MacKenzie Fire

MacKenzie Fire by Elle Casey

Chapter One


THE AIR IN BOISE, IDAHO is so cold, when I inhale, it freezes my nostril hairs. I wiggle my nose around and literally feel crackling going on in there. That is just so wrong. I’m from Florida. Nostrils never ever crackle in the tropics.

The air outside looks blue. I attribute that to the coldness. Cold equals blue, warm equals orange. That’s why the sky in Florida always looks orange. It’s a meteorological fact; you can look it up. I’m thinking on the equator, everything is probably more red.

The misty clouds really high up in the grey sky look like they’re in the mood to drop some snow on my head, and that’s going to be a problem because I spent a ton of time making sure my hair would be perfect. The ash blond color with natural-looking highlights on top and lowlights underneath is a hard set-up to get perfect, but I’ve done it. Of course. And the purposely careless look to the wavy style takes me over an hour to get just right with the help of copious amounts of product and a flat iron. A hat would totally ruin the effect. Hair is my business and I am always advertising.

I scan the arrival pick-up area and ask myself for about the tenth time since the plane touched down why I’m here, but then I see my roley poley best friend waddling down the sidewalk outside the airport and I remember; I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the entire world than right here on the frozen tundra that is the Northwest, awaiting the birth of my first godchild.

“Candice!” Andie shouts happily, picking up the pace. “You’re here!” She looks like she’s going to tip over, first to one side and then the other. Her feet are angled out like a duck’s. The snow on the sidewalk squeaks and crunches with the rhythm of her footfalls.

I run over to meet her and her cowboy escort who’s trailing behind, the dingle ball pom-poms on the top of my boots banging around my ankles and calves. I found these babies online and I could not wait to wear them. I never get to wear fur-lined pom-pom boots in Florida, but here, I’m turning out all the northern exposure fashion. I can’t let that degree from UF go completely to waste.

I’m almost to my BFF’s embrace when I hit a patch of ice.

“Whooop!”

My arms fly out in an attempt to create some wind resistance and slow my descent. I’m not sure it works this time, although the theory is sound. The sky turns upside down and switches places with the ground. I can’t see anything but those wispy clouds, and then my butt lands hard on the sidewalk. The cold wetness immediately starts to seep into my Diesel jeans.

Ass? Meet ice. Very cold, very hard, ice.

“Holy crapola,” I grunt out as I try to sit up, “that sidewalk is like concrete or something.” My body is a little too stunned to obey my commands just yet and my gloves are sticking to the ground. I now know how a turtle feels when it gets flipped over. Poor turtles.

A cowboy hat blocks out the grey sky and an emotionless face is there above mine. “That was graceful,” he says.

I frown at him, ignoring the pretty green eyes and chiseled good looks of this Oregon born and bred cowboy. “Of course it was. I’ve been practicing.”

He holds out a gloved hand, which I take under protest. Andie’s brother-in-law Ian is on my list. My doo-doo list. Andie has kept me apprised of his sorry butt via email, text, and telephone calls for the last year, so I have plenty of reason to not like him. Apparently his attitude after his brother’s wedding hasn’t improved a whole lot from when Andie met him for the first time. We’ve analyzed the situation ad nauseum and have come to the conclusion that he’s still blaming Andie’s husband or maybe even Andie for his messed-up life.

“Are you okay? Oh my god, that was a bad one.” Andie is fluttering her hands around me, patting me all over once I’m standing.

“There’s nothing broken but my ass, and that already had a crack in it. I’m fine.” I hold her hands out to her sides so I can see her midsection and distract her from her crazy mother hen program. It’s really weird to see her acting so different. I’m willing to bet Party Girl is never in the hizouse anymore.

“How are you doing?” I ask. “Ready to pop?” Her white, goose down coat is puffed out so much she looks like the Michelin Man or maybe the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. I can’t actually see her belly at all, but it must be huge the way it’s turning my formerly tiny lawyer friend into a giant human snowball.

“You have no idea.” She pulls me into an awkward hug. She has to bend over to keep her belly from hitting me, and I have to fold in half to meet her since she’s shorter than me. “I’ve missed you soooo much!” She sounds almost weepy.

I roll my eyes over to Ian who’s pretending to be bored out of his skull. “Yeah, I know. Nothing to do but stare at cowboys all day. Poor girl.” She has a small legal practice in the town where she lives but she does all her work at home. I’ve learned there are the three MacKenzie men, some friend of the family named Boog, and then a few other ranch hands who are there every day working. “You must really be missing city life. You’ve sacrificed a lot.”

Ian doesn’t look at me, but his face twitches.

Good. Let him suck on that lemon drop for a while. He’s going to get a piece of my mind later for being a butthead to my best friend, after she gave up her whole life to come out to the middle of nowhere and be a rancher’s wife. I narrow my eyes at him, willing him to look over at me and bask in my silent threat.