac finished securing everything in the truck bed. "What's making a comeback?" he asked as he reached for the driver's door. "Fondue," Jake said, grinning ridiculously. "Yeah, I heard something about that a while back. I think they were popular again for about thirty seconds," Mac said. "You two don't know what you're talking about," Rachel huffed. "The way you're acting you'd think I'd bought them a toaster." "You're right," Jake said, looking humbled as he held the passenger door open, so Rachel could slide onto the bench seat between him and Mac. Rachel didn't believe his sincerity for a second. "They'll probably get at least three toasters." Jake slid in beside her. "But I bet ain't nobody but you gets them a fondue pot." Rachel glared at him. His stupid male superiority and the prospect of facing her mother with a ringer on her arm didn't bestow her with confidence about her choice of gifts. Mac and Jake talked over her head as though they were two buddies headed out on a road trip. Between them, Rachel tuned them and Mac's Three Dog Night CD out until the gear shift knocked against her denim-clad knee as Mac shifted into second. He laid his hand on her knee and rubbed the offended joint. She brusquely pushed his hand off. "Keep your hands to yourself, Bub." "But baby"—Mac's saccharine tone should have sent up red flags—"you know I have needs."

Rachel stared at him, openmouthed. "Wh-What?" She was so stunned, she didn't even react when he put his hand back on her knee. "Divorced men aren't like other men, baby. We have expectations." Mac's eyes glittered as he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. Rachel lifted off the seat, bumping her head on the ceiling of the cab, all the while brushing at his hand as though someone had thrown a snake in her lap. On her other side, Jake burst out laughing. Mac grinned, both hands back on the steering wheel. "What's going on here?" Rachel demanded, though she had the awful feeling she already knew. "I'm sorry, Rach," Jake said, still sputtering. "Mama called last night. She wants me to I keep an eye on Mac and make sure he don't take no liberties with you." "You're supposed to chaperone me?" In spite of her outrage, Rachel wouldn't dare say a word about it to her mother, but Jake—and Mac—were a different story. "Stop the car, Mac." "What for?" "I want to switch places with Jake." "Aw, Honey. Don't you love me anymore?" "You've had your fun. Now stop the car." Mac sighed. "How about if I promise to behave myself?" "You've got it out of your system?" "I think so." Rachel wasn't sure she believed him. "What else did Mama say?" she asked Jake. "She was a real firestorm," Jake said. "She wanted to know how long you been seeing Mac, how serious it is, all the normal stuff." "What did you tell her?" "As little as possible since I don't know what you've said. I wouldn't even commit to how long y'all been seeing each other. I told her I just met him a couple weeks ago, but for all I knew, you might’ve been keeping him under wraps before then." "Guess we'd better get our story straight before we get there, huh, baby doll," Mac said. "I thought you'd gotten it out of your system." "Just trying out pet names." "Let's pretend we don't have any, all right?" Rachel said with a frown. "Whatever you say." Mac flashed his devilish grin at her. "After all, love slaves don't argue." Rachel closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long drive.

Chapter Seven It was well past dark when they pulled into the McKnight's ranch yard. Off to the left, Mac got a faint impression of corrals and a large, partially painted barn Jake said was new— the old one having burned down earlier that summer. Outbuildings and sheds spread out from there. A pack of half a dozen dogs greeted them enthusiastically as they got out of Mac's truck. "Hey, Rowdy!" Jake roughed the fur on the border collie jumping on him. The porch light flicked on as they waded through the dogs toward the back of the white two-story house. With Jake leading the way to the door, Rachel's hand caught Mac's. When she laced her fingers through his, he glanced at her only to find an expression of trepidation on her face. He squeezed her hand to remind her he was there for her, and she rewarded him with a wan smile. The faces of her family looked up from the packets of rice they were assembling at the kitchen table. He hadn't figured out what he expected, but Ruth McKnight didn't look like a dragonlady. In spite of her gray hair pulled back into an efficient bun at the nape of her neck and the fine lines mapping her face, Mac found it hard to guess her age. Her weathered skin confirmed that she'd lived much of her life outdoors, and he quickly decided that if running a ranch was considered man's work, it was only because no one wanted to give the women the credit they were due. Ruth was the first to rise from the table to greet Rachel and Jake, giving each a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Rachel immediately tensed, but Mac couldn't see why. Her mother seemed sincerely happy to see her. Then came the introductions. "Hey, everyone," Jake said. "This here's Mac. He's Claudia's brother, down from Colorado for a spell." Neither Rachel or Jake seemed to have considered warning Mac that they had eleven other siblings. Though the younger ones were in bed, that still left an impressive group around the table, and Mac could practically see them all thinking The Divorced Man when they looked at him. He made a point of holding Rachel's chair for her when she sat beside her mother. "Don't even try to remember everyone's name," Jake said, to Mac's relief. "It takes folks a while to sort us out when they meet us all at once, so you ain't gotta be embarrassed. We're used to it." Mac did make a point of noting Rachel's father, Jebediah. Not that there was any chance of confusing him with anyone else. At five-foot-eight or so, he looked like a sapling in a forest of redwoods when his grown sons—all at least six feet tall—stood around him. Mac's impression was that he was a quiet man. The kind who only spoke when he had something worthwhile to say. Though he eyed Mac, Rachel's father didn't say much beyond the usual pleasantries. Considering that he was there under false pretenses, Mac was grateful because,

besides being quiet, Rachel's father had a sharp eye, and he looked tough as an old piece of gristle. Because he would be bunking on the couch in Sol's trailer, Mac also marked Rachel's older brother. Not quite the black sheep of the family, Sol was the only one of Rachel's siblings who'd managed to get married thus far. He'd also managed, according to the background Jake and Rachel had given him on the drive up, to get divorced in record time. Mac had read in Jake and Rachel's voices that, while the family had gotten used to it, their parents really hadn't recovered from the "shame" of the divorce. Enlightenment struck Mac when he realized that Rachel came next. Her status as the oldest girl explained a lot about her bossy nature. The groom was the next oldest. He and the bride didn't even pretend to be working on the rice packets. They sat side-by-side, holding hands above the table top, but the pleasant expressions they wore didn't mask that they were hardly paying attention to the conversation around them. Zach kept rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand in a way that was sensuous to watch. Mac knew that, as The Divorced Man, he didn't dare react to that sort of thing. There was another brother between Zach and Jake in age and two more boys before Deborah, the next girl. No wonder Rachel had learned to hold her own with her brothers, Mac thought. She'd had no choice. "Isn't throwing rice at weddings out of fashion now?" Mac asked as Sol made room for him to pull up a chair next to Rachel. "I thought it was dangerous for the birds." "Hmmh," Rachel's father said. "Guess there wouldn't be nothing left of birds in Asia then what with all them rice paddies they got there." Political correctness didn't seem to have much of a foothold in the McKnight household. At least not when it ran up against Jeb McKnight's plain, old-fashioned common sense. "And I wish it worked that way," Jeb said. "I'd feed it to them damned woodpeckers that keep knockin' holes in the house that them government fellas say I can't shoot." "Oh, Lord." Rachel's mother rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Please don't let him start in on those woodpeckers again. Not tonight." Jeb's lips stretched into a smile as he picked up a piece of ribbon to tie up the delicate mesh that held a ball of raw rice. With all the fuss about Rachel bringing a date, Mac had been afraid of being the focus of everyone's attention, but the wedding had brought home Ezra, the brother who had seized the position of the family's black sheep away from Sol. According to the story Jake had told Mac, at sixteen, Ezra had gotten a local girl pregnant. He'd escaped marrying the girl when she'd miscarried, but Ruth had promptly shipped him off to his widowed aunt in New York to get him straightened out. After almost two years away, he was back for the wedding, and Mac was duly grateful, since the prodigal son kept the attention divided, giving Mac sporadic opportunities to watch Rachel and her mother. "You're eating good, ain't you?" He heard Ruth ask Rachel. "Yes, Mama. I'm eating fine. I get fresh produce at the market every week."

Mac fought to keep his eyebrows from shooting up. Rachel? The woman who hated to shop? At the market every week? A smile tugged at Mac's lips. Who would have guessed she would lie to her mother about something so inconsequential? Certainly not Mac. "I miss your hair," Ruth said wistfully, smoothing Rachel's hair as though a strand were out of place. "You had such pretty hair. I'll never understand why you went and whacked it all off." Rachel's hand went her bare neck. "I . . . it was just . . . I don't know . . ." And Mac realized Claudia was right about Rachel's mother. Far from being a dragonlady, she was the person Rachel most wanted to please and clearly never expected to. What was at the bottom of that? One of Rachel's brothers asked Mac something, and he lost the thread of their conversation. When he got the chance to listen again, Ruth was saying, "Well, as long as he treats you good." Feeling like a bug under a microscope, Mac pretended to listen to the men, but his antenna was tuned to the soft conversation between Rachel and her mother. "I know I don't have to worry about you acting like a lady," Ruth said. "You never let me down." "Yes, Mama," Rachel said, her voice resigned. "You'll find the right man soon, honey. And if this Mac here is the one, maybe we'll be picking out a dress for you before too long." "I think it's a little soon for that, Mama. I mean, we're really just getting to know each other and—" "Honey, I ain’t trying to rush you," Ruth said. Mac was sure she meant it, but he recognized that tone from his own mother. It was the tone of a mother who just wanted what was best for her child, but somehow, when his mother used that tone, Mac always felt like he'd let her down by not already being or doing or having what his mother wanted for him. Until his divorce, his mother hadn't used that tone on him in years. His heart went out to Rachel. "I know it don't happen as fast for everyone as it did for your daddy and me," Ruth said. "Or for Zach and Maddie." Mac meant to just glance at Rachel, but his gaze froze on her face. Even though her eyes were downcast, he knew he was seeing her poker face. Then she lifted her eyes and the misery he saw there before she shuttered her emotions took his breath away. She looked away from him, but it still took a moment for Mac to stop reverberating from the intensity of her anguish. Everyone hid things from their parents—it didn't matter how old you were—but Rachel either had a severely overactive conscience or what she was hiding was huge. Whatever it was, it made Mac want to put his arms around her and tell her it would be okay. Yeah, and as defensive as she was, she'd welcome that like an embrace from a cactus. ~* * *~ In the midst of everyone running around half flustered the next morning, Rachel pulled her mother aside. "Is Daddy wearing that red tie of his to the wedding?"

"No, he's fixin’ to wear his good bolo tie." "To Zach's wedding?" Rachel asked, baffled at her father's choice. "It's not a formal wedding. 'Sides, Zach's wearing one, too." Rachel hoped Maddie wasn't disappointed by the lack of fuss. "Would it be all right if Mac borrowed Daddy's red tie then? I think it would look good with the jacket he brought." "Of course, honey. Come along. I'll get it for you now." Rachel followed her mother to her parent's room. The only bedroom on the first floor, Rachel had too many memories of getting caught with her brothers on Christmas morning trying to sneak down to see what Santa had brought them. In later years, she'd been sent back to bed when she'd wanted to go riding in the morning before school, and once when she'd wanted to meet a boy her parents didn't approve of. The room didn't even have a closet, Rachel realized with the eyes of an adult child seeing things fresh as her mother opened the old wooden wardrobe in the corner. "Here it is." Ruth pulled out a wire hanger that held her father's ties. She sorted through the thick bundle. Rachel recognized most of them. Poor Daddy. He wasn't a man given to wearing ties, but somehow he always managed the proper enthusiasm when his younger children gave him yet another tie for Christmas or Father's Day. Ruth found the red one and inspected it for spots before she handed to Rachel. "Thank you, Mama." "Sit down a minute, honey." Her mother perched on the edge of the bed, patting the oldfashioned patchwork quilt beside her in invitation. Rachel steeled herself for the grilling she knew was coming about Mac. Instead, her heart stuttered when her mother picked up her old cedar jewelry box from the bedside table. The only thing her mother wore daily was her silver wedding band. The only other jewelry she had that was worth anything had been passed down from previous generations. Ruth smiled softly as her hands caressed the box once then went still. "I gave Madeline Grandma McKnight's earrings." Rachel remembered the earrings well from the rare occasions when, as a child, her mother had allowed her to rummage through the box in her hands. Antique silver filigree earrings with a single small opal set in each one, their value was purely sentimental, but the gift told Rachel more than words could how much her mother liked Maddie. "I'm sure she'll treasure them," Rachel said. "Your brother's done found himself a good woman," her mother agreed, her face soft with affection. "Maybe she'll even find an occasion beyond her wedding to wear them before she passes them to a daughter of her own." Ruth rubbed the worn top of the box. "I don't want you feeling, though, that I wasn't thinkin’ about you when I gave those earrings to Madeline." "I wouldn't think that, Mama," Rachel protested as her mother opened the box. As Ruth reached inside, Rachel suddenly saw her mother's hands. They were roughened with the life she'd led, the vanities and luxuries she'd eschewed, the baking and child rearing she'd done for so many years. Before her sons had been old enough to take over those chores, she'd worked in the fields and the barn as need had demanded. Aged beyond her fifty-some

years, her hands brought home the knowledge that, one day, those hands would be folded in death, with a force Rachel had never felt before. Her heart pinched as she wondered how she could waste the intervening years in Galveston when she should be there with her mother. That being together constantly would risk her mother discovering how little Rachel measured up to her mother's standards was the only thing that kept Rachel from whipping out her cell phone, calling the hotel, and quitting. Oblivious to her daughter's emotions, Ruth picked up a worn square of soft blue flannel. Rachel recognized the pattern from a nightgown her mother had worn in her childhood. Her mother carefully folded the fabric back. Inside, lay a silver rose on a delicate chain. "This was my mama's. You remember?" Unable to speak, Rachel nodded. Modeled in a three-quarter view, the rose was only partially open. It had always been her favorite piece. "Your granddaddy gave this to her before they got married. It's only pewter, but I've always liked it." Her eyes met Rachel's. "When you get married, it'll be yours." A maelstrom of emotion whirled inside Rachel. She was twenty-seven and had given up dating. The odds of her claiming the necklace were nearly non-existent. Her mother's simple belief that she would wear it on her wedding day both hurt and warmed her. "Would you like to wear it for Zachariah's wedding? Rachel nodded again, as she reached out with trembling fingers for the necklace she knew she would never pass on. ~* * *~ "Jake tells me you're a bull rider," Mac said as he laid the jacket he'd brought for the wedding over the arm of the couch he'd slept on. Standing in front of the open refrigerator, Sol grunted something that might have been acknowledgement before drinking milk straight from the carton. Mac wondered if Sol was really that uncivilized or if the milk was his way of marking his territory. Either way, Mac knew he'd drink his next cup of coffee black. Even more than Rachel's parents, Mac's instincts said Sol was the most important member of the family not to piss off. He figured her parents would be civilized about it if they didn't like him—he might not even know unless Rachel told him later—but something about Sol said he wouldn't refrain from stomping Mac's guts into the dirt if he didn't like the way Mac looked at Rachel. He'd had little opportunity to impress Rachel's brother with his charming personality, however. Sol had disappeared before Mac was even awake, though he'd left hot coffee on the stove before he went out to attend to his morning chores. Dressing for the wedding had brought them both back to Sol's trailer and finally gave Mac the opportunity to find some common ground. Or at least share a few civil words. So far, he hadn't had much luck even with that. A knock on the trailer door spared Mac the awkwardness of making another attempt. When Sol opened the door, Rachel stood on the step in jeans and a T-shirt, holding a roll of narrow, red fabric. "Whoa!" Rachel said. "You look good, Sol. You should dress up more often."

"Only if someone up and dies," Sol grumbled. Rachel rolled her eyes as she stepped past him. "Marrying and burying," she said to Mac. "That's the only time Sol ever dresses nice. It's a shame. He looks good, don't you think?" "Yeah, he does," Mac said, even though he hadn’t really noticed. "So do you," Rachel said. Mac liked the appreciation he saw in her eyes. "Thanks. Why haven't you started getting ready yet?" "There's plenty of time. I don't have to do much with my hair, so it doesn't take long." "That's about the only good thing anyone can say about your hair," Sol muttered. Rachel turned to him, her hand going to the nape of her neck. "You don't like it?" Mac was surprised at the insecurity in her voice. Far from detracting from her looks, Mac thought the short cut made Rachel look profoundly feminine. Aside from how great her neck was, she had those brown, waif eyes above Cherokee cheekbones. At moments like this, when she stood looking defenselessly at her older brother, she tapped into every one of Mac's protective Neanderthal instincts. "Women should wear their hair long," Sol said. "It's part of their charm." Mac couldn't let Sol's denigration pass. "On most women, I'd agree, but I think that cut's made for Rachel." Rachel turned back to him. "You do? Really?" "Oh, yeah!" Mac said emphatically, pleased he could honestly reassure her. "You've got an Audrey Hepburn neck." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he'd made the connection. Sol snorted. Rachel's cheeks flushed pink, but Mac wasn't sure if that was in reaction to his words or Sol's response. If he really were Rachel's man, he'd have made a point of pulling Sol aside and telling him to stop undermining his sister's confidence. "I brought you something." The fabric in her hands unrolled, turning into a red tie. "I thought it would look good with your suit." "Jake brought him a bolo to wear," Sol said. "That's nice." Rachel's tone was acerbic. "But he doesn't have to play the cowboy just because y'all are." To Mac, she said, "Where's your jacket?" "Ain't nothing wrong with a bolo," Sol grumbled as Mac picked up his jacket from the arm of the couch. Rachel held the tie against the jacket. "I didn't say there was. I just think Daddy's tie will really pop with Mac's jacket." She smiled at Mac with satisfaction. "I was right." "You dress him every morning or just on special occasions?" Rachel shot a hostile look at her brother. "Picking out a tie is hardly dressing him." "This week, a tie. Next week, his shirt. The week after, underwear." Mac nearly bit his tongue as he fought to keep from laughing. Since he was certain Sol didn't believe Rachel was sleeping with him, he wondered if the comment was the result of some woman trying to convert Sol from boxers to briefs. Or maybe to wearing underwear at all. He had no trouble imagining Sol as the type to go commando.

But Rachel obviously took the comment personally as she started to protest. "Sol—" Mac closed his hand over Rachel's, pulling her attention back to him. "The bolo's fine." He'd been pleased Jake thought enough of him to want him to blend in with the McKnight men, and he would have fought to wear it if Sol wasn't making such an issue of it. "But if you want me to wear this tie, I will." "Thank you, Mac." Sol shot him a look Mac would have interpreted as "pussy whipped" except of course, if Rachel's brother really believed that, Mac would expect to already be dead. Plainly disgusted with both of them, Sol shook his head. "I gotta pick up Eden and her mama. You'll get him to the church?" "Why can't Georgia drive herself?" Rachel asked. Mac sorted through his mental file for Georgia and came up with Sol's ex-wife. "Her car's acting up. Her daddy's working on it." Rachel rolled her eyes. "Which means you'll end up fixing it." "Yeah, but it ain’t gonna be today." Sol shrugged into his dress jacket. "Good," Rachel said. "Go get Georgia and your daughter. I'll take care of Mac." As they were walking out to the car after Sol left, Mac asked, "Do you and Sol always fight like that?" Rachel looked at him with surprise on her face. "What are you talking about? We weren't fighting." Mac just shook his head. It looked like fighting to him. Maybe he needed to look again. He started to move the hat box on the passenger seat before getting in. "No." Rachel stopped him. "That's for you." Mac cocked an eyebrow. When she nodded, he pulled the box out and set it on top of the car. Rachel rested her arms on the roof across from him. Mac raised the lid and lifted out a pale gray cowboy hat. He met her eyes. "You didn't have to do this." "I should have done more," Rachel said. "You saved my life, coming to the wedding with me and all." Mac shook his head. "Rachel, I can't accept this." "Hell, Mac. It's not a Stetson or anything." Mac looked inside, checking the label. Resistol. Did she think Colorado wasn't cowboy country? Resistol hats could be just as expensive as Stetsons. Just looking at it, he knew she'd spent at least a couple hundred dollars on it. It was the look edging onto her face that made him relent. That same insecurity he'd seen when Sol had been picking on her hair. "You shopped for this?" The insecurity morphed into embarrassment. "Don't go getting all misty-eyed on me. It's not that big a deal. There was a western store next to where I bought Zach's wedding present." Mac grinned just thinking about the fondue pot. "Okay. Thanks. It's a great hat." Rachel beamed back at him. "Put it on." Mac set it on his head. Rachel's eyes gleamed. God, she was sexy. If wearing the hat put that look on her face, he had to keep it. He got in the car wondering what else would make her look at him like that.

~* * *~ The McKnight's church was a modest clapboard building right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Next door stood the rectory and a small, worn stucco hall used for church meetings, catechism classes, and other church functions. Like wedding preparations and receptions. Rachel found her mother in solo attendance to the bride. Ruth fluttered around her soonto-be daughter-in-law, straightening things that didn't need straightened and checking her watch every fifteen seconds. Next to her, Maddie looked like the picture of serenity. Maddie had opted to forego a gown. Instead, she wore a simple cream colored dress with a full skirt that reminded Rachel of that famous picture of Marilyn Monroe standing over the New York steam vent. Sleeveless with little back but a high collar that undoubtedly pleased Rachel's mama, it looked classy and tasteful. Sexy, yet with a strong dash of innocence. Rachel's sixteen-year-old sister, Daisy, stuck her head in. "Missus Palmer's here, Mama. She wants to know where she's supposed to put the flowers she brung." "Bless her heart, she wasn't supposed to bring flowers," Ruth said, exasperated enough for it to seep into her voice. "Rachel, you stay and help Madeline while I straighten this out." Avoiding Maddie's gaze, Rachel focused on setting her purse on the table beside the mirror as her mother bustled out. She hadn't been very gracious toward Maddie when she'd lived in Galveston. It would make it damned uncomfortable for Rachel to come around her family if Maddie was going to hold a grudge. Peace in the family—or as much peace as she could manage—was all that counted now, and Rachel was prepared to grovel to get it. If she had to. She cleared her throat before saying, "I was hoping for a few moments alone with you." She met Maddie's eyes in the mirror. "I want to apologize for being so hard on you when you first met Zach." "You don't need to apologize, Rachel. I know you were just . . ." "Butting into something that was none of my business? Protecting my brother's dubious virtue? Being a bitch?" Rachel dropped her gaze to brush at a piece of non-existent lint from the bodice of her dress. "All of the above?" "Can't we just forget all that?" Maddie said. "I don't want to cause any friction in the family. I'd like it if we could be friends." Surprised by Maddie's magnanimous forgiveness, Rachel lifted her eyes to meet Maddie's. Her new sister-in-law was making this far easier than she deserved, and Rachel appreciated it more than she'd ever be able to say. Around the sudden lump in her throat, she managed to get out, "I'd like that, too." Not well practiced at tender moments, Rachel picked up her purse and dug through it, hoping Maddie would take the hint that everything that needed saying had been said. She breathed a mental sigh of relief when out of the corner of her eye she saw Maddie pick up the short veil and flip it over her head. "I wish my sister were here," Maddie said wistfully as the veil settled over her dark hair. Rachel picked up the hair pins by the mirror. She had never heard Maddie talk about her sister, though Rachel knew she had died at the hands of her violent ex-boyfriend and left Maddie with her child to raise. If ever there was a moment when kindness and nurturing was called for, Rachel figured this was it.

Except Rachel knew only too well that she wasn't the nurturing type. She was the bossy, older sister type. But they'd just agree to be friends and friends nurtured. "I'm sure she's watching over you today," Rachel said softly. Maddie's tentative smile encouraged her. Maybe nurturing wasn't as hard as she'd always thought it was. "She'll always be watching over you and Jesse." Maddie's eyes moistened as she held the veil in place while Rachel opened a bobby pin with her teeth. Crap. She hadn't meant to make the bride almost cry right before the ceremony. No more nurturing, she promised herself. "And in," Rachel glanced desperately at her watch before she stuck the pin through the veil, "about twenty minutes, you're going to have more family than you'll ever need. I just hope we don't drive you crazy." "Zach will take care of me," Maddie said, blinking back the threatening tears. Whew! That was close. But Rachel couldn't help envying Maddie's confidence in her husband-to-be's ability to make everything right in her world. What would it be like, trusting a man that much? After Rachel finished securing the veil, Maddie picked up her lipstick. When she got it close to her mouth, her hand started trembling. She dropped her hand. "I can't believe how nervous I am." "Here," Rachel said, taking the tube from her. "Let me do that for you." Maddie turned toward her. "Do you mind?" Holding Maddie lightly by the chin, Rachel carefully applied the lipstick. When she was done, she looked at the full effect. "Mama's right. You look beautiful. Zach will think he's died and . . ." Rachel frowned. "What?" Maddie pulled away and turned toward the mirror, looking for some flaw. "It's nothing. Your face is just fuller than I remember." Maddie flushed, as though someone had put her under a red spotlight. "No!" Rachel blurted, what little tact she had completely deserting her. "You're not already pregnant. You can't be . . ." They'd only met in May. If Maddie already knew she was pregnant, they hadn't wasted any time. Maddie closed her eyes. "Zach's going to kill me." "Don't be ridiculous. What would he do that for?" Zach was already besotted with Maddie's nephew. He'd adore having kids of his own. "He didn't want to tell anyone until we were married a while." Relief flooded Rachel. Zach knew and was happy about it. Irrational to worry about it even for a second. "It's going to have to be a real short while." "You're okay with this?" Maddie looked as her as though her opinion mattered. "Why wouldn't I be?" Even as Rachel asked, she felt a shaft of pure envy strike her. A baby. A child to raise and to love. To build a future for. Maddie had it all. Rachel pushed her envy down, forcing herself to concentrate on how happy she was for her brother and soon-tobe sister-in-law. "I was more afraid of telling you than I am of telling your mother," Maddie said.

Had she really been that horrible to Maddie in Galveston? Rachel cringed, knowing she had been. "Sorry. But you're family now. In Galveston, you were just the girl my horny brother was—Oh, no! Please don't tell me you got pregnant in my hotel." Maddie shook her head. "Your conscience is clear. You made sure we never got the chance to conceive anything in your hotel but dirty thoughts." "Really? Whew!" "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Maddie asked as though afraid Rachel would hire a skywriter. Rachel chuckled. "Zach obviously hasn't told you that this is a family built on secrets. No one tells anyone anything if there's a chance for blackmail later." She had to laugh at the panicky look on Maddie's face. "Don't worry. This secret's got such a short shelf life, I can't think of anything to trade it for." Her words didn't seem to reassure Maddie much, so Rachel added, "Consider my silence a wedding present. A little something extra from me to you." That did the trick. Maddie reached out, surprising Rachel with a hug. "Thank you," Maddie whispered. Better than a fondue pot, Rachel thought, hugging her almost sister-in-law back. Hell, maybe even better than Jake's stupid rocking chair. ~* * *~ Though the ceremony was limited strictly to family, as Rachel's date, Mac found he was attending the ceremony. Beyond Rachel's immediate family, Ruth's sister's family from Louisiana was there, as was Sol's ex-wife and nine-year-old daughter. Maddie's elderly aunt who had flown down from Wyoming was the sole guest on Maddie's side of the aisle. No one seemed inclined to enter the church until they knew the bride was ready, so Mac found himself standing outside surrounded by McKnights. Somehow he ended up near the groom. "So you're Mac," Rachel's brother Zach said. "That would be me. The divorced man with inappropriate needs and expectations who's seeing your sister." Zach laughed. "So you've already heard." "Yup." "If it's any consolation, it helps that your Claudia's brother." "Does it?" "A little." Mac looked at Rachel's brother with one eyebrow cocked. "Well, no, not really," Zach amended. "Sol's divorced, too, and the folks ain't too happy about some of his, uh, extracurricular activities." "I can sympathize. It's not easy when a marriage comes apart." "Do you mind if I ask about your marriage?" Zach asked, looking a little uncomfortable. "You looking for advice, or are you looking out for your sister?" Zach looked relieved that Mac understood. "The McKnight men tend to be protective of our womenfolk."

"Fair enough." Mac took a deep breath and said. "I was married for twelve years. I went home every night after work, I was nice to her family, and I never cheated on her. What else do you want to know?" "Got any kids?" "She didn't want kids." Did he sound bitter? Mac clamped down on the negative memories. Zach's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "What about you?" "I wouldn't have been unhappy to have had half a dozen or so." The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say them. Once Gloria had convinced him she was sincere about not wanting children, Mac had pretended indifference. Now he was admitting that lie to a total stranger. Was it watching the way Rachel's brothers and sisters interacted? They tormented each other, but he could see, too, the strong sense of family when they came together. It made him want to reach out and trust them. He'd better be careful, he decided, or before he knew it, he'd be telling Zach what had finally and irreparably broken his marriage. Zach nodded his head, in sympathy maybe. Or understanding. "Why'd you get divorced?" Mac clamped down harder on emotions that threatened to surge. Carefully, casually, he shrugged. "Things change," he said, purposely vague. "You grow apart. Even living under the same roof, you can find your lives not connecting anymore." "Who wanted the divorce?" "I filed." Mac hadn't even told Claudia that. "But she left me, in spirit if not in fact, long before then." "I'm real sorry." "Yeah, so was I." Mac turned his clenched teeth into a rueful smile. He was in control again. God, he'd had enough practice in Colorado, hiding his feeling about the end of his marriage. He hadn't expected to come so close to losing his restraint. "But life goes on. It may actually turn out to be one of those blessings in disguise." Zach was eyeing Mac speculatively. "Jake says you're a good guy." "I'm glad he thinks so," Mac said, happy with the change of subject. "I like him, too." "Rachel ain't an easy woman, you know." "Oh, I know." And he did, but he was starting to resent the way her brothers kept pointing it out. "I mean she can be real difficult." "She's a challenge." Mac heard how that must sound to Rachel's brother. "I don't mean that I'm looking for a conquest. I mean that . . . she keeps me on my toes." Zach laughed. "Hope you're related to Baryshnikov." "If you don't mind advice from someone whose marriage failed . . . ?" What was it about the McKnights that made trying to stay away from the subject of his marriage like trying to leave a loose tooth alone? "Daddy says you can learn as much from failure as you can from success."

"Then don't ever let things get stale between you. And not just in bed. Talk to her. Every day. Make sure you always know what's happening with each other. And make sure you surprise her once in a while. Don't let her get bored." Zach nodded his head as he stared at the toes of his polished cowboy boots as though that helped him commit Mac's advice to memory. "Daddy was right," he said when Mac finished. "Failure can teach good lessons. I'll remember." They talked until Daisy came running up. "She's ready. Mama says for everyone to get into the church." Mac turned to see Rachel coming toward him. She wore a demure dress the color of cinnamon sticks with a modest scoop neck. The flared skirt moved with her every step as though begging him to admire her shapely legs—which Mac happily did. He held out an arm for her to take. Instead, she stopped in front of him and straightened his tie. "You remember what I told you?" she asked, her eyes fixed on his Windsor knot. "Be attentive but don't take liberties," Mac said, condensing what had amounted to a twenty minute lecture. Rachel patted his tie flat, her eyes darting in every direction. She couldn't have been more nervous, Mac thought, if she were about to step onto a Broadway stage in a play she knew was a real stinker. He hoped she wasn't prescient.

Chapter Eight Watching the bride walk slowly down the aisle, Mac felt something in his chest relax. He breathed a silent sigh of relief that the wedding wasn't going to tap into anymore unexamined—and undoubtedly negative—feelings about his own marriage. Rachel pulled several tissues out of her purse and stuck a couple up her sleeve, saving one to blot her eyes as the bride handed a small bouquet of lilies of the valley to the groom's twelve-year-old sister. Since Rachel had pointed out that Gloria had instigated their relationship so long ago, Mac had, in odd moments, thought about how they'd gotten together. Gloria had chosen him, and he, awed by the beauty who wanted him and swept up in his good fortune, had let her steer him into marriage without ever asking himself if they wanted the same things. Next time, he would choose instead of waiting to be chosen and convincing himself that that was what he wanted, too. But would that be enough to ensure a successful marriage? The bride and groom certainly looked as if they had no doubts as they gazed into each other's eyes at the altar, listening to the minister's words. But that's how couples always looked, wasn't it? And too often they couldn't make it work. Rachel sniffed and pulled another tissue from her sleeve. Mac glanced at the McKnights around him. Rachel's father had his arm around the shoulder of his crying wife. Maddie's aunt held the eight month old the newlyweds would raise. Even Sol and his ex-wife—Holy Cow! And Mac had always thought Gloria had married down?—were holding hands behind their daughter's back. Maybe, Mac thought, as the groom gazed into the bride's eyes and said, ". . . to have and to hold . . ." Maybe, with a family and the values he saw here, they would have a better chance than most. ". . . from this day forward . . ." Beside him, Rachel wiped tears away with the back of her hand. In her other hand, she clutched a fistful of soggy tissue. ". . . for better, for worse . . ." Good grief. Mac pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. ". . . for richer, for poorer . . ." She dabbed at her eyes, as she breathed through parted lips. Mac wanted to take the handkerchief, hold it to her nose, and tell her to blow, but he knew she'd kill him. He held his jacket pocket open and let her deposit the used tissue there then took her hand. ". . . to love and to cherish . . ." Next time. Mac promised himself: next time, he'd do the choosing. ". . . until death do us part . . ." And he'd make sure it was mutual. ~* * *~

With Mac's big, warm hand encasing hers, Rachel decided that, for once, she'd gotten it right. He was the ideal wedding date. And nothing he did as they moved from the church to the hall for the reception changed her mind. No corny lines, no liberties taken; nothing to embarrass her in front of her family. And as Rachel and her sisters encircled the bride for a picture, she saw Mac waiting, surrounded by her brothers who were on standby for their command performance. The McKnight men all had the lean, rangy cowboy build like their daddy. Mac matched them in height, but he was more solid, his chest deeper, his legs stouter. Even so, he looked as though he belonged among them. And that somehow made Rachel feel less like the prodigal daughter. His conversation with Jake paused for a moment, and she saw him take a deep, satisfied breath as if he felt welcomed, too. The gaze he turned toward her felt proprietary, as though their little play wasn't all fiction. It was silly to think that; of course it was just an act. Or maybe it was only her imagination that Mac was sending her his version of a come-hither look. None of her arguments could override the warm feeling in her chest. "Smile, Rachel!" The admonition from her mama, called from over the photographer's shoulder, pulled Rachel's focus back to the business at hand. She put a smile on her face, hoping the picture would get taken before it started looking brittle. She couldn't help herself. Just as the photographer—one of Ezra's friends—said, "Say Cheese," she glanced toward the men. Mac winked at her and Rachel's smile widened as the shutter clicked. When the posed pictures were finally done, they all joined the wider community who had been invited to the reception. The bride and groom went through the cake cutting ritual then showed admirable restraint at what Mac quietly dubbed the cake smashing. Later, with everyone crowded around the dance floor to serve as witnesses, Maddie and Zach danced their first dance to the band's rendition of Josh Turner's Your Man. "Hey, Rachel." She turned to find a young woman with owlish eyes behind thick glasses beside her at the edge of the dance floor. "Hey! How’re you?" Rachel asked with phony enthusiasm. She was pretty sure the girl had been behind her several years in school, but she couldn't remember her name except that she was one of the Gunderst girls. The gangly guy standing behind her with the baby bundled in his arms wasn't a useful clue. He was one of the Marchbanks boys, and Rachel had never been able to keep their names straight either. "We’re doin’ good. And we're so glad Zach's marrying a nice girl." She glanced quickly at Mac but was too polite to ask outright. "And you have a baby!" Rachel said, determined to keep it that way. The girl's eyes lit up behind the thick lenses, and she pulled her husband's arms down so Rachel could see. "Her name's Emily. We think she's beautiful." The baby couldn't have been more than two or three months old, and she was so beautiful she put a lump in Rachel's throat. Everyone's having babies. Everyone but me. "Would you like to hold her?" The girl—a wife and mother now—asked. Such a simple request, but Rachel fought the urge to recoil. Her arms ached with the desire to hold the child, but it was a bad idea. And yet she couldn't help herself. Rachel

reached out to take the warm bundle, knowing even as the baby filled her arms how painful it would be to let her go. ~* * *~ Zach and Maddie looked so in love on the dance floor, Mac thought. In a quick glance, he saw the same look reflected around the dance floor as wives reached for their husbands' hands and husbands put an arm around their wives' shoulders. The music changed as the newlyweds' dance ended, sliding into Look At You, Girl, and the groom waltzed with his mother. Rachel's father stepped in to dance with his new daughter-in-law. Standing on the edge of the dance floor, Mac was about to reach for Rachel when the young couple next to them offered to let her hold their infant. Rachel's hesitation became almost awkward. Then she said, "Of course," and took the child in her arms. Unencumbered for a few moments, the young wife looped her arms around her husband's neck and they gazed into each other's eyes as they shuffled their feet along the edge of the dance floor, slow dancing in the only style Mac had known until Rachel and Jake. Watching them, Mac wondered if the divorce rate in rural America was lower than in the cities. It was starting to look likely to him. Thinking to ask her, Mac turned toward Rachel but the words died on his lips. The infant slept in that rubber-boned way only new infants could. In spite of the high-boring quotient Mac would have assigned to watching someone—anyone—sleep, Rachel only had eyes for the infant in her arms. Mac had never seen Rachel's features look so soft. Holding the child, she was as beautiful as a Botticelli Madonna. She glowed as she dropped her head to breathe in the scent of the new baby the way some people savored the new car smell. Then he caught his breath. She has baby hunger. But she was too young for the biological clock meltdown. And she didn't date. She didn't even respond to his stupid come-ons. If she had baby hunger, why wasn't she doing something about it? ~* * *~ As the prescribed reception activities got checked off, the party picked up. Rachel found Mac and herself a spot away from the bulk of her family. She sat at the table with her back to the room, letting Mac have a broad view of everyone behind her. "Don't you like your family?" Mac asked. "I love my family. They're just a bit much when they’re all herded together. And I feel kind of guilty, too, passing you off as something you're not." She waited for Mac to complain about it, but he just said, "I like your family, too. Even your mother, the dragonlady." Mac winked, letting her know he was teasing. "That's because she hasn't had time to focus on you." Mac chuckled, then his eyes grew somber. "I envy your brother. I think they're going to make it work." Rachel turned to find that her brother and Maddie had found a semi-secluded corner. Maddie was sitting across Zach's lap, her full skirt draping gracefully to the floor. Zach's hand

supported her bare back. Their heads were close as they murmured softly to each other. Wrapped up in each other, they seemed to have closed themselves off from everyone around them. "They do look happy together," Rachel said, turning back to face Mac. Mac nodded his agreement, but his face clouded as though puzzled by something. A second later, his eyes widened. "Oh, my God!" "What?" Rachel asked, turning to look. Mac reached out and caught her hand. "Don't stare!" She scanned the crowd behind her but had to turn back to Mac and ask, "At what?" "Your brother—" "Which one?" "Zach." "What about him?" Mac's eyes lit up as his mouth spread into an amused grin. "I think he's got his hand up the bride's skirt." "What!" Rachel twisted in her chair. Mac jerked her hand. "Don't stare!" he ordered again. Rachel still didn't see what Mac saw. Zach's hand could just as easily be in Maddie's lap, hidden by the folds of her skirt, but even as she watched, Zach's mouth found Maddie's. A moment later, Maddie's spine stiffened, followed by a long shiver. Not enough so that anyone who wasn't watching closely would even notice. "Oh, my God!" Mac breathed the words again. Within seconds, Maddie seemed to melt against her husband's chest. Zach's tender, selfsatisfied smile as he cradled her against him seemed to confirm Mac's suspicions. Rachel shifted to the chair next to Mac's. "I don't believe it," she said. "Your brother is one cool customer." Mac's tone was full of admiration. "In a room full of people, he just made love to his new wife, and no one even noticed." "Except you." She was beginning to think Mac's grin was going to be a permanent addition to his face. "She's pregnant." Rachel blurted, suddenly needing to share that tidbit. Why did Maddie get to have it all? Had her spike of envy sounded in her voice? Mac leaned back. Resting his wrist on the back of Rachel's chair, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I thought they just met a few months ago." "They did." "Does your mother know?" Rachel shook her head. Mac cocked an eyebrow as he picked up his glass of domestic champagne and made a subtle toasting gesture toward Zach and Maddie. "Here's to the McKnight men, who know what they want when they see it. And who know how to get it." He took a sip. "Looks like I should have had Zach coaching me." "He already had a date for the wedding," Rachel pointed out acerbically. Mac laughed. "So he did." He leaned back in his chair, a strange look on his face as he contemplated her.

