Reckless Promise (20 page)

It would feel like being ripped in half to
have him leave her now. "Yes," she managed, and snuggled into him,
happy and safe for the first time in—years. The thought surprised
her just enough to let a thought for the morning leak in. Maybe she
should worry.

But she wouldn't.

* * *

The first hint of sunlight struck across
Mac's pillow, and he woke to memories of the night. The mattress
under him said they'd managed to make it back to bed after that
midnight shower, although he couldn't remember how. He reached for
Poppy, ready to go back to sleep with her in his arms, a smile
already curving his mouth. Empty space and cold sheets met his
hand.

The thunder of hooves interrupted his
rationalizations. He jerked upright. Through the window, he saw his
brother-in-law driving the saddle horses in from their night of
grazing. Tom, cantering along in the early morning sun as if this
were only thing in the world he ever wanted to do. Tom, happy and
laughing, with all of his attention on the woman who rode close by
his side, laughing up at him, smiling a dazzled smile at him. Tom,
ignoring his wife where she stood by the corral gate she'd just
opened, watching her husband ride in with Poppy.

His hands clenched so hard on the sheet that
it ripped.

Chapter
12

Mac leaned back on the pillows and looked
around the room. His jeans and boots had ended up in the corner. A
handful of torn foil packets scattered like rose petals beside the
bed. That floaty thing Poppy had been wearing lay in a pile of fire
on the floor, right where he'd tossed it. All the aftermath of a
spectacular evening that should have led to a great morning.

Hard to do alone.

What the hell? Anger burned beneath his
bewilderment and he rubbed a hand across his jaw, the rasp of
whiskers loud in the silence of the little cabin. Even as the anger
grew, he couldn't help wondering if he'd marked Poppy's cream-soft
skin last night, if she'd gone off to Tom with his brand on her
skin. Thinking about her skin had him twitching, which would have
been welcome if only she had been there to help him enjoy his
recuperative powers, instead of being out with another man.

He headed for the shower, even though he knew
it wouldn't do enough to clear his head. Ten minutes later, he
pulled on his clothes, still confused, still seething.

Yesterday Poppy had sworn she had no interest
in Tom.

Last night he'd tried to tell himself it
didn't matter, he and Poppy weren't about anything but sex. But
somewhere deep inside, he knew, and even deeper inside he feared,
that what he felt for her might be something more. Better. Worse.
Whatever.

This morning, he'd turned into a grade A-1
sucker.

He walked out onto the porch and stared down
at the corral, at Tom ignoring Alice, at Poppy smiling that
you're-so-wonderful smile of hers at Tom, and the golden morning
turned to gray wasteland. All his certainty that she was nothing
but an on-the-make bimbo—or worse—surged up to clot in his throat.
He slapped at one of the posts that held up the porch roof, with
just enough self-control to keep from punching it and breaking his
hand. Damn. And ouch.

She'd gone straight from his bed to Tom.
She'd betrayed him, just as surely as his mother had when she'd
abandoned her family, just as surely as his ex-wife had when— He
shook the thought away, but Poppy stayed squarely in the front of
his mind and his sight.

Betrayed.

Again.

A thin whisper of reason said Poppy wasn't
his ex-wife, and Tom wasn't his father, and the two of them had
ridden out to bring in the horses, not tangled together in his bed
for him to find when he came home too early.

But she smirked that cat-got-the-cream smile
at Alice, the same fuck-you little smile that Roxy had given him
just before she packed her suitcase and went out the door. He
leaned against the abused post and willed away the memory of his
not-brief-enough marriage. Alice was his family now. Alice, and
maybe Tom, although that looked less likely every minute.

Down at the corral, Alice leaned against the
fence right where Poppy had stood that first morning, watching Tom
show Poppy how to halter a horse, and Mac wanted to kill him for
putting that expression of pain, regret, anger, and hopelessness on
his wife's face.

Poppy got the halter buckled and half turned
to laugh up at Tom. She acted as though Alice didn't exist. And as
though she'd never shared Mac's bed.

