Hard as Stone (Passion in Paradise: The Men of the McKinnnon Sisters) (46 page)

Exchanging an
uneasy look with Faith, Patience shrugged.  “Waste not, want not, isn’t that
what you always say, sis?  I can add a little whiskey to it, if you like,” she
said with a wink.  “That’d give it some flavor.”

Holding the cup
against her chest, Honor shook her head.  “It’s fine the way it is,” she said
quickly, shooting her sister a small smile before shifting her attention to
where Jake stood behind Harmony’s chair.  “Jake, would you mind wrangling the
men?  Let’s say what’s got to be said so that we can all put a period on this
day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake nodded,
bending to brush a kiss against Harmony’s temple.  “Be right back,” he murmured
against her warm skin before she jerked her head away.

Faith waited until
Jake left the room before turning wide eyes on Harmony.  “So…. are you going to
forgive him?” she asked, jerking her head toward the doorway where Jake had
disappeared.

“I don’t know.  I
told him I needed time, but he just won’t go away,” Harmony said, her teeth
clenched.  “Honor, you’re going to have to evict him for me to get any peace,”
she said, directing her remark at the youngest sister.  “I bet he’d listen to
you.”

Honor shifted in
her seat, refusing to meet Harmony’s eyes.  “We’ll see,” she murmured.

“Well, he’s built
like a brick shithouse, not hard on the eyes, and carries a big gun,” Patience
noted, wriggling her eyebrows.  “But, I’d still let his ass twist in the wind
for a while after the shit stunt he pulled.  He might have done it with the
best of intentions, but it was still a crap play to make.”

Harmony huffed,
nodding her head at Patience. “See…this is what
I’m
saying.”

“You say the boy’s
got nine inches on him, honey?” Aunt Orla asked, speaking for the first time
from the other end of the table.  “I could forgive a whole lot of sins for nine
inches worth of lovin’, child.”

“Aunt Orla!” Honor
and Harmony yelled in unison as Faith and Patience cackled.

“What?” the elderly
aunt asked nonchalantly, taking a sip from her own tea cup.  “I could!”

Turning to
Patience, Harmony glared at her sister.  “Do you have to tell
everything
you
know?”

“What?” Patience
shrugged.  “So, I might envy you your boyfriend’s dingaling.  Sue me.”

“Hellllooooo! 
Anybody home?” they all heard a bright, cheerful voice call from the living
room.

“Ohhhh!  Mags is
here!” Patience clapped, spinning in her seat to look out the door.

Sighing, Honor
pointed at her excited sister.  “Don’t wind her up, Patience,” she ordered. 
“Tonight is going to be a long enough evening as it is without you two
tag-teaming Abel.”  Turning her head toward the doorway, she called, “We’re in
the dining room, Maggie!”

“So, I hear Tanner
Dickhead Suarez has managed to completely
ruin
Tequila Tuesday for us
all,” Margaret Winstead announced as she reached the entrance to the dining
room.  “For that alone, I’m willing to help you girls hunt him down and
separate him from the tiny piece of manhood he claims as his swinging dick!”
she announced in lieu of greeting.  Standing in the doorway clad in a vintage
white lace sleeveless Dolce & Gabbana shirt, Maggie glared at the room at
large, one hand perched on a rounded hip.  “This is
completely
unacceptable! 
I depend on my Tequila Tuesdays with Patience.  I work for Abel Turner, and she,
of all people, understands my need to drink where that man is concerned!” she
huffed, marching forward on her sleek black Leon Max pumps to slap a teal-colored
file on the scarred farmer’s table where the rest of the women sat.  Turning
her startling green eyes on Harmony, her lips tightened.  “That
bastard,”
she
snarled, cataloguing the oldest McKinnon daughter’s injuries with a keen
glance.  “Harmony, your face, honey!”

“I’m okay, Mags,”
Harmony assured the other woman, rising from her chair to offer Maggie a hug. 
“Really, it’s not as bad as it looks,” she added as the stunning redhead
wrapped her arms around her and squeezed.  “I’m fine.”

“Have you told that
to the garish purple bruises all over your jaw?” the other woman snapped,
already reaching for her gold Hermes bag and rifling through it.  “Here,” she
said, pulling out a gold tube.  “This will help.  It’s a concealer from
Clinique that works wonders,” she explained, pressing it into Harmony’s palm. 
“Abel told me that the cowardly freak worked you over, but he didn’t mention
this,” she growled, gesturing at Harmony’s face before turning and offering
Honor a quick hug. 

