Sugar And Spice (15 page)

Don’t go soft, MacKinnon.

He wouldn’t let his normal male attraction to a pretty woman affect his common sense. Besides, there was nothing soft and sentimental about his reaction. He was horny as hell, and that’s all there was to it.

When he went around the SUV and opened the passenger’s side door, he asked, “Do you think you can walk?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think so. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any broken bones. I’m just scraped up a little from crawling up the ravine. And I’m exhausted and cold.”

He helped her out of the Jeep and onto her feet. She swayed slightly toward him, her breath warm, her hands still cold. With his arm around her waist, he led her to the cabin’s side entrance, up two wooden steps covered in snow and ice, and onto the porch. They both slid a little on the icy surface.

“Stand still a minute,” Mack told her. “Let me get the door unlocked.”

Nodding, she offered him a weak smile.

The minute he opened the door, Destry came barreling toward him, but he stopped when Mack called him to a halt. “Go back inside, old boy.” The dog obeyed instantly. Mack held his hand out to the woman; she took it, and he led her inside.

“Make yourself at home. And don’t mind Destry. He’s a pussycat.”

Again she simply nodded, then entered the cabin.

“If you think you’ll be okay for a few minutes, I’ll go back for my supplies.”

“I’m all right,” she said.

Mack had to make three trips to bring all the supplies from the Jeep to the house. His bad leg hurt like hell. All this extra walking, plus the winter cold, was doing a number on his old injuries. Balancing a few plastic sacks at a time while he tried not to slip on the ice was a major task. After he brought in the last of the sacks, he called out to Destry.

“Go out now, before dark.” Destry bounded outside, slid across the porch, then stopped, a puzzled look on his face. Mack laughed, then closed the door.

He found the woman standing in the middle of his living room/dining room combination, her head tilted to one side as she gazed up toward the open loft space that housed his bedroom.

“You should probably get out of your wet clothes,” Mack said.

She gasped, then whirled around to face him. Her big brown eyes were quite expressive.

He grunted. “I have no intention of attacking you. It’s not my style. It’s just that you might be more comfortable in something dry.” He glanced upward. “My bedroom is up there. My clothes will be way too big for you, but you can use one of my flannel shirts for a nightgown, if you’d like, and a pair of my socks might stay on you if you fold them several times.”

“Thank you, Mr.—? I don’t know your name.”

“MacKinnon. Mack MacKinnon.”

She held out her slender, delicate hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. MacKinnon.”

“Under the circumstances, why don’t you just call me Mack.”

“All right. And I’m Katie. Katie Hadley.”

“Hello, Katie.”

“Is there any chance I might take a warm bath before I borrow one of your flannel shirts?” Her gaze focused over his shoulder, as if she were too shy to make direct eye contact.

Oh great, he had rescued the bane of a horny guy’s existence—a good girl.

“Sure thing. All my appliances are gas, including the water heater. You can shower or take a bath in the claw-foot tub. Towels are stacked in an open case in the bathroom.”

“And your shirts?”

“The flannel shirts are in the closet, and the socks in the top dresser drawer.”

She nodded, then headed toward the stairs.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll fix us some supper,” he called. “What’s your choice—tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches or vegetable soup with bologna sandwiches?”

She paused on the third step, glanced over her shoulder, and replied, “Either will be just fine. I’m not picky.”

“Okay.” He swallowed hard. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had gotten to him the way this one did. Usually he wasn’t a sucker for the damsel in distress type, but there was something about Katie…something different.

“And Mr. MacKin—Mack, about Darrell’s car…”

He growled.

“I was just going to apologize for making such a big deal about rescuing the car. I realize that there’s nothing we can do about it right now.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, sure.”

“And thank you again for rescuing me. You probably saved my life.”

He shook his head. “Okay, okay. Enough thank-yous. And I didn’t save your life, so don’t go making me out to be some big hero.” The role of hero had always set uncomfortably on his shoulders, and he sure as hell didn’t want this doe-eyed, little blonde to get any romantic notions about him. He was no white knight, not by a long shot.

