Keep On Loving you (2 page)

Then she hurried off the dance floor, keeping a lookout for a dark-haired, hazel-eyed ten-year-gone guy. But when she didn't see him, she began to wonder about her sanity. Perhaps the night before she'd stayed up too late boxing the chocolates that were going to the guests as party favors. Maybe she needed to gulp down a large cup of hot coffee and get her wits back in place.

“There you are!” Her sisters, Poppy and Shay, approached, their long skirts swishing about their legs. They wore gowns identical to Mac's, only different in color. Poppy's was pink, while Shay's was a subtle peach.

“Nice catch,” Poppy said, nodding to the bouquet.

Mac rolled her eyes. “You saw what happened. It hit me in the head.”

“Maybe you'll be better prepared when I throw mine at my reception in two weeks,” Shay said.

“No,” Mac groaned the word. “Not you, too?”

“London is insisting.”

“I'll hide out in the bathroom, then,” Mac said. “Promise you'll give me the high sign?”

“Absolutely,” her youngest sister said.

Mac narrowed her gaze. “You're a terrible liar.”

“I'm not even going to pretend I won't make you be in the gaggle of bachelorettes when it's my turn,” Poppy put in. “But, anyway, did you see—”

“I did.” Mac's heart jumped, then started to race. “I thought maybe I imagined it, but if you saw Zan, too...” She broke off at the puzzlement on her sister's face.

“Zan?” Poppy said. “I was going to ask if you'd seen Mason dancing with the little McDonald girl.”

“Um, no, I didn't,” Mac mumbled, feeling stupid. “Never mind—”

“Zan is here?” Shay asked. “Zan Elliott?”

“I don't know. Probably not. It was just a glimpse,” Mac said.

Her two sisters exchanged glances. “How much have you had to drink?” Poppy asked.

No way would Mac mention the two tequila shots. “Never mind. I'm sure I was mistaken.”

Her sisters looked at each other again. “Oh, Mac,” Poppy said in a concerned voice.

Mac winced. Poppy had the gooiest heart of any of the Walkers, and right now she was clearly oozing pity for her poor, unattached sister who had delusions about the return of her very first boyfriend, her very first love. “It's nothing,” she told her sister in a firm voice. “Like I said, a mistake.”

“But—”

“Look, they're about to cut the cake.” Mac pointed toward the other end of the room. “We'd better get over there.”

Thankfully, that distracted her sisters, and Mac followed slowly in their wake. Could she really have mistaken some stranger for Zan?

In her mind's eye, she saw him as he'd looked his second-to-last day in the mountains. She'd been eighteen, he'd just turned twenty-one, and they'd been a couple for two years. That afternoon they'd taken his boat to a secluded cove, where they'd spread a blanket and a picnic. Her intention had been to tough it out and not allow her belly-hollowing longing for him and her aching sadness at his imminent departure to ruin those final warm, sunny hours.

They'd made love for the last time, the wide shoulders of his rangy body blocking the sun so that she couldn't read the expression in his hazel eyes as he'd entered her. But her legs had wound around his hips, tight, like two vines that could bind him to her forever.

He'd cupped her face in his hands. One hot tear had leaked from her eye and he'd brushed it away with his thumb, the stroke slow and tender. “Mackenzie Walker,” he'd whispered. Just that, as if memorizing her name.

Maybe he no longer even remembered it. Maybe he'd never thought of that girl again, who'd given him her body and who'd wanted to give him everything else: her heart, her soul, her whole life.

She grimaced, thinking of that green and unguarded young woman. Likely Zan had headed down the mountains and never thought of her again.

Except that didn't explain the postcards that had come to her regularly over the past decade. On their fronts were photos of places like Oslo and Algiers and Singapore. On the other side, a single-letter message, three bold strokes that made up the letter
Z
.

No other thought. No return address. Just a pointed reminder of the young man who'd left her behind.

Mac was older now, but maybe no wiser if she truly thought for even a second that Zan might return to the place he'd always sworn to leave.

Standing near the table at the far end of the room, she watched Angelica and Brett feed each other bites of cake with the tidiest of manners. When her brother brushed an errant crumb from his bride's bottom lip, a hot press of tears burned at the back of Mac's eyes, which she ruthlessly held back.

God, how was she going to make it through two more of these darn events?

