Read The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie Online
Authors: Bonnie K. Winn
The Accidental Mrs. Mackenzie (7 page)
He laughed. “Some lumberjack you’d make.” Not asking her permission, he forked a small piece of smoked salmon onto her plate. “And don’t worry. I can handle the croissants and Canadian bacon.”
Brynn took a muffin and delicately separated it into small pieces. “Lancelot can show that he appreciates the breakfast, as well.” The dog still sat protectively at her side.
“I suspect the cat’s going to enjoy the salmon,” Matt guessed
She grinned. “Caught red-handed. I really only want half the bagel with just a touch of cream cheese and a bite of the salmon. And I’d hate to hurt Tracy’s feelings....”
Matt couldn’t resist her grin. “Good excuse for feeding your beasts.”
She gave Lancelot a bite of the muffin before glancing up at Matt in surprise. “It just occurred to me that Lancelot isn’t growling at you.”
“I’m not growling at him, either.”
“You don’t understand. He always responds that way to men. I don’t know why he’s behaving differently with you.”
The dog pawed at her knee and automatically she fed him another bite of muffin.
“He doesn’t seem particularly threatened,” Matt observed, wondering why her dog had such a distaste for men. She didn’t look like the sort of woman who would have a parade of men in her life.
Brynn stroked the dog’s head. “I guess not. Perhaps being away from the city is so different...” She smiled in an abrupt burst of joy. “The unexpected has a way of changing animals, I suppose—and people.”
Matt guessed there was a meaning beneath her words. But at the moment he was more fascinated by the transformation in her face. Somewhere beneath those glasses and all that hair, there was more than he’d expected.
But then she seemed to remember something as she drew back in. “You’re right. I should finish my breakfast.” She plucked the bagel from her plate. “In fact, I’ll take it along with me. I have to find something
rugged
to wear.”
rugged
to wear.”
“I’ll talk to Mother about it. She can find something in the gift shop. There’s no need to rush your breakfast.” But even as he spoke, Matt watched her wrap the bagel in a napkin, along with a bit of the salmon—for the cat, no doubt.
“I do have to get the animals settled in, too,” she replied, rising and edging toward the door.
Matt realized there was no stopping her. He wondered if she was part sprite. The thought barely surfaced and she’d disappeared, calling to the cat and dog and offering her arm to the bird. Noah’s little helper.
Shaking his head, Matt glanced at all the food left on the table, then back at the spot where Brynn had disappeared. He realized she’d left him a lot to chew on.
BRYNN GLANCED DOUBTFULLY in the mirror atop the oak dresser in her room, wishing for a full-length one so she could see just how the new clothes fit. Ruth MacKenzie had brought jeans that while not tight were certainly more formfitting than the clothes she was accustomed to wearing. And the chambray shirt and cotton-ramie sweater were also very tailored. Feeling like an Eddie Bauer advertisement, she turned again, trying to gauge the allover effect.
But the mirror just wasn’t large enough to give her a true picture. If she’d been more adept, she’d have managed to avoid the entire situation, rather than having to decide if the clothes looked all right But somehow she’d gotten caught up in the conversation with Matt, momentarily forgetting his relation to Gregory. She glanced at the album on the dresser, quickly opening it to the first picture and caressing the familiar face. It wouldn’t do to forget again.
The grandfather clock in the wide hallway outside her room chimed the half hour and Brynn realized she was dawdling. It wasn’t like her to spend so much time on her appearance. She swiped at her hair, the curls springing back seconds later. Grimacing at her reflection, she grabbed her glasses and looked wistfully at the album, knowing she had no time to indulge herself, reluctantly closing the cover.
She paused at the door to look at her pets. “Okay, guys. Behave.” Lancelot thumped his tail, his eyes pleading to be taken. “Next time, Lancelot. I don’t think
I
can ride one of those all-terrain vehicle things, so I really don’t think I ought to kill us both.”
