Mackenzie's Magic by Linda Howard Page A

jackets. He jerked his on and began stuffing Maris into hers. "Time’s short, so we have to move fast. First we need to get the stallion out of the trailer and hidden somewhere else, then position the trailer so that whoever comes can’t see that he isn’t in it. Then we come back here. You drive the truck, I’ll be hidden in the truck bed, under some blankets or something." He turned out the bathroom light and began ushering her toward the door. "We’ll post Dean down the road, where he can see them arrive. He’ll leave then and get into position at the trailer. He’ll give us warning. You leave by the back way just as they arrive, let them get a glimpse of the truck. They follow."
    They reached the door. MacNeil turned out the lights and took a small radio out of his pocket, keying it. "Is everything clear?" he asked. "We’re coming out."
    "What?" His partner’s voice was startled. "Yeah, everything’s clear. What’s up?"
    "Tell you in a minute."
    He slipped the radio back into his pocket and unchained the door. He paused then, looking down at her. "Are you sure you can do this? If your head is hurting too much, let me know now, before it goes any further."
    "I can do it." Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, and he gave a short nod.
    "Okay, then." He opened the door, and cold air slapped her in the face. She shivered, even though she was wearing her thick down jacket. The weather bureau had been predicting the arrival of a cold front, she remembered. She had watched the noon news and weather yesterday; perhaps that was why she now had this thick jacket instead of the flannel-lined denim jacket she had been wearing yesterday morning. She was glad she had changed coats, because the temperature now had to be in the twenties.
    She looked around as she left the cozy warmth of the motel room. The motel office and the highway were on her right. MacNeil took her arm and steered her to the left, circling her behind a late-model pickup truck that was covered over with frost. "Hold it a minute," he said, and left her hidden by the truck’s bulk while he went around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and leaned in. She caught the faint metallic jingle of keys; then the motor started and settled into a quiet idle. She noticed with approval that the interior light hadn’t come on, which meant he had taken care of that little detail earlier.
    Interior lights. As he closed the truck door with a barely audible click, the neon light from the motel sign slanted across his high cheekbones, and a door opened in her mind.
    She remembered the way his face had looked last night as he drove, the grimness of his expression highlighted by the faint green glow from the dash.
    She remembered the desperation with which she had hidden her condition from him. She had been afraid to let him know how weak she was, how terribly her head hurt, that she was vulnerable in any way. He hadn’t said much, just driven in dark silence, but even through her pain she had felt the physical awareness running between them like a live electrical wire. If she showed any vulnerability, she’d thought, he would be on her. That was why he’d come with her, not because he was concerned about Sole Pleasure.
    Her thinking had been muddled by the knock she’d taken on the head. She had been terrified for Pleasure’s safety, trying to think of the best way to protect him, and she hadn’t been certain she could trust MacNeil. She had taken a big chance in asking for his help; he had given it without question, but afterward she’d been too unbalanced by the concussion and the strength and unfamiliarity of her own sensual awareness of him to think straight.
    She had wound up exactly where she was afraid she would, under him in bed. And he hadn’t done a darn thing, except make her fall in love with him.
    "Come on," he said softly, not looking at her. In fact, he was looking at everything except her, his head swiveling, restless eyes noting every detail of