judgment to get sick?” Her pulse pounded weakly at the base of her throat and her long fingers curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to reach out and