Just My Type (17 page)
Sam looked at Mac’s shoulder instead of meeting his eyes as he said, “She’s not quite the…speed…you typically like.”
Meaning Mac generally went for flashy and easy. Sam had too, until he met Danika.
“I’ve never gone for inexperience,” Mac said. Which was true. Didn’t make Sara any less desirable to him, but
that
was definitely more than Sam wanted to know.
“I, um, appreciate you’re trying to protect Sara,” Sam said, still focusing only on Mac’s shoulder.
Mac chuckled. “She’s not a victim, Sam. She blackmailed me, more or less, into the marriage.”
“How’s that?” Sam asked, finally looking at Mac directly.
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Just My Type
“She told me I couldn’t be a part of her life anymore unless it was like this.” All three men looked surprised.
“What about when you get divorced, or annulled, or whatever?” Dooley asked.
“She’ll just admit this isn’t what she wants and that we rushed into it and I’ll tell her I understand and we’ll agree we’re better as friends. Then things will go back to how they’ve always been.” Dooley shrugged, Sam looked skeptical and Kevin looked concerned.
“When are you moving her out to Oscar?” Dooley asked. “We can help.” Mac appreciated the offer, but said, “She’s already there. I’ll just have Jessica or Dani get some clothes and stuff for her, but no sense in getting any furniture or anything. I’m going to keep paying her rent. She’ll need her place back after we break up.”
“She’s already there?” Sam repeated. “Right now?”
Mac nodded. “We drove out last night.”
“She’s out there alone?”
“Yes.” Mac straightened. He knew Sam wouldn’t like Sara being alone so far away, but it was important.
“Why wouldn’t you have her stay with you at your apartment in the city on the days you’re working?” Kevin asked.
“She’d be too comfortable there,” Mac said. “Oscar is my home. That’s where she’s going to have to be okay.”
“Alone.”
“When I work, yes.” And he worked twelve-hour shifts, three days in a row, then four days off, then four days on and three days off. As they all knew, since they did the same thing.
“What’s she gonna do there all by herself?” Dooley asked.
Mac didn’t know. If she was bored or pissed about it, it would just speed the breaking-up thing along.
Which was a good thing. Or so he kept telling himself.
95
Chapter Seven
It took Sara a total of an hour and ten minutes to realize Mac wasn’t just in downtown Oscar running errands. That was when she found the note taped to the mirror in the master bedroom that said,
going to
work, see you tomorrow
.
The crew worked seven p.m. to seven a.m. She would be alone almost every night. Here, in this house. Alone.
She’d thought about calling him and telling him what she thought of his sneaking out and going to work right after getting married, then decided he was probably expecting her to call and be upset and that she was going to surprise him by acting completely fine with being abandoned in a town she didn’t know.
Or several miles outside of the town she didn’t know.
Then she decided she was going to surprise them both by actually
being
completely fine with it.
She was the one who wanted a new life, a life that her siblings had not planned for her, a life that proved she wasn’t the spoiled princess everyone assumed she was. What better place to prove that than on an honest-to-goodness farm? What princess lived on a farm?
Not that she knew what living on a farm entailed. Farms brought to mind images of animals she’d never seen in person and being outside a lot. She was more of an inside girl and wasn’t sure if the cows she’d heard the night before were Mac’s. Surely at some point in thirteen years he would have mentioned owning cows, right? Of course, she’d never realized he lived far outside of Omaha on a farm, so a detail like being responsible for livestock could have been missed as well, she supposed.
She was going to need further instruction before tending crops or caring for animals, so she decided to get on her laptop and check her e-mail.
But there was no wireless Internet access and she couldn’t find a computer in Mac’s house, not to mention a hookup to the Internet.
She checked her cell phone. Very weak signal strength.
Terrific.
The television had only the basic channels. The package didn’t include the Food Network, or the Home Decorating channel, or any of the other channels she checked out.
It was Wednesday, so she did find a couple of soap operas. She watched one, simply because she wanted to hear another human voice. She was not an introvert. Not by any stretch. She couldn’t go without talking for more than five minutes and she loved people.
