Backfield in Motion (17 page)

Feeling spooked, he managed to pull away and
crawl out from under the sheets without waking her as his brain did
a quick recap of last night’s activities. He’d banged her how many
times? Good thing he’d grabbed a six-pack of condoms.

Mac hadn’t disappointed him. That passion
and fire she put into everything she did she also put into sex—no
holding back.

Usually Bruiser chose women who were like
him, women who used him for their own agendas. He had no fucking
clue what to do with a woman who didn’t fit his usual mold.

Bruiser walked down the short hallway, past
the cat sunning himself in a pool of sunlight that ran across the
couch. He found his jeans, pulled them on, and continued to the
neat and tidy kitchen. He paused and looked around, taking some
time to assess Mac’s home.

Besides being neat and tidy, the house was
decorated in natural tones with glossy hardwood floors,
comfortable, overstuffed leather furniture and antiques. Various
exotic-looking houseplants thrived in different parts of the room
while a garden window in the kitchen held flowering plants
displaying vibrant splashes of color.

Mac was quite a decorator. Another thing
about her he’d have never imagined.

The kitchen had been remodeled with cherry
cabinets and granite countertops. It was a kitchen Bruiser would
like to cook in, if he cooked. He easily found the coffee and made
a pot, impressed with how organized the kitchen cabinets were.
Somehow this tidiness didn’t fit his picture of Mac with her hair
flying every which way, dirt smudged on her cheeks, and mud on her
work boots. Except that was the old Mac, the one he thought he
knew. This new Mac dressed neatly, had highlights in her hair, and
dirt didn’t seem to stick to her like it once did.

He found the girlie Mac sexy, and the
natural Mac hotter than hell. She had something none of those other
women had. They couldn’t come close to duplicating her inner
beauty.

Bruiser poured a cup of coffee and stared
into the backyard at the array of colors and plants artfully
arranged around a deep green lawn. Hell, he didn’t even have a
lawn. He had a condo. He walked outside with his steaming coffee
cup and sprawled in a lawn chair. It was a bit nippy, but the sun
warmed him right up, promising a nice day in the making.

The French door opened and Mac stepped
outside, coffee mug in hand, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and worn
jeans. She looked every bit the old Mac except for a few subtle
differences.

He ached inside, wishing that of all the
things in his world that changed on a regular basis, Mac didn’t
have to be one of them.

“Beautiful morning,” she said.

“Sure is. I was admiring your yard and your
house.”

For a moment she looked away as a cloud
passed over her fresh-scrubbed features. “It didn’t always look
like this.”

“Really? How did it look?”

“I moved in four years ago after Grandma
died. She’d pretty much kept everything original.”

“You didn’t do all this work yourself, did
you?” Not that it would surprise him. More than once she’d fixed
some piece of equipment at the HQ when no one else could.

He flinched when he saw her sad smile.

“I did a lot of it, but Will did most of the
carpentry work and plumbing. He could do anything with his hands.
Very talented.”

“I don’t have a handyman bone in my body.”
Bruiser snorted as he recalled his recent attempt at fixing a leak
that ended up costing him about fifteen-hundred dollars after he
flooded the apartment below.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He heard the unspoken words, or thought he
did: pretty is as pretty does. Man candy with no other talents
other than running hard with a football in his hands and screwing
women.

Or maybe those were his family’s words
ringing in his ears, always nagging him, underneath it all accusing
him of being the one who lived while the favored son died. He
endured the digs from his mother at various family events, the
guilt heaped on him because his brother couldn’t be there to
celebrate with them. His father just plain avoided him because he
was constant reminder of Brice.

“Are you okay?”

Bruiser jerked back to reality. “Sorry. I
was just thinking.”

“About us?”

Unexpected pain sliced through him. There
was no
us
. And there couldn’t be for a dozen fucked-up
reasons, including the biggest one—him.

“Not that we have anything going or that I
expect anything. I enjoyed last night, that’s all. I mean, it was
great fun. Really great fun, nothing more.” She finished her
statement in flood of nervous words.

