Branded (23 page)

Bam. Bam. Bam
. Her front door rattled with the effort, and she sat up, clutched her pillow to her chest. Who was it? She hated that her first thought, her first hope, was Deacon. But that ship had sailed and she needed to just let it go, wish it well and safe passage.

She glanced at the nearly packed bags on the floor near the dresser. Maybe he could do the same for her.

“Foreman!” came a shout from outside. “We got a problem.”

Mac's heart plummeted into her belly. Not Deacon's voice. She scrambled off the bed and hurried out into the hall. Another knock sounded just before she opened the door.

“Sam?”

The ancient barn manager stood on the porch, Stetson off, wiping his brow with a blue handkerchief. He took one look at her and frowned. “You sleeping? Sun's been up for hours—”

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“It's Deacon.”

Every nerve ending, every hair on her body stood up. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“No, no,” he said, brushing off her quick panic. “It's nothing like that. He just needs to see you.”

Gripping the door tightly, Mac heaved a gigantic sigh of relief. Nothing wrong with Deacon. Not hurt. Not dead.

“Come on then,” Sam said, gesturing for her to follow him.

As her pulse started to return to normal, she shook her head. “No. I can't. Sorry.”

The cowboy gave her a wry grin. “I promised I'd bring yah, Mackenzie.”

“Bring me where?”

The wry grin widened. “Do this for me? For old times' sake?”

“Sam . . .”

“Please, Mac.”

She groaned. She didn't know what the hell was up with Sam. What he'd promised or why. But she didn't want to see Deacon. Well, she
wanted
to see him. He was all she could think about. Every minute of every day. But seeing him was going to make her heart explode with pain. Maybe even regret her choice to move to Colorado. What could he possibly want? To discuss moving cattle? What buildings he should demolish first? Well, he could just forget it. She wasn't going backward, wasn't—

“Mac,” Sam interrupted impatiently. “I'm not getting any younger out here.”

“Fine,” she said gruffly, knowing her acquiescence was probably one of the biggest mistakes of her life. “Let me go put on my boots.”

•   •   •

Deacon moved from room to room inside the nearly finished house. The living area, the kitchen, the sunporch. It was going to be a fine place with lots of wide open spaces and tons of light. Lord, he needed light.

When he'd designed the main house on his property, he hadn't been thinking of anyone, not even of himself, but now, as he walked through the framed front door and onto what would be the large wraparound porch, he was thinking of her. Only her. Would she like it? Could she feel at home here?

Would she forgive him?

In answer to his silent query, Deacon heard the crunch of gravel beneath tires and he knew that Sam was coming up the drive. His heart kicked. His gut too. Would she be riding shotgun next to the old cowboy? Or was he heading in solo, after Mackenzie had told him to get lost, that she had no interest in whatever it was Deacon was selling?

With all the dirt Sam's pickup was kicking around, Deacon couldn't see who was inside the cab. Not until the thing pulled in and stopped. It
was then that Deacon saw her. Face tight with tension, but beautiful. So beautiful. His Mackenzie. It took every ounce of self-control to not rush the hunk of metal, yank the door open and pull his woman out and into his arms, kiss her senseless. But there would be time for that later. After she forgave. No, he thought with a nervous smile. After she flipped him the bird, refused to hear what he had to say, cussed him out right good, then God willing, forgave him.

He watched as she got out and started up the dirt path toward the house, leaving Sam in the truck. Deacon gave the man a quick wave. He owed him big time. Sam just shook his head as if to say “Don't know what good this'll do, but I did my part,” then flipped the Chevy into gear and peeled off back down the drive.

Mackenzie came to stand before him, her eyes connecting with his. She didn't look nervous, just curious. But his damn heart was stalling in his lungs with every breath he took. It felt like he hadn't seen her in days. Her eyes looked bluer, her hair lighter, and her skin seemed tanner next to the pale green tank top she wore.

“What am I doing here, Deacon?” she asked.

