Keep On Loving you (21 page)

But still...

He'd left when things were wonderful between them because he wanted to take with him beautiful memories.

The idea of it made her bleed.

“Mac...” His expression turned concerned and he approached, taking the beers out of her hands and placing them on the nearby countertop. Then he cupped her face in his palms, tilting it toward him. “What's the matter?”

“I don't know,” she said, sounding way too young and uncertain. Mac Walker never sounded uncertain. Mac Walker's soul had aged as old as the mountains when her first love walked away from her so he could go out
on a high
.

She should hate him. Really.

“Don't,” Zan murmured. “Don't.”

Had she said that out loud?

His mouth lowered toward hers. In a panic, she squirmed out of his hold. “Then you don't do that.”

With her back to him and staring out the dark windows into the night, she considered her options. While she had babysitting duty, there was nothing keeping Zan there. She could insist that he go. With only the one beer, he was fine to drive. But that would leave her with that raw feeling. And that imbalance of power between them.

“What about you?” she said, turning to swipe up a cold bottle and handing it to him along with the opener.

“What about me, what?”

“Give me something. I told you about Josh and Adam and Jeff.”

Smirking, he handed her the open beer, reached for the other. “I've never been engaged to one dude, let alone three.”

“Hardy-har-har.” She slugged back the cold brew, then narrowed her eyes at him. “A regret. Tell me one of yours.”

He took his own long pull, tipping back his head so she couldn't help but admire the strong column of his throat. She wanted to bite it.

Once he'd swallowed, he still didn't answer her. Mac pursed her lips, tapped a toe. “Hello? A regret?”

He appeared to consider as he took another swallow of his beer. Then he eyed the half-empty bottle. “That I didn't eat something before coming over here tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nice try at deflection.”

But then his stomach rumbled. Loudly.

“Oh, for goodness' sake.” She sat her beer on the counter and pulled open the refrigerator door again. Not that she was giving up on getting what she wanted from him—it was just that everybody knew a hungry man was even less likely to share than a sated one. “What sounds good?”

“You cook now, Mac?”

“It's too expensive to eat out all the time. Do you feel like an omelet?” She opened a produce bin. “Poppy has some cold baked potatoes. I can make you my famous Spuds à la Mackenzie.”

“I'm willing.”

“You say that as if it could be a sacrifice.” She began pulling items out of the refrigerator. “I've come a long way from the days when my only culinary achievement was chocolate chip cookies.”

“You've changed,” Zan said.

Mac glanced over her shoulder at him. “Of course I've changed. It's been ten years.”

He was frowning at his bottle of beer. “I'm not sure I have.”

“Yeah? Well, you're a man. Your gender matures much more slowly.”

He laughed. “So prickly, Mac. That's new, too.”

“Let's get back to you,” she said, arranging the potatoes, onion, bell pepper and avocado on the cutting board. “While I'm preparing to appease your hunger, I'm still waiting on a regret.”

“My grandfather.”

Whoa. She kept her attention on the knife and the cubes of potato she was creating. “What about your grandfather?”

“I saw him on occasion over the last ten years. But I wish then...and when I lived here in the mountains, that I'd been more...appreciative.”

“Because he took you in?”

“Yes, that, and because I now see how that must have been difficult to suddenly have a kid thrust upon you when you're in your senior years.”

“I only saw him around town on the rare occasion,” Mac said, while on the cutting board she tossed together the onion, potato and bell pepper.

“He kept to himself. He liked a quiet, orderly life.”

“Good thing you kept the Walkers out of his house, then.”

Zan laughed again. “Yeah. Granddad was from a different generation. Men didn't have much hands-on contact with kids. Children should be seen and not heard. That kind of thing.”

“Yikes,” Mac said, distributing the food between two microwave-safe bowls and covering the chopped pieces with grated cheddar cheese. “Whoops. Almost forgot the bacon.”

“There's bacon with that?” He sounded overjoyed.

Curse her for finding it cute.

“Yep. Crumbled on top. When they're out of the microwave, I'll top the bowls with slices of avocado.”

“I love you, Mac,” he said, his tone fervent.

She froze. Just for a second. Then she forced herself to move again. “You must be starving.”

“No kidding. And I'm watching like a hawk to see how you make Spuds à la Mackenzie. I hope it's not a secret recipe.”

