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The recollection of that goal plus the burn of the second tequila shot got her off the bar stool. Tugging on Kent’s hand, she towed him toward the dance floor, just as a line dance was forming. Thrusting both arms in the air, she let out a loud “Woo-hoo!” and took her place beside Angelica, who shared a grin. Then the bride stuck out her tongue at the groom, who stood on the sidelines, arms crossed over his chest and a smug half smile curving his mouth, his gaze never leaving his beautiful new wife. She laughed and blew him a kiss that he pretended to catch. Then Brett clapped his hand to his heart.
Mac froze, stricken by the romantic gesture coming from her usually reserved older brother. But when the music ramped up, she drove off the melancholy by throwing herself into the moves, hoping the old fake-it-until-you-make-it adage would blow away her doldrums.
And it worked.
Not for one instant did she leave the dance floor, finding partners for the slower dances and gyrating with her girlfriends during the fast numbers. Kent did his part, and when he begged for a breather she waved him off with her blessing and a smile. When the DJ segued into another romantic ballad, Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud,” she sidled into a shadowy corner to enjoy the song and the sight of Brett and Angelica wrapped in each other’s arms, their foreheads touching, their mouths a millimeter apart.
Closing her eyes, she tried ignoring the pang in her heart.
But the sudden sensation of a male body behind her and muscled arms crossing her waist couldn’t be disregarded. She started, but his hold tightened and a hard jaw pressed against her temple as a low voice whispered in her ear. “Just enjoy the moment.”
Only slightly swaying to the beat, he drew her closer to his solid warmth.
Goose bumps rolled down Mac’s body, hot chills of sexual response. Her breath caught in her throat. Who...?
Not Kent, because through the dancers she could glimpse him at the bar talking to Jim. Anyway, she already knew he didn’t draw this kind of reaction from her. As the sweet notes of the song wrapped around them, curiosity prodded her to turn and confront her partner, but another part of her didn’t want to disturb the strange and strangely compelling bindings that seemed to be lashing their bodies together.
His heart beat against her back.
Hers sent an urgent message to her brain. This is something special.
Mac didn’t dare disturb the magic created by the sensation of his exhalations stirring her hair. Breathing deep of his scent, she felt both bold and safe enough to lean into his strength, going so far as to wrap her fingers around his forearms covered in the fine wool of an expensive jacket.
Enjoy the moment.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d done that. Walkers worked hard to keep their place on the mountain and she was no exception, doing everything from washing windows to sending out invoices as the proprietor of Maids by Mac. Housework wasn’t a glamorous career, but she’d never wanted anything more than to be her own woman.
Except when you longed to be Zan’s woman, a devil whispered in her head.
She kicked away the thought of Alexander Elliott. He didn’t belong in this sweet bubble of possibility. Closing her eyes again, she allowed herself to bask in the man’s scent and in the man’s heat and mused that maybe Mac Walker wasn’t destined to be single and alone, after all.
Lost in that, she missed the ending of the song until the loud shriek of the mic yanked her out of her reverie. The DJ began speaking and she dropped her hold on the stranger behind her. But just as she turned to look at him, her sister Shay’s stepdaughter-to-be, London, grabbed Mac’s hand and hauled her onto the dance floor.
“Wait!” Mac glanced around, trying to find her partner, but she was already surrounded by a bevy of other women. “What’s going on?”
“The bouquet toss, silly,” London said in an excited voice, having lost her usual teenage insouciance somewhere after the I do’s.
Mac groaned. The tradition was embarrassing and one she did her best to avoid. But London had begged Angelica to include the custom and the kid had Mac’s wrist in a viselike grip. She tried tugging free. “Why don’t I get Shay and Poppy out here,” she suggested, naming her two engaged sisters. Once away from the teenager, she’d actually go on the hunt for her sexy stranger.
“They already have rings on their fingers,” London said. “This is for us.”
“You’re too young to get married,” Mac replied. “And I’m too...”
Hung up on Zan Elliott, the devil murmured again.
Instead of shrieking in frustration, Mac gave up. The absurd ritual couldn’t take long, right? Then she’d find the stranger and do...what?
Throw herself at him?
Maybe, she decided, reliving the sensation of him surrounding her. Reliving that so unusual—for her—trust she’d felt leaning against his larger body.
The women around her were chattering and the DJ was making noises into the mic, but Mac ignored the sounds, her thoughts focused on that man. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she turned her head.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in complete surprise.
There, beyond the tight clutch of women, a figure stood in profile. A figure she hadn’t seen in ten years and who was more muscled than when he’d left, but one she’d recognize anywhere.