Harmony chuckled,
trying to give the makeup back to her friend. “Maggie, I don’t need this.”

“Trust me, sweets,
you
do
,” Maggie replied with a meaningful look at Harmony.  “Now, sit
down,” she nodded to the chair behind her, “Is there a plan yet?” she asked,
tossing her long red hair over one shoulder as she looked around at the women. 
“Tell me, there’s a plan.  It looked like there was a lynch mob forming out by
the barn when I arrived, and I’m happy to join it.”

“Well…” Harmony
began as they heard the front door open and the heavy footfalls of the men
coming back inside the house.

“Don’t you ‘well’
me,” Maggie retorted as she turned and traded a hard look with Patience.  “Abel
did
not
tell me what Harmony looked like when he called.  And since he
didn’t, you should have.  I’d have been here sooner if I’d known.”

“Mags,” Harmony
replied, reaching for the angry redhead’s hand.  “Honestly, I’m okay.”

“No, Harmony,” she
denied firmly, her emerald eyes flashing again as she stared at the other
woman.  “You are not okay.  Those bruises…so
not
okay.”  Turning to look
at a pale Honor, she shook her head again.  “The way Honor looks doesn’t look
okay, either.  So, to sum up,” she continued, her voice lifting imperiously. 
“None of this is
okay
.”

“I couldn’t agree
more,” Jake agreed, walking back into the room as the other men followed.

Harmony watched as
Margaret was struck silent, and for anyone that knew Maggie, it was a memorable
moment.  The wealthy woman was very rarely without something to say, but it
seemed that Jake’s appearance was enough to render her momentarily stunned.  

Rising, Honor
gestured all the men into the room.  “Margaret, you already know most
everybody, but this is Jacob Stone.”

Lifting her hand,
Maggie accepted the hand Jacob extended toward her.  “I’ve heard all about
you.”  She nodded.  “Abel said that a smokin’ hot broody guy had hitched his
cart to Harmony’s wagon.  Usually his descriptions aren’t so accurate.  I am
impressed.”

“I didn’t say
that,” Abel yelped indignantly, pulling out the chair beside Patience. 

“You’re right.  You
referred to him as a
smoldering
hot bag of sexiness,” Maggie retorted,
just to needle him.  “Honestly, I’m beginning to think his boat floats in a
whole other ocean,” she added, wriggling her well-maintained eyebrows at
Patience and winking.

“That
would
explain so much,” Patience agreed, turning her head to look Abel over. 

“I beg your
pardon,” Abel growled, glaring at each woman.  “What I said was that all the
girls seemed to think…” He gestured with one hand.  “All that you said,” he
told Maggie uncomfortably.

“Why, Abel,” Jake
murmured, pressing his free hand to his heart as he bit back a grin, “I’m honored
that you think of me that way, but I like girls, man.”

“Very funny. 
Asshole,” Abel muttered under his breath. 

Slowly turning her
head to look at Harmony again, Maggie whispered, “Jokes aside, Harmony, I just
have to say
wow
.  Holy hot guy, Batgirl.”

“It’s a pleasure,
Ma’am.”  Jacob grinned, releasing her hand.  “You can just call me Jake.”

“That’s okay.  I
think I’ll stick with calling you Broody Hot Guy,” Maggie returned, winking at
him.  “It’s a much better fit.”

Honor cleared her
throat as she pressed a hand to her aching head. “Mags, you already know Zeke
and Cain.  This,” she said, reaching a hand out to lightly touch the well-muscled
forearm of the exceedingly well-built sandy haired man beside her, “is our
cousin, Slade Cansler.  And that,” she continued, gesturing to the extremely
tall, lumbering man walking through the door, “is Zachariah Monroe.  Most
everybody calls him…”

“Asshat!” Margaret
barked, her curvy body stiffening with anger as she glared at Zeke’s brother.

“Well, no.  Most
everyone calls him Ice,” Honor murmured, watching as both Maggie’s hands
dropped to her hips and she skewered Ice with a look.  “I take it you’ve met?”
she asked weakly.

“It’s the crazy
redhead from the road,” Ice growled, looking over at his brother.  “The one
that couldn’t drive for shit.”

Maggie stared at
the man, arms akimbo as her cheeks turned pink.  “Can’t drive?  I drive just
fine, you redneck reject from Hell!  At least until some hillbilly runs me off
the road, I do.   And by the way, you owe me over a grand for the clothes you
ruined this afternoon, Mountain Man!”  