“I need your help with something,” he said, forcing an even tone to his voice. He didn't want her to see him breaking. Hell, not yet. Not until it really mattered.

She cocked her head. “Why would you think I'd want to help you? Or have anything to do with this place?”

He moved down the steps and reached for her hand. She gave it to him tentatively, but her eyes were wary now.

“C'mere, Mackenzie,” he said gently. “I need to show you something.”

“I don't have much time, Deacon. I'm leaving for Colorado in a few hours.”

Pain seared his gut, but he didn't say anything. Just led her past the house and to the barn. Or what would someday be the barn. For now, it was just a framed-in promise. Trouble was saddled and ready near the hitching post, and when they reached her, Deacon offered her a leg up.

“We're going for a ride?” she asked, even more wary-sounding now.

“Yup.”

She sighed. “You going to show me your vast lands, Deac? All the water? Everything you can offer this town when the time comes?”

He didn't answer, just leaped up into the saddle and held a hand out to her.

She stared at it a moment, then cursed and stuck her boot in the stirrup.

When she was safely behind him, Deacon called out a quick, “Just hold on to me, Mac.” Then kicked Trouble into a gallop. For a solid five
minutes of clean air and blue skies and her hands on him again, no one said a word. Not until Deacon pulled Trouble up short just before an easy drop-off. He waited for Mac to get down first; then he followed.

“What is this?” she asked, walking right up to the edge.

He came to stand beside her, ached to slip his arm around her waist and pull her close. “It's not the Hidey Hole, exactly, but it reminds me of it. Of her. Of you.”

“Oh, Deacon,” she uttered, her voice breaking.

He took her hand and led her down the slope toward the small lakeshore. Once there, once the breeze was ruffling her hair and sun was shining on her skin, he turned to look at her. “I love you, baby.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “Not fair.”

“Mac—”

“Goddamn you, Deacon,” she said, shaking her head. “I love you, too. You know that. But it doesn't change things.”

Deacon's heart felt so full in that moment. So full he almost couldn't get the words out. But he needed to. Really needed to. “See, I thought that, too,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “Until I heard you were leaving. Until my heart and my guts and my brain all came together to understand what a complete and total fool I've been.”

“James told you?”

He nodded, and his hand tightened around hers. “Honey, you can't leave.”

“There's nothing here for me now.”

“That's not true,” he countered passionately. She had no idea. No clue. But she would. If he could just get the goddamn words out of his mouth.

“I got your offer,” she said softly. “I respectfully decline.”

“Well, that's good because I brought you here to tell you it's off the table.”

Her brows knit together. “What?”

“I don't want you as foreman.”

She gave a pained cry. “Deacon, what the hell are you doin' to me?”

He reached up and cupped her face. “Baby, stay at the Triple C if that's what you want.”

“I don't understand. You. This.” She stared at him, utterly confused, her eyes pricking with tears.

“I'm so sorry, Mac,” he said, his voice heady with pain. “For all the shit I put you through, for a cause that was never worth pursuing. I don't know if I'll ever get over what happened or my anger toward Everett, but all I want now is you in my life.”

“But Blue and your meeting . . .”

“I'm not going to call the C home, honey—that's for sure. But I'm not taking it away from all of you
who do.” He smiled at her, leaned in and kissed the tip of her sun-warmed nose. “The only thing I want, the only thing I'm fighting for here, is you.”

She stared at him, her eyes moving over his face. Did she believe him? Christ, did she forgive him? Deacon was nearly beside himself with worry, was about to repeat the whole goddamn thing, when she suddenly burst into tears and flung herself at him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and cried against his hot skin. “I love you so much, Deacon.”

Relief, pure and intense and plentiful, washed through him, and he pulled her impossibly closer. His.
Mine
.
She's mine, and I'm hers
. Forever.

Forever
.

“I love you, baby,” he said with a passion-filled growl. “I want to be here for you always. In good and bad and crazy. I want you to be my best friend for life, my partner and my wife.”