I
can ride one of those all-terrain vehicle things, so I really don’t think I ought to kill us both.”
“Later, baby!” Bossy called out, scratching at the water dish in his cage.
“You too, Bossy.” Petting both Lancelot and Snookems. she slipped out. Since she hadn’t made specific arrangements to meet Matt, she went to the most obvious place—the lobby. But other than the desk clerk and a few guests, it was empty. Mentally, she ticked off the other conspicuous places, then realized she ought to be looking outside instead of inside.
Pushing open the huge double doors that led outside, she spotted Matt with two staffers. His truck was pulled into the wide circular drive and an ATV sat in the bed of the pickup. Swallowing her apprehension, Brynn ventured closer. Matt looked up for a moment, glanced back at the young man he was talking to, then looked again at Brynn.
Nervously she swiped her hands against the legs of her jeans, feeling self-conscious in the tailored clothes. She smiled at him gamely, wishing the tour was already over. Always uncomfortable around men, she didn’t relish time spent alone with this one. Had it been Gregory—the man whose face she’d come to know as well as her own—it would be different. He would gently take her hand and walk with her along the paths they had separately jogged for months. Then he would—
“Brynn.
Brynn,
” Matt repeated, wondering where she’d slipped off to. When she’d walked outside, it had taken a moment for him to recognize her. His eyes had been riveted by her impossibly long legs, the curve of her slender waist and the unmistakable flare of additional curves. And his gut had responded immediately with an instinctive jolt that didn’t feel even a fraction brotherly.
Brynn,
” Matt repeated, wondering where she’d slipped off to. When she’d walked outside, it had taken a moment for him to recognize her. His eyes had been riveted by her impossibly long legs, the curve of her slender waist and the unmistakable flare of additional curves. And his gut had responded immediately with an instinctive jolt that didn’t feel even a fraction brotherly.
The breeze blew back her hair, long dark strands that curled over her shoulders, revealing her features, obscured only by her gargantuan glasses. Matt had the ridiculous urge to pull them off, to see just what they hid. Instead, he tried again to catch her attention. “Earth to Brynn.”
She flushed, apparently embarrassed she’d been caught daydreaming. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“It’s all right.” He gestured at her new clothes. “Looks like you got outfitted for the day.”
She ran a hand over the unfamiliar jeans. “Yes... They still seem strange.”
“They don’t look strange.” He’d meant to sound casual, but instead his gaze lingered a fraction too long on her legs, before traveling upward to her face.
Sudden awareness vibrated between them.
But this time the urge to flee he’d seen in her expression combined with something else—something Matt knew he had to be imagining. That spark couldn’t be coming from his brother’s bride.
Gregory. He had to remember his brother. He was the reason Matt was showing the property to Brynn. He was the reason she was here at all.
“Are you ready, then?” Matt asked gruffly, turning away.
Taken aback by his abrupt tone, she hastened toward the truck. “Yes. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“I know. You don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Yes, no. I mean, you’re right. I don’t.”
It wasn’t her fault she made a simple pair of jeans look more appealing than the best of Victoria’s Secret. He muttered a reply as he opened the truck and waited for her to climb inside.
Pulling away from the driveway, Matt couldn’t help noticing that she’d perched on the seat like a child taking her first train ride—staring at the sights eagerly. Withholding a sigh, he swallowed his own unreasonable attitude. “You can see one of the closer lifts right over there.”
“Oh! And you can walk right out the front door of the lodge and climb on. What a clever idea!”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. While the resort had always meant a lot to him, it wasn’t often he found outsiders who shared his enthusiasm. But then she wasn’t an outsider, he had to remind himself.
Matt pointed up the sloping mountain. “And there’s the alpine slide, one of the off-season activities.”
“Do you get many guests when it’s not ski season? Is there anything for them to do?”
“We get more guests every year. We’ve begun advertising as a true four-season resort.” His tone turned wry. “And we find a few things for them to do—hiking, backpacking, kayaking—or you can ride the wind via sailboard.”