Abel turned
horrified eyes to Ice.  “Wait! You’re the Mountain Man?  You’re the guy that
splashed mud all over Maggie’s outfit this afternoon?” he asked,  remembering
Margaret’s angry shrieks when he’d called her this afternoon and asked her to
bring Harmony’s file to the house.

“What he is is a
shoe massacring, one of a kind Prada skirt murdering son of a bitch!” Maggie screeched.

For his part, Ice
merely stood against the wall, smirking at Margaret.  “Darlin’, if you hadn’t
been driving like Grandma Moses around Dead Man’s Curve, none of it would have
happened.  Hell, you pulled off at the bend!  Who the hell does that?”

“I thought I had a
flat tire,” she argued irately.  “That doesn’t excuse flying around me in that
rust bucket you were driving and splashing mud all over my outfit!  That was
haute cou
ture,
you animal!  My shoes alone were a work of
art
!”
she moaned, looking at Patience.  “I was wearing my jewel-encrusted sling backs,
Patience.  The ones with the four inch heel!  They’re
ruined.”

“The Manolos?”
Patience breathed, her face going slack as she pressed a hand against her
chest.  Turning wide eyes on Ice, she whispered, “How could you, Ice?”

“The bastard got my
one-of-a-kind pink chiffon Prada skirt, too,” Maggie accused, her voice
shrill.  “I’m serious,” she hissed when Ice began to laugh and turned sharply
toward the Sheriff.   “I want that… that
thing
arrested!  It’s a clear
case of malicious destruction of personal property, Zeke!”

“Man, stop
laughing,” Abel recommended out the side of his mouth as he turned to look at
Ice over his shoulder.  “She’s serious as a heart attack.  You do not fuck with
Mags’ clothing and live to tell the tale.  I once accidently got ink on the
sleeve of her Stella McCartney silk blouse, and she stabbed me with a letter
opener. 
Repeatedly!
 She’s rich and can afford to hire people that can
make bodies disappear, if you know what I mean.  And you got her
shoes! 
  No
one fucks with her wardrobe, but especially not the shoes.  Never the shoes,”
he whispered, shaking his head.

Ice stared at the
other woman for a moment, then turned back to Abel. “If she’s so loaded, what’s
she doing working for you?”

“I
like
to
work, and I’m good at my job, that’s why, jackass! Plus, how else would I know
all the gossip if I didn’t work for Abel?  In case you didn’t know it,
knowledge is power,” Maggie retorted before Abel could open his mouth.  “That
aside, my money is none of your business.  My shoes are the topic of discussion
here, you sorry excuse for a human being!”

“Now, Maggie,
sweetie,” Harmony murmured, touching the other woman’s stiff shoulder.  “I’m
sure it was an accident.  You’re a rich woman; I know you can afford to replace
your things,” she pointed out gently, trying to soothe the seething woman. 
“Think about how much you’ll enjoy a buying trip to New York or Chicago.”

“Jesus, woman.  It
was a pair of shoes and a skirt.  I’ll be happy to carry you down to Walmart
and replace what I
accidently
ruined,” Ice drawled, shrugging his wide
shoulders.  “What the hell is the big deal?  So, I didn’t see the mud puddle
when I backed up to check on you.  It was a legitimate mistake.  It’s not the
end of the fuckin’ world.”

The entire room
drew in an audible breath and froze as Maggie’s face turned purple with rage.  
“Not the end of the world,” she repeated faintly as both Abel and Cain rose
from the table and moved closer to Mags.  “Not the end of the
world
, he
says,” she echoed incredulously, her green eyes dilating.  “And you’ll take me
to
Walmart? 
Do I look like I am the type of woman that purchases my
clothing at the local superstore,” she shouted, holding her arms out at her
sides.  “This is Dolce & Gabbana, you moron!  Oh, my God!  You don’t even have
a clue who that is, do you?  Let me ask you this.   Would you walk into the
Sistine chapel and blow a spitball at Michelangelo’s work?  Would you spit on a
Picasso canvas?  Would you walk into the Louvre and throw coffee in the Mona
Lisa’s face?  No!  You wouldn’t.  I would hope you would handle them with the
reverence they deserve because they are priceless,” she screeched.  “Those
shoes and that skirt were
my
priceless works of ART and you savaged them!!!!”
she ended on a roar.  “Either arrest him or put me in handcuffs, Sheriff,
because I swear I’m going to
kill
that designer destroying, Manolo
murdering, redneck ruffian!”