Finding Zoe (Atlantic Divide) (12 page)

The thunder of hooves and tank vibrated through her body, making her heart race in rhythm and her throat tighten. She’d had no idea Mac was so adept at horse riding. He’d always claimed he didn’t like horses, but he sat as relaxed and comfortable as a rodeo rider. Damn the man, he probably had been as a kid. He’d lived on a ranch, and from the reports in the newspapers, he still used his family home as a retreat when he wanted some privacy. He was a cowboy. A cowboy disguised as an action hero.

Ryan watched enthralled for the entire eight minutes and forty-three seconds it took for the scene to be filmed and for the following hour and a half as they set it up again. This time, as he slid to the ground to sit at her feet, he never opened his mouth to moan once, simply to gape.

Fascinated, Zoe leaned forward, amazed at Mac’s participation with the whole process. She’d never realized how much involvement the entire crew had and the discussions which took place between actors and director to improve the scene. She didn’t quite see how they could make it more compelling; she’d been amazed by the speed of the whole thing, but they seemed determined to improve on it.

Their determination paid off, and the second shoot looked far more dangerous. Mac steered the stallion closer to the tank, dropping the reins and using his knees to direct the horse as he hip-fired his M60 in one hand and an additional gun in the other.

At the very moment the director called “Cut”, the black horse stumbled, his legs folding underneath him. Zoe’s heart leaped as she shot up from her chair at the same time as Mac flung himself free of the falling horse and staggered forward with the powerful impetus of the speed of the chase. His legs had no option but to run wildly for a few paces before he could get himself under control.

His knees skimmed the ground before he leaped up again and grabbed the horse’s reins to stop it from bolting as it gained its feet. The stallion bucked and threw his head, eyes wild and terrified, while Mac soothed him.

Zoe moved toward them, slow and cautious, aware the horse shouldn’t be spooked any more than it already was. Realizing Mac was fine, her next instinct was to check the stallion. As she approached, she could hear Mac’s low tones as he murmured to the frantic horse, his hand running soothingly down the length of its neck as his deep voice almost cooed in its ear. So much for not liking horses. A bit like jumping from dizzying heights. The man declared he didn’t like doing it just to be contrary.

The trainer stepped in close and checked the stallion’s legs as Mac held his head still.

“Is he okay?” She automatically flicked her hair over her shoulder, out of the way.

“I’m fine.”

She closed her eyes briefly, gave a tight smile.

“I meant the horse.”

“Sure you did.” Mac gave a wide grin.

“He seems okay.” The trainer looked at them both, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t know what happened.” He walked the stallion forward a few paces, round in a small circle. There was no sign of any problem.

Mac patted the horse’s neck and blew out a relieved breath.

“I thought he’d gone lame on me. Must have just lost his footing.”

“You were probably too heavy for him. He wanted to get you off his back and give himself a breather.” Flynn’s approach was silent, as always, until he chose to speak, making her smile at his sour expression.

“What in hell’s name…? Oh my God, Mr. Blunt, you’re bleeding to death.” Pierre shoved his way through the gathering crowd and was on his knees in front of Mac before anyone could reply. Mac simply rolled his eyes.

“Oh, heavens. What have you done? You’ve ripped your leg in two. How are we going to cover this up? It’ll affect the filming. It’ll ruin continuity.”

“Let me see.” The director stepped in, lifted Pierre bodily out of the way, and Zoe got a glimpse of the injury. From Mac’s left knee down, blood soaked into his pale trousers, spreading slowly outward from a wide rip in the material, revealing a deep gash in his leg.

“Shit, Dad, that’s got to hurt.”

Utter silence followed Ryan’s announcement as every eye in the crowd turned to study him. He was too fascinated following the gush of blood down Mac’s leg to notice, but Mac exchanged a look with her and a small smile tugged at his lips as he shrugged and reached forward to scrub Ryan’s head.

“Watch your language, son.”

The director kneeled down, took a closer look at the gash.

“I think you need stitches, Cormack. You’ll need to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need stitches.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Mac’s head came up and he looked her straight in the eye.

“Zoe can do it.”

Her breath stuttered out of her as everyone turned to her.

“I can’t stitch you up. I’m a vet.”

Pierre hustled over with a chair and pushed it under Mac’s legs until he sat, making the chair protest loudly under his weight.

