Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Olivia
B y the end of the second day of the conference, I was tired of dealing with multiple levels of misogynistic bullshit. Of the entire attendees, I was one of only a handful of women, and by the time the cocktail hour had ended the first night, I had been propositioned no less than five times.
Not wanting to be subjected to that again, I decided to skip the second-night cocktail hour. I made my exit from the last seminar session and headed toward my room, glancing back over my shoulder at every turn to make certain no one followed me to the elevator.
The door pinged, and I stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief, only for a hand to appear between the doors at the last minute and halt their closure.
A large man joined me, his too-wide smile and lingering gaze I attributed to the alcohol I could smell on his breath. I stood with my back ramrod stiff and kept him in my peripheral view.
“Chief Hawkins,” he started like he hadn’t been leering at me. “Paul told me you’d be giving a speech. Good presentation considering it was such a last-minute addition. Shame they canceled the other talk, though, to have you present, but Paul can be a persuasive guy when he wants to be.”
And just like that, I had my confirmation that Mayor Smith had set me up for failure. They’d already had the schedule set without me having to do all that work. And he’d… lied about the whole thing. But why? Why was he sabotaging me?
I felt no need to respond to this revelation and stood watching the digital readout of the passing floors. He took my non-reply as encouragement, though, and stepped closer, boxing me in.
“You know, there’s a whole lot I can help you attain if the fire service ever becomes a bore for you. I know plenty of higher-ups at the state level. I’m sure I could get you an interview.” His fingertip traced the skin of my forearm, damp and unwelcome.
I jerked away and just barely stopped myself from throwing a punch. “Excuse me, sir. You do not have permission to touch me. I don’t want your damn interview. Matter of fact, I don’t want anything from you. Not your interest or your favors. Nothing.”
The elevator pinged on my floor, and I stepped off, head held high against his stunned reaction. The door closed on his outraged declaration, something about Mayor Smith and my regrets, but I didn’t care. No job was worth the type of harassment and favors this crowd offered.
I swiped my keycard and entered my room, wanting nothing more than a shower. It was these types of men, the ones who thought every female was beneath them and served only to warm their beds and man their kitchens, that made my blood boil.
I’d spent my entire career fighting bastards like this one. And to know that Mayor Smith had set me up just made it worse.
I was beginning to think the bullshit wasn’t worth it. Why have a dream job where people didn’t respect you?
The men and women who worked for my department deserved better than someone who would cow to this type of political pressure. So just like I’d always done, I’d put on a brave face, shove the misogyny aside, and do the job they’d hired me for.
As it was, I still had some missing inventory to find and an arsonist to catch. And apparently, the police department was relying on my new fire marshal to handle the majority of the investigation, so I’d give him my full support.
I checked the time, and since it was early yet, I gave Marshal Harrison a call to get a status update. That done, I felt better and relaxed some, allowing my thoughts to turn to Rosie and Mac. I called Rosie and chatted with her, and her exuberance over the old sailboat she and Mac were restoring made my heart ache. I wanted to be there, experiencing this with her.
It was a Friday night. I could have all weekend with my daughter versus a golf tournament and useless seminars. I’d already fulfilled Mayor Smith’s scheming demands, so I checked the schedule for the next day. A photo of the jackass from the elevator was next to the session information. With that knowledge, my decision was made.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my car with my phone GPS—because my piece-of-shit vehicle was absolutely void of any niceties like Bluetooth or navigation—showing a five-hour drive to get to the lake house, to retrieve Rosie and relieve Mac of weekend kid duty. I cued up my favorite true crime podcast on my phone and headed west.
With an hour of travel left, the rain started. And then the roads grew narrower and darker, with minimal streetlights. My high beams were no match for the sheet of rain that pounded around me. I flipped the radio to a local station when the setting became eerily similar to the location of the episode playing.
Occasionally, lightning would flash and illuminate the dark country road. But the rain just kept pouring down. And I was well and truly creeped out.
Without any warning signs, the road curved sharply, and my tires squealed as I slid. With sweaty palms, I maneuvered the car back to a safer, slower speed.
Mac better have a stiff drink available when I got there.
I cringed. I should’ve called when I left and given them a heads-up that I was coming early. But I didn’t, and now I was afraid to take my eyes off the road to make the call.
Finally, my headlights illuminated his mailbox number, and I turned into the drive. No lights were on inside the house, but Mac’s truck out front was all the confirmation I needed. I cut the engine and took a long, deep breath to calm my nerves.
By the time I made it to the door and huddled as closely to the house as possible, my clothes were drenched. The T-shirt I’d changed into before leaving clung to my body. I knocked a second time before the door was wrenched open to a very surprised Mac on the other side.
