Trouble Maker: A MacKenzie Family Novel (The MacKenzie Family) (13 page)

She was an early riser, but she stayed in bed, watching the show until the sun’s rays shone through the window and prodded her to put her feet on the floor. The wood floors of the house were cold, so she put on the slippers and bundled up in her robe to go start the coffeemaker.

Part of Marnie wished she could avoid Beckett forever. Life had taught her some hard lessons. The most important being that the only person she could ever trust was herself. The second being that everyone had an agenda or something they wanted from you.

Her father had kept her around as a punching bag, and every once in a while he’d ask her a question like she was his own personal crystal ball. But she’d rarely been able to give him the answers he’d been seeking. Clive had wanted to possess every part of her. To own her. And he had. She’d let him because there had always been that fear that if she did the wrong thing or displeased him, he’d turn into a version of her father.

She didn’t know what Beckett wanted from her yet, other than the obvious. Back before she’d left the first time, Beckett had been as young and naïve as she was. But he was a man now and she wondered what his ultimate goal was where she was concerned.

The other part of her, the less cautious part, longed to see him. The visions had led her back to Surrender, but they hadn’t shown her the future. Only that she was where she belonged. She knew their paths would cross again. It was inevitable. Just as she knew they’d eventually be lovers. But it would be on her terms. She wasn’t willing to give any part of herself away again. She’d already given too much, and there wasn’t much left.

Her focus was going to be her business and making a life for herself at the little house on the river. Maybe once she was feeling more comfortable she’d socialize outside of the MacKenzie circle. And maybe once she’d ventured out she’d take Beckett to her bed. But for now she was content with her own company.

She stood at the kitchen window, drinking her coffee and letting her mind wander when she heard the crunch of tires coming up the drive. A white Jeep she didn’t recognize skidded to a halt and she recognized the girl who’d claimed she was carrying Beckett’s child when she hopped out and slammed the door.

Marnie stepped out onto the front porch so the girl wouldn’t barge in. She seemed like the kind of person who would enter without an invitation. Blowing on her coffee, she took a sip and waited for the explosion that was about to come.

“You bitch!” Hazel said as she marched up the sidewalk and onto the porch steps. “How dare you think you can horn in on my man? He’s mine! Do you hear me?”

Marnie stared at her several seconds, long enough to have the girl shifting from foot to foot as she waited for the argument to escalate.

“I hear you, but interestingly enough, I don’t know you. Maybe you’d like to introduce yourself before you start calling me names on my own property.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty with me. My brother told me you were nothing but common trash. As far as my name, it’s soon to be Hazel Hamilton.”

“Ah, yes. I recognize the screech of your voice from your little episode in town the other day. And I guess your brother is right. I grew up about as poor as anyone could, but at least I have manners. Is that all you came to say to me? I’ve got to get ready for work.”

Hazel’s eyes narrowed at the dismissal and her face turned red, like a child throwing a tantrum. Marnie realized that’s exactly what she was. A spoiled brat.

“You were all anyone could talk about last night down at Duffey’s. How your daddy beat the shit out of Beckett back when you were kids cause y’all were fucking and got caught.”

“Is that what they say?” Marnie asked, brow raised in simple curiosity.

“Well, I’m here to tell you you’d better think twice about rekindling old flames. They were also saying he was sniffing around you yesterday afternoon and you were like a bitch in heat, ready to roll over right there on Main Street.”

“Must be an interesting crowd you hang with. So full of information. Like I said, I’ve got to get ready for work, and I’m out of the mood to deal with little girl tantrums. Actually, if you’ll hold on a second I’d love to get my camera. I make my living snapping interesting pictures of faces. I’d call yours
Petulance.
”

Hazel shrieked like a steam whistle and her fists bunched at her side. “You bitch!”

“You’re starting to repeat yourself and I’m bored. Go home to your mother and grow up.”

Hazel took several steps forward and Marnie straightened to her full height. “Don’t take another step. You’re on my land and I won’t hesitate to have you thrown behind bars for tresspassing.”

