Just My Type (15 page)
Still, after Mac’s surprise announcement that they would be living in Oscar, she had to admit that having some distance and time from her family and friends seemed a great idea. Especially after the fiasco in the airport.
She wasn’t going to think about that.
Pushing the door open and getting out to stretch, Sara looked around. Wow, it was really dark out here. Not it’s-nighttime-so-of-course-it’s-dark dark, but we-are-in-the-middle-of-nowhere dark. She turned in a full circle. Yep, she was right. Dark all the way around. Really, really dark.
The next light was the tall yard light like Mac’s and it looked to be about a half a mile away.
There was only one place it was this dark and things were half a mile apart.
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Holy cow.
Mac lived in the country.
Not just a small town, he didn’t just have a big yard. He
lived in the country
.
A cow mooed softly somewhere off to her right and she almost laughed. Holy cow, indeed.
“This way.” Mac slammed the trunk shut and picked up their suitcases. Well,
her
suitcases. He’d come to St. Croix with one duffle bag, which he slung easily over one shoulder. She, on the other hand, had two suitcases and her hard-sided makeup case. He handled them easily too, but it was obviously more awkward.
She started across the yard toward the house, searching the ground for a sidewalk. All she found, with her eyes and her four-inch heels, was grass, dirt and rocks. Wobbling dangerously as she picked her way across the yard between the car and the house, she finally reached the bottom of the steps leading to the front door, without seriously spraining her ankle.
Mac was standing, holding the door open, the suitcases just inside. He’d turned on the porch light as she hit the first step and she smiled up at him gratefully.
She stopped with one foot on the ground and one on the first step. With the light on she took in more of the front of the house. It was made of good old red brick. At least the front, original part was. It was a two-story with a pointed roof in three sections where add-ons had obviously been done over the years. The steps were made of stone as were the wide balustrades on either side. Five steps led up to the heavy wooden front door with an old-fashioned gold door knocker. On either side of the steps were huge picture windows partially covered by the lilac bushes that grew up in front of them.
It was too late and she was too groggy to take note of many other details of the house. But she had all the time in the world. This was her home now.
“You need me to carry you up here, princess?” Mac asked lazily from above her.
Moths circled the light over Mac’s head and looking at him, standing in the doorway, waiting for her, she was filled with a crazy sense of rightness and felt a little choked up. She was about to walk into her home with her husband. It was perfect. It was probably the late hour, the jumble of emotions from facing her family and the lack of sleep.
She climbed the steps. “How about across the threshold?” Mac stepped forward, facing her squarely. Then he dipped his knees, wrapped his arms around her and stood up straight. They were body to body, full length, her feet dangling several inches from the ground. His eyes locked on hers, he turned toward the house and stepped through the doorway, carrying her across the threshold.
“Kind of like that?” he asked huskily, still holding her.
“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. “A lot like that.”
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Then he was kissing her. The craziness was not the late hour or the emotional toil of the day. The whirling emotions, the hot want, the wild giddiness was all about Mac.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched even closer. She had very little leverage in this position, but she wiggled against him, making him moan, which further heated her blood. It was a fully hot, wet, possessive kiss. Mac’s lips moved on hers, urging her to open to him, then stroking boldly when she allowed it. When she licked along the inside of his lower lip, he groaned and turned to back her against the wall just inside the door. Here he could press more fully against her, grinding his hips against hers. Sara reached down, pulled her skirt up so she could bend her knees and wrap her legs around his waist. Mac’s erection fit perfectly against the heat between her legs and as he thrust against her, she felt as if she was melting all over and being wound tighter and tighter at the same time.
He pulled his mouth from hers, breathing hard, not moving his hips or the rest of his body a millimeter. “I haven’t kissed you since we said our vows,” he said raggedly.
“I know.” It seemed both three seconds ago and a million years ago.
“That’s too damned long.” He muttered it like he wasn’t real happy about it.
