Sugar And Spice (16 page)

“Coffee?”

She shook her head. “Do you have a telephone here?”

“Just my cell phone.”

“May I use it?” she asked.

“Sure. It’s over here on the counter. I’ll get it for you.”

He handed her the phone, then cleared away her plate and cups. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the soup. And it was damn good soup.

“There’s not much privacy here,” he said. “It’s a small cabin. If you want to talk in private, go upstairs in the bathroom.”

“That won’t be necessary. I just want to call my sister and let her know I’m okay. I left town without telling anyone where I was going. I planned to phone Kim after I got here, but I wanted to leave without my family trying to stop me.”

“Why would they try to stop you? You’re a grown woman.”

“I’m planning on staying away during the holidays. I won’t be there for Christmas with my family.”

He narrowed his gaze and stared at her. “So, you ran away from home, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Look, if you need to, give your sister my cell phone number and tell her my name and assure her you’re safe with me. Tell her that I make a habit of steering clear of nice girls.”

Katie cocked her head to one side and smiled. “What makes you think I’m a nice girl?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Instinct I guess.”

“You know what, Mack MacKinnon?”

He shrugged.

“I think maybe underneath that gruff exterior, you’re a nice man.”

Mack chuckled sarcastically, the sound a mixture of laughter and grunt. “I’m not. Consider yourself forewarned.”

Her smile vanished. She studied him for a couple of minutes, apparently trying to figure out which to trust—her instincts or his warning.

Katie understood that Mack was trying to warn her off, but she wasn’t quite sure of his reason. Maybe he thought she had romanticized their meeting and had some foolish notions about the two of them getting together. Had Mack lost someone he loved, just as she had, and wasn’t prepared to love again?

Or had some woman broken his heart and left him afraid to care about someone new?

“I won’t be a minute.” Katie clutched the cell phone in her hand. “I don’t want my family to worry.”

“Go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll clean up in here.”

She went into the living room and sat down in one of two large, overstuffed leather chairs flanking the fireplace. She chose the one at the opposite end of the cabin. After sitting, she dialed Kim’s number. The answering machine picked up.

“Hi Kim. It’s Katie. Look, I’ve left town for a while. I’ve gone to the mountains until the first of the year.

I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. And don’t let Mom and Dad call out the National Guard. It’s just…I couldn’t face Christmas this year. Silly of me, I know. But…I love you. All of you.”

Katie flipped the phone closed. A lump lodged in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not with Mack probably watching her. How could she explain to him—a stranger—that she’d run away from home so she wouldn’t have to spend Christmas with her happy, loving family? That first Christmas after Darrell died, her family had been sympathetic and understanding and hadn’t insisted she join them for the usual Brown family rituals. Christmas Eve began with all the girls in the family—mothers, daughters and granddaughters—going to Grandma Brown’s to make cookies. Then there was church together on Christmas Eve, followed by a trip to Great-Aunt Rebecca’s, where dozens of Katie’s mother’s family members congregated every year. Then there was Christmas Day, which Katie had once looked forward to the most but now dreaded the most.

Darrell had proposed to her on Christmas Day, eight years ago.

Katie had been so lost in her thoughts, surrounded by memories of the ghost of Christmas past, that she hadn’t heard Mack walk into the living room, sit down opposite her, and lean over to pet his dog.

“Finish talking to your sister?” Mack asked.

“Oh.” Katie gasped. “I left a message. If you don’t mind, I’ll try to call her again tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“So, his name is Destry?” She glanced at the big furry dog.

“Yep.”

“Like in Destry Rides Again?”

Mack looked right at her. “Yeah. How’d you know about that old movie?”

“My dad’s an old western movies buff. I’ve seen both Destry movies, the old black-and-white version with James Stewart and the fifties one with Audie Murphy.”

“Your dad and I would get along just fine. If he’s a UT fan and likes to fish, we could be buddies for life.”

