Branded (6 page)

Deacon leaned against the porch railing and watched Mackenzie with the cowboy. Watched her head fall to his shoulder and remain there as Blue's arm snaked around her waist. They looked like a postcard for River Black, Texas. The attractive, young couple on their ranch, the fertile landscape, the waning sun, all spread out promisingly before them. For a brief moment, Deacon wondered if his parents, back in the early days of their courtship and marriage, had stood on the same hill and surveyed their new land. If they'd had grand hopes for their future. Or if Everett Cavanaugh had already stepped out on his wife, maybe even spied a beautiful young woman in town named Elena Perez.

His father's affair didn't anger him exactly. It did make him curious, though. When? Where? How long? Was there anyone else? And were there any other brothers or sisters running around
he should know about? That last bit made his gut tense. There was a part of him, which had a tendency to take over, that wanted nothing whatsoever to do with his family. He loved his brothers—it wasn't that—but they represented a time in his life that had nearly destroyed him. And every time he looked at them, it came back, all hot and ready to squeeze the blood from his heart. Or what remained of that sorry muscle, anyway. He knew Cole and James probably felt the same. He knew it was why they'd all gone their separate ways and barely kept in touch.

But this new development, it had shifted something inside of him. Did he want Blue to get his spurs into the Triple C? Hell no. But he did want to know the truth.

Deacon pulled out his cell phone and punched in some numbers. His eyes still pinned to the pair on the hillside, he spoke in a deadly calm voice when a man answered. “Evening, Billy.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh.” The PI on the other end of the line was quick to inquire, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I need everything you can find on a Blue Perez. River Black, Texas. Early twenties, I believe. Mother's name is Elena Perez.”

“And the father?”

“Undetermined. That's the second thing I need.”

“Yes, sir?”

“DNA testing. Best you can find. I want them here.”

“Of course.” There was a furious tapping of fingers on a keyboard, then, “I should have this for you in a few days.”

“Tomorrow,” Deacon said, then ended the call.

Mackenzie had broken away from the cowboy, who remained staring out at the sunset—or maybe what he thought he was about to inherit—and was walking back toward the house, her shoes dangling from the fingers on her right hand. The late-afternoon sun blazed red and pink behind her, making strands of her dark hair flash copper as it whipped in the wind. Her hips swayed in her gray dress as she walked, and her long legs and bare feet had his mind conjuring up country songs he hadn't heard or thought about in ages.

It was damn unfortunate how beautiful she'd become. Granted, he was pretty exceptional at resisting the things that were bad for him. But in that moment, he wasn't sure how he'd react if Mackenzie Byrd put her head on his shoulder like she had the cowboy's. Wasn't sure if his arm would steal around her waist, too, or if he'd pull her close to his side and brush his lips over the curve of her right ear.

He frowned. Thoughts like that were dangerous. This was Mac he was talking about. The foreman
of the Triple C. Cass's best friend. Blue Perez's . . . undetermined. She was annoying, muddy little Mac. Sure, she'd grown, in all sorts of ways he couldn't help but notice. But she was, and would always be, troublesome. And he didn't have time for troublesome.

A yard or two before she hit the bottom stair of the porch, she looked up and spotted him. Her expression tightened instantly, and even in the shadowed light, Deacon noticed how stormy her blue eyes had turned. She was pissed. As usual. But this time, he wasn't exactly sure who she was pissed at.

“Giving my new baby brother a little comfort, darlin'?” he called out.

“‘Course. That's how friendship works,” she returned, her tone as thunderous as her gaze. She moved up the steps and around the porch railing to face him. “All right, Deacon. Let's have it. What are you going to do?”

He inhaled deeply, glanced at the driveway and his truck parked there. “I haven't decided. Get to bed early, or maybe head into town for some supper.”

“Dammit, that's not what I'm talking about and you know it. I'm sure you're concocting a plan as we stand here. How to get Blue off the Cavanaugh ticket.”

He turned back and regarded her. “He's not on the ticket yet, sweetheart.”

