At Close Range. Marilyn Tracy

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СКАЧАТЬ confidentially, “I’ll be right back. You stay here, ’kay?”

      “Okay,” he said, wiping his mouth on one of the cotton napkins and nodding at the intent young face waiting for an answer from him.

      “Right here,” Analissa commanded.

      “Just for you, I’ll wait right in this very spot. Can I move while you’re gone?” A half smile played around his lips and Corrie could tell Analissa had melted the frost in his eyes.

      The little girl nodded solemnly. “But you can’t go away.”

      “I won’t,” he said.

      “Promise?”

      Corrie frowned when he hesitated. What possible harm could it do to promise the little girl he’d be there when she got back? It would only take a matter of minutes while the kids deposited the dishes and brought in Rita’s amazing anise-flavored biscochitos and homemade ice cream.

      “Promise?” Analissa demanded. “You have to promise. And cross your heart.”

      “If you hurry back, I’ll be here,” he said, and reached his hand out as if he would stroke the little girl’s hair. His hand hung there for a moment, then dropped back to his lap as if the child’s aura had burned him.

      Corrie’s breath tangled in her throat, both at the look of withdrawal in Mack’s gaze and at the lack of promise to the little girl. He’d agreed, but it had been a half promise at best, not the whole she’d asked for. Luckily, Analissa didn’t notice. She only beamed brightly, her partially toothy grin brightening the dining room as it always did. Before the child reached the door to the kitchen, she managed to lose most of the silverware on the two plates she smashed together, and chip at least one of those plates against the doorjamb.

      Leeza leaned forward again, having retrieved the errant silverware and handing them to Jeannie’s adopted daughter, who was indulgently smiling at Analissa. “Mack, aren’t you the one who—”

      Chance’s wineglass toppled into Leeza’s lap and he swore as he stood up, napkin in hand, and mopped up the wine. He apologized to the table at large for being every kind of a clumsy fool, then before a shocked Leeza could even remonstrate, he leaned down to say something in her ear before turning to kiss his wife soundly.

      To Corrie’s surprise, Leeza flushed and shot Mack an apologetic look.

      Corrie knew Chance wasn’t clumsy; his every move was measured and slow, calm and deliberate. The marshal had spilled his wine on purpose, stopping Leeza’s questioning of Mack.

      Why? What didn’t he want brought out at the Rancho Milagro dinner table? What did he know about Mack? How he acquired his terrible scars, what accident befell him?

      Why was Chance avoiding her eyes? Why did Mack appear so tense and stiff beside her? And why did her journalistic instincts rise so readily to the surface when she wasn’t working in the field anymore and never, ever wanted to again?

      “Mack,” Jeannie asked, commanding attention as she stretched and leaned back into her chair, “what period of history interests you the most?”

      “Prehistoric,” he said swiftly.

      “Why is that?”

      “Because the lines were so clear in those days. Survival was all that mattered. Find a cave, find a mate, make a home, go out and hunt a bear or two for food, clothing and fat for the fire. Simple. Hard, but simple.”

      “Sounds rather macho,” Leeza murmured.

      Mack waved a hand in a noncommittal gesture but nodded as he took a sip of wine. “Oh, there were plenty of matriarchal tribes then, too, but the bottom line was still the same. Survival.”

      “What about happiness?” Corrie asked, twisting her own untouched wineglass around, wondering why his answer might mean something important.

      “Happiness?” he asked.

      Corrie thought he repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before, didn’t know its meaning.

      He turned to look at her, as if he were trying to imprint some unspoken knowledge on her, and answered, “Happiness was a matter of security, safety, ensuring everyone in the cave had shelter, food and water. Safety. That’s all that matters.”

      She heard his switch from past to present tense. “But—”

      The door to the kitchen burst open and a beaming Analissa sailed through, carrying a tray laden with ice cream in paper cups.

      “Dessert,” she called, and, taking small, heel-to-toe steps, made her careful progress to Mack.

      He looked at her as if surprised she’d returned, as if the little girl, all by herself, was a miracle on this ranch in the middle of nowhere.

      He gave one of those half lifts of his lips. The little girl nodded solemnly. “You’re here,” she said. The smile that followed her words could have lit the entire city of Carlsbad.

      Mack cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

      Little Analissa turned her beaming face to Corrie. “Just like he promised.”

      From her place beside Mack, Corrie saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, not as if he were laughing, but as if he were biting back some emotion too bitter to swallow. “Just like,” she said.

      “And you’re gonna stay here with us, right?” Analissa asked, leaning forward, tipping the tray dangerously.

      Mack caught the tray before the ice cream in the Dixie cups slid to the floor. “I’m here,” he agreed.

      Analissa launched herself at him, her baby arms thin and spindly against his broad, rock-hard shoulder. The tray teetered dangerously, but not half as much as Corrie suspected Mack’s emotions might be tipping. “To stay?”

      Corrie rescued him. “To stay, sweetie. He’s here to stay,” she said, reaching out to stroke Analissa’s silky hair.

      Mack didn’t say anything. He set the tray on the table and gently dislodged Analissa from his arm as he pushed to his feet.

      The rest of the children poured through the open doorway, treats in store, and raced around the table, making sure everyone had at least two of the prized biscochitos.

      “You’re not leaving, Señor Mack?” Juan Carlos asked.

      “Really, you must try one of Rita’s biscochitos. She makes the best anywhere on earth,” Leeza said.

      “He’s got to go,” Analissa said, all six of her years showing, and twenty-five more to boot. “But he’s staying here now. Corrie says. He’s going to stay with us.”

      A cheer went around the table, with a few I-told-you-so’s from Juan Carlos and nods from Jorge.

      Corrie thought Mack’s face would have paled had his scarred skin allowed it to do so. Instead, he only stood above them all, seemingly carved in granite, and as acutely uncomfortable as a man could possibly be.

      “I’ll СКАЧАТЬ