Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses) (13 page)

The
kid
was
right
upstairs.

Being found in flagrante delicto on the porch with the neighbor was as good a way to cost Sidonie her foster care license as decorating the property with derelict outhouses.

Mac lifted his head but held her to him tightly. “Sweetheart, whoa. Luis—”

“Right.” She nodded, and Mac was pleased to hear her panting, to
feel
her panting against his chest. “Luis, but
God
, MacKenzie.”

He ran a shaky hand over her hair. God, indeed. “It’s been a while for me, Sid.” Lame, but the truth. “I’m sorry if I got a little too—” What? Enthusiastic didn’t begin to describe the end of a ten-year drought.

“It’s been forever for me,” she said, “but you…” She pressed her forehead to his sternum. “You’ve been saving up, or you’re hiding your light under a basket. I have never before in my life been kissed dizzy.”

She was clinging to him, leaning on him to stay upright.

“I kissed you dizzy?”

She patted his chest, right over his heart. “It’s like I can feel the pull of the moon on the tides in your kisses. See the stars, hear the angels singing. Crap.”

“Crap?”

“Analogies and bodily urges are a disastrous combination. Hold me, MacKenzie.”

Mac tucked his chin over Sid’s crown and stroked his hand along her back, learning the feel of her. She seemed content to be held, and he was thrilled, beyond thrilled, to hold her.

As his libido’s clamoring subsided to a simmering grumble, Mac realized something else: Sidonie Lindstrom was a
foster
parent
. She couldn’t be as wedded to traditional ideas about family as the average female if she was willing to go through hell to adopt one teenager.

Emily Dickinson’s “thing with feathers” perched in his soul took wing.

With Sidonie, for the first time in years, Mac acknowledged that there could be
hope
. He gathered her more tenderly into his embrace, pressed his lips to her hair, and closed his eyes.

He swallowed hard, inventoried his courage, and found it wasn’t even a matter of courage. The sensation was just there, in his body, his mind, his heart:
hope.

* * *

“Here comes the entertainment.”

Mac growled the words, but loudly enough that Sid could hear him. A black SUV was bumping up the lane, joining the line of pickups and vans in the barnyard. The guy who got out was tall, blue-eyed, blond, and Sid would have classified him as drop-dead gorgeous if she hadn’t met his more rugged older brother first.

“You must be James,” she said, walking forward to take a Dutch oven from his hands. “I’m Sid. Thanks for coming.”

“Greetings, Sid.” He flashed her a megawatt smile, and tipped his cowboy hat, for God’s sake. Entertainment indeed. “That’s the signature Knightley brothers’ potato salad, which recipe has not been improved upon even by MacKenzie himself. Mac.” James smiled up at his brother, who was glowering from the porch. “Things under control?”

“For now. Trent, Hannah, and the hooligans will be here any minute.”

“I’ll pay my respects to Daisy and Buttercup then. Sid, nice place you have here.”

He winked at her and sauntered off with the gunslinger gait of a man who’d have good moves on the dance floor, and probably in a few other choice locations too.

“That boy needs a spanking,” Sid said as Mac came to stand behind her. “Just on general principles, he needs regular spanking.”

“Don’t tell him that, or he’ll be inviting you over to admire his toy collection.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Mac was smiling at his brother’s retreating back.

“That was teasing, wasn’t it, MacKenzie? You don’t honestly think he’d be that gauche, that forward?”

“Not now. A couple years ago, James was in constant rut, but he seems to have settled down.”

“Is there a woman involved?” Mac had never said much about his family, but they’d certainly stepped up for this demolition party.

“A good woman, thank God. She’s making him work for it. Simple strategies are often the most effective with dumb animals. Best get that stuff in the fridge if we’re not going to eat for another hour or so.”

In addition to being a farrier—that was the word—Mac seemed to be something of a foodie, so Sid took his advice and headed for the kitchen.

As she turned to go, she could have sworn Mac patted her fanny.

She whipped around to take him to task, but he was walking away. From the back, he looked like the grown-up version of James, who was plenty on the tall side. It’s just that Mac didn’t need to swagger, while James needed to make that good woman see reason.