And she hoped he hadn't seen her reaction to the
L
word, she thought, popping the bowls into the microwave. “It's nothing special, and you're welcome to it. You can make it for your kids someday. Wow them with what yummy goodness Dad can whip up.” It all came out before she realized it might sound as if she was fishing.

Okay, so she was fishing.

“No, Mac,” Zan said quietly. “I'm no family man.”

“You were great with Mason.” The words tumbled free, again without her permission. “He's a good judge of character.” Why was she wanting to argue with Zan about that?

“That's one little kid a couple of times. A full-time father? I wouldn't know the first thing. I don't remember much about my dad—how would I go about being one?”

The microwave dinged, giving Mac something to do besides gape at him. She brought out the steaming bowls full of cheesy-potato-bacon goodness and topped them with the avocado. Then she placed them on the bar, indicated that Zan should sit.

He dug in once she handed him a fork and a napkin.

Maybe he'd hate the thrown-together snack so that she could begin building up an animosity toward him that would turn her right side out or at least toughen her tender skin. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, her mind floated away from that thought as she marveled at the fact it was Zan beside her again. Zan, with his breathtaking face. Zan, whose big hands and long fingers had run all over her body the other night, causing her senses to riot, causing pleasure to break out all over her like a raging fever. The orgasm had been—

“Best I've ever had, Mackenzie Marie.”

She started. “W-what?”

“Best spuds I've ever eaten.”

A laugh erupted from her and it sounded a lot breathless and a little bit hysterical.

He turned his head to look at her. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” She poked a piece of cheesy potato with her fork and tried desperately to remember where their conversation had left off. “The, uh, family thing. You really never considered going there with anyone in the last ten years?”

Her swift glance at him didn't tell her anything except he was serious about her food, so she found herself pressing further. “Not even with, um, Simone?”

Fork midway to his mouth, Zan sent her a questioning look. “Now, why would you bring her up?”

Yeah, Mac, why would you bring her up?
She shrugged. “I don't know.”
Because I can't forget you calling her name in the night. Because I'm insanely, irrationally jealous of some dead woman because you thought of her instead of me in your sleep.

Yep, insane and irrational.
Get a grip, Mac.
This was the guy who walked away only to send her crumbs for ten years, crumbs in the form of 117 postcards that meant she could never wholly forget about him.

That was a stinkin' low move, no two ways around it.

So she chewed, stewing on that in silence. Nursing her resentment, a safe emotion for a woman to feel for the man who was never planning to stay.

His offer to do the dishes once they'd consumed the food didn't alleviate her welcome rancor toward him. In more silence, she helped him take the dishes to the sink and watched him push up the sleeves of his thermal—trying not to notice the corded strength of his forearms—then squirt liquid into a bowl and commence the cleanup.

As much as she found it surprising that he could do dishes, she didn't say a word about it. The process wasn't rocket science. It didn't make him special.

Except that feeling was creeping into her as he handed her the washed plates and cutlery to dry. She should have told him to put the items into the dishwasher, she thought. But instead they were standing together at the sink, as a team, taking care of domestic business.

And thoughts began winding themselves in her head again, unbidden thoughts. Unsafe thoughts.
This could have been my life. This could have been us, together. With a kid, kids, sleeping just a hall away.

Mac and Zan.

A legend.

Her hand holding the dish towel was going around and around the inside of a bowl as she was lost in those painful impossibilities.

“Hey, Mac.”

She came back to the present, her gaze shifting to Zan.

“LaToya got your tongue?” he asked. Then, when she blinked, he smiled. “Cat, baby. LaToya? Cat?”

Her good sense was hijacked by that smile, the humor in his eyes, the muscled length of him so close to her. She thought of going on tiptoe and kissing that smile right off his face, to see if it would transfer to her own. She thought of sliding her hand under his thermal at the small of his back to feel the heat of his sleek skin. She thought of him backing her into the counter and surrounding her with his scent and everything else that was Zan.

“I think you should do something to really annoy me right now,” she told him.

His smile widened into a grin. “Is that so?”

Even remembering those 117 postcards, she wanted to once again be in his arms.

“This is bad,” she said, serious.

He lost the grin. “Mac—”

“Just finish the dishes.” She half turned away from him. “Please.”

For another long minute he didn't move, and then he reached into the soapy water. “Fuck!” He yanked his hand from the suds.

Blood dripped from his fingers. “What did you do?” she cried.

