Lifeline Echoes (18 page)

****

Sandy watched Ryan pop the last of his fried
potatoes into his mouth. His plate was completely empty. The man
had an insatiable appetite.

"What's on your dessert menu?" he asked.

Sandy wrinkled her nose. "A pretty limited
choice. People around here go for the simple. So we have three
basic flavors of ice cream, and either lime or orange sherbet,
strawberry shortcake. And on your personal menu, there's always . .
. me."

Before Ryan could react to the obvious
invitation, the front door opened, admitting two more people.

"Oh, man," he breathed. "I'd really hoped to
avoid this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry this has to go down, sorry you
have to see it, so sorry they brought it here to your place."

Sandy followed Ryan's troubled gaze and saw
the unmistakable flash of light auburn hair just starting to go
gray. Brody MacKay had made an entrance, followed by his wife.

"They come in sometimes." She tried to
instill an easiness she didn’t feel in her voice. "They're quiet,
keep to themselves." And she almost always found an excuse for Mel
to serve them.

But Brody scanned the room, his eyes locking
on Ryan. Clearly, the old man had an agenda this evening, and it
wasn't dinner.

Sandy snapped to attention
and drew in a sharp breath, taking in the set to MacKay's jaw, the
open hostility in his dark eyes. She held her breath. There was
still time for him to turn away.
Please
turn away
.

He didn't.

He was propelled on waves of obvious
aggression, his obedient wife trotting in his wake, as though on a
short leash. Sean stepped into Brody's path, but the old man
brushed him off, his eyes never leaving Ryan.

Sandy bit her lip. Brody MacKay had always
made her a bit uneasy. Seeing him now, with obvious malevolent
intent on his features, her sense of uneasiness increased tenfold.
Somewhere in his fifties, he was a formidable antagonist, as big as
his son but with a coldness that never failed to chill Sandy to her
core.

Ryan made a barely perceptible hand motion,
warning Sean to stay out of it. The younger McGee stepped back, but
he didn't go far. He had his brother's back.

Around them, the soft conversation in the
bar spun into silence, broken only by the sweet sounds of a
crooning country artist on the jukebox. Something in the quality of
the silence crawled along the edges of Sandy's awareness. She
looked around, taking in the expectant looks.

Oh, no. Dread inched its way under her skin.
This was apparently the confrontation the entire town had been
waiting for. She looked for Sean and noticed he was inching
closer.

"You shouldn't have come back to Orson's
Folly," said MacKay. "I warned your father to keep you away."

"Oh?" Ryan's voice was cool but his eyes
were slits. His hands were balled into loose fists. "It must have
slipped his mind when I asked for my messages."

"Now you know," said Brody. "So turn
yourself around and go back where you came from. Where you took my
boy when you kidnapped him."

Sandy's eyes flew to Ryan's face. This was
the second time a MacKay had mentioned Ryan and kidnapping. She was
having a hard time associating him with those accusations.

Bright green eyes flashed with anger. Ryan's
face was hard as he returned MacKay's glare. "I'll tell you what I
told your son, MacKay. I came home to be with my family. I didn’t
come home to start trouble."

"You got it wrong, boy." MacKay leaned over
the table and jabbed a finger at Ryan. "You found trouble just by
coming home. You and yours don't want more trouble then you'd best
leave before someone gets hurt."

Ryan and Brody MacKay glared at each other
in a silent battle fueled by palpable deep-seated animosity.

Sandy held her breath, keeping her eyes on
Ryan as he struggled with fury. His mouth clamped tightly closed,
small muscles worked in his jaw. His breathing was rapid and
shallow, through flaring nostrils. Not something Sandy would want
directed at her. But MacKay seemed unaffected.

Ryan broke the stare-down, picking up his
water glass and drinking, then shifting his eyes away from MacKay.
"I'll consider your advice."

Brody's lip curled into a snarl. "You'll do
more than consider it. You don't want to see everything your family
owns wiped out."

