Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
GRACE
I stand in front of the biggest animal I’ve ever been up close to. He rubs his muzzle into my palm, plucking the sugar cube up with his teeth. With Lawson gone, I make sure to get out of the house a few times a day and out of Mack’s way. He may have apologized, but he is still awkward and short when we are in close quarters.
I’m well aware I’m in his space, in his home. If the shoe were on the other foot, I’m sure I would be surly about a stranger being holed up in my place, too. I rub a hand up the gelding’s face.
“He likes you,” a low voice says from behind me.
I spin back to find Mack in jeans and a polo, leaning on his crutch.
“I was getting some air—thought he might like a treat.”
He walks to his horse and places his hand on his cheek. “Hey there, buddy.”
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“Trigger.”
I chuckle. “Of course it is.”
The horse nickers and nods his head up and down, as if responding. Mack is gentle and sweet with the gelding. Another glimpse of the real Mackinlay. A smile tugs over his lips as he rubs the horse and chats away to him.
I stand, one hand on the stall door, the other raised up to the gelding’s neck. The butterflies taking flight with Mack’s soft words have me stunned. The horse nudges his hand, and he chuckles. My mouth gapes, sending my heart into my throat.
I stagger back, shoving my hands in my back pockets. “Excuse me.”
I march over the hay-littered ground toward the doorway. Outside, sunshine hits me, and I suck much-needed air into my burning lungs. The too familiar burn behind my eyes starts. The kindness, the effect he has on me when we are too close...
Joel never elicited any such physical reaction. I was head over heels for him purely on his charisma. His too-casual, freedom-chasing personality was a breath of fresh air after my strict parents. Maybe I was desperate for change. But that change had me just as desperate in the end.
Shaking my head at my stupid choices since the day I met Joel, I walk over the gravel driveway toward the house.
“Grace, wait up!”
I stop and stare at the gate to the front yard, bottom lip worrying through my teeth. The hurried scuffle of his lone crutch closes in behind me. A hand touches my shoulder, and I turn back. His worried face is still gorgeous under a week’s worth of stubble.
“What do you need?” I ask.
He stands taller on the crutch and swallows. “Nothin’—I just...”
I turn back and walk toward the house.
“Dammit, Grace, slow down.”
“Why?” I say, not slowing one iota.
“I wanted to ask you something.” His voice is soft, vulnerable.
That’s a first.
I sigh and walk back to where he stands, folding my arms across my chest.
He huffs a strangled laugh and swallows. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Yep, you do.”
He dips his head, muttering something that sounds like “Sweet Jesus.”
“Well?”
His dark blue eyes meet mine, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “The county fair is on. Thought you might like to go.”
“Sure, I’ll make a point to ask my ass of a boss for the night off.”
He tilts his head, and for a second, I think he’s going to stalk off. But he leans on the crutch and studies my face. “We can take my truck.”
“I told you, Mackinlay, I’m not driving that thing.”
“I know.” He smiles and walks around me, his strides lighter than before.
With my best clothes on—the best of slim pickings, that is—I sit in the white Chevy pickup and wait for Mack to climb into the driver’s seat. He leans over the driver’s seat and hands me his lone crutch. Our fingers brush as I lean over and take it from his hold. He hauls himself into the seat and closes the door. Within a heartbeat, his cologne fills the cab.
He shaved.
Wow.
I shake my head and snap my gaze forward, waiting for the Chevy to start. The loud engine roars to life, and I swear he moans. Running his hands over the steering wheel, he takes a look around, as if it’s been a lifetime since he was last here. Emotion floods his face.
“Been a while, Mackie-boy?” I can’t help myself.
The second the words register on his face, I wish like hell I’d kept my mouth shut. Or chosen my words more wisely. I open my mouth to take them back but his gaze flicks down the driveway, and his jaw feathers.
He growls at me and slams the pickup into drive. I squeal as he floors it, and we thunder down the driveway. Hot and cold, this man. Or maybe we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other well enough yet. The first month or so of being here, it was him wishing I wasn’t. Me avoiding him and praying he didn’t get his way and have me shipped off like the last three carers.
He says not a word on the hour drive into town, and I busy myself with looking out the window. Bag and phone in my lap, I’m comfortable sitting here in silence. Like being in Mack’s orbit is some sort of safety net. I haven’t had that since I lived at home with my parents.