And one she should have known when he stepped up behind her to whisper in her ear.
Just enjoy the moment.
Heat rose from her chest and flamed up her throat to her face as she recalled how quickly she’d relaxed in his hold. What did he think of that? And why would he have...have ambushed her in that way at this important event?
As if sensing her regard, his head turned, too, and their gazes met. His mouth quirked, stopping somewhere between a smirk and a smile.
Her temper kindled. What gall! What gall to show up so suddenly and without even a word of warning.
Just as she made to break out of the female circle in order to challenge her unexpected and unwelcome blast from the past, something soft and fragrant struck the side of her face. Instinct had her putting up her hands as a cheer sounded throughout the room.
Mac looked down at what was now cradled in her arms, trying to come to terms with the fact that she’d caught the bridal bouquet—and that Zan Elliott was back in town.
* * *
THE FRAGRANCE OF roses and lavender wafted up from the flowers. She gulped in a breath of it, then peered over the women gathered around her in congratulation, once again seeking out Zan.
He’d moved from where he’d been moments before...if he’d really been there moments before. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air. Could it be possible she’d imagined him?
Angelica broke through the ring of celebrants and beamed at Mac. Really, she was breathtakingly beautiful with her shiny brunette hair and dark eyes. She and Brett were going to make beautiful babies, and proud Auntie Mac would dote on them from her comfortable spinsterhood, unless Zan—
“I’m so glad you caught the flowers!” Angelica said, leaning in to kiss Mac’s cheek. “I know you consider the tradition barbaric, but I thought it was fun.”
She pretended to scowl at her new sister-in-law. “How come there’s no garter toss if you find tradition so great?”
“That’s because your brother’s a caveman. He said he didn’t want me baring my legs for all the wedding guests to see.”
Speaking of wedding guests... Mac took a quick look around the room, then leaned in to whisper in her sister-in-law’s ear. “Have you seen Zan?”
Angelica pulled back, her eyes going wide. “Zan? Your Zan?”
“He’s not my Zan,” Mac said quickly. “But I...I thought I caught a glimpse of him a minute ago.” I thought I felt his arms around me. I thought maybe my heart would beat out of my chest as we swayed to the music. “Did he call Brett or something and say he was coming back to town?”
The bride shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“But did you see—”
“I wouldn’t recognize him, right? We’ve never met.”
“Oh.” Mac felt another flush climb up her neck. The man—whoever he was—had her so flustered she wasn’t thinking clearly. “Never mind, then. I’ll just, uh, go put the bouquet down at my place at the table.”
Then she hurried off the dance floor, keeping a lookout for a dark-haired, hazel-eyed ten-year-gone guy. But when she didn’t see him, she began to wonder about her sanity. Perhaps the night before she’d stayed up too late boxing the chocolates that were going to the guests as party favors. Maybe she needed to gulp down a large cup of hot coffee and get her wits back in place.
“There you are!” Her sisters, Poppy and Shay, approached, their long skirts swishing about their legs. They wore gowns identical to Mac’s, only different in color. Poppy’s was pink, while Shay’s was a subtle peach.
“Nice catch,” Poppy said, nodding to the bouquet.
Mac rolled her eyes. “You saw what happened. It hit me in the head.”
“Maybe you’ll be better prepared when I throw mine at my reception in two weeks,” Shay said.
“No,” Mac groaned the word. “Not you, too?”
“London is insisting.”
“I’ll hide out in the bathroom, then,” Mac said. “Promise you’ll give me the high sign?”
“Absolutely,” her youngest sister said.
Mac narrowed her gaze. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not even going to pretend I won’t make you be in the gaggle of bachelorettes when it’s my turn,” Poppy put in. “But, anyway, did you see—”
“I did.” Mac’s heart jumped, then started to race. “I thought maybe I imagined it, but if you saw Zan, too...” She broke off at the puzzlement on her sister’s face.
“Zan?” Poppy said. “I was going to ask if you’d seen Mason dancing with the little McDonald girl.”
“Um, no, I didn’t,” Mac mumbled, feeling stupid. “Never mind—”
“Zan is here?” Shay asked. “Zan Elliott?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. It was just a glimpse,” Mac said.
Her two sisters exchanged glances. “How much have you had to drink?” Poppy asked.
No way would Mac mention the two tequila shots. “Never mind. I’m sure I was mistaken.”
Her sisters looked at each other again. “Oh, Mac,” Poppy said in a concerned voice.
