A Christmas Cowboy. Suzannah Davis
Читать онлайн книгу.
glint in his green eyes the product of something else? Something as elemental as the arc of electricity that had passed through them both at her innocent touch. Thoroughly rattled, Marisa twisted her hand free and stepped back in haste.
“No. Of course. That is—” Realizing she was babbling, she shoved her disheveled hair from her face and drew a deep breath. “No, I won’t. You should put ice on it. Or maybe a hot pack? There’s bound to be some liniment...”
Their contact broken, Mac was once again his usual mocking self. Half-smiling, he gave an easy shrug, as if that disturbing moment had been only in Marisa’s imagination. “Relax, princess. I’ve had worse.”
“Oh. Yeah, right.”
A shiver ran down Marisa’s spine at his casual acceptance of the dangers inherent in his work. Over the years, it had been hard for her to miss Mac’s news reports from hot spots all over the globe. Not that she’d been looking for him on purpose, of course. It was just that any time there was a political crisis, a natural disaster or another injustice to be revealed to the world, the viewing public could count on Mac Mahoney reporting from the thick of things. In his dedication and passionate pursuit of truth, Mac had never let a little thing like personal safety stand in the way of a good story.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Mac’s voice was gruff as he turned back to the stove. “Coffee will be ready in a minute.”
“Yes. Uh, thanks.” Weakly, Marisa took the stool next to Nicky’s and gave the boy a good-morning hug. Thankfully the lad hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary about his mother’s reaction to their visitor. “How’re you doing, partner?”
“Call me Tex today, Mommy.”
“All right, Tex. Was your bedroll comfortable last night?”
“Yup.” Nicky grinned, his face shining with impish pleasure at the imaginary role. “Me and Mac got up with the roosters. Didn’t we, Mac?”
Mac grunted something unintelligible.
“That’s Mr. Mahoney, Tex,” she corrected.
“Leave it,” Mac ordered. “We don’t need that kind of formality. Right, Tex?”
“Right, Mac!”
Marisa would have argued, but then Mac shoved a mug of black-as-sin coffee at her, automatically pushing the sugar and dry creamer in her direction. “Thanks.” Marisa swallowed hard around a sudden thickness in her throat.
After all this time, he still remembered how she liked her morning coffee. A little thing, but the realization touched some chord deep inside her, softening her wariness and hostility— Marisa reined in this new feeling with a firm hand. This was treacherous territory. She couldn’t afford to let down her guard, not with Nicky’s future at stake!
And what had Nicky meant about a “new daddy”? Had her little boy been pining for a male role model without her even being aware of it? she wondered guiltily. Being a single parent wasn’t easy, but she’d done her best since Victor’s death. However, for Nicky misguidedly to settle his affections on a cynical, hard-nosed reporter who was intent on ruining their lives would be pure disaster! Yes, the sooner Mac Mahoney was on his way and out of her life again, the better.
Stirring her coffee, she flicked Mac a brief glance. His bronze nipples pebbled in the cool air, winking from a light thatching of brown hair that tapered down the corrugated muscles of a belly just as flat and hard at thirty-seven as it had been a decade earlier. Swallowing, she dragged her gaze away. “Ah, I suppose you’ll want to make an early start....”
One dark eyebrow lifted, and the edges of his hard mouth curved upward in a pitying smile. “Never give up, do you, princess?”
Her chin tilted in preparation for battle. “I thought I’d made myself clear—”
“So has the weatherman.” Mac tapped an index finger on the small, battery-operated weather-band radio sitting on the counter. “Good thing Paul keeps his pantries well stocked. Time to batten down the hatches.”
Marisa’s fingers clenched around the handle of the mug. “Wh-what does that mean?”
“Travelers warnings are everywhere, all roads are closed and nothing’s moving in or out of these mountains. They say we’ve got three or four more days of this at least. Might let up by Christmas Eve, earliest.”
“A white Christmas? Oh, boy!” Nicky crowed. “I never had snow for Christmas before! Is the chimney big enough for Santa? I better go look!”
He scrambled off the stool and raced into the den. Dismayed, Marisa stared after him. Trapped up here with Mac Mahoney, forced to endure his accusations, his cross-examinations and her own wayward responses every time he came too near—for Christmas? It was too much to contemplate! Fuming, she glared at him. “I’m not staying here with you. If you won’t leave, I will!”
“Don’t be a fool, Marisa. The roads are treacherous. You wouldn’t get ten feet.”
She knew she was being unreasonable, fighting the inevitable, but her mouth was mulish. “I might. And at least I wouldn’t have to endure your odious company!”
“You can’t fool me. You might risk your own neck—and I’d be happy to let you, believe me—but you’d never risk the kid’s.”
Her shoulders slumped. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The smugness of his expression made her long to smack it off his face. But violence wasn’t the answer, so to restrain the impulse she lifted her mug to take a fortifying sip. The bitterness of the double-strength brew made her choke.
“Too strong?” Mac asked mildly.
Marisa climbed off the stool and emptied her mug in the sink. She followed with the entire pot of coffee. “Everything about you comes on too strong.”
“Yeah, too bad you’re stuck with me, huh?”
She bit her lip, frustration and helplessness choking her.
All right, she thought, she had to accept the situation, uncomfortable as it made her—but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Nor did it mean she had to give Mac any answers just because circumstances forced them together. She had better sense than to let outdated emotions cloud the fact that his actions had made him her enemy now. There were larger issues at stake—keeping warm and fed on top of the list.
Yes, that was the ticket. Stay cool but civil, wait out the storm and make certain she gave Mac Mahoney nothing that he could use in his damned story! He’d eventually get bored and move on to seek other prey.
“Since you barged in without an invitation, you’ll have to earn your keep, Mahoney. Get dressed, for God’s sake. We need more wood inside, buckets of snow to melt for washing and flushing. I won’t have any freeloaders, is that clear?”
“I can do my part.” He raised his eyebrows. “You intend to feed me breakfast before I brave the storm?”
Belligerence gave her voice an edge. “What do you want?”
Mac bared his teeth—a peculiar, predatory smile that made the hair on the back of Marisa’s neck stand up. “Porridge?”
* * *
He got oatmeal. A bowl of oatmeal sporting a happy face made with a jelly smile and two raisins for eyes. Nicky, dressed in corduroys, sweater and six-guns, had insisted. “You’re bigger than me. You must get hungrier.”
The boy’s bright blue eyes looked so expectant, Mac didn’t have the heart to tell him that he despised oatmeal, no matter how artfully it was decorated. Grimly, Mac pushed back the cuffs of his plaid flannel shirt and picked up his spoon. It couldn’t be any worse than Bedouin goat-milk couscous.
Marisa, her face freshly scrubbed and hair pulled back in a ponytail, but still wearing the slacks and sweater