Lightning struck nearby, creating a loud crash.
With a yelp, I ducked.
Mac’s strong hand gripped my elbow and tugged me into the small entryway. Right up against his firm chest.
In the split second our bodies were pressed against each other, I was instantly transported to another time, when we’d made a mad dash through the rain and sought shelter in each other. We’d been happy and laughing and ended up kissing and peeling our wet clothes off each other before making love the rest of that rainy day.
A shudder ran through me as I pulled away from his heat. I was not here for this. I was not here for him. I needed to remember that. Even if his lips looked ultra-kissable.
“Surprise,” I said weakly.
“What are you doing here?” That full-body collision had him looking as stunned as I felt.
From beyond the hallway, my daughter’s voice rang out, “Mom!” followed by her running footsteps.
Then I was bear hugged and smashed even closer to him by Rosie.
“What are you doing here?” she squealed, the delighted surprise in her voice bouncing off the walls.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Under any other circumstance, I’d lay them on his chest, maybe snuggle into him. As it was, I was highly aware that our hips were pressed together and his big hands were on my waist, and Rosie was the bulldozer pushing me into him.
Mac’s lake house, from what I could see beyond his shoulder, was an older home. Unadorned cream-colored walls made the small entryway feel brighter than it should. Wood floors led down a short hallway. I took all of this in as I awkwardly tried to hold my body away from Mac’s. No doubt I was soaking him with my wet clothes.
He reached around me, patting Rosie’s back. “Hey, kid. Your mom’s probably freezing. You want to give her some room?”
For the briefest moment, the almost hug surrounded me in his warmth, and my body responded immediately. I wanted to burrow into that warmth, breathe in his woodsy smell, melt into him. Instead, Rosie let me go, and I stepped back, plucking at my now see-through shirt. I turned to hide the fact that my nipples were hard. It was just because I was cold, not because I’d been rubbing against Mac.
“I decided that I’d head out a little early from the conference.”
With mischievous twinkling eyes, Rosie turned to Mac. “Mom’s skipping her classes.”
“Sounds like it. Don’t get any ideas,” he warned.
“Gah, you’re just as bad as she is,” she huffed, turning on a heel and leaving us alone again.
Mac ushered me down the hallway to a kitchen that overlooked a large living room. Tall windows lined the far wall, probably overlooking the lake, though it was too stormy to tell. Rosie sprawled on a big comfy sectional sofa, using a yellow Labrador as a pillow. The dog, obviously in heaven, lay there with an eye on me, tongue lolled out, almost smiling.
“You got bags in the car?” Mac asked. He stood at the counter, arms braced, wet patches dotting his dark-gray shirt. The tattoos that covered his forearms drew my attention. What was it about really good forearm porn?
I realized belatedly that he’d asked me a question. “What?”
“Bags,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Are they in the car? I’ll go get them when the rain lets up.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on staying. I was just going to grab Rosie and head home.”
Mac frowned. “You aren’t going anywhere in this weather.”
I opened my mouth to argue .
“Nope. Putting my foot down.” His voice was gruff, full of authority, and a total turn-on. And now was not the time. “There’s no reason for you to be on the road,” he continued, despite my turmoil. “I have plenty of room for you to stay. Besides, you already skipped out of the conference. Might as well enjoy the rest of the weekend.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, and my ovaries flipped. I’d recognized in the few weeks that I’d been on the job that he was usually stern, almost hard. That ghost of a smile did things to me.
“I can’t put you o?—”
His hand shot up, stopping me.
He held my gaze and shook his head. “It’s not safe, Liv. I’d rather you not be on the road if you don’t have to be.” His soft request tumbled my insides until all that existed was the desire to hear my name in that voice again. His stare held me in place until it became clear I was not going to win this argument. He was braced and ready for a fight, taking up all the space in the room. All the air. A memory of his focused intensity flashed bright and hot, and I had to lick my lips to keep from gasping.
Heat grew in his gaze as if he could read my thoughts. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I felt them on me as if he’d physically touched me.
“Okay.” The simple word came out so breathy and soft, I had to break the lingering eye contact before I completely crumpled. “If you’re sure it’s not a problem,” I said more firmly, “my bag is in the back seat.”
Mac gave a nod and stalked out of the room. I let my gaze wander over his wide shoulders that nearly filled the hallway, and his firm ass in cutoff sweatpants. He really had kept in great shape over the years.
A giggle drew my attention .
“He’s hot for an old guy, right?” Rosie stage-whispered.
Heat crept up my cheeks. “Rosa Nell.” But I had to stop at her name because I didn’t know what else to say. “Watch yourself, young lady,” I finished weakly.