Katie laughed. What were the odds that two people could have so much in common? “My Dad lives and breathes UT football, and since he retired last year, he bought a fishing boat and he and Kit, my brother, go fishing a lot.”

“You have a brother and a sister. Or is that brothers and sisters?”

“One sister, Kim—Kimberly Diane—who’s three years older than I am. She’s married to a dentist, and they have five-year-old twins, Betsy and Becky. Kim’s a great mother, just like our mom is. And Kit, short for Kittwell, our mother’s maiden name, is two years younger than I am. He’s married, and he and his wife are expecting their first baby in February.”

When Mack didn’t respond, she glanced at him. He had this odd expression on his face, which she interpreted as aggravation.

“TMI?” she asked.

“Yeah, a bit too much info. Just because we’re stuck here together doesn’t mean we have to become buddies and share cute little stories about our families.”

“You’re certainly working awfully hard to convince me that you’re a mean-spirited sourpuss.”

“What you see is what you get.”

“Is it?”

He ignored her question.

She glanced around the room. This wasn’t a new cabin, not one built recently for tourists to rent. The wooden walls possessed a mellow, aged patina, as did the floors. The rock fireplace was huge, the mantel made of rough-hewn wood. The furniture was new, the two massive chairs leather, the long sofa a dark brown chenille. The entire room, indeed the entire cabin, didn’t have a single feminine touch. It all but screamed “a man lives here alone.”

“You haven’t decorated for Christmas yet,” she said, thinking aloud, and when she noted the scowl on his face, she wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself.

“I don’t decorate for Christmas.” His big hand continued stroking the sleeping dog’s back.

“Not even a Christmas tree?”

“Not even.”

Why should it bother her that he wouldn’t have a tree or a wreath on the door or a stocking hung on the mantel? Hadn’t she left home, left her family, so she wouldn’t have to face another Christmas with all the fanfare, hoopla, and decorations? Yes, but she had a good reason to boycott Christmas. The season brought back too many memories of a time when she’d been happy. So very, very happy.

“Why don’t you like Christmas?” she asked.

“Why don’t you?”

Tossing the question right back at her startled her momentarily. But it achieved the desired effect.

“You made your point. Your personal life is none of my business.”

“And yours is none of mine,” he told her.

“If we’re trapped here together for a couple of days, it’s going to be difficult not to talk to each other about something. We’ll have to find things to do to pass the time.”

The corners of Mack’s wide mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “If you weren’t a nice girl, I could think of plenty we could do to while away the hours. Any chance I misjudged you?”

Katie knew she should be offended, maybe even slightly shocked by the innuendo, but she was neither shocked nor offended. “Unfortunately, you were right about me being a nice girl, so making out on that fur rug”—she tapped the edge of the large, brown fur spread out before the fireplace—“is out of the question.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back, because they conjured up an image in her mind that did shock her. It had been only a flash, only a ten-second glimpse of Mack and her, both of them naked, lying on the rug, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Ah, shoot. I had such high hopes of your helping me christen that rug. I thought we’d open a bottle of wine and put on some soft music. You could do a striptease for me and then we’d get all hot and sweaty—”

Jumping in to stop him from going any further, but doing it in the same teasing tone he had used, she said, “I don’t put out on a first date. Sorry. You know how we nice girls are.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s why I prefer not-so-nice girls.”

“Too bad one of those girls didn’t wreck her car and need rescuing this evening.”

Mack chuckled under his breath. “Just my luck that it had to be you.”

“Yes, it had to be me, didn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “I have a TV, a radio, and a CD player, if you’d like to—”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Actually, after that warm bath and hot supper, I’m getting kind of sleepy. I wouldn’t mind going to bed early, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He rose from his chair and limped over to the staircase.

She wanted to ask him when and how he had acquired such a pronounced limp, but she didn’t dare.

He’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to share personal information.

He disappeared up the stairs rather rapidly. She heard him thumping around up there in the loft; a few minutes later, he reappeared carrying a blanket, a thick quilt, a sheet, and a pillow.

She jumped up and rushed over to him. “Here, let me help.”