To mask her sudden discomfort, Rachel picked up her glass of champagne and took a sip. With one finger, Mac traced the line of her bare neck, sending chills down her spine. A rush of gratitude filled her. Even though he was only there to meet his end of their bargain, it was nice to have someone paying attention to her. Maybe she could pretend for a little while that he was a serious suitor. Just during the reception. She practically purred as she tilted her head into his touch. "Thanks for coming with me, Mac. I know weddings aren't that much fun. Especially when you don't know anyone there." "I know you." Something in his voice made her look at him. His grin had faded to a soft smile. "Dance with me?" The champagne bubbles seemed to be flowing through her veins. Don't make a fool of yourself, Rachel cautioned herself. "You're a brave man, willing to dance like you do in front of the McKnight clan," she said, falling back on their normal banter, when he held her chair for her to rise. "You're the one whose toes are at risk." On the floor, he led her into a two-step to the local band's rendition of Josh Turner's Firecracker. He seemed to have gotten better since their lessons. "Hold on to your hat," he warned when he swung her into country swing. "What . . . ? When . . . ?" Rachel asked when he'd lead her successfully though the dance. His steps weren't fancy, but he hadn't stepped on her toes once. "I wanted to surprise you," Mac said, grinning. "Jake and Claudia helped." The band started Amanda, an achingly beautiful song borrowed from Waylon Jennings. "Uh-oh." His head came up as though he could sniff the melody in the air. "What?" Rachel didn't know if she could stand anymore surprises. "I haven't gotten around to learning any slow dances." But instead of leading her off the floor, he pulled her into his arms. So much for pretending. Rachel looked around quickly for an escape route. "My mama's watching, Mac." "Isn't that the point of this whole thing? Anyway, I'm a divorced man, so your mother already thinks I'm a letch." "That's beside the point. I don't want her to start planning my wedding just yet. And neither do you." His hand on her lower back pulled her closer. "I don't know. If the benefits would be anything like Zach just got, I might consider it." Rachel gasped, but before she could chastise him, Mac's hand caught her neck and his mouth was on hers. She couldn't seem to breathe. When his tongue slipped into her mouth, the room spun. She didn't even have the strength to push him away. Worse, when he lifted his mouth from hers, her knees were so weak she had to cling to him to stay on her feet. "If you don't slap me," Mac murmured into her hair, "I'll count that as one of the three kisses."

"Damn you, Mac MacAllister!" she whispered even as she clung to him. "I brought you with me to keep my mother off my back, not to make it worse." ~* * *~ Mac kissing Rachel didn't go unnoticed by her family. Not that he expected it to. When he made a trip to the men's room, three of Rachel's brothers followed him. The small room was crowded with the four of them. Someone tried to enter as Mac unzipped to use the urinal, but Sol told him the room was at capacity and suggested he come back later. Mac's bladder suddenly went shy on him as though worried he might be the guest of honor at a castration party. If Jake had been there, he wouldn't have been so concerned, but maybe not. Jake might not want to reveal his complicity in Rachel's scam if there was a chance her mother would find out, which she might if too many of her brothers knew about it. One of Rachel's younger brothers—Gideon was it?—leaned against the wall beside the urinal. Breaking all men's room etiquette, he pointedly checked out Mac's plumbing, which was—beyond Mac's control—rapidly retreating. "He ain't much of a threat." Gideon lifted his eyes to meet Mac's. Mac was probably ten years older than Gideon and even teamed with Ephram, Rachel's nineteen year old brother, Mac thought he could hold his own, but Sol's presence forced Mac to recalculate the odds. Sol had already impressed Mac as a no-bullshit kind of guy. Tall, like his brothers, his lanky build couldn't fool Mac into thinking he'd be an easy opponent. He was a bull rider who had, for a brief time, made it onto the PBR circuit, and that meant he was strong and tough. If a man couldn't take brutal physical punishment, he didn't last long riding bulls. And if, by thirty, getting on the back of a one-ton animal that didn't want you there hadn't taught Sol the meaning of fear, nothing Mac could say or do was going to keep his ass from getting kicked, if Sol decided that was what needed doing. Sol leaned against the door jam, his body relaxed. Mac didn't think it was accidental that he blocked the door. "It don't take a big dick," Sol said, "to break a girl's heart. In any case, I'm sure Rachel ain't got the slightest idea what Mac carries around in his pants." His tone made it clear that Rachel had better not know. With no chance his bladder was going to unclench anytime soon, Mac put his penis away and zipped up. He turned to face Sol. "I'm not looking to hurt Rachel." Even as Mac said it, he remembered Rachel's plan to tell her mother how he'd broken her heart when they got back to Galveston. Maybe he should just let Sol kick his ass now and save him the trip. Mac hoped his brother back in Colorado was keeping his medical premiums paid. "I'm sure you ain't," Sol said. Mac tipped his head, not sure he'd heard right. Sol actually sounded reasonable. "Especially since you know how much her family wouldn't like that." "I understand," Mac said. "I feel the same way about my sister." Though he wouldn't have nerve enough to confront any of Claudia's boyfriends the way Rachel's brothers were doing. Claudia wouldn't stand for it.

"Then I'm sure you also understand we'll welcome whoever Rachel chooses when she's ready, but we'd be real unhappy with anyone jumping the gun and anticipating the wedding night." The warning was plain, but Mac was already tired of how heavy-handed it was. What the hell. If he got his ass kicked, so be it. "I see Rachel's plain-spokenness runs in the family." "That should make it easy for you to understand then when I say I expect you'll listen when she tells you no." "I expect I will." Mac refused to let his eyes drop. "As long as she says no." Sol's eyes narrowed. "I suggest, no matter what she says, you hear no." "Rachel's a big girl and my hearing is great. Regardless of what you say, I'll treat her respectfully. She's not a stranger, after all. She's my sister's best friend. I'm far more afraid of what Claudia would have to say if I treated Rachel badly than I am of whatever you want to threaten me with." Sol's lips twitched several times as though he fought a knowing smile. "Sisters can be a trial." Mac relaxed just a little. "Yes, they can." "That don't mean we won't hunt you down, you give us cause." "I wouldn't expect less," Mac assured him. Sol broke eye contact to look at his brothers. "Let's say we let the man take care of business here." He turned and led his brothers out. Gideon followed Sol's lead, but Ephram, young enough to want to strut his tough-guy stuff, shot a warning glare at Mac before he let the door close behind him. Mac took his first deep breath since he'd entered the men's room. It still took a full minute for his bladder to relax after he'd unzipped again.

Chapter Nine An hour out of Galveston, as Three Dog Night finished singing Eli's Coming in the truck's CD player, Jake announced, "I need a pit stop." "Why didn't you go when we stopped for gas?" Rachel said. "Golly, Mama," Jake said without rancor, "that was an hour ago. I didn't have to pee then." Mac chuckled. Rachel did sound like she was talking to a child. Jake pointed at a bar up the road. "Let's stop there." "So you can fill up again?" she asked. "Don't worry. I'll go again before we leave." Mac pulled into the parking lot, not waiting for them to settle their squabble. "You just automatically take his side, don't you?" Rachel asked. "The man's got to go," Mac said as he switched off the engine. The interior was dark after the bright afternoon sunlight. Tracy Byrd sang The Truth About Men from the jukebox. "Where are the restrooms?" Rachel asked. Mac and Jake exchanged amused looks. "Do you want something to drink?" Mac asked as she headed toward the two doors he pointed at in a dim corner. "An ice tea," she called over her shoulder. Jake sauntered after her until she disappeared through the door marked "Ladies," then looped back to join Mac at the bar. They ordered two Lone Stars. "And a Long Island Ice Tea," Jake added. Mac lifted an eyebrow at Jake. "With or without tequila?" the bartender asked. "Without," Jake said. "Rach hates tequila," he told Mac. "Even the smell of it makes her sick." "You think she's not going to notice she's drinking alcohol?" "The way these taste?" "They have a little more kick than Lipton." "It's her own fault," Jake said. "You really think they got iced tea here?" Mac had to agree it wasn't likely. He wouldn't normally approve of someone getting slipped a Mickey, but after all the time she spent in the bars coaching him on how to pick up women, he knew Rachel could handle her liquor. They'd settled at a table when Rachel came out of the Ladies room. She took the chair between them, lifted the glass of 'iced tea,' and gulped down a third of the drink. Mac and Jake shared another amused look. "I thought you wasn't thirsty," Jake said when the glass hit the tabletop. "And I thought you needed a pit stop," she replied tartly. "Don't take men long to pee, Rach." Over the mouth of Jake's beer bottle, his eyes were full of playful orneriness. "We ain't gotta freshen our lipstick." "I'm not wearing lipstick," Rachel pointed out. Jake tipped his head toward his sister. "Wanna check her for lipstick, Mac?"

"Sure." After the exchange with Rachel's other brothers, Mac wouldn't have done it without Jake's encouragement, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Hardly looking at her, he reached out and caught Rachel by the back of her neck. One sharp tug pulled her off balance, and she toppled toward him. She shrieked when it looked like she was going to tumble to the floor, but Mac caught her across his knee, dropped his mouth to hers, and kissed her. With tongue. Under his surprise assault, she went still as a breathless night. Her fingers dug into his biceps, telegraphing her fear of being dropped. As punishment for not trusting him more, he dragged the kiss out, one hand on the back of her head, the other snaking under her shirt to touch the smooth skin of her back. With his thumb, he stroked the line of Rachel's spine. Her body jerked, arching hard away from his touch. Mac lifted her abruptly, setting her back in her chair almost as quickly as he'd pulled her out of it. "Nope. No lipstick," he reported to Jake. "But she's wearing lip balm." He ran his tongue over his lips. "Orange flavored, I think." Jake nearly fell out of his chair, laughing. Rachel glared at them both. "What?" Mac asked in an offended tone. "I wasn't going to drop you." "That comes off your tally," Rachel ground the words out. "You're down to one kiss now." Jake started to object on Mac's behalf, but Mac only grinned. "At least my lips won't chap before we get back to Galveston." ~* * *~ Mac dropped Jake off at the A&M campus then drove Rachel home. "Let me carry your bag in," Mac said. "I can manage," she said stiffly. He wrestled the strap from her. "This is the kind of thing that's supposed to earn me points, isn't it?" "Yes, but you don't need to make points with me." "But it needs to come naturally, so let me practice." She relinquished the bag. "Damn but you're a contrary woman," Mac muttered as he followed her sashaying ass to the front door. Rachel ignored him, even when he walked past her and deposited her bag in her bedroom. He took the opportunity to look around. It was a good sized room, but she certainly hadn't furnished it with the thought of entertaining company. The narrow single bed, pushed up against the wall, would demand cuddling through the night if two people tried to occupy it. She obviously wasn't a clothes horse either since the wardrobe standing against the opposite wall appeared to be the only closet space, though her jeans and casual clothes might be in the dresser beside it. An air conditioning unit occupied the lower portion of the window opposite the door that led to the bathroom—no tub, Mac noted, but a shower that would accommodate a small cocktail party.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked when he came out. "I'll be there, working," Rachel said flatly as she thumbed through her CDs. Her spine was stiff and as straight as a plumb line. She pulled a CD out of the stack, but only laid it beside the CD player. "That's not what I meant." Mac stopped just short of the door and looked at her. "Will we have a strategy session tomorrow?" She got a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap, an excuse not to look at him, Mac thought. "If I'm over being mad for what you pulled at that bar." "If you want me to say I'm sorry, I am. A little," Mac lied. She broke down and looked at him. "I suppose that's the best I'm going to get." "I'll see you tomorrow," Mac said. He walked back to his truck and got in, unsatisfied somehow. The kiss in the bar hadn't been half the kiss he'd gotten at the reception. And he'd wanted it to be. Mac stopped, ready to turn the key in the ignition, and considered his options. His gaze returned to Rachel's front door. He pictured her inside, kicking off her shoes and slumping in a chair, relieved to be home. Relieved to not have to put up with that bothersome Mac MacAllister. He hadn't wanted to be single again, but he was. If he was going to have to be in the dating pool, he didn't want a girl-child like Cheryl to be his first new partner. He wanted someone with fully formed opinions and a strong character. Rachel had both those qualities in spades. And he liked being with her. For all her acerbic comments about him, he was comfortable with her. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself knocking on her door. When she saw it was him, her face went from open and relaxed to annoyed. In the background, Willie Nelson sang My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. Before she could growl at him, Mac said, "You still owe me a kiss." "What?" Her annoyance turned into astonishment. He crowded her into letting him in. "You owe me a kiss," he repeated. "I'm here to collect." "You want your last kiss from me?" Rachel's eyes widened. "If I wanted it from Jake, I'd be there, now wouldn't I? And I don't suppose anyone's hiding in your closet." He realized he sounded angry, but his tone was out of his control. What had he been thinking? That Rachel harbored secret longings for him? He was going to crash and burn. "So yes, I want it from you." "This is the chaste kiss, Mac." Rachel looked wary. "No, I said one of them could be chaste." He shook his head as he stepped forward. "It's not going to be." Rachel backed away, keeping an arm's length between them. "You sound like I don't have any say in this." "You do." Mac made an effort to sound reasonable. "But look at the upside. If you kiss me now, you've met your end of the bargain. You don't have to worry about finding me someone

else to kiss. I can go back to being just Claudia's brother to you. The guy who's here licking his wounds because he couldn't make his marriage work—if that's what you want." Rachel went still as she considered his offer. Mac felt his heart surge against his ribs. He expected her to refuse, but the sudden possibility that she might not made the wait for her answer feel like time had grown as thick and sluggish as the air on a muggy August afternoon in Galveston. Then Rachel shrugged. "All right." And time returned to normal. "What's ten seconds out of my life? Especially if it'll save me weeks of waiting for you to work up your nerve with another girl." "That's a real romantic attitude," Mac said sarcastically. "You want romance? Call Cheryl." She sounded as angry as he did. He'd forgotten Cheryl even existed until Rachel mentioned her. "I don't want Cheryl." That surprised her, jolting her hard enough for him to see it. It surprised him that she didn't already know. She looked at him as though he were a stranger. "But . . . but . . ." Mac stepped into her, sliding one arm around her waist to pull her hard against him. His other hand closed on the back of her neck—that sexy, seductive, naked neck. He dropped his head and ran the tip of his tongue slowly across her full lower lip. Rachel's breasts rose against him as she drew a sharp breath. Mac slipped the tip of his tongue between her parted lips just far enough to taste the moist underside of her lip. He'd never done foreplay for a kiss before, but he wanted this to last longer than the ten seconds she'd relegated. She hadn't responded yet, but her body felt breathless under his hands until a sudden, violent tremor washed through her. Her hands closed on his biceps as though she needed to hang on to stay upright. He gathered her closer and went for the gold. Rachel's lips were soft and pliant under his. Her tongue met his, tentatively at first, then with more assurance. Mac slipped his hand under her shirt and touched the soft skin of her back. He slid higher until he found her bra. There was no clasp in the back, so he slipped his fingers under the edge of the band and followed it around until he felt the soft, full, under-curve of her breast. Rachel hands slid up to his shoulders, giving him freer access. He found the clasp between her breasts and, miraculously, flicked it open without fumbling. The breath Rachel drew inflated her lungs and filled his palm with her breast. Mac turned his hand and rubbed his knuckle across her swollen nipple. When he caught it between two knuckles and tugged, her whole body trembled, and she made a small whimpering noise in the back of her throat. The feel of her finished the job the kiss had started. Mac had never been able to predict her responses, but he was a gambler. His hand dropped from her neck to her hip, pulling her tighter against him, letting her feel how much he wanted her. She went stiff, and his tongue suddenly felt like an uninvited guest in her mouth. The change in her shattered his ego. He eased the pressure on her hips as he lifted his head.

"What's wrong?" She pulled away. Putting one of the kitchen chairs between them, she turned it so she could rest a knee on the seat. Her hands clenched the back as though she hadn't the strength to stand without its support. "I think you should go," she said in flat voice. He shook his head. "I want to know what happened just now." She looked away. "You wanted a kiss. You got it." Mac's heart was beating hard, his palms were sweaty, and his breath came in short, hard puffs. "You've met your end of the deal. That's over. Done. Past. You don't owe me anything. I don't want you to owe me anything." He sounded angry again. Hell, he was angry. "But I do want to know why you're suddenly as skittish as a virgin." Her eyes dropped for a split second, and Mac realized it wasn't impossible. Not with the way she'd been raised. And with how much Rachel craved her mother's approval. "You're not—are you?" "No!" Anger blazed in her eyes. The intensity of her response jacked up his emotions, and he all but yelled back, "Then what's the problem?" Rachel anger disappeared as though she'd pulled shades down behind her eyes. "I'm not . . . It's just . . . You're the wrong kind of man for me." "What? Breathing?" He ran a hand through his hair. He'd had her, for a few precious, glorious seconds. Then somehow he'd lost her. He had the awful fear he wasn't going to be able to salvage the moment. "Not that I'm applying for the position, but what kind of man is the right kind? And why don't I measure up?” Rachel sputtered incoherent bits of words and phrases. "Look, I know it's not the way I kiss," Mac said, trying to sound reasonable, though he hardly felt that way. "I may be out of practice, but some things you just don't misinterpret. Somewhere between the kissing and the touching, you turned off like there was a power outage. I want to know what I did wrong." "Nothing." Rachel said in a flat tone. "You did nothing." She was disengaging, Mac realized. "Damn it, Rachel!" he roared in frustration, taking one step forward. "Don't lie to me. I want to know." She refused to meet his eyes. Her grasp on the chair tightened until her knuckles turned white. Mac felt like a heel. He forced himself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Please look at me." He waited. "Please." She finally lifted her head, but she was trembling and he knew it wasn't easy for her. "I want to know what I did wrong." "You didn't . . . It's not . . . Please, don't—don't look at me like that." She ducked her head, talking more to her shoulder than to him as though she was embarrassed. "It's not . . . I'm sparing you grief. That's all." "Sparing me?" Mac didn't understand. "What if I don't want to be spared?" "You do. Believe me." "And what exactly are you sparing me from?"

"A lot of frustration." He couldn't help chuckling. "Believe me. I already know how frustrating you can be." "No, you don't." She still wouldn't look at him. "Are you kidding? You're the most contradictory woman I've ever met. You're bossy and domineering, yet in your own way, you keep trying to make everyone else happy, even if it means taking a stranger to your brother's wedding. And in spite of the virtuous pose, you're not a prude. You weren't shocked that your brother was finger fucking his wife, only that he did it in a room full of people. And you liked kissing me. You liked it a lot. So what happened?" "Nothing happened. And nothing will, so don't waste your time on me." Her tone was blank and emotionless again. "The next thing you're going to be telling me is that it doesn't have anything to do with me," Mac said sarcastically. "That the problem is you." "It is me." She looked up as she spoke, her face relaxing as though she was relieved to have an answer to latch onto, but she might as well have poured gas over Mac and lit a match. He'd been out of circulation a long time, but running a bar, he'd have had to be dead not to know what a crock of shit that line was. Standing there, emotionlessly telling him it was her— she wasn't even trying to sell him. Then he thought: What if it really is me? He started yelling again. "If I'm such a loser that you'd rather become a shriveled old maid than waste your time on me, then what the hell have you been coaching me for? You think other women won't see it, too? Why don't you just have the guts to say, 'Hey, Mac, give it up. No one's that desperate!'" The perplexed look on her face stopped him. "What?" he yelled. "I didn't say . . . I never said . . . How did this turn into . . . ? Why would you think you're a loser? Christ, Mac, someone wanted you. Enough to marry you. Why would you ever think . . . ?" Her confusion convinced him the way protestations never would have. He shook his head. It didn't make sense. "Then what the hell's going on, Rachel? Don't you want a family? Kids?" He hadn't imagined the baby hunger. "A husband?" Rachel gulped a breath as though he'd caught her off guard with his question. It almost sounded like a sob. Her answer came in a tiny voice. "Of course, I want a family." "Then what are you waiting for?" His frustration level was escalating rapidly, and he couldn't keep it out of his voice. "Claudia says you never date. Why are you wasting your best years?" She held herself so still, he could almost believe she didn't feel anything. "If you don't do something soon, baby, life is going to pass you by. If you don't want me, that's fine, but dammit, want something! Find some guy who makes you feel alive. Whose kisses make you sizzle. Someone whose kids will run screaming through your life. Someone who—" "You think I don't want that?" She sounded like she was finally starting to take offense. "If you wanted it, you'd be going after it, instead of lying to yourself—"

She suddenly came to life, her hands pushing the chair so hard it fell over. "I'm not lying to myself." Even raised, her voice shook with emotion. "I'm frigid, all right? Is that what you wanted to know?" Her voice escalated to a yell. "I'm a ball-busting, cock-tease who doesn't follow through. I can't keep that someone you're talking about because he's going to want a woman he can get close to, and I can't be that. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" "Frigid? Who are you kidding?" Mac didn't know whether to laugh or rage at her. "You may be a lot of things, but frigid isn't one of them. Absolutely not!" She glowered at him. Mac sobered. He looked closely at her face. The rigid set of her jaw and the tight lines around her mouth were a complete counterpoint to the moisture glistening in her eyes. His heart suddenly felt like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest and the shortest route was through his lungs. He struggled to catch a breath. Women weren't born frigid. Someone had done this to her. Having met her family, he ruled out incest and child molestation immediately. And though her family was straight-laced, he didn't think severely enough to warp her. "Rach—" He took a step toward her. Her retreat synchronized with his advance like they were partners in a dance. Mac froze. He'd seen that instinctive reaction before. Back when he'd gone to Florida to bring Claudia home. He had a pretty good idea what it meant. "Who was he?" His voice came out so low and hard he didn't even recognize it. "Who was who?" Rachel asked, but he saw in her eyes the memory she wanted to deny. "Don't play dumb with me." His voice was stern. "Who was he?" Rachel's breath came hard. He could almost feel her fight-or-flight instinct dumping adrenaline into her bloodstream. Mac forced himself to lean back against the kitchen sink. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tried to look like his heart wasn't pounding like a kettle drum. He'd wait all day if that's how long it took her to settle down enough to talk to him. "Who was he?" he asked again. She tried to meet his gaze, but her eyes kept sliding away. Mac waited. He wasn't going to say anything she could argue with or use to divert him. Her lips looked bloodless when she finally answered. "A rodeo cowboy. A bull rider like Sol." "Tell me," Mac demanded even as he felt sick at being right. "I thought . . . I thought he was perfect." Rachel voice was toneless. "Handsome. Brave. A little dangerous. I didn't expect him to notice me." "You're very noticeable. What happened?" She shook her head as though denying her ability to attract, but she didn't argue. "One night after a rodeo, he took me to a bar." Rachel mirrored Mac, crossing her arms protectively across her chest. "I don't know if they looked the other way because I was with him or if he had some other way to get me in . . ." Mac softened his tone. "How old were you?" "Seventeen."

"How old was he?" "Twenty-three . . ." Her hands clasped her upper arms as though she were cold. "Twenty-four, maybe." "So he bought you a drink," Mac prompted. "Beer at first. Then tequila shooters." The cur had known exactly what he was doing. Knowing what was coming, Mac wanted to curse. Instead, as calmly as he could, he asked, "Then what?" "He was going to take me home—to the ranch—but we stopped back at the rodeo grounds first. I don't remember why. He started kissing me." Rachel shrugged, but her shoulders were hunched forward protectively. "I didn't stop him. I liked it." "And then?" "You know what then," she said, a hint of fire in her voice. "I want you to tell me." She looked away and the fire died. "He started touching me. I didn't stop that either." "It went further than you wanted though, didn't it?" Rachel nodded. In a small voice, she added, "He started undressing me. I didn't want him to, and I remember worrying about what Mama would say." "Did you tell him no? Did you ask him to stop?” "Not at first. I kept trying to block his hands, but I couldn't keep up." Mac fought to keep his poker face in place. "When did you tell him no?" "When he . . . when he pushed my jeans down. When he had his hands . . ." She couldn't finish. "But he didn't stop." "No." "What did he do next?" Her temper flared, her emotions obviously seeking a way to protect her. "You really want me to tell you?" "Yes." "Why? Why won't you just leave this be?" She seemed honestly perplexed even as she tried to get him to back down. "Because I need to know exactly what I'm up against." He took a deep breath, wondering if he had the strength to hear what was coming. "What did he do next, Rachel?" The rebellion drained out of her. "He . . . he got me on the ground." She stopped, swallowing hard several times before she could finish. Her hands rubbed her arms as though trying to rub down goosebumps. "He pinned me there. I couldn't get him off." She spoke so low, Mac almost didn't hear what she said next. "He told me to quit crying and grow up." Mac closed his eyes. In silence, he battled his need to break something . . . to hurt someone. "That's rape, Rachel." "No." She answered too quickly, with the assurance of years of guilt. "No. It's the girl who's got to ride the brakes. It was my responsibility to not let it get out of control. If I had stopped him sooner—"

"Bullshit! He forced you, Rachel. He plied you with tequila"—no wonder even the smell of it made her sick; it made him sick just thinking about it—"then he forced you. That's rape. There's no other way to see it." Her unshed tears reflected the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. God, was the sun still shining outside? It felt profane for the day not to recognize such a black moment. Softly, Willie sang about angels flying too close to the ground. Mac wet his lips then said, "You should know I'm not a particularly politically correct man. I think there is a point of no return. If a woman changes her mind after she's let a man get to that point, she's got no grounds to cry rape. If she's voluntarily taken off her clothes and let a man inside her, it's too late to change her mind. That's how I see the world. You don't play those kinds of games. You don't play with fire and then complain when you get burned." His voice softened. "But what he did to you, that's not your fault." A solitary tear escaped and ran down Rachel's face. The desire to kiss it from her cheek was nearly impossible to resist. "He raped you," Mac said forcefully, putting all the ugliness that belonged with it into the word. "Plain and simple." He held himself back—keeping himself from holding her the way he wanted to—as the tears finally spilled from her eyes. She swiped them away repeatedly, looking as though she couldn't understand where they kept coming from. He let her cry, afraid to offer the comfort of his arms. When her tears finally slowed, he said, "You're not frigid, Rachel. You like kissing. You like being held. You even like being touched." "It doesn't start . . . until later. When things heat up." Mac was silent for a minute. "When does it start?" The tears had stopped, but her cheeks were still wet. "When it starts looking like it's going to lead to sex. When he starts wanting me to . . . to touch him." "You're afraid of his penis." Rachel chewed on her lip. She nodded. "I'm not so traumatized that I'm stupid, Mac. I know what it is. I'm afraid of being forced again." "Raped, Rachel. You're afraid of being raped. Call it what it is." She was silent, unable to say it. “Maybe a therapist could help—” Rachel shook her head. “No. “But—” “No,” she said again so firmly that it closed the topic. Damaged as she was, he still wanted her. But even if he couldn't have her, he rebelled at the thought of her not being able to have the life she wanted. She deserved better. "You remember what I said about muscle memory?" She nodded. "When we played poker." "Yes. You've got a muscle memory that's laid fear down bone-deep inside you. If you want to get past it, you're going to have to create new memories to override them." Maybe he could help her. Maybe.

"Do you want to get past it?" "Of course, I do," she said as though it was the stupidest question. Which of course it was. "Then you need to make friends with a man's body." Rachel's barked laughter held no amusement. "I'm serious," Mac said. He paused, working up his courage to ask the next question, preparing himself to hear the answer he didn't want. "Do you trust me?" She answered without hesitation. "Yes." Mac let out his breath slowly, not wanting to reveal the relief he felt at her answer. Then he pushed again. "I mean it, Rachel. Do you trust me?" She didn't respond so quickly this time. She searched his eyes before she said, "Yes." Mac swallowed. What that slime ball had done to her made him livid, but he didn't dare let her see his anger, afraid he would scare her. "I want to help you, but I don't know if I'm the right one to do it. If you aren't attracted to me, it could just make matters worse." "I don't see how it could get any worse." "I do. This time you'll have choices. You'll need to make those choices for the right reasons." It had been a long time, but Mac remembered the long talks he and Claudia had had about the therapy she'd sought after she'd divorced her abusive husband. He remembered how it had helped her, and he wanted to help Rachel put her past behind her. "So . . . If you didn't have this problem, do you think you'd be attracted to me?" She gave him another of her 'that's a stupid question' looks. "I already have this problem, Mac, and I'm still attracted to you." Mac drew a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it slowly. What was she going to think of the ideas that were already forming in his mind? "I'm going to take off my clothes, and I want you to look at me." "What?" He'd managed to shock her the way even Zach hadn't done at the reception. "Just look. That's all." He started unbuttoning his shirt. "I want you to look at me until you're not scared anymore. Until you're bored with what you see." Her earlier tears seemed to have blunted her emotions, washing away the fiercest reactions, but his suggestion seemed to evoke a mild panic. Wide eyed, she protested, "I don't know, Mac. I'm not ready." "We've got to start somewhere, Rachel." She followed him to the far end of the living room-kitchenette where he tossed his shirt on a chair. "Aren't you even a little curious?" "I—I—I guess . . . I'll try." She bit her lip and looked away, her chest rising in short, quick breaths. Mac sat on the edge of the chair and pulled off his boots, then stood, unzipped his jeans, shoved them down, and kicked them off, pretending the whole time not to notice her quick glances in his direction. His skivvies followed. He picked them up from the floor, letting her see his backside in motion, and put them in the chair on top of his shirt. Then he turned and let her look. He hadn't realized he wouldn't know what to do with his hands. The most natural position for them seemed to be clasped in front of him, but that blocked what she most needed to see. Putting his fists on his hips felt too aggressive and

crossing his arms over his chest too defensive. He ended up lacing his fingers at the base of his skull, his elbows crooked on either side of his head like blinders on a horse. He could see her kitchen clock from where he stood, so even though it seemed a lot longer, it only took her about ten minutes before she overcame her shyness and let her gaze travel over his body. It skittered away from his loins several times before she finally focused on his genitals. He'd lost his hard-on, though he wasn't as flaccid as she probably thought. Mac was grateful he'd started working out when Gloria moved out. He'd have been mortified for Rachel to see him with love handles. Rachel grew bolder, taking a step closer. Under her scrutiny, he could feel the blood starting for his penis again. Looking for a distraction, he started mentally compiling his weekly order for the bar back home. So many kegs, the number of cases of beers and various brands of liquor. It seemed to help, so he started on the beef jerky, nuts, and chips. His stomach growled. Rachel looked at him in surprise, then they both laughed. "Should I feed you?" she asked with a smile. "No," Mac said. "I can feed myself." Then he remembered the only meal she ate at home was breakfast. "If you've got anything in kitchen to eat." "There's eggs. And bacon." "Bacon's out. You should never fry bacon naked. Is there bread?" Rachel nodded. Mac heated butter in Rachel's cast iron skillet, then cracked an egg into it. "Do you want one?" "I'm fine.” Her voice wobbled slightly. She was probably too nervous to eat, Mac thought. But nervous wasn't panic. He took it as a good sign. He was aware of her eyes on him as he spread mayo on a couple of slices of bread. When the egg was done, he ladled it on the bread, topped it with a slice of cheese, laced it with catsup, and ate it leaning against the kitchen sink. "There's milk if you want a glass," she said with hardly a wobble in her voice at all. His mouth full, Mac nodded. She reached around him to get a glass from the cupboard, almost as though she had naked men in her kitchen every day. "Are you bored yet?" Mac asked as he chewed. "What?" She seemed surprised by the question. "With looking at you?" Mac nodded. "No. I'm . . . surprisingly comfortable." "Anything you're curious about?" Her eyes slid away. "Hmm," was all he said. After he washed the sandwich down with milk, Mac led Rachel back to her narrow bed where he laid down on his back. "Okay. Do anything you want. You're in control. Whatever you want to do, do it." Rachel stood awkwardly beside the bed until he caught her hand. He scooted over and pulled her down beside him. She propped her head on her fist and just looked at him. He sighed and took her hand again, laying it on his chest.

Her gaze turned inward. "I can feel your heart beating." "Is it racing?" "No." "Then you're safe." "What do I do if starts?" she asked, looking into his eyes. "Douse me with cold water." That got a smile tugging at her lips. "The hose is a long ways away." An idea wiggled its way into Mac's brain. Rachel's smile faltered. "Your heart's beating faster." "I've got an idea." She followed him into the bathroom. Mac turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature when the hot water reached the showerhead. "We're going to take a shower." "Together?" "Yes. Except you get to keep your clothes on. Will any of that shrink in hot water?" he asked, though he knew it wouldn't. "No." "Damn." Mac got in, cut the flow so the hot water would last longer, adjusted the head as close to straight down as possible, then held the shower curtain for her. After a moment's hesitation, she joined him. Mac turned under the spray, getting wet on both sides before he dunked his head. Standing beyond the main flow, Rachel only caught what bounced off him, until he shook his head like a wet dog. She squealed with surprise. Mac grinned and handed her the soap. "What do you want me to do with this?" She looked as though she hoped he'd give an answer other than what she expected. "You're a bright girl. What do you think I want you to do with it?" He turned around. "You can start with my back." He waited while she made up her mind then felt the soap in her hands as she started lathering his back. Long before she moved on, his back was cleaner than it had been in his entire life. Slowly, her hands slid downward. At the last minute, she leapfrogged over his butt and soaped his legs. Though it never completely disappeared, his erection waxed and waned depending on what her hands were soaping. "How are you doing down there?" "All right." But she didn't sound too sure. "Do you want to stop?" "No. I want to get through this." "You make it sound like a chore." "It's not that bad," she said as her hands slid up, but she still sounded grim. He couldn't stop his cheeks from clenching as she slid the soap over them. He started regretting the

impulse that had led them there as he got harder again. He couldn't remember how many cases of beer he typically ordered. Would he scare her when he turned around? "All right. You're backside's done." Mac sighed, then swallowed. "Turn," Rachel said impatiently. He turned and the soap hit the floor of the shower.

Chapter Ten He was bigger than she'd expected. Blushing furiously, Rachel went to one knee for the soap. It slipped repeatedly out of her hands until Mac caught it under his foot and held it for her. He had long, slender feet with dark, wiry hair on his toes. The tendons and muscles were more prominent than on a woman's feet. The hair on his legs grew thinner at his ankles as though socks kept down the growth. She almost forgot what had driven her down there—until she looked up and realized her face was level with his groin. She landed hard on her butt. Thank God Mac squatted instead of bending over. "Are you okay?" "I think so." The shower hit her full force, plastering her hair to her head and soaking her clothes. "Can you stand up?" His hands closed on her arms to lift her with him. "I'm sorry. I should have thought . . . I can turn off the hot water if you want to get out for a minute. If you want to continue, that is." Rachel didn't know if his offer was meant to let her take a breather or to let her off the hook permanently. Both offers were so tempting it almost hurt not to accept. But I've come so far so fast! Rachel wanted what he'd promised her. The chance of getting married—of having children had always been so far out of reach. Knowing too well that she might never have this chance again, she swallowed and said, "I don't want to stop." "Okay. If you'll step out—" "No." He looked confused. "This is the part I need to get over. You need to be . . ." she swallowed and forced the word out of her mouth. "Hard." Mac tilted her head back and searched her eyes. When he was satisfied, he dropped the soap into her hand. Now that she'd committed herself, her courage retreated. She started soaping his chest. The weight of the water slicked down the normally curly hair. It marked him as masculine and, in spite of the spike of fear that caused, she also liked it. She found the top of his appendectomy scar and traced it, abandoning it when it brought her too close to his erection. Wanting to go there but too afraid, she closed her eyes. "Don't push yourself," Mac said as though reading her mind. "You can just look for a while, if you want. At least until we run out of hot water. After that, there won't be much to see." She opened her eyes and saw the smile on his lips. "The hot water tank was salvaged from a remodel of one of the big houses on Broadway," she told him. "It'll last a while." "That's good to know."

