Reckless Promise (25 page)

Mac stood in the middle of the room, shaking
his head as if he'd taken a hard hit to the head but hadn't fallen
yet.

Poppy watched him for a moment. Alice's lie
had been shocking enough, but the stunned reaction seemed excessive
for a would-be uncle. Presumably if he wanted children around the
ranch that badly, he could supply them himself.

A tall brown bottle stood on the dresser.
Poppy got a glass from the bathroom and poured him a drink. "Here,"
she said.

He slugged down the whiskey in a single gulp.
Poppy set the glass on the dresser and pulled him over to sit on
the bed. "Ready to talk?" she asked, sinking down beside him.

He looked at her as though she'd started
speaking Sanskrit.

"Tell me why you are so upset by Alice's
revelation," she prompted. "Were you that dedicated to being an
uncle?"

"No." His voice sounded hoarse, as though
he'd been shouting. "Believe it or not, there are some things that
I recognize as none of my business." A faint smile twisted his
mouth. "That would be one of them."

"What is it then?"

"She lied."

"Apparently. And lying is bad." Poppy knew
that better than anyone. She'd been on the receiving end of some
world class, career-destroying lies, and she'd hated every minute
of her Other Woman performance, its own kind of lie. "But Alice did
it, not you."

He rested his chin against her hair. "You
know I pretty much raised Alice. The most important thing I taught
her was not to lie. Lying is the one unforgivable sin. The one
thing that neither one of us ever did. Not ever. And now, to find
out that she—that she—"

"Mac, she's all grown up now. You can't be
responsible any longer."

"I'll always feel responsible."

If she hadn't felt his pain so strongly,
she'd have been tempted to smack him. He really didn't seem to get
that Alice was a grown up woman, one who could, and had to, deal
with her own life without his interference. "Her lie is something
she and Tom have to work out. You aren't involved."

"Don't you understand the damage a lie can
do?"

"Yes. Better than you do, perhaps."

"I doubt that." He jerked away from her to
pace the room, his mouth twisted with some strong emotion she
couldn't identify. "Lies can end the world."

So what was that all about? It would seem
that MacLean family secrets ran to the deep and dark. "I know lies
can end the world," she said. "I hate to sound like Pollyanna, but
the end of one world can mean the beginning of another. You just
have to pick up and go on." Like she was doing. Trying to do. If
Mac would unstick himself from the past, whatever that might be,
and meet her halfway.

"Ignore what she did? "

"No, of course not. But you can't blame
yourself for her actions. What you can do is be there for her when
she needs you. And for Tom."

"Be there." He stopped pacing and stared at
her. He pounded a fist into his palm, over and over.

"Yes. She's upset and hurt and...whatever.
She doesn't need you messing in her marriage, but she needs to know
you still love her."

"But a lie like that—"

Fear heaved in her stomach. "Talk about
throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Are you so rigid and
controlling that you can stop loving your sister so easily?" She
couldn't keep the selfish thought from scrolling across her mind:
did that mean he'd cast her away just as easily? "Does that mean
you don't still love her?"

"Of course I do." He didn't sound all that
certain.

"Okay." She let out an exasperated breath.
"Dancing around emotional problems must be a MacLean family trait
and I think I've seen enough of it. Let's get to the bottom of
this. We both agree that lying is bad. And Alice told a terrible
lie. But she told it to Tom. To her husband, not her brother. And
he seems willing to forgive her. You're acting as though your only
sister just turned into a monster. Why?"

He rubbed a hand across his face. "I guess
you could say there's a family history of lying, and the results
were not good. Our mother said she loved us, a lie from the get-go.
She left with another man. Our father—well, there wasn't anything
he didn't lie about. And I was married once," he said. "Her lies
were...unforgivable. That's three for three."

She waited, but he didn't say more. "So is
Alice's lie unforgivable?"

"No. I guess not. I'm surprised. Madder than
hell." He shrugged. "I'll live with it."