“Cut my hand on the knife. It's no big deal.” He fumbled for a paper towel.

Mac ripped a couple off for him, passed them over, then headed for the bathroom. “I'll get the first-aid kit.”

“It's okay,” he called after her. “No big deal.”

She returned with antiseptic and elastic bandages to find Zan staring down at his bleeding hand. The tension she could feel coming off his body didn't make sense. Blood didn't bother him. She'd seen him with much worse wounds than that one.

Unsure what to make of it, she briskly went about squeezing the antiseptic on the cuts and then covering them. “Do you need a sucker, young man?” she asked, as she gathered up the towels and wrappings to throw away. “You were a very good patient.”

When he didn't say anything, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Shall Nurse pull your emergency contact card to find someone to drive you home?”

His head shot up and she went still, struck by his anguished expression. “What is it?”

“It doesn't matter,” he muttered.

“Come on,” she prodded. “What's bothering you?”

“It's just... It's just the emergency contact thing.” He pushed his uninjured hand through his hair. “I was just remembering... Simone didn't have one. After the accident, we tried to find a family member or a friend to notify. But there wasn't any name listed on her employment records. There wasn't any contacts outside the documentary crew on her phone or on her laptop.”

“She was all alone in the world.” Mac's belly hollowed. And then ice gathered in that empty space. “What about you? Who is your emergency person? Who is on your contact line?”

When he hesitated, the cold in her center washed over her entire body, followed quickly by a flash of fire. She stepped close. “You put my name there, Zan Elliott,” she demanded, knowing she could never truly hate him. He'd been her first love. “For the rest of your life, you put my name on that line.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Z
AN
PUSHED
OPEN
the door to the small office he'd located by means of his smartphone. He had a vague awareness of colored renditions of home landscapes on the walls, a pair of filing cabinets and a table covered in papers. But the woman behind the desk consumed most of his attention.

He grinned at Angelica Walker. “You really are ridiculously beautiful.” Her coloring was warm and exotic, her features in perfect symmetry, but Zan decided it was her air of happiness that cinched the deal.

She reminded him of Poppy in that way. All sunshine and soft-furred puppies. By contrast, Mac was a cool mountain creek edged in snow, with unexpected deep pools and shallows that still held mystery.

Angelica smiled back at him. “That's a lovely compliment for a winter afternoon. What can I do for you?”

He hesitated. “Is Brett around?”

The man in question came through a rear door that likely led to some kind of storeroom. He wore a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. “Yes. And I heard you flirting with my wife.”

Zan held up his hands. “Harmless, I promise.”

“What did you want?”

Angelica shot her husband a disapproving look. “That's not very friendly.” She sent Zan another smile. “We have coffee in the back. Would you like some?”

“No, no.” He glanced around, taking a longer look at the framed drawings of distinctive homes surrounded by trees, shrubbery and flowers. “These are really good.”

“Brett's work,” Angelica said, getting close enough to link her arm through her husband's.

“Your idea to frame them.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead. Then he addressed Zan again. “She's also tackling my paperwork mess on her afternoons off, praise be. I can't deny I inherited my father's lack of organization in that area.”

Zan hid his inner wince. Talk of the Walker dad reminded him of the promise he'd made to Mac—though staying quiet about the cabin property he'd inherited continued to bother him. The only thing that kept his mouth shut was his knowledge that it wouldn't be for much longer. “I didn't stop by to take up your time.”

“You stopped by to...” Brett prompted.

Zan was restless and his crappy mood didn't help. This much inactivity gave him too much time to think. “I thought maybe you could direct me to a good local gym. I'm in need of a tough workout.”

Brett's eyebrows rose. “Yeah? You want to do that workout indoors?”

“There's an alternative you'd suggest?”

The other man glanced at his wife, who gave him a nod. “I was thinking,” Brett said, “about a workout on one of the local mountains.”

“I don't know—”

“Afraid I'll best your ass on a board as usual?”

“You'd go?” Zan asked, surprised.

“I could use a run or two or three.”

Zan glanced down at what he was wearing. “I have a jacket, gloves and hat in the car, but I'm in jeans.”

“So you're planning on falling?”

“Asshole,” Zan said, grinning. “About equipment—”

“We'll rent what you need.”

“And you'll come back for dinner at our house,” Angelica put in. She glanced up at her husband. “Have fun.”