Rachel stood back and watched the water pelt him. It wasn't so scary. She knew she'd change her mind if he pressed her, but standing there, he—both Mac and his erection—didn't set off any alarm bells. "Are you circumcised?" His eyebrows rose and his lips curled in amusement. "Yes." The question seemed to surprise him, but her experience was so limited she'd needed to ask to know for sure. "Can I—can I touch it?" Mac took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before he nodded. She touched the head with one finger. "It's soft—velvety," she said in surprise. "Like a horse's nose." Mac chuckled. A little breathlessly, Rachel thought. "That's a new comparison," he said. The head was shiny and smooth, contrasting sharply with the shaft and its prominent veins. She ran a finger around the ridge between the two. Mac drew a sharp breath. She knew it wasn't the sound of pain, but she still had to fight not to jerk her hand back. Rachel trailed a finger down his wet shaft—it was much thicker than she'd expected—to his pubic hair and testicles. She felt one, wondering at the feel of something round inside, realizing only then why they were called balls. To see him better, she dropped to one knee. Above her, Mac shifted to stand between her and the spray from the shower then braced his arms against the sides of the shower stall. "It's not going to wash itself," he finally said. Rachel had forgotten about the soap. She rubbed it between her hands to work up a lather. It had been a stroke of genius for him to ask her to wash him. It gave her an excuse to touch every part of him without too much embarrassment. When she reached for his penis, it moved, practically jumping into her hand. Rachel squeaked with surprise and pulled back, barely stopping herself from falling on her butt again. "Sorry," Mac said between gritted teeth. He took a breath. "Involuntary muscle spasm. I'll try to control that." Rachel realized that, in its own way, this was just as difficult for him as it was for her. Strangely, that knowledge gave her confidence. She started soaping him. It was as an unexpected combination, slick and hard. Rachel tapped the goal-oriented piece of her personality. As long as she kept the goal of cleanliness in the front of her mind, it almost made handling him an impersonal task. When she'd soaped every angle and crevice, she looked up into his face. He was staring blindly at the wall opposite him, breathing like a freight train running late. "Rinse," she said. It took him a few seconds to peel his hands off the walls. He turned and let the water sluice down his front. She took the opportunity to lather his butt cheeks again. Bolder this time, she slid the soap between his legs. He reached back and caught her wrist. "Give me minute."

Rachel smiled and waited, catching reflected spray off the shower door, but Mac made a pretty decent umbrella. How strange, she thought, not to be afraid of him. He was breathing easier when he finally turned to rinse his backside again. She was still on her knees when he turned again. He'd felt so different than she'd expected. What would he taste like? She leaned forward. He caught her head, stopping her. "No." "You said whatever I wanted." "Not that." "Why?" "That's . . ." he swallowed hard, "too advanced." "You're afraid you'll come in my mouth." "You might not like it. A lot of women don't." "Did Gloria?" She didn't know why she'd asked that, and she was sorry when he said "No" and his face shut off his emotions. Water dripped from his face onto her as his hands urged her up. She let him lift her to her feet. "I want to see." "See what?" "I want to see you . . . ejaculate." The formal word helped keep it impersonal. "I want to see what drives you men. Show me how to do it." His head fell back. Water ran down his face, through his hair. She wondered what he was thinking. "Give me your hand," he said at last. Mac folded her hand around his erection, then wrapped his hand around hers, guiding her up and down his shaft. "It's like priming a pump," Rachel said. "That's exactly what it is." Mac braced one hand on the wall behind her, leaning into her, his breath feathering her short hair as water beat down on his back. He let her pump him, resting the hand that had guided her on her shoulder. When his head dropped into the crook of her neck, his breath blowing hot on her collar bone each time he groaned, she knew he was close. His hand closed over hers again, forcing her to hold him tighter, to stroke him faster. When he started shaking, she thought his knees were going to give way. Creamy fluid spurted from his penis. He spurted again at the top of the next stroke. And again. The hair on his chest and belly glistened with it. His hand fell away from hers as he sagged against her, but he caught himself. "Don't get any on you," he murmured. She blinked the shower spray away as she smoothed his water-slicked hair, awed by where her trust in him had taken them. ~* * *~

Rachel changed into dry clothes while he washed yet again. It was odd, she thought, how much sexual satisfaction looked like suffering. If it wasn't something men pursued so singlemindedly, the sounds he made and the way he shook would have convinced her he was in pain. When he stepped out of the shower, he wrapped an arm around her neck and kissed her hair. "Thank you." She had the urge to mother him. "Are you hungry?" Mac shook his head. "Would you mind if I took a nap?" "Of course not." If he wasn't hungry, she was. By the time she finished a grilled cheese sandwich, Mac was asleep on her narrow bed. For the first time—in how long?—she had hope. The foregone conclusion that she would end up the maiden aunt to her future nieces and nephews had retreated just a little. Could she learn to tolerate a man's desires? Maybe even learn to like it the way other women did? Rachel sighed. She was still a long way away from that. While Mac slept, she threw her wet clothes in the washer along with about half of what she unpacked, then decided there wasn't enough to run the machine. She turned the CD player at the end of the kitchen counter on low and started washing the few dishes they'd dirtied since getting home. Waylon started singing Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line. Was it wrong, what she was doing? Her mother taught her daughters to expect a man to respect their boundaries. That they should save themselves for marriage. A man won't buy the cow when he could get the milk for free. Her mother had never put it that way, but that had been the message. But Rachel's world was different. Wasn't it? She was pretty sure Sol's ex-wife Georgia had been a virgin when they'd run off to get married, but Maddie had been ready to give away the whole farm the night she met Zachariah and that had worked out. Zach was crazy about her. Wrong or not, Rachel needed what Mac was offering. She would walk the tightrope somewhere between Georgia and Maddie because she had to in order to get the family she wanted. And the babies she craved and that would earn her mother's approval. Maybe this would be the one case where two wrongs made a right. She would just have to pray her mother never found out. Rachel was drying the cast iron skillet when it slipped from her hands, banging loudly on the floor. She feared she might have woken Mac, but he didn't appear to have even twitched. He'd rolled onto his back, exposing his shrunken penis. Rachel poked his ribs, and like the well-trained husband he'd been for so long, he made room, even in his sleep, for her on the bed. Scooting down in the bed, Rachel propped her head on her hand and examined his genitals. He'd been bone hard in the shower. Now his penis looked almost comical, curled limply between his legs as it was, like a baby bird, featherless and naked, in a nest of curly hair.

She glanced at Mac to be sure he still slept, then slid her hand under his flaccid penis. It flopped one way, then the other as she examined it. It was so non-threatening, it was hard to believe this was what she'd stroked in the shower. She glanced guiltily at Mac again, then leaned forward. He smelled clean but with a hint of mustiness that wasn't quite like anything she was familiar with. Cautiously, she touched the head with the tip of her tongue. That was all she'd intended to do in the shower before Mac over-reacted. Freshly showered, he wasn't even salty. She licked the floppy shaft, tasting him again. In spite of what Mac thought, she never would have tried to put him in her mouth, not the way he'd been in the shower. But this . . . this would fit. She slid further down the bed before she covered him with her mouth, rolling him around on her tongue. His penis lost some of its limpness. Rachel closed her hand around the shaft to hold him steady and tasted the slit in the top, opening him with her tongue. He firmed up in her hand. She slid her tongue around the ridge of the head, feeling the contour and texture of it, exploring it. He was too large to fit all the way in her mouth now. She licked the shaft instead, slowly tracing the large vein that was now prominent. When she looked up, Mac watched her with the rapt expression of a man unable to say no. He no longer looked like he even wanted to. ~* * *~ Mac could hardly breathe, let alone move to stop her. Her mouth was hot and wet and the sight of her tongue on him tightened his balls. Gloria had stopped giving him blow jobs by their second anniversary, and he couldn't even remember what she'd looked like with his cock in her mouth, but he didn't think he'd ever forget the way Rachel looked. He'd have to stop her before he came, but selfishly, he hoped she didn't stop before she brought him to the brink. Rachel lifted her head and asked, "Am I doing this right?" "Oh, God," Mac breathed. "I don't think there's a wrong way to do it." Rachel licked him from stem to stern, and in her eyes, he saw the discovery that she had power over him. "Is that good? Or is this better?" She took the head of his penis in her mouth. Mac drew air in through his teeth. "Suck on it, Baby." Her eyes grew wide for a second, but she did as he instructed. "Harder." Rachel increased the pressure. "Oh," was all he could say. He thrust his hips forward, pushing deeper into her mouth, then pulled back, showing her how to prime the pump. She learned quickly. Suddenly, he was on the edge. He grasped his shaft below her mouth, pushing her off with the first stroke. His other hand on her shoulder pulled her out of the line of fire as he finished the job she'd begun. He squirted semen onto his chest and belly then just lay there, breathing hard, feeling good all the way to his toes.

When his heart slowed and he was able to focus again, her head was propped on her open palm, her eyes fastened on his chest in fascination. Her slender finger hovered a moment before she touched him. She rubbed his semen between her thumb and her second and third fingers, feeling the slipperiness of it. When she tasted her finger, Mac's breath caught in his throat. He winced when her face wrinkled in distaste. "I warned you." "It's not that bad. I mean, it's never going to bump lobster off anyone's menu, but it's no worse than the first time I tasted beer." "You drink your beer red," Mac reminded her. "Maybe I could mix it with tomato juice in my mouth." Relieved she wasn't completely repulsed, Mac laughed. "It's really not that bad, Mac." "I'll take your word for it." She tipped her head, a challenging look on her face. Before he could stop her, she dropped her face. With her curled tongue, she captured a bead of semen from his belly where the hair was thinner. Holding her tongue out, she scooted up the bed. "Thay Ah." Reluctantly, but strangely fascinated, Mac held out his tongue. She licked it, spreading his semen across his taste buds. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, but she was right. It would never replace lobster. She licked her way into his mouth. He closed his lips on her tongue and sucked on it. When he let go, she kept on kissing him. He wanted to drag her under him and kiss her until she couldn't breathe, but he held back. He was supposed to be helping her get past her fears. Instead, he was reaping all the benefits. Even if she wanted him right now, he didn't think he could get it up again. He broke away from the kiss. "I'm going to take another shower." "You're going to get me in trouble for not conserving water," Rachel teased. "You're blaming me?" Rachel cocked an eyebrow at him. "Go ahead," Mac said, heading for the bathroom. "Send the water police after me. It's worth it." From the bathroom, he yelled, "And whoever called you a cock tease didn't know what the hell he was talking about." ~* * *~ Smiling to herself, Rachel braced her shoulders against the headboard and watched Mac shuffle into the bathroom. She didn't recognize herself. Who was this woman who'd just brought a man to orgasm twice and barely felt any fear? When he yelled his benediction from the bathroom, her smile widened to a grin. There was hope. She felt invincible, as though anything she wanted was possible. As long as Mac was there to help her through it.

Rachel sat bolt upright. Was she brave enough to try for it all? If she was, she was missing a golden opportunity. She jumped off the bed and headed for the bathroom before she could scare herself by thinking about it too hard. ~* * *~ Mac washed his chest, then braced his arms against the stall walls, letting the water flow over his bent head. Rachel seemed to have made friends a little too well with his penis. He was afraid to go back to the bedroom. Afraid she'd want to explore him some more. After all, he wasn't twenty anymore. How many years had it been since he'd had more than one orgasm in just a few hours? He didn't want to think about it. A cool breeze washed over his butt. "Need someone to wash your back, cowboy?" God, no. "My back's clean." "Are you sure?" Rachel's arms wrapped around his chest. Mac jerked when her bare breasts pressed against his back. His head met the showerhead with bone bruising force. "Ow!" Rubbing the injured spot, he turned. His breath rasped and his mouth fell open. She was as naked as he was. It only took his penis a moment to stir, casting doubts on his estimation of only moments before about his abilities. "Wha . . . Ho . . . You . . ." Mac stopped and swallowed. "Are you sure you're ready?" "I'm afraid I'll lose my nerve if I wait." His penis was interested, but it wasn't twenty anymore either. The erection was sluggish in coming. That was probably a good thing, Mac decided. In spite of what she thought, she wasn't ready for intercourse. He gaped at her, struggling for a solution. Then he remembered a two-step stool in the corner of her kitchen. She probably used it to reach the higher shelves, though with as little cooking as she did, he couldn't imagine she used it often. "Wait here a minute." The stool was about twenty inches high. Mac washed it off, then sat her on it. He knelt in front of her and looked into her wide eyes. There was fear there but also trust. The trust twisted his heart, reminding him he needed to proceed carefully. The pink nipples on her full breasts were erect, with anticipation, with fear, or maybe just with cold. Mac adjusted the warm spray so it hit the wall above her head. Back on his knees in front of her, he wrapped his hands around her rib cage, thumbing the nipples. The aureoles puckered as her nipples lifted higher. Rachel gasped when he took one in his mouth. Her body shook when he sucked on it. What idiot had called her frigid? He gave equal time to the other breast, then worked his way down. The skin over her abdomen quivered when he ran his tongue over it. "Spread your legs, baby."

"Mac . . . I . . ." He looked up. "Do you trust me?" She took a sharp breath. "Yes." Mac didn't think she was as sure as she'd been earlier, but her legs opened. As he leaned forward, intent on exploring her with his tongue, Rachel tried to close her knees, but it was too late. He found her clitoris and tongued it, pulling another, deeper gasp from her. Her body was tense, but somewhere along the line, as he licked and sucked and tongued her, it went from nervous tension to anticipation to full-blown sexual tension. He wanted to blow her out of the water, but his sluggish blood had finally found its way to his erection. He hated to disappoint it when it had made such an effort. Her legs were tight around his ears, when he pulled back. A whimper of protest escaped her. "Stand up." He pulled her to her feet with him, kicked the stool aside, then grabbed the soap and lathered his erection. When it was slick with soap, he said, "Part your legs. Just a little." "Mac?" Rachel was breathing hard. The fear was back in her eyes. "I'm not going to penetrate you. You've trusted me this far. Trust me a litter farther." She moved one foot, giving him the space he'd asked for. Mac pushed his penis down and slid it horizontally between her legs. Her hands grabbed his biceps. "Close your legs." He clasped the cheeks of her butt to hold her steady, then pushed his hips forward. With the advantage of his height, when he pulled back, his erection stroked her clitoris. Rachel gasped against his shoulder. "That's it." Mac dropped his head and kissed her neck. She started moving with him. He thought she was miles ahead of him, but so close to penetration, he was catching up quickly. Her nails dug into his muscles, but he didn't care. He couldn't have stopped if the house were on fire around them. Her hot juices covered him as he parted her nether lips with each stroke. Her little kitten noises were almost continuous. When she cried out and pressed her legs together hard, he knew she was coming. The pleasure that gave him pushed him over the edge. His ejaculation started, hitting the wall behind her. When he stroked again, his knees bent, his primitive urges taking over, trying, against all reason, to penetrate her. He didn't succeed. They fell back against the wall, neither of them steady on their legs. "Oh, God," Rachel breathed. His sentiments exactly. He kissed her temple. "What was that?" Rachel asked. "That's what's called an orgasm, honey." "No, I mean . . ." she swallowed between breaths. "Did we just have sex?" Mac smiled and laid his cheek against her temple. "That depends on who you ask." She clung to him. "It's called femoral sex," he said.

"Whatever it's called, it's good." "For me, too. I hope you still think it was worthwhile when you realize your backside is covered with semen." "What?" "It's all over the wall." Rachel started laughing. "What?" "If you'd told me this morning that I was going to have semen smeared all over me before the day was over, I'd have called you crazy. And I would never have let you in the door." "Are you sorry you did?" "Stop fishing for compliments, Mac. You know I'm not." Mac smiled as they washed one more time. Being clean had never been so much fun.

Chapter Eleven The sun was streaming in through the bedroom window when Rachel opened her eyes. She stretched languidly before glancing at the clock. The time display brought her bolt upright. Mac's arm, which had been draped across her bare chest, fell to her lap, then thumped onto the mattress as she jumped out of bed. "What . . . ? Where are you going?" "I'm late for work!" Already at the closet, Rachel pulled on a skirt even as she reached for a white blouse. Mac propped his head on his hand. Rachel pretended not to notice him watching as she fastened her bra, the blouse gripped in her teeth. "Couldn't you call in sick?" She shrugged into the blouse. "Oh, God. Wouldn't I love to." Still buttoning it, she came back to the bed, leaned over, and kissed him. His hand caressed her breast through the light fabric. With a frustrated moan, she pulled away, but he caught her wrist. "Come here." Rachel resisted his attempt to pull her back. "Mac, I don't have time, and I never take sick days. If I did, Claudia would be on my doorstep by noon with chicken soup or something." "Come here," Mac insisted, pulling her back. He reached for the front of her shirt with both hands. "You've buttoned yourself crooked." Rachel forced herself to sit quietly on the edge of the bed as he refastened the blouse, intensely aware of the warmth of his hands through the fabric as he moved from button to button. "Don't forget panties," he said when he was done. "I've been dressing myself for a while now, Mac." "How many years have you been dressing yourself after a night of wild, sweaty, but very clean sex?" "We didn't have a night of wild sex," Rachel pointed out as she stepped into a pair of panties. "We had an afternoon and evening of wild, very hot foreplay, of which you reaped most of the benefit." They had in fact spent the night sleeping off the satisfied exhaustion of the previous day. "Not my fault. You kept insisting." He rolled onto his back. "You took terrible advantage of me." The tenting of the sheet told another story. Rachel snorted. "If that's the way you want to tell it." "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it." He grinned. "Do you want to let me take advantage of you again tonight?" Rachel asked lightly as she pulled on her concierge jacket. "Maybe we could actually manage . . ." "Honey, you are going to kill me." But he didn't sound too upset at the prospect. "Is that a no?" Rachel tried not to sound disappointed. "Hell, no, it's not a no. It's how every man wants to go." Relieved, Rachel smiled. She came back to the bed to kiss him again. "I've got to go, Mac."

He kissed her hard, his tongue in her mouth. Her lips felt bruised when he fell back onto the bed. "I need to let Claudia know I'm back anyway." Rachel's heart jumped. "Mac, you can't tell her." "What? That I'm back?" "No. You can't tell her about us. About this." He looked surprised. "You don't want her to know?" Rachel shook her head. "Promise me. Promise you won't tell her." His eyes held hers as if he were checking to see how serious she was. Slowly, he nodded. "It's just as well. She might say something in front of Jake if she knew. He didn't like the idea of me screwing you on a dance floor; I doubt he'd care at all for this." Rachel breathed a sigh of relief, kissed him goodbye one more time, and headed out the door to work. ~* * *~ When Mac pulled away from Rachel's curb, he was sexually satisfied and emotionally content. He couldn't remember the last time those two states had coexisted. He wanted to bask in it, so instead of heading for the hotel, he drove around Galveston, exploring side streets and watching the city come to life. A couple of times, he crossed through an area off the beaten path that had older homes, many of which had been converted to small shops or sole owner law offices. It was the kind of neighborhood tourists skipped over but it appealed to him. He was nearly past a large, squat stucco house that had been converted to a craft shop when he slammed on the brakes. The side lawn had been converted to parking, which was a plus, but what made Mac stop was the For Sale sign and the vision of a little neighborhood bar. Would the zoning work? He didn't actually need a hard liquor license if he could get beer and wine. Good grief! What was he thinking? He had a bar waiting for him in Colorado. Except he was bored with it. That doesn't matter. It's the family bar and one of us has to be close to Mom. He looked at the building again. Damn, this would make a great little bar. He already had the perfect name for it. The Port Bar. Because in Rachel, he'd found his port in the storm that was his divorce. He put the pickup in gear, regretfully dismissing the idea. ~* * *~ "You missed breakfast." Rachel picked up the cream cheese Danish Mac had just dropped by the concierge station. Was it her gung ho competence that discouraged anyone from thinking she might need someone to feed her when she started out running late. Not that she actually needed that kind of care; one missed meal wasn't going to kill her, but it sure felt nice. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day if you want to keep your strength up," he said. "Always thinking about yourself," Rachel teased. He leaned on the desk. "You look happy. A little like the Cheshire Cat." "I can't seem to stop smiling," Rachel admitted.

"You better be careful." Mac's grin was a little dopey, too. "People will think you have a lover." Rachel's breath caught. "Do I?" "Now who's fishing?" The realization that she did indeed have a lover made the room tilt. Hell, it tilted her whole world. Someday. Someday, I might have a lover who's also my husband. "Have lunch with me?" Mac asked, completely unaware he'd just changed everything. "I can't. I've got a mountain of things I need to catch up on." "A quick lunch then. Here in the hotel. We can order ahead, so we don't have to wait." Surely, she could spare that much time, Rachel thought, still reeling. "All right. Order the pasta salad for me." "That's no way to eat." He leaned further over the counter. "Protein's what you need. You do want to keep your strength up, don't you?" "Keep her strength up for what?" Claudia asked, coming up on their blind side. Rachel looked at Mac in panic as he straightened up abruptly. She couldn't think of a single logical reason to give Claudia, and from the look on Mac's face, neither could he. "Poker," Mac blurted. "Rachel wants to be able to clean out her brothers next time she goes home." "How much strength do you think it takes to hold a few cards, Mac?" "Mental strength. She needs mental strength. So she can beat them." Rachel wanted to hide under the desk. "You two are up to something, aren't you?" To Rachel, she added, "For a poker player, he really is a lousy liar." "You're right," Rachel said. "I don't know why he just told you that ridiculous story anyway. He's decided he's not interested in Cheryl enough to kiss her, so he wants me to start going out to the bars with him to scope out someone new, since he still needs to get a kiss. If it wasn't for that stupid bargain . . ." "I thought it was three kisses now?" Claudia said. "You're right," Rachel said, hoping to heaven Claudia wouldn't question why she'd messed up on the count and where Mac might have gotten two kisses. "You're not really going to baby-sit him that long, are you?" Claudia asked. "A deal's a deal," Mac said, recovering enough to play along. "She didn't have to agree to it." Claudia rolled her eyes. "If you're going to eat lunch here, I'd love to hear how things went at the wedding." "It was a wedding," Rachel said with a shrug. "Just like any other wedding." "Nothing your family does is 'just like' anyone else." "I'll say," Mac muttered. Rachel flared her eyes at Mac in warning. "So something did happen. Tell me, tell me," Claudia said. "Mac, no!" Rachel said aghast. Claudia turned to her. "You know sometimes I think Jake's right and you're just a kill-joy."

Mac said, "Let's leave it for lunch, okay, Sis?" Rachel looked up and saw a young couple, looking as though they wanted to approach her but were waiting for the crowd at the concierge station to thin out. "Scram, you two. I've got guests to serve." "Okay. I'll wait until lunch," Claudia warned, "but it had better be juicy." ~* * *~ "I'm starving," Rachel said as she slipped into the chair beside Mac. Her pasta salad was already on the table. "You should have ordered something high protein. Like I did," Mac said. He was already half way through his chicken fried steak. "You know this therapy thing could take a while." His eyes sparkled as he teased her. "You're hoping it takes a while." "I have to make sure you're not going to relapse before I turn you loose on the world, don't I?" He put a bite in his mouth and chewed. "I like this dining room," he said when his mouth was empty. "It's classy with all the white tablecloths and linen napkins. The tablecloths are especially nice, the way they hang so far over the edge of the table." "Mac, what are you talking about?" "Just making conversation." Rachel took a sip of her water to cover her confusion. He'd seemed fine that morning, and she'd been sure he was teasing her with innuendos just moments before, but maybe she'd misinterpreted his comment. Was he having second thoughts? What if he'd meant that she couldn't expect him to stick around if she took too long to get over her fears? Was he bored already, now that the thrill of the initial conquest was over? "You look nice," Mac said. Her throat hurt when she swallowed. She put her glass down carefully. "Thanks," she said without looking at him. "But I don't like your skirt." Rachel focused on getting pasta on her fork. She didn't know how she was going to swallow it. Mac leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. "Rach, are you all right?" "I'm fine." She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble, Mac. I'm sorry I'm not what you're used to in bed." Mac turned sideways in his chair and leaned toward her. "Honey, where did you ever get the idea you're too much trouble? And I couldn't be more grateful you're not what I'm used to in bed." She found the courage to look at him. "But . . . you just said . . . And the small talk . . . You've never just talked about nothing." "Can't you tell when I'm teasing? Don't you know when I'm leading up to something? I do like the tablecloths. And I hate your skirt. It's too tight." He laid a hand on her knee. "If it were fuller, I'd have my hand all the way up it by now." His fingers tickled the inside of her thigh. "And the tablecloths are long enough no one would know." "Mac!" Her tone chastised him for his boldness, but inside, her stomach flip-flopped.

"You know, I think I like it when you pretend you're shocked." His eyes dropped and her gaze followed. Her nipples were erect enough to be faintly visible through both her bra and blouse. "Are those tic-tacs in your pockets, or are you just glad to see me? Oops." His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes smiling wickedly. "You don't have pockets in your shirt." "Mac!" But her tone was considerably less harsh. "If you didn't work here, I'd be sucking your nipples through your shirt right now." He wiggled the hand on her thigh, putting extra strain on the seams but getting half an inch further up. Rachel felt a tingle up high between her thighs as though her flesh was getting ready for his touch. "Sorry, I'm late." Claudia slid into the chair across from Rachel. Mac pulled his hand out of her skirt and turned in his chair to face his sister, his poker face sliding into place. Rachel wished she had one. She felt a little stunned by the roller coaster ride her emotions had just taken. "Were you two just telling secrets, or is my disreputable brother trying to talk you into something?" "Neither," Mac said. "We were talking about the wedding." In a way, he was telling the truth, Rachel thought, but he was also hiding the truth the same way the tablecloth had hidden what he'd really been doing. "So tell me! What happened?" "Let's just say the groom was having some difficulty keeping his hands off the bride." "Mac!" Rachel said in warning. "You're really not going to let him tell me, are you?" "And the bride's pregnant," Mac added. "Really? Already?" What had she been thinking when she'd blabbed that? Rachel leaned across the table. "You can't tell anyone," she said intensely, so Claudia would understand how serious she was. "No one knows yet. I mean it. Jake can't walk in and hear about this from Pete." "How long do I have to keep this to myself?" "At least until Mama decides to tell everyone else." "She won't tell people right away?" "No. She won't want people saying Maddie trapped Zach." "Do you think she did?" Mac snorted. "If you ask me, whatever trapping there was, he did it," he said, putting the last bite of steak in his mouth. "What makes you think that?" Claudia asked. "Hell, you only have to look at him to know he can't see anyone but her," Mac said when he'd swallowed. "That's sweet," Claudia said. "Maybe I'll forgive him for stealing her from me." "You can tell just by looking?" Rachel asked. "Sure. Men can see that in each other. Can't women?"

"Sometimes. I guess. In Maddie's case . . . yes, definitely." Mac's eyes met hers over the rim of his coffee. "He's a lucky man, your brother." Rachel was glad she didn't see any hint that Mac was jealous of her brother's good fortune. "So what did your family think of Mac?" Claudia asked. "They think," Mac answered before Rachel could, "I am a lecherous, divorced man, who has needs and expectations." "Stop teasing, Mac." "No, really," Rachel agreed. "That's about it in a nutshell." Claudia shot Mac a scalding look. "What did you do?" Mac held his hands up in a protest of innocence. "Nothing. They thought that before I even got there. You can ask Jake. He'll tell you." "You didn't do anything to reinforce their opinion?" "Nothing I could have done would have changed their minds." Rachel noticed he didn't exactly answer the question. Claudia was right; Mac didn't tell straight out lies well, but he was a master at evading the need to. "I found out, though, why that opinion is so firmly entrenched," Mac said. Rachel felt her eyebrows go up. "You did?" "Yup. Your brother, Sol." "Well, Sol's divorced but . . ." "And lives in his own trailer a couple of miles from everyone else." "You're saying he takes women there, and that Mama and Daddy know but don't do anything about it?" Rachel said, her voice skeptical. No way was he describing her mother. "What can they do?" Mac said. "He's a man who's tasted the pleasures of the flesh. Your folks have thirteen kids. They're smart enough to know you can't put the genie back in the bottle. The best they can do is isolate him, so he doesn't corrupt the rest of you." "You think you've got them figured out after just one weekend, do you?" "Not me. Your brother, Zach." "Zach said all that to you?" "While we were waiting outside the church." "Oh!" Suddenly, it made sense why her parents hadn't made Sol move back into the house when his marriage had fallen apart in record time ten years earlier. "Did you see that light just go on over her head?" Mac asked Claudia. "And you think I could have changed their opinion in just one weekend?" Mac took another sip of coffee. "I'll always be the letch who's after their daughter's virtue." Under the tablecloth, his hand slid into her lap and started inching up her skirt. Rachel nearly choked on her pasta. "Are you okay?" Mac asked, his face a study of innocence. Unable to speak, Rachel nodded and reached for her water as his fingertips drummed against her tender flesh. ~* * *~

At loose ends after lunch, Mac made a trip to the gym. More energized than he'd been in a long time, he pushed himself, adding more repetitions and weights to his normal workout. While he waited for the last machine he wanted to free up, he thumbed through a stack of magazines someone had left. They were all women's magazines, the kind men wouldn't be caught dead looking at, but the bold teaser on the front of one caught his eye. How to Train Your Man to Please You in Bed! He couldn't resist taking a peek. Skimming it left him disappointed, but an ad on the facing page for erotic oils intrigued him. The shower had been fun, but fresh excuses to touch each other wouldn't hurt. After he showered in his room, Mac found a Galveston phone book and thumbed through the yellow pages, wondering what kind of store he should be looking for. Then he tripped across the lingerie listing. Specialty shops usually carried related items for impulse purchases. He found a listing for a little shop in the downtown area and walked. Except it wasn't a little shop. And they carried far more than lingerie and erotic oils. Mac's first impression was of lots of black and silver. The black all seemed to be leather and the silver was chrome and usually attached to the leather. The two young women behind the counter to his left stopped chatting when the door closed behind him, ringing the bell that hung over it. Mac turned right and made for the far corner. None of the merchandise he passed even registered until he reached the wall. He couldn't figure out what he was looking at until he read the packaging. Nipple Clamps. Ouch. Then he noticed that they came with batteries. Batteries? He read the packaging again. Vibrating Nipple Clamps. Remotely, he saw possibilities, though he wasn't sure Rachel would. And it wasn't what he'd come for. He hoped the oils weren't too tame for a place like this. As he followed the wall around, Mac realized nipple clamps were the least of it. God in heaven, he thought when, near the back, he saw a variety of whips and handcuffs and things he couldn't even imagine what they were for. "May I help you find something?" Mac turned to find a young blonde standing behind him. "Uh, yeah. Uhm . . ." She didn't look old enough to even legally have sex, and here she was, asking to help him find sexual aids. "I, uh . . . I'm looking for some erotic oils," Mac stammered. "Those are over by the cash register," she said with a wide smile. "I'll show you." He followed her across the store, passing all sorts of things he didn't want to look at too closely. "Here they are." And so they were. In more flavors and varieties than he'd ever imagined. "We've got all the standard flavors, plus some special blends if you'd like something more exotic. Personally, I like the tropical fruit flavors. Then there are the pheromone oils." She indicated clusters of colorful bottles as she detailed his options. "These over here get hot when

you blow on them. Some are also hypoallergenic if your wife is sensitive about that sort of thing." All Mac wanted were some nice, flavored oils. That should be easy, or so he'd thought. How was he supposed to choose? Best to play it safe, he decided, and get the hypoallergenic variety. But he liked some of the other options, too. "Do any of the hypoallergenic ones get hot?" he asked. "And taste like tropical fruit?" He could get two out of the three. He settled for what was most likely to please Rachel. The girl found him a variety pack of basic fruit flavors. "Is there something else you need?" When he shook his head, she asked, "Would you like to browse for a while?" Mac shook his head again, then changed his mind. "Do you carry condoms?" He'd bought the smallest package the drug store sold when Jake had told him to get some. If he could get Rachel past her fear, and if she put him through his paces like she had the previous day, it might not be enough. The girl—he couldn't see her as a woman—led him just a few steps away. The drug store had only offered a narrow selection, Mac realized, looking at a large section of wall covered with prophylactics. The girl started through another litany of options: sensitive, latex, lamb skin, extrastrength, glow in the dark, studded and, of course, hypoallergenic. There were more choices, but Mac stopped her. With their combined limited sexual histories, he wasn't worried about diseases. He opted for a sensitive non-latex brand. "What size?" the girl asked as though he would know. "Uh, I'm not sure." Did he see amusement in her eyes? "Let's find out, shall we?" "What?" But she was already walking away. Mac thought about running, but he hadn't paid for the oils yet, so he followed, ready to give up the oils and bolt if she brought out a measuring tape. Instead he found himself in front of a display of dildos and vibrators. She picked one up. "Bigger or smaller?" Mac swallowed, blushing hard. Did she really expect him to point at one and say: There. That's me? And this display was as confusing as the oils and condoms combined. Even if he knew which one to point at, he wasn't sure he could do it in front of this girl who looked like she should be in pigtails and knee socks. Good Lord, he must be getting old. The smile she flashed at him looked sympathetic, even if she was still amused. "Close your eyes." "Why?" "You'll be able to tell better that way." "This isn't pin the tail on the donkey," Mac protested. Or in this case, the dong on the old man. "Trust me. This will help."

Mac took a stabilizing breath and closed his eyes. She wouldn't learn anything useful if she was planning to feel him up; he felt like he'd shriveled to the size of a toothpick. Instead she took his hand and put the shaft of a dildo in it. God, he hoped it was a dildo; it felt awfully real. But at least he knew without having to think that this wasn't a match. "It's not thick enough." "Keep them closed," she said as swapped it for another one. "Still not right," Mac said. "Hm," she said as she took it away. "Lucky woman, your wife." Mac's face went hot. Was he really discussing the size of his penis with a woman he'd never seen before? All he wanted were some damned condoms. Why did they have to make it so difficult? He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to face the girl. "I hate to tell you, but that kind of limits your condom options," the girl said when he okayed the next one she put in his hand. "Limits them how?" "You're going to have to buy one of the larger sizes because of your girth." My girth? he thought, astounded. "I always thought I was about average." The girl smiled, her eyes dancing. "We should all be so lucky." Mac felt as if he blushed from the roots of his hair all the way down to his toes. He paid close attention to the size and brand she selected for him, so he would never have to go through such humiliation again, then paid for it all with cash. No way did he want this showing up on his credit card bill back home.

Chapter Twelve Rachel was disappointed not to find Mac waiting outside when she got home. Especially since she hadn't seen him all afternoon. She'd even had a drink with Claudia when she'd gotten off work, sharing the more mundane family news, hoping he'd come find her. If he hadn't changed his mind, she ought to do some actual grocery shopping. It would only be polite—and beneficial—to feed him, since he ended up drained and exhausted. While she was changing into jeans and a T-shirt, Mac knocked on the door. The bags he carried gave off the enticing aroma of food. "Have you eaten?" he asked. "No. Is that Chinese?" She grabbed the bags out of his hands without waiting for an answer. He snuggled up behind her as she unpacked the bags and started kissing her neck. "The food is for you," Mac said. "I've got my own dinner plans." Rachel knew she was being over-sensitive, but her insecurities made her heart freeze in her chest just as her hands froze on the neck of a bag. "You do?" "Mm-hm. As soon as you've had your dinner, I'm going to eat you." Rachel smiled in relief. The way he was nibbling her neck was unbearably distracting. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" he murmured. "Do what?" she asked. Her hands fell to the countertop and her head tilted, offering her neck as though to a vampire. Her eyes slid closed. "Ravish your neck. You've got the sexiest neck. It should be illegal for you to taunt us poor, helpless men with it." "Oh, Mac!" Rachel sighed. Claudia was wrong; he lied beautifully. His hands slid under her shirt and found her breasts as he nibbled on her ear lobe. "You better eat your dinner before it gets cold"—his breath was hot in her ear—"or before I decide I can't wait." "You're really not going to eat with me?" Rachel asked as he relinquished her neck and breasts. She consoled herself with a whiff from a takeout box that smelled like sweet and sour. "Are you going to give me the kind of workout you did yesterday?" He sounded so hopeful Rachel had to grin. "I'm going to try." "I guess I'd better eat, too, then, so I can keep up my strength." Rachel stared into the bag she'd just opened. "This isn't Chinese food." "Oh, hell," Mac said. "I meant to surprise you with that." Rachel pulled out a package of five colorful bottles and a handful of condoms. She turned to face Mac, letting her expression ask her questions. She was surprised at how red he got. "If you're going to ask where I got them, please don't. I've never been so embarrassed in all my life." Rachel picked up a box of condoms. "Extra Large," she read aloud. "Really?" She asked in a delighted tone. The delight wasn't for herself; she thought she'd be less frightened of small—

if they actually made those. It was for Mac because she understood how men's egos were invested in the size of their penises. "That's what the girl at the store said I should get." "Really?" Rachel repeated, in a completely different tone. "Don't," Mac said. "Don't start thinking that. She never touched me and my pants were zipped the whole time." "Do tell." Rachel crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "Don't make me tell this, Rachel," Mac pleaded. She waited silently. Knowing she had no right to demand an explanation, she still wanted one. Mac closed his eyes, surrender plain on his face. "She made me . . . pick out a dildo." The image of Mac standing in front of a selection of penises, like a witness picking a criminal out of a line-up, was more than Rachel could bear with a straight face. She covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to laugh, but she wasn't going to be able to hold it in. She turned toward the cupboards to pull out a pair of plates, letting the grin take over her face. Then the giggles got her. "It's not funny." "Oh, but it is," Rachel said when she could talk again. She was delighted with how mortified he was. Rachel hated feeling less competent than other people, but with twelve years of marriage behind him, Mac was vastly more experienced than she was. Somehow this felt like it leveled the playing field just a little. She giggled in fits and starts through dinner, to Mac's chagrin at first, but then she coaxed him into telling her more about his little field trip. Soon, they were laughing together. "Have you ever been to a store like that?" Mac asked. "Once. When I had to buy a gift for a wedding shower that had a sexy theme. Claudia and I went together." "What did you buy?" Mac asked. "I don't remember. I think your sister had to pick it out for me." "You came off the farm pretty sheltered, didn't you?" "You met my mama, right?" Rachel said. Mac's eyes got serious. "That's kind of why I'm surprised about you doing this. I mean, now that I have met your mother, I would've expected you to be a wedding night virgin." Rachel took a drink from her glass of water. "It's always been too late for that," she said, avoiding his eyes. Trying not to feel the sharpness of her regret. "You know that, Mac." "Still, I don't see you as someone who'd be interested in sex without commitment." "I'm not." She didn't owe him an explanation, but she gave it to him anyway. "I want children." "Not a husband?" "That would be nice." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "Actually, in my family, that's kind of a prerequisite." "That's what I figured."