The shock cleared from his eyes and the
familiar hawk-like expression returned, to her relief. He didn't
actually smile, but the twist of his mouth would do for now. She'd
get some dinner in him, and take him home with her, and he'd feel
better in the morning. And not a minute too soon. "So. Alice is
taken care of. What are the chances of some dinner?"

"We'll get something from the kitchen.
Dinner's probably over by now."

"Oh." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "The
guests. I forgot all about the guests."

"Most of them know how to eat by themselves."
His expression lightened and she saw his shoulders relax. "Anyway,"
he continued, "Chickie and Moses came back. I imagine they heard
all the shouting and took over in the dining room."

"What about the evening walk? I can't believe
Alice will be up to that tonight."

"Moses will do it." Mac opened the door and
ushered her out into the hall. "You're good to be concerned. I
think you've got the makings of a good ranch mommy, just like
Alice." He looked stricken at his choice of words, shrugged, and
walked down the hall.

She'd never imagined mothering a ranch.
Hmm.

"Well, it's about time." Chickie pulled bowls
of stew out of the oven. "Sit. I kept some dinner warm. I could
hear Alice yellin' clear down here, but Moses shut the door to the
dining room and said the guests didn't hear anything. I've been
just about comin' out of my skin worryin'."

Mac patted her shoulder. "Don't know what to
tell you. They're talking. Outside of that, I don't know."

"'Bout time." Chickie set the bowls on the
table. "I said sit."

Obediently, Poppy sank into a chair beside
Mac. Chickie's uncharacteristic terseness and irritability spoke to
the depth of her concern. Poppy had expected a flood of comment.
Instead, Chickie pressed her lips together and set salads in front
of them without a word.

Mac looked at the offerings as though he'd
never seen food before. Poppy jogged him with her elbow. "Eat," she
said, and picked up her fork. She wasn't exactly in the mood for
food herself, but dinner seemed like such a normal thing to do, and
she craved normality right now.

The oppressive silence that filled the
kitchen lasted until Moses came in. "I'm takin' the sunset walk out
now." He looked questioningly at Mac.

Mac only nodded.

Moses paused in the doorway. "Things goin' to
be okay?"

Mac looked up and shrugged. "Hope so."

He looked so desolate that Poppy felt her
heart turn over. She put a hand on his arm but couldn't think of
anything to say. Words would only offer false comfort.

"Be back in an hour," Moses said. He stopped
to gather Chickie into a careful bear hug before he left. She
watched him go with a besotted grin on her face that made Poppy
smile.

"He treats you like a piece of porcelain,"
she said.

"Silly bear," Chickie groused, but the grin
didn't fade. It got bigger, if anything. "He acts like I'm goin' to
break if he raises his voice. Ought to know better, the old fool.
Just 'cuz I'm havin' a baby—" She darted a glance at Poppy. "Seems
like that upset Alice some?"

"Don't worry about it," Mac told her. "She
has some problems there, but it's not your fault. She'll have to
deal with them herself. You are not to feel guilty about this
happiness. That's an order," he added with a smile. A little weak
but real, Poppy observed with relief. And his voice held nothing
but reassurance.

"Hmmph." Chickie turned away to cut two big
pieces of apple pie but not in time to hide the tears in her
eyes.

While her back was turned, Mac leaned over
and kissed Poppy, a possessive brush of mouths. "Everything's going
to be okay," he said. "For all of us."

She needed to believe that. He probably
needed to believe it even more. "Of course it is."

"You bet it is," Chickie said, setting pie
and coffee in front of them. "And I'm goin' to be real relieved
when things are back to normal around here."

Mac laughed. "Things aren't ever going to be
the way they used to be. We have to think about how you're going to
cook with a rug rat underfoot. Four on the floor used to mean cars
or dogs around here. It's going to be different—you are going to
stay?" He looked suddenly anxious.

"If you'll have us. Moses 'n me talked it
over, and we'd like nothin' better than to raise a kid here at the
ranch." Now Chickie's brow wrinkled in an anxious frown. "We was
gonna ask you about it as soon as everyone got together."

"We'll have you." Mac stood and put an arm
around Chickie's shoulders. "You know that at least half of our
success is due to your cooking. No way are we letting you and Moses
get away."