She smiled. “I know.”
Suddenly she found herself standing on her own two feet. He bent and picked up her makeup case, shoving it into her hand. “Bedroom is up the stairs, down the hall, take a right.” She blinked at him. “You want me to go on up?”
“Yep.” He nudged her, not that gently, in the direction of the staircase off to her left.
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“I’ve been gone. Need to check the house,” he said, already moving down the hallway. “Go on.” Fine. She’d meet him up there.
She climbed the wide sixteen steps to the second level and found the master bedroom and for a moment just stood in the middle of the room, amazed. It was huge. The bed was a king-sized, four-poster made of heavy, solid wood. Two matching dressers occupied one wall, while the wall directly across from the bed was made entirely of windows. With no curtains. Of course, clear out here, who was going to see in?
There was a door that led into a bathroom, another that opened into a walk-in closet only a quarter full of clothes—mostly denim and plaid, which made her smile because it was so stereotypical—and another that led to a sun porch. An actual sun porch.
It was on the upper corner of the house and both walls held windows that started at about thigh-high on her and went to the ceiling. It was floored with hardwood and held white wicker furniture. She was sure it was gorgeous with the sun shining in and couldn’t believe Mac hadn’t put a thousand plants out here. But the night sky, bedazzled with a million stars, was breathtaking.
It might be a hundred and six years old, but she loved this house.
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She quickly stripped out of her dress. She didn’t have her suitcase up here, so couldn’t grab either of her sexy nightgowns, but it was stuffy in the house, since it had been shut up while Mac was gone, so she decided to just stick with the silky white thong she wore. Besides, any covering, even a negligee, was counterproductive to her plans for the next hour. Or so. She washed her face, brushed out her hair and headed for the bed.
Mac still hadn’t joined her on the second floor, so she pulled back the quilt that covered the bed—
again, stereotypically in her mind—and slid between the cool sheets.
The next thing she knew, she was awakening to a bright slash of sunlight warming her face.
In bed. Alone.
It was easy to tell Mac had never come to bed and her first thought was worry. He’d been checking things over. Had something happened? To him? Or was there a problem with the house he’d stayed up all night fixing?
Pulling the sheet from the bed, she wrapped it around her body toga-style and went looking for her husband. The other doors on the second level led to two more bedrooms—fully furnished though a little dusty—and a bathroom that was bare of towels, soap or any other hint people ever used it. The last door opened to a staircase leading to the attic. A real, old-fashioned attic that ran the length of the original part of the house. It was filled, as it should have been, with boxes and trunks, old furniture, a rack with several long dresses and coats and other odds and ends. She loved it and intended to explore it fully later.
Heading to the first floor, Sara found a living room, fully furnished with somewhat outdated pieces and lots of dust, but with a huge fireplace she hoped worked. There was also a formal dining room with a gigantic dining table that would easily seat twelve, along with a built-in buffet displaying a gorgeous set of china. She suspected somewhere within the drawers she would find the family silver as well.
The woodwork throughout the house was beautiful, but wood polish hadn’t touched it in some time and Sara made a mental note to find out if someone in town cleaned houses. She had no idea how to clean real wood and upholstery and draperies and a fireplace and all the other things this house had that her tiny apartment didn’t. She didn’t want to ruin anything, but she also couldn’t live in a dirty, neglected house.
She moved into the kitchen next. Again, a huge room, but she was less overwhelmed by the size, having come to expect high ceilings and a lot of space when she walked through the door. There was a large center island, seemingly endless glass-front cupboards and the most recent updates of the house, it seemed. While an old-fashioned wood cook stove would have looked right at home, the appliances were very modern, from the stove to the microwave to the fridge. Sara was relieved at that. She wasn’t much of a cook and would struggle enough with a recipe not to mention having to figure out some old stove that needed lighting versus just turning the burner on.