Poppy was the family crier, but Mac was on perilous ground herself and thanked God she was recruited to pass out slices of cake. A diversion was necessary. Moving among the guests wasn't as much of a reprieve as she'd hoped, however. It was easy to agree about the bride's beaming smile and the groom's clear dedication to his new wife. But other comments weren't so simple to smile through.

When will we see you married, Mac?

Why hasn't some man finally put a wedding band on your finger?

Whatever happened to that boy of yours...that Zan Elliott?

At this last, she stopped short, staring down at tiny Carmen Lind, who had to be closing in on ninety and wore her silver hair braided in a crown on top of her head. “What made you think of him, Mrs. Lind?” Mac asked, through a suddenly tight throat.

The little lady dug into her cake with relish. “Who, dear?”

“You mentioned Zan.”

“Who?”

Mac smiled a little. “Zan Elliott. You just brought up his name.”

“Oh, yes. Such a good-looking young man. But he got into a lot of trouble, I recall. Those bad boys always catch a girl's eye, don't they?”

At nine years old, Mac's big brother had brought Zan around one day, and she'd tagged after the two boys until Brett knocked her down into a pile of pine needles. Already she'd been too stubborn to cry or complain. Instead, she'd thrown a pinecone at Brett in retaliation and her bad aim meant it nailed Zan in the butt. He'd whirled, laughter glittering in his eyes, then leaped on her to “shampoo” her hair with a handful of dusty needles.

Red-faced and sneezing, she'd handed her heart over to him.

It had been that fast. That simple.

Mrs. Lind glanced around, her fork in midair. “You know, I thought I saw him a few minutes ago. Did he come to congratulate your brother?”

Brett. Mac whipped her head around, searching out the groom. If Zan
had
returned, surely he would have spoken with Brett.

It wasn't easy getting a quiet moment with the groom, though. The reception was wrapping up and it seemed that each guest needed to pause on their way out the door for a short word with the new couple. She hung in their periphery, intent upon swooping in as soon as her brother was free.

Finally, the only people left in Mr. Frank's were the bridal party and the bartender. While her sisters went to a back room to help Angelica out of her gown and into something warmer for the ride home, Mac snagged her brother by the sleeve.

“Hey, I've got to ask you something.”

“Me first,” Brett said. “I'm going to drive the car around. In about five minutes, when you hear me honk the horn, bring my bride outside, okay?”

“Okay. But—”

“No time, Mac. I want this to go perfectly.” Then he strode away.

Vexed, Mac huffed out a sigh. But then Angelica came back into the main room, still managing to look bridal in a pair of leggings and an off-white winter coat, the hood lined in pale pink fleece. Her cheeks matched the color and her obvious happiness couldn't help but spill over on everyone within ten feet.

Mac exchanged smiles with her sisters. “Lucky brother,” she said, then hooked her arm in Angelica's. “Lucky us to get such a wonderful new sister.”

Tears swam in the bride's eyes.

“None of that now,” Mac admonished. “I'm determined to keep my composure.”

Poppy's fiancé, Ryan, had already handed Poppy his handkerchief. Shay was digging through her man Jace's suit pocket for his.

“C'mon, guys,” Mac scolded. “This is a celebration.” Then she heard the sound of a car horn. “That's our cue.”

Angelica didn't resist as Mac pulled her toward the front door. When Mac threw it open, they stood in the doorway, silenced by the sight in front of them.

A sturdy SUV stood angled at the curb, a vehicle made for the mountains with its heavy-duty snow tires. But instead of being the usual black or silver or white, the paint job was a profusion of flowers in pink and green and yellow and blue.

Jace cleared his throat. “Check out the license plate.”

Mac redirected her attention. Seven letters spelled out
WLKRWIF
.

“Walker wife,” Angelica whispered, then hiccuped a sob.

“Oh, jeez,” Mac said, even though her heart was being squeezed like a sponge. “You've turned sappy, bro.”

But Brett only grinned as he pulled his bride into his arms. “You're a real mountain girl now,” he told her.

“I'm your mountain wife,” Angelica said, pressing her cheek to his chest. She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh. “You know what I need.”

“I do.” He kissed the top of her hair. “And I'll always do my very best to give it to you.”

Angelica looked back at the car, smiled. “What made you think of spring on four wheels?”

“Because you're every season of my heart.”