"It's kind of hard to have kids though, if you can't let a man get close enough to make any." "So when we've worked through this little problem of yours, you're going to start husband hunting?" "You only offered to help me with this yesterday, and there's no guarantee I'll be able to change, so I haven't really thought about it yet." She took another drink. "But I'll be twentyeight in December. I don't have a lot of time to waste." Mac grinned that devilish grin. "Then I guess we better get started." "We're not making babies here, Mac." "Did you not see the condoms I bought?" "Extra large," Rachel said, with a devilish smile of her own. ~* * *~ Things heated up quickly in the bedroom. Mac used the strawberry flavored oils on her breasts then licked and sucked it off until Rachel quivered every time he even looked at her. He saved the vanilla for between her legs. Heavy breathing, of which he was doing plenty by then, was all it took to heat the oil and elicit a string of startled "oh's" from her. He tongued her until she vibrated like a violin string aching to be plucked, then stopped to reach for a condom. Mac was more than a little surprised—and secretly gratified—at how well it fit. She watched him as he sat on the edge of the bed to put it on. As embarrassed as he'd been in the lingerie shop, he still felt a little like a peacock in front of his peahen, as proud as any imbecilic male that what he had was more than 'average.' Until he saw her face, so expressionless a world class poker player would have paid an ungodly sum for it. "You've turned off," he said, his voice as emotionless as her face. "No." "You are terrible liar, Rachel," Mac said, his disappointment as keen as a player who'd just lost his stake for the big game in a back-alley, penny-ante extravaganza. He wasn't going to give up that easily. Mac started from the top, trying to arouse her again. After an hour, he admitted defeat. He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to think of some approach he hadn't exhausted. "I know I'm frustrating, Mac," Rachel said, leaning against his back. "Thank you for being patient with me." Frustrating didn't begin to cover it, but Mac didn't blame her. Rachel closed her hand around his erection. "What are you doing?" Mac asked. "Just because I'm frigid, you don't have to—" "No," Mac said, moving her hand. She reached for him again. He swatted her hand away as he launched himself off the bed. "I said no!" He couldn't stand how hurt he saw in Rachel's eyes. "But . . . you liked it last night." She paused before adding, "Didn't you?" The pause revealed a deep well of insecurity.

"Last night was different. You were curious. You did it, in spite of what I said, because you wanted to. And I enjoyed the hell out of it. Tonight, you feel obliged, and I've had enough obligatory sex in the last few years to last me the rest of my life." Rachel frowned. How could she possibly understand? "Look, when this happens—and it will—I don't want it tainted with memories of how you serviced me without any passion." "But, Mac—" It was time for some ground rules, Mac decided. "You gave me some good rules when I was trying to figure out how to meet women; I'm going to return the favor now, so pay attention. Rule one: You never, ever do anything with me you don't want to. You tell me no. And if I'm thinking down here," he pointed at his penis, "instead of up here," his finger touched his temple, "you tell me loud." He didn't like the sulky look on her face. "And don't think I won't figure it out later when the testosterone poisoning fades, because I will, and if I figure out you did something to please me instead of yourself, I'm done. You'll be on your own. I'll walk out that door, and I won't come back." "You're bluffing," Rachel's tone was unbelieving. "Try me," he said in his steeliest voice. She searched his eyes. Mac put all the sincerity he could there for her to see. He didn't know himself if he would walk; what mattered was that she believe it. Or at least doubt enough not to test him. "So rule one is to say no if I don't really want to do something. What's rule two?" "I don't know yet," Mac said. "I'm making this up as I go. Maybe we only need one rule." He could always hope. ~* * *~ Most days, Mac ate lunch at the hotel restaurant with Claudia. Occasionally, Rachel joined them. Today Claudia was late and Mac took the opportunity to ask, "Did you ever tell any of the guys you dated?" "Tell them what?" Rachel asked as she shook out her napkin to lay it across her lap. She knew good and well what he was talking about, but if she insisted, he's spell it out. "About being raped." Even though Mac had said it too softly for anyone else to hear, Rachel tensed and looked around fearfully. "I don't want to talk about that." "I'm just asking if you ever—" "No! I never told them. I never told anyone." "Why not?" She looked at him like he was an idiot. "You don't know. Maybe they'd have understood." Rachel bit her lip. "At first, I didn't realize . . ." She reached for a dinner roll, broke it open, and started buttering it. "I didn't even try to date for a couple of years. And then I met a

man at church. He thought I was a good girl. I thought maybe I just wasn't interested enough in him . . . that way. Then I got . . . embarrassed." She kept adding butter to the roll until Mac had to restrain himself from reaching out to stop her. "Then after a while, I realized I didn't want the man I'd marry to think of that every time he touched me." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "And don't tell me it wouldn't be that way. It's there in the room with us. Every time." "Only because we haven't beaten it yet," Mac said. His heart ached for her. She only wanted what most women got. "And baby, there are moments—long moments—when I've completely forgotten everything but how good you feel." He'd been ready to say more, but he lost his train of thought when he saw her nipples harden through her shirt. "Maybe," Rachel said. "But it always comes back. Now that you know, it'll always be there for you." Mac wanted to tell her she was wrong, but Claudia chose that moment to slide into the chair beside Rachel. "I forgot to look at the board," Claudia said. "What's the special today?" Rachel, Mac wanted to say. Rachel's the special every day. ~* * *~ Every night for the rest of the week, he appeared at her door—with pizza or Chinese or some other kind of take-out—and in her bed, hot and horny and, in the end, frustrated enough to chew on the furniture. They'd made so much progress so quickly he suspected they'd both believed he could get through her defenses in a day or two. But she'd been turning off for ten years. He couldn't decide if he'd been naïve or arrogant thinking they'd find a quick cure. Saturday night, Rachel made a rule of her own. "I don't want to try pushing the envelope tonight, Mac. We need a break from the frustration." She faced the cupboards, getting out plates as she spoke, so Mac couldn't read her face. The aroma of the hot fried chicken he'd brought made his stomach growl. "So what do you want to do?" "I want to be satisfied—like the night we got back from the wedding." She kept her focus on her task. Mac still couldn't read her. "Who are you doing this for, Rachel?" "Both of us." He stopped her on her way to the table with a handful of napkins, putting an arm around her and tilting her face to his. "Are you sure this isn't just for me?" "Yes, it's for you. I know how frustrated you've been all week, and I don't want you to give up on me. But it's for me, too. I've been thinking about your muscle memory theory. Every time we get close, I shut down. And it's getting worse." They both knew she was right. At first, she'd shut down whenever he put the condom on, but the night before, it had happened as soon as he reached for one. Mac was starting to think Rachel's fears went deeper than just actual intercourse.

"I need to counter that," Rachel said. "I need you to remind me how incredible it was that first night. How good it feels when I don't hit that wall." He should have thought of this himself, Mac thought, but he'd been too focused on the ultimate goal. He kissed her. "When did you get so smart?" "You'll do it then?" "Just try and stop me." Mac kissed her again. A wet kiss that was as unchaste as he could make it. The napkins fell to the floor and the chicken was cold before they got around to eating it in the wee hours of the morning.

Chapter Thirteen Later that night, as Rachel snuggled against Mac's side, just about to float away into sleep, Mac's voice drifted to her from the darkness. "Do you think I'm too old to be a father?" "Of course not," Rachel murmured. "Men can father children until the day they die." "That's not the same thing as being a father," Mac said. "I'd be well into my fifties before he'd be out of college. Maybe even sixty if I wait much longer. That's a lot of generation gap." Rachel pushed sleep away. "Do you want kids?" she asked. "I mean, you were married for twelve years. If you wanted kids . . ." If her head hadn't been resting on his shoulder, she would have shaken it. "Never mind. It's none of my business." Sleep was lapping at her mind when Mac spoke again. "Neither of us was ready when we got married." His voice was emotionless, as though he was looking back at people he barely knew. "It took a while to realize that when Gloria said she didn't want kids, she meant ever. I don't know. Maybe I thought she'd change her mind. Most likely, it just didn't seem that important to me then." "Maybe she knew she couldn't have children," Rachel offered tentatively. "I worry about that sometimes." "Gloria could conceive." There was more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. Thick with impending sleep, Rachel struggled with the question of what he had to be bitter about. "As to whether she could carry a child to term, I guess I'll never know." It took Rachel's tired mind a moment to sort through the implication of his words. When she did, she sat up and leaned across him to snap on the bedside lamp. "Are you saying she got pregnant and . . . aborted it?" Mac blinked hard when the light clicked on. "Hell. What is it about you that makes me spill my guts like that?" It wasn't fair, Rachel thought. How could Gloria have thrown away what Rachel would give anything to have? Sleep was a million miles away now. "Why didn't you stop her, Mac? How could you let her do that?" Mac surged to his feet, unceremoniously leaving Rachel alone in bed. He was halfway across the room in two strides. "Mac?" She demanded an answer, knowing even as she did that, like a stone skipping across the surface of a lake, her mind was making leaps that might not be touching on all the relevant issues. But there was only one issue she could see. He spun to face her. "I didn't let her, okay?" He wasn't yelling, but he wasn't far from it. "I didn't know. If I hadn't picked up the mail, I'd have never known. I don't even know if that was the only time, because I was too damned scared to ask. I was afraid she'd lie to me." He raked a hand through his hair. "And I was afraid she wouldn't." He paced a few steps and stopped. "I didn't even have the courage to ask if it was mine."

"You think she cheated on you?" Rachel asked, only slightly less appalled by this unexpected possibility. Mac resumed pacing, his hands taking swipes through his hair every few steps. "I don't know. I don't really have any reason to suspect it, but . . . I just wasn't brave enough to know for sure." He stopped pacing and met her gaze. "Do you know what Gloria said when I asked her why we had a bill from Planned Parenthood for a D&C?" Rachel shook her head, knowing she wasn't going to like it. Knowing she'd pushed Mac into the middle of this emotional storm. Knowing she couldn't flinch away from him now. "She said it wasn't any of my business. If it wasn't my business, whose business was it?" He started pacing again. "She aborted a baby. Maybe it was mine. Maybe it wasn't. But I would have loved that kid." He stopped in the open doorway between the bedroom and the kitchen, hooking his fingers on the door frame above his head, his chest heaving like a blacksmith's bellows. Rachel went to him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and laid her cheek against his back. Oh, Mac, her heart cried. Gradually, his breathing calmed. He put a hand over one of hers. "It okay, Rach. It doesn't matter." "Of course it matters, Mac." She pulled him around to face her. "It was a child. It was meant to be loved." Rachel drew him to the chair. She sat on his lap and nestled his head against her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. She could feel waves of misery pouring off him. Gloria couldn't have perplexed Rachel more if she'd been a member of some alien species. Rachel had seen them together when they'd visited his sister. They'd looked like a happily married couple. She'd even been jealous of Gloria, not of Mac specifically, but of the easiness between them. How could she have been married to a great guy like Mac and not want his children? It was beyond Rachel's comprehension. Later, when they were back in bed together, wrapped in the darkness, Rachel lay snuggled against Mac's shoulder, tuned to the tension in his body. It had been slowly dissipating when Mac softly said, "It wasn't just that she'd gotten an abortion that destroyed our marriage. You understand that, don't you?" She didn't. And she hesitated a moment before asking, "What was it then?" His voice was calm. Soft. Almost a part of the velvet darkness that cocooned them. And the heartbeat beneath her hand was slow and regular. "It was that she would make a decision like that without me." Rachel didn't want to risk getting him wound up again, but she still didn't understand. "But if you made that decision when you got married . . . if you agreed then . . ." "But we were supposed to be partners. She should have—" He bit off the rest. "She diminished me. She diminished us by not making me part of the decision. That's what I couldn't get past. She made the decision for both of us. As though what I thought didn't count. It wasn't until later, when I'd had time to think about it, that I regretted the baby."

Rachel knew her own reaction would have been a flip-flop of his—the baby would have been her first consideration—but she could understand Mac's reaction, too. And how sad to not realize you wanted something until it was already out of reach. She could just weep for him. But she didn't. She wrapped him in her arms and held him close until his breath lengthened and she knew he slept at last. ~* * *~ Rachel only scheduled herself to work on Sundays when no one else was available, so she could attend church. Somehow, she missed it the next morning. They were wrapped up in the sheets, after hours of foreplay, moving toward the climactic moments. Rachel's nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders as Mac's erection rhythmically slid back and forth across her clit and vulva, driving her to the crest of orgasm. When he stopped abruptly, Rachel cried, "No!" "Shh!" His head was cocked, listening. A moment later, Rachel heard it, too. "Someone's at your door," Mac said softly. "They'll go away." The knocking sounded more like pounding. "They're not going away." Mac pulled back, abandoning her. Though it was a muggy morning, typical of August in Galveston, the rush of air that filled the space his warm body vacated felt cold. "You better answer it." With shaking hands, Rachel pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt before opening the door to find Jake on her stoop. "What are you doing here?" Her tone was resentful. "Nice to see you, too, Sis. You missed church. I thought you might be sick or something." Jake eyed her suspiciously. "Doesn't look like it though." "I'm fine," Rachel said, trying belatedly to smooth down the hair she knew was spiked up on her head, even as she blocked Jake from coming in. "I didn't sleep well last night." "You seen Mac lately?" Rachel's pulse jumped. "No." "Then what's his truck doing parked at the curb?" Rachel gaped for a moment. She seemed to have forgotten how to breath. "Is it?" She asked to buy a moment to think. "Right there." Jake pointed. His motorcycle was angled into the curb in front of Mac's truck. "Colorado plates and all." "Oh. I forgot." Rachel waved a casual hand in dismissal. "He came by last night. When he went to leave, his truck wouldn't start." "Really?" Jake's eyes narrowed. "So if I check your place, I won't find him hiding under the bed?" "No, you won't." Rachel forced anger into her voice, hoping it hid the panic. "And if you think I'm lying, you go right ahead and check." Knowing she wouldn't be able to stop him anyway, she stood aside, offering him passage past her.

Jake stepped over the threshold. "But I don't appreciate being called a liar." Rachel glared at him, praying he wouldn't see the terror in the back of her eyes. He met her gaze and held it. She could almost see him weighing how mad she would be against the chance he would find Mac there. Finally, he backed down. "Okay. I'm sorry. You just look . . . Why don't you go back to bed and get some sleep?" "That's the plan," Rachel said, trying to hide her relief. She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, shaking with reaction. Mac appeared in the bedroom doorway. "Christ, that was close." Rachel put a finger to her lips, shushing him. After a few moments, she lifted the edge of the curtain in the glass sidelight panel beside the door. Mac crowded close behind her. "I take back what I said about you being a lousy liar," he breathed as he peered out over her head. His feet set wide, Jake was staring at Mac's truck, his fists cocked on his hips. As she watched, he pulled out his cell phone. "He's calling you." "Damn." Mac disappeared into the bedroom. He caught the phone on the first ring. Too fast, Rachel thought. After they exchanged greetings, Mac said, "No, I just finished an all night poker game. I'm going to head back to hotel and take a shower, maybe catch some shut-eye, before I deal with the truck . . ." Mac sat down on the bed, still naked. "You don't need to do that; I've got a ride. I'm so tired I'd probably fall off the back of your bike anyway . . . I never turn down mechanical help. I'll call you later, and we'll get the truck going." When he broke the connection, Rachel asked from the doorway, "What are you going to do when it starts right up?" "It's not going to start right up. I've still got the spark plug wires I replaced just before I drove down here. It'll be easy enough to break a couple before I swap them out." "And you called me devious, remember?" Mac met her eyes. "As many brothers as you've got, I'm learning real fast." "There's only one of them in Galveston at the moment." "It's starting to look like that's one too many." His eyes lit up over his devil's grin as he lay back on the bed. "But we've bought a little time. Come here, woman. I want to finish what I started." ~* * *~ "How come you didn't invite me to the poker game?" Jake asked as he leaned into the engine compartment of Mac's pickup later that afternoon. "Because those guys would have eaten you for breakfast and picked their teeth with your bones." "How'd you do?" "Barely broke even." Mac looked toward Rachel's cottage. He knew she was inside, but there was no indication of life.

Coward. "Here's your trouble," Jake said. "This plug wire's got a burned-through spot. Christ, Mac. Don't you check your truck before a road trip?" "Guess I missed that." When Jake threw him a disbelieving look, Mac kept his expression innocent. Jake pulled the plug wire then wiped his hands on a rag. "How's the girl hunt coming?" Mac shrugged. "I've met a couple of nice girls, but they all seem so young. I feel like I'm cradle robbing just dancing with them." "Hm." Mac didn't like the sound of that. "You know, I know someone who might be just what you're looking for," Jake said. "Oh? What's she like?" "She nice. Smart. Good-looking. A grad student in the oceanography program. Her name's Diane." "Sounds interesting. Can't imagine why she'd be interested in someone like me." "Don't sell yourself short, Mac. You're a risk taker. You have to be, playing poker like you do. Take a chance. Let me set you up with her." Mac couldn't help glancing guiltily at the cottage again. What would Rachel think? was his first thought. Then he wondered why he was even concerned. She wasn't interested in him. He was a means to an end. Just because he was having a good time with her didn't make it permanent or even long-term. She'd made that abundantly clear. So there wasn't any reason he couldn't look for his own answers while he helped her. He pulled his gaze away from Rachel's cottage to find Jake watching him too closely. Mac shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" After a trip to a parts store on the back of Jake's bike and paying for new plug wires he didn't need, Mac pulled away from Rachel's without ever seeing her. ~* * *~ The curtain was thick enough to hide her but sheer enough she could see the shape of Mac's truck pulling away from the curb. She bit her lip and questioned once again what she was doing. She was a grownup, dammit. She shouldn't have to hide. Except no one would understand. Rachel didn't really believe Jake would tell her mother, though the possibility that her mother would find out left Rachel in a cold sweat. She did think he'd powwow with their other brothers, and they'd all descend on Mac. Then she'd have the pleasure of being mortified when they forced him to make a declaration he didn't feel. All of those fears were nearly enough to camouflage the nagging feeling that she really shouldn't be doing what she was with Mac unless they were in a committed relationship that had a chance of leading to marriage. It didn't seem to matter to her conscience that to quit now meant she'd never have a chance at making any marriage at all. And all mixed up with her other feelings was the surprising revelation that sex—at least with Mac—was completely knock-her-socks-off fantastic, and that afterward, she didn't feel at

all awkward with him. He was like a narcotic—intensely addicting. Would it be this way with another man? Rachel wasn't sure if she was completely motivated anymore only by her dream of having a family. It all added up to terrible confusion. But whatever her motivation, she wasn't ready to give it up, so she told her conscience to shut up and leave her alone. At least until Mac got her where she could grab that brass ring. Or until she'd proven to herself that she never would. ~* * *~ Mac propped his back against the headboard of his hotel bed and dialed Rachel's number. When she answered, he said, "Hi, baby. My magic watch says you don't have any panties on." "I most certainly do." Mac grinned at how easily she'd fallen into his trap. "Damn! My watch must be running fast again." Rachel groaned. "Mac, please don't use lines like that out there in the real world." "I could be there in twenty minutes just to make sure your panties are where they belong." "They're never where they belong when you're here. They're usually on the floor. Or hanging from the bedpost." "One time," Mac said, letting his voice convey his grin. "One time, I miss the floor, and that's what you remember. All the hard work I do to please you counts for nothing." When Rachel's voice dropped, Mac wondered if she knew how sexy she sounded. "Oh, it counts. And you know I appreciate it." "How much do you appreciate it, honey? Tell me." "Mac!" her voice was scandalized. "Come on, Rachel," Mac coaxed, suddenly wanting to keep her on the phone instead of rushing out the door. "Tell me. Do you get wet when you think about it?" "About what?" Mac didn't believe the innocent act. She was evading. Rachel was a hotbed of passion once he got past her reserve, and he'd just discovered another bastion to storm. That he'd never indulged in phone sex either only added to the spice. "About us. About what we've been doing together. Does it make you wet when you think about my hands on you?" "Mac." Her tone was less scandalized. With just his name, she pleaded with him not to make her answer. "Are you blushing, Rachel?" She paused before she said, "Yes." "Why?" Mac popped the button and unzipped his jeans, reaching inside to ease the uncomfortable bend in his penis. He left his pants unzipped. "I don't know. Because . . ." "Because you're wet?" Another hesitation. "Yes."

Mac had been getting steadily harder. With her reluctant admission, he skipped over several gradations to full erection. "Good," Mac said. "Because I'm hard." He let that sink in for a few seconds. "Tell me how it feels when I've got my mouth on you. When my tongue is inside you, tasting you." He could hear her breathing into the phone. For just a second, he wondered if anyone in the hotel ever listened in on calls. Was that even possible anymore? What the hell, he decided. Let them listen. "It feels good," Rachel said reluctantly. "Honey, a paper cut feels good when it quits hurting. Don't I rate any better than that?" "You know you do, Mac." "Then tell me." "What do you want me to say? That I melt like ice cream on a hot day?" Mac grinned. That's what he wanted. At least, the first step. He stroked his erection. "Do you?" "Yes." "Then say it." "Mac, I . . . No one's ever made me feel like you do." "How do I make you feel?" "Like a girl." "Honey, you're way beyond the girl stage. You are a flaming hot, sexy, passionate woman." He waited to see if she would say anything. When she didn't, he asked, "How wet are your panties?" "I imagine they're soaked." "Why don't you check for me?" She gasped. Surprisingly, no objection followed. A few moments passed. "They're wet." "Mm." Mac stroked himself as he talked to her, picturing her legs spread, exposing the crotch of the white cotton bikini-style panties she favored. Such plain packaging for such delights. And to his surprise, sexier than he'd ever thought cotton panties could be. "I wish I was there. I'd love to have my mouth on them right now. I think next time, we'll leave them on for a while." Silence. "Rachel? Are you there?" "I'm here." "Are you thinking about me tasting you through your panties?" "Yes." "Does that make you feel good?" "No. It makes me want you here." "Pretend I am. Rub yourself through your panties." "Mac, I—" "Do you know what I'm doing, Honey?" She was silent again. "I'll bet you can guess."

"Are you . . . ?" "Pretending it's your sweet hand on my very hard erection? Oh, yeah." She breathed his name. "Mac . . ." "Are you excited, Rachel?" "Yes." "Slip your fingers inside your panties, Honey. Don't be shy. It's really me touching you, and you know I'm not shy." She said his name again, a soft, breathy sound. His own hand moved faster. He was losing focus, but he still managed to murmur encouragement to her. "I'm not there to touch you, so you're going to have to do it for me, baby." She was breathing harder now. Almost as hard as he was. "Come on. Come for me, Rachel. Because I'm going to come for you." Mac heard her orgasm start. Heard the little cry she made as her release came. He could picture her, laid back on the bed, quivering as waves of satisfaction washed through her. He said her name as his own orgasm started. "Rachel. Oh, God, Rachel." And then he couldn't talk at all. ~* * *~ What was Mac doing to her? A month ago, Rachel couldn't have imagined bringing herself to a climax where anyone else could hear, but Mac's voice in her ear, teasing her, coaxing her, drove her to the breaking point. Rachel had pictured his face, his eyes dark with desire, his devilish smile, his unbelievably talented tongue, as she'd brought herself to orgasm. She could still hear him, breathing heavily, as he recovered. "I think what we just did is illegal in some states," Rachel said when she could manage to string words together again. "Then we're never going to those states." Mac's voice was replete with satisfaction. "I'm going to have to change my panties," Rachel said as she slipped them off. Mac chuckled. "I guess my magic watch wasn't all that fast after all." "I don't believe it," Rachel said, stunned. "You just got my panties off me over the phone." "I did, didn't I?" He sounded a little surprised. And unbearably pleased with himself. "I guess some of those lines actually work." "I would never have believed it." "I've got more. I could be there in fifteen minutes." "I thought it was twenty." "I'll speed." Rachel would have loved to have him there. She was getting spoiled, sleeping in his arms every night, waking up beside him, but Jake's morning visit worried her. "I think we need to be discreet, Mac. I don't know how convinced Jake was this morning." "Oh, he's suspicious," Mac said. "He's offered to set me up with a grad student." "Oh." Rachel's stomach flipped unpleasantly. "When?"

"He hasn't said." Mac paused. "If you don't want me to go, I won't." Rachel discovered she didn't want him to go. "After all we've done to help you meet women, what possible excuse could you use to say no?" "I could make up another poker game. I'd much rather play poker with you anyway." "Mac, I stink at poker. You know that." "There are varieties of the game where that's an advantage," he said in a tone that made her think it could be fun to lose to him. "Name one." "Strip poker." "I'd lose my panties for sure." And not regret it for a moment. "That's the idea, honey." Rachel sighed. It was a fun idea. "Jake's not going to believe you'd rather play poker than meet a woman. Not every night." "He would if he knew I was playing poker without cards." The innuendo was nearly as bad as his lines, but Rachel found she liked it. What was he doing to her? "And when he sees your truck here again and figures out the 'her' you're poking is his sister?" And he would now that his suspicions were aroused. "Isn't that what we want to avoid?" Mac echoed her sigh. "You're right. I guess I have to go." Bless him, Rachel thought, for making her feel like it was a chore. ~* * *~ Mac was wondering himself when his enthusiasm for meeting women had disappeared. That it had was apparent in the way he viewed the prospect of Jake's matchmaking. That alone told him he was in trouble. Rachel wanted a husband and children. Not only had she'd never even hinted she might consider him, but she'd made it clear she didn't want a husband who knew her history. It came as a shock that he could easily see them going on like they were forever. Even if she never overcomes her fear of intercourse? some wicked part of his brain asked. He was honest enough with himself to know that, eventually, he would be less satisfied if she didn't. Mac wanted to possess her fully. He was willing to be patient, but forever was a long time. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. However much Rachel enjoyed what they were doing, he was just her teacher. Her sex therapist. She'd been so resistant about giving him the bet's last kiss, he probably wouldn't even have been her first choice for that limited role. She hadn't sounded either jealous or possessive about Jake's blind date. There might be a lot Mac didn't understand about women, but one thing he knew for sure was that most women didn't share well. Not when they were interested in a man. He shouldn't be disappointed. She couldn't have said it any plainer: she didn't want a man who knew her past. So when Jake called an hour later with plans for a double date that night, Mac tucked away his regret that Rachel didn't mind and agreed to meet them at Fisherman's Wharf,

determined to give Diane a fair chance. On his way to the Wharf, Mac swung by the building that was for sale and paced off the parking lot. ~* * *~ Jake flagged him from a table near the wall. A slight, freckled redhead, who Jake introduced as Tracy, sat next to him. Mac couldn't help but smile when he saw Diane. At five ten with a thick, dark mane of hair, china blue eyes, a gorgeous smile, and a great body, she damn-near took his breath away. Diane was twenty-eight and starting her last year of graduate school. She'd never played big-stakes poker, but she had bungee jumped off sheer cliffs in Mexico the year before and loved the heart-pounding experience. She offered to take him with her when she went back for Thanksgiving break, if he was interested in learning, from which he gathered she found him at least somewhat interesting. Whenever Rachel threatened to invade his thoughts, he firmly pushed her into a dark corner of his mind, forcing himself to focus on Diane instead. As the night went on and he learned more about her, it got easier. Mac suddenly found that dinner was over, and he barely remembered tasting his food. When Jake announced he and Tracy were going to find someplace to dance, it seemed natural to offer to drive Diane home, so they could linger over another drink. "I'll admit to not being too sure about this," Diane said, after Jake and Tracy left. Her slender finger circled the rim of the glass of Chivas she'd let Mac order for her. "Blind dates can be kind of scary, but I'm glad I let Jake talk me into this." "I am, too," Mac said. "Except I can't figure out why you'd need a blind date." Diane took a sip of her drink. "I was in a relationship for several years. When it ended, I took some time to decompress. After a year of turning everyone down, the guys pretty much stop asking." "I guess Jake told you I'm recently divorced." "Yes. Twelve years. That's a long time." "I feel like the world changed somehow while I was married. I haven't been able to get my feet under me when it comes to dating." "Jake says you recruited his sister to tutor you." Mac laughed. "I think Jake's afraid Rachel and I are spending too much time together. That I might be a threat to her virtue." "Are you?" "No. I'm just a slow learner." Diane threw her head back and laughed. "I doubt that very much, Mac MacAllister." She threw down the last bit of Scotch. "Come on. Finish your drink. Let's go take a walk on the beach." A light sea breeze made the night feel fresh after the heat of the day. Diane took his hand as they walked barefoot through the sand. Mac would have had to have been dead for three days not to enjoy it when they stopped and kissed for a while at the edge of the surf. He refused to feel guilty about it. He could keep the two parts of his life separate. When Rachel got over her fear, she would start husband hunting, and she'd made it clear he wasn't a

candidate. So why shouldn't he have Diane there, waiting, to help him make the transition? It wasn't like he was going to sleep with both of them at the same time.

Chapter Fourteen Mac was still trying to justify seeing them both when Diane called the next morning and invited him to meet her for a picnic in a long break she had between classes. He hadn't dreamed her, Mac discovered when he met her in the park. Diane was just as interesting and intelligent and beautiful as she'd been the night before. They laughed and exchanged stories over tuna salad sandwiches and wine in plastic cups. Mac was amazed at how amusing and witty he felt when he was with her. Only once did they fall silent, and Mac felt a moment of panic, wondering what he'd say to her next. She didn't seem to notice, but the sag in the conversation had Mac wondering how long it would take her to realize he wasn't as interesting as she thought he was. He suddenly missed Rachel's easy acceptance of him. Then Diane said something about sailing down the coast, and he forgot to worry that she'd probably find his scar repulsive. And yet, when he got back to the hotel, he didn't go inside. Instead, he got into his truck and drove to Rachel's. By the time he parked in front of her cottage, he'd have had to stop and think to even remember Diane's name. He walked in without knocking and found Rachel, barefoot and obviously braless under her tank top, be-bopping to Johnny Cash's I Walk the Line as she peeled potatoes in the sink with a paring knife. "Cooking?" he asked, surprised. "I went grocery shopping this morning." "Why? Were you out of eggs?" "And a few other things." Mac noticed a large box of laundry soap that she hadn't put away yet on the kitchen table. So domestic. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of forgetting that they weren't a couple. He had to remind himself that that wasn't what she wanted from him. It was okay. He certainly had what she did want from him. Mac snuggled up against her back and nuzzled her neck. "What's long and hard and right behind you?" he murmured into her ear as he ground his groin against her jean-clad ass. "Mac—" Rachel started to protest, but he interrupted her. "Got it in one. You win the grand prize." "I'm peeling potatoes here." "You just go right ahead and peel away." He nibbled her ear as his hands slid under her tank top and found her nipples. "Feel free to ignore me. I'll amuse myself until you're done." "Mac . . ." This time, the protest was half-hearted. A moment later, her head tilted, and she closed her eyes. "God, I missed you last night," Mac heard himself say as he turned her. He pinned her against the sink with his body, pulled her shirt up over her breasts, and attached his mouth to a nipple.

Within minutes, they were naked in the bedroom. Neither of them made any attempt to push Rachel beyond her limits though Mac's need to possess her fully battled with the desire to forestall the inevitable end of their relationship. ~* * *~ When they lay on her narrow bed, naked, sated, and sweaty, Rachel sighed with satisfaction. All she wanted was to lay there next him, her skin pressed to his. "You know, there's sex everywhere you look these days—movies, books, even on television when kids can watch, the implication is there—but they never really tell you what it feels like." "You can't blame them," Mac said. "There's no way to describe it. The way it starts out so physical and ends up taking you right out of your body. The need that grabs you at the end. The way you feel like you're going to die, if you don't get to finish." Rachel pushed herself up to see his face, her hand resting on his chest. "That's exactly how I felt yesterday when Jake came pounding on the door! I needed to finish what we started so badly that my knees were shaking while I was talking to him." Mac wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her down to his mouth. When he released her to settle down at his side, her mouth felt bruised. Mac said, "You handled it better than I would have. I thought you'd decided to knock me off when you invited him to check the bedroom." "He'd never have believed we aren't having sex," Rachel said. "We are having sex. We're just not having intercourse." Rachel sighed again. "He wouldn't have made the distinction." "If you were my sister, I wouldn't either. And since he's going to kill me if he catches us— " "He wouldn't kill you," Rachel protested. "No? He'd try to kick my ass, and then he'd make sure I made an honest woman of you—" A coil of strange emotions slithered around Rachel's chest. Mortified that Mac might think she was hoping for just such an outcome, it would be worse if he thought she'd try to get her brothers to make it happen. Underneath that, the idea of sharing a bed with Mac every night for the rest of her life—that felt warm and homey. Like something she wanted. But even that was tinged with the humiliation of knowing he wouldn't want that. He couldn't want a woman as damaged as she was. She was lucky to have this interlude with him. She wasn't going to ruin it by wanting more. Having lost the trail of his words, she tuned back in to hear, "—I'd infinitely prefer to get hung for the whole sheep, instead of just the lamb." Rachel rested her chin on his chest, so she could smile into his eyes. "Are you saying you want me, Reese MacAllister?" "Haven't you been listening?" Rachel's smile faded. "What are we going to do, Mac?" "I'm fresh out of ideas," he admitted. "We're creating a lot of great muscle memories, but we've gone through at least a dozen condoms and have yet to put one to its intended use."

The condoms were a problem she hadn't expected. She should have, but until Mac, Rachel hadn't identified that as a separate component of her frigidity. But of course, nothing in her life was simple. Least of all, the memories of the night she tried so hard to forget. He had tried to force her to put a condom on him that night. That was when she'd faced what was happening to her. That was the moment the fear had gripped her. It hadn't seemed important when she'd sketched the event for Mac. Later, she hadn't known how to backtrack and explain it. She still didn't. It was just too embarrassing. "Have you thought about getting on the pill?" Mac asked. "Then we wouldn't need the condoms." "You have to be on the pill a month before you can rely on it." She couldn't stand the thought that it might take that long. "It could just be stage fright. Maybe if you just go for it . . . just start, I'll get over it." "You turn off every time I put on a condom," Mac reminded her. "And there's no getting you turned back on. I'd feel like I was raping you." "Then don't put on a condom." "We agreed we're not making babies here, Rach. And I can't guarantee I'd have the control to pull out." "I'll risk it." "Well, I won't." He sounded stubborn and a little angry. Rachel's frustration flared up in response. She pushed herself up, bracing herself with an arm. "Just do it, Mac. Next time, just take me. Push me through my fear." "No." His jaw set stubbornly. Rachel wanted to hit him. "Damn it, Mac! I'm not saying this isn't fun or that I'm not grateful, but I need more. I want a family. I want children. I need you to get me to where I can have that!" Her anger seemed contagious. "Maybe that's the problem," Mac snarled back. "You're so damned goal oriented, you can't just lay back and let it happen. You've got to push. I tell you no, you don't listen. You turn me inside out until I'm suddenly helping you do what I just said no to." Rachel knew he was talking about the night she'd tasted his semen. "You only said no because you thought I'd be repulsed. Well, you were wrong. And you're wrong now." She scooted down to the foot of the bed and reached for a long T-shirt. "I don't want to fight with you, Rach. I want to figure this out as badly as you do." "You'll try it my way then?" "No." Stubborn, pig-headed man. "Then you clearly don't want it as badly as I do. And we're fighting, whether you want to or not." ~* * *~ Mac lay back on the bed, tracking Rachel's movements in the kitchen by sound. How in the world did a man end up on the defensive side of this argument? It was unnatural. But then nothing about Rachel was what he thought a woman should be.