Mac stilled and her sobs receded. She drew back. Her eyes were red and tear-bright as she looked up at him. “Say that again.”

Deacon smiled. Damn, he loved this woman something fierce. “Man and wife, Mackenzie. You being a Cavanaugh for real, like you were always meant to be. And I want this to be our home. I want to make new memories in River Black. Good ones, happy ones.” His voice broke. “Loving ones.”

“Oh my God,” she cried, nodding, over and over.

Deacon brought his hands up and cupped her face again. “Marry me, Mac?”

“‘Course, Deac.” Tears sprang to her eyes again.

“Honey, don't,” Deacon soothed, pulling her back into his arms. “There's no need for tears. Not anymore. We're together. Everything's all right. Just the way it should be. The way it was meant to be.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I'm so grateful. I love you so much. I never thought . . . It's just, being here, it makes me think of Cass.”

“Sweetheart . . .”

“It's okay,” she assured him, sighing as he rubbed her back in slow, gentle strokes. “Really, it's okay. I just wish she were here. I wish she could see this. A new beginning.”

“Oh, she's here, Mac,” Deacon assured, his voice heavy with emotion, love and a newfound hope. “I know she is.”

“No wild horses on my land, hear?” Deacon announced, then waited for someone at the table to reply. It was lunchtime the following day, and three of the Cavanaugh brothers, along with the Triple C Ranch's beautiful and way-too-sexy-to-be-out-of-his-bed ranch foreman were gathered around a table at the Bull's Eye.

James grabbed his beer and took a healthy swig. “Don't look at me. I've got enough to handle with all the mustangs I have to take care of at the Triple.”

“Well, you don't
have
to take care of them,” Cole put in.

“Hell, yes, I do,” James said, looking pointedly at Mac. “And that one knew it. I've been manipulated.”

A wicked kitty-cat grin touched Mac's mouth, and Deacon wanted to lick at it, then tell her not to be giving it away to anyone besides him from now on.

“We have the land,” she said with a shrug. “And those poor horses had nowhere to go.”

Deacon found her knee under the table and ran his hand up her denim-clad thigh. “You won, darlin'. No need to keep up the altruistic pretense.”

Her grin widened and she turned it on him. “No, darlin'.
You
won.”

He laughed and squeezed her thigh. Hell, yes, he had. Mackenzie was his, forever and always. He couldn't wait to marry her, call her his wife.

“What about Blue?” she asked him, her eyes losing about fifty percent of their luster. “Have you talked to him? He won't say but two words to me these days.”

“I saw him riding out earlier,” James said. “Said he was going to check on a few fences.”

“He still wants to be gone,” Deacon said. “Away from here, from Elena.”

Mac groaned into her beer. “He doesn't know what he's doing.”

“Regardless, I'm going to honor our agreement and give him the money I promised.”

“Damn,” Cole remarked with a whistle through his teeth. “That's a nice ‘I'm sorry.'”

“Don't give it to him yet, Deacon,” Mac said, her blue eyes thoughtful, worried. “Let me talk to him first.”

“Honey, that choice has to be his. I know he's your friend—”

“He's more than that,” she insisted.

Deacon growled deep in his chest. “I just asked you to marry me, woman. Don't tell me you're sweet on someone else.” His fierce expression broke into a wide grin. “Especially a relative.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I meant to say he's family.”

Deacon shrugged. “Okay, that's better.”

“Wait—what?” Cole stammered, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You asked Mac to marry you?”

“I did.” Deacon looked at her and winked.

Mac melted and her insides purred. God, he was so gorgeous, and so sexy. How was she ever going to get out of bed in the morning if he was still in it?

“Isn't that a little sudden?” Cole asked.

“I'd say it's been in the works for years,” Deacon answered, his eyes remaining on Mac. “Wouldn't you agree, darlin'?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“So what did you say, Mac?” James asked with a straight face.