Brett's gaze softened. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Then his head dipped to give her a thorough kiss on the mouth. “There you go.”

Angelica blushed, then slid Zan a look. “I read somewhere that a man who always kisses his wife goodbye improves his life span by five years.”

Brett was smiling. “She's always looking out for me.”

A team, Zan thought, as he followed his old friend out to his SUV. Not just a couple, but a team.

Something heavy moved into his gut and he supposed it was envy.

The afternoon on the slopes was the tough workout he'd requested...and the exercise nearly killed him, in a good way. The last time he'd played on snow had been long ago—and somewhere in the Alps if he recalled correctly—and his screaming thigh muscles let him know all about it.

But the pain was countered by exhilaration, and as he stood at the top of one run and looked down over the wide white highway before him, he felt as if he could fly for miles. Take off on snow and then soar over the pines that looked sugar-dipped, passing above suburbs and city only to land on soft golden sand beside the Pacific, surprising some flatland beach bunny.

Southern California had everything.

“Great, huh?” Brett said, pausing beside him.

“Yeah.”

“Had enough? Good food's waiting at my place.”

The only thing that sounded better than breathing in more clean cold air was doing something about the hunger gnawing at his belly. But Zan glanced at his old buddy and hesitated, his mountain high deflating. They weren't exactly on friendly terms. “Are you sure you want me there?”

“I'll hear it from my wife if I show up without you.”

Not exactly an enthusiastic welcome, but the idea of returning to his grandfather's house alone didn't appeal at all.

“We have to make a stop first, then,” he said to Brett. “I can't show up on your doorstep without flowers and a bottle of wine for Angelica.”

Brett smirked. “Such good manners.”

“I have hopes I'll convince her to run off with me.”

“Your ego always was outsize,” Brett said, then took off downhill, leaving Zan smiling behind him.

Damn, he'd missed that kind of trash talk.

His smile died. He'd missed that friendship.

If Brett still held some reserve toward Zan, during dinner his wife made up for it with her bright smile, easy chatter and excellent meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She managed Hallett Hardware in the village and seemed to have a close acquaintance with everyone in the area. By the time dinner was over, Zan almost imagined he'd never left the place.

He'd learned about illnesses, changes in occupation and the intimate relationships of a host of people he'd forgotten he knew. His head was reeling by the time he and Brett had walked the dishes to the kitchen counter and Angelica shooed the men back to the family room, where she'd serve dessert.

“She loves it here,” Zan said to Brett.

“No doubt. She didn't have anyone in her corner for years. Now...”

Zan thought of his nine-year-old self. “Walkers came to the rescue?”

“We found out she was living out of her car.” Brett shook his head at the memory. “I made sure she had a real roof over her head. Mac gave her some hours to tide her through until she was needed full-time at the hardware store.”

“The Walkers came to the rescue.”

“In reality, she rescued me,” Brett said. “I was stuck in my head, letting the past keep me from a future.”

Troubled by the confession, Zan prowled the room. One wall was filled with framed family photos. At the center was Angelica and Brett in an obvious wedding shot; though the bride and groom were in jeans, she held a huge bouquet of flowers and there were new rings on their left hands.

“Vegas wedding,” Brett said, coming up beside him. “I couldn't wait and she was willing.”

Surrounding that shot were many framed Walker family moments. Their parents, Dell and Lorna Walker, mugged for the camera, smiling faces close together. Zan could see some of their children in both their features.

“Your mom and dad were great people,” he murmured.

“Yeah. Not perfect, and neither was their relationship, but I think they taught us not to let go or give up on each other.” He paused. “Or other people.”

Without comment, Zan moved to stand in front of yet another photo. It was recent and showed the four Walker siblings, arms slung around each other, at the reception in honor of Brett and Angelica's marriage. A solid group, yet another team, their confident smiles saying “We have the whole world because we have one another.”

They'd been so easy to care about from the very beginning.

So fucking hard to lose.

And then he heard himself telling Brett about another loss. “I had a sister, you know. Jana. She was five years older and taught me how to jump rope.”

The atmosphere in the room changed. Zan didn't turn to look at the other man, but he could feel Brett's sharp gaze on the back of his neck.

Zan rubbed his palm there, aware he'd never talked about this stuff with the other man—even when they were kids. They'd known his family was dead, but not any further details. “I also had a brother.”

“You had a brother,” Brett repeated.