She was the bossiest, most determined woman he'd ever met. Gorgeous in her masculine haircut with that long, seductive neck. Well, she wouldn't win this one. Even if he was aching for her again already. She didn't understand, and he wasn't about to explain that, unlike the cowboy who'd taken her virginity, his enthusiasm waned with an unwilling partner. He doubted he'd even be able to penetrate her if he had to lube her like a car. Even if his body turned out to be willing, Mac didn't want her that way. He wanted her hot and passionate and wanting him as badly as he wanted her. It had absolutely nothing to do with knowing that as soon as he took her where she wanted to go—where he wanted to go with her—she'd be off looking for a husband to father her children. And it wouldn't be him. The thought hit him like a punch in the gut. When he got up to pull on his jeans, his eyes fell on her laundry basket sitting in the corner beside her dresser. A pair of white cotton panties lay crumpled on top. He picked them up and sniffed them, the smell of her satisfaction filling his nose. Could these be the panties she'd worn when they'd had phone sex? Mac's heart clenched at the memory. Before he could think about what a stalker sort of thing he was doing, he shoved the panties into the front pocket of his jeans and headed for the kitchen. Reaching across the sink where Rachel was peeling a potato to within an inch of its life, Mac got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. He leaned against the counter beside her, took a drink, then cleared his throat. "When's your date with Jake's friend?" Rachel's tone was cool and just a touch too casual. Mac's body tensed as though preparing for the fight-or-flight response. "I had dinner with her last night—" "Last night!" Rachel dropped the potato in the sink, but her fingers tightened on the knife as she looked at him, dismay written plainly on her face. "You told me to go." Mac hoped she wouldn't stab him. "If I had begged off, Jake would only have gotten more suspicious." He saw Rachel swallow before she picked up the potato and started on it again with short, staccato swipes. "What kind of woman did Jake pick for you?" "She was nice . . . Pretty." "A grad student you said?" "Yes." "Are you going to see her again?" Mac didn't trust the blandness of her voice. She was upset. Why hadn't he seen it coming? Intercourse or not, they were having sex, and as inexperienced as she was, it meant something to her. In every way that counted, Mac belatedly realized, he was her first. Certainly, the first man who'd shown her that sex was something pleasurable. How could he be so blind? Of course, she saw it as a betrayal. The flood of guilt made him defensive. "If I don't, Jake'll just find someone else to throw at me." Why hadn't Jake found him someone like Cheryl? Someone he was indifferent to.

Rachel looked up and studied his face. "You like her." "She's okay." But he couldn't meet her eyes. "You like her," Rachel said again. "That's why you didn't tell me when you walked in the door." He lifted his chin as he met her eyes, practically daring her to call him a liar. "I didn't tell you because it doesn't matter. She's a smoke screen. It doesn't change what's going on with us." Just what is going on with us? Mac wanted to ask. He had thought he knew, but suddenly he wasn't sure. "If we weren't . . ." Rachel waved the knife, as though that filled in the blank, "would you be interested in her?" He wished she hadn't asked that. "I don't know. Maybe." He set his glass on the drainage board by the sink. "Probably." One of Rachel's eyebrows lifted for about half a second. Inexperienced she might be, Mac thought, but she was too smart by half. He wished he'd been smart enough to lie to her about liking Diane. "If you don't want me to see her, I won't," he offered. Tell me not to. Tell me to stay here with you. It wasn't logical, but that was what he wanted her to say. She focused her attention on another potato, attacking it like it threatened world peace. "No, Mac. Don't stop seeing her on my account. We're just temporary. Barely a blip on the screen." Mac clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his suddenly frayed temper from making him say something he'd regret later. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet she was making him feel guilty over the very thing she'd told him to do. "All right then, I'll see her again." "So you're going to see her then come here and have sex with me." Why was she being so waspish? What did she want from him? "If you don't want to continue, I'll understand," he said with a coldness he didn't feel. "No. That's fine. You can use me to keep your libido in check; after all, I'm using you, too." "It's not like that, Rachel." "Of course, it is." He watched her finish peeling the potatoes, then slice them for frying. When she didn't thaw, he decided he was better off getting out of the line of fire before she went nuclear. He made a strategic exit. It was the first time since the wedding that he left without kissing her goodbye. ~* * *~ Rachel sat at the kitchen table, crying over the potatoes she'd burned nearly to cinders. Damn Mac all to hell! She hoped Jake would be there, burning right beside him. What did it matter? Mac had never pretended he wanted her for more than his friend. In spite of the obvious benefit he was getting, he was being generous, trying to solve her problems. So why was she so angry at him?

When he'd offered not to see Diane again, Rachel had ached to say yes, to keep him for herself, but she couldn't convince herself that her motives weren't purely selfish. Her time was running out; she couldn't have felt it more plainly if she'd broken open an hourglass and let the grains wash over her fingers. She'd never have a chance like this again. If she didn't solve her problem before Mac moved on, she'd be stuck for life. So she turned him inside out to get what she wanted, did she? Rachel decided Mac hadn't seen anything yet. The decision didn't make her feel nearly as good as it should have. ~* * *~ Rachel was at the concierge station the next morning when Mac walked through the lobby, heading for the gym. She knew he saw her, but after that first glance, he didn't look her way again. Rachel closed her eyes. She'd been afraid it would be awkward between them; it looked like she was right. When he came back through, she pretended to be too busy to notice. He pressed the button for the elevator, and Rachel couldn't help smiling to herself. He'd spent an hour in the gym but went right to the elevator instead of taking the stairs to his room. Mac turned his back to the elevator and glanced her way. She started sorting through the tickets from the local theaters that had been delivered that morning. After a moment's hesitation, he started toward her. Rachel took a deep breath. Show time. "Hi, Rachel." His voice and eyes were both tentative as though he expected her to bite his head off. She looked up, feigning that she hadn't known he was coming. "Good morning, Mac." "I, uh—" It steamed Rachel to humble herself, but she was a woman with a mission. She consoled herself that her goal was to turn Mac inside out to get her way in the end. "Mac, I'm sorry about yesterday. I don't know why I went haywire on you. There was no call for it." Mac took a deep breath that pulled him up straight. Rachel kept the pleasure she felt at surprising him firmly off her face. "Who are you?" he asked. "And what have you done with Rachel?" "What?" "I can't picture Rachel McKnight ever apologizing to anyone." "I'm not that bad, Mac." But it bothered her that he seemed to think she was. "Am I?" His eyes softened. "No, you've just got a hard shell you hide behind. You're more like a chocolate covered cherry. All gooey inside." "Eww!" "You're forgetting—that's the sweet part." "I think you're trying to compliment me, so I guess I'll let it go." "That's more like the Rachel I know. A woman who doesn't understand a compliment."

As much as she wanted to be bold and appear unconcerned, Rachel found her eyes dropping to the envelopes she had prepared for the tickets. She picked up the top one and shuffled through the tickets to find the match. "Are you busy tonight?" When he didn't answer right away, Rachel couldn't stop herself from glancing up. A hint of a smile touched his lips. "No. I don't have any plans. Did you have something in mind?" Rachel shrugged. "I thought I might offer you dinner. By way of apology," she added hastily. Mac leaned his folded arms on her station. "What's going on here?" "If I don't know how to accept a compliment, you're no better with apologies." "But you don't cook." "No. I don't shop," Rachel corrected him. "You've met my family. I'm the oldest girl. Do you really think I got away without learning how to cook?" "I did wonder why you have a spice rack that would make Marco Polo jealous." "See? How many people do you know who mix their own curry spices?" "Really?" He leaned further over her station. "Do you like curry?" "I love curry. Is yours sweet or hot?" His smile was flirtatious. "Depends on what I'm making. Which do you prefer?" "Why don't you surprise me?" She definitely planned to do that. "All right. Dinner at 7:30 then?" "I'll bring dessert." "I've got that covered, too." She smiled easily at him, pleased that he hadn't made her grovel. "Don't be late."

Chapter Fifteen That cinched it. Rachel hadn't been abducted by aliens. Only she would cap off an invitation to an apology dinner by being bossy. Mac was so relieved they were still on friendly terms he let her get away with it. Thank God he hadn't made plans with Diane. Before he even got to Rachel's door that evening, the aroma of sweet curry greeted him. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, Mac thought, he might have to marry her. The thought jolted him, freezing his hand on the door knob. Where had that come from? He brushed off the question. The path to his heart decidedly did not run through his stomach. At least one path ran through his groin he discovered, however, when he saw Rachel. She was doing something with an electric hand mixer and a bowl, but what stopped him was the jean cut-offs and the black tank top. If the jeans had been cut any shorter, he'd be able to see the cheeks of her ass. As it was, he got an eyeful of shapely legs. Odd. He'd seen her naked any number of times now, but the right clothes, he discovered, had the ability to pull a man's focus to things he'd overlooked in favor of other attractions. She hadn't heard him enter over the music and noise of the hand mixer. Mac stood in doorway, watching her hips swing back and forth in time with The Devil Went Down to Georgia. He'd never seen her dancing solo, unaware of an audience. The results were uninhibited moves that made his heart thump in time with her hip rolls and Charlie Daniels' fiddle. The chorus rolled around, and Rachel began to sing along. He'd never seen her so relaxed, so free. So sensually appealing. Mac stepped softly, though he didn't need to. The fiddle would have drowned out a platoon double-timing through the kitchen. His hands closed on her waist a second before he planned to lower his lips to her neck. At his touch, Rachel shrieked. The mixer came out of the bowl as she jumped. With her finger still on the trigger, the beaters sprayed the cupboards, as well as Rachel and Mac. "Christ, Mac!" Rachel said when she saw it was him. She reached over and turned the CD player down to a reasonable volume. "You scared the life out of me." "I didn't mean to." Mac licked a splatter from the corner of his mouth. "Mm! Is that real whipped cream?" "It is," she said a little smugly. Mac wiped another splatter from his cheek then licked it from his finger. "Good stuff." Rachel reached for a hand towel, but Mac stopped her before she could wipe her face. "Don't waste it!" She froze as he licked a dollop from her chin. Then another from her cheek and one from the tip of her nose. "I feel like a kitten being groomed by its mother."

Zeroing in on a drop of cream just under her lips, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Rachel dropped the towel and clutched his arm as though she suddenly felt unsteady. "Mm. You taste even better than the cream." "There's . . . cream puffs . . . for dessert," Rachel said breathlessly, as though she had to compose the sentence word by word. "Cream puffs?" Mac sighed and stepped back. He didn't want to wait for dessert, but she'd gone to a lot of trouble. "What's the main course?" Their eyes held each other's as his question hung in the air. He knew they were both thinking the same thing, their minds moving to the bedroom together. She cleared her throat. "Sweet chicken curry." Mac's gaze slid to the bowl on the counter, before he looked back at her. There were splatters of cream in her hair. "Don't use all the whipped cream on the cream puffs. Okay?" "Okay." She agreed as though stunned by the images flashing through her mind. Mac took another step back. "I brought coconut rum." The bottle sat on the table where he'd dropped it before coming up behind her. "That's nice." She sounded as though she'd agree to anything he cared to suggest. He picked the towel up from the floor, running it over his face before he used it to wipe the splatters from her hair. "How long until we eat?" That seemed to snap her out of it. She glanced at the clock. "You're early." "You told me not to be late. You didn't say I couldn't be early." "About ten minutes?" "I can hardly wait," Mac said, but he wasn't just talking about supper. It tasted even better than it smelled. If she cooked like this more often, a man might be tempted to overlook some of the restrictions in the bedroom. Those poor dumb bastards who'd called her frigid had missed more than they knew. When they'd had their fill of curry, Rachel brought the pastry shells and the bowl of whipped cream nestled inside a larger bowl of ice to keep it cold to the table. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw how much whipped cream he used. "I thought you wanted to save some of that." "I'm only going to have one." He laid the top on the carved-out shell now filled to overflowing with whipped cream. "You're never going to get that in your mouth." "Watch me." She was right, of course, but he enjoyed licking up the whipped cream that squeezed out. "When you find the man you want to marry, you need to fix him this meal," Mac said when he finished the last bite. "Suppose he doesn't like curry? Or whipped cream?" "Then you don't want to marry him anyway." Rachel rested her elbows on the table, lacing her hands under her chin. "You're presuming I can get to the point where I can consider marrying someone." "You will," Mac said, but he knew neither of them were as confident as they had been.

"I want to keep trying, Mac." "I'll do everything I can, honey." She tipped the bowl, checking the amount of whipped cream left. "Do you think whipped cream will help?" He stood and took the bowl from her. "Let's find out." In the bedroom, he pulled her tank top over her head before he laid her down on the bed. He dipped into the bowl, then held his whipped cream covered finger up and gazed speculatively at her body. "Hm. Where shall I start? Here maybe?" He touched her, leaving a daub of white in the hollow of her throat. The whipped cream was noticeably cooler than her body, but he thought the tension he felt wash through her came more from anticipation. "Or here?" A streak across the swell of her breast. She drew a sharp breath and her chest rose. Mac smiled. Her nipples were already beaded. "Or here?" He barely touched her distended nipple. Rachel shoulders drew back hard against the mattress, pushing her breasts even higher. Mac cocked his head, first left then right, as if he were an art patron deciding whether he liked a particular painting. Rising and falling with each breath she took, the whipped cream sat like a tiny pearl on the top of her nipple. Mac lifted his gaze to Rachel's. He watched her as he dropped his head toward her breast. Her eyes stayed locked with his until his tongue came out. Then her breath quickened and her gaze dropped to his mouth. Mac hovered for a moment then, again barely touching her, he retrieved the droplet he'd just left on her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Rachel's response was to throw her head back, baring her throat. Her back arched and her breasts rose as though chasing his touch. Mac was tempted to indulge himself—her neck still turned him on something fierce. As far as he was concerned, having his mouth on Rachel's throat was as good as any other kind of foreplay. But this was for Rachel, so he restrained himself and got to work, anointing her breasts with whipped cream, then licking it off to expose the taut nipples underneath. "Now that's what I call dessert." "I should have gotten maraschino cherries," Rachel said in little more than a whisper. Mac chuckled. "This is perfect the way it is." Rachel's skin quivered as he created a trail of whipped cream that led from her belly button to the edge of her cutoffs. He popped the button and undid the zipper. Thinking about what it was going to take to work this desert off, he chuckled, his tongue in her navel. The vibration brought a gasp from Rachel, reminding Mac of something he hadn't done in what seemed like forever. When he'd licked up the whipped cream, he pulled off her cutoffs, but when he reached for her panties, Rachel stopped him. "What?" he asked, surprised. "You said we were going to leave them on." "What? When . . ." Then he remembered. "But we have whipped cream!"

"I can always make more another time, Mac. Besides"—she smiled wickedly at him—"I want you to save some for me." "Oh." That sounded fun. He left her panties on. When he had her nicely warmed up, he found her clit through the cotton, and started humming. Yellow Rose of Texas seemed appropriate. Rachel gasped and her knees closed on him as the vibration hit her. "Holy God!" He barely made it through one chorus before she was struggling to get away from him. "No! No, Mac! Not yet, please!" He grinned at her. "You like that, do you?" "Where in the hell did you learn to do that?" "That's an old trick I'd completely forgotten I knew." "I can't imagine what Gloria was thinking, letting you go." "Me neither," Mac said, surprised that the regret of so many wasted years didn't feel as close as it usually did. "Get up here," Rachel said. "It's my turn." "God forbid I should argue with a lady," Mac said as he stripped off his clothes and traded places with her. ~* * *~ Rachel supposed that being a risk taker made a man adventuresome. It was certainly true of Mac. She hoped to make it true of herself. She was pretty sure he hoped she'd move south. Rachel hated to disappoint him, but she started with his nipples. She needed to build anticipation. Her mistake before had been that she'd made demands when he was sated. If she wanted a different answer, she needed to press the issue when he was in a different state of mind. For herself, Rachel fought to maintain a delicate balance between arousal and control. Holding back a part of herself hadn't been as difficult as she'd thought it would be, at least until he'd pulled that little humming maneuver out of his bag of tricks. That had nearly sent her over the edge, and while letting herself go would have restored her self-control, it might also make it too easy for her to shut down when the moment she was working for came. Just enough whipped cream remained for her to swath his erection. It was colder than his body, but he was too aroused for that to have a detrimental effect. He lifted his head, watching as she started at the base of his shaft, slowly licking it clean. A shudder wracked his body when she wrapped her tongue around him where the smooth skin of the head mushroomed out from the shaft. Another came when she leap-frogged to the tip, cleaning his slit delicately with her tongue. She held him erect so he could watch her work. His eyes were dark with hunger and arousal. Eager for her attention, his erection leaped as the muscles constricted in his groin. Rachel languidly scraped her tongue over his glans, lapping up the cream as she went, gently sucking up what was melting from the heat of his body. When she sucked the head into her mouth, he groaned and shuddered again. She wondered if his little humming trick would be as effective if she turned it around on him. Taking him deep into her mouth, she began humming The Eyes of Texas are Upon You.

~* * *~ Mac thought he knew what "suck starting a Harley" meant, but Rachel was adding new dimensions to the concept. When she started humming, the vibration swept through him like a lightning strike. He seemed to feel it all the way to his toes. It bounced back, crashing into another wave of sensation on its way down, setting up a reverberation he felt all the way up in his chest. His head fell back against the pillow, a strangling sound erupting from deep in his throat. He wanted to stop her before he exploded, but he couldn't even seem to wiggle his little finger. His hips were on a completely different circuit. Lifting off the bed, they chased the source of his pleasure, trying to force his erection deeper into her throat. When she eased up, he was suddenly able to breathe again, pulling bucket loads of air into his oxygen-starved lungs. Rachel was straddling him before he recovered his ability to focus. With his erection trapped between his body and hers, she slid the lips of her sex the length of him. His hands found her hips, holding her steady as he encouraged her. She refused to be rushed. On the upstroke, she paused temptingly, the head of his erection pressed against the gate of her vulva. Mac groaned his frustration, his desire, his need, on the edge of rolling her under him and taking her, regardless of the consequences. She slid back even as his muscles tensed for action. She paused at the end of the down stroke to touch the tip of his penis. She licked his glistening pre-come from her finger. Mac groaned again as he bucked under her. Rachel's smile was confident and seductive. Her eyes gleamed with promise. Mac cupped her breasts, aroused by the paleness of her tender skin against his sun-browned hands. She arched forward as he thumbed her erect nipples. Rachel covered his hands with her own, stilling his motion. "Do you want me, Mac?" she asked softly. Incapable of a more complex answer, he simply said, "Yes." "How bad?" "Bad." "So bad it hurts?" Did she really want to talk now? "Yes." She leaned down and kissed him. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, showing her what he wanted. She caught it, sucking on it, pulling another groan from him, as she slid forward again. The head of his penis strained against her moist nether lips, begging for entrance. She arched her back, shifting the angle of her hips. He slipped the first inch into her vestibule, gasping against her mouth at the unexpected but pleasurable shock. Rachel released his tongue as she pressed slowly down on him. Too slowly. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her under him and was in her to the hilt. He froze there, shaking with need, drawing ragged breaths, fighting for control. She was so tight around him, he knew any movement at all would make him come. God, he hoped he hadn't hurt her.

Rachel lay so still and stiff beneath him, he almost didn't have the courage to look at her. Her eyes were closed, but it wasn't passion painted on her face. It wasn't pain either, he realized. The kindest description he could find was . . . forbearance. She'd shut down again, like an entire power grid going off-line. He still didn't dare move, though the threat of climaxing retreated just a bit. She must have felt the change in him. "Do it, Mac," she said softly. "Finish." It would be so easy. He wasn't even sure he could safely pull out. If he were wearing a condom, he'd have let her convince him, but she'd got him so primed and had granted entrance so unexpectedly, he hadn't even thought about it. It shocked him to realize she was crying. Silent tears streamed from the outer corners of her eyes down to the pillow. "I'm sorry, Rachel," Mac murmured. He braced his weight on his forearms, tucking them close against her as though he could shield her from outside threats. As though he weren't the threat. "Baby, I'm so sorry. Please don't cry." Mac couldn't take her tears. Coward that he was, he hid his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder as he carefully eased out of her. She was a warm and passionate woman who deserved to be able to express that side of her nature. Death was too good for the son of a bitch who had done this to her. Mac couldn't think of anything bad enough to do to him, though castrating him—without anesthesia—and having naked, nubile women rub against him for half an eternity had some appeal. If it would have changed things for Rachel, he'd have arranged it. It took a moment to realize her hands were stroking his hair. He lifted his head. Her lips smiled tentatively, trying to hide the grief in her eyes. Unshed tears still hung there. It wrung Mac's heart. "I almost made it, didn't I?" Not trusting his voice, Mac nodded. "I guess that's it then. This is how I am. This is how I'll always be." "No." Mac's voice sounded rusty. Rachel gazed past him toward the ceiling. "No," Mac said more forcefully. "Something triggers your switches. We just have to figure out what it is." Did he still believe that? Lord, he wanted to. Rachel shook her head, tipping a tear out of each eye. "You need to get on with your life." Her eyes focused on him. Her hands smoothed his hair again. "Mac. My beautiful, patient Mac." Anger flooded him. "So you're writing yourself off. Just like that, you're settling. Damn it, Rachel, you're a fighter. Fight for what you want!" "What do you think I've been doing? But it hasn't worked. Sometimes all you can do is accept what is." "You're a quitter, Rachel." "Make up your mind, Mac. I can't be both a quitter and a fighter. You need to stop screwing around with me. Go build a life with Diane." "I'm not screwing around with you."

"Really?" The smile that twisted her lips could almost pass for amused. "What would you call it?" Unable to give her a better answer, Mac rolled off her. He'd have rolled onto his back, but the bed wasn't wide enough, and he didn't want to fall on the floor. Rachel made room and he settled beside her. When she touched his still erect penis, he closed his fist around her hand. "No." "Let me finish what I started, Mac." "We have a rule, remember?" "This is for me. I don't want you to ever have any reason to remember me as a cock tease." He shouldn't have let her, but his body ached for release, and her hand felt so good around him. Mac couldn't remember ever needing anything so badly. It left him shaking like he was palsied when he came. Mac showered alone, knowing this was likely the last time he'd be naked in her place. He wanted to stay, to help her with the dishes, to hold her through the night, to drag it out as long as he could, any way he could, but she told him no. "It'll just make it awkward in the morning." She looked away as she said it, obviously already uncomfortable. Sitting on her couch, one leg cocked so that her heel caught on the cushion, she kept smoothing the fabric of the long t-shirt she'd stretched out of shape to cover her cocked knee. "Rach—" She held up a hand to stop him but didn't say anything. The silence grew strained. He ran a hand over his still damp hair. If she wanted him to go, he would, but he couldn't stand to just walk out the door. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, so he could wrap his arms around her. She laid her cheek against his shoulder as her arms folded around him and, for several long moments, she held on tight. For the first time, she felt fragile to him. Breakable. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. She pulled away before he was ready to let her go. Mac looked for a sign, a crack, a fissure, anything that might mean she'd let him stay. He thought her eyes might hold more moisture than normal, but the rest of her face was calm and composed. "Go. Please." He nodded. The only thing left to do was to walk out the door. So he did, with her scent in his nose, and the feel of her stamped indelibly on his skin. He wasn't sure he would ever get over her. ~* * *~ Rachel lay on her bed after Mac had gone, unable to even cry. Her heart, like her future, an arid wasteland. There would be no passion to look forward to. No husband. No children of her own. She would spend her life arranging the details of other people's holidays, business meetings, and conventions. Eventually, Claudia would marry, and Rachel would become her work friend, the sad, solo woman who turned down opportunities to meet Claudia's husband's friends and co-workers

who happened to be single. Eventually, they would give up on her. Her job would become her life. She'd learn not to feel envy when she visited her family with their spouses and children. Oh, God, Rachel thought, how could her life have gone so wrong? Destroyed in just those few minutes that night so long ago. In the morning, Rachel had a pounding headache. She called in sick. When her phone rang midmorning, she ignored it. She tried to ignore the knock on her door at noon, but she couldn't ignore Claudia's voice calling her name. Rachel answered in the T-shirt and panties she'd worn to bed. She squinted as the sunlight stabbed at her headache through her eyes. "Holy Christ, Rachel," Claudia said. "You look like you've been drug through a knothole backward. What's wrong?" "I'm sick," Rachel said. She flinched back when Claudia reached out to feel her forehead. "Hold still," Claudia said. Her fingers caught up with Rachel. "You don't feel hot." Rachel turned her back, walking to the sink to pour a glass of water. "I'm drinking plenty of fluids." "Does it feel like the flu?" Rachel shrugged apathetically. It took too much effort to play sick convincingly. Claudia watched her, concern plain in her eyes. "What's really wrong?" Rachel put her back to the counter, leaning against it as she drank her water. "Nothing." "Bullshit." "I'm just tired." "That I believe. You look exhausted. The question is why?" Rachel sighed. "It's just everything catching up with me." "What everything?" "Just . . . things." "You're avoiding the question. I'm your best friend, Rachel. Talk to me." Rachel's headache pulsed blindingly. "God, you're just like your brother. You won't just leave it alone." Claudia's lips tightened into a bloodless line. "What's Mac got to do with this? If he's done something that upset you, I'll kill him." Rachel shook her head. The pounding in her temples trebled. "He didn't do anything, Claudia. Leave him be." She opened the end cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol. "I've just got a headache, and it's making me cranky." "You're not being cranky," Claudia said. "You're being . . ." Rachel shook a couple of tablets into her hand while Claudia searched for the right word. She threw them into her mouth and chased them down with water. "Unhappy," Claudia said at last. "I've got some things to come to terms with," Rachel said. "But it doesn't have anything to do with Mac." "Sure it doesn't," Claudia said. Her gaze fastened suddenly on the sink. "Did you cook last night?" It sounded like horror in her voice.

Rachel glanced at the sink. The dirty dishes hadn't even registered when she filled her glass. "I fixed Mac supper." How long would it take for the Tylenol to work? "You shop," Claudia said, "cook for Mac, then call in sick the next day, and I'm supposed to believe those things have nothing to do with each other?" "It was an apology dinner," Rachel said, realizing she'd screwed up, knowing she should care more than she did. "What did you have to apologize for?" Claudia's tone clearly said she wasn't buying Rachel's excuse. "Everything," Rachel said. She was having trouble staying focused. "My whole life." Worry flooded Claudia's eyes. She felt Rachel's forehead again. Annoyed, Rachel brushed her hand aside. "You sound delirious, but you've got no fever." "I'm fine." "There you go, talking crazy again," Claudia said as she reached for her cell phone. "What are you doing?" Rachel asked, suddenly worried. "I'm calling Jake to come and stay with you." "No!" Rachel said, grabbing for the phone, finally caring. "Don't call Jake. Please." Claudia held the phone out of Rachel's reach. "Why not?" "He'll tell everyone in the family. I can't . . . He'd have too much on me." Claudia knew Rachel well enough to understand her family dynamics. She looked long and hard at Rachel before she thumbed the connection closed. "Will you promise to go back to bed and stay there until I get off work?" Relief flooded Rachel. She nodded. "I promise." Claudia took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I hope I'm not making a mistake." "I'm not suicidal," Rachel said, crankiness leaking into her voice. "You'd better not be." Claudia paused, thoughtfully. "I guess if you're worried about Jake getting something on you, you still see a future, so I'll trust you. Don't make me doubt my judgment, Rachel." "I won't." She wasn't suicidal, but she wasn't stupid either. Claudia was going to tackle Mac as soon as she found him. Rachel thought she could trust him not to tell Claudia what was really going on, but if he did . . . Apathy washed over her. It didn't matter where she lived anymore. There were always jobs in Corpus Christi.

Chapter Sixteen Exhausted from tossing and turning all night, Mac finally gave up on sleep an hour after the sun came up. He ordered coffee, strong and black, from room service, but it didn't kick him into gear. His eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked. He turned on the morning news programs, but the insipidly cheerful hosts only lulled him into a stupor. About eleven o'clock, he lay down on the couch, and eventually drifted into sleep. When the knock on his door jolted him awake, his addled, sleep-deprived brain jumped to the last time he'd heard such knocking. Convinced Jake was there to kick his ass, he still didn't hesitate to open the door. "You look like you've been drug through the same knothole as Rachel," Claudia said as she stiff-armed her way past Mac. "What are you talking about?" "Rachel called in sick this morning." "But she never calls in sick." Claudia's eyebrows lowered, and Mac realized he'd just said something he shouldn't have known. That jolted him enough to put his brain into gear, even though it was only low gear. He scrubbed his face with his hands, buying time and trying to clear the cobwebs in his brain. "Sorry. I was dreaming. I just got back from an all-night poker game." "Really? Was that before or after you had dinner with Rachel?" "Hunh?" "You heard me. Rachel cooked for you last night." Ah, shit! "Have you been seeing Rachel?" Her tone wouldn't have been any grimmer if she were asking if he'd knocked over a liquor store. "Seeing Rachel?" Mac repeated stupidly. "That's the question. Have you been seeing her?" "I see her nearly every day," Mac said, brushing past her to flop down on the couch. "You know that." "That's not what I meant and you know it." Claudia stood over him, her fists planted on her hips. "Have you been seeing her on the sly? Have you kissed her? Have you been trying to sleep with her?" Her bluntness nearly had Mac cringing. "No. I mean, yes. I mean, no." Claudia's eyes flared. "I mean I kissed her at the wedding reception. That was part of the act. But no, I haven't been trying to sleep with her." Technically, he wasn't lying. Trying wasn't the same as doing. "Then why is she so unhappy?" "I thought you said she was sick." "She's so miserable she's made herself sick." "So you automatically blame me? It's not my fault." It was the fault of that raping son of a bitch in Rachel's past.

Claudia glared at him. "What happened last night at dinner?" "She was . . ." What was he supposed to say? "Happy. At least, I thought so." That had seemed true at dinner at least. How was he supposed to explain the emotional tumble? "Almost manic," he added. "Manic?" Claudia's eyebrows rose. "You know. The high side of manic-depressive." "Rachel's not a manic-depressive. I've known her too long for you to sell me that load of crap. If anything, Rachel's a control freak." "I didn't say she was manic-depressive," Mac backpedaled. This conversation was a minefield. Why hadn't Rachel called to warn him? "Can't we talk about this when I've had some sleep?" "So you have time to get your lies in order? I don't think so." This conversation was too full of pitfalls to continue. "What did Rachel say?" Mac growled, going on the offensive. "Did she tell you I'd done something?" "No. She wasn't very coherent." Pain lanced through Mac's chest. He closed his eyes. Why had he let her push him out the door? "Then why are you so sure it's something I did? Maybe it's just something she's not ready to talk about." "So she invites you to dinner and doesn't talk about it?" Claudia paused. "What was she apologizing for?" "What?" "She said it was an apology dinner." Claudia had been laying traps for him since she'd walked into his room, Mac decided. What else did she know that could trip him up? His brain was too fogged to navigate its way to a safe answer. Damn Rachel for not warning him. "That's private." "Not from me." Mac suddenly got a taste of the family dynamic Rachel's brothers dealt with whenever they were around. Thank God, Galveston was 900 miles from Manitou Springs. He'd never have been able to keep the reasons for his failed marriage private. "Yes, from you," Mac yelled, losing his temper as his head cleared. "Some things don't belong to the community. They don't even belong to family. They're private! That means butt out!" Claudia fell back a step. He was too tired to maintain his flash of temper. "Rachel will tell you what she wants you to know when she's ready." "You know what's going on with her, don't you?" The accusation was gone from her voice. Mac ran a hand through his hair. "I know you want to help her," he said. "But it's personal." "I'm her best friend," Claudia said, her tone pleading, a hint of hurt feelings in her voice. "I know," Mac said. "But you can't help. It's something she has to deal with herself."

Claudia stared at him for several seconds, her thoughts reflecting on her face too quickly for Mac to follow. Whatever she concluded diffused her anger. "When did you get so close to her?" He shook his head. "I don't know. It just happened." ~* * *~ Disgusted for allowing herself to indulge in even one day of misery, Rachel returned to work the next day. Mac had kept her secret, but he'd clearly said something to Claudia. That had been obvious when she'd shown up on Rachel's doorstep after work with Rachel's favorite Chinese takeout. She'd been kind but, except for offering a shoulder if Rachel wanted it, Claudia hadn't tried to get Rachel to reveal anything. Missing even one day always left a stack of things for Rachel to catch up on. She was glad to be busy; gladder still not to see Mac in the first few hours of the day. Part of a concierge's duties was to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the lobby, to be prepared to offer assistance, so when the brunette walked through the front doors in the early afternoon and looked around, Rachel was immediately aware of her. When the woman spotted the house phones near Rachel's station, she headed straight for one. She brushed back her mane of dark hair before putting the phone against her ear and dialing. Rachel's heart skipped a beat when she heard her say, "Hi, Mac." So that was Diane. She was beautiful in a fresh scrubbed, wholesome, friendly way. Rachel was willing to bet that face had never so much as frowned at a man. Diane would even cry prettily, Rachel was sure. When Diane hung up the phone, Rachel stiffened. Please don't ask me for anything. Diane sat down in one of the lobby's upholstered chairs, clearly waiting for Mac. And Rachel proceeded to discover just how long five minutes really was as they both waited. When Mac stepped out of the elevator, she tried again to focus on the requests for event information hotel guests had made, but it didn't work. Nothing had made any sense since she'd heard Mac's name on Diane's lips. She wished she had blinders or at least lousy peripheral vision. It didn't matter that Mac didn't kiss Diane hello. That he took her hand was more than enough to send her heart plummeting. It wasn't Mac, she told herself. It was seeing him with her, knowing a man would never take her hand like that again. They turned to leave the hotel, but Mac's step stuttered. He said something to Diane, then walked alone to Rachel's station. Rachel put on her public face. "Are you okay?" His query was casually asked, but the question in his eyes went deeper. "I'm fine." She even sounded okay. "Claudia said you weren't feeling good yesterday." "Things backed up on me a bit, but I've got it handled now." She hoped he understood. "Is that Diane?" "Yeah." "She's beautiful."

"Yeah," he agreed, but his attention was still on Rachel. "You know if you need me for anything . . ." Rachel smiled. "You've done everything I could've asked for, Mac. You shouldn't keep Diane waiting. Someone will swoop in while you're back's turned and carry her away." He obviously wanted to say something more, but what was left to say? "Go on, Mac. And if you need tickets for anything in Galveston, let me know." Mac nodded reluctantly then headed for the door, gesturing to Diane to join him. They clasped hands when they came together. Rachel released a long breath, saying softly as they walked out into the bright Galveston sunshine, "I hope she's good enough for you, Mac." ~* * *~ She didn't want to be there to know if Mac didn't come back, but she figured having a drink with Claudia after work wouldn't make any difference. Somehow one Bloody Mary turned into two. At three drinks, Rachel realized she didn't want to go home. Claudia seemed reluctant to let her go as well. Around seven o'clock, Mac walked in alone. Rachel felt a stab of guilt, as though she'd ended his date simply by wishing it. When he claimed the chair next to her, Rachel didn't know where to look or what to say to him. Claudia had hired the bartender on duty only the week before, but he still knew enough to bring Mac a Chivas rocks without asking if he wanted one. "Thanks," Mac said without interrupting the story Claudia was telling. When she finished her story, Claudia said, "Rachel said you had a date with Jake's friend, Diane. What's that make? Two?" "Three actually." Rachel's heart pounded. She'd missed one. What other time had he seen her? Yesterday? Or before that? What did it matter? "Is Rachel off the hook then? Has she met her end of the bargain? Two dates, three kisses?" Rachel felt Mac's gaze on her. "She's off the hook. I got everything she promised and then some." "Mac!" Claudia rebuked him. Rachel felt his gaze move away from her. "We don't need to hear details." "You weren't going to," Mac said. "Good. So what kind of matchmaker is Jake?" Claudia asked. "Should I have him find me someone? "What about what's-his-name? The guy at the poker party?" "Ted? He's a standby." "A standby?" "Someone you call," Rachel explained, knowing Claudia was going to spend ten minutes jerking Mac's chain, "when you don't have anyone better in the pipeline. It's a step down from having a friend with benefits."

"Okay, I know I've been out of the loop for a while, but what's a friend with benefits?" "Good God, Mac!" Claudia said. "Where have you been for the last decade?" "Married. That's where." "A friend with benefits is like a standby date you sleep with in those long, dry spells when you don't have anyone better in the pipeline," Claudia explained, borrowing Rachel's terminology. "Hey, Claudia!" the bartender called out. "Are we out of Yukon Jack?" "There should be some in the stockroom." "I looked. Didn't see any." "I'll be right back," Claudia said. With Claudia's departure, Rachel felt Mac's eyes on her again, but he didn't say anything. If only she smoked, Rachel thought, she would have something to do with her hands. The Bloody Mary was the only prop available. As the rim of the glass touched her lips, Mac's hand slid into hers. Though their hands were shielded from view under the table, Rachel tried to pull away. His fingers tightened. "Is it that painful to look at me?" Rachel forced her gaze to him. Looking at his face, the hurt in her heart eased for the first time in two days. Her fingers curled around his. "No. It isn't painful." "I've missed you." "Mac, don't—" "I know. It's just hard, knowing you're hurting and not knowing if I should . . . I wanted to come by, but I didn't know if that would just make it worse." "I can't be your friend with benefits, Mac." "I'm not asking you to. Can't I just be your friend? Seems like that's got benefits enough." "Really?" Mac turned in his chair, sitting sideways, bracing his elbows on his knees, his hand still holding hers. "Not everything between a man and a woman has to be sexual." "That's not been my experience." "What? You've been sleeping with Pete behind my back?" Mac grinned, referring to Claudia's steadiest bartender. "Pete's married," Rachel said. "Besides he's a casual friend. Barely more than an acquaintance." "You haven't picked your men very well, have you?" "Not until you." Rachel heard how that must sound to Mac and gasped as though trying to suck the words back into her mouth. "I didn't mean that—that you were mine. I meant—" "I know what you meant." Mac smiled at her discomfort. "But you don't get to count me on your track record. As I recall, you didn't pick me; I picked you." Before Rachel could respond, Claudia sat back down. "I don't know if this bartender is going to work out. There's a whole case in the back with Yukon emblazoned on the side, but he can't find it."