Sandy's stomach rolled into a knot. Her
heart hitched somewhere up in her throat, making even the simple
act of breathing nearly impossible. She gripped the edge of the
table to stop the terrible tremors from becoming apparent. The
hostility she'd seen between Bull and Ryan had been nothing
compared to what was happening here. Suddenly, she understood why
Ryan had wanted her to steer clear of his argument with Bull. She
swallowed hard, wondering if the MacKays really had the ability to
destroy Ryan and his family. With a start, she realized if sides
were to be drawn, she was already firmly on the McGee side of the
street.

Next to her husband, Alice shifted, drawing
Sandy's attention. Her jade green eyes glittered with malevolence.
But she wasn't looking at Ryan; she was looking at Sandy.

"Hello, Mr. MacKay, Miz MacKay." DC seemed
to materialize behind them.

Sandy felt some of her anxiety ease. She
could breathe again, but the knot remained in her throat. Alice
MacKay had been less than civil for the past couple of days, since
even before Sandy had met Ryan. What was that about?

"Someone call the sheriff to defend this
scum?" demanded MacKay.

DC smiled. "As a matter of fact, I came in
here to pick up some dinner and heard you hollering over here. Now
I'm going to do you a favor and see you get headed for home.
Because if you don't, Mr. MacKay, I won't have a choice but to put
you in jail until you're sober."

Without averting her hard-eyed stare at
Sandy, Alice tugged on her husband's arm. After a last long look at
Ryan, MacKay turned and stalked to the door.

DC watched the couple leave, then looked at
Ryan, speculation in his eyes. "Enjoy your evening, Sandy, Ry."
With a nod at them both, he followed the MacKays.

"I'm sorry." Ryan's voice was resigned, but
his gaze into her eyes was unwavering.

Her gaze didn't waver either. "That wasn’t
your fault." Sandy laid her hand over his and squeezed gently. "I
don't know what the trouble is between you and them, but I trust
you, Ryan."

She waited, hoping maybe he'd tell her it
was nothing, a misunderstanding. But she knew it went deeper than
that. Far deeper.

His mouth worked soundlessly. Finally, he
managed to speak. "Thank you."

She smiled. "What do you think, Mr. McGee?
Do you want to take dessert up in my apartment? It'll be quiet and
we can talk there."

"Seems a little like running," he
murmured.

"Maybe. But if we leave
together, it becomes a question of whether you're running away from
all the ruckus or running away
with
me." She ran a tantalizing finger down his arm.
"Personally, I'd prefer to think of it as running off with me." She
stood and held out her hand. "So . . . wanna come raid my . . .
kitchen?"

Ryan slipped his hand into hers. "You have a
talent for turning things around."

Conversation in the bar slowly began to pick
up as they abandoned their table and crossed the room. Sandy led
him through the kitchen and out the side door, then up the long
wooden staircase at the back of the building, turning just before
they reached her door.

A bright flash trailed across the sky and
Sandy pointed. "Look! Make a wish!"

She closed her eyes but when she tried to
think of a wish, none came. Unsettled, she opened her eyes again to
find Ryan watching her with an intensity that took her breath.

"Not all wished out after all?" he asked
softly.

Sandy gave him a sad smile and shook her
head slowly. "Actually, I didn’t think of one wish just now."

Standing one step above him put them at the
same eye level. His eyes looked darker green in just the light of
the full moon. His lips curled upward and he cocked his head to one
side. Slowly, he moved toward her. When she stepped backward, he
stepped up, walking her backward until her back hit the door. He
crowded her there but stopped just short of touching her.

Almost of its own accord, her body slanted
toward his in invitation. There were unresolved things between them
but at that moment she couldn’t find it in herself to care. There
would be time to talk later. Suddenly, her body seemed to burn with
hunger for his. She needed this. She needed to move forward with
Ryan in order to move on from Mick.

Ryan brought a hand up and slid it along the
side of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair and cupping the
back of her head. As he drew her toward him, he leaned into her.
His lips brushed over hers and Sandy's breath hung up in her
throat.

He pulled away slightly, then moved toward
her again.

"Please," whispered Sandy.

Ryan froze in place. "Please?"

Sandy trembled, recognizing the point of no
return. "Come inside."

