The Complete Mackenzies Collection by Linda Howard
“He’ll quiet down in a minute.” The vet gave her a sharp glance as he peeled away the blood-soaked gauze she’d been holding to the wound. “No offense, but even with the blood, the horse looks in better shape than you do. Are you all right?”
“Concussion.”
“Then for God’s sake stop letting him bump you around like that,” he said sharply. “Sit down somewhere before you fall down.”
Even in the midst of everything that was going on, as the medics readied Joan for transport, Mac somehow heard the vet. All of a sudden he was there, looming behind her, reaching over her shoulder for Pleasure’s bridle. “I’ll hold him.” The words sounded as if he were spitting them out one at a time, like bullets. “Sit down.”
“I—” She’d started to say “I think I will,” but she didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence.
He assumed she was about to mount an argument, and barked out one word. “Sit!”
“I wasn’t going to argue,” she snapped back. What did he think she was, a dog? Sit, indeed. She felt more like lying down.
She decided to do just that. Pleasure was going to be all right; as soon as he quieted and let the vet do his work, the bleeding would stop. The torn muscle would have to be stitched, antibiotics administered, a bandage secured, but the horse would heal. Even though the truck and trailer were stolen, under the circumstances she couldn’t imagine that there would be any problem with using them to transport Pleasure back to Solomon Green. Until the vet was finished and Pleasure was loaded in the trailer, she intended to stretch out on the truck seat.
Wearily she climbed into the cab. The keys were still in the ignition, so she started the engine and turned on the heater. She took off her coat, removed the Kevlar vest and placed it in the floorboards, then lay down on the seat and pulled the coat over her.
She almost cried with relief as the pain immediately began easing now that she was still. She closed her eyes, letting the tension drain out of her, along with the terror and absolute rage. She might have killed Joan. If the woman had shot Mac, she would have done it. Enveloped in that strange vacuum of despair and rage, she had been going for a head shot. She hadn’t even thought about Pleasure, not in that awful moment when Joan turned on Mac. She was glad she hadn’t had to pull the trigger, but she knew she would have. Knowing her own fiercely protective nature was one thing, but this was the first time she had been faced with the true extent of it. The jolt of self-knowledge was searing.
Mac had already faced this; it was in his eyes. She had seen it in her father, in her brothers, the willingness to do what was necessary to protect those they loved and those who were weaker. It wasn’t easy. It was gut-wrenching, and those who were willing to stand on the front lines paid for it in a thousand little ways she was only beginning to understand. She hadn’t had to take that final, irrevocable step, but she knew how close it had been.
Her mother also had that willingness, and a couple of her sisters-in-law. Valiant Mary, intrepid Caroline, sweet Barrie. They had each, in different circumstances, faced death and seen the bottom line. They would understand the wrenching she felt. Well, maybe Caroline wouldn’t. Caroline was so utterly straightforward, so focused, that Joe had once compared her to a guided missile.
The door by her head was wrenched open, and cold air poured in. “Maris! Wake up!” Mac barked, his voice right over her. His hand closed on her shoulder as if he intended to shake her.
“I am awake,” she said, without opening her eyes. “The headache’s better, now that I’m still. How much longer will it be before I can take Pleasure back?”
“You aren’t taking him anywhere. You’re going to a hospital to be checked out.”
“We can’t just leave him here.”
“I’ve arranged for him to be driven back.”
She could hear the effort he was making to be calm; it was evident in his careful tone.
“Are things about wrapped up here?”
“Close enough that I can leave it with Dean and take you to a hospital.”
He wouldn’t let it go until a doctor had told him she was all right, Maris realized, and with a sigh she opened her eyes and sat up. She understood. If their situations were reversed, she would be doing the same thing.
“All right,” she said, slipping on her coat. She turned off the ignition and picked up the Kevlar vest. “I’m ready.”
Her willingness scared him. She saw his eyes darken, saw his jaw clench. “I’ll be okay,” she said softly, touching his hand. “I’m going because I know you’re worried, and I don’t want you to be.”
His expression changed, something achingly tender moving in his eyes. Gently he scooped her into his arms and lifted her from the truck.
Dean had brought the Oldsmobile out of its hiding place. Mac carried her to it and deposited her on the front seat as carefully as if she were made of the most fragile crystal. He got in on the driver’s side and started the car; the milling crowd in front of them parted, allowing them through. She saw Pleasure, standing quietly now. The bandage was in place, and the wild look was gone from his eyes. He was watching the activity with his characteristic friendly curiosity.
As they drove by, Dean lifted his hand to wave. “What about Dean?” Maris asked.
“He’ll get transport. It isn’t a problem.”
She paused. “What about you? When do you leave? Your job here is finished, isn’t it?” She didn’t intend to let him get away, but she wasn’t sure exactly how much he understood of their situation.
“It’s finished.” The words were clipped. The look he gave her was one of restrained violence. “I’ll have to do the paperwork, tie up some loose ends. I may have to leave tonight, tomorrow at the latest, but I’ll be back, damn it!”