Mac winced. Poppy had the gooiest heart of any of the Walkers, and right now she was clearly oozing pity for her poor, unattached sister who had delusions about the return of her very first boyfriend, her very first love. “It’s nothing,” she told her sister in a firm voice. “Like I said, a mistake.”
“But—”
“Look, they’re about to cut the cake.” Mac pointed toward the other end of the room. “We’d better get over there.”
Thankfully, that distracted her sisters, and Mac followed slowly in their wake. Could she really have mistaken some stranger for Zan?
In her mind’s eye, she saw him as he’d looked his second-to-last day in the mountains. She’d been eighteen, he’d just turned twenty-one, and they’d been a couple for two years. That afternoon they’d taken his boat to a secluded cove, where they’d spread a blanket and a picnic. Her intention had been to tough it out and not allow her belly-hollowing longing for him and her aching sadness at his imminent departure to ruin those final warm, sunny hours.
They’d made love for the last time, the wide shoulders of his rangy body blocking the sun so that she couldn’t read the expression in his hazel eyes as he’d entered her. But her legs had wound around his hips, tight, like two vines that could bind him to her forever.
He’d cupped her face in his hands. One hot tear had leaked from her eye and he’d brushed it away with his thumb, the stroke slow and tender. “Mackenzie Walker,” he’d whispered. Just that, as if memorizing her name.
Maybe he no longer even remembered it. Maybe he’d never thought of that girl again, who’d given him her body and who’d wanted to give him everything else: her heart, her soul, her whole life.
She grimaced, thinking of that green and unguarded young woman. Likely Zan had headed down the mountains and never thought of her again.
Except that didn’t explain the postcards that had come to her regularly over the past decade. On their fronts were photos of places like Oslo and Algiers and Singapore. On the other side, a single-letter message, three bold strokes that made up the letter Z.
No other thought. No return address. Just a pointed reminder of the young man who’d left her behind.
Mac was older now, but maybe no wiser if she truly thought for even a second that Zan might return to the place he’d always sworn to leave.
Standing near the table at the far end of the room, she watched Angelica and Brett feed each other bites of cake with the tidiest of manners. When her brother brushed an errant crumb from his bride’s bottom lip, a hot press of tears burned at the back of Mac’s eyes, which she ruthlessly held back.
God, how was she going to make it through two more of these darn events?
Poppy was the family crier, but Mac was on perilous ground herself and thanked God she was recruited to pass out slices of cake. A diversion was necessary. Moving among the guests wasn’t as much of a reprieve as she’d hoped, however. It was easy to agree about the bride’s beaming smile and the groom’s clear dedication to his new wife. But other comments weren’t so simple to smile through.
When will we see you married, Mac?
Why hasn’t some man finally put a wedding band on your finger?
Whatever happened to that boy of yours...that Zan Elliott?
At this last, she stopped short, staring down at tiny Carmen Lind, who had to be closing in on ninety and wore her silver hair braided in a crown on top of her head. “What made you think of him, Mrs. Lind?” Mac asked, through a suddenly tight throat.
The little lady dug into her cake with relish. “Who, dear?”
“You mentioned Zan.”
“Who?”
Mac smiled a little. “Zan Elliott. You just brought up his name.”
“Oh, yes. Such a good-looking young man. But he got into a lot of trouble, I recall. Those bad boys always catch a girl’s eye, don’t they?”
At nine years old, Mac’s big brother had brought Zan around one day, and she’d tagged after the two boys until Brett knocked her down into a pile of pine needles. Already she’d been too stubborn to cry or complain. Instead, she’d thrown a pinecone at Brett in retaliation and her bad aim meant it nailed Zan in the butt. He’d whirled, laughter glittering in his eyes, then leaped on her to “shampoo” her hair with a handful of dusty needles.
Red-faced and sneezing, she’d handed her heart over to him.
It had been that fast. That simple.
Mrs. Lind glanced around, her fork in midair. “You know, I thought I saw him a few minutes ago. Did he come to congratulate your brother?”
Brett. Mac whipped her head around, searching out the groom. If Zan had returned, surely he would have spoken with Brett.
It wasn’t easy getting a quiet moment with the groom, though. The reception was wrapping up and it seemed that each guest needed to pause on their way out the door for a short word with the new couple. She hung in their periphery, intent upon swooping in as soon as her brother was free.
Finally, the only people left in Mr. Frank’s were the bridal party and the bartender. While her sisters went to a back room to help Angelica out of her gown and into something warmer for the ride home, Mac snagged her brother by the sleeve.
