Bulletproof Princess (13 page)

Mack stomped downstairs to find Cassie on her way to the conservatory, dressed but barefoot, and smelling sweet with her long hair up in a high ponytail and a pair of jeans sized for a toddler. In other words, she looked incredible, and his pique of moments earlier evaporated in the face of her hotness. “Where are you off to…” she looked him over from head to toe, taking an extra minute to linger over his boots, “Cowboy?”

Her purr when she called him ‘Cowboy’ shot straight through him, and he locked his teeth to keep from saying anything untoward, out of pocket, or entirely appropriate but not for these circumstances. “You ever been on a horse?”

The look she gave him was probably one she reserved for the truly crazy or the profoundly stupid, possibly both. “Not in a couple years, but yeah.”

He nodded and took her by the arm, leading her back upstairs to put on shoes. “All right then, you’re coming with me. Did you bring your boots?”

* * *

A quick search of Mack’s truck yielded a beat up, green canvas ball cap that took a little rehabbing before he felt comfortable putting it on his head. Cassie traveled with her cowboy hat, since it was a staple of her stage show, so that worked well. He seemed equally impressed she had actual cowboy boots, and not the ‘pink and froufrou’ kind that wouldn’t hold up in a stall.

For her part, she was excited for a change of scenery. The house was gorgeous, but she had no illusions; it was still her prison. As far as her jailor…she sighed as they hiked in silence from the back of the pool area up a trail he promised would lead to their destination, that was complicated.

The night before, well, the night after the kiss, had been productive. She always did her best work in emotional turmoil. It was small comfort since everything she knew was revealed to be wrong, or at least flawed. Seeing Clint killed in front of her, knowing what she did now about his situation, didn’t make it better. In fact, the knowledge that she could have helped him—would have helped him—only made it more tragic for her.

It was another in a long line of unanswerable questions in her life. When did her father stop seeing her as his baby girl and start seeing her as the family golden goose, and why it was so easy for the rest of her family to dismiss her topped the list, but this was definitely up there. Clint knew her, better than almost everyone else. He loved her, took care of her, and yet he couldn’t ask her for something he had to know she would give over willingly. Instead, he stole from her. It was like he died twice for her, once as the man she loved, and then as the man she knew.

With everything that had been taken from her, everything completely wrong and upside down in her life, kissing Mack had seemed like the one good thing in her life. He’d been a touchstone of comfort and security for her through this whole ordeal, not to mention his hotness difficult as hell to ignore, it had seemed like a natural progression. Beyond that, it had been incredible. Cradled against his hard body, his lips were an arresting contrast. It had been no hardship at all to cling to him in a moment of weakness. His response to her kisses was like plugging her guitar into an amp for the first time, so intense and loud and…perfect. The feeling practically hummed through her. Then he had to go and ruin it with an apology. While she intuited what he’d wanted to say around his butchered fragments about ‘duty’ and ‘reasons’, it didn’t do much to soothe her ego.

She curled her lip and snarled silently at the grim-faced man next to her, then turned her eyes to the rocky path. It was only a little farther, or so he said, but one look over her shoulder said they’d been walking a quarter mile, and the sun wasn’t doing them any favors. Then, as if conjured by her grumblings, they came upon an arena made of stained wood posts and an attached paddock.

The stable was a beautiful structure, done in the style of the house, and she’d bet her last dollar it was climate-controlled. “This is spectacular,” she breathed as they walked through the doors to the brick breezeway.

“Mack, it’s good to see you,” a voice called from beyond the feed. A tall man with light skin and long black hair strode out of an office just off the stalls with a big grin.

Her minder seemed pleased at this turn of events, even if she was unsure about someone else knowing her whereabouts. “Chris! Great to see you, man. Howya been?”

“Good, good.” The man in the sand beige polo shirt with his name embroidered in the corner and well-worn jeans and boots appeared to be older than Mack, but not quite as old as Conchita. His eyes were crystal blue when he turned them on her. “Lovely to see you as well, Miss Witt.”

It was difficult not to flinch at the roughness of his palm against hers as he shook her hand, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Pleasantries satisfied, the stable master turned back to Mackenzie. “So, do you have a preference? Do I need to—?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, man. I can take care of this. You go, and take care of your stuff. I can saddle a horse.”

The tall man dipped his head and took a step back toward his office. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Mack assured him. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Then, enjoy.” That was all the permission she needed to explore the new environs and acquaint herself with the residents.

Six stalls with six eager horsey faces surveyed the newcomers with unabashed curiosity. The one that drew her immediately was right at the front. A buckskin gold beauty with angular features, a regal bearing, and soft whinny when Cassie reached out and touched her nose. “What’s your name?” she asked the horse. Turning to Mack, who was leaning against the stall behind her with his impressive arms crossed over his faded green shirt and a goofy grin on his face, she asked, “What kind of horse is this?”

The horse whose stall Mack was using as a leaning post, a shiny chestnut with soulful eyes and a white blaze down his nose, leaned over his shoulder and nuzzled him. Turning his cheek to return the horse’s affection, he said, “Her name is Honeysuckle Rose and she’s an Akhal-Teke. She’s my mother’s favorite.”

Watching him and the horse as they shared their love fest, she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up. “I can see why. Who’s your new girlfriend?”

Mack narrowed his eyes at her and she gestured to the horse he was still petting. “This is Key Largo. He’s showing off because he wants out of the stall.” He playfully shoved the horse’s head away from him, and Largo responded by stealing his hat.

Over Mack’s squawking as he argued with the animal, she asked, “So you come here to ride often?”

His whole body stiffened at the question, and he turned around with his face devoid of any kind of emotion. “I visit when my sisters are in town, usually a couple times a year.”