“Uh, yeah, right.” He felt even more guilt
at the strained look on Mac’s face.

“I’d make you breakfast but my dad should be
here in the next twenty minutes.”

In other words, get the hell out of here. So
much for a little morning delight. Bruiser downed the rest of his
coffee and nodded at Mac. “I enjoyed myself.”

“So did I. Maybe we could—” She
hesitated.

“—do it again sometime? Yeah, I’d like that.
Sometime soon. Maybe tonight?” The words came out in a rush he
couldn’t seem to stop.

Her eyes lit up, and he knew he’d made
another big mistake. Women didn’t do recreational sex well, no
matter how much they claimed to the contrary.

She grinned at him. “We’ll be back around
nine or so. Is that too late?”

“It’s never too late.” Bruiser nodded, even
as he was mentally kicking himself in the shins. “I’ll be here with
pizza.”

He bent down to kiss her, aiming for her
cheek, but she turned her head. Instantly his peck on the cheek
exploded into a passionate kiss with tongue, lips, exchanging of
saliva, and mutual groaning.

He pulled away and straightened, running a
hand through this mussed hair. “See ya.”

“See ya.”

The hope in her voice made him feel like the
biggest ass in the world. He wanted this to be just fucking good
sex. But to her? Hell, he suspected it was more.

He didn’t have the strength to stay away in
spite of all the reasons he should.

Chapter 12

As soon as Mac mentioned her father dropping
by, Bruiser displayed his running abilities by getting the hell out
of there. Not that Mac blamed him. Her father drove everyone
away.

Meanwhile, Mac’s life flipped upside down
and turned inside out. She suspected spending time with Bruiser did
that to a woman, but for her it was more than that, which was both
good and bad.

She wandered back into the kitchen for more
coffee. She didn’t know what she wanted from her life anymore. Last
night had redefined sex for her. She’d never imagined the physical
act could touch her so deeply, make her so out-of-her head insane,
and raise the bar to what was probably an impossible height.

And Bruiser, how had it affected him? Just
another night in the bedroom? He’d move on while she stayed in the
same place, crushing on a guy who would never return her affection.
And what exactly was the extent of said affection?

Wearily, Mac sipped her Tully’s and savored
the warm, sunny morning. Colors seemed more vivid, the birds’ songs
sounded more melodic, and her roses’ sweet scent more fragrant. She
sat back and tried to relax, to push her troubled thoughts away and
just let herself enjoy the peaceful atmosphere.

A few minutes later, her peace was
interrupted. Her father came through the back door, a folder of
papers under his arm. So much for peace and relaxation. The man
looked worse than her cat after a fight with the tomcat next door.
He grunted a hello then ignored her, spreading the papers all over
her patio table. Craig sat down and rifled through them, even
though by now every detail should be committed to memory.

Mac fixed breakfast and placed the plate in
front of him. “Eat, Dad.”

“I will. Later.” He scribbled notes on a
yellow notepad, not even bothering to look up.

“Why don’t we take a break and do something
fun? How about a Mariners game? They’re playing at home today. We
used to go all the time.” Mac held her breath, waiting for his
answer.

Her father glanced up, dark circles under
his eyes, sadness etched into every line of his face. “Will loved
the Mariners. Damn good baseball player, that brother of yours. I
still think he could’ve played in the majors.”

Mac fought a surge of jealousy then felt
like a bitch for it. It was always about Will. Never anyone else.
God, she missed the father Craig used to be. “So let’s go to the
game. We can get tickets at the stadium box office. Let’s honor
Will’s memory by doing something Will loved to do.”

For a moment her tactic almost worked, but
Craig’s shoulders returned to their perpetual slump. He rubbed his
bloodshot eyes. “Too much to do,” he mumbled.

Frustration built inside her to the breaking
point. “How much longer are you going to live like this, Dad?”

He stared at her, his expression oddly
blank. Then he shrugged. “Dunno.”

“What if we never find the answers, never
find his body? Will wouldn’t want to see you wasting away like
this.”

“You’re building a case to desert me, aren’t
you? Just like Clint did.”