“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observed.
“Happy? You expect me to be happy?” His jaw clenched. “You didn’t obey orders. You stepped right out into the open, instead of staying hidden the way you were supposed to. That idiot woman could have killed you!”
“I was wearing the vest.” She pointed that out rather mildly, she thought.
“The damn vest only improves the odds, it isn’t a guarantee! The issue here is that you didn’t follow the plan. You risked your life for that damn horse! I didn’t want him hurt, either, but—”
“It wasn’t for Pleasure,” she said, interrupting him. “It was for you.” She looked out the window at the snow-dusted pastures they were passing.
It was quiet in the car for a moment.
“Me?” He was using that careful tone again.
“You. I knew he’d go straight to you, that he’d catch my scent on your clothes. At the very least he would distract you, bump you with his head. It was even possible he’d give away your position.”
Mac was silent, absorbing the shock of the realization that she was willing to risk her own life to protect his. He did the same thing on a fairly regular basis, but it was his job to take risks and protect others. But he’d never before felt the terror he’d known when he saw Maris draw Joan’s attention, and he hoped he never felt it again.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
Damn. Sighing inwardly, Mac kissed his bachelorhood goodbye. Her courage stunned him, humbled him. No other woman he’d known would have put herself on the line the way Maris had done, both physically and emotionally. She didn’t play games, didn’t jockey for control. She simply knew, and accepted; he’d seen it in the soft depths of her black eyes, an instinctive inner knowledge that few people ever achieved. If he didn’t snatch her up, it would be the biggest mistake of his life.
Mac didn’t believe in making mistakes.
“How long does it take to get married in Kentucky?” he asked abruptly. “If we can’t get it done tomorrow, we’ll go to Las Vegas—assuming the doctor says you’re all right.”
He hadn’t said he loved her, but she knew he did. She sat back, pleased with the situation. “I’m all right,” she said, completely con
Chapter 10
“Getting married in Las Vegas seems to be a tradition in my family,” she mused the next day as her new husband ushered her into their suite. “Two of my brothers have done it.”
“Two? How many brothers do you have?”
“Five. All of them older.” She smiled sweetly at him over her shoulder as she walked to the window to look out at the blazing red sunset. It was odd how completely connected to him she felt, when they hadn’t had time to talk much, to share the details of their lives. Events had swept them along like gulls before a hurricane.
The emergency room doctor had pronounced her concussion mild and told her to take it easy for a day or so. He had agreed with her that, if she had been going to lapse into a coma, she would already have done so. Over the course of the day her memory had completely returned, filling in the blank spots, so she knew she was okay.
Reassured, Mac had driven her back to Solomon Green and turned his attention to the job, ruthlessly clearing up details and paperwork so he could concentrate on the business of getting married. While she slept, he and Dean had worked. He had arranged for time off, checked into the details of marriage in Kentucky, decided it couldn’t be done fast enough to suit him and booked them on a flight to Las Vegas.
Ronald Stonicher had been arrested for conspiracy to commit fraud; he’d had no idea his wife and Randy Yu planned to kill Maris, too, and was shattered by what had happened. Joan had undergone surgery on her arm, and according to the surgeon the nerve and tissue damage was extensive; he expected her to regain some use of the arm, but she would never again be able to write with her right hand, or eat, do or anything else requiring precise movements. Randy was spilling his guts to the feds, implicating a lot of people in the horse world in the scheme to kill off horses for the insurance money. He hadn’t been charged with killing the sixteen-year-old boy. Evidently he had some information on it, though, and was holding that in reserve to bargain for an even bigger break on the charges.
Maris had called her mother, briefly filled her in on what had happened and told her she was getting married. “Have fun, baby,” Mary had told her daughter. “You know your father will want to walk you down the aisle, so we’ll plan another wedding for Christmas. That gives me three weeks. There shouldn’t be any problem.”
Most people would have screamed in panic at the thought of organizing a wedding in three weeks. Mary saw no problem, and from experience Maris knew that while other people might have problems accomplishing what her mother wanted, in the end she would have her way.
Mac had phoned his family, which consisted of his mother, step-father and two half-sisters. They would be joining the Mackenzies in Wyoming for the wedding at Christmas.
During the ceremony an hour before, Maris had learned that her husband’s full name was William Alexander MacNeil. “A few people call me Will,” he told her afterward, when she mentioned how difficult it was for her to think of him as Alex. “Most people call me Mac.” Since in her mind she had already begun shortening MacNeil to Mac, that suited her fine.
“Five older brothers?” Mac asked now, walking up behind her and slipping his arm around her waist. He bent his head to nuzzle her pale hair.
“Five. Plus twelve nephews and one niece.”
He chuckled. “Holidays must be lively.”
“Riotous would be a better word. Wait until you see.”
He turned her in his arms. “What I can’t wait to see is my wife, in bed with me.”