There was a back porch all along the back width of the house. There was a deep freeze back there, as well as several hooks hung with jackets and overalls, with boots of various kinds on the floor. It seemed to
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Erin Nicholas
be a general storage area as well, with some boxes and crates stacked on one end. The porch led out to the yard that went on for several yards of lush green grass and tall, well-established trees. There was even a swing, hung from one thick branch, and she caught a glimpse of wooden slats in a far tree that could have easily been the wall of a tree house. In the distance she saw what was likely a garden and then rolling hills, more trees and wild grass that went seemingly for miles.
Sara turned back to the house with a mixture of emotions. This was isolated. She hadn’t even seen another house in that direction. Of course, the town of Oscar was obviously around here somewhere, but it was really quiet out here. And she had yet to find Mac. She was definitely alone.
The pantry—which was stocked with breakfast cereal, several canned fruits and vegetables and some pasta—and another bathroom were off the kitchen. That was where she found the damp towels, the faint smell of soap and the smudge of toothpaste on the counter that indicated Mac had been in there within the last hour or so. Continuing her search led her to a family room with a huge sectional couch, a big screen television, a stereo and other electronics that confirmed
this
room was used by her husband.
There weren’t many touches of Mac. Or anyone. It was like he kept to the bedroom, the lower-level bathroom and the TV room. She assumed he ate here, though there wasn’t much food to prove it. The fridge was bare except for a half-gallon of milk, a carton of eggs with only three eggs left, ketchup, a package of hotdogs and some apples. The freezer had three ice-cube trays, and four frozen burritos. She couldn’t even find hotdog buns.
Finally she stopped in the doorway between the TV room and the kitchen and accepted the truth she couldn’t quite believe. Mac wasn’t here.
She headed for the front of the house, opened the heavy front door and confirmed what she’d already started to accept. Mac’s car was gone. He wasn’t here. He’d left.
Surely just to go to town, though, she told herself. He was probably getting groceries. After all, she’d just realized how bare the kitchen was. Yes, that had to be it.
A rumble on the road signaled someone coming toward their driveway and she stayed in the doorway, waiting to see Mac’s car turn in.
Instead, a shiny red pickup with an extended cab rolled by. The driver was a young guy. He was too far away to see his face, or any detail beyond the baseball cap on his head, but he’d lifted his hand to wave and it just froze there as his speed went from a full twenty miles an hour down to ten.
Sara started to return his wave, then realized she was still draped in only a sheet. She went ahead and waggled her fingers at him, then quickly backed up and slammed the door.
Great. What a way to meet the new neighbors.
She stood in front of the door, staring at the wood, listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock and the quiet around it. It was never this quiet in Omaha. She didn’t remember the last time she’d experienced quiet like this.
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Just My Type
It was weird.
She turned and looked around the foyer of Mac’s house.
Her
house, she corrected. She liked the house, but it was… not hers. Not really. She had nothing here that belonged to her. Not even her husband.
She shook her head. He was just in town. He probably ran into some people and was chatting. Maybe having coffee at the café. That was what people in small towns did. So she assumed. Probably because of something she’d seen on TV since she didn’t really know anyone else who lived in a small town.
He’d be back soon.
Then they’d discuss having some of her stuff moved to the house.
When he got back.
Soon.
Sometimes having friends just wasn’t worth it, Mac thought.
Sam walked by on his way to the soda machine and Dooley started humming “Here Comes The Bride”. He’d been doing it all damned day. And it wasn’t because he was unaware of the tension between Sam and Mac or the reason for the tension.
News of Mac and Sara’s wedding had reached Dooley and Kevin, the two other members of the best paramedic team in the city and Mac and Sam’s other two best friends. Mac suspected Jessica or Ben had told them. It wasn’t like it was supposed to be a secret. But these guys didn’t tread lightly on sensitive subjects. Not that Sam or Mac ever had either. It was just weird that the sensitive subject
was
Sam and Mac.