“You don't believe it?” she said incredulously.

“What I believe is that science is unbiased,” he said. “Except when you pay it not to be.”

Her eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. “Are you accusing Blue or . . . or Everett of a bullshit DNA test? Blue didn't even know he'd been tested.”

“Exactly,” Deacon said, pushing away from the railing. “This time around, everyone will know.”

“This time around . . . Christ, you've already made the call, haven't you?”

“Someone'll be here by tomorrow.”

Dark brows lifted over stunning blue eyes. “That quick? That easy?” She snorted. “Have someone who handles this type of problem on staff, do you?” She leaned in and whispered, “Maybe you need to start wearing protection, darlin'.”

She was close. Too damn close. He could smell that perfume again, and something else, too. The heat off her skin or the shampoo she used.

“You haven't changed, Mackenzie Byrd,” he growled softly.

She drew back, a serious expression moving over her face. “No, I haven't. I'm still the girl from River Black who loves this ranch, remembers good times here, remembers her best friend. I'm still that girl who lives for the land, loves a good
horse underneath her, loves causing some trouble.” She locked eyes with him, and her voice softened. “I'm the country girl who's saying to you—don't do this, Deacon.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Do what?”

“Destroy the Triple C.”

He watched the movement of her lips as she spoke. Had a strange, hypnotizing way about it. “Did your boyfriend ask you come over here and beg me to abandon my plans? Walk away?”

She snorted. “Please. I only beg if chocolate's involved.”

His eyes flipped up.

“And,” she added, “Blue's not my boyfriend.”

Deacon's lips twitched. “You might want to tell him that.”

“I don't have to. He knows. I know. We have an understanding.”

Deacon grinned at her now. “You don't know how guys think, Mackenzie.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I know Blue. And he knows me. We're family, Deac.” Her eyes lost their momentary playfulness, and she was back to rain and thunderclaps. “Don't walk into this life, these relationships, thinking you know anything.”

“I know when a man wants to get a woman into bed,” he countered.

“Yeah. I'm sure you do.” She turned toward the
door and grabbed the handle of the screen. She yanked it back and was about to head inside when the sound of ripping fabric rent the air. Stopping in her tracks, she glanced over her shoulder. “Dammit.” The back of her dress near her left thigh was caught on a nail.

“Back up before it rips clean off you,” Deacon said, heading her way. When he got there, he dropped to one knee. She didn't move, and he said again, in a darker tone this time, “Do as I say, Mackenzie.”

She gave an impatient sound, but finally moved back a few inches until her thigh was flush against Deacon's palm.

“Hold still now,” he ordered, awareness snaking through him.
Nice
.
Goddamn
.
Legs
. He eased the fabric off the nail that was embedded in the wood of the screen door, then smoothed her skirt. “All better,” he ground out.

Quick as a jackrabbit, she moved away from him, from his proximity, from his touch. After that, a man might be inclined to think a woman wasn't into him—was maybe even disgusted by him. But what Deacon saw when he lifted his head to find her staring down at him, her eyes connecting instantly, made his insides flex and burn. As always with Mackenzie, there was determination in those blue depths and free will and strength. So much damn strength. But on that day,
on his family's porch, inside that circle of three formidable attributes was passion. Clear and hot. Not for a cause, mind. But for him.

The look disappeared in an instant, and she said nothing as she turned away and walked into the house.

Holy shit, Deacon thought, coming to his feet. She was attracted to him. Not the child's crush he always knew she'd had on him—the one she'd used a colossal attitude to hide behind—but a woman's desire.

With that curious and possibly problematic development on his mind, he returned to the railing and to the enemy who remained on the top of the hill: Blue Perez Cavanaugh.

•   •   •

The house was quiet when Mac descended the stairs, her stomach grumbling. After all that had happened during the day, the last thing in the world she felt like doing was eating. But now that everyone was either gone or tucked away in their rooms, she wanted a word with Elena.

She was still stunned by what Deacon had said in the church and what Everett had placed in his will, and she needed to get the woman's take on things. Plus, she was worried about her, too.