She clung to his neck as he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. His mouth closed on hers as he lowered her to the bed, and the aching passion that had subsided but never vanished surged back at full force. He crushed her into the mattress in his need, but at the same time he tried not to be rough as he eased her out of her clothes.
She squirmed against him, pulling at his clothes, the roughness of the fabric against her nakedness driving her crazy. Mac drew back, staring down at her delicate body with open hunger. He was breathing hard, obviously struggling for control, his eyes hard and glittering with lust. Gently he shaped her breasts with his hand, each in turn, rubbing his thumb over her nipples and bringing them to aching hardness.
“Hurry,” she whispered, reaching for his belt.
He laughed a little, though there was no humor in the sound; instead, it was raw with need. He shed his clothes, kicking them away, and rolled on top of her. A groan of deep satisfaction tore from her throat as his heavy weight settled on her, and she opened her legs to cradle him close. She wanted him with a ferocity that would brook no delay, wanted him as she had never wanted or needed anything else in her life.
Mac positioned himself, then framed her face with his hands and kissed her as he slowly pushed into her body. Her flesh resisted, and she gasped, surprised by the painful difficulty. She had expected all her riding to have eased the way, but the lack of a barrier had in no way prepared her for his size.
He lifted his mouth, staring down at her as realization dawned. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any questions, but something hot and primitive flared deep in his gaze. As gently as possible, he completed his penetration, and when he was fully home inside her he waited, waited until the tension left her and her body softened beneath him, around him. Then he began moving, a slight rocking at first that did no more than nudge him back and forth, but enough to make her gasp again, this time with sensual urgency, and lift herself to him.
He took exquisite care with her, restraining the power of his thrusts, maintaining a slow, easy pace even when anticipation clawed at him, making him groan aloud with each movement. She clung to him, desperately searching for her own ease, trying to take him as deep inside her as possible, because instinct led her to that satisfaction. She cried out, overwhelmed by the sheer glory of this dance and struggle they shared, by the generosity of his loving.
She surged upward, unable to bear it a moment longer, and everything inside her shattered with a burst of pleasure so intense that she lost herself, sucked down in the whirlpool of sensation, a mindless creature knowing only the feel of his body, and hers. And she felt him join her, convulsing, thrusting, hotly emptying.
He cradled her afterward, stroking her with shaking hands as if to reassure himself she was real, that both of them were still whole.
“How did this happen?” he asked roughly. He tilted her chin so he could look into her face, and she saw that the glitter in his eyes was wetness now, not lust. “How could I love you so much, so fast? What kind of magic did you use?”
Tears burned her own eyes. “I just loved you,” she said, the words simple. “That’s all. I just loved you.”
The mountain was wreathed with snow, and her heart lifted when she saw it. “There,” she said, pointing. “That’s Mackenzie’s Mountain.”
Mac stared with interest at the massive bulk. He’d never known anyone before who owned an entire mountain, and he wondered about the people, and the way of life, that had nurtured this magical creature beside him. In the two days they had been married, he had come to wonder how he’d ever existed without her. Loving her was like becoming whole, when he hadn’t even known anything was missing. She was so delicate and fairylike, with her pale hair streaming over her shoulders and her great black eyes that held all the knowledge of centuries of women, but he’d learned that she was strong, and that the heart of a lion beat beneath her lovely breasts.
His wife! The unexpected marvelousness of it kept waking him in the middle of the night to look at her, to wonder at how fast it had happened. Only three days before, she had awakened in his arms and politely said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name,” and the realization that she’d been hurt had jarred him down to his toes. Only three days, and yet now he couldn’t imagine sleeping without her, or waking without seeing her sleepy urchin’s grin as she curled into his arms.
He had only five days off, so they had to make the best of it. Yesterday they had made a fast trip to San Antonio, where he
Today they were in Wyoming, and Mac wondered why he was getting a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Tell me about your brothers,” he murmured. “All five of them.” He knew something about older brothers, being one himself.
She smiled, her eyes going soft. “Well, let’s see. My oldest brother, Joe, is a general in the air force—on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as a matter of fact. His wife, Caroline, has doctoral degrees in physics and computer science, and they have five sons.
“My next-oldest brother, Mike, owns one of the largest cattle ranches in the state. He and Shea have two sons.
“Next is Josh. He was a navy fighter pilot, aircraft carrier, until a crash stiffened his knee and the navy grounded him. Now he’s a civilian test pilot. His wife, Loren, is an orthopedic surgeon. They have three sons.”
“Do any of your brothers have anything but sons?” Mac asked, fascinated by the recital, and growing more worried by the minute. He tried to focus on the mundane. He thought he remembered Maris saying she had a niece, but perhaps he’d been mistaken.
“Zane has a daughter.” There was a different note in Maris’s voice and he raised his eyebrows in inquiry, but she ignored him. “He and Barrie also have twin sons, two months old. Zane was a Navy SEAL. Barrie’s an ambassador’s daughter.”