Just My Type
It occurred to her that she was very rarely alone. Really only when she was in her apartment at night and that was usually late. She had dinner with her family almost every night, at one of their houses. She also often stayed late at the Youth Center when there were kids who couldn’t or didn’t want to go home and then caught a ride home with Mac or Kevin. The center wasn’t in a great neighborhood and they refused to let her stay there without one of them. Weekends she spent with the group as well, often sleeping at Ben and Jessica’s Saturday night rather than driving home only to turn around and come back to their place for Sunday brunch.
Of course, their guest room was going to be turned into a nursery soon. Yes, they’d probably eventually convert part of their basement into a guest room, but it was just as well Sara now had her Saturdays covered. She was a married woman. She had a husband. She had
Mac
. She was so good with that.
As long as he was here.
She pushed to her feet. She was
not
going to sit around this house and do nothing, waiting on Mac to come home. For one thing, it was pathetic. For another, he wouldn’t be back until the next day. She’d be a stark raving lunatic by then.
Fully dressed this time—in one of the only things she had with her, a sundress she’d taken to St.
Croix—Sara opened the front door. Around the left corner of the house was the large front yard, part grass and part crushed white rock where they’d parked last night. There was no garage, but there was a red barn.
Of course there was. This was a farm. There was denim and plaid hanging in the closet and a patchwork quilt on the bed. How could there not be a barn?
She’d never been inside a barn. Or even seen one up close and personal. Naturally, she started in that direction.
It was relatively anticlimactic when she pushed the big doors open. It was empty except for an old blue pickup truck that hadn’t seen a road, or a car wash, in a long time. Not a tractor or a combine or a horse saddle in sight.
Her eyes scanned the dirty floor, the horse stalls, the cobwebs, then returned to the pickup. She got a little closer. She’d never driven a pickup. It did, however, have wheels. She just hoped it had an engine.
Checking on that was probably possible. Just not for her. It was under the hood she knew, but opening said hood and then identifying the engine, was a bit beyond her.
There was another way of knowing if it had an engine though.
She pulled on the driver’s side door. It wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t locked, she could plainly see.
Dammit, it was broken or rusted shut or something. She rounded the front of the truck and pulled on the passenger-side door. It swung open with a little muscle and a loud, protesting creak. She climbed up in the cab and slid across the cracked leather seat to sit behind the wheel, pleased to see that the keys hung in the ignition. The key turned and the engine stuttered. It didn’t stay running, but it brought a huge smile to
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Erin Nicholas
Sara’s face. She glanced side to side. The truck should fit down the center aisle, but she wasn’t sure she could make it around the edge of the stall she was parked in. She turned the key again and the engine stuttered, then stopped. The third try, Sara noticed the stick shift. And the extra pedal on the floor.
Crap.
A stick shift.
She didn’t know how to drive a stick.
Getting out, she slammed the door as hard as she could. The rusty hinge kept that from being as satisfying as it should have been. Stomping across the farm yard was also less than effective in high heels.
Especially when she turned her ankle.
Dammit.
That she was fine stranded on Mac’s farm, alone, was harder to pull off than she’d expected.
Stomping got easier when she got up on the wooden floor of the back porch. She suspected Mac knew everyone in Oscar and probably didn’t need a phone book, but she hoped his house had one anyway, even if it was just holding something up.
It was, surprisingly, in the top drawer of the table that held the phone. Seemed too easy. She flipped to Oscar. Or tried to anyway. She turned past the four pages for Oscar three times before finding them. Good grief. Four pages?
Running her finger down the columns, she was looking for cab services, but was open to anything that might be of assistance with her quest to find a working mode of transportation, or groceries, or decent shoes. Oscar City Hall was where she finally settled. If anyone would know what was in town, it had to be city hall, right?
“City hall.”
Another human being’s voice. Sara sighed. “Hi.”
“Hello?” An impatient human being’s voice. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Sara said with feeling. “I don’t suppose you have the number to a cab service?” There was a long pause. Then a chuckle. “Who is this? Very funny.”