He strode toward the corral, great angry
strides eating up the distance. Punching the living daylights out
of his worthless skunk of a brother-in-law should improve his
day.

Tom had the grace to look embarrassed, but he
played innocent. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed," he
said with false heartiness. "What's got you all fired up?"

"Don't try to bluff me, you stupid S.O.B."
Before he could punch the cheating bastard right in the smile,
Alice grabbed his arm.

"Don't, Mac," she whispered. "Don't make a
scene now."

Alice the peacemaker. He put his hand over
hers and looked down at her. "As opposed to later?"

"Some of the guests are bound to be up. Just
let it go." She must have seen the "no" in his expression, because
she added, "Please?"

Her pleading look diluted his desire for
violence. "Have I ever been able to say no to you?"

"When I wanted to stay out past curfew?"
Alice reminded him with a feeble little smile. "Only about a
thousand times."

"For your own good. But this—"

"Is between Tom and me. I was wrong to ask
you for help."

It took Mac a minute to identify the shock
that jolted through him as a complicated mix of fear and loss and
jealousy. He'd always taken care of Alice's problems. If she didn't
want his help...if she didn't need him... Everything went cold
inside at the idea. If she didn't need him. He looked from Alice
across the lush pastures to the hills that defined home, and
everything looked alien. Without family, none of it meant
anything.

"Go on and talk to Poppy," Alice said. "I'm
going up to the house. And leave Tom alone." She turned away,
leaving him too stunned to reply.

As soon as Alice had gone, Poppy ran over to
him. "Mac," she said, and if the sun hadn't been so bright, her
smile would have lighted the corral. "I got to help bring the
horses in this morning. You should have seen—"

All of his conflicting feelings boiled over,
and he smacked a hand on the top of the fence by her head. "You
sneaked out of my bed to be with another man, to play games with my
brother-in-law, and you have the nerve to expect me to share your
pleasure? On a cold day in hell, honey, that's when I'll go along
with that little plan. On the day hell freezes absolutely
solid."

That wiped the smile from her face. He turned
on his heel and strode blindly toward the nearest pasture. His
mares and foals calmed him better than all the meditation nonsense
city people set such store by. But not today. The sun had barely
made it up and the day had already gone to hell in a hand basket.
And it was Poppy's fault. All Poppy's fault.

Fury still simmered his blood after he'd
checked every mare and every foal. Time for plan B. He marched
through the house, intending to grab something portable for
breakfast and head up to work on his house. Pounding nails seemed
like just the thing to do this morning. Alice caught him at the
kitchen door and handed him a stack of papers. "Your office sent
these—" He grabbed them without a word. Tom sat at the table in the
kitchen, so Mac kept right on going out the back door. He wasn't in
any mood to be polite to anyone, much less his expletive-deleted
brother-in-law.

* * *

Poppy slipped into the kitchen through the
back door. Eating was out of the question, but a little
down-to-earth common sense talk from Chickie wouldn't hurt.

Or would it? Instead of the sympathy she'd
expected, Chickie stopped kneading biscuit dough and gave her an
exasperated look. "If what I think happened happened, he had every
reason to expect you to stay with him. To be there when he woke up.
Am I right?"

Poppy stared at the toes of her boots. Of
course Chickie had it right. "What was I supposed to do, ask
permission to get out of my own bed?" she asked.

"If your bed had that warm, willing man in
it, I'd say yes, you should've."

Poppy dropped into a chair and put her head
in her hands. "You know, Chickie, I'm really smart. How can I do
such dumb things?"

"Honey, there's book smart and life smart.
Looks like your shoppin' cart got all loaded up in the wrong
aisle." Chickie pounded the defenseless dough. "I'd just be
guessin', but it looks to me like you might be between a rock and a
hard place here. I'd say you might want to get this straightened
out right away. Mac's up at his house."

Poppy knew how to take a hint.