Mac gave Rachel's hand a squeeze before letting go and straightening in his chair. The change in posture didn't escape Claudia, but she didn't accuse them of sharing secrets as she would have the week before. Rachel made all the sympathetic noises about the quality of the new bartender Claudia expected, even accepting the blame once more for Zach stealing Maddie away. Inside, her thoughts were spinning. Mac had picked her? She thought back, remembering how he'd kissed her at the reception. That had been inspired by three-quarters pure orneriness on his part and one-quarter circumstance. Or so she'd thought. Jake had instigated the kiss on the way back, but again, Mac had played along out of orneriness. Hadn't he? That left the kiss in her kitchen. The memory of how he'd walked in, gruff and sarcastic, insisting he wanted his third kiss from her crystallized in her mind. How had she missed it? Mac had picked her. He'd passed on Cheryl and chosen her instead. And when faced with her hang-ups, he hadn't run. He hadn't told her she was too much trouble. Hadn't called her a frigid, ball-busting, cock-tease. He'd stayed and tried to help her through her fears. And what had she done? She'd talked about finding someone else to marry and have children with. Was it really so important that the man she married didn't know her history? Or was she just afraid that a man couldn't want her once he'd understood how damaged she was? Or had she just been too self-absorbed to see he'd chosen her? The conversation had progressed without her, but Mac's voice finally broke through. "There's my date for tonight." A double shot of pure, green-eyed, jealousy flashed through Rachel. She couldn't even turn and look, knowing she'd see Diane dressed for a night out. Two masculine hands grabbed her shoulders. "Hey, Sis." She looked up, surprise washing away the jealousy. "Jake!" "Good at that, ain't she?" Jake grinned. "She hardly ever gets her brothers mixed up." Rachel looked at Mac in confusion as Jake took the seat between Mac and Claudia. "Didn't you just say . . . ?" He winked at her. "It's a poker date." Did he know what he'd just done to her? Not that it mattered. Her history had too firm a grasp on her. He deserved better. And they'd never really had a chance anyway. ~* * *~ Had he seen jealousy in Rachel's eyes? Mac wondered as he and Jake left for the poker game. Had she really not known he'd been there because he wanted her? He'd thought she was too bright to miss that.

Then again, Mac thought of himself as reasonably intelligent and look at how long he'd spent in a dying marriage. Would it change anything, now that she understood? He knew it wouldn't. Not unless he could figure out what flipped her switches. And they'd already tried everything either one of them could think of. Maybe it was time to think about heading home to Colorado. He was still thinking about home a week later, yet he couldn't seem to get motivated enough to put the plan in motion. To all outward appearances, Rachel had recovered her equilibrium. From behind the concierge station, she smiled and helped the hotel's guests, but Mac thought he saw an abiding sadness in her expression when she thought no one was looking. He'd seen Diane twice more. She distracted him for a while, but inevitably he would wonder what Rachel would think of the play he'd just seen or how she would look on the beach in the moonlight. They'd done none of the things dating couples normally did, and he found he knew next to nothing about what she thought of those things. And he wanted to know. Diane hadn't failed to notice that there were moments when he just wasn't there, but it hadn't put her off. If anything, she seemed to see him as an intriguing mystery. She took him sailing that Friday afternoon. He'd had a good time, but a certain melancholy had set in as they'd explored the gulf coastline. Mac was glad he had a poker game scheduled later; he'd learned not to let his dates with Diane last too long. Saturday night, he found himself paying for leaving her alone on a Friday night. Jake had come up with an extra pair of tickets to a concert by an alternative rock group Mac had never even heard of. Mac wasn't even sure when he'd agreed to go. He pulled on his next-to-last pair of clean jeans after he got out of the shower then started checking the pockets of the jeans he was going to send home with Claudia to wash. That was when he found Rachel's panties. His heart jumped in his chest when he realized what he held in his hand. He dropped the jeans and lifted the wadded cotton to his nose. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the couch, breathing in Rachel's lingering scent, awash in memories. God, he missed her. A tap on the door finally broke through his reverie. A glance at his watch told him he was late. He should have been in the bar to meet Jake and the girls fifteen minutes ago. Mac shoved Rachel's panties between the couch cushions and went to answer the door. "What have you been doing?" Jake asked. "You're not even ready, Mac." "It won't take me a minute," Mac said. "Where are the girls?" he called as he went to find a clean shirt. "I left them in the bar with Claudia and Rachel." Not good, Mac thought, grabbing the first shirt he saw. Not too wrinkled. He sniffed the arm pits before shrugging into it then tugged his boots on over a pair of relatively clean socks. Jake heaved himself up off the couch when Mac came out of the bedroom.

"At least you don't take as long as the girls to get ready." Jake grinned. "I don't have to freshen my lipstick," Mac replied. Jake laughed harder than the joke deserved, but Mac didn't stop to question it. ~* * *~ The very last person Rachel wanted to have a drink with was Diane, but neither did she want to look like she had a reason to avoid her. She would get even with Jake for parking their dates at the table with her and Claudia. He would never know what he'd done to deserve her retribution, but she'd make him pay just the same. Rachel tried to focus on Tracy, but the girl was either shy or intimidated by Rachel's status as Jake's sister. She wondered if Jake had told the girl some story that made her out to be an ogre. Diane was not subject to the same apprehension about Claudia. They seemed to fall naturally into talking about Mac. From the questions Diane asked, Mac hadn't talked much about his marriage. She seemed particularly interested in what had happened between him and Gloria. If Rachel couldn't depart gracefully for home, at least she could make a trip to the ladies room. She dawdled there as long as she could, leisurely singing the alphabet song under her breath while washing her hands, to avoid returning to the table. Mac and Jake had joined the party at the table when Rachel walked out. She'd thought they'd all go when Mac came down, but it looked as though they'd ordered a round of drinks. The hell with it. She'd been social enough. She was going home. Rachel stopped at the bar. "Hey, Pete. Let me sign my tab, would you?" "Sure, Rachel. I'll get it for you in just a sec." She tapped a nail on the bar, waiting for Pete to finish drawing a couple of beers and serving them to the two business men at the end of the bar. When the girls at the table laughed at something Jake said, Rachel wanted to tune them out, but she might as well have had one of those spy gadgets that could pick up conversations through the walls of the enemy's embassy embedded behind her ear. "Hey, Diane," Jake said, "you been looking for something you lost?" "I don't think so" Diane said doubtfully. "You sure? 'Coz I found these in Mac's couch." Rachel couldn't keep from glancing over her shoulder, though she had a horrible, sick feeling from the teasing tone of Jake's voice what he'd found. Diane already had whatever it was in her hands, but from the look of horror on Mac's face, Rachel knew her guess was right. Jake really needed to curb that ornery streak of his. She almost felt sorry for Diane, having Jake all but announce in front of everyone that Mac had scored with her already. The long pause as everyone waited for Diane's reaction stretched until even Pete glanced their way. Finally, Diane said, "Thanks, Jake. That's very considerate of you. There's just one problem." A couple beats went by before she continued in a cold voice. "They're not my panties."

The shock brought Rachel around in time to see Diane throw them at Mac's face. He must have expected it because he caught them in midair. They disappeared under the table before Diane could even shove her chair back from the table. The entire bar seemed to hold its breath as she stormed out. Several awkward moments passed before the two businessmen at the end of the bar started applauding. Mac's face went from red to a glowing crimson. "God, Mac. I'm sorry—" Jake started to say as Tracy stood. "I'm going to drive Diane home," she said. Jake rose but Tracy turned on him. "You've caused enough trouble. I don't think Diane's going to want to share a car with you tonight. And frankly, neither do I." She shoved against him, to clear her path. Jake let the push drop him back into his chair, a stunned look on his face. "Do you still want this?" Pete asked, pulling Rachel's attention away. She signed her tab with shaking hands, her heart shriveling in her chest. Who had left her panties in Mac's couch? Who had he slept with? The question was apparently foremost in Claudia's mind as well. "Christ, Mac! What have you been doing in my hotel?" Rachel decided she didn't want to know. She bolted without even going back to the table to pick up her concierge jacket.

Chapter Seventeen Rachel caught up with Jake outside the church the next morning. "What happened after I left last night?" Jake grimaced. "You don't want to know." Deep down, Rachel agreed with him, yet somehow she had to know. "Did Claudia tear Mac a new asshole?" "Not just Mac. She tore me one, too." "Well, you deserved it. How could you do something so stupid?" It was an especially humid morning, and Jake took his hat off and wiped his brow before answering. "How was I supposed to know they weren't Diane's? With all his moaning about not being able to meet anyone, I figured they had to be hers." Remorse filled Jake's eyes. "It was pride." He took a deep breath, as though preparing to confess something dreadful. "'Pride goeth before the fall' just like Daddy says. I just . . . I like Mac, and I was proud of having put him together with someone good." Rachel touched his shoulder to let him know she understood. Of course, she still had to ask. She managed to hold her voice steady, even though she could feel the vein in her throat pumping. "Did he say who they belonged to?" "Nope. Claudia didn't push him too hard on that. As long as it wasn't anyone on the hotel staff, like one of the maids or a waitress from the restaurant, she didn't want to know." "So he didn't tell you either?" "No. For just a second . . ." He glanced sideways at her. "What?" "Don't hit me, all right? It's just . . . the way you skied out of there, I thought . . ." "You thought they were mine?" Rachel didn't hold back when she slugged him in the shoulder. "Ow! I know. It was a dumb thought. I just figured you'd want to help Claudia tear into him after the way he suckered you into helping him meet women. Looks like Mama was right about divorced men." Rachel had spent the night before arguing with herself about that very thing. Could Mac have been having sex with someone else while he'd been sleeping with her? In spite of her insecurities, she had a hard time believing it when he'd spent nearly every night with her. Not that he couldn't have been having sex in the afternoon while she worked, but what self-respecting woman wouldn't question a man who disappeared every evening? Well, a married woman wouldn't, she thought, and there were always plenty of those in the hotel, but Rachel just couldn't see the man she knew having a fling with a married woman. Obviously, she was still having a problem adjusting her picture of Mac, since the man she thought she knew wouldn't have had panties in his couch when he was on his way out with another woman either. "Wanna go to breakfast?" Jake asked. Rachel shook her head. "I've got things to do today." "Anything exciting?"

"Only if you find laundry thrilling." Her Sundays were boring now that Mac wasn't a part of them. When she got home, Rachel moved the clothes she'd left in the washer into the drier then washed a few delicates in the bathroom sink. She was hanging a pair of nylons on the shower rod when she heard the knock on her door. Through the glass panel beside the door, the bright sunshine backlit a man's form. Rachel paused, her heart suddenly trying to pound its way out of her chest. What if it was Mac? Then she'd have to deal with the panties. She didn't want to do that. Hell, she wanted to pretend the whole panties fiasco hadn't happened at all, or that what Mac did with other women didn't mean anything to her. But it did, and she didn't know what to do about it, so she retreated to the bedroom. Hiding out, pretending she wasn't home made her feel as though she was guilty of something. Worse, what if she got caught? She shook the thought away. How would she get caught? But the thought drove her to the bed, where she scooted up against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, where she couldn't be seen from the window if someone tried looking in. Whoever it was would go away soon. They might have even left already. She'd feel so silly when she found a Watchtower pamphlet on her door and realized she'd hidden like a criminal from a door-to-door missionary. The knocking came again, followed almost immediately by the buzzer on the drier. Rachel winced but didn't move. "Come on, Rachel. Open up!" Her breath caught in her throat. Her instincts had been right. "The hood on your car is still warm. I know you're home." No, I'm not, Rachel wanted to say. Please go away. He knocked harder. A silent minute passed. Hiding had been a bad idea. Her chest hurt from how hard her heart was pounding. She should have just faced him, but it was too late to answer the door now. She'd feel like such a fool. The phone rang, sending a shot of adrenaline pumping through her veins. She could see herself playing whatever message he left over and over after he was gone, just to hear his voice. Her answering machine was on the end of the kitchen counter, so she picked up the bedside phone as soon as the machine picked up then set it gently back in the cradle. The door rattled in its frame as though Mac had pounded it with his fist in frustration. Rachel went cold. She didn't remember locking it when she came in, but it was humid. She'd had to bump it hard when she'd come home from church. Would it hold under his assault? She knew he'd walk in if it suddenly popped open. Ten minutes passed in silence before Rachel ventured off the bed. No one stood beyond the door. She peeked timidly out the window. There was a long, empty space on the curb, but no sign of Mac's truck. Too cowardly to sit at the table to fold

her clothes as she took them out of the drier, Rachel threw the crumpled load in to her laundry basket and took them into the bedroom. An hour later, the phone rang again. Rachel stared at it as it rang a second time. This was silly, she thought. She wouldn't be able to avoid him when she went to work. She might as well talk to him now. But her hand hovered over the receiver until the answering machine picked up. "Hey, Rach. It's Sol." Rachel grabbed the phone, her skin suddenly cold. "I'm here. What's wrong? Is it Mama?" "What? Mama's fine. Why would you think something was wrong?" Relief washed over Rachel. "Because you never call me." "Of course I do." "No. Never. Not once since I moved to Galveston." "Well, I'm calling now. How're you doing?" Rachel pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment before answering him. Sol wasn't the chatty type. "I'm fine. Why?" "You gonna be in Galveston this week?" "Where else would I be? What's going on, Sol?" "I thought I might come down for a visit." Sol never left the ranch for anything less than a rodeo. "Sol, stop making me drag this out of you one tedious question at a time. What's going on?" "All right. Here's the deal. Eden wants to go to the beach before school starts again, but Georgia's mama ain't been well, so Georgia can't take her." Rachel filled in the blank. "So you thought a trip to Galveston would make some nice father-daughter time." "Yeah." "I think that's a great idea. I can put you both up in the hotel. When are you coming?" "Tuesday. We'll roll in about three." "I'll have a room waiting for you." "Hey, Rach . . ." "What?" "You know anybody with kids Eden's age?" "I thought this was going to be bonding time?" "Well, you know. She might get bored hanging out with her old man." Rachel smiled. A one ton bull didn't intimidate Sol, but a week away from the ranch alone with his nine-year-old daughter had him nervous. It was too delightful for words. "You remember Pete? The bartender. He has a couple kids. I'm sure they'd hit it off just fine." Relief filled Sol's voice. "That's great. How about I buy you and your boyfriend dinner Tuesday night?" Rachel felt as though she was going to swallow her tongue. If she told Sol it was over between her and Mac, he'd want to know why. She hadn't thought of a story to tell her family yet, and she sure couldn't tell Sol that Jake had found some girl's panties in Mac's couch. Sol was her only older brother, and he took that responsibility seriously. He'd stomp Mac into

blood splatter. Just for a moment that idea had some appeal, but Rachel knew she wouldn't really enjoy it. "Rach?" "Yeah. Sure. Dinner." "Pick some place nice. Eden's her mama's daughter. She wants some place she can dress up for." After she hung up, Rachel buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do? She almost reached for the phone again, but the fear of being turned down stopped her. She wouldn't even blame Mac. No, she couldn't call him. It would be too easy for him to say no. ~* * *~ By the time he got back to the hotel, Mac's frustration had turned into a blazing inferno. He put his temper to use in the gym, running through his usual routine in half the time it normally took. He could understand Rachel being irritated with him, but to freeze him out was carrying the sisterhood thing too far. For crying out loud, she was acting like he'd cheated on her, instead of on Diane. His relationship with Diane hadn't even gotten far enough for it to count as cheating. At least, not in his opinion. Not even if what they all thought was true. He'd been prepared to apologize and surrender the panties. He'd expected Rachel to be mad at him for taking them, but he'd thought she would at least understand. The hell with her! Mac piled extra weight on the weight bench. Let her think what she wanted. When he got back to Manitou Springs, he'd mail the panties to her. Sometime after he could no longer smell her on them. He'd lost count of his reps, but his temper still burned, so he started again. Half an hour later, he went upstairs to take a shower. Mac turned the water to the cool side of lukewarm and washed off the sweat he'd worked up. He was just wrapping a towel around his waist when someone knocked on the door. Jake, he hoped. He'd left a message on Rachel's brother's voice mail that morning about the possibility of a poker game. A blatant bribe, but maybe enough to smooth things over if Jake had decided to join everyone else in the I Hate Mac Club. Why it made any difference, Mac didn't know. He was going to pack up tomorrow and head for home. In a couple of weeks, there was an annual poker game in Las Vegas he tried to make every year anyway. But it wasn't Jake on the other side of the door. Mac nearly dropped his towel when he saw Rachel. Her eyes slid down to the towel for a split second, and she took a step back. "What do you want?" Mac growled, as mad at himself for the stirring in his loins as he was at her. "Have you come to castigate me, too? Because you'll have to take a number. Claudia already has one through ten." "I don't want a number." Her voice was almost timid.

"Then what do you want?" Rachel took a deep breath and seemed to find her mettle. "I want to talk to you." Mac held the door open as he stepped back, inviting her in with a sarcastic sweep of his hand. She went as far as the end of the couch before stopping uncertainly. "Did I get you out of the shower?" It was an innocent question, but the memories it sparked weren't. Nor was his body's reaction. "Make yourself at home," Mac said. "I'll put on some clothes." Yeah. Before he embarrassed himself by tenting the towel. He pulled on a pair of jeans—the same pair he'd worn the night before; no way was Claudia in any mood to do his laundry—and a shirt. He didn't bother buttoning it. He didn't have anything Rachel hadn't already inspected at close range anyway. "You want a beer?" he asked, his voice still grouchy, when he came out of the bedroom. Rachel shook her head. She settled uneasily on one of the chairs canted toward the couch. Mac got one he'd stocked for himself out of the mini-bar before he flopped onto the couch. He propped his feet, ankles crossed, on the coffee table as he twisted the top open. "So?" he said. He'd never seen her look so uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about not wanting to talk to you earlier." Mac paused with a mouthful of beer. Apologies were so unlike her. Except for that one she'd made him dinner for. And that, he belatedly realized, she'd made with every intention of getting something from him he'd already refused to do. So what did she want from him this time? Whatever it was, it would cost her, Mac decided as he swallowed. "Apology accepted." Ha! She hadn't thought it would be so easy. Rachel closed her eyes for a moment. Building up her courage, Mac thought, watching her the way he watched another player over a big pot. Her face took on a determined look as she opened her eyes. "I need a favor, Mac." "Since when do we do each other favors?" Something died in her eyes, and it almost made him relent. Instead he said, "We make deals, you and I. What do you want, and what are you willing to offer?" Rachel plucked at the hem of her skirt in confusion. She had no idea how obvious her tells were when she was desperate, and he knew she was. She had to be to show up at his door. "Sol's coming to town," she finally said. "So?" Mac took another swig of beer. "He wants to take us to dinner." "Us? As in you and me?"

"Yes." "When?" "Tuesday night." "That gives you plenty of time to think of a way to tell him we're not a couple." "It might. If my brain wasn't paralyzed," she said sarcastically. There was a spark of the Rachel he knew. Thank God, it was just a spark. "What do you want me to do about it?" "Go to dinner with me?" she offered tentatively. "That's all?" "And . . . play the part you did at the wedding?" Mac tipped the bottle up again, using the time to calculate how hard he could push her. "Acting all respectful and emasculated? I don't think so." "I didn't ask you to act emasculated," she denied, her tone shocked. He let it drop. Just mentioning it raised the stakes. "How long is Sol going to be in town?" "A week. He's bringing his daughter to the beach." "What's in it for me?" She closed her eyes again as though she couldn't look at him when she made her offer. "Whatever you want." Mac felt his eyebrows shoot up. God, a blank check? She really was desperate. "Hmm. I'll have to think about that." "Don't think too long," Rachel said, another spark of her mulish nature rearing its head. "Don't rush me. Unless you just want me to say no right up front." "I'd rather you say no now than five minutes before we're supposed to go to dinner." "There would need to be some ground rules." "Agreed." That's what she thought. She wasn't going to like his rules. "If he's going to be here a week, there's no way to tell how many times I'm going to have to play this part, so I can't put a value on your side of the deal until it's over." Gratified when Rachel swallowed hard, Mac knew he was well on his way. "I get to decide what I want when the week's over." Another night with her? Or a fresh pair of Rachel-scented panties? Hell, why not go for broke? A lifetime supply of panties to be mailed to Colorado weekly. Nice fantasies all. "And you won't haggle or try to get out it." "You'll be fair?" "Are you in a position to ask for fair?" A spark of anger flashed in her eyes, but she smothered it. "No." Her tone was sulky. "Do we have a deal then?" "Not so fast." He took another swig of beer, giving her time to wonder what else he could possibly want. It also gave him time to wonder why she didn't just think of some excuse why she wasn't seeing him anymore. She couldn't be using her brother's visit as an excuse to spend time with him again, could she?

One look at her narrowed eyes and the hard set of her mouth convinced him that he'd be fool to believe that. Time to put that fantasy to rest, but oh, how it stung his pride. Just like her refusal to talk to him earlier had. "When we're around Sol, you'll follow my lead. I set the pace. I decide what's respectful. If I want to feel you up in front of him, you'll not only let me, you'll act like you enjoy it." "He'll pound you into the ground if you do." She looked like she'd take a grim satisfaction in seeing that. "Then you'll have the perfect excuse for your family why you're not seeing me anymore. But I still get to collect your end when I get out of the hospital." "If he doesn't send you to the morgue." "In that case, you won't have to pay off." "That's so gracious of you." "Take it or leave it." Mac tipped the beer up while she thought about it. He was taking a huge gamble, but what the hell? What did he have to lose?

Chapter Eighteen What scared Rachel was Mac's twisted sense of humor. What if his sense of revenge was equally bent? She'd thought he was her friend. Then again, he'd probably thought that, too, until she'd refused to open her door to hear his side of the panty fiasco. What she was agreeing to was effectively white slavery, but he wasn't giving her any choice. He wore his poker face while he waited for her decision, but she suspected he was delighting at having her in such a vulnerable position. When had all the power shifted to his side of the court? The answer was surprisingly obvious: when she'd lied to her mama, letting her think her daughter was seeing someone seriously enough to bring to a family wedding. "All right," Rachel said, agreeing to his terms with trepidation. "Shall we seal the deal with a kiss or do you just want to give me a pair of your panties?" Mac asked. Rachel drew a sharp breath, narrowing her eyes dangerously, as she fought the urge to strangle him. Not yet, she counseled herself. Make sure Sol and Eden have rooms first. Then she could kill him. Even justifiable homicide would put her in jail until Sol left town. Then she wouldn't have to face him at all, but they had to have rooms while she was locked up. "You can trust my word, Mac." "Oh, I'm sure I can. Sol might pound me into the dust, but he wouldn't be too happy with you either if he found out what a scam you've been running." I've just made a deal with the devil, Rachel thought. Again. But she had no choice, and unfortunately, he knew it. ~* * *~ On Tuesday, Rachel went up to Sol's room an hour before she was supposed to meet them for dinner. Afraid of losing her nerve, as soon as Sol opened the door, she blurted, "I want to warn you about Mac." "Warn me?" Sol asked. Rachel grimaced. "Yeah. You need to know that sometimes he's got this sort of . . . juvenile sense of humor." Sol's eyes narrowed. "Juvenile how?" "He likes shocking people." Sol raised an eyebrow. "Look, Jake told him what Mama thinks of divorced men." When Sol went still, Rachel realized that those words applied to Sol as well. "And what does Mama think of divorced men?" Sol asked tonelessly. "That they have . . . needs." She couldn't remember ever seeing Sol blush. "Mac likes to tease me about it."

Under the blush, Sol turned grim. "Is he pressuring you?" She had to be careful here, or she could create the very situation she was trying to diffuse. "Not really. It's more like he's giving me the opportunity to say yes. If I want to." Sol's other eyebrow rose. Rachel ignored the implied question. What she did or didn't choose to say yes to was none of Sol's business. "The point is he might decide it'll be fun to see how much he can embarrass me in front of you." "I can put a stop to that." "I know you can, but I don't want you to over-react." Sol crossed his arms over his chest. "You want me to let him get away with it?" "No. If you don't react at all, he'll just escalate until you do. If you let him know he's being a jerk, that should be enough. You don't need to pummel him or anything." She didn't find it reassuring when he said, "Let's hope not." ~* * *~ Rachel was as nervous as a mouse in a cattery as Mac seated her opposite Sol. Eden was delighted with Clary's linen tablecloths and napkins. Even the forks lit her eyes. Rachel leaned over and explained that she should start with the one on the outside and work her way in. "I know, Aunt Rachel. Mama took me to the Rivoli in Houston for my birthday." She looked at her father. "Can I have a shrimp cocktail, Daddy?" "That comes with an extra fork," Sol warned. Eden grinned with delight. "I know." The adults all laughed. "What about you?" Mac asked Rachel, his eyes alight with mischief. "Do you need an extra fork?" Rachel smiled stiffly back, determined not to let his lame innuendo ruffle her composure. "I think a dinner salad will be enough of an appetizer for me." "Well, I think Eden's got the right idea," Mac said as he studied the menu. "I'm going to have a shrimp cocktail, too. If you change your mind,"—the forged innocence in his look didn't fool her—"we can share a fork." Rachel ignored him. With Eden there, it was easy to keep the conversation off more serious topics. She was as excited about spending a week with her daddy as she was to go to the beach, and she had a list of things she wanted to do with him while they were in town. "How are the newlyweds doing?" Mac asked over dessert. Sol frowned. "I see Zach in the fields and the barn, and Maddie goes up to the house a lot while he's working, but as soon as his chores are done, they disappear into the trailer." "When is their place going to be ready?" Rachel asked. "Not nearly soon enough. I want my place back. I been out of Mama's house too long. It's a zoo. There ain't no peace there at all. I can't understand how they manage with only the one bathroom and a mud room. 'Specially with Daisy in the house."

Rachel hid a smile. Clearly the opportunity to spend a week with his daughter wasn't the only benefit of a week in Galveston. When the waitress came by to top off their coffee, Rachel was starting to think Mac was going to play nice, that he'd made his threats to satisfy some morbid curiosity about how desperate she really was. As she started to take a sip, Mac's hand slid onto her thigh. She jumped, slopping coffee onto her skirt. "Careful, honey," Mac said, his face the ideal of innocence. "That's probably hot." He had his napkin in hand, blotting coffee from her skirt before she could object, teaching her, under the cover of the tablecloth, a whole new notion of what it meant to take liberties. She pushed his hand away, snarling, "I can handle it." "I know you can, but I enjoy taking care of you." His hand slid up the inside of her thigh, nearly brushing her crotch before retreating. Contradictory emotions flooded her. Her body reacted as though his touch was the prelude to a seduction, but her logic said he was punishing her. Or reminding her of her unconditional acceptance to his terms. Either way, she could only expect it to get worse. When they got back to the hotel, Sol suggested they meet for a drink after he got Eden settled. Before Rachel could beg off, Mac agreed and steered her into the bar. As soon as they were out of Sol's sight, Rachel turned on him, grabbing the front of his shirt. "What did you think you were doing at the restaurant?" "You spilled your coffee. I was just being helpful." Amusement lurked behind his innocent gaze. "I wouldn't have spilled my coffee if you'd kept your hands to yourself." "Jeez, you're touchy." "No, you're the one being touchy. And I want it to stop." Mac's eyes lost their humor. "I set the rules, remember?" "When we're with Sol." "We were with Sol." "But that . . . that wasn't . . ." "For Sol's benefit? No, it was for mine." Mac turned her. With a hand in the small of her back, he nudged her toward a table. "How does it benefit you to embarrass me?" "Embarrassing you was just a collateral benefit." "Then what—?" "I wanted to touch you." Rachel sat in the chair Mac held out for her, her heart pounding at his admission. "You don't have touching privileges." "I have whatever privileges I want," he reminded her as he stepped around the table. "No. Not after Jake found those pan—" Mac had been descending into his chair, but he surged up again to lean across the table. In a low, carefully modulated voice, his face inches from hers, he said, "You didn't want to hear my side of that, so you don't get to hold it against me." The anger in his eyes drove Rachel against the back of her seat.

When he was settled in his chair, Rachel said, "All right. Tell me now." "Sorry. You missed your chance," he said, his anger masked. "Your usual?" Pete asked as he laid coasters in front of them. Mac nodded. "It's just as well," Rachel said with a sniff when Pete went back to the bar to make their drinks. "I really don't want to know who they belong to." In control of himself again, Mac lifted an eyebrow. "Is that jealously I hear?" "It most certainly is not." "Then why does it matter?" "It doesn't." It really didn't. Knowing would only twist the dagger in her heart. Mac's lips twitched as though he found something amusing. "What?" "That day you told Jake I wasn't in your bedroom must have been a fluke." "What do you mean?" "You really are a lousy liar." "Maybe I only bother to put the necessary effort into it when it matters." Mac shook his head. "Give me your foot." "What? Why?" "Just do it." "No." Mac pushed his chair back. "Give Sol my regards," he said, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair to push himself up. "Mac!" He cocked his head at her. "All right." Damn him. He was going to dictate every breath she took for the next week. Rachel rolled her chair back and held up her foot. Mac held her ankle as he slipped her shoe off. "We can't wait until Sol walks in to strike a pose." He laid her ankle across his lap and started rubbing her foot. Oh, crap. She'd forgotten how he'd rubbed her feet after that first dancing lesson. She'd forgotten, too, how good he was at it. That night, there'd been an electrical current in his touch that made her wonder what it would be like to have him touch other places. She no longer had to wonder, but in spite of that knowledge, his fingers pressing into her feet spread lethargy through her limbs. She leaned back in the chair, her eyes sliding shut. Rachel didn't know what to make of Mac's foot rub. Just moments ago, he'd been furious at her, now he was rubbing her foot with just the right amount of pressure. Another excuse to touch her? "Nice technique." She lifted her lids just enough to see Pete leaning over the table to place her drink. Pete saw her notice him. "My wife loves having her feet rubbed." "Mm!" Rachel closed her eyes again. "Hey, Pete," Sol said behind her. Rachel heard them clasp hands for a moment.

"Good to see you, Sol," Pete said. "What can I get you?" "I'll take a Lone Star long neck." Rachel didn't open her eyes, but she heard the chair next to her slide across the floor. "You two look almost domestic," Sol said. "Rachel spends a lot of time on her feet behind the concierge station," Mac said. He did sound domestic, Rachel thought. Tamed, even. Too bad it was an illusion. "Jake tells me you gamble." "I play a little poker." "Six hundred dollar pots?" Sol sounded like a parent grilling a teenager. "That's about as good as you get in Galveston. At least in the games I've found." "That kind of gambling makes for a mighty unstable bank account." Sol wasn't really asking Mac if he was solvent, was he? Rachel tensed, waiting for Mac's response. "I figure your sister's got a good job. She can support us." Rachel wanted to slide under the table. "Rachel said you'd try to jerk my chain," Sol said matter-of-factly. "Did she?" Mac said, his thumb digging into her arch. Rachel's leg tensed, but she fought the urge to jerk her foot away. She had better put a stop to this before it got out of hand. "There's no call to grill him like he's a prospective bridegroom, Sol," Rachel said, not bothering to lift her head from the back of the chair. "We're not getting married." "That has a way of changing without warning." "We're not you and Georgia. We're not running off to Las Vegas." "You best not." Why was everyone suddenly trying to dictate her life? She lifted her head and gave Sol a steely look. "Don't tell me what to do. If I want to run off and get married, I will. And I don't need you to approve whoever I choose to do it with." Mac ran his knuckles up from her heel to the ball of her foot. "Settle down, honey. Sol's just trying to look out for you." She should want to clobber him, but it was impossible to hold onto her anger when he did that to her foot. "Other foot," Mac said. Rachel whined in token protest that the massage was half over as she gave him her other foot. "Just so you know," Mac said as he started on Rachel's other foot, "I have part interest in the family bar in Colorado. It does pretty well." "Mac, you don't have to give him a balance sheet." "If it makes him more comfortable, why shouldn't I?" "Whatever." He was stroking her foot from heel to toes with his knuckles. "My mother's half interest supplements her Social Security well enough to let her do whatever she wants."

"Let's see. You've got another brother, right? So you own what? A sixth of the bar?" Sol asked. "And your mother has controlling interest." Rachel let her head fall back again. She already knew how the ownership was structured. She even had pretty good idea how well the bar did. Claudia always sprang for a nice dinner with her share of the annual profits then treated herself to a cruise before she banked the rest. "My dad wanted to make sure we kids couldn't sell without Mom agreeing. He also figured if we owned part of it, we'd be more interested in keeping it going. Mom leaves running it to me, for which, in addition to my share of the profits, I'm well compensated." "So that's how you can afford to take an extended vacation here in Galveston." "That's how," Mac agreed. His thumbs shifted to the arch of her foot. "Hell," Sol said. "Maybe you should marry him, Rach." To Mac, he said, "I ain't never seen anyone able to mellow her like that." "This is nothing. You should see her after sex." Rachel's eyes flew open. She used the arms of the chair to lever herself up since Mac's fingers had closed around her foot when she tried to jerk it out of his lap. He was probably afraid she'd kick him in the nuts. A moment later, Sol chuckled. "If I thought you weren't baiting me, or if Rachel hadn't just reacted like a scalded cat, we'd be stepping outside right now." His tone was amused on the surface, but a note of steel under-laid it, warning Mac he wouldn't find too many more such statements funny. "Sorry," Mac said. "Sometimes my sense of humor doesn't know when to take a vacation." Rachel glared at him. Was he trying to get himself killed? It was definitely time to change the subject to something safer. "So, Sol . . . you said on the phone Georgia's mama was sick?" They'd only mentioned Sol's ex-wife in passing over dinner. Mac scooted his chair around to face Rachel's directly. "Yeah, she had a stroke last week," Sol said. It took an almost imperceptible movement against Rachel's heel for her to realize Mac had braced her foot against his crotch. Her knee jerked, trying to get away from the erection pressing against her arch. "Too hard, honey?" Mac lifted his eyes to meet hers on the word 'hard.' Her lips parted, but her breath caught in her throat. "No," she finally got out. "Just a tender spot." Thank God, Sol couldn't see what was going on below the level of the table. The corners of Mac's lips curled. A challenge burned in his eyes as he laid his hand across the top of her foot and pressed her sole briefly against the bulge in his pants. So he wanted to play, did he? Rachel laid her head back again, pretending to relax back into Mac's foot massage, but her heart was beating fast. This was going to be like sitting in a haystack playing with matches. "Is Georgia staying with her folks then?" she asked as she rolled her hip forward to better position her foot, answering Mac's pressure with her own. "Was the stroke that bad?" "No, it wasn't too bad, but her mama's always waited on Georgia's daddy hand and foot."

Rachel wiggled her foot against Mac's crotch. He jerked, his entire body, not just the part under her foot, going rigid. She could feel the shape of his erection through the light fabric of his dress slacks. With short, subtle movements, Rachel stroked him. "I think Georgia's more afraid her mama'll have another stroke if she doesn't take it easy for a while," Sol continued, unaware of Mac and Rachel's divided attention. Rachel curled her toes over the head of Mac's penis. Mac pushed his chair back abruptly, taking his sensitive anatomy out of her reach. Swiveling his chair back to its original position, he laid her foot and ankle across his thighs. "Her folks never liked you, did they?" Rachel asked, fighting to keep a triumphant smile off her face. "Not a lick," Sol said. About the same amount he'd like Mac if he ever caught on to the games Mac was playing. ~* * *~ Tormenting Rachel was a reward of its own sort, but Mac's motives weren't that simple. He was having difficulty being so close and not touching her. He shouldn't. Touching her tormented him as much as it did her, but for different reasons. He wanted to take her up to his room and take it further. Much further. Not that she'd go. It was better if he stopped now. He slapped the sole of her foot lightly. "All done." She withdrew her foot, slipped her shoes on, and sat up to finally take a sip of her Bloody Mary. When Pete brought a second round for Mac and Sol, Pete said to Sol, "Rachel says you got your daughter with you." "Pete's got a ten year old boy and an eight year old girl," Rachel told Sol. "I thought they might get along." "We're having a barbecue tomorrow evening," Pete said. "Would you and your daughter like to come? Be a good chance for the kids to meet." "That'd be great," Sol said. "How do we get there?" "Rachel knows the way." To Rachel, he said, with a tilt of his head, "Bring Mac, too." Rachel's answer was slow in coming as her gaze went to Mac. He could beg off—that was the point of the delay, he knew—but he said, "Texas barbecue? I am there!" Rachel's lips thinned, but Mac just smiled at her.

Chapter Nineteen Sol made Rachel crazy. She watched from the edge of the cement slab that served as Pete's backyard patio as Eden and Pete's kids looped around Pete's fancy outdoor grill, playing some kind of tag. Tall and lanky, Sol stood talking to Pete's wife as Pete lifted the cover of the grill to check the burgers. It was the passive way he parented his daughter. He kept an eye on Eden, sure, but where was the bonding they were supposed to be doing? With both Pete and Mac mixing drinks, at least the Bloody Marys were good. Rachel sipped her drink and listened as Sol offered to take Pete's kids to the beach with Eden the next day. When he started making plans to include Pete's kids on other excursions, Rachel clamped her jaw shut before she said something Sol wouldn't appreciate. She jumped when Mac wrapped his arms around her from behind, the top of her head connecting solidly with his chin. The clack as his teeth struck each other made her wince. "Ow!" "Did you bite your tongue?" Rachel asked. "No. No thanks to you." "Too bad." She would have felt bad if he had, but since he hadn't, she allowed herself a tinge of regret. "Would you stop being so jumpy? It makes you look guilty." "Guilty of what?" "Oh, I don't know. Running a scam on your brother? We're supposed to be a couple. You're supposed to like being around me." "I don't suppose you'd be willing to be a jerk, so I'd have a good excuse to break up with you in front of Sol?" "What? And miss all this tenderness?" He shifted his grip on her, dropping one arm, hooking the fingers of his other hand on her shoulder, brushing the tips of her breasts on the way, as he pulled her back against him. Rachel gasped as her nipples stood at attention. "No one noticed," Mac whispered in her ear. "I noticed." Rachel put disapproval in her voice in spite of having to keep the volume low. "I would hope so," Mac said. "Why do you keep doing stuff like that? What is it you want from me, Mac?" "Can't you guess?" Regret bit into her. "You know I can't . . ." He sighed into her hair. "I guess I'm just torturing myself." He was torturing her, too, though she'd never admit it. The kids were lining up, paper plates in hand, for the hamburgers Pete said were done. "Pete's got a nice family," Mac said. "Yes, he does," Rachel agreed, trying not feel jealous.

