Helen Myers – A Holiday to Remember (страница 8)

Although Alana merely lifted her left eyebrow at his perusal, she turned to the man beside her. “Mack, this is Eberardo Chavez, whom I told you about. Eberardo, this is Mack Graves, Mr. Fred’s son. Anything you need or don’t understand,” she added to Mack, “he’s your walking resource center. He’s also a darned good mechanic, and helped teach me a lot of what I know about horses.”

Eberardo grinned, his white teeth brilliant in his bronzed face and his eyes twinkling with pride. “Nobody as good with the critters like you, Señorita Ally.”

While Mack knew he still looked bleary-eyed despite having showered, he shook Eberardo’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you. Would you and Ally like to come in for some—I was about to look if there was any coffee in the pantry.”

“Is okay, señor. I must get back to work. Please, if you need Eberardo, you yell or honk the truck or tractor horns, or Señorita Ally give you my cell phone number.” He pulled it out of his pocket to confirm that it was charged and ready. “I come quick from any place.”

“That sounds like a deal.” Mack watched as the man and the white-and-black canine took off before returning his gaze to Alana. He caught that while he’d been focusing on Fred’s hand, she was paying him back for his inspection. “Like what you see?”

“You live up to marine standards.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

“If I get three or four hours, I’m good.” She nodded at her bounty. “I stopped at the market on the way home to pick up some essentials to buy you a little time before you make your presence known in town. Plus Uncle Duke tends to cook enough for four. Are you going to invite me in or was last night a hint that I should be intimidated by you?”

“I believe hints are a waste of time with you.” But Mack allowed the smile tugging at his lips and stepped back to let her pass.

Alana carried everything to the kitchen table and, once he shut the door, Mack used the chance to tug on the white T-shirt, but he tried to move too fast and messed up the bandages on his back. He tried to untangle the tape from the shirt, and swore softly at the sting that told him that he failed. That’s when he heard a gasp.

“Mack!”

So much for trying to keep the wounds private. He knew she was seeing the effects of the two bullets he’d taken during his final deployment. He had returned to wearing the bandages because of the chafing caused by his clothing, as well as the occasional bump of the duffel bag during countless miles of hiking.

“That’ll teach me to finish dressing before answering the door,” he said as she came to offer assistance. “I can get this.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re doing such an outstanding job. Hold still.”

In short order, she removed the mangled mess and dabbed the antibiotic ointment from his T-shirt with the clean side of the gauze. “Take off this thing before you really start bleeding again.” Without waiting for him to comply, she started tugging it over his head.

Mack helped finish, but gave her a warning look. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” she replied, her tone mocking. “Sit. I’ll start a pot of coffee and get you patched up. I take it there’s more of that stuff in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Alana went to the refrigerator and took out a can of coffee. “Store the stuff in there,” she said as though confident he was watching her. “It stays fresh longer.”

“Far too complicated. That’s why I’ve stuck with instant for years,” Mack said—but he was glad to take a seat and watch her. She was all efficiency and grace, no wasted movements.

“This is the same unit that’s at the station,” she said, filling the carafe from the refrigerator water dispenser. Then she counted three of the measuring scoops of grains into the filter. “Don’t even attempt to tell me—this is a waste of your precious time.”

Mack had to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep from laughing. The woman was as much a pain in his backside as she was irresistible.

Once she turned on the machine, she vanished around the corner and down the hall in search of the first-aid supplies. Mack used the break to peel apart the aluminum foil around the platter to get a slice of the bacon. Its scent was making him salivate.

“That needs to go into the microwave,” Alana said upon her return. “It’ll taste better warm.”

“Tastes fine to me,” he said, knowing his stubbornness would irk.

Instead of replying, she simply plucked the plate out of his reach, tore off the rest of the foil and placed his meal in the microwave. In about half a minute, she took it out, pulled a fork from the silverware drawer and set everything in front of him.

“My, you do know your way around here,” Mack drawled.