“This is Sara Bradford.” Gordon. Crap. She wasn’t used to that yet.
“Well, no, Miss Bradford, I’m afraid we don’t have a cab service. Or a limo service.” The woman chortled.
Okay, so she was stuck. And hungry. “Is there any place in town that delivers food?” The woman got a big kick out of that one.
“No, honey, sorry.” The woman was still chuckling. “Seeing as how you can walk anyplace in town in less than four minutes, not much need for cabs and delivery and stuff.” Right. Less than four minutes. Great.
She was stuck with frozen burritos.
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Just My Type
“Anything else I can help you with, hon? I’ve got people in here.”
“Oh, no, nothing. Thanks.”
Sara disconnected and stared at the freezer. She’d never had a frozen burrito before. She’d never had an un-frozen one either. Then again, she’d never lived on a farm or been inside a barn. Looked like it was going to be a day of firsts.
Ten minutes later, the burrito cut open on a microwave-safe plate, Sara just couldn’t do it. She was starving, but after the first bean she knew she’d rather drink the out-dated milk in the fridge.
Instead, she opened a can of peaches from the pantry and ate every last one straight from the can.
Then she decided to be resourceful. If there was something Sara Bradford Gordon knew how to do, it was get people to do what she wanted and needed them to. Oscar, Nebraska was going to be no different.
She was independent, intelligent and charming. Those ingredients could surely be turned into a full stomach.
Sara headed for her makeup case. She needed a ride to town. Which meant she needed new appliqués for her toenails, more lip gloss and a clip for her hair.
He had to go home. For something. Toothpaste. Sure, toothpaste. A guy had to have toothpaste.
Didn’t matter that there were probably a thousand stores in Omaha that sold toothpaste. He liked
his
toothpaste.
“You’re going home?” Kevin asked. “Like Oscar home?”
“Yeah.” Mac shifted on the bench of the booth, trying to get comfortable. “So?”
“So you have to be back here in like…” Kevin glanced at his watch. “Five hours.”
“Yeah.” He knew that. Going to Oscar was stupid. He worked twelve hours, seven p.m. to seven a.m.
It took about an hour to unwind before he could sleep for six to eight hours. Then he got up, worked out, ate and had about an hour to kill with a movie, book or errands before he had to report back to the hospital.
It just wasn’t worth driving back and forth.
But he’d done something stupid. Unable to stop thinking about Sara and knowing he’d be unable to sleep after his shift the night before, he’d stopped by Sara’s apartment. It wasn’t like he broke in. He had a key. He and Kevin both did. They were her stand-ins if Sam and Jessica weren’t around. Sam and Jessica were
always
around, but he and Kevin still had keys. Just in case. Which was how Sam and Jessica did everything in regards to Sara.
He’d intended to stop by and grab her a few things. Some books, for instance. Maybe some CDs, movies, something to pass the time. She was sure to be bored. Plus she needed some clothes that weren’t bikinis and sundresses, which was all she had in her suitcase.
He
needed her to have some clothes that weren’t bikinis and sundresses. He knew she mostly owned dresses, but she had dresses that
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Erin Nicholas
covered…more. He would have most certainly noticed and remembered horribly skimpy dresses. Surely she had some sweatpants or something. And she had to have some underwear that wasn’t a thong. If she didn’t, he’d stop at Walmart and buy her some.
He’d also decided to be thoughtful and pick up her mail, water her plants, stuff like that. She was going to be coming back here to live in a few days. A couple weeks, tops.
It was the mail thing that had screwed him.
Not that looking through her underwear drawer—which had ended up yielding some not-thong offerings after all—or gathering the shampoo and body wash that was so
Sara
hadn’t affected him. But he’d been holding it together until he went to get her mail. The bills were nothing. He fully intended to pay and send them off without her even seeing them. The woman’s magazine that proclaimed
Have the best
orgasms of your life!
caught his attention, but he was able to put it in the flowered blue and yellow bag he’d snagged from her closet without incident. It was the white and pink box that tripped him up.