Sid realized she was comparing male tushes.
How
lovely.

She was still smirking when she took the potato salad into the kitchen, though she spared one particular porch post a glance as she went by. In the four days since Mac had kissed the living daylights out of her, she’d made sure to get all-weather cushions on the porch swing. She had plans for that swing.

When Mac had driven up this morning, she’d had a hard time not hyperventilating, she was that giddy to see him again, which was ridiculous. A woman who had long since celebrated her thirtieth birthday had no business—

No, she had
every
business. If he was the right guy, she had every business in the world ogling him, being giddy over him, and generally thanking God every waking minute that, contrary to established convictions, one man remained on the face of the planet about whom she could get stupid.

Wheels crunched on the driveway as she put the potato salad in the fridge and went back out on the porch. Another truck was pulling up, the kind with a backseat.

Yet another good-looking Knightley brother got out, this one sporting dark hair, about as much height as James boasted, and a quieter smile. An auburn-haired lady climbed out of the passenger’s side, and two little girls soon emerged from the backseat.

“This is where Dad grew up?” one of them asked.

Both girls were dark-haired. One sported two braids, the other a single plait. The one with two braids took her mother’s hand, as both mother and daughter peered around.

“He did, but first we should greet our hostess,” the lady said. “Hi, you must be Sidonie, and I’m Hannah. This is Grace, and that’s Merle.”

“And I’m Trent.” The guy stuck out his hand, and Sid was treated to a firm shake. “Can we bring in the loot, or have you set up tables somewhere else?”

“Tables are around back. James just got here and is flirting with Daisy and Buttercup.”

Trent and Hannah exchanged a smile.

“He has a certain charm, our James,” Hannah said. “Girls, best behavior. Stay away from the hog house where the crews are working, or you could get hurt. Let Uncle Mac and Uncle James know you’re here.”

They tore off, best behavior apparently encompassing a dead run toward the pasture.

“They’re horse savvy,” Trent said. “And uncle savvy. Do you need help with anything?”

“If she does”—Hannah linked her arm through her husband’s—“I can assist. You get to pound nails, or pull them out, and say bad words as long as the girls are out of earshot.”

“The keg’s on the picnic table,” Sid added. “Luis won’t rat you out if he hears the occasional colorful expletive.”

Trent saluted, blew his wife a kiss, and headed for the cacophony of hammer blows, shouts, and power drills at the hog house.

“Leaving us to set up lunch,” Hannah said. “I’m happy to answer any questions you have about MacKenzie, except I’m relatively new to the family myself.”

“No questions,” Sid said as they retrieved bags of cups, napkins, and paper plates from the truck. “On second thought, what on earth do his brothers get that man for Christmas?”

* * *

“As I see it, you have two problems.” James reached out to the nearest mare, Daisy, and the horse obligingly sniffed him over.

“She remembers you,” Mac said, pleased for James’s sake.

“All the ladies remember me.” James grinned, but Mac could spot the counterfeit humor in his youngest brother’s smile.

“You have things patched up with Vera yet?” Mac asked.

“I do not.” James scratched Daisy behind one big hairy ear. “I’m not used to doing the chasing, Mac, and I’ve bungled it. I’m even more clueless when it comes to patching up what I’ve put wrong. I’m off stride.”

“I’m guessing Vera is a gal who appreciates the direct approach.”

James looked intrigued. “Groveling?”

“Groveling is very direct, but far be it from me to offer advice for the lovelorn. What are my two problems?”

James dropped his hand, and the mare ambled off. “First, what the hell are you doing hanging around this place? The memories, at least the last ones, aren’t good. Not for any of us.”

No, they were not. But Mac had only recently come to understand that James had the worst memories of the three brothers. James had been left at home with their grieving mother while Trent and Mac had gone off to college, and his adolescence had turned into a quiet nightmare. That James had been able to tell Mac that much had put them on more equal footing and shifted their relationship closer to friends and brothers than merely brothers.

As if there was anything
mere
about being brothers.

“We’ve seen hard times here, true enough,” Mac said. “I left before Dad died, and growing up here I was happy. Very happy.”