The sun is setting when we reach Lewistown and Mack pulls into the fairgrounds. His parking is a little uncontrolled, and I’m guessing he’s not supposed to be driving yet. Unlike an hour ago, I keep my thoughts to myself. In front of us, the fair is in full swing. Rides lit up with rainbow lights, more pickup trucks than I have ever seen in my life, and gazebos, stalls, and so many people.
“Ready?” Mack asks.
I nod, and he pushes his door open as I hand him his crutch. I turn to push my door open and the end of the crutch lands on my forearm. “Wait.”
I can’t take my eyes off him as he walks around the front of the vehicle and pulls my door open. Chuckles bubble up my throat, blush filling my cheeks. “You don’t—don’t need to do that, Mackinlay.”
“It wouldn’t be taking you to the fair if I didn’t. Let me be useful this once, please.”
That does it. My face falls. All he wants to do is get back his normal.
I can do that for him.
“Sure, go for it,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move from the doorway, and I study his face. He holds out a hand and I rest mine inside it. Warmth folds around my hand as I step down from the truck. Emotion clogs my throat when I clear the door, and he closes it for me.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“Where do you want to go first?”
I look around the fair. It’s overwhelming, there is so much to look at and do. “I don’t know, what’s your favorite part?”
He thinks for a moment, scanning the fair. “Shootin’ ducks.”
I stiffen. “Oh... I can’t. I’ll just watch.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the noisy crowds. “You’ll manage, just wait.”
We weave through lines of people, groups chatting and laughing. Children run about, delighted, squealing and giggling. We reach the stall with yellow tin ducks lined up, and I huff an embarrassed snort. Not actual live ducks. Thank heavens.
Mack’s hand is still around mine. “You wanna go first, Grace?”
“Um, okay. I’ve never done this before.”
He drops my hand and pays the man working the booth. “Two, please.”
A small rifle is placed in my hands, and I watch Mack check his over before raising mine to the ducks. Pointing, holding with both hands, I shoot. The rubber bullet hits the wall behind the slow-moving yellow birds. Shit.
“God, I’m hopeless at this,” I say, lowering the rifle. “Show me what you’ve got, Mackinlay.”
He grins, and holy shit, I’m almost boneless at the sight. Mesmerized, I gawk as he raises his weapon and aims. Four seconds later, six ducks are down. He’s so quick, his movements hardly registered.
“Damn, poor ducks,” I quip.
He chuckles. “Had a bit of practice.”
“Oh yeah, right. The whole sniper thing. How did I forget that?”
“You win, buddy. Pick a prize,” the man standing to the side says with a frown, as if aware he’s been played. I tamp down a smile and suppress the laugh that’s rising in my throat. The prize bin is overflowing with stuffed toys and cheap plastic odds and ends.
“You want to pick something?” Mack asks me.
“Ah, no, I’m good. You won, you should pick.”
With a few steps, he hovers over the bin, hunting for god knows what. A minute later, he hands the prize to the man, and he cuts the tag off it. Waiting, I look around at the happy people, fun written all over their faces. Mack’s cologne folds in around me, and I look over my shoulder. He stands at my back, dangling something on a chain beside my head.
I spin back. “What is that?” I raise my palm to catch it where it swings from his fingertips. A drop crystal is suspended, clear, a little bigger than my thumb. Smaller crystals dot the chain it hangs on. It’s beautiful. “For your truck’s rearview mirror?”
“Nope, for Blue’s.”
“Oh.”
I swallow. The amber light of the sunset hits the crystal and its light splits across my face. I raise a hand to the rainbow and chuckle as it dances across my palm. “Thank you.”
“Sure, consider this my wholesome and very large apology for the last three months.”
“A cheap-ass crystal?” I raise an eyebrow.
He adjusts his stance on his crutch, and his gaze drops to the ground. “Not the crystal. The outing, I guess.”
“Oh, alright. Well, in that case, I really, really want to go on the Ferris wheel.”
Mack looks up at the enormous wheel rising into the sky. Its circumference is lit with rainbow lights, and the line isn’t too long, as most folks are making their way to the bar and large building where supper is being served.
Running a hand across the back of his neck, he glances between me and the large ride. “Come on, then.”