“I told you, this was my second home, and when Fred wouldn’t let the nurses come any longer, I took care of him.” With Mack focused on the food, Alana set to work on his back. “Dear God, how did those bullets miss vital organs? It looks as though you were almost killed.”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

She used peroxide to clean the areas again. “The wounds don’t look very old.”

“July Fourth.”

“Should you even be out of the hospital yet? Your cross-country trek doesn’t seem to have been the wisest idea.”

“Tell the chief that he makes a mean breakfast.”

Taking the strong hint, Alana stopped asking questions. Mack could tell she had performed first aid before and had a gentle touch. No doubt she’d made his father’s last days more bearable; he certainly enjoyed her ministrations. He let himself imagine her fingers moving elsewhere, until his body told him that he was asking for trouble.

“I didn’t mean that you had to go mute on me.”

“You grouse just like Uncle Duke. Your wish is my command, master,” she added, bending to coo near his ear.

Mack decided she could probably do good-cop-bad-cop all by her lonesome and make it sexy. “Everything all right at the station?”

“Yep,” she replied, once again the girl next door. “You were the highlight of our shift. Well, Ed thought he could catch a suspicious vehicle probably transporting drugs through town, but he had to pass the call to the state police once they left our jurisdiction.”

That tidbit of information had Mack’s fantasy of kissing her again go up in smoke. “Do you get a lot of that?”

“Worried for me, gyrene? Or are you just trying to keep me from asking why your seven-week-old wounds are reopening?”

“Why don’t you sit on my lap and we’ll discuss it?”

“I may be tempted, but I’m not easy.” Finished with her task, she threw the mangled bandages into the trash canister near the back door. Then she went to wash her hands at the sink. When she was done, she poured Mack a mug of coffee and brought it to the table, then sat down beside him. “I’m going to do something I rarely do and that’s ask a favor. Please let Eberardo know soon that he can stay on.”

Mack planned to anyway, not just because things looked well tended, but because he suspected he wouldn’t be here to see to things himself. But Alana’s request brought out the devil’s advocate in him. “Because?”

“These are challenging times. He was born in the U.S., but not everyone treats him as though he was—especially now that Fred is gone. They wouldn’t dare do it before. Add to that, he hasn’t been lucky in love. His fiancée left him for his best friend. He’s finally in a relationship with a nurse at the hospital, who seems to have her head straight on her shoulders. It would be great if he could stay close to her in order to see if things work out between them.”

“I’ll bow to your experienced judgment, how’s that? After all, you are the heir-in-waiting.”

Alana cast him a droll look, then carried his empty plate to the sink. When she returned with the coffeepot, Mack lifted his mug for a refill.

“What does your uncle say about you coming over here?”

“He thinks I’m working on Tanker.”

“I thought in the pictures I’ve seen that he turned gray prematurely,” Mack mused.

With a sigh, Alana admitted, “Yeah, that and the perpetual frown between his eyebrows is mostly me.”

“Knowing that, I’d think you’d have pity on the poor guy.”

“I would if I could shut off my mind.” She shrugged. “Doctors wrote prescriptions, but their ideas about solutions just turned me into a zombie.”

Mack would have liked to hear more, but she rose, signaling that she was ready to leave. “If Tanker is a dog,” he said to delay her, “your grocery bill must be something else.”

“It’s worse than that, he’s my horse. Seventeen hands of black Westphalian beauty.” At Mack’s confused expression, she explained, “That’s how horses are measured. You take its height from hooves to withers and divide those inches by four, which is the size of a palm. In other words, he’s five-six. He eats like a pregnant sow, too, but he’s family. Fortunately for him—and us—our second business is cattle. So I help out Eberardo when he needs a hand with your stock and he helps with ours. I hope you won’t mind it staying that way. Well, at least until you get competent with the cattle yourself.”

“I may not be around long enough to achieve that.” He nodded to the groceries. “What do I owe you for those?”

“Your presence,” she replied. “Stay, Mack. Last Call is your birthright. Fred spent his life turning it into what it is and ached for you to do more than accept it. He hoped that someday you would embrace it.”