Mac’s eyes had never left hers.

“Sure you can. I’m not going to a hospital.”

Zoe automatically kneeled in front of him, elevating his leg by propping it on her knees to slow the rush of blood. He sat back, and she felt the full weight of his leg pushing her downward.

“Could you get another chair, Pierre, please?”

As Pierre pushed the chair under his leg, Mac sucked air in through his teeth, and she watched as the pain seemed to hit him and his tanned skin turned a shade of gray.

“Christ, do you have to make such a fuss of him?” Flynn, having disappeared for a moment, was suddenly there by her side, his brows pulled low over his bright eyes. He glared at the crowd. “Back off. Go get yourselves coffee.”

The crew scattered with the exception of Pierre, who took a moment longer to flap around until Flynn drew a Bowie knife from the strap on his leg. Pierre’s mouth went slack and a high-pitched squeal burst from him before he dashed away.

Zoe placed her hand on Ryan’s shoulder to stop him leaning in as Flynn competently slashed the bottom of Mac’s trouser leg away and then tipped his head to one side to have a look at the wound while Mac remained silent and pale.

Flynn opened a first-aid box and snapped on a pair of disposable latex gloves. Zoe studied him for a moment. The man was a ghost; she hadn’t even noticed him disappear, but he suddenly had all the equipment needed for a field dressing.

“You don’t need stitches, it’s not deep.” He squirted antiseptic wash over the wound until the fluid ran down Mac’s leg; with fast, capable movements, he swiped a sterile cloth around it. “Goddamned actors and goddamned film crews.” He muttered to himself as he efficiently dried the wound with another sterile cloth, slapped on steri-strips, and covered it all with a dry dressing. As he wound a bandage around Mac’s leg, he glanced up. “’Course, you know Pierre will want you to have plastic surgery so you don’t ruin his fucking continuity.” His lips twitched as Mac’s laughter rumbled out.

“Jesus, Flynn, they’re not going to want a white bandage on my leg for the next scene. I’m supposed to be naked. They were going to show my legs.”

Unfair though it seemed under the circumstances, she couldn’t help the sudden surge of lust as that vision shot into her head.

“Yeah?” Flynn disposed of all the bloodied dressings into a sterile bag, picked up a needle, and stuck it in Mac’s arm. “Tetanus. They’ll have to shoot around your leg, concentrate on some other naked body part.” He swabbed the injection site, pushed the needle into a sharps box, rolled the gloves off, and stood, grinning. “You’re good to go.” He sheathed his knife and crossed his arms over his chest.

The director was the only one who had waited, and Zoe caught his quiet, thoughtful expression as he studied her son before he announced, “It’s a wrap.”

Mac got to his feet, no longer pale, and she thought she saw the same look in his eyes he’d had when he’d completed the tower stunt. Wild and reckless.

Flynn made a move, and Mac grabbed the man in a headlock, scrubbed his hair with his knuckles, laughing as the smaller guy wriggled to break free. Dragging him up, Mac planted a solid kiss on his forehead before springing him free.

“I love you, man.”

Flynn shot a neat little punch, managed to get past the taut muscles of Mac’s stomach, making his breath whoosh out. Mac barely curled his body, but the power had been there in Flynn’s fist.

“Fucking actor. You love everyone.”

Mac’s laughter rolled out as he turned his wolf-like grin on Ryan.

“Sure I do.”

He grabbed Ryan, flipped him over his shoulder, making Zoe’s breath stutter in her throat as he deliberately twirled him around accompanied by the delighted screeches from her son. Then Mac promptly threw him, arms and legs flailing, at Flynn, who deftly hoisted him up again.

“Go get the kid some lunch, I wanna kiss his mama for a minute. We’ll be right there.”

Lust sparked off him as he turned toward her, grin still in place, and she tried not to be thrilled by the keen look in his eye, but her stomach flip-flopped as he hauled her in close and plastered his mouth against hers.

Powerless to resist and unable to think of a single reason why she should, she sank into the kiss, returning the passion tenfold. Unable to think, she let her senses control her response, allowing them to spin wildly out of control.

“Whoa…” He pulled back to look at her. Drugged by the taste of him, she gave him a wide grin and hauled his face back down to hers for another assault on his lips.