On the brink of losing control of her own sentiments, Mac walked away, pushing past Shay and Jace and Poppy and Ryan, both couples moved by the moment into their own hugs and kisses. The closeness of the pairs was cutting her to the bone and another moment witnessing their happiness might have her bawling like a baby.
Single. Alone.

Who would have thought Brett had such a grand gesture in him? The SUV symbolized that Angelica had carved her place as a Walker in their mountains. But he'd made it all her own by painting it to please his bride's very feminine side.

“Mom always said,” she murmured to the empty room, as she went in to collect her belongings, “there's something irresistible and utterly grand about a grand gesture.”

Reaching her place at the long table where the bridal party had sat, she snatched up her coat from the back of the chair and tucked her tiny evening purse in the outside pocket. Then she looked at the bouquet. Maybe she'd leave it there.

But that might hurt Angelica's feelings. So she scooped it up and brought the cool petals of the roses to her nose. As she drew in their sweet fragrance, her gaze landed on the cocktail napkin that had been tucked beneath them.

Emotions bombarded her. Elation. Anticipation. Thrill. Then the lessons learned through heartache had her locking down on those feelings. The older and wiser Mac was no longer the naive girl who'd been left behind. Experience had taught her to protect herself by curbing flights of fancy and avoiding bouts of what-could-have-been.

Still, that didn't stop her from dropping her hand to the soft paper surface, where she ran a fingertip over the three distinctive ink slashes that etched a single letter.

Z.

CHAPTER TWO

Z
AN
E
LLIOTT
PUSHED
open the door of Oscar's Coffee, situated smack-dab in the middle of the village of Blue Arrow Lake. Already chilled by the short walk from his car, the inside heat hit him like a slap, and a shudder racked his body. He clutched the jamb as the world tilted for a moment. When it righted again, he shrugged off the brief disorientation.

A caffeine deficit, most likely. Or it could be that the altitude was getting to him. Though he'd traveled to higher elevations in the past ten years, it had been that long since he'd visited these particular mountains.

He was surprised by how...not odd it was to be back.

That befuddled him, too. He'd never considered the environs of Blue Arrow Lake truly home—that had been the beach house where he'd lived with his parents and siblings until he was nine—yet coming back four days ago he'd experienced an unexpected settling of his restless soul.

It should worry him a little, he thought, as he stepped up to the register and gave the order for his drink. Christ, did it mean he was getting old?

Then he moved toward the pickup counter, his gaze landing on the man standing directly in front of him—and suddenly he was a boy again.

Aware of the grin stretching his mouth, he clapped his hand on Brett Walker's shoulder. “So you're a husband now. It boggles the mind.”

Brett turned, and his familiar gray eyes widened, then narrowed. “Zan.”

“In the flesh.” He rocked back on his heels, studying his old friend. While he'd seen Brett at a distance when he'd crashed the wedding reception, he hadn't been near enough to completely register the changes the years had wrought. The other man's hair was shorter now, and scars slashed his eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose. He'd probably gained thirty pounds of pure muscle. “I'm not sure I'd beat you at arm wrestling like I used to.”

“That's revisionist memory, pal,” Brett said, then turned back when the barista called his name. Swiping up his drink, he didn't give Zan a second glance before strolling around a corner to the seating area.

“Well,” Zan said to the empty space around him, “thanks for the effusive welcome. It's great to see you again, too.” Not sure if he should be amused or affronted, Zan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Apparently Brett wasn't interested in hashing over old times.

Not that Zan mulled over them very often himself. He wasn't a person who liked to look back, and it didn't take a genius to understand it stemmed from the family tragedy he wanted to forget. Still, he'd had many good times with Brett. He'd been living with his grandfather just a few weeks when after school one day the towheaded oldest Walker had casually asked him, “You fish?”

Zan had lied, of course, and said yes. Little time passed before they were fishing buddies, and biking buddies, and, later, chasing-after-girls buddies. Nearly inseparable, though their temperaments were not completely aligned. When Zan had proposed trouble, Brett had counseled caution. Zan ran red lights, Brett took note of stale yellows. During the execution of Zan's wildest pranks, Brett had participated only as lookout.

But they'd both had a dogged determination, so when his own tall Americano was ready, he took the same path as his old friend. He really wanted to have a conversation with the other man. What was the story about his wife and marriage? How were the rest of the Walkers faring?

Sue him, but he was curious about what Poppy and Shay had been up to during the past ten years.