Deacon turned and tossed him a mock black stare. “Very funny, pony boy.”

“I said a very enthusiastic yes,” Mac told them all. “Then I cried and cried. But don't tell any of the cowboys. They'll never let me forget it.”

James put a hand up. “Not a word.”

“Well,” Cole said. “This calls for another round.”

“How about some champagne?”

Everyone turned to see Deacon's assistant, Sheridan, coming their way.

“Oooo, champagne!” Mac agreed. “Great idea. I wonder if they have it here.” She motioned to Sheridan. “Come sit with us. Celebrate. Your boss is getting hitched.” After Sheridan was tucked in next to her, Mac leaned in and whispered loudly, “Which will make him much easier to deal with on a day-to-day basis, I promise you.”

“Don't count on it, Sheridan,” Deacon said tautly. “But my wife-to-be can certainly try to make that happen.” He leaned in and kissed her ear suggestively.

Mac shivered and smiled. Then her eyes caught on something and held. “Hey, that woman's staring at you, Cole,” she said as Deacon's hand found her thigh again under the table. “And I'm telling you this because I'm hoping a good woman will get you to stop fighting.”

“Problem is,” James began, “he can't get a good woman looking like something that a dog threw up.”

Turning to check out the woman at the bar, Cole grinned. “Maybe she likes black eyes.”

“You mean black-and-blue eyes.”

“Shut up, J,” Cole said; then he stilled. “Wait a
minute. That's the woman from the other night. The one I saw with James at the diner. The cute, dark-haired filly. And she's coming over here.”

James's head came around so fast Mac was pretty sure he'd end up with a sore neck later.

“Excuse me,” the woman said, her pale green eyes flickering around the table nervously.

But James didn't let her get any further than that. He was up and out of his chair, his body as tense as the expression on his face. “How about we take this outside?”

The woman looked up at him—like she knew him—and shook her head. “I know you wanted to keep this between us, but things have progressed—”

James took her hand and said through tightly gritted teeth, “Please. Outside.”

It was Cole's turn to stand. “What's your problem, J? Let her go. Now.” He eyed the woman. “What's wrong, honey?”

“My name is Grace Hunter.”

“The new vet,” Mac supplied, suddenly realizing where she'd seen the woman.

Grace nodded at her, then looked at Cole. “I've just recently moved back to town.” Her eyes flickered to James. “My father was the sheriff in River Black when your sister was taken.”

The words settled over the table like a fog, and it was as if everyone stopped breathing at once.

Jaw hard, James gripped the edge of Cole's chair. “Goddammit,” he uttered.

“You knew about this?” Deacon asked him.

“She approached me,” he admitted. “I didn't want to upset anyone until I knew if there was something to be upset by.”

“What's this all about?” Cole asked the woman, his tone as cool as his expression.

Her eyes lifted to his now and remained. “He admitted something to me a few months back. My father. He's ill, and is getting progressively worse.”

“What did he admit?” Cole said with deadly caution.

“As I told your brother, my father admitted that the man, the suspect, they'd initially been looking for on Mackenzie here's tip—”

“Sweet,” Mac said so softly it was nearly a whisper.

The woman nodded. “The two other officers didn't believe he existed. But my father says he did. And that there was proof.”

“Oh, shit,” James uttered.

Deacon groaned. “No.” His hand left Mac's leg and found her hand instead. She squeezed it tightly.

This was too much. This day . . . And yet she wanted to hear more. Had to. She looked over at Cole. He looked like a man possessed. His eyes
were fighting black and he bore down on the woman in front of him. “What proof?”

“Your sister had a diary.”

Mac nodded. This time when she spoke, it was clear and impassioned. “We had the same one. She wrote in it all the time. We couldn't find it after she was taken. The police didn't believe it existed, and after a while I just assumed it was lost or—”

“It wasn't lost.” The woman looked grim. “My father has it. He's had it for the past twelve years. And according to him, it names Cass Cavanaugh's murderer.”