“Oh.” He seemed so at ease with everything here right up until he was reminded about his family, her questions about him began to multiply. She went with the most pressing one. “Is Chris knowing I’m here going to be a problem?”

“Not at all. He’s a good guy, and more than accustomed to keeping a secret or two.” The cryptic statement didn’t stem the building tide of questions in her mind.  As if he sensed her impending inquisition, he started down the breezeway toward the tack room. “So…do you ride English or Western?”

* * *

Cassie was just one surprise after another for Mack, a trait he found unreasonably attractive in her. She rode Western, and had no problems at all saddling up Honey without instruction or assistance, talking to her the whole time. Her easy affection and playfulness were beyond cute, but he would have to be drawn and quartered before he admitted it beyond the confines of his mind.

Outside the arena, they mounted up and started down a trail he knew well. There was a hidden dry gulch, more cavern than arroyo, on the property large enough to ride into and definitely beautiful enough to merit a postcard or two, but the ride was about half an hour or so until they arrived.

“I just can’t get over how beautiful she is!” Cassie gushed as she leaned down to pet Honey’s neck. “She’s like a golden statue!”

Mack smirked. “A golden statue who likes to eat your hair, maybe. She’s a true beauty, I’ll give you that, and my mother wanted her as soon as she saw her at a dressage show in Savannah. My father gave Honey to her as a birthday present.” Under his breath, he muttered, “He owed her at least that much.”

Cassie didn’t reply, but he could feel her eyes on him as they rode along, so he knew she heard that last part. He didn’t care, really, since it spoke more to his father’s shameful behavior than saying anything about him. Philbert Senior was a man used to getting his way, in business and pleasure alike, and if that didn’t necessarily include his mother, well,
que sera
and whatever. And his mother, Brighid, she was enough of a good Catholic to abhor divorce and made due with her lack of husbandly affections by spending his money early and often. They deserved each other.

“May I ask you something?” Cassie’s sweet voice cut into his bitter internal musings.

“I suppose.” Little did she know she could ask him anything and he’d most likely tell her. The connection he felt to her, as intently as he tried to ignore it, made allowances for things he’d deny to anyone else, maybe even his partner.

“What are you doing here?”

The strangeness of the question hit him sideways, and he pulled back on Largo’s reins a bit to slow their progress. “I’m sorry?”

Cassie shook her head and frowned. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, you’re here in this place you obviously don’t want to be, to take care of me. But even that doesn’t really make sense to me. I mean, why are you a cop in the first place?”

“I’m a Marshal,” he corrected automatically, after having years of practice.

Her succulent lips pursed as she narrowed her eyes. “‘Marshal,’ fine, whatever. You know what I’m asking. You have all this money and could be… I don’t know, travelling the world, and instead, you’re playing the odds against catching a hot one looking after other people. Is it like your life’s dream or something you wanted to do since you were a kid?”

Mack hummed and flicked the reins to get Largo moving again. It was a simple enough question, and one he normally received from his family since no one else really knew that much about his life to even think to inquire. “I wanted to be a wide-receiver for the Denver Broncos,” he said finally, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he had in a long time.

“Really? That’s cool. A far cry from all this,” she gestured to the gun prominently displayed on his hip.

He nodded before taking off his hat and wiping his sweaty brow with a bandana from his back pocket. “Definitely. I went to Auburn on a football scholarship. I got the grades, and the degree, but then Conchita got sick and I couldn’t see being away from her while she went through the surgery and the chemo.”

Cassie’s eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an ‘o’. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

He shrugged off her sympathies. “Don’t worry about it. She needed me, and I was able to be here, and that’s what mattered. I just couldn’t be
here
,” he emphasized and gestured to the ranch that was now a good ways behind them. “Phoenix PD was recruiting, and it sounded like it would be fun.”

“Makes sense. You’re good to her, like a son. Does she have any other kids?”

He smiled at her astute observation and her acknowledgement of the closeness of his bond to his
mamita
. “No, her husband died a year after they married in a mining accident down south. It was hard for her, and I don’t think she ever got over him. She’s been in my life since birth, and I love her very much.”

“Of course you do.” Cassie’s warm smile had his heart twist a little in his chest. “What does she think about you being a cop?”

“She’s proud of me.” Which was more than could be said for the rest of his family. “She likes that I’m making my own way in the world and being my own man.”

“You definitely are that.” Her smile turned shy, and she dropped her gaze to Honey, who apparently needed attention since Cassie consumed herself with stroking her mane and neck. She suddenly sat bolt upright in the saddle and pinned him down with a look. “You started at the Phoenix Police Department?”

“Yeah. It was a completely different world from the one I’d known, and I loved it. A good bunch of guys…” he trailed off as he girded himself for the inevitable turn in the conversation. This part of the story still made his stomach churn with rage, but with time had come a little bit of perspective, and his anger didn’t burn as bright as it once had.

“So then how did you end up with the Marshals?”

He thought about giving her his usual line about greater opportunity for advancement or whatever other bullshit he spun to deflect the questioner’s attention and curiosity, but she deserved more from him. “I got on SWAT after a couple years as a patrolman. I was so happy because it was a hard-won and prestigious accomplishment. The best of the best.”

The path beneath them dipped a little, and he knew they’d be in the canyon soon. “We were on a hostage situation, and I was up in my sniper’s perch with another sniper on the team named Grier. He was an asshat of the highest order, but well-connected. Anyway, we’re in our perch and we had a clear shot to take out the HT.” Before she could ask, he supplied, “Hostage taker. I advised our commander and he says to hold off, they’re going to run a diversion and see if they can get him out that way. We were the men of last resort.”