“And that’s enough to get people to come way out here?”
“We have trout fishing—three creeks run through Eagle Point. And there’s horseback riding, miles of alpine dirt roads and back-country trails for biking, and sailing, golfing. The mountains call to a lot of people. This summer we had a group of ornithologists....”
“Birdwatchers,” she mused. “They would love it here, I’m sure.”
“There’s a forty-nest great blue heron rookery not far from here. They were in birdwatcher heaven.”
“Any other specialty groups?”
“Plenty. We get a lot of people who want to explore ghost towns. We take them jeeping to deserted gold mines and old settlements in the high country that have been abandoned a long time ago.”
“Really? What’s that like?”
He resisted a grin, thinking of his own boyhood memories, and the lure of a ghost town no youngster could resist “Sometimes there’s not much to see besides a lot of tumbleweed. Other times, if you’re quiet and listen, you can almost hear the laughter of the old-timers.”
“Or the pain,” she murmured, not seeming at all skeptical about the existence of ghostly laughter.
“Maybe. I like to think they were happy. It was a simpler time.”
She caught his inflection and slanted a grin at him. “Before tourists?”
“Touché.”
She smiled, enjoying the talk, enjoying him. “In other words, there are plenty of all-season activities.”
He grunted an assent. “Course I didn’t tell you about one.”
She angled toward him with interest. “What’s that?”
“You can go listening.”
“‘Listening’?” she echoed.
“Yep.” He glanced her way, catching her gaze.
“For what?” she asked, eyes wide with interest.
“For bull elk and buck deer forming their harems.”
‘“Harems’?” she repeated before the meaning sank in. A fiery heat filled her face. “Oh.”
He laughed—a rich masculine sound that filled the truck. “Think we have enough variety to interest everyone?”
She fiddled with the unfamiliar denim of her jeans. “Certainly sounds like it.”
Her embarrassment was painful to watch and he took pity on her. “Every season needs variety. In the winter we also have snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, ice-skating.”
She spotted another ski lift, trying to tame the fire that still blazed in her cheeks. “But skiing’s still the big thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s the main thrust of our business and always will be. We have trails for everyone—from beginner to enough black diamond runs to snatch your breath away.”
Brynn craned her head to see the tops of the majestic mountains, covered in snow year-round, “It must be something to live around this all the time. Not that I don’t see mountains from Salt Lake, but these are so...immediate.”
It was an unusual description, but one he felt himself. “Never could see why people would want to live in the city when they’re surrounded by mountains. The view would just make you want to escape that much more.”
“I don’t think I ever felt exactly like escaping.” She glanced thoughtfully out the truck window. “But then I wasn’t raised here. I guess once this is in your blood, you could never live comfortably in the city.”
“Gregory manages.”
Her head jerked back toward him, then away again. “Yes, of course.”
“But then you know that.”
She didn’t meet his gaze, instead turning to stare again out the window. “Of course. I...tend to get swept up in new experiences, the sights, the sounds. I have a...rather active imagination.”
“Is that why you became a cartoonist?” he asked, easily navigating the well-known road.
Her face screwed into a mask of concentration. “That’s not a simple question. I’ve always loved drawing, even painting. And I fell in love with my first comic strip as soon as I could read. I loved all the daring, better-than-real-life things the characters got away with. I used to wish I could be like my favorites.”
“Sort of an alter ego.”
“Not many people understand that,” Brynn exclaimed, surprised. Then she laughed—a small, embarrassed sound. “So, I drifted toward art school, got an internship with Marvel, then got a break being a colorist for an established cartoonist.”
“And how was
Stephanie
born?”
Stephanie
born?”
She tilted her head. “Funny you should phrase it like that. Most people think it’s just an impersonal drawing. Stick figures with bubbles for thoughts—characters with no more spirit than pieces of fruit in a still life.”
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