“You’re probably fucking the sheriff too,” she spat.

“Make sure you tell him that. I’m sure it’ll help lessen your time behind bars. I notice you haven’t mentioned the baby. I guess that didn’t pan out the way you wanted it to.”

Hazel stamped her foot and fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to make you wish you never stepped foot back in Surrender.”

“Little girl, I grew up under the fist of Harley Whitlock. If you think your tantrums scare me then you’ve got another thing coming. Go lick your wounds in private and stop making a fool of yourself. You spend a couple more nights down at Duffey’s, I’m sure you can find a cowboy that’ll make you forget all about Beckett Hamilton.”

Hazel turned sharply on her heel and got back into her Jeep, slamming the door and revving the engine before she sped away.

“Yet another reason to stay away from Beckett,” Marnie muttered, letting the screen door close softly behind her as she went back inside. He was nothing but trouble.

Chapter Thirteen

Marnie didn’t know whether to curse Lila Rose or give her a big hug.

She’d had nonstop phone calls from people wanting to set up appointments for three solid weeks. And if they couldn’t reach her by phone, they were coming by the studio and knocking on the door. Everyone wanted to get new pictures taken before the holidays, and several had asked if she could do Christmas cards.

Grant and his team were working nonstop, though they’d had a setback due to the fact that someone had thrown a brick through her front door during the middle of the night. They’d turned the deadbolt through the hole in the door and let themselves in, doing some damage to the walls and some of the framed photographs.

Downtown Surrender was virtually empty at that time of night, except for the few tenants that lived above some of the shops. And the culprit had waited until the deputy on duty had left the office next door to go on patrol. It was all very quick and the destruction to the inside seemed more of an afterthought as they’d picked up whatever tools had been left lying around to punch holes in the walls and scratch the surface of the desk.

Hazel’s presence hit her in the face the moment she’d walked in to see the damage, but she hadn’t acted alone. Someone else’s essence had been there as well. Marnie mentioned to Cooper about the little confrontation at the house between her and Hazel, so he went out to question her, but according to Hazel’s mother, she’d been out of town visiting friends during the breakin and she wouldn’t be back for another week.

Most of the damage had been cosmetic and was easily fixable, but it was still a personal attack and Marnie wasn’t about to let the guilty get away with it. But she could bide her time and be patient. Hazel couldn’t hide forever, and Marnie had worked too hard to just roll over and take it. If she did it once Hazel would do it again and again.

She was at least able to schedule delivery for all the supplies she’d ordered while Grant and his team did the repairs. Photography wasn’t for the faint of heart or wallet. Especially not if you wanted to do the job right.

Canvas, stretchers, presses, computers, printers, screens, backdrops, props—they took up a lot of room and were costly investments, but she couldn’t do the job without them.

When she had a camera in her hand, something inside her changed. She wasn’t the abused little girl she’d once been, and she wasn’t Clive Wallace’s trophy to be shown like he’d created her or cultivated her talent himself. The camera was hers and hers alone.

And as the days and weeks went by, she found herself out in the community, capturing the lives of the people she’d always observed as an outsider—smiles and tears, joy and sorrow, hope and desperation—it was life. And Surrender was teeming with it.

Beckett had stayed true to his word. He kept asking. And she kept saying no, reminding herself each time of the scene with Hazel. She couldn’t let herself get involved in another relationship. She’d felt repression at the hands of her father and her lover, and she’d promised herself she’d never let anyone have that kind of control over her again. That kind of power. But Beckett was starting to wear on her.

It had started the day after their initial meeting, the same morning she’d been paid a visit from Hazel. She’d been in the back, going over paint samples with Grant, when there’d been a knock at the door. Her head had been pounding after the scene with Hazel, and she wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

She knew there was going to be gossip when she returned to Surrender. She’d expected it. But she’d be lying if she said it didn’t bother her that they were talking about her down at Duffey’s. That Hazel’s brother had called her common trash. Words hurt. No matter how thick your skin. It was how one reacted to them that mattered. But sometimes she wondered how strong she really was. What her breaking point was. Harley had never been able to break her, no matter how bad the beating. But sometimes she wished he had.