Mac braved the unrelenting storm and brought in my bag, ushering me to the other spare bedroom. I changed and explored the house more, noting the decided absence of decorations. Only a few photos here and there. But no trinkets or personal items. As if he’d been there but hadn’t ever settled in.
“You’ve got a nice place, Mac. Thanks for letting us stay,” I said, joining them on an old blue L-shaped sofa. Mac stretched out across the shorter end, and Rosie had her legs curled up in the middle of the larger section, Buster lazing between them. Outside the large windows, lightning continued to flash as the storm lingered.
“Thanks. Dad fell in love with the place when he saw it. Now it’s just me here, mostly.”
I didn’t know how to respond. The thought of Mac spending most of his time alone made me sad. With nothing left to say, the subject dropped.
The evening passed, and the whole time, I tried not to notice the way Mac’s thighs bunched any time he shifted or the way his biceps bulged when he folded his arm behind his head.
But despite me actively avoiding checking out his body, my gaze seemed to be drawn there. Especially when he and Rosie had an in-depth conversation after realizing they had a shared love of old-school westerns. Curled up next to her on the couch, I sat as an outsider, witnessing my daughter fall a little bit in love with her father.
Despite my fear of her being hurt, it was sweet that they had so many similarities. What would our lives have been like if he’d been in it all along? And now that he was here, would she choose him over me? The thought sank like a stone, settling somewhere in the pit of my stomach where it rolled and churned.
Between the drone of the old black-and-white western—I didn’t even know the name—and their hushed conversation, the long, stressful week caught up with me, and my eyelids grew heavy. I drifted somewhere between a dream, where this was our family, and reality, where I was chaperoning my daughter as she got to know her father.
She had endless questions for him, and he answered every one, his deep voice wrapping around my dreamlike state, bathing me in safety and comfort.
I didn’t want this.
I was scared to death that things would go wrong because I knew we couldn’t relive the past. I didn’t want to find him so attractive. I didn’t want my daughter to be so obsessed with him. I didn’t want my career to take me away from her and push her to him.
But here I was, rolling with the punches.
Everything was mostly going my way now—new job, new place, wonderful kid. Maybe if Tim and I had been able to make things work, I wouldn’t feel like such a failure. But I couldn’t even regret it too much, because seeing her with Mac drove home how tense and unhealthy that relationship had become.
I was so tired.
Tired of thinking, of being in charge, tired of waiting on the next challenge and facing it alone.
But I wasn’t alone right then.
Rosie had Mac, and in a way, I had him too. He was definitely stepping up to the challenge of learning to be a dad, whether he’d wanted it or not. I sank into the comfort of that thought and closed my eyes, drifting on a wave of their voices and low TV background noise.
A warm finger brushed across my forehead, followed by a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Hey.” Mac’s voice was extra rough in my ear. “Why don’t you head to bed?” A cascade of goosebumps broke out over my skin. Mmm, Mac. Bed.
My eyes popped open, darting around the room as I tried to get my bearings. The television was off, and a single lamp broke the darkness. Rosie tottered down the hall, yellow lab in tow. Mac was in the space where Rosie had been earlier. I sat up, loopy after what must’ve been a deep sleep.
“She stole your dog” popped out of my mouth.
“He’ll find me once she goes to sleep. That’s what he did last night, anyway.” He sounded like he didn’t mind so much, and I clung to that hope because I didn’t want him to be upset with her.
I hugged the blanket that someone had thoughtfully covered me with. The moment felt intimate and right in so many ways. Somewhere deep in my heart, a little piece of me that I’d kept protected and sheltered began to unfurl. That split second of thinking Mac would join me in bed woke a desire I’d not experienced in a long time. Not since before the divorce. Not a desire for sex, just for… companionship. I didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to be alone. I was lonely. Had been lonely for so many years.
“Mac…” I started, my voice thick with sleep.
“Liv, just let things be for a while. We don’t have to know the answers, and we don’t have to make any decisions or solve any problems.” The intense set of his jaw was the only indication that he felt more than he was admitting to. His hand brushed my hair softly. “Get some rest. We can sort things out tomorrow.”
He pushed to stand and stretched, the hem of his shirt riding up, exposing a tanned strip of his stomach. He dropped his arms and padded across the room to the back door, checking the locks. My eyes were glued to his every move until he disappeared down the hall, toward the front door, breaking my trance.
This was not good. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, nor keep my thoughts out of the past. I didn’t know how this whole thing would go, but I didn’t have a good feeling about it. I rose, folded the blanket, and headed to my room. I felt him come down the hall behind me, his presence warm and solid. At my door, I paused and looked over my shoulder to him.
“Thanks for everything, Mac.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he silently regarded me. With a single nod, he walked into his bedroom. The soft click of the latch catching nearly shattered me.