Poppy wondered at his suddenly thoughtful
expression.

He picked up his coffee mug. "Come on, honey.
We'd best be on hand in the lounge when Moses gets back. Can't have
our guests feeling neglected." He took her hand and led her out
into the hall.

Did he even realize he treated her as though
she belonged? One corner of her mind kept asking questions like
'What about your career?' 'What about the mess you left in Boston?'
'What would you do on the ranch if he asked you to stay?' She
didn't care about the answers when his hand wrapped around hers,
warm and comfortable and exciting, but when her mind came up for
air, the thoughts crept in.

She sank down on a couch and watched him
build up the fire. "You did a lot of deep thinking back there in
the kitchen."

He brushed his hands together and sat next to
her. "Just an idea. If things ever simmer down, I'll run it past
Tom and Alice. If there is a Tom and Alice after tonight."

He looked so bleak that she hugged him. "Run
what past them?"

"It occurred to me that we could give Moses
and Chickie a share in the ranch. Be a good way to ensure a
permanent cook and the best wrangler in the business."

He didn't fool her. She'd seen his expression
when Chickie had asked about staying on the ranch, her worry about
the future as obvious as wings on a horse. "Not to mention doing a
wonderful thing for Moses and Chickie at a time when they really
need it. Have I told you that I think you're a nice person?"

"Not lately. Why don't you show me?"

She expected to see the familiar glint in his
eye. Instead she caught a flash of uncertainty and vulnerability
that undid her. She put her arms around him and pulled him close.
"It's going to be all right," she said, and held him until the
embrace turned into something more than simple comfort.

She didn't hear the car until Mac said,
"Damn. Sounds like new guests. I didn't know we were expecting
anyone." He rose and poked at the fire before he went to the
door.

Somehow he had gotten most of the snaps on
her shirt undone in the few minutes they'd been alone. She stood
and fumbled to fasten them. Mac's voice came to her clearly, the
sounds of him greeting the new guests, leading them down the hall
and into the Great Room. She gave up fussing with her shirt and
went to stand by the fireplace, coffee cup in hand, trying to look
casual.

"And this is the place where just about all
of the indoor activities take place," Mac said, stepping aside so
that the couple behind him could enter.

Poppy looked up with a polite smile. Her
stomach dissolved in panic and her ears rang.

Mac would never believe her this time.

Bill and Millicent. Jase's friends. Her
practice client and his overly dramatic wife—the one who had
followed her home and convinced her that playing the other woman
was not just a bad idea but actively dangerous.

Bill, who hadn't told her about his wife's
propensity for over-the-top anger. The last time Poppy had seen
Bill, she'd been pretending to flirt with him in a bar. Pretending
to flirt, and being even more stupid than usual, because after he'd
heard about Tom, he'd wanted to know all about the ranch, and she'd
just gone ahead and told him everything, including its name and
location. She'd had to talk about something, for Heaven's sake, and
Bill wasn't the Goldilocks-and-the-Three-Bears type.

And Millicent, who had followed her home to
say that she wouldn't let Bill break up a happy home for some cheap
redhead. At the top of her considerable voice and with
all-too-believable overtones of violence.

Poppy had been numb with shock, cowering in
her own front hall, scarcely able to believe the woman’s purple,
hate-swollen face and the threats and curses that had poured from
her mouth.

And Poppy had no reason to believe tonight
would be any better. Millicent surely would recognize her, and say
terrible things about her, and Mac would believe every damning
word. If he loved her at all, this confrontation would kill his
feelings.

"Millicent, Bill," Mac said smoothly. "This
is Poppy."

Too late to run or hide. All she could do now
was try to brazen it out, to hope Millicent wouldn't recognize her.
Poppy tried to smile. "Hello," she said over the choking thunder of
her heart.

Of course Millicent recognized her. She
stopped dead. Her nostrils flared, her bosom swelled to alarming
proportions. Her face purpled to the same shade of puce that it had
been when she'd slammed Poppy's front door hard enough to knock a
picture off the wall.

Poppy backed up until the rough stone of the
fireplace stopped her.