Twenty different scents rushed her nostrils as she entered the extralarge eat-in kitchen. Though no one sat around it, the supper table was already
cluttered with food. Except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Mac had never seen anything like it. Elena must've started cooking the moment the lawyer had left and not stopped since. A presumption that proved correct as Mac looked over to see Elena rush from stove to refrigerator, her ancient blue checkered apron fastened over her fancy black mourning dress.

Mac took a seat at the table, her eyes moving over every favorite dish of every person who lived on the Triple C property. This was Elena's amends, her hope for forgiveness. Mac's heart pinched with sympathy.

“Come sit down, Ellie,” Mac said in a gentle voice. “You look worn-out.”

Elena stopped and looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and she was chewing at the inside of her cheek.

“I'm fine, gal,” she said, turning away, bending down and grabbing a large mixing bowl from the cabinet. “I'm fixin' to start some bread pudding. I heard that was Cole's favorite when he was young.”

Oh, dear,
Mac thought bleakly. Did Elena really think Cole was coming to supper? Or Deacon or James or Blue? When she'd checked on Gypsy earlier, Sam had told her that Cole and James were at the bunkhouse, and she had no idea where Deacon was. Probably on the horn to his lawyers,
trying to find some loophole in the will as he waited for his DNA expert to arrive. And Blue. Mac's heart sank. Blue had taken off on Barbarella somewhere. She was pretty sure he wasn't coming anywhere near the house tonight.

“Forget the pudding, Ellie,” Mac said gently. “It's just gonna be you and me. Come sit down.”

Her back to Mac, the woman fiddled around with a bowl and wooden spoon. “I'm not hungry.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She pushed a few delicious-looking dishes to the side. “So how 'bout you drink with me, then?”

Elena stilled, the bowl and spoon poised in her hands. “Oh, Mac,” she whispered.

“I know, Ellie. I know. Come on over here.”

This time when the housekeeper turned around, her eyes were filled with tears and her dry lips were pressed together tightly. She placed the bowl and spoon on the counter, then opened one of the cupboards and grabbed a bottle of tequila and two glasses. Her shoulders limp, she came over to the table and pulled out the chair across from Mac.

“Good girl,” Mac said, breaking into a melancholy grin. “Lord, if there's ever a night for it, it's tonight.”

Elena didn't answer. Her eyes drawn and sad,
she poured Mac two fingers of tequila, then two for herself.

Mac held up her glass. “To a shitty day.” Then she shrugged lightly. “And to being alive.”

It took a moment, but finally Elena followed suit. “To Everett,” she whispered on a shaky breath.

Mac paused, the rim of her glass pressed to her lips. Her eyes moved over the woman, really studying her. Maybe for the first time all day. This devastation wasn't just Elena mourning the fact that her secret had been revealed. This was a deep, painful ache that came from loving someone hard and long, someone who was gone and never coming back, and it made everything much more complicated.

When Elena downed her shot, Mac followed, then grabbed the bottle and poured them both another round.

“Oh, my Blue,” Elena uttered sadly. “He hates me, doesn't he, honey?”

“He's angry,” Mac said, placing the bottle back on the table and picking up her glass. “He has a right to be.”

Elena took her glass and pounded the thing back, hissing with the second round of lovely, painful heat. “I didn't want to hurt him,” she said. “I didn't want him to ever know.”

The alcohol's soothing heat spread through
Mac's chest and made her sink back into the chair. “The not knowing is what hurt him, Ellie.”

The woman's eyes filled with fresh tears.

On a sigh, Mac reached out and took her hand. “Listen. I'm not one to cast stones. Shit. Way too many coming back my way, but why?” Her words sounded slightly slurred, but not enough to make her stop drinking.

“I loved him, honey.”

Mac shook her head as she poured them both a third. “But he was married.”

“Doesn't stop the love.”

“It should.”

Elena didn't say anything, just stared at the glass of tequila in front of her.

“When did you meet him?” Mac started in a soft voice. “Where? Was it here in River Black?”