We walk past bumper cars, kids’ rides, and a hammer and bell game. People wave and smile at Mack, and a few stop to say quick hellos. Mack buys two tickets, and we join the line.
“Sure you’re up for the Ferris wheel, Rawlins?” a voice says from behind.
We turn back in unison, and it’s the same guy we met in the street the other day. Morgan? Manning?
“Morley. Sure you’re old enough to ride the wheel by yourself?” Mack snaps.
Morley, that’s right.
“I can always be your third wheel.” His gaze tracks up and down my body, real slow. My heart clambers through the next beat. I move into Mack’s side, trying to ignore the thump rattling up my airways. The last time I saw that look on a man’s face, Joel and Jimmy had just decided I was prey.
“Tickets!” the woman on the gate calls.
I stumble backward and rush for the gate, grabbing Mack’s hand. He all but topples over, trying to catch up to me on his lone crutch and one good leg. I force air in and out of my lungs, gripping his hand too tight. He hands the lady the tickets and follows behind as we pad down the walkway to the first free carriage. Safely inside, I turn back and lock the gate.
Mack is on the seat beside me in a heartbeat. He leans his crutch by the half door.
My chest is rising and plummeting so fast, stars fade into my peripherals. A hand folds over mine on my leg. “Hey, you alright?”
I can’t respond.
I think I shake my head. I can’t tell.
“Morley has that effect on people.” He chuckles, but it dies out when my rigid body doesn’t move. I don’t look at him and my chin wobbles.
Dammit.
“Grace, look at me.” His hand is on my face. My breathing shatters. He turns my chin so I face him.
His hand drops away.
“Fuck, Gracie. You need to get off the ride?”
A moan slips through my lips, turning to a whimper as he folds me into his side, his arm around my shoulders. He holds me there until the ride starts up and we are high in the sky. The cool night air washes in, brushing over my heated cheeks, cooling the salty tears covering my face. I wipe them off and suck in a breath.
“You need me to listen?” he offers. His voice is soft, like with Trigger.
I want to say something. To have the courage to open my mouth and tell him. But it’s my burden. He has enough of his own.
“Grace, nobody has a reaction like that and can hold it in without it eatin’ them alive.”
Now I look up at him. Worry claims his face—his eyes are tight with it. I dry my palms on my jeans and sit up taller. He removes his arm and nudges me with his shoulder. “You’re safe, okay.”
I nod.
If anyone understands feeling afraid, it’s him. My fear pales in comparison to the things he’s seen and been through. With that thought, I push past the self-conscious part of me that wants to bottle up my life and toss it to sea to be washed away.
“If I can, I want to tell you where I was before the ranch. Only, after all you’ve been through, it feels stupid. I mean, most of it was my own fault.”
His face hardens. “I doubt that.”
I huff a strangled breath.
“I know we’re not exactly friends, so I’ll keep it to the abridged version.”
“Unabridged, please.” His voice is gravel.
“Okay, fine. I’ll start with the moment everything changed for me.”
I tell him about the day I met Joel. My studies, my art, and how painting was my life. My scholarship. My guaranteed internship. My parents and their lofty expectations and strict rules. The moment I thought I was in love with Joel.
Mack shifts on his seat, as if uncomfortable with being holed up in the small carriage. He prompts me to keep going. I tell him about the day I left home and how my parents turned their backs on me. The freedom I felt living my own life and just painting day in and day out. The week all that was taken away, when Joel lost his job. The hard, long months that followed.
Lastly, I tell him about the first time I ever felt real fear. On my twenty-first birthday, the night I left. With the threat of being raped by the man who was supposed to love me and his junkie friend. The fist that met my face.
My words run out.
His face is strung out. His chest plunging. My hands are numb, wrapped around the hem of my shirt. My jaw is clamped shut, tight. Tears stream down my cheeks, but this time, ironically, they are not tears of sadness. They are for the gratitude I feel for my freedom.
The Ferris wheel whines to a stop and every person gets off. We don’t move, and the lady walks to our carriage and gestures for us to move.
“Send it around again,” Mack bites out.
When she starts to object, he swipes out his wallet and hands her a bunch of cash. “Again!”
A moment later, we jerk upward, and the wheel goes around.
This time, it’s just for us.