"If Gloria had wanted kids, back when we were first married, they'd probably be about the age of Pete's now." He sounded wistful, Rachel thought. The same wistfulness infected her own tone when she said, "When I was growing up, I thought I'd have five or six kids someday. All girls." Mac chuckled. "Too many brothers?" Rachel shrugged under the weight of his arms. "Not any close sisters to share with, I expect. There's eleven years between Daisy and me." "So you'd give up sons to have all girls. That'd be a shame." Rachel twisted in his arms to see the look on his face. "Why?" "Haven't you ever noticed that something special between boys and their mothers? Just like the something special between girls and their daddies?" Rachel let herself nestle back against his chest. "Sounds Freudian to me." "Maybe," Mac said. "Doesn't make it not so." "Maybe a boy wouldn't be so bad," she conceded. Why was she even thinking about this? She was never going to have children. She leaned back into Mac as a black wave of depression washed over her. Mac centered himself behind her, wrapping his free arm around her torso, just under her breasts, and kissed her hair lightly, as though he understood. A few moments later, Rachel felt his hard-on as he pressed his hips against her. She wondered if he thought she'd get upset. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to create a muscle memory. Mac holding her, wanting her, seeing the woman in her, those were the only good memories she was ever going to have of a man. She'd tried not to get her hopes up that the cost of their deal would be another night together, knowing the disappointment would be crushing if she let herself count on it. It didn't help that she knew she shouldn't want it. "How are you two doing?" Rachel opened her eyes at Pete's question. "Need any refills?" Rachel and Mac both assured him they were fine. "Thought I should warn you. Unless you want to go toe-to-toe with Sol, you oughta try not to look so much like you've slept together." "What?" Mac and Rachel said in unison. "He just asked me if I thought you two had been to bed together yet." Mac's arm tightened around Rachel as he drew a sharp breath through his nose. "We haven't, Pete. Really," Rachel denied, not at all sure she sounded convincing. "Sure, you haven't. Tell that to the blind guy selling pencils." "Is it really that obvious?" Mac asked. Too late, Rachel dug an elbow into his ribs. Pete lifted an eyebrow. "If Sol really wanted to see it, he would, instead of letting his suspicions nag at him. Of course, might be I have an edge. There were sparks flying fast and furious that first time you gave Rachel a foot rub. The kind that come when you wanna but you haven't yet. They weren't nearly so thick last night. Guess I read that right."

"Maybe we should come clean," Mac suggested softly. "Sol can only kill me once, right?" "No!" Rachel said over her shoulder, soft but definite. "He can only kill you. I'd have to live with him knowing." She turned her attention to Pete. "Please don't tell anyone." She grimaced. "Unless— Do you think Claudia and Jake know?" Pete shook his head slowly. "If Claudia knew, I'd've heard. It may be they're both too close to you two to see it." "Guess we better be more careful," Mac said, dropping a kiss at the base of her neck before he loosened his grip on her. Pete picked up Mac's empty and headed back to the grill. Rachel moved to step away from Mac, but he stopped her. "Not yet." Rachel stayed put but her lips twitched, knowing his jeans still bulged. There were so many things she missed about him, and the pseudo sex they had wasn't even at the top of the list. Another night together might not be too much to hope for after all. ~* * *~ "Wanna meet me for a nightcap after Eden's in bed?" Sol asked Mac when they got back to the hotel. "Sure," Mac said, adding nightly drinks with Sol to the calculation of what Rachel was going to owe him for. Mac was nursing a beer in the hotel bar when Sol walked in. Rachel's brother picked up a Lone Star from the bar before joining him. "Not drinking Scotch?" Sol asked. "Figured I need my wits about me if this is going to be the what-are-your-intentions talk." "Thought I'd save it for a few more days, but since you brung it up . . . What are your intentions toward Rachel?" "We haven't really discussed anything long term." "Are you sleeping with her?" "Blunt, aren't you?" Mac said, grateful beyond words that he didn't have to lie to Sol, since the question was in the present tense. "The answer to your question is no. I'm not sleeping with Rachel. Not that I wouldn't. She's a sexy, sensuous, intelligent woman." Sol didn't look happy in spite of getting the answer he obviously wanted. "You sleep with her, you best be prepared to marry her." "Are you telling me you've never slept with a woman other than your ex-wife?" Sol's lips tightened under narrowed eyes. "We're not talking about other women. We're talking about my sister." "Where the rules are different?" "It don't matter what the rules are in other families. Where Rachel is concerned, it's my family's rules you need to be concerned about." "And if she doesn't want to marry me?" "Then she'd best keep her legs crossed." It would have been funny if Sol wasn't dead serious.

"Look, Mac, I been watching the two of you. I reckon Rachel could do a lot worse than you— " "Thanks." "You're welcome. I can't say I like the idea of you taking her off to Colorado, but I wouldn't have a problem with you being a member of the family. Eventually. But you ain't been divorced long. If you're thinking you can sow some wild oats with my sister—" "Rachel isn't wild oats." Mac scowled at Sol. "And I'm getting tired of you talking like she is. Or like she doesn't have a mind of her own. I've seen enough of your family to know that if one of you can't handle your own fight, the rest of you will step in. Believe me, it's a rare fight Rachel can't handle all on her own. "And I'm not rebounding on her, if that's your worry. I may not have been divorced ten years like you, but my marriage was emotionally barren long before the paperwork got signed." "So you're not still in love with your wife?" "Ex-wife," Mac ground out, finally starting to lose his temper. "And no, I'm not still in love with her." "Good grief, Sol," Mac's sister's voice broke through the haze of his suddenly foul mood. He looked up to find Claudia gazing down at him. "What have you two been talking about that's put such a sour look on my brother's face?" "Rachel," Sol said. Claudia's knowing "Oh" got a sharp look from Sol, but she slid into the empty chair by Mac and started talking before Sol could pursue it. "How long are you going to be in town, Sol?" "We're leaving Monday morning. Why?" "I don't think either of you have seen the Excelsior suite. It's the best we have. It's going to be vacant Sunday and the hotel is going to drain the hot tub on Monday before they do maintenance on it." "There's a private hot tub here?" Mac said. "Hell, you've never comped me a room like that." "You're my brother, Mac, not royalty. Sheesh, you'd bitch if you were hung with new rope." "Damn straight. A new rope's not likely to break." "Anyway," Claudia said, pointedly turning the conversation back to the hot tub. "In cases like this, the hotel doesn't mind if the staff uses some of the amenities. Like the hot tub. I thought it might make a nice treat for you and Eden. Especially since that's going to be your last night in town." "But I'm not hotel staff," Sol said. "No, but Rachel and I are. It's a big tub—the floor is specially reinforced to support it. It'll seat half a dozen people comfortably." "You sound like one of the hotel's brochures," Mac said. "An occupational hazard," Claudia said. "So me and Eden, you and Rachel," Sol cast a wary glance at Mac. "And Mac, I presume."

"You could invite Jake, too," Claudia said. "I'm not sure we'll survive with that many McKnights in one room, but I'll make sure there's plenty of food and drinks. That should help keep y'all too busy to pick on us poor MacAllisters." Claudia's teasing coaxed a smile from Sol. "I suppose Eden will think the hot tub is cool enough to make up for having to hang out with us adults," he said. Claudia's eyebrows lifted. "Are you kidding? I haven't talked to her that much, but I got the distinct impression that getting to hang out with the adults is something she sees as very cool. She's growing up, Sol. Or haven't you noticed?" "She's only nine," Sol protested. "Nine going on twenty-one," Claudia said. "And in a big hurry to get there." Sol shivered. Mac chuckled. If Sol was going to successfully convert his tough older brother act into a strict, scary father act, he was going to need a lot more practice. "What's so damn funny?" Sol challenged. "Not a thing," Mac said, but he didn't bother to hide his grin. "You wouldn't think it was so damned funny if you had a daughter." "I'm sure I wouldn't," Mac agreed cordially. Sol sighed. "All right. I guess I'm up for it." "Good," Claudia said. "Because I already claimed the suite for us." ~* * *~ Rachel saw Sol and Eden coming and going throughout the week. Constantly on the run, Sol usually had Pete's kids, Todd and Effie, in tow as well as Eden. Even Jake joined them sometimes. Sol let Rachel plan their itineraries for the hours not spent at the beach, making sure they had tickets and reservations when necessary, operating hours and tour start times when it wasn't, and generally keeping them on schedule. They went to the IMAX at Moody Gardens, the Ocean Star Offshore Drilling Rig & museum at pier 20, the Haunted Galveston Tour, and rode the Colonel Paddleboat. At least Mac had sense enough to beg off. Rachel didn't need him bonding with Sol. The plans Claudia had for them Sunday didn't worry her too much. She was sure she could find an excuse not to go. She hoped Mac would, too. Maybe he could invent one of his phantom poker games. Saturday morning, Rachel saw Eden and Sol step off the elevator. Before he had both feet outside it, Sol snapped his fingers and turned halfway around. Eden hung back. During their quick exchange, Eden pointed toward Rachel at the concierge station. Sol nodded and stepped back into the elevator. Eden walked across the lobby, her blond pigtails brushing the shoulders of her Galveston T-shirt. She greeted Rachel then sat on the padded bench beside Rachel's station, her usual exuberance subdued. Rachel sat down beside her. "Hi, honey. How are you liking Galveston? Are you having a good time?"

"I like Galveston. There's a lot of cool stuff here. Mama usually takes me to Corpus Christi. We got cousins there." "I know. Is there anything you want to do here that you haven't gotten to?" "No. It's been real good." "You're sure?" Rachel brushed a pigtail from her niece's shoulder. "I could put a word in with your dad if there's something . . ." Eden was slow to answer. "No. We're doing lots of cool stuff. Todd and Effie are real nice." "So what's wrong?" Eden shrugged. "Nothin'." "Honey, I can't fix anything if you won't tell me." Eden scuffed her sandals against the carpet. "It's just . . . I wanted to spend time with Daddy." "Aren't you?" "Just me and him." "I see." Rachel let several silent moments pass. "You know, he just wants you to have a good time." "I am," Eden said, sincerity shining out of her eyes. "I just . . ." "Don't want to share him every minute," Rachel finished for her. "Don't you get time alone with him on the ranch?" "Some. But mostly, there's other folks around. Not that I don't love Gramma and Grampa and everyone." "Look, your visit here is almost over, but your daddy should make time for just the two of you when you get home. Let me talk to him about it." "I have to go back to Mama when I get home. She wants to take me shopping for school clothes." Before Rachel could come up with another suggestion, Eden added, "I wish Mama liked Daddy better." "I'm sure your mama loves your daddy. Sol's a good man. He just likes to be in charge all the time, and that can be hard to live with." Eden looked up at her, a small smile on her lips. "That's what he says about you." "Does he now?" There was the pot calling the kettle black. Eden seemed to notice the edge in her voice, but she didn't seem too sure about what it meant. "You won't tell him I told, will you?" "No, Honey. I won't." But I am going to make him pay. "I love you, Aunt Rachel. I wish you'd come home more often." "I guess I'd better try then," Rachel said, giving Eden a hug as Sol stepped off the elevator. He waved a "come on" at his daughter as he headed toward the hotel's double doors. Rachel knew nothing mattered more to Sol than his daughter, but he wouldn't appreciate his sister meddling. She was going to have to think of some creative way to make him aware of what he was missing. ~* * *~

Sol caught her off guard when they got back from playing tourist, asking her about Sunday morning church. Somehow, he even roped Mac into going. After church, they all went to brunch, and when Eden bubbled over with excitement about "hot tubbing" with her aunt, Rachel found she couldn't disappoint her. It was almost four in the afternoon before housekeeping finished with the room. Jake hadn't appeared yet when they went up to the suite, Claudia pushing a cart laden with snacks from the kitchen. Rachel and Eden changed in one of the two bedrooms. When Eden dropped her clothes on the floor, she looked too thin in her one piece bathing suit—evidence of a recent growth spurt. Rachel tugged the bottom edge of her own burnt orange two-piece down a little, knowing Sol's paternal instinct was going to spill over onto her, even though it was a modest suit. "Looking good, kiddo," Claudia said to Eden when she came in. "There's sushi out there. Have you ever tried it?" "That's raw fish, ain't it?" Eden's nose crinkled in disgust. "Yes," Claudia said. "Very sophisticated. But there are brownies, too." "Eww," Rachel said. "Sushi and brownies. There's a combination I could live without." "There are also pineapple bits and berries for you less adventurous types. Why don't you two go ahead and join the guys? I'll be right behind you." Rachel followed Eden out of the bedroom, hoping Sol wouldn't say too much about her suit in front of his daughter. She was so focused on her brother's reaction, she hadn't considered Mac's. The drawn out wolf whistle seemed gratifyingly spontaneous. Rachel grinned. She felt like whistling herself. The hours he spent in the gym had certainly paid off. He couldn't have looked any better at twenty than he did now, she thought, the scar on his abdomen notwithstanding. Under the thin line of fur on his stomach, he had six-pack abs. She was glad his suit was something between a Speedo and the baggy boxer style Sol wore. Sol also wore a scowl. "Where's the rest of your suit?" he growled. Mac caught her around the waist before she could answer. "She's got everything she needs," he said, lifting a hand to her face to hold her still as he kissed her. Rachel stiffened, bracing herself for Sol's reaction. "You want to get your hands—" When he didn't finish, Rachel and Mac cut the kiss short to find out what had distracted him. Bless Claudia, Rachel thought. Sol's mouth hung open, his eyes all but bulging, as he stared at Claudia's skimpy, black, French-cut bikini. "Holy shit, Claudia!" Mac said. His reaction snapped Sol out of his ogling moment. "Not so funny when it's your sister, is it?" Mac swallowed hard. "It's fine. It's just . . . I wasn't expecting it." "I think Claudia and Aunt Rachel look great, Daddy."

Sol rolled his eyes heavenward. "Sweet Jesus. Did either of you consider that there was going to be a child present?" "We saw skimpier suits at the beach, Daddy. And you looked. I saw you." "Jesus Christ," Sol said. Mac leaned against the dresser, pulling Rachel back against his chest, prepared to watch the show. The feel of his lightly furred chest against her bare back distracted her from the drama in front of her. "Can I get a belly button ring, too, Daddy?" "A wha—?" Sol did a classic double-take at Claudia. "No, you cannot." "Why not?" "Why not?" Sol pulled his eyes away from Claudia to stare down at his daughter. "For starters, you're mama'd have my head on a platter." "I'm not with Mama. I'm with you, and I'm your daughter, too." "Don't you go playing your mama and me against each other." "Mama'd let me," Eden said, still trying to con her daddy. "That what's you think," Sol muttered. A light tap on the door, followed by Jake peering hesitantly around the edge forestalled further discussion. "Ah, I must be in the right . . ." He trailed off when he saw Claudia. "Place," he finished. Eden's giggle seemed to pull him back into the present. Jake looked around, blushing, before he looked back at Claudia. "Damn, Claudia. How are you still single?" Claudia grinned, enjoying the havoc she was causing. "A husband would cramp my style, don't you think?" "If he had any sense, he would," Sol muttered darkly. Rachel leaned back to whisper to Mac. "You're taking this well." "What? Your brothers ogling Claudia?" He shrugged. "She's a big girl. And unlike your brothers, I have no illusions about my sister being a virgin. Besides, with them distracted, I can do this." Mac kissed the crook of her neck then started nibbling his way up toward her ear. Rachel's shoulder hitched up all on its own as goose bumps raced across her skin. Mac nuzzled her ear. "I think a belly button ring would look good on you. You know what'd look even better on you?" "What?" He murmured low in her ear. "Me." "Are we ever going to get in the tub?" Eden asked before Rachel could respond with something besides a fresh batch of goose bumps. She wondered why she wasn't finding Mac's lines as lame as she used to. "Yes, we are, honey," Claudia said. "C'mon, everyone." Mac abruptly left off nibbling on Rachel, just in time to innocently meet Claudia's gaze. "Are you two going to join us?" Claudia asked, her expression too benign to believe she'd missed what was going on in their little corner of the room. "We're right behind you," Mac said.

Rachel hung back with Claudia as the others headed for the Jacuzzi on the glassed-in side of the deck. She loaded food on small plates to put around the Jacuzzi while Claudia worked on uncorking the bottle of Martinelli's soft cider she'd brought for Eden. "Thanks for wearing that," Rachel said. "Sol's like the big brother from hell on steroids," Claudia said as she worked the plastic cork from the bottle. "I figured I could help distract him from the fact that you have skin." "You're a true friend, Claudia." Rachel put four filled plates on a tray to carry out. "Yeah, I just won't shop for you, so don't ask." She put her hand on Rachel's arm, holding her back. "So what's up with you and Mac?" "Up?" Rachel repeated, guiltily. "Nothing. We're just playing to the audience." "Ha! You're not that good an actress, and Mac may have a good poker face, but he's got tells, too, and they're telling me he's not just playing a game. I think he's interested in you way beyond putting on a show for Sol." "Really?" Rachel asked, feeling sick that Claudia was reading something into Mac's attention that wasn't really there. "Oh, yeah. Have you not noticed how he was looking at you tonight? That's pure goldplated lust, baby. Just don't break his heart, okay?" Rachel had to laugh, though she kept it low. She hoped Claudia didn't hear the bitter note in it. "I doubt he's in any danger. Have you forgotten the panties already?" "I haven't forgotten, but he hasn't brought the owner of those panties into the open either. I don't think it meant anything." Maybe not, Rachel thought. But that only meant Mac was a man who could take what was offered without looking back. Which was just as well since she couldn't offer anything long term. If Claudia was right, maybe she should enjoy him while she could, Rachel thought as she followed Claudia out to the tub. Maybe it was a good thing to make a few more memories with Mac. Something to look back on fondly in the years to come. And when she was old and gray, she wouldn’t feel left out when her widowed friends talked about their deceased husbands. Instead she’d tell them scandalous stories about the lover she’d once had. As Rachel lowered herself into the tub, Eden started a splashing fight that got everyone laughing and relaxed. Afterward, as Jake quizzed Eden about her school friends, the rest of them nibbled on the snacks. Eden was delighted with how grown-up the Martinellis looked in a champagne flute. Mac pulled Rachel between his knees, her back against his chest, and fed her strawberries, demanding a kiss after each one. With Sol's eyes not missing so much as a muscle twitch, Rachel made sure the kisses stayed chaste. Not always an easy task when Mac tried slipping his tongue between her lips. When Eden splashed across the tub to look closer at Claudia's belly button ring, Mac copped a quick feel. Rachel dug her elbow into his ribs. Mac grunted softly. "Don't take this wrong, honey," he whispered in her ear, "but your foreplay technique needs a little work."

"If I were doing foreplay, honey, believe me, you wouldn't have any complaints," she murmured back. "Hmm. Maybe we should test that theory later." "So how long are you staying in Galveston, Mac?" Sol asked from across the tub, interrupting their whispered exchange. Nothing subtle about Sol, Rachel thought when she saw the scowl on his face. She had to suppress a giggle when she heard her mama's voice in her head, threatening that Sol's face was going to freeze in that expression. "Well, there's a poker game in Las Vegas next weekend I try to make every year," Mac answered Sol as though it were merely a friendly question. Rachel heart tumbled into her toes. He's leaving? "I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss that," Sol said pointedly. Everyone else stopped talking, their eyes jumping to Mac to see how he'd respond. "I haven't missed it in eight years," Mac said. The eyes shifted back to Sol. "You gonna drive there?" "Thought I would." They were starting to look like spectators at a tennis match. "Then you'll need to leave by Wednesday." Rachel pulled away from Mac. She hoisted herself onto the edge of the tub. "Or I suppose I could leave the truck here and fly." "Sol," Rachel interrupted. "Can I please see you privately?" No need to sugar coat it, she figured. Everyone would assume she planned to box his ears no matter what she said. "What do you think you're doing?" she snarled, closing the glass door behind them when he followed her inside. "You're going to have trouble with Mac," Sol said grimly. He leaned against the television cabinet, his arms folded high across his chest, like he was some kind of genie. "What do you mean?" "You've never worn that around Mac, have you?" His head tipped, indicating her suit. "No. We've never gone to the beach." "That's what I thought. He's looking at you the way a man on hunger strike looks at a Tbone." Really? Rachel thought. "I can handle it." The look on Sol's face woke her up. He didn't like the tone she'd used. "I can handle it," she repeated, putting some bite into her words. "Yeah, I been watching the way you been handling it, with his hands all over you, feeding you strawberries, nibbling on your ears, and you not lifting a finger to stop him." "Sol—" "Where's your modesty, Rachel?" "What? He hasn't grabbed for anything he shouldn't." Somehow she managed not to flush as she told that lie. "Am I supposed to make token protests, so he knows he's approaching the line? Believe me, when he tries to step over the line, I'll knock him on his ass. But I'm not

going to say, 'no, no, well, okay, but next time, I'll really mean it.' He'll never believe no means no if I do that." Sol shook his head. "You let him go too far, he won't even hear it when you say no." Just months ago, Sol's words would have swamped her in guilt. She'd have quivered with fear that it would happen again. Mac had changed that. Only one time had he pushed her farther and faster than she'd been ready for, but he'd backed off almost as fast. The panties Jake found in his couch notwithstanding, Rachel trusted Mac, and she wasn't about to let Sol take that away from her. "Mac has great hearing," she told her brother firmly. "He'll hear me when I say no." "Why take the chance?" "Maybe because I want to, Sol." And just maybe she did. Maybe she was ready to gamble. Even if all Mac wanted from her was sex. The look of horror on Sol's face before she stepped back out was just icing on the cake.

Chapter Twenty Sol behaved himself as well as Rachel could expect after that. Of course, it helped that she made a point of not aggravating him by keeping some distance between herself and Mac. Not until Sol took Eden down to their suite to put her to bed and Jake and Claudia went inside to refill their drinks, did she gravitate back to Mac. He pulled her onto his lap, so she straddled his hips. Rachel caught her breath as he hitched her closer. "Mac—" "Shh." He buried his face in her neck as he palmed her breast through the top of her suit. The protest was gone from her voice as she breathed his name again. "Are you trying to make me crazy?" he murmured. "No. I'm just putting a down payment on what I owe you for this week." Something stirred inside his swim trunks. "We've got to stop this, or when Sol gets back, he's going to pound me." "You started it." He lifted her breast out of the top of her suit and pinched her nipple before sucking it into his mouth. A 220-volt of electricity zapped from her nipple to her clit. She rubbed her crotch against the erection in his trunks before she could stop herself. Mac moaned and released her breast. "I want you," he whispered in her ear. She wanted him, too. "Sol will be gone tomorrow." Mac's arms wrapped tight around her torso. "I don't think I can wait." She hated having to be the voice of reason. "We have to." "I know." He kissed her hard as he tugged her top back into place. "If we have to wait, you'd better get off my lap." Rachel moved off him just in time to keep from getting busted by Jake and Claudia. As they climbed back into the tub laughing, Jake reached over and flicked Claudia's bellybutton ring. They were flirting, Rachel realized, in spite of the decade Claudia had on Jake. Sol gave her grief over her modest two-piece and a few kisses from Mac, but Jake could flirt with Claudia? It's not fair, Rachel thought, angry at the injustice. No one would even read Zach the riot act about Maddie being pregnant before the wedding, either, now that they were married. When the talk turned again to Mac's poker game in Las Vegas, reminding Rachel he'd be leaving soon, her mood plummeted so fast she could almost feel it hit her toes. She sulked quietly when Mac started telling poker stories. Rachel tuned him out, not wanting to think about him in Las Vegas. She'd been coping reasonably well with the end of their relationship before Sol had forced her back into close contact with Mac. In her sour mood, it was easy to blame Sol that she wasn't coping nearly so well now. By the time Sol came back, she was itching for a fight

Sol sighed as he lowered himself into the water. "It'll be good to head for home tomorrow." He might as well have pasted a target on his chest. "Really? Tired of bonding with your daughter already?" Rachel's voice dripped waspishness. Sol's head snapped up. "What are you talking about? I spent the whole week with her." "A whole week? Gee, I guess that makes you Father of the Year." Sol's eyes narrowed. Everyone else went silent. "You didn't spend the week with your daughter," Rachel said. "You herded her around with Pete's kids. And Jake when you could get him. I'll bet you never had one meaningful conversation with Eden all week." "You think that's what parenting is?" Sol demanded. "I think it's got more to do with parenting than giving her whatever she wants, so she'll love you." "Hey! I don't give her everything she wants." Sol thrust himself forward. "Don't you? What have you ever denied her? I've seen her at the ranch. Mama's the one that tells her no. Or you make Eden call Georgia to see if it's all right, knowing she'll do your dirty work for you." Sol's jaw was set and his eyes flashed fire. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Rachel wasn't anywhere near done. "You had a chance this week to really spend some time with her. That's what she wanted, but you couldn't do that. You insulated yourself with other people, so you wouldn't have to." Mac's hand closed on her arm. "Rachel—" She jerked her arm away from him. "Don't 'Rachel' me. You men always stick together. You don't deserve to have kids, any of you." She braced her hands on the edge of the tub, preparing to hoist herself out of the water. "What the fuck—" Sol yelled. "Don't you dare!" Rachel dropped back into the water, stabbing a finger in his direction. "Don't you dare use that kind of language with me, Solomon McKnight. You are not as pure as the driven snow. How dare you sit there and disapprove of me!" Grabbing the edge again, Rachel hoisted herself out the water with enough force to create a small tsunami. She kicked her feet out, sending a spray of water over Sol and Jake. It hadn't been intentional but it proved extremely satisfying nevertheless. She grabbed a towel and headed for the bedroom, not wanting to see Sol or Mac again— or even Jake—for a very long time. ~* * *~ "What the hell brought that on?" Jake asked, breaking the stunned silence that followed Rachel's exit. "I was just going to ask the same thing," Sol said. "And that last bit about judging her? What was that about? Is she having her period or something?"

Claudia reached around Jake to slug Sol's shoulder, making him wince. "Not everything is about a woman's cycles, Sol. Sometimes it's about having to deal with you men." "Hey, I didn't mean anything," Sol said, rubbing his shoulder. "Then stop saying stupid things." "All right. If it's not her period, then what was it? What did y'all talk about while I was gone? "Nothing that would bring that on," Jake said. "Mac was telling poker stories." "She was really quiet though," Claudia said. Her mouth set in a determined line. "I'm going to go see what's wrong." She hoisted herself out of the tub, barely disturbing the water. Mac felt a guilty stab, wondering if it should be him, but relieved Claudia was stepping into the breach. Unlike his sister, Mac wasn't willing to rule Rachel's period out of the equation, which meant he'd be at a distinct disadvantage in dealing with her. Stopping at the door, Claudia said, "Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll tip the maids extra to take care of it in the morning." With Claudia's departure, the three of them took a long breath, nearly in unison, releasing it in relief. "Well, now you've seen what you're getting into with Rachel," Sol said. Mac shrugged. "You're forgetting this isn't the first time I've met Rachel. I know how she can be." Sol ran his fingers through his hair. "Then you know she's got to control everything around her." He shook his head. "Of course you do. Look how she pushed you into wearing Daddy's tie for Zach's wedding." "That wasn't a big deal." "That's my point. It ain't just the important stuff. She gets bossy about stuff that don't matter. I ain't saying she wasn't always bossy; that's a hazard of being the oldest girl, I suppose, but it got really bad the year before she left home. She started having tantrums when she didn't get her way. Even cried about it a couple of times." "She cried?" Mac repeated, stunned by the image of Rachel crying mad. "Because she didn't get her way?" "I remember that," Jake said. "I was scared to even talk to her for like six months." "Yeah," Sol said. "She acted like she was afraid the sky was going to fall if she's wasn't in control every second. She's still that way." The Rachel Mac knew wouldn't cry over anything trivial. But she might have if she'd just been traumatized by rape. He suddenly felt like the stupidest kid in school for not having gotten it sooner. Of course she couldn't stand not being in control because, when she hadn't been, the sky had fallen in on her. Memories of their intimate moments flashed through his mind. He'd given her permission to take everything at her own speed, even insisting she tell him no when she didn't want to do something. Hell, when he'd balked over something she did want to do, she'd managed to get her way in spite of him. She'd even orchestrated their last night together. And they'd made great progress until she'd driven him to the point where he'd wrestled control

from her, rolling her under him and driving into her because he wanted her too badly to wait another minute. Losing control was what flipped all her switches, Mac thought, stunned at how obvious it was now that he knew. He wanted to jump up and find her, to hand her the key to everything she wanted. What stopped him was the fear that she wouldn't trust him to help her turn that key. That and the fear Sol would kick his ass. Mac suddenly realized he was sitting bolt upright, and from the way Sol and Jake were looking at him, probably with an intense, lost-in-thought look on his face. He forced himself to relax and sit back, but his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. This changed everything. ~* * *~ Knowing Claudia would come after her, Rachel snagged her clothes from the room, waiting until she was in the stairwell to drag them on over her wet two piece, so she could make a clean getaway. She couldn't hide out at home, since Claudia would be on her doorstep as soon as she couldn't find her at the hotel, so Rachel drove down to Galveston's old fishing pier, deserted at that late hour, to sort out what was going on with herself. When her phone trilled Ring of Fire, Rachel turned it off. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, not even her best friend. Dangling her bare feet above the water, she thought about Mac leaving. She'd known it was coming, so why was she so upset? Just because she'd finally decided to let herself enjoy him as long as he was there? She was such a fool. If it hurt this badly now, how much worse would it be if she abandoned herself to him? Rachel closed her eyes and groaned. She'd given Mac every reason to believe she wouldn't object to paying her debt with her body. After a few miserable moments, she decided that if that's what he wanted, she'd do it, but she'd be damned certain to protect her heart while he was in her bed. No sharing emotional intimacies, she said sternly to herself. It was time to put on her prickly shell again. ~* * *~ The next morning, Mac swung by the craft building and wrote down the number on the for sale sign. He didn't try to justify it because he couldn't. His obligation to the family bar would keep him in Colorado; he certainly couldn't manage a bar long distance, but he took the number anyway. He wasn't sure if he was glad or sorry to see the same girl working in the lingerie store. This time, he didn't need her to point him toward what he wanted. Mac headed for the back where he stopped and stared, nonplussed. How could there be a selection? Weren't handcuffs just . . . handcuffs? "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She probably liked how embarrassed he got. Mac heaved a sigh and turned to face her. "I'm looking for . . ." God, he couldn't say it. He circled his thumb and middle finger around his wrist. "Handcuffs." It came out little more than a whisper. The girl rolled her lips inward. Trying hard not to smile, Mac was sure. She cleared her throat. That seemed to help her recover a businesslike demeanor. "We have the standard metal cuffs, of course, but if you're not into serious role-playing, I'd recommend something with a neoprene lining." The cuffs she picked up looked like black leather. She opened them, so he could feel the soft interior. "They're made with Velcro," she said, sounding very professional, "so they're easy to fasten, and you don't have to worry about losing the key." "Will that hold?" Mac asked doubtfully. She fastened one around his wrist. "Pull," she instructed. Remarkable stuff, Velcro, Mac decided when it held against his determined tugging. "Now if you're thinking about tying her to the bed, you'll probably want straps, so she has some mobility. That'll keep her hands and arms from going numb." Mac flushed. Was it worse that she thought he wanted to use them on a woman, or should he admit he would be the one tied to the bed? His indecision kept him silent as the girl opened the metal clip that held the cuffs together and showed him how to attach straps that would go around the bedposts. At the cash register, she started to put his purchase in a black bag with the store's name emblazoned in gold on the side. "Uh, I don't suppose you've got any other bags?" Mac asked. "Something in a . . . brown paper wrapper maybe?" She looked up to meet his eyes, surprise plain on her face. Then a small smile appeared. "No, but will this do?" She emptied the bag and turned it inside out. "That's great," Mac said with relief. Now, if he could just find the right opportunity to use them. On the walk back to the hotel, Mac found himself stopping and staring into the shop windows he passed, though a second after turning away, he couldn't have said what the shop sold. The bag in his hands seemed far too light to hold the key to all Rachel's dreams. And what did it hold for him? The answer came quickly: the ability to give her everything she wanted. But it tasted like ashes in his mouth. Rachel wouldn't need anything more from him. She'd find some guy to marry and have a family with. He knew he'd get a wedding invitation and birth announcements, but Rachel's husband would never understand the source of her fondness for Mac. Or of Mac's coolness to him. Playing their game for Sol's benefit had heated things up again, and Mac wasn't surprised to find himself pleased with the prospect of one more time with Rachel. But there was a price. Wasn't there always?

If he didn't use the handcuffs—if he didn't share what he thought he knew—Rachel wouldn't start husband-hunting. He could buy that building, move to Galveston, turn it into a bar, and she'd be his. It was a great fantasy. But even if he could make it happen, it would be a victory-bydefault. And of course, he'd never get to have real intercourse with her, and eventually that would drive him crazy. Mac lifted the bag and stared at it, envisioning its contents. Oh, yeah. It would drive him certifiably insane. Especially since he was pretty sure intercourse was only a pair of handcuffs away. And then there was the trust thing. He'd be lying to her. Only by omission, but their relationship would still be built on a big, fat lie. And if she ever told him how grateful she was that he loved her in spite of how damaged she was, he'd want to put a bullet in his brain. And he did love her, he realized with dismay. God, when had that happened? He was going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure out what he could have done differently. Mac was tempted to save himself the grief and just pound his head to mush on brick façade of the store in front of him. He couldn't win. No matter what he did, in the end, he'd lose her. He took a deep breath and turned his steps toward the hotel. If he had to lose her anyway, at least he could go out a hero. ~* * *~ Mac got back to the hotel, just as Rachel was saying her good-byes to Sol and Eden. He stashed the bag behind the concierge station and walked out to Sol's truck with them. Rachel hugged her brother and niece good-bye. Sol extended his hand to Mac. "It was good to see you again," he said, pretending, as civilized men did, that he trusted Mac with his sister. Mac pretended back. "If you ever get up Colorado way, be sure and look me up." "I'll do that," Sol said. Yeah, but only if your sister's there, too. Mac put his arm around Rachel's shoulder as they waved Sol and Eden out of the parking lot. As soon as the truck turned the corner and disappeared from their sight, Rachel stepped out of his embrace. Turning to face him, she asked, "So what's this last week going to cost me?" Mac knew what she expected him to say, and she'd made it plain she would pay the price he demanded. The intention had been in the back of his mind all week. But if she was only doing it to satisfy her debt, that made it obligatory sex. He'd sworn he didn't want that. But if she felt free to choose, she could say no. A cold sweat washed over him as he imagined, all too vividly, her saying just that. "Well?" Rachel asked harshly, demanding his answer. Her impatience was an act, Mac suddenly realized. A way to cover her nervousness. So just how often did her prickly behavior camouflage her vulnerability? Not all the time, Mac

was sure, but more than he'd ever thought, remembering how tender she could be when she felt safe. Rachel waved her hand in front of his face. "Earth to Mac." He realized he'd been so caught up in his epiphany that he'd zoned out. He focused on her. "So what do I owe you?" Rachel asked. Mac took a deep breath. "Nothing." Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? You're letting me off the hook?" Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? Could she have wanted to be with him again? Had she needed this excuse as much as he had? "Yeah, you're off the hook. But I have something for you, if you'll take it. It's up in my room." Rachel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I wonder what that could be." "It's not what you're thinking. There won't be any clothes on the floor. Not unless you put them there." He could hope, couldn't he? "Will you come up with me?" "All right. I owe you that at least. But then we're even, right?" Mac nodded slowly, hoping his new insight wasn't just him deluding himself. "You owe me nothing." When they got to his room, Mac pulled her stolen panties from the dresser drawer. He held onto them for a moment, reluctant to give them up, before he turned and held them out, a crumpled wad of white cotton. "These are yours." Rachel took them, holding them up for the brief second it took her to recognize them. She scrunched them in an instant as though embarrassed. "When did you take these?" Mac looked away, suddenly embarrassed himself. But he owed her the truth. "A while ago. After our first fight." "Do you have some sort of panty fetish? Are you collecting—" Her eyes opened wide as she caught her breath. "These are the panties Jake found in your couch?" Mac nodded, watching her closely, testing his new insight. She looked stunned. "I thought . . ." "I know." "Why didn't you tell me?" "You didn't want to know." Her hand fisted and Mac braced himself to be hit. Instead, she said, "I wanted to know you weren't screwing someone else while we were . . ." The panties fluttered in her hand. Mac's heart leaped with hope. "I wasn't screwing anyone else." Could he change her mind about having a husband who knew her darkest secret? Was she hoping he would? Maybe so quietly she didn't even know herself that she harbored the hope? Did he really hold the cards to win her? He was about to find out, he decided, knowing he had to play his hand carefully. It was, after all, the most important gamble of his life. "I haven't screwed, banged, or fucked anyone since I got to Galveston." He leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. "And you're the only one I've made love to since I got here."

