The annoyance built into anger until I didn’t think I could stay sitting in the parlor for much longer with this fake, plastic smile pasted to my face. I needed space, to breathe and to get over myself.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I said and stood, walking quickly from the room before anyone could say anything. Did they think I was going after Mac? Maybe. But I found I didn’t really care. Screw Jules and her bitchy judgments.
The intention really had been to be alone for a moment. But once I got moving, my feet directed me toward the beach. Once I got outside there was no question of where I was headed. I was going to yell at Mac. I was going to break up his tryst with Margot and probably yell at her too.
I asked another attendant for directions to the boathouse and began to walk.
I had to give Mac some credit. The boathouse was a long way away from everything. He obviously really did not want to get caught this time. I followed a twisting path through the gardens, past the pools and attractions, past the nightlife area already getting started, past the golf course and down along the now empty white-sand coast. The sun was starting to set in the distance, still in the sky, but inching its way down. It was really a beautiful night, marred only by this terrible feeling.
The boathouse was a white-washed building about the size of a bungalow and right against the water. I approached carefully, listening for the telltale signs of ‘getting it on’.
I didn’t hear anything at all, not even voices. My watch said that it was after seven, but maybe she was running late.
There was a garage door and beside it a smaller normal one. I pulled at the handle, finding it unlocked. I opened the door and stopped immediately in my tracks.
There were no boats in the boat house. Nor were there morons banging. Instead, I found myself in a staredown with two vaguely curious horses who’d stopped, mid-chew, to stare at this strange woman invading their space. They blinked brown eyes lazily and then looked back down at their hay and continued their meal.
“What the—” I started, stepping into the boathouse. I’d been wrong. Obviously Mac was in a different boathouse. Or maybe Rico was actually pissed about the five dollars and misled me on purpose. But who the hell kept horses here? And, I noticed, completely saddled, bridled, and ready to ride.
“Surprise,” a deep voice said to my right.
I whipped around. There stood Mac, leaning against the wall wearing shorts and a black t-shirt, the fabric bulging around his biceps. He’d gotten golden-tanned in the pool today and his complexion had darkened significantly. It combined with his black hair to make his green eyes stand out blindingly on his face.
My mouth hung open like an idiot’s. I physically snapped it closed and put my hands on my hips. “What’s going on?” I demanded. As handsome as he looked with that devilish grin toying at his mouth, I was still technically angry at him.
“Well, you were right,” he said. “My words are leaning toward meaningless. So my apology for yesterday is a gift.” He nodded at the horses who continued to eat, ignoring us.
My heart actually fluttered. (I’d read about that happening and always assumed it would feel somewhat like an incoming heart attack. Which it did, but in a good way?) But I couldn’t give in that easily to sweet words and thoughtful gifts. Had I told him I liked horses? Or had he just assumed because I grew up in Kentucky?
“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get these past customs,” I said finally.
“That isn’t the gift,” Mac said, pushing off the wall and coming to join me in front of the horses.
I crossed my arms. “What is then?” I asked.
“The gift is getting to see me on a horse,” he said. His gravity gave way and a blinding smile split his face, one I couldn’t help but match.
Did this make up for his mistake yesterday? Maybe it shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help but feel that resistance toward him give way. I really did want to see him try to ride.
“But wait a minute,” I said, suddenly remembering my anger from only moments before. “I thought you were bringing Margot here.” With a twinge of embarrassment, I realized that the ‘woman’ the attendant had been talking about was me. “How were you planning on luring me down here?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but…” I trailed off, realizing I’d been played.
“I knew if I acted suspicious enough you’d find your way here eventually,” he said, his grin growing wider.
I groaned. “So that was on purpose! I can’t believe I fell for it.”
“You’re getting a little predictable,” he said, leaning toward me so close that I could smell his scent, pine and a smoky, woody smell that reminded me of the forest at night. He pulled away just as I was getting drawn in.
“Can you blame me?” I asked. The irritation had fled my voice; it came out more like an actual question.
Mac fixed me in that beautiful, piercing stare. “I’ll have you know that I’m far from the most disastrous person in this wedding party.”
“Jules and Keegan?” I asked.
He shook his head. “They’re a close second. I was talking about Twain.”
I rolled my eyes. “Twain barely counts. He hasn’t been around at all.” I shook my head. “No, you’re the one who’s been causing trouble.” Again, it wasn’t accusatory. It was just a statement of facts, a summary of the week thus far. Mac had been trouble, and I’d been doing my damnedest to keep him out of it.
“I didn’t know she was married to Lorne,” he repeated. His face was still, serious, the smile gone. “I wouldn’t have promised her anything if I had known.”
My mouth twisted. “What about the strippers?” I asked.
“What about them?”
“You’re telling me that wasn’t some twisted plan to get Sam caught by Beck?”
Mac sighed and walked to the edge of the water. “It was a stupid plan, but it wasn’t anything so evil as that. I wanted to remind him of the good times we’ve had together as a group. Okay, I’ll admit I was hoping it would end with him calling everything off, but I really didn’t mean for all of you to stumble on us. And it was a bad plan anyway. Sam was chewing my ass out well before any of you showed up.”
I joined him by the water. “Why do you not want this to happen?” I asked softly. This had to go beyond a creed against marriage. There was a story here, something personal.
Mac’s face twisted and he didn’t answer. He nodded at the horses, changing the subject. “Should I try to get my ass up?” he asked.
Not the time, got it. But maybe later. I nodded. “If you think you can,” I said. “Which one is mine?”
Mac might have been playing into the stereotype of Kentucky and horse girls, but he wasn’t too far off. My family never owned horses, but as a girl growing up in a small town, I was in the minority of my friends. I spent hundreds of hours on my friends’ horses and loved the animals. They were one of the few things I could say I actually missed about country life.
Mac hauled open the heavy garage door while I led the two horses, one a dapple gray, the other a magnificent white, reluctantly away from their food and onto the beach.