Not to mention their older sister.

Turning the corner into the seating area, he caught sight of Brett in the far corner at one of the brightly painted picnic tables set on the scarred cement floor. Across from him sat dark-haired, blue-eyed Mackenzie Walker.

Zan's world spun again as a thousand memories assaulted him.

Cheeky little-girl Mac, with her gamine grin and her resolve to do anything and everything along with her big brother and his best friend. Like Brett, he'd ignored her, teased her and even went to great lengths to ditch her until her pouting lower lip would melt his will.

Coltish preteen Mac, all skinny arms and legs and big eyes that followed his every movement. She'd had dark mutterings about every high school girl who caught his and Brett's attention freshman year.

Then she'd been in high school, too, and other boys were fixating on
her
. For a time, he'd fooled himself that his own interest in Mac was merely brotherly—and that the eye daggers he threw at the guys who hit on her were because he only had her best interests at heart. Then one summer afternoon, a playful wrestling match rocked his world when he flipped her to her back and found himself hovering over her, his hips between her spread legs.

This is Mac
, he'd tried telling himself. Mac, who in winter had a habit of shoving snow down the back collar of his jacket. Mac, who'd once pretended to have a leg cramp while swimming in the lake so he'd jump in to save her—wearing his favorite leather boots. Mac, who'd hidden his car keys when he was sixteen so he was late to pick up Hot Body Harmonie Ross the night he was her date to her senior prom.

Mac
, he'd thought, as he'd lowered his head and kissed her.

She'd tasted like cinnamon candy and paradise. Sweet, burning heaven.

He and Brett had gone a round or two about the change in circumstances until Mac herself waded in and made clear—with a fist to her big brother's gut—that being with Zan was
her
choice. And no one was fiercer about getting what she wanted than Mackenzie Marie Walker.

They'd been together as a couple for two years while he finished up his college degree. After fulfilling that promise to his grandfather, he'd left town, hell-bent on quenching his wanderlust.

A decade had passed since he'd held her in his arms...until the night of the wedding reception. Impulse had directed him to slip behind her and pull her against him. He'd breathed in her scent and enjoyed the slight weight of her against the frame of his bigger body.

But he'd resisted allowing her to look at him then.

And now, as if she sensed his presence and his thoughts, her head shifted slightly and her gaze left her brother's face for his.

He went dizzy and for a moment she wavered in his line of sight like a mirage.

When his vision cleared, his pulse was going too fast and there was a clammy sweat on the back of his neck. He hauled in a steadying breath and reminded himself that this beautiful woman was the same old Mac of his youth.

At the wedding, she'd naturally looked different in her bridesmaid getup and her hair in a fancy twist. But he hadn't taken the opportunity to notice other changes. Now they were all he could see.

Without thinking, he walked slowly toward her, drawn to the fine-boned elegance of a face that, in the past decade, had lost all remnants of childhood. Her cheekbones were etched, her nose straight and small, her lashes and her mouth lush. Her blue eyes, he saw, were the icy shade of water beneath the thin frozen surface of a mountain lake.

And he didn't remember them ever looking so cold.

Brett must have noticed his sister's switch in attention, because he glanced over his shoulder as Zan approached their table. When Zan put his cup on the table, the other man didn't say anything, but he did slide along the bench to allow Zan space beside him.

The movement was begrudging and Mac's stare still so very chilly.

“Is this any way to greet the guy who knows your deepest, darkest secret?” he joked, settling into place.

When they didn't answer, he tried out a smile. “The hollowed-out log near the cabins? The secret compartment to keep hidden treasures?”

Brett's mouth twitched. “God, what must be in there? Mac, didn't you stash that unicorn Beanie Baby in the hole, sure it would be worth a mint in a few years?”

She made a face.

Brett pointed at Zan. “And it's where you hid your Molotov-cocktail supplies, so they'd escape your grandfather's detection.” His expression turned serious. “Hey, about that. Condolences on his passing.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Zan stared into his cup of dark brew. “And the same to you for the loss of your mother.” Though Dell Walker had passed about two years before Zan left, his wife hadn't died until after Zan had been gone from the mountains. It was the Walker parents who had provided the warm influence an orphan needed in the earliest years, though to be fair, his grandfather had never complained about the kid foisted on him late in life.