“Clint has a family, Dad.”

“Yeah, well, he could give his dear old dad
and his brother
some
of his time, at least once a month, but
that’s too much for him. And now you’re going to abandon me.
Abandon Will.”

“No, I’d never do that, Dad. I want the
answers as much as you, but maybe we need balance.” Guilt engulfed
her, pulled her under with its cold, vengeful hand, magnified by
the growing fear that her father teetered on the verge of an
emotional breakdown.

“Maybe we need to try harder to find Will.
The answers are here, somewhere. I can feel it. If only Bruiser
could get close to Trudy.”

Mac frowned, not liking that option at all.
The tightening of her gut couldn’t be anything but jealousy, and
she had no right to be possessive of Bruiser. They didn’t have
exclusive relationship, or even really a relationship at all. “I
don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Bruiser might be the break we need.”

“I’m not asking Bruiser to do that for
us.”

“I’ll talk to him. I can convince him.”

“I don’t want you to bug him.” Mac sighed.
Her father hadn’t picked up on the subtle signals from a few nights
ago or today that his daughter might have more than a passing
interest in Bruiser.

And why was she surprised?

Mac studied the once robust, athletic man.
He’d lost at least fifty pounds, become a skeleton of his former
self, and aged twenty years in the last three. It broke her heart,
but she couldn’t do a damn thing to save him no matter how hard she
tried.

Maybe you need to save yourself first.

Craig’s chair scraped across the concrete
patio. He stood and walked into the house. Suspicious, Mac followed
him. Her father walked to the window that faced Will’s old house.
He grabbed the binoculars she kept for bird watching. Standing off
to one side, he pushed the binoculars through the slats in the
blinds.

“What’s she doing out there?” Her father’s
voice shook with the fierce determination Mac only heard when he
talked about Will or Sonja.

Mac peeked through the blinds. “She’s toying
with you. It’s not the first time she’s done that. Ignore her. She
loves to tweak you. She knows you’re watching.”

“She might slip up.”

“She hasn’t yet. She’s smarter than you give
her credit for.”

“She’s lucky, not smart. Sooner or later her
luck has to run out.”

Mac sighed and flopped down on the couch,
flipping to the Mariners pre-game show. “The M’s have won their
last seven in a row. They’re only two games out of first place in
their division.”

“Hmmm.”

Mac watched the game alone. Her father never
touched his food. Eventually he left, carrying his folder of
evidence with him, leaving Mac to her thoughts, which bounced among
Bruiser, her father, the scholarship, and her current job.

Some people get all the luck, and currently
Mac and her father weren’t on that exclusive list.

* * * * *

Bruiser lived by a few simple rules, one of
which was not to get involved in other people’s business. Tell that
to the part of him that pulled into an empty spot next to the
diner’s back door. Seemed like his rules were shot to shit
lately.

It’d been a few nights since he’d slept with
Mac. Somehow he’d stayed away, making excuses and forcing himself
to put some distance between himself and one night of mind-blowing
sex with a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

This supposedly casual fling with Mac was
turning into anything but casual, and his distance remedy didn’t
heal his sickness. If anything, his desire for Mac bordered on
epidemic.

He prayed Trudy wasn’t working tonight. He
could ask where she was, have one beer and leave.

Opening the door, he entered the dark bar,
pausing for his eyes to adjust. Trudy stood behind the counter
mixing drinks. When she saw him, a slow, calculating smile crossed
her face, reminding him of Mac’s cat when it sized him up from its
perch on the top of her headboard.

He didn’t trust either Trudy or the cat, and
he suspected the feeling was mutual. Yet earning Trudy’s trust
should be an easy feat for a man gifted with his persuasive
abilities and charm. Most likely, he’d get the info if he was
willing to take it to the limit—only he wasn’t sure he could. Not
after being buried inside Mac.

Bruiser slid onto the barstool closest to
Trudy and ignored the curious stares of the other patrons. He
pulled his baseball cap further over his forehead. Perhaps between
that and the two-day beard he’d be unrecognizable.