He tossed the pillow onto the sofa, then handed her the other items. “Just make yourself a bed there on the couch. I’ll add some more logs to the fireplace, so it should stay toasty warm in here all night.”

She stood there holding the folded sheet, blanket, and quilt, her mouth wide open, her brain processing the fact that Mack had not offered her his bed.

“I’ll take Destry and go upstairs. You can turn out all the lights down here before you settle in. We’ll try not to wake you when I let him out again later tonight.”

She said, “Thank you,” but what she really wanted to say was “You’re right, Mack MacKinnon. You most definitely are no gentleman.”

Katie woke to the smell of fresh coffee and frying bacon. For a few sweet moments she thought she was at home, a little girl again, and the aroma was coming from her mother’s kitchen. But when she opened her eyes, she discovered she was not lying beneath her canopied twin bed situated across from Kim’s.

Instead, the first thing she saw was a large, dark man standing over her, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a spectacular chest. He cradled a brown mug in his big hand.

“Morning,” he said as he held out the mug to her.

As she sat up, she remembered she wore nothing except this man’s flannel shirt, so she kept the blanket and quilt covering her from the waist down. “Thanks.” She accepted the mug, which she quickly discovered contained some of that delicious smelling coffee. After taking a sip, she sighed.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

After taking another sip of coffee, she looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, thanks. Actually, I slept quite well.”

Stop staring at him, she told herself, but for some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His short, black hair was slightly tousled, and it was obvious from his dark beard stubble that he hadn’t shaved this morning. Where his shirt hung open, she saw his well-muscled chest, covered with just a sprinkling of curly black hair.

“Like what you see?” He grinned mockingly.

“Oh, sorry. I—I wasn’t really staring at you,” she lied. “I’m just a bit dazed and not quite awake.”

He chuckled, as if he knew she was lying. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. The scrambled eggs and toast are ready, and the bacon is just about done. I like crisp bacon.”

“Crisp is fine.”

“From the looks of you”—he gave her a quick once-over—“I’d say you’re the type who eats yogurt for breakfast, or maybe a protein bar.”

She drank more coffee before she replied. “You make a great cup of coffee, Mack. And I’m sure breakfast will be just as good. I’m not picky about my meals. And you’re right, I often eat yogurt for breakfast and sometimes skip breakfast completely.”

“You shouldn’t do that. Don’t you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”

She laughed, relieved by his teasing manner this morning. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven.”

“Really? I seldom sleep this late. Actually I seldom sleep well, certainly not the way I did last night.”

Mack walked into the kitchen, separated from the living room and dining area by a short bar topped with the same rusty-brown granite as the counters. She watched him as he removed the hot bacon and placed two pieces on one plate and four on the other; then he turned off the gas burner and carried the two plates over to the table.

“Come get it while it’s hot,” he called to her as he returned to the kitchen to refill his coffee mug.

Katie carefully removed the covers from her lower body, taking her time as she stood, making sure the flannel shirt didn’t hike up in the back and that it covered her as much as possible.

“You’re decent,” Mack said.

“What?”

“Look, Ms. Nice Girl, I got the message loud and clear last night. You’re not going to hop into the sack with me, so stop worrying that I’ll try to jump your bones.”

“Is that why you didn’t offer me your bed?” The question just popped out. “I mean—”

“I didn’t offer you my bed last night because I’m six-three and weigh in at two-twenty-eight. I don’t fit on that couch. You do. You’re what? Five-four and weigh about one-twenty-five soaking wet.”

“Oh.” Of course, that made sense. He was a big man and wouldn’t have fit comfortably on the sofa, where she had, in fact, fit perfectly and slept like a baby.

Katie carried her coffee mug into the dining room and placed it on the table. She and Mack exchanged glances. Moving quickly, he came over and pulled out her chair.

“Thank you.” She sat.

He grunted. “I figured you expected it.”

Instinctively reaching for a napkin, she found there wasn’t one. Hmm, no napkins, not even paper ones.