When he'd left the mountains he hadn't parted harshly from the elderly man, but they'd kept in touch only on a semiregular basis. While they'd actually met up a few times, twice in London, and then in Prague and Lisbon as well, Zan hadn't been at his side when he'd died.

Nor had he returned directly upon the man's passing, when he might have managed to stop his cousin from running amok. “You heard about Vaughn?”

Brett flicked a glance at his sister. “Actually, my wife and I were involved in his capture.”

His attorney had shared that the old man's will had left a lot of furniture and memorabilia to the Mountain Historical Society, which had auctioned off the items in a very successful fund-raising effort. But Vaughn Elliott, bitter that he hadn't been named in the document, had taken it upon himself to recoup the “lost” objects by stealing them from the winning bidders.

Zan frowned, thinking that over. “God, I'm sorry. Grandfather left his entire estate to me, and Vaughn didn't take it well.” He cleared his throat. “I hope you won't be offended that I've retained good defense counsel for him.”

“Out of your own pocket, I suppose,” Brett said.

“It appears Vaughn ran through his own monies a few years back.”

His old friend shrugged. “I understand. Angelica and I weren't injured in the incident... As a matter of fact, you could say it brought us together.”

“Your Angelica?”

“That's right,” Brett said, his mouth curving in a satisfied smile. “Angelica Walker.”

Zan glanced over at the silent Mac. “What about you? Husband?” At that wedding reception, had he cuddled close to a married person? The nights since, had he been spinning little fantasies—and he had, no point in pretending otherwise—about some other man's woman? His stomach churned at the thought and a chill rolled over him. He pushed his coffee away, no longer interested in it. “Well?”

Mac held up both bare hands, clearly showing she wore no rings, wedding or otherwise.

His world tilted again... Christ, was that really
relief
? Before he could convince himself otherwise, Brett had his own question. “So, back in town, huh?”

“Yeah. And I'd sure like to spend a little time with my favorite mountain family. Not to mention meet your wife.” He glanced over at Mac. “I confess I crashed your wedding reception for a few minutes.”

“What? You should have spoken to me.”

“I didn't want to draw attention to myself on someone else's special day. But I'm surprised Mac didn't mention it to you. We, uh, had a moment.”

Brett's brows rose. “I'm surprised she didn't mention it to me, either.”

“I forgot all about it,” the woman said. “I was there with Kent Valdez, remember? He occupied my thoughts.”

“Kent Valdez?” Zan could remember the guy. “Wasn't he president of the Future Pig Farmers of America or something in high school?”

Color washed up Mac's beautiful face, and for the first time her blue eyes looked heated. “Are you really going there?”

Zan felt woozy again, but that didn't stop him from running his mouth. “C'mon. He was a head shorter than you and harassed all of us as the self-appointed hall monitor.”

Mac glared. “The only one who is small right now is you.”

Had they ever argued when they were together? Maybe she was mad about that little surprise move he'd made on her at the wedding. “Take it easy,” he muttered. Why was his head pounding so?

Mac's spine straightened. “Take it easy? Pl—”

“Maybe we should save this for another day,” Brett put in hastily.

“I don't know why.” Zan pressed his fingers to his temple. “I'm only trying to catch up with old friends, for God's sake.”

“That's why you're back, to catch up?” Mac asked.

Her image was wavering again. “I'm here to manage some details of Grandfather's estate. It should take a week or two. Then I'll be gone again.”

“Of course you will.”

There was subtext to the four words that couldn't penetrate the throbbing in his head. His skin flashed hot then cold and the roots of his hair began to hurt. He rose to his feet, one hand on the tabletop to keep him steady.

“Zan?” Brett questioned. “Are you all right? You don't look so good.”

He didn't feel so good, either. “Uh...” The room was revolving around him.

“Do you need—”

“Just some fresh air,” he said, trying to shake off the dizziness. “I'll see you later.”

Then he began to walk away, all the pleasure he'd felt in seeing the Walkers again tarnished, but he couldn't figure out why.

He glanced back at Mac. She was watching him leave, but the expression on her lovely face didn't exactly shout warm welcome, that was sure.

They said a person could never go home again... Apparently he couldn't even go back to the place that had been the next best thing.

Or to the girl who had once been the first in his heart.

* * *

O
NE
MOMENT
M
AC
was watching Zan thread his way through the tables toward the exit and the next she found herself on her feet.

“What are you doing?” her brother asked.