MacKenzie Fire(39)

He pushes the door open and steps in far enough to grab a big camouflage jacket off a hook. “Wear this one.” Tossing it at me, he doesn’t even wait for me to respond. He’s out the door and gone, leaving behind some melting snow on the floor and a whole bunch of seriously cold air. My nipples turn into pebbles and not for the good reason. I hope they don’t break off when I get outside.

I hold the coat out in front of me and speak loud enough to be heard through the closed door. “This thing is fugly. Whose is it?”

“It’s mine,” he says from the porch. “Come on! You’re going to miss it!”

I throw my arm through one of the holes and grab the door, hurrying to catch up to him. The little high school girl in me is thrilled to be wearing Ian’s coat. It’s almost as good as a letterman’s jacket. Hello, Grease throwback! I could totally do Sandy, and Ian wouldn’t make a bad Danny now that I think about it.

“Whooo!” I yell, as the air is stolen from my lungs by the cold. Visions of Ian and me doing a musical together vanish from my brain. I’m suddenly stuck in place. I have never felt anything so awful in my entire life. My nostril hairs are now frozen thorns inside my nose.

“Get your jacket on, fool,” he says, halfway across the yard walking backwards. “It’s below zero out here.”

“Ho … leeee …. sheeee …. it! It is cold out here, mother fudger!” I jam my other arm into the jacket and gather it around me, wrapping it as tight as I can. Thankfully it’s way too big, so my hands are out of the cold and stuck up in the sleeves, and there’s material over my neck and down to my knees. Still, I’m shivering. I’m afraid my hair is still kind of wet. Is this how hypothermia starts? I hope not.

I reach the truck he’s standing next to and peek out from between the folds of cloth. “Where … are … we … going?” My teeth are chattering.

He reaches down and pushes my hands apart. I protest until I realize he’s looking for my zipper.

“We’re going to look at something I think you’ll like, if you can ever get your butt in the truck.”

“It’s not even six in the morning yet, Ian. And you gave me no notice at all.”

“High maintenance,” he says, shaking his head as he zips up my zipper. He reaches into an outside pocket of the jacket and pulls out a lump of black leather. “Put these on.”

I’ve never been so happy to see a butt-ugly pair of gloves in my life. I can already feel the warmth they’re going to bring to my aching fingers.

I drop one trying to get it on too fast, and we both bend over at the same time to get it. Our heads knock into each other like two coconuts, and I fall backwards trying to escape the pain.

“What in the sam hill …” Ian stands there holding his head, staring at me.

I lie on the ground, looking up at him as I hold my forehead. “Ow. Headache.”

“You have got to be the least coordinated person I have ever met,” he says, holding out a hand.

I roll over onto my side and get up on my hands and knees. “Go away, I don’t need your help.” When I finally stand, I spin around to stare him down.

He jumps with fright and then looks guilty, like I caught him at something. He stares at the ground, his face a little pinker than before.

My hands go to my hips and I use the opportunity to pull my pants up a little. It’s possible I just gave him a plumber-crack flash in my efforts to stand. Oops. Good thing I have my cute thong on and not my granny panties. “Listen, Ian … if you and I are going to get along, you’re going to have to stop insulting me.”

“Insulting you?”

“Yes. You’ve called me high maintenance and klutzy. It’s not nice to say that to girls. Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice?”

“I suppose she did.” He pushes his lips together and nods once.

“Good. So make your mother happy. Be a nice boy.” I pat him on the cheek a couple times, maybe harder than I should, but he needs a little wakeup call. “Now be a gentleman and get my door for me.”

He looks like he’s about to say something smart back at me, but instead, he moves to the side and opens the passenger door of the big black truck we’re standing next to. “Can I give you a hand?” he asks, holding out a gloved palm.

“Thank you,” I say, grinning. I’m so happy he’s behaving himself. Maybe he really does want to get along with me.

“You have a nice smile, you know that?” he asks. He’s staring at me. “You’ve got a dimple right there in your cheek.” His other hand reaches up and pokes me in the face. Firmly. Then he smiles.

I grit my teeth together to keep from saying something I’ll regret. He is totally baiting me right now, waiting for me to fight back, which is exactly why I’m not going to do that.

Today, the tables will be turning and not on me. Ian will be getting a taste of his own medicine if it’s the last thing I accomplish before I leave. I hope it doesn’t take me the whole vacation to do it, though. I’m really looking forward to seeing it happen.





Chapter Sixteen





“SO WHAT ARE WE GOING to see?” I ask, once we’re both settled in the cab of the truck with my purse on the floorboard at my feet.