Katie stayed longer in the huge claw-foot tub than she’d intended, but every muscle in her body ached and the hot water, now tepid, had felt incredibly soothing. As she climbed out of the tub and reached for a huge white towel, she sighed contentedly. How odd that she did not feel ill at ease all alone in this house, with a man she didn’t know. After all, he could be an ax murderer or a crazed psychopath. Or he could be just what he appeared to be—her rescuer.

She knew two things about him. One: his name was Mack MacKinnon. Two: he had been kind to her, despite being a bit gruff.

You know something else about him, a pesky inner voice reminded her. You know he is devastatingly attractive.

Mack was handsome in that rough and rugged way that appealed to most women. Tall. Probably six-three. A big guy, with huge shoulders. And she’d noticed he had gorgeous blue eyes, which were a striking contrast to his jet black hair.

It wasn’t that she was blind to good-looking men. She wasn’t. But since Darrell’s death, she had not met one single man who interested her. When her older sister, Kim, had suggested she was still in love with Darrell, she’d had no choice but to agree. She did still love her husband and probably always would.

“You can’t spend the rest of your life alone,” Kim had told her. “You’re only thirty. Don’t you want to get married again and have children?”

The first year after Darrell’s death, she had barricaded herself from the outside world, barely allowing her parents and siblings entrance. During those first few months, she had longed to die. Living had been sheer torture.

The second year she had reemerged from her protective cocoon and went back to work at the interior design firm that she and Kim had founded together right after she graduated from college. How Kim had kept the firm solvent during the year Katie had deserted her, plus took care of then-year-old twin daughters, Katie didn’t know.

The third year, her siblings—Kim and younger brother, Kit—had set her up on a series of blind dates.

And her mother had introduced her to every single man in the county. Her family had wanted her to find love again, to be happy again, and she loved them for it. But they tried too hard, pushed too hard.

They simply didn’t understand.

Katie dried off, hung the towel on the wide iron-bar rack on the wall, and lifted from the door hook the green and tan plaid flannel shirt she’d found in Mack’s closet. After slipping into the huge 2X shirt, which hit her just above the knees, she buttoned every button and rolled up the long sleeves; then she sat down on the commode to put on the pair of thick gray socks she’d dug out of a cluttered sock drawer in his dresser. The calf-high socks hit her at the knees. She rolled them down, forming a fat band around her ankles. Once dressed, and feeling rather awkward because she wasn’t wearing a bra or panties, Katie glanced into the small mirror over the pedestal sink. She ran her fingers through her damp hair and sighed.

After picking up her wet clothes, including her underwear, which she’d washed out in the sink, she hung all the items over the shower door. How would Mack react when he came into his bathroom and saw her pink silk panties and matching bra? Mentally chastising herself for being silly—after all, Mack wasn’t a teenager who’d drool over women’s unmentionables—Katie opened the door and walked into the bedroom. One bedroom. One bed. If he were a real gentleman, he’d probably offer her the bed.

Naturally, she’d decline the offer, assuring him that she’d be perfectly fine on the sofa. He’d insist, she’d refuse. He’d tell her that he wouldn’t take no for an answer and she’d demurely accept his kind offer.

While the scenario concerning tonight’s sleeping arrangement played through in her mind, her nose caught a whiff of something utterly delicious. As if on cue, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast, and suddenly she was ravenous.

Mack lifted Destry’s bowl, dipped a ladle filled with hot tomato soup from the pot on the stove, and poured the contents over the dog’s dry food. By the time Mack set the bowl on the kitchen floor, Destry had his nozzle stuck in the bowl and instantly started eating. Mack reached down and patted the dog’s shaggy head. He had no idea how old Destry was, but the vet guessed around seven or eight, which was far from young for a large-breed dog.

Lifting the metal spatula, Mack flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches so they would brown on the other side. After checking on the brewing coffee, he glanced at the table set for two. He felt an odd tightening sensation inside his gut. Wouldn’t you know the first person to interrupt his solitary existence would be a gorgeous blonde in need of a white knight.