“Zoe…God, God…stop.” He blew out a breath and held her away from him, almost at arm’s length, and the whirling, spinning sensation calmed, shuddered to a full stop. Her face burned as she glanced quickly around, realizing with relief the crew had all made for the food-laden trestle table.

Mac dropped his hands from her arms and stared at her while he lifted those hands back to his face and rubbed them against his day-old growth. She heard the stubble rasp, and the heat that had shot through her system so swiftly pooled to simmer like molten liquid.

The black eyes looking back at her weren’t as calm and controlled as she thought they would be. They burned with primitive desire and made her simmer start to boil again.

She stepped away. She’d made a mistake if she thought she could keep this thing under control. Miscalculated the depth of her want for this man. Maybe she needed to take a small step back before she made a fool of herself over him.

“Perhaps we should get something to eat.”

He laid a casual arm around her waist, tucked her close against his side as her arm came around him, and he guided her toward the food.

“I could eat you. Right now. If there weren’t sixty-odd people here, I most definitely would.” He rubbed his lips against her ear as he murmured low and intoxicating. “If we were alone, we could make love out on the grass beneath the sun, like we used to. Remember?” He nipped her ear and smiled as she jerked her head up.

“Yes.” She dropped her arm from his waist, gave a quick jab of her elbow to his steel stomach. “But it was a long time ago, and I’ve grown up since then.”

* * * *

Her father was waiting when they arrived home with Mac in tow. Emory eyed him long and hard before he turned his disapproval upon his daughter.

“You’ll want coffee before you go and see to the Fitzgeralds’ mare. She’s in our stables. I wasn’t happy when I saw her earlier today. She’s not in labor yet, but there’s something not right, and knowing them, they’d leave her all night without checking.”

He handed her a mug of black coffee, and Mac felt the first twinge of discomfort as the old man ignored him and turned to Ryan.

“You’ll get yourself to bed double-quick. It’s later than it ought to be, and you have school in the morning.” The subtle rebuke didn’t go unnoticed.

“Granddad, I want to tell you—”

“You can tell me when you’ve changed, Ryan. I’ll come and read to you while your mother sees to the mare.”

“But Dad—”

“Will be going now.”

Mac lifted his eyebrows and met the old boy’s hard stare. Nodding, Mac lifted a conciliatory hand and tried to back out the door, only to come up against Zoe as she placed her black coffee in his outstretched hand.

“Mac can come with me. I might need some help.”

He hated horses. She knew he hated horses; she’d just watched him flinging himself all over one, racing hell-for-leather across the fields. Stupid horse. He’d become an actor just so he didn’t have to work on the ranch he’d virtually grown up on. He knew what to do with animals; it had been ingrained in him while he was still a child. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Then again, if it gave him a few extra minutes with the redhead, he was willing to risk it.

“Sure, lead the way.”

*

“Mac, for God’s sake hold her head still. Call yourself a superhero?”

Mac grabbed the mare’s head, using his knowledge and strength to hold her still while Zoe grunted at the other end. He rolled his eyes as he automatically soothed the mare and wondered whether Zoe would ever understand.

“I’m not a superhero. I’m an action hero. It’s different.”

“Well…” she mumbled. He heard a soft sucking sound as she withdrew her blood-and mucus-laden arm from the mare’s vagina. He imagined he’d just turned an unattractive shade of green as black spots appeared behind his eyelids. It would not look good on screen. He held his breath so he didn’t faint.

“What’s the difference between the two?”

He blew air out again in disgust.

“Action heroes don’t wear their underpants on the outside of their clothing.”

She laughed. The mare moved uncomfortably. He sucked in a panicked breath and hoped Zoe wasn’t going to leave him alone with the horse.

“You can let go now.”

He stepped back and watched, fascinated as a small head emerged from the rear end of the horse. Jesus Christ, she was giving birth right in front of him. He hadn’t witnessed a horse giving birth in around fifteen years, and he’d forgotten the feeling of elation at the wonder of it.

He felt the grin spread across his face, and the black spots miraculously lifted as the mare’s sides expanded to give an almighty push. The foal fell away with a watery splat to the hay-covered floor. He felt his heart leap with joy at the sheer sight of the newborn. He wanted to laugh as tears rolled down his cheeks, and Zoe stared at him in fascination.