Ryan groaned. When he crowded her into the
wall again, he didn't hold back. He molded his lean body against
hers. She forgot what they'd been going to talk about, forgot they
were going to talk at all.

He was breathing heavily now as his hands
roamed up and down her spine, each caress a gentle promise. "Key,"
he murmured against her lips.

In answer, Sandy reached behind her and
turned the doorknob. The door opened easily.

"You shouldn't leave your door
unlocked."

Sandy laughed and nibbled at his lower lip.
"You've been in the city too long." She tugged him to the edge of
her threshold, then across. Without needing to look, she flicked
the switch upward and the tiny room was washed in a golden pink
glow from the lamp next to her bed.

"Wow." Ryan surveyed the small apartment, a
neutral mask in place. "It's. . ."

Sandy winced, wishing she'd taken more time
to tidy up. "Messy, I know." Her eyes slid to her unmade bed. "And
it's small but—"

"Cozy, private, efficient, and convenient."
A huge grin was plastered across his face. "But I was actually
going to say it's nice to have someplace where you're comfortable
leaving your underwear hanging in the kitchen."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She followed his
glance at the tiny bits of lingerie hanging on the makeshift
clothesline, stretched along the length of her kitchen
countertop.

"Okay, you get to go park yourself on the
settee over there while I tidy up. Obviously you don't understand
the concept of a bachelorette pad." She gathered her lingerie and
stalked over to the dresser, shoving it all into a half-open
drawer.

"Guilty. I'm only familiar with the male
equivalent of said pad and that was. . ." He chuckled, spreading
his hands helplessly, then broke into easy laughter. "Actually it
was pretty freakin' disgusting." Retrieving a red silk camisole
from the floor, he dangled it on one finger. "And the underwear
wasn't even close to this interesting."

Sandy snatched the garment. "Go sit down,
caveman. There's a large TV hooked to a satellite dish over there.
That ought to keep you occupied for a couple of minutes."

Ryan twisted his head in the direction she
pointed. "You do have your surprises," he murmured, sauntering over
to the TV with a tuneless whistle.

Sandy gathered various pieces of discarded
clothing, stashing them in drawers and shoving them into her
closet. She kicked a dozen half-pairs of sandals under the bed, the
likely resting place of their mates. Cleaning up her overflowed
bath the previous night had led to scouring the bathroom, but she
poked her head in to make sure she had picked the wet towel off the
floor after her shower that morning.

Back in the main room, Ryan checked out the
stereo, and the sultry sounds of a slow jazz number began to play.
Anticipation edged into her sensual centers. Sandy yanked the sheet
straight, and felt around for the blanket at the foot of the bed,
pulling it up and squaring it off.

When Ryan's arms closed around her from
behind, she stiffened in surprise, then relaxed and let her head
fall back against his shoulder. His hands rested lightly at her
waist in a grip she could easily have escaped. His breath played
along her neck and he teased the sensitive skin beneath her ear
with his lips.

"Watching you is making me crazy." His silky
whisper in her ear turned up the hum of awareness, which didn't
seem to have an off switch when he was around.

His hands didn't move and she leaned
backward into him, longing to touch his muscular, heated body but
he held her still for a moment. Finally, he pulled back a half step
and turned her to face him.

"Sandy?"

It was her name. It was a question. It was a
promise.

She understood. She could say no. She could
stop him right now and that would be the end of it. The power to
choose the evening's outcome was completely in her hands. Except
she wasn’t certain the power to choose had ever been in either of
their hands.

There was no seduction in his eyes, only
tenderness. Her heartbeat was heavy against her chest. Her eyes
were hot with unshed tears she was at a loss to explain. She might
think about it later, but just now she was incapable of thought.
Sandy held his gaze, liking the way he was looking at her, enjoying
the awakening sensations she had never expected to feel again.

He held her with a look, a silent question
hanging between them. Slowly, she nodded, stepping closer.

"You're sure?" His voice was husky, his eyes
dark with desire.

"Never more sure in my life." She leaned up
and touched her mouth to his, running her tongue along his bottom
lip, enjoying the hint of beer she tasted.