It wasn’t like she’d gone to a lot of trouble to keep her gift a secret over the last decade or so. Not when she’d been helping the police in such a public manner. But it still stung to walk down the street and have people avoid her gaze or walk in the opposite direction—like she was going to chase them down and list all their sins out in public. It was almost comical. It would’ve been if it hadn’t hurt so much.

The delivery boy on the other side of the door must’ve heard the gossip too, because he looked at her like she was a ghost and practically shoved the basket into her hands as soon as she opened the door.

“I’ve got a delivery for you, Miss Whitlock.” He swallowed once and took a step back.

“Thank you,” she said, and dug in her pocket for the crumpled ones she’d shoved in there after buying a drink from the mercantile that morning. She handed the money to him and he ran off back to the bakery.

There was a little note attached to the basket that said, “
I’m just being neighborly.
” He didn’t sign his name, but she found herself smiling anyway.

Beckett sent something new every day. Scented candles for the store. Bath salts she could use to soak in after a long day at work. A bouquet of stargazer lilies and tulips he must’ve paid a fortune for since it was freezing outside. Chocolate covered strawberries. They were all accompanied with the same note—
I’m just being neighborly.

And damn him for it. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. It was far too easy to let those girlish fantasies come back to the surface. To bring back the taste of his lips against hers and the butterflies in her stomach as infatuation turned to something more.

He’d stopped by her house on a whim one evening as she was unloading groceries. He helped her unload them and then looked at her dishwasher for her when she’d mentioned it was making an odd sound. The sight of him in work-worn jeans and stripped down to his shirtsleeves as he tinkered with the dishwasher was enough to have her blood running hot. The artist in her could appreciate the muscles in his shoulders and arms as pure perfection. The woman in her wanted to take a bite out of him and damn the consequences.

If it wouldn’t have looked completely ridiculous since it was the end of November and snow already covered the ground, she would’ve opened a window to cool things off a little.

She’d put away the groceries and they’d talked about his family and what was happening on the ranch, and when he was finished he put everything away, tested out the dishwasher, and then asked her if she wanted to grab a pizza and see a movie in the same tone of voice he used when talking about his cattle. Telling him no had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. But he didn’t push. He just smiled and said she might change her mind tomorrow or the next day, so he’d keep asking.

That had been three days ago, and though she hadn’t seen him again, his gifts continued to show up each day.

She barely heard the tinkle of the bells as her studio door opened. Beckett had made her lose her focus, and she found herself staring off into space, wasting time when she should’ve been working.

“My goodness, that’s quite a frown you’ve got there,” Mary MacKenzie said, closing the door behind her. “You’d think a woman being romanced like you are would be smiling like a fool.”

“I’m not being romanced,” Marnie said automatically. And then she shook herself out of her funk and took a good look at the woman who’d been more of a mother to her than her own.

Mary had always been larger than life in her mind. She was a petite woman, barely a couple of inches over five feet, and still beautiful in her bones. She kept her hair a pale shade of blonde and cut short around her triangular face, and she had it done like clockwork every two weeks. Her eyes were a softer shade than the MacKenzie blue, and she’d aged gracefully, the lines on her face adding interest and character instead of the despair that some women had over a few wrinkles. Her life was an active and blessed one.

It was amazing to think that big, strapping men like Cade, Declan, Grant, and Shane had come from her. But she wasn’t to be underestimated. The woman had a spine of steel and had ruled the MacKenzie clan with equal amounts love, affection, and discipline. No one got away with anything when Mary MacKenzie was watching. And when they did get away with it, it was because she let them.

If Marnie had had a camera in her hand at that moment she would’ve taken a picture of Mary. There was strength there. But behind the strength was a brokenness that couldn’t lie to the camera.