Protecting What's Mine(96)

“Is there any other kind?”

“Friendsgiving.”

“Touché.”

“I might have a couple of guests coming in for Thanksgiving,” she hedged.

“Bring them. Your place is too small for a big family meal anyway.”

She fingered his lapel. “So what you’re saying is me and my guests can join your family’s celebration, and I don’t have to cook the entire meal?”

He grinned. “You’ll be lucky if my sisters let you open a bag of rolls.”

“This is a very tempting proposition. I’ll check with my guests,” she told him.

They returned to their table, an interesting collection of Bill’s teacher friends and Mindy’s office coworkers. Linc looped his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her arm while the conversations ebbed and flowed.

“Excuse me, if I could have everyone’s attention,” Mindy said into the band’s borrowed microphone.

The crowd quieted.

“I know we’ve already done our wedding toasts, but there’s one more that needs to be made,”

Bill approached her with two fresh glasses of champagne.

“Thanks, hubby,” she said, making the guests laugh. “Anyway, as many of you know, a long, long time ago, my family’s home caught fire.”

“Oh, boy,” Linc whispered.

Mack’s hand slid onto his thigh and squeezed. “Ha. Now it’s your turn, jerk.”

“I almost didn’t make it out,” Mindy continued. “It was Christmas Eve, and I was trapped in a room with Scratch, the sixteen-pound family cat. The smoke was so thick, I couldn’t see a thing. I could barely breathe. And I was losing hope. My daddy wasn’t going to come rescue me. I wasn’t going to be able to save Scratch. I wasn’t going to open that pile of presents my parents wrapped.

“And then out of the smoke came my own personal hero. He was there when I needed him most. Firefighter Lincoln Reed risked his life to save me and Scratch, who lived up to his name during his rescue.”

The crowd chuckled warmly.

“Without Chief Reed, none of this beautiful, perfect day would have been possible. I wouldn’t be here in a beautiful dress saying yes to the most amazing man. There wouldn’t be a reason for all of the people I love so much to gather together and drink champagne and dance.”

Linc’s throat tightened to the point of strangulation. He pawed at his tie, trying to loosen it.

Mackenzie leaned in. “Just try not to blink.”

Mindy and Bill raised their glasses to the crowd. “To Chief Reed. My hero. Thank you for every single day since that one.”

“To Chief Reed!”

“Good job, chief,” Mack whispered, clinking her glass to his.

“I’m gonna be traumatized by the sound of champagne popping,” he grumbled as the applause continued.

Mack’s phone vibrated in her clutch. She checked it, frowned.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning in.

“Trish Dunnigan calling. Probably just checking in. I’m going to take this,” she said, excusing herself from the table.

He watched her go and felt that longing again.

He wanted to ask her, to push the issue. Things were good. They were good. This was a real shot at something. A beginning.

But he didn’t. If he asked, if she said no, that was the end of his hope.

He lasted through five minutes of personal thank yous from the bride, her mother, and a dozen other friends and relatives before he managed to duck out a side door.

It was the first Saturday of November, and the night air held hints of winter coming. The moon above was almost full and painted the fields in a ghostly glow.

He drew in a breath, released it in a silvery cloud.

“You all right?” Mack, rubbing her arms with her hands, stepped out behind him.

She was luminous in the moonlight, a winter queen in silver.

“What is it with people all of the sudden doing these big thank yous?” he muttered, looking away.

“Let’s face it, Hotshot. What you do matters. What we do matters. Other people’s lives change because of what we do.” She slipped her arms around his waist from behind and pressed her face to his back. “You’re a good man, Lincoln Reed.”

Then stay. He wanted to say the words that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to put them out there. But he didn’t want to hear what came next.

That he was good for a good time. A good friend. And not much else.

Instead, he turned around, wrapped Mackenzie up in his arms and breathed her in.





46





Mack ignored the sinking feeling she had as she pulled up in front of her mother’s tidy little townhouse. It, like every other place her mother had ever lived, would never be home to Mack. But this was one of the nicer neighborhoods that Andrea had settled in. She imagined that her monthly rent check helped considerably as she studied the red brick exterior. The concrete steps were swept, but the planter on the edge of the landing held the skeletal remains of some kind of summer flower.

“It can’t be that bad. Just a couple of days,” she muttered to herself.

Still stalling, she pulled out her phone and fired off a text.