“Yeah. His name was Damon. I called him Dragon, for some reason I don't remember. He was three years older than me.”

Zan closed his eyes but couldn't dredge up his sister's or his brother's faces. There were photos in the album back at his grandfather's that would help him remember, he supposed, but he couldn't bring himself to look through those pages. They would take him back to the sharp pain of his parents' and his siblings' deaths. Of the bewilderment he'd felt, of the sense of being untethered from everything and anyone.

He'd felt as if he was facing a long, dark tunnel.

The first light he'd glimpsed was the day Brett Walker spoke to him after school.

“Cool nickname,” Brett said now. “Dragon. I bet he loved that.”

Zan's brows rose. “Yeah. You're right. Cool.” It almost made him smile. “So, thinking on that—” he gestured toward the photos “—you've got it all. Right there.”

“It's missing someone, that wall,” Brett said slowly, then hesitated. “I once had a brother, too.”

Surprised, Zan turned. This was the first he'd heard of it. “I didn't know.”

“Yes, you did,” Brett said.

When Zan continued to just stare, the other man crossed his arms over his chest. “Damn it, dumbshit. I'm talking about you.”

“I...” He had no idea what to say.

“Yeah.” Brett nodded. “Think on
that
. I could have used my brother more than once over the last ten years.”

When Brett lost his mom. When he'd gotten mired in events that prevented him from moving on from the past, whatever those events were. Maybe when Zan's own cousin was causing trouble for his friend and the woman he loved.

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.
When he'd left, he'd let his oldest friend down. The one who'd considered him a
brother
.

His mood, temporarily lifted by those hours on the mountain and the good food at Angelica and Brett's table took a sharp nosedive. He scrubbed his hands over his face. When planning to get out of the mountains those many years ago, all thoughts had been about himself and about getting away. He'd considered very little what his absence would do to those he left behind.

His focus had been on protecting himself. He'd not foreseen how in doing so he neglected those who'd considered him part of their family. Those who'd helped him get through the agony of extreme grief.

Selfish asshole.

Go now
, he told himself.
Get the hell out of this cozy house. Get gone to some other place on some other continent where no one gives a shit about who you are. Travel light and loose, making sure that you don't get attached to anyone and they don't get attached to you. Where you won't mess up again.

Then Mac's voice came into his head, unbidden, talking about being his emergency contact.
For the rest of your life, you put my name on that line.

His chest filled with cement.

“Shit,” Brett said now, sounding disgusted. “Angelica will kill me if I make you cry.”

“I'm not going to—” The glint of humor in the other man's eyes made him pause, then lightened the dense weight encasing his lungs. “Shut your ugly mug.”

“Prettier than yours.”

“You wish,” Zan said automatically, then scrubbed his face again. “Hell, Brett. What can I say? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

The other man held his gaze a long moment, then sighed. “Lucky for you, I'm lousy at holding a grudge.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Brett reached out. “And I learned that lesson about not letting go or giving up.”

Zan gripped his friend's hand, squeezing. Messages were sent along that connection in a silent language forged in boyhood and tempered by the hard-earned wisdom of adult mistakes.

Angelica came into the room, bearing a tray of chocolate cake slices and cups of coffee. “Is everything okay here?” she asked, looking between the two men.

“We're good, sweetheart,” Brett assured her, moving forward to take her burden. “All good.”

Zan nodded in agreement. Maybe the best he'd been since his return.

* * *

Z
AN
SUSPECTED
B
RETT
had passed a word around the Walkers about their reconciliation, because the very next day he was texted an invitation—which came off more like a summons—from Shay's stepdaughter, London. The family was getting together at Shay and Jace's to prepare a welcome home for the honeymooning couple. Zan didn't even pretend to himself he wasn't damn happy to be included. His old friend had offered absolution, and he was going to prove he deserved it during the time he remained at Blue Arrow Lake.

As for the future...he wasn't contemplating that just yet. His only goal was to keep—and enjoy—this current peace.

He found himself on a ladder stringing up a banner in the foyer of the house that was built along the lines of a steamship. “This place is...different,” he murmured for Brett's ears only.

“Jace bought it sight unseen, and he and Shay both thought it butt-ugly at first. Now they say it's grown on them.”

The lake views were spectacular, Zan would give them that. And the teenager London brightened the place with her excited chatter and bouncy energy. She'd been staying with a friend while her parents were gone and clearly she was looking forward to their return.