“Hmph.” Mack was no white knight. He had rescued her because he’d had little choice. It was either bring her along with him or leave her to freeze to death.

If he was lucky, Katie Hadley wouldn’t be the good girl he thought she was. What he needed was a woman who’d be interested in a temporary fling for the day or two they’d be trapped here, then leave and never look back. But the way his luck ran, Katie would be just what she appeared to be—a sweet, young widow who was still in love with her husband. After all, why else would she be so attached to the man’s car, attached to the point of obsession?

Don’t know. Don’t care. Don’t ask. That was Mack’s motto. Do not become involved.

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t heard her come down the stairs, so when she cleared her throat, the sound startled him. He glanced into the living room, then sucked in a deep breath; the sight of her wearing his old shirt and knowing she was naked beneath ignited a fire in his belly. God, how he’d like to strip her out of that shirt, toss her down on the sofa, and—

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft and much too sweet.

“Hi.” His voice had been gruff. This time, he’d meant it to be.

“Something sure does smell good.”

“Yeah, it’s just soup and sandwiches.” He turned his back on her and busied himself pouring the soup into huge, brown cups. “Just come on in and sit down. Everything’s ready.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Not a thing.”

“I don’t expect you to wait on me while I’m here.” She came into the kitchen area and glanced into the iron skillet where the sandwiches were browning. “I can put these on plates and—”

“Just go sit down, will you?” He practically growled at her.

Startled, she gasped. “Sorry.”

“Look, we’re going to be stuck here together for a couple of days, so let’s set up some ground rules.”

“Of course.” She walked over to the table, pulled out one of the chairs, and sat, then folded her hands in her lap. “Whatever you say is fine with me. After all, this is your house, and I’m a guest.”

“An unwanted guest.” He carried the two big cups of soup to the table, then placed one in front of her and the other on the opposite side of the table.

When she didn’t respond to his grumbled comment, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed she was staring pointedly at his legs. A dark rage welled up inside him. Why were people so damn fascinated by other people’s handicaps? He hated the way people reacted to his limp. Some simply stared at him, while others actually asked him about it.

“Polio?”

“Car wreck?”

“You were in the military, huh?”

“Birth deformity?”

“Are you an amputee?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Is one leg shorter than the other?”

Women found his limp either fascinating or repulsive in fairly equal measure. Some cringed when they saw the horrible scars; others wanted to touch them, to soothe away his pain.

“What are you staring at?” He glared at Katie.

“I’m sorry. I know staring is impolite, but I just now noticed that you have a limp.”

He didn’t respond; he simply removed the sandwiches from the skillet, dumped them on a plate, and took them over to the table.

“I’ve got fresh coffee or there’s water, cola, and milk,” he said.

“Water will be fine.” She scooted back her chair. “I can get it.”

“Sit!” he bellowed.

She sat. Her cheeks flushed bright pink. Tears glistened in her eyes.

Damn! She was one of those women. Sensitive. Emotional. Weepy.

“Ground rules,” he said. “If I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”

She nodded.

He got her a glass of tap water, then placed it on the table before he poured himself a cup of black coffee.

He dug into the meal, spooning the soup into his mouth and following with huge bites of the grilled cheese. They ate in silence, the only sounds the creaking of the cabin, the ice-coated limbs occasionally breaking off trees, and Destry’s contented snore. The old dog lay spread out in his favorite winter spot—right in front of the fireplace.

Mack deliberately didn’t look at Katie. He didn’t want her asking questions, being friendly, putting ideas in his head. All he wanted was to get through the next couple of days without acting on his basic instincts. He might not be a gentleman, but he wasn’t the kind of man who took advantage of a woman.

When he finished his meal, Mack glanced at her plate. She’d eaten half the sandwich. Setting his two empty cups on his plate, he scooted back his chair, picked up the plate, and asked, “Are you finished?”

“Yes, thank you. It was quite good.”

“I’ve got some chocolate chip cookies and some fruit, if you want dessert,” he said.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”