~* * *~ "Made love to . . ." Rachel had never been so confused. Or so torn between what she wanted to believe and feared believing. He'd stolen her panties, called what they did making love, but he didn't want to cash in her debt to him with sex. Did he want her or not? "I don't understand. Why did you take these?" Mac's eyes dropped for a split second, then rose again and steadied, holding her gaze. "I could be wrong, but I think those are the panties you wore that night we, uh—talked—on the phone." Rachel's face felt suddenly hot. "Yes, but why?" "Why did I want them? I . . ." His lips stretched ruefully under eyes that were suddenly filled with laughter. "I guess you turned me into a panty sniffer." Rachel closed her eyes as the heat in her face rose several degrees. "You sniffed my panties?" She didn't know how to feel about that. "But why . . . ?" She opened her eyes. "What do you want from me, Mac?" "I want another night with you." He leaned toward her. "Hell, I want a whole bunch of them, but I'll settle for one. But only if you want it, too." Rachel's heart started pounding in her chest. She wanted him so desperately she was afraid to believe he wanted her back. The fear took her breath away. "Why would you want me when you could have someone like Diane? I mean, she was everything you should have. She's smart, beautiful, fun. Sexy." Mac nodded thoughtfully. "She's all that. She's also a Ginger." "A what?" "I'm going to tell you a story." Mac leaned back against the dresser again. "Maybe two. One of them's a bar story." "What's a bar story got to do with this?" "Just listen for once, would you?" Rachel bit her lip. "A couple of years ago, it was early in the day. The place was empty except for about seven or eight guys sitting at the bar. Not a woman on the horizon. They started arguing about which girl from Gilligan's Island was the hottest." "I still don't get—" His eyes narrowed, as though warning her not to interrupt. "Most of the guys thought Ginger was a babe, but there were a couple who thought Maryanne was the hottest thing they'd ever seen. Granted, they were talking from a pubescent point of view, but they really meant it. One of them even said he'd still give his left nut to get a shot at her." "What's your point, Mac?" "My point is not everyone wants a Ginger." Rachel was afraid to ask which one he'd defended in the argument. "Still not enough?" "Enough what? I don't know what to do with this," Rachel said.

Mac sighed. "My folks were big fans of old movies. Forties and Fifties mostly. My dad really loved Sophia Loren." Mac's tone left no room to doubt his father's sincerity. "Hell, he had taste. She's a beautiful woman. She's got the kind of mouth that could make you kiss an eight-by-ten glossy. But do you know who I fantasized about when I locked myself in the bathroom at twelve? Can you guess?" Why was he torturing her? Rachel wondered. How was she supposed to know who starred in his fantasies? "Sophia Loren?" Mac stepped forward. "That was Dad's fantasy." He grasped Rachel's shoulders and turned her to face the mirror over the bureau. In the reflection, his dark eyelashes fanned his cheeks as he gazed down at her. Mac lifted his hand to trace the line of her bare neck with his knuckles, his touch so light it raised goose bumps. Rachel's heart stuttered in her chest. Mac met her gaze in the mirror, his eyes dark with desire. "You've got an Audrey Hepburn neck, baby. I can't count high enough to tell you how many times I jerked off, imagining what she tasted like." His devil grin spread across his face as her eyes widened in the mirror. Rachel remembered Mac defending her haircut to Sol before the wedding, comparing her that day to Audrey Hepburn. Had he been having lascivious thoughts even then? "But Mac—" "And you taste better than I ever imagined she would." He dropped a reverent kiss at the base of her neck. She turned in his arms, put her palms against his chest, pushing him to arm's length, so she could at least try to read his intent without his embrace clouding her judgment. A smile curled the corners of his lips and desire shown from his dark eyes. "Do you— Do you want me, Mac?" "You ask such silly questions." Rachel's fingers curled into fists around his collar, pulling him to her. They moaned in unison as her tongue slid into his mouth. She found the top button of his shirt, but his hands closed over hers. "Not here," he said softly in her ear when he'd torn his lips from hers. "Your place." All Rachel's insecurities flooded back. "Why?" "I have something else for you, but I'm not sure you're going to like it right off the bat." His eyes reflected a moment's uncertainty. "I hate surprises, Mac." "You do? Why?" "They're usually disappointing." Mac shook his head. "I guess I'll have to cure you of that, too." "Too? What else are you planning to cure me of?" Mac's eyes got serious. "Rachel, I—" He bit off whatever he was going to say. Instead, he kissed her lingeringly, as though he were afraid it might be his last opportunity. "If I'm right," he said when the kiss ended, "we're going to cure your intercourse phobia." Rachel's heart leaped in her chest. "Mac! Really? How?" A trace of a grimace hid in his smile. "That's the surprise."

A surprise he thought she wasn't going to like, she reminded herself. And just for a moment, that turned the excitement she'd felt into worry.

Chapter Twenty-One Mac pushed Rachel out the door, promising to meet her at her house in half an hour. When she was gone, he picked up his cell phone. His mind carefully blank, as though there were thoughts he didn't dare think on the edge of his conscious mind, hopes he didn't dare cherish, he stared at the phone in his hand for a long minute before he thumbed a number programmed into it. It rang several times before his brother Justin answered. "Hey, bro," Mac said. "Mac! I was wondering when I was going to hear from you. Are you coming home soon?" Mac's chest tightened. "I've been thinking about it. How's the bar?" "It'd be great if I could get Ross Stevens to pay his bar tab." "He'll pay it as soon as you stop nagging him," Mac said. "Other than that, do you still like running things?" "I've been having a hell of a lot of fun. We've got some great regulars." "Yeah, we do," Mac agreed, not missing them at all. He paused, not daring to hope he'd get the answer he needed to his next question. "How would you feel about running the place a while longer?" There was a long silence on the other end, then Justin cleared his throat. "Actually, I've been thinking about that. I like working the bar. I want to stay. How would you feel about keeping me on as a bartender when you come home?" Mac's heart pounded against his ribs. "How does Mom feel about you not going back to school?" "She hates the idea. I mean, she seems to like having me around, and she's not treating me like a kid anymore, so except for this harebrained scheme of mine, it's been really great. I think she's just afraid I'll end up being nothing but a bartender." "How do you think she'd feel about you being a bar manager?" "What? Really? But what about you? What would you do?" The phone felt suddenly slippery. "I've been thinking Galveston would be a good place to open a franchise." "Really?" Justin couldn't have sounded more enthusiastic. "Cool. We'd be a chain. Like McDonald's." "Well, it's only in the thinking-about-it stage," Mac said, suddenly cautious. "A lot of things would have to fall into place." Like Rachel. "Even if everything works, money would be tight for a while." It would be even tighter if he had to do this on his own. "I think that'd torpedo most of Mom's objections to me staying on here," Jason said. "Do you want me to talk to her?" "No. Give me a chance to think about it a little more. I should know soon if it's worth pursuing." Like in a couple of hours.

Justin asked about Claudia, and Mac said she was doing fine, then made an excuse to cut the call short. He needed to get to Rachel's to find out if he really had a chance to make this work. ~* * *~ "You think handcuffing me is going to help?" Rachel backed away from Mac, leaving him standing alone in front of her bed, the black leather cuffs dangling from his hands. In spite of her distrust of surprises, she hadn't been able to suppress the wild hope that he'd figured out how to keep her turned on. The disappointment was crushing. "They're not for you. They're for me." That was only marginally less appalling. "I still don't get it. You want me to tie you to the bed? How is that going to help?" "Because there won't be any chance I can wrestle control from you. Everything will happen at a pace you're comfortable with." "I'm not comfortable with any of this. This is . . . kinky. It's bondage. M and M." "That's S and M, and it's not. I didn't buy any whips." "It's still bondage. That's disgusting." Mac dropped the cuffs onto the bed. They looked so . . . disturbing against her pale bedspread. Disturbing and wickedly fascinating now that she knew they were meant for him. Mac stepped forward, blocking her view of the bed and grasping her shoulders. "Rachel, you have to face this: you're a control freak. Losing control is what flips all your switches." No longer able to see the handcuffs, Rachel focused on his eyes. "That's not true. I know I can be bossy, but I'm not—" "Think about it. What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" She couldn't face the sympathy in his eyes and dropped her gaze to the design on his Tshirt. "You know . . ." "It's time you said it, Rachel." He was right, but she still felt as though she was about to hyperventilate. "Come on. You've already lived the worst of it. It's only words now. What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" "I, I was raped." She had thought she'd cry, but she didn't. Mac was right. They were only words, and saying them was somehow cathartic. "And you were powerless to stop it. Ever since then, you've fought to be in control of everything around you. But sex is all about losing control. It's about trusting your partner not to hurt you. That's something most of us take for granted, but you can't do that." Mac lifted her chin with his fingers. "So I'm not going to ask you to. You're going to be in control for this one, baby. It's all going to be up to you." "I don't think I can do this." He looked deep in her eyes, as though he was trying to read her soul. After several long moments, his shoulders slumped. "Okay. If you don't want to try it, we won't. And if you're out of the mood completely, I understand." "Wait!" Rachel cried as he stepped back. "I didn't say . . ."

"Really?" She saw a glow in the depth of his dark eyes. "I've missed you," she said, barely louder than a breath. He stepped close again. "I've missed you, too," he said, his voice choking as he wrapped his arms around her. Rachel melted into him as his tongue slipped into her mouth. His hands cupped her butt, pulling her tight against his erection. Then they were on the bed, their hands inside each other's clothes. He rolled, pulling her on top. Aligned with him, Rachel lifted her hips, so he could push her jeans down. It was an odd sensation, having her legs covered and her butt exposed, her shirt pulled up and her bra open so her bare breasts flattened against the warmth of his chest, but she forgot to feel uncomfortable as soon as he thrust his fingers inside her. She pressed down onto his hand, enjoying the feel of him, but the hope he'd fanned in her refused to die. She wondered if his penis would feel different. Would it touch sensitive spots his fingers couldn't reach? She pressed down hard, trying to force his fingers deeper. He curled them inside her, brushing a spot that took Rachel's breath away. Her muscles tightened as he pulled out, fighting his withdrawal. His thumb stroked her clit as he reversed direction, pushing back inside her. He repeated the motion, and she knew if he kept at it, he'd have her climaxing against his hand. Rachel was close when he stopped. She whimpered as he rested his palm against her mound, applying just the right amount of pressure against her clit to keep her aroused. "Take off your clothes, Baby," he breathed into her hair. It took a moment to find the strength to peel herself off him. He shucked his jeans and shirt while she finished stripping then he arched and reached under his back to drag the leather cuffs from beneath him. Rachel started to crawl back onto the bed, but the way he was looking at the cuffs stopped her. "What?" His eyes focused on her with the same speculative look he'd been giving the cuffs. Halfway up the bed, Rachel froze. "No, Mac." He was already tying a strap around the bedpost. "No," she whispered again as he tied the other one on the opposite post. Mac wrapped the cuff around his left wrist and pressed the Velcro into place before he looked back at her. He reached down and flicked her nipple provocatively with his free hand. "You'll have to fasten the other one. I can't do it one-handed." "I— I can't." "Sure you can. It's easy." He tugged gently on her nipple, urging her up the bed. "Come here." She let him draw her forward. When she was directly over him, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her down to him. His mouth was hot and hungry on hers as she sprawled on top of him. As engaging as his mouth was, Rachel was all too aware of his erection between her parted legs, hard against the lips of her labia as though already engaged in femoral sex. "Do it," Mac said against her lips.

"Mac—" Rachel drew a sharp breath as he lifted his hips under her. "If you want this, you're going to have to, because I want inside you. I want to feel you come around me." "What about . . . what about condoms?" Rachel asked, unable to believe he was willing to abandon them now after they'd been such a sticking point. "I'll try to hold on until after you come, but if I tell you to pull off me, you'll do it, right?" He was whistling in the dark if he thought she could guarantee that, but Rachel nodded anyway. Mac held his arm out, waiting for her to fasten the cuff around his wrist. Rachel's heart pounded as she stretched across him to fasten the Velcro. How had he gotten her to agree to this when just minutes ago she'd said no? Apparently, she wasn't the only one who knew how to get her way. As she pressed the Velcro closed, Mac fastened his lips on the nipple above him. Rachel's fingers curled around the cuff, ripping the Velcro loose in a momentary spasm. "Dammit, Mac." Her fingers trembled as she pulled the cuff around his wrist again. "Aren't you nervous about this?" He held her nipple between his teeth for a second before answering. "You'd think I would be, wouldn't you? And I was, a little. But then I decided that anything that brought your breast this close to my mouth had to be a good thing." He tilted his head and drew his tongue slowly across the sensitive underside of her breast. "Besides, I trust you." That simple avowal touched Rachel—and turned her on—at least as much as his lips closing on her nipple like punctuation did. If he could trust her enough to let himself be shackled to the bed, what did she have to be afraid of? Rachel pushed her fears into the background clutter of her mind and let herself fall into the feel of his mouth on her breast. She scooted down until his erection lay on his belly between them. "I'm not sure how to start," she admitted hesitantly. "Bullshit. You knew what to do the night you fixed dinner." "But that didn't work." "That didn't work because I took over. Until then, it was going fine." "It was, wasn't it?" Rachel remembered. "Rub against me, Baby. Take your time. Get yourself good and hot then use me to scratch your itches." Her eyes locked on his, Rachel slid over his erection and watched the shudder roll through him. She missed his hands on her, guiding her. Determined to do the best she could, she closed her eyes and focused on how hard he was against her. Mac's erection slid easily against her as she spread her lubrication the length of him. He felt good against her, and she wanted more, but she was afraid to make the next move until he panted, "Stop stalling." Rachel opened her eyes to meet his, black with desire. She found she did know what to do next as she tipped her hips forward at the top of the next stroke. She paused there, the head of his erection poised to enter her. Swallowing hard, she eased down. Mac's hard-on parted her nether lips.

Rachel closed her eyes and focused on the feel of him cleaving her flesh as she slowly eased onto him. She stopped breathing as he passed the deepest point his fingers had reached and there was still more to come. He slid deeper inside her. When he was fully inside her, she let her breath out slowly and savored the feel of him filling her. After a minute or two—or ten; she had no idea how long it took to get over the unique sensation—Rachel opened her eyes. Mac's eyes were closed, his lips parted, and a look of intense concentration furrowed his brow. His hands were fisted around the straps that attached the cuffs to the bed, the muscles in his arms bulging as he strained against the restriction. "Mac," Rachel said softly, feeling as though she was interrupting. He opened his eyes. A second later, they focused. "I don't know what I'm doing," Rachel said, feeling foolish. "What I'm supposed to do here?" He closed his mouth and swallowed then licked his lips, as though to work up enough moisture to speak. "You do whatever feels good, baby." "Got any suggestions?" Mac swallowed again. "Try rocking back and forth." "Like this?" Mac gulped in a deep breath then swallowed. "Does it feel good?" Rachel closed her eyes and focused. It did feel good. Mac gently lifted his hips, pushing deeper. Oh! Her breath caught in her throat. That felt really good. She lost herself in the sensation. With every rock, Mac rubbed against something deep inside her that threatened to spasm each time he touched it. It pulled her on, beckoning to her, promising that there was something even sweeter just beyond the next hill. Nothing had ever felt this good, Rachel thought through the fog of heightened excitement. Yet her body kept telling her there was more to come and urged her to chase it. Deep inside, Mac twitched, and Rachel forgot to breath. "Oh, God!" Oh, God! Then the dam burst and she lost herself in a flood of sensations that wiped even the knowledge of who she was from the face of the earth. ~* * *~ She came back to herself, laying on Mac's chest, gasping for breath against his shoulder. Soft kisses brushed against her temple. Rachel swallowed, searching for moisture in her mouth, then tipped her head to kiss him. The kiss was tender and sweet. "Was it good for you?" Mac asked in a husky voice. "Mm. Unbelievable. But you knew that." "I kind of guessed." Only when Rachel shifted did she realize he was still hard inside her. She felt vaguely disappointed that he'd managed to hold on.

"It wasn't that good for you." "Oh, it was good. I just got distracted watching you." "Distracted? Oh!" Her face burned. "Hey, it's not a big deal. You've satisfied me plenty of times. I owed you this one." A smile spread irresistibly across her face. He'd given her so much more than the best climax of her life. He'd just opened up a million possibilities in her life. They'd never be even now. She would owe him forever. There was nothing in the least unpleasant about that thought.

Chapter Twenty-Two Mac almost said, "I love you" when Rachel came with him inside her, but he caught himself just in time. He couldn't hit her with that when her whole future had just opened up in front of her. If she said it back, he'd believe it because he wanted to. And what if she didn't mean it later when she'd had time to think about it? He should have said it weeks ago. But he hadn't known then. God, would he ever be able to tell her without worrying that she was saying it back out of gratitude? ~* * *~ Rachel's head lay on his chest. Her hand rested over his heart. She'd freed his hands as soon as reality had firmed up around her, and they'd cuddled through the afterglow. "So now you'll . . ." Mac choked for a second. He swallowed, trying to clear the lump from his throat. "You'll start looking for a husband, I suppose." "Yeah. I guess so." She didn't sound too thrilled about it. The silence lengthened as he worked up his nerve to continue. "What if . . ." He swallowed hard. "What would you think if I stayed in Galveston for a while?" She lifted her head to look at him. "If you stayed . . . ? I'd like that." She frowned. Her fingers splayed as she pressed her palm against his chest. "You're heart's beating really hard. You're not having a heart attack on me, are you?" Mac couldn't help a short laugh. He felt like he might be. "I know you said you didn't want a husband who knew your history but . . . If I stay in Galveston . . . Would you consider . . . I mean, I'd like to keep seeing you." Her breath hitched audibly. "How long are you talking about staying, Mac?" She was staring into his eyes and it was making him fidgety. He wanted to tap her head back onto his chest, so he could say what he needed to without risking seeing something he'd rather not in her face. "I don't know." He looked up at ceiling. "There's a building for sale here that would make a good neighborhood bar, I think. I don't know if it's feasible yet, but I was thinking about calling the realtor. If it's zoned right, and I can get it licensed, and—" He realized he was babbling and bit it off. "What about your bar at home?" Rachel asked tentatively "Justin wants to keep running it." "So you'd stay in Galveston," Rachel said, as though she needed him to clarify what he was saying. "If you don't object." "Stop staring at the ceiling and look at me." He swallowed hard again and brought his gaze down to meet hers. "What are you really asking me, Mac?" Of course, she was going to make him say it. Rachel liked things spelled out.

Since she wasn't giving him any choice, he just said it. "I'm asking you to make an honest man out of me. I want us to stop pretending that we're dating and actually do it. I want to take you sailing in the summer and skiing in the winter. I want to go dancing and hold you close." Then he held his breath and waited for her answer. ~* * *~ Rachel couldn't believe what she was hearing. Mac wanted to stay in Galveston. Her heart felt like singing. Under her hand, his heart beat like a trip hammer, reminding her how serious this was. He was offering to change his life for her. She wanted him to stay. She also wanted him to say he loved her and the omission frightened her. Was she willing to gamble that he eventually would? "I want to get married, Mac." "Today?" He looked startled. Was he panicking? It was her turn to avert her eyes. She dropped her gaze to the hand that lay over his heart. "No, of course not. But it has to be on the table." "I wouldn't be thinking about staying if I didn't think it was a possibility," Mac said. Breathing suddenly became difficult. Where had all the oxygen gone? And where had her conviction gone that she didn't want a husband who knew her history? She lifted her gaze to meet Mac's. If the husband was Mac, she didn't care what he knew. "Where do you want to go dancing?" ~* * *~ A week later, Mac missed his annual poker game in Las Vegas. He didn't care. He was too busy figuring out what needed to be done to convert the building he was buying into a bar. Jake left for College Station where he would spend the next four years getting his veterinary degree, leaving Rachel and Mac unchaperoned in Galveston. When he and Rachel went to Colorado to spend Christmas with his mother, Mac called the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas and asked for the concierge. Freely trading on the professional courtesy he hoped one concierge would want to extend to another, he made sure to drop Rachel's position at the Gull into the conversation when he explained that he wanted to upgrade his April room reservation. The Bellagio's concierge couldn't make any promises; that was, after all, the week they hosted the Five Star World Poker Classic, and they'd been fully booked for months, but the concierge promised his best effort. Mac crossed his fingers and waited. The Port Bar in Galveston opened four days after Christmas. Mac didn't expect New Year's Eve to be a blockbuster, but the local residents dropped in to look over "the new place" and, to Mac's gratification, they started stopping in after work. A popular local country band brought more in the following weekend. As April approached, Mac still had his fingers crossed that he wouldn't have to cater to the tourist crowd, but they weren't crossed so hard anymore that his finger bones threatened to snap under the pressure.

“Maybe you should practice your poker skills,” Mac said to Rachel one blustery day in January as Rachel was fixing breakfast. “Why? Are you running short on cash?” “No. I just think you’d find the Poker Classic more interesting if you played a little more.” Rachel made a disparaging noise then froze. “The Poker Classic? The one in Vegas?” “Is there another?” “You want me to go with you?” She'd been dying for him to ask her, but he’d been waiting for the concierge at the Bellagio to come through with a room. And he’d enjoyed playing dense when she’d dropped the occasion broad hint. “Of course I do. You’re my good luck charm.” For a second, he thought she might cry. He leaned over and kissed her. “I need a fresh pair of panties anyway, so let’s make it Texas Hold ‘em strip poker.” Rachel glowed with happiness. “In that case, break out the cards.” ~* * *~ "It's so pseudo classy!" Rachel said as Mac towed her by the hand through the Bellagio's lobby. She knew she looked like a real bumpkin tourist, all wide-eyed as her head snapped around trying to see all of it at once. The eighteen foot high ceiling in front of the check-in desk was a riot of colored glass art that, while impressive, made it look cheesy. "So over the top! I love it!" "What?" Mac asked. "Better than the Gull's classy look?" "No, I love the Gull, but this . . ." Rachel giggled. "It's so big! And so unapologetic! You know, Las Vegas really should be in Texas." "C'mon, honey. Let the rest of the country have a little flash." They'd reached the line at the check-in desk. When Rachel turned to stare, Mac tucked her under his arm and kissed her tenderly. Lingeringly. And so publicly. When the kiss ended, Rachel looked up at him through suspicious eyes. He still hadn't said he loved her, but he'd been acting strange lately—more tender and loving. It had started at Christmas in Colorado. Mac had assured her it was merely being out of town where they didn't have to worry about any of her family catching them being too physical. Maybe that's all it was, but she couldn't help the niggling feeling that there was more to it. It took almost an hour to work their way to the front of the line. "Is it always this slow?" Rachel asked. "It's the poker tournament," Mac said. "High stakes, high drama. It draws a real crowd." Aware of her status as a concierge, even if no one else was, Rachel refrained from saying anything critical out loud. The Bellagio was a luxury hotel, but the check-in line would be untenable at the Gull. Mac distracted himself—and her—by wrapping his arms around her from behind and nuzzling her neck. Rachel let herself relax into it until they were nearly up to the desk when she noticed people watching them out of the corners of their eyes and smiling with amusement. She flushed. "Mac, people are staring." "They're just jealous," Mac murmured into her ear. "Too bad for them. I'm not sharing."

Her face still felt warm when it was their turn at the desk. "On your honeymoon?" The clerk asked as Mac passed his credit card to her. "Oh, no!" Rachel said quickly. Mac just smiled. "Maybe by the time you leave," the desk clerk said with a smile. "There are wedding chapels everywhere here." "Anything's possible," Mac said, still smiling. ~* * *~ Her brain thick with sleep, Rachel fumbled for the phone. She pulled the receiver halfway under the covers to mumble a "Hello." A few seconds of silence followed. Rachel slipped backwards toward sleep. "Rachel?" "Mm-hm." "What the hell are you doing, answering the phone in Mac's room at three-thirty in the morning?" Rachel snapped upright in the bed. "Sol?" She jerked the covers up to hide her bare breasts as though Sol were there in the room, yelling at her. "Wh-why are you calling so late?" "I was calling to tell you Maddie had a baby girl, but you didn't answer your cell phone, and the front desk says you're not registered." His voice was as grim as a bad day in hell. "So I guess you're sleeping in Mac's bed." "I . . . I . . ." Next to her, Mac rolled over onto his back. "Who is it, honey?" he mumbled. Rachel covered the mouthpiece. "It's Sol. God, he's going to kill us." Mac's eyes snapped open. "Shit!" He pushed himself up. "Give me the phone." Rachel let him take it from her. "Sol? . . . Look, we . . . I understand but . . . Dammit, Sol, shut up for a minute. That's no way to talk to your new brother-in-law." Rachel flipped on the bedside lamp, hoping light would make the nightmare go away. "Yeah. Last night," Mac said. "Mac!" Rachel shrilled, realizing what Mac had just implied. He held up his hand to forestall her. "Yeah . . ." Mac chuckled into the phone. "I know . . . I understand . . . Have they named the baby? . . . Yeah, I'll tell her." He handed her the receiver and fell back against the pillows. "They named the baby Abigail." "Did you just tell my brother we got married?" Rachel asked, the phone still in her hand. Mac smiled at her. "You know Sol. He'd kill me for sleeping with you without benefit of the clergy." "That's not a good reason for getting married, Mac." "I beg to differ. There are better ones, I'll grant you, but not dying is still a damned good reason. You can hang up the phone now." Realizing she still held it, Rachel put the receiver back in the cradle.

"I think what you just told Sol constitutes common-law marriage in some states. Do you realize that?" "Is Texas one of them?" "I think so. I know at least part of the requirement is holding yourself out as married." "It probably doesn't count in Nevada though," Mac said, folding his hands over his belly. "Too much of their economy is based on weddings and divorces." He looked over at her, a lazy grin spreading across his sleepy face. "I guess this means I can make love to my wife in Texas and screw my mistress in Nevada and not catch hell for it." "Too bad there's not a common border," Rachel said sarcastically. "You could lay me across it, and kiss your wife while you have sex with your mistress." Lust flared in Mac's eyes. "Damn, woman. You do know how to turn a man on." "Mac, this isn't funny. Sol's going to expect me to come home married, and knowing him, he's going to want to inspect the marriage certificate." Rachel felt sick. She turned away from Mac, braced her elbows on her drawn-up knees and clutched her head. "Dammit, I can't go home." Mac pulled her back against him. "Sure, you can. We just need a marriage certificate." "I can tell Sol we're getting it annulled," Rachel said, looking for a way out. "I can say we were drunk. You can't enter into a marriage contract unless you're of sound mind, even in Nevada." "Or we can just get married." "Sol couldn't kill you then. After all, he's divorced. An annulment's nothing compared to—" "Or we can just get married," Mac said again, a little louder, a little slower. What he was saying finally sank in. "That's sweet, Mac, but I don't want a shotgun wedding or a husband who doesn't really want me." "Who says I don't want you?" "I do. We wouldn't even be discussing this if Sol hadn't called and busted me in your room in the middle of the night." Mac's sighed the sigh of someone having to explain a simple concept for the thousandth time. "You're right. We wouldn't be discussing this now if Sol hadn't called." He stretched for the nightstand and palmed something from the drawer before laying back and pulling her down onto his chest. When he had her firmly settled, he popped the lid on the box he held. The diamond glittering at her pulled a gasp from Rachel. "We'd be discussing it tonight over dinner." The diamond caught the lamplight as Mac tipped the box in his hand. "Will you marry me, Rachel McKnight? So your brother doesn't kill me, and because I want to dance with you, and rub your feet, and make love to you for the rest of my life? And because I want to marry you and have babies with you." For once, Rachel was speechless. It didn't last long. "You're asking me to marry you here? In bed? I can't tell our kids—I can't tell anyone that you proposed to me in a bed in Las Vegas!"

"You want a romantic setting to tell your family about? I can do that. Later. Right now, there's a question on the table: will you marry me? Or should I just take the fact that you're worried about telling our children about the proposal as a yes?" Rachel's breath hitched in her throat. He was asking her to marry him. He really was. And she still couldn't say yes. "Don't you think you've got the cart in front of the horse?" "What?" His eyebrows rose, but his voice was teasing. "You think I should wait until Sol's got a shotgun in my back?" "You haven't even said . . . I mean, before you say 'marry me,' shouldn't you say . . . ?" "I love you?" Mac kissed her hair. "Don't you know how I feel? How I've felt at least as far back as the day you trusted me enough to start teaching you about sex?" He turned her in his arms, so he could gaze into her eyes. "I love you, Rachel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." A hint of amusement lit his eyes. "Now will you say yes?" "Yes." The word was out of her mouth before she knew it was trembling on her lips. Rachel threw her arms around Mac's neck and kissed him. "Yes. Yes. Yes. I'll marry you." "And have my babies?" "Yes." "And do you love me?" "Yes." "Say it." "I love you, Mac MacAllister." "Good. Now I'm going to have breakup sex with my mistress." And he rolled her under him and made love to her until the Las Vegas sun came up.

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Chapter One Maddie had no idea how many laws she'd broken in the last week. They all paled next to kidnapping. Since she'd been advised not to leave the state, she was pretty sure having temporary custody wouldn't get her anywhere in court. Not that it mattered. She'd never get to court. She'd die before she gave Jesse up. A soft gurgle issued from the back seat of the Lincoln. God, she hated that Jesse couldn't be beside her where she could reach over and touch his baby soft cheek, but that was one law she wouldn’t break. Not only for Jesse’s sake, but because a ticket would put them on the radar. She reached back to stroke a chubby knee. Not finding it, she glanced over her shoulder. Light swept across the interior of the car, followed by a blast from a car horn. “Crap!” Maddie swung back, jerking the wheel to the right seconds before a dark sedan shot past her in the opposite lane. She white-knuckled the wheel, heart pounding and palms sweating from the adrenaline rush of a near miss. Where had that car come from? She took several deep breaths. Gradually, her body caught up with the idea that the immediate danger was over. “Time to stop for the night,” Maddie muttered. She forced a conversational tone. “What do you think, Charlie Brown? Think we can find a fleabag motel before we hit downtown Lubbock?” Up ahead, Maddie picked out the flash of a neon sign. It had the cheap, garish look of a million other interchangeable mom-and-pop motels. A place with no nationwide computer registry. A place where, if you paid cash, they probably wouldn’t even record the room rental, so they could beat the IRS out of its cut. Eyeing the string of ground level rooms à la The Bates Motel, Maddie guessed she wouldn't find a listing for it in the Texas Triple A Guidebook. Just the kind of place she was looking for. She slowed the car to a crawl. Nearly past it when she saw kitchenettes spelled out in burned-out neon, she had to swing the wheel hard to make the driveway. There was parking a short distance from the office, in the dark, where no one would notice a child in the back seat. Her other option was a lit spot directly in front of the office

where she would see anyone who approached the Lincoln. Since it put her heart in her throat to leave her nephew unattended, even for a few minutes, Maddie chose the light. Pretending to be brave, she patted Jesse's knee from the front seat. “Be cool, Charlie Brown. Try to look inconspicuous while I'm gone, okay?” She locked the car, leaving Jesse cooing softly inside, and went to rent a room. The man who answered the bell was exactly what she’d hoped for: bored with his job and uninterested in the customer. He barely even looked at her. With his skinny arms and his scrawny chest in a yellowed wife beater that hadn't been washed in far too long, Maddie didn’t find him remotely attractive, yet when he drawled, “Ain’t no long distance service in the rooms,” her heart fluttered unexpectedly. She hadn’t anticipated hearing the East Texas drawl so far north. “That’s f-fine,” Maddie stuttered, suddenly homesick for a place she'd never been. With key in hand, she moved the car to the front of unit seven. Once Jesse was safely ensconced inside, she opened the trunk to retrieve the duffel bag, the only other essential she kept as close as she could. She didn't care about the layer of clothes at the top; that was just camouflage for the forty thousand dollars—less the outrageous sum she had paid for the Social Security card and the Colorado license in her purse—at the bottom of the bag. As she dragged the bag inside, Maddie steeled herself to face another night in a shabby motel. The worn décor, smelling faintly of mildew and bleach, didn't bother her, but the unadvertised amenities did. As long as she could remember, she’d heard how everything was bigger in Texas, but she'd never thought about it extending to the cockroaches. A small stove and a counter-sized fridge stood in the corner, near the bathroom door. Maddie left Jesse on the worn chenille bedspread, bumpered by the duffel on one side and two flat pillows on the other before getting a dented tin sauce pan out of the cupboards. At six months, cold formula was fine for Jesse, but he slept better if his nighttime bottle was warm. With an eye on the pan of water, Maddie slathered peanut butter onto white bread, then opened the bag of Fritos she’d bought that morning in Oklahoma. She layered corn chips on the peanut butter before topping it with another slice of bread. Maddie took one large bite then let the sandwich sit until the formula was warm. “Okay, Charlie Brown. Dinner’s on.” Jesse had never needed to be coaxed to eat. He sucked at the bottle with machine-like precision, reminding Maddie how, even as a newborn, he'd suckled like he’d been born with an instruction manual in his head. She changed his diaper and put his jammies on while he ate. When she was done, he smelled reassuringly of warm baby and talcum powder. Maddie breathed deep and smiled. The smile felt strange. And more than a little disloyal, even though she knew, for Jesse’s sake, she had to put the last four months behind her, as much as she safely could. The least of that meant learning to smile again. For Jesse's sake. Half a bottle of formula later, Jesse’s mouth action slowed and his eyes dropped to half mast. Maddie craned her neck to peer at the visible sliver of Jesse’s blue eyes. His eyes rarely closed completely when he first fell asleep. Maddie found it endearing. She laid him gently on

the bed then put the half-full bottle in the fridge for the middle-of-the-night feeding. Finally, she changed into her baggy sweats. There was one more thing to do before she went to sleep herself. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she dialed the disposable phone with its untraceable number that she’d bought for this sole purpose. “Hello?” “It’s me,” Maddie said. “Thank God.” Her Great-Aunt Pru’s voice sounded heavy with relief. “I was starting to worry.” “I know. I should have called last night, but it took me too long to find a place to stay. I didn’t want to wake you.” “Just as long as you’re okay. Next time, don’t worry about waking me.” Pru paused. “You made the right decision.” Maddie's heart skipped a beat. “Why? What’s happened?” “He came around yesterday.” They never referred to Derek by name any more, at least not out loud. “He came there?” Maddie’s heart dropped another beat. “He figures you’ve taken Jesse, but he can’t find anyone to tell him where.” Maddie wiped her suddenly damp palm on her sweats then shifted the phone to her other ear. “He’s a snake, but he’s got a way of getting things out of people.” “They can’t tell what they don’t know,” Aunt Pru said, repeating the advice she'd given when they'd first talked about Maddie taking Jesse and running. Back when it had started to look like the state wasn’t going to prosecute Derek for murder. When it began to look like he’d not only walk away scot-free but get custody of his son, too. She had followed her aunt’s advice to the letter. Not even Pru knew where Maddie was or where she was going. “You be careful, girl. I couldn’t stop him from poking around. He saw Lloyd's Lincoln was gone. I told him I sold it.” “Did he believe you?” “He pretended to, but he’s a suspicious bastard. You get rid of that behemoth as soon as you can.” Maddie had grown fond of her late great-uncle’s car. She felt safe in it, but Pru was right. “I’ll get rid of it as soon as I’m planted someplace.” “I wish you’d do it sooner,” Pru said. “I’m being careful. I’m not speeding. I’m not even parking illegally. No one has any cause to run the plates,” Maddie said. She had a bill of sale from Pru safely in her purse. As soon as she landed someplace long enough to find a buyer, she could transfer the title without ever having her name attached to it. “I wouldn’t worry so much if it was just him,” Pru said, “but his father’s just as determined to get Jesse back, and he can pull strings.” Sadly, they both knew too well about the strings Derek's father could pull. It was why Maddie was sitting in a lonely, roach-infested motel room on the outskirts of Lubbock. "He

can pull ropes if he wants to," Maddie said, bitterness and determination tingeing her voice. "It doesn't make any difference if they can't find me." “You got what you needed in Colorado then?” “I got it. They hiked the price on me at the last minute. Thought I was being too fussy.” Maddie felt a spurt of anger, though at the time, she had wondered if they were right. Now she was glad she'd stuck to her guns and insisted her new identity have a middle initial that let her use her own name. “They can afford to think that; you can’t,” Pru said, expressing her conviction, not for the first time, that if Maddie forgot to answer to a new name, folks around her would take note. Small things like that worried Pru. Privately, it had worried Maddie as well. “I know I can’t make you stop fretting, but we’re fine,” Maddie said, trying to ease her aunt’s fears, as well as her own, with bravado. “The door’s locked, Jesse’s asleep on the bed, and no one knows where we are. We’re going to be okay.” “You just keep checking in.” “I will.” Maddie paused. “But I don’t think it’ll be as often. Once a month maybe.” A long silence ensued. Maddie closed her eyes. She knew exactly what her aunt was feeling, how much she would miss the reassurance the calls gave her. Maddie felt the same way. “I understand,” Pru finally said. “Listen, when you do call, call late. Late enough to wake me. In case he drops by again.” “I will," Maddie said. "I love you.” “Love you, too, girl.” After hanging up, Maddie leaned her butt against the edge of the mini-fridge and ate her sandwich. We’re going to make it. She needed to dispel the pall Derek’s visit to Pru’s had caused. We’re going to hide deep in the wilds of Texas where Derek will never find us. We’re going to be safe. She wasn’t as convinced as she wanted to be. As if to drive that point home, a car pulled into the space in front of the neighboring room just as she turned the lights out. The thin drapes didn’t keep the headlights from sweeping the room. Maddie's heart seemed to stop in her chest before it started back up double-time. She nudged the edge of the curtain aside enough to peek out with one eye. She itched to get the gun from her shoulder bag, but the awful fear that, if she left the car unwatched, even for a moment, she’d never see the occupant until he grabbed her out of the darkness, as though she were a disposable character in a slasher movie, held her at the window. Maddie had to see the driver if only to keep herself from lying awake in irrational terror. As she waited in the dark, quiet room she shared with Jesse and the Texas cockroaches, her heart pounded so hard the artery in her throat pulsed. Even after she saw that the man in the next room was a bald, non-threatening stranger, she watched to make sure his goal really was the next room. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal, and at last, Maddie lay down, curling her body around her sleeping nephew. The words of a song by Kenny Rogers, one of her aunt's favorite

singers, played in her head as it had so often since she'd left Wyoming. She'd heard that song since she was a child but the advice it gave about knowing when to walk away and knowing when to run had never felt more true. What the song failed to mention was how lonely running could be.

About the Author Suzie Quint has always been fascinated with the human psyche, so she can imagine no better way to explore the human condition than through the characters she writes. Finding the happy ending for the people who inhabit her worlds is the best job anyone could have. Getting to share them with others… It doesn't get any better than that. Check out her work at http://suziequint.blogspot.com/

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