* * *

Mac picked up a hammer and realized he still
held the sheaf of faxes his secretary had sent. He riffled through
the stack. The words 'Background Check: Poppy Grayson' leaped out
at him as though the words were printed in blood. He grabbed the
pages and skimmed rapidly. Age: 32. Born and raised Boston, Beacon
Hill. Both parents M.I.T. faculty. Attended Dana Hall Girls'
School, Wellesley, M.I.T., Stanford. Ph. D. biology. Publication
list attached. Associate Professor of Genetics at Boston University
for three years. Offered early tenure, but left to do research at
South Boston University Cabot. Quit abruptly 'for personal
reasons', something flaky there, but no one will talk. No criminal
record, no debts. Well liked. Dropped out of sight after leaving
university.

Well, hell. A snooty debutante type, a
university professor, a scientist, a very successful one from the
sounds of it, to boot. Why couldn't she have been what she looked
like—a good time, sex on the hoof, a gorgeous bimbo? He scanned the
publication list. He recognized about half the words. Fatal
Mitochondrial—Genetic implications of—Genome of— Double hell. He
hadn't expected anything like this.

He tapped the papers to even the edges and
set them on a shelf, weighting them with a hammer. Once he'd
finished the back stairs, he'd grill—no, talk to, he'd talk to
Poppy.

Happier now that he had a plan, he grabbed
some tools and headed for what would be the back porch.
Unfortunately, he kept visualizing the completed house with a
gorgeous redhead standing in the doorway welcoming him home. That
felt permanent, and he didn't do permanent.

A flicker of motion caught his eye. He turned
his head and saw Poppy trudging up the road. She looked tired.
Faintly purple shadows marked the smooth skin under her eyes and he
remembered why she'd gotten so little sleep the night before. He
also remembered the aftermath. That was all it took to make him
step around the corner and pretend she wasn't there.

* * *

The sun lay hot on her shoulders and her
steps grew slower and slower as she approached the unfinished
house. The sporadic bang of a hammer up ahead and a whinny
somewhere behind her broke the silence. One small, puffy cloud
flirted with a mountain top in the distance.

Funny, only a few days ago she'd been sure no
one in her right mind would live here. Now... She must be going
soft in the head if living this far from a city seemed appealing.
She'd better get back to Boston before it was too late. If—when—she
got her job back, it would never do to be mooning around over some
silly mountains. Or a cowboy.

She hadn't been this nervous before her
dissertation defense. But she had no real reason to be apprehensive
about facing him. After all, her real life didn't include him. She
steeled herself and walked around the corner of the house.

He stood with his back to her, in the middle
of pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Muscles rippled across
his back. She'd seen him naked, of course, but here, in the
sunlight, he loomed large as a god. Gorgeous. Magnificent. She
swallowed, her mouth dry as dust.

"Mac?" It came out as a croak.

He dropped the shirt and turned to face her,
his expression far from welcoming.

She swallowed hard. "I came to
apologize."

"Sure. Okay." His face stayed stony and
unforgiving.

"I understand how you must feel. I just
forgot to tell you I'd planned to ride out with Tom this morning."
It took everything she had to sound contrite and innocent, which
she was, instead of sneaky and guilty, which she also was, and she
certainly hoped he hadn't heard Tom at the window this morning,
pleading with her to help him.

"You didn't have to go."

"But I promised."

He started to say something but stopped
himself.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "Couldn't you
trust me a little?"

His expression shouted, 'No.' "Seems to me
there's an almighty lot about you that needs trusting."

"Well, I—"

"I believed you that first night, that you
came on to me because you liked me, and then I find out you were
only after me because you thought Alice was." He went on, talking
over her shocked denial. "I tried to believe there was really a
mouse in your cabin. And I believed you hadn't invited Brad into
your bed."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, after I thought about it, I did." He
kicked at a pebble. "And I did my best to believe you when you
swore you weren't interested in Tom even though you were chasing
him all over God's little acre and back. But now—you jump out of
bed with me and go off playing cowboy and God knows what else with
him."

She flinched, but cut to the chase.
"Whatever's wrong with Tom and Alice, it's not me."

After a moment of silence, he let his breath
out in a whoosh. "You don't mess around, do you, honey?"