The Mighty Quinns: Mac. Kate Hoffmann
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an obsession with Charlie. And I’m not going to marry him. Not now. Not ever. So he can waste all the money he wants but I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Maybe he’s in love,” Mac suggested.
“And maybe he’s completely insane,” she countered.
“Why don’t you want to marry him?”
“Haven’t you been listening? He’s insane. He just won’t let go. It’s not healthy.”
“Is there another reason you don’t want to marry him? Maybe there’s someone else?”
She gasped, then fixed him with a glare that could melt steel. “That is none of your business! And if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to town gossip.”
“There’s gossip? I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. I’ve got a few minutes. Why don’t you fill me in? Can I get you something cold to drink? I’ve got a Yoo-hoo back in the fridge.”
She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to strip naked and join him in a round of “The Hokey Pokey.” “I’m sure you think you’re charming, and I’m sure that charm works on a certain element of society, but it’s not going to work on me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
“You didn’t ask me a question,” she said.
“Sure I did. I asked if there was someone else. A boyfriend or a fiancé? I could see how a stray marriage proposal might be problematic in that situation.”
She really was a beautiful woman, Mac mused. Her short dark hair curled gently around her pretty face, enhancing wide eyes and a lush mouth that had been made to be kissed. She also had thick lashes that ringed her brilliant green eyes—eyes that seemed to see right into his soul.
“Just don’t fly any more of his banners,” she warned. She spun on her heel and started for the door, but he called her name and she stopped and slowly faced him.
“You know, the fastest way to get rid of the old guy is to take up with a new guy.”
“You think I don’t know that? When you live in a small town like San Coronado, decent men are in short supply. Believe me, I’ve been looking.”
“Maybe you haven’t been looking hard enough,” Mac suggested.
She strode toward the door, but before she had a chance to pull it open, he spoke.
“You could go out with me,” Mac said. “I’m new in town, and I haven’t met many people. It would be nice to have someone show me around.” He’d issued the request more as an experiment than an actual invitation. And as an excuse to keep her in the shop just a little bit longer.
He found her quite fascinating, this stunningly beautiful girl who couldn’t seem to find a man. But now that he’d made the invitation, he wanted her to accept. “Let me get you that Yoo-hoo and we can talk over the particulars. Give me a chance to apologize for the whole banner problem.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You’re asking me out? On a date?”
“Yes,” he said.
“We just met. And I don’t think I like you.”
“’Tis one thing to be tempted,” he murmured. “Another to fall.”
“Do you really believe a little Shakespeare is going to make me swoon for you?”
“Swoon? What does that mean?”
“Look it up,” she said.
“I left my dictionary in my other toolbox,” he teased. “Do you like Shakespeare?”
“He’s only the greatest writer who ever lived.”
“So where do you come down in the authorship issue? Are you a Stratfordian or an Oxfordian?” Clearly his question had taken her by surprise. He also noticed a bit of interest in her expression. “I just finished a new book on the subject.”
“The Weight of the Words?” Emma asked. “I loved that book.”
“We should get together and discuss it,” he said.
Emma opened her mouth, then frowned, shaking her head. “Just don’t do it again,” she warned. With that, she walked out of the hangar and into the bright sunshine of the October day.
“Do what again?” Mac shouted. “Ask you out on a date? Or fly that banner?”
He strolled over to the door and stared out, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her. But she’d already hopped in her car and started to race the battered Volvo station wagon down the airstrip road, a cloud of dust trailing behind it.
J. J. Jones, Buddy’s mechanic, strolled around the corner of the hangar wall and handed an old hydraulic pump to Mac. “Was that Emma Bryant?”
“Yeah,” Mac said.
“I told you not to fly that banner,” J.J. said.
“What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Know about her?” He grabbed the pump from Mac’s hand. “We went to school together. She’s the same age as I am. Twenty-seven. She’s the town librarian. Her dad died when she was young and her mom passed away about three years ago after a long illness. Emma was devoted to her. Cared for her at home for almost four years.”
“If she’s such a saint, why do people gossip about her?” he asked.
J.J. gave him an uneasy look. “What do you mean?”
“She asked if I’d heard the gossip around town about her. What gossip?”
“Listen, I don’t like tellin’ tales. My mama said if I keep my mouth shut and my hands clean I’d go far in life. I always follow my mama’s advice.”
“Come on. If it’s something everyone around town knows, why can’t you spill?” Mac prodded. “Is she crazy? Like bunny-boiler crazy?”
J.J. shook his head. “She’s real nice. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Always very generous with her time. Everyone loves her. Everyone.”
“So she’s perfect?”
He nodded. “As close to perfect as you’re going to get,” J.J. said. “You won’t catch me saying anything bad about her.”
Mac sighed. “You think she’d go out with me?” he asked.
“I doubt you’d be her type,” J.J. said.
“She’s picky, then,” he said.
“She’s careful,” J.J. countered.
Mac frowned. What did that mean? Careful? She was a twenty-seven-year-old single woman. If she was looking for love, she’d have to take some risks to find it. “So she hangs out at the library?”
J.J. grabbed the pump. “I gotta get back to work. That pump on your plane is shot. We should probably replace both of them while we’re at it. Want me to order two?”
“No, just get me one,” Mac murmured. “And find me a decent price.”
“I will,” J.J. said.
Mac’s gaze was drawn back to the road where Emma Bryant had disappeared. This was a strange feeling, Mac mused. It wasn’t often that he found himself genuinely intrigued by a woman. His reactions to the female gender came in one of two varieties—she’s hot and I’d like to take her to bed...or, no, thank you. But this was something very different.
“Emma Bryant,” he murmured to himself as he walked back inside. Marry-Me Emma. If he took the proposal sign up again tomorrow morning, he could be assured that she’d stop by again and register her opinion.
*