The happiest he’d ever been. The realization sank in, bringing order to some little corner of the chaos that was his internal landscape.

“What’s my second problem?” Mac asked.

“Have you considered that Trent may end up representing the boy?”

Crappity-crap-crap-crap. No, Mac had not.

“Trent will do a good job,” Mac said. “Luis is a good kid. He shouldn’t be hard to represent.”

“Bullshit.” James kept his voice down, but his posture radiated tension. “When you represent a kid in delinquency court, Mac, the job is clear-cut, easy. You’re supposed to get the little hoodlum off, or at least keep him or her at home if you can, same as if they were adult criminals. The child welfare attorney has a different role.”

“What do you mean? My knowledge of family law would fill a bottle cap.”

Mac could admit that to James, because having complementary areas of expertise was one of the reasons their firm did well.

“Mine would fill two bottle caps,” James replied. “But with a child welfare case, the attorney is supposed to advocate for what the kid wants, provided the child has considered judgment on the issue in question.”

“What in the lawyering hell does that mean?”

“I’d ask Trent if you really want to know, but my take on it is that the attorney can decide the kid’s reasons for his position—wanting to go home, to stay in foster care, to be placed with siblings, whatever—are unsound, and advocate not for what the kid wants, but for what is in the kid’s best interests. It’s slippery.”

“Slippery isn’t good,” Mac said slowly. Slippery wasn’t black and white, and Mac thrived on black and white. “Give me examples.”

“Luis might want to be placed with his siblings, and that family might be willing to take him, but not adopt him. Trent would have to weigh the sense in reuniting siblings with the disruption to Luis of changing schools and families again, and leaving a potential pre-adopt placement with Sid for one that doesn’t offer permanence. It’s tricky.”

Tricky, slippery. Reasons why a rational man avoided family law like the plague.

Why, if that man were smart, he’d avoid entangling himself in Luis’s situation like all the biblical plagues combined.

While Luis lived a reality he’d done little to create every hour of every day.

“I don’t think it will come to that,” Mac said. “Luis is levelheaded as teenagers go. He won’t force Trent into that kind of corner.”

“A levelheaded teenager is a contradiction in terms. I know. I was one.”

James pushed away from the fence, leaving Mac to stare out over the greening pasture, seeing nothing. He was still there when Trent came up on his shoulder forty-five minutes later.

“Lunch is about to be served,” Trent said. “James is manning the grill, which strikes me as disrespectful of the steaks when you’re on hand to do it right.”

“James takes his nutrition seriously. Though I think he’s dropped some weight.”

“Pining for Vera?”

“Growing up,” Mac said. “And pining for Vera. My money’s on James though. He gets what he goes after, usually.”

“He’s worried about you. The girls look good for being in their dotage.” The mares were back at their grass, oblivious to guests or brewing legal storms.

Mac appreciated that Trent was easing up to whatever he wanted to discuss. That came with being a dad, a guy who liked the complications and unexpected twists of the typical family law case. James had competed on horseback over fences as a younger man. If Trent had taken the same path, he would have ridden broncs, and done so with the lithe elegance of the natural champion. Nothing unseated the guy. Nothing.

“Why is
James
worried about me?” Mac asked.

“You’re falling in love.”

Mac considered his conversation with James, and considered Trent’s version of James’s concerns. “Did I tell you what to do with Hannah?”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to mix business and personal agendas, Trent. I never said you had to leave her alone.”

“You told me not to get us sued and not to trifle with her. Same thing. It was good advice, and I followed it.”

“You think I’ll get us sued?”

“You’re not denying the allegation,” Trent said, his voice quite, quite casual.

“I wasn’t aware the Annotated Code of Maryland now included an article on falling in love,” Mac said, equally casually.

“It doesn’t, but, Mac, have you considered that it isn’t Sidonie you’re attracted to, but the prospect of coming home that tugs at your heartstrings?”

“Yes, Trenton Edwards, I have considered that, and while I do not concede that I am falling in love with anybody, I have had at least two opportunities to buy this place in the last ten years. I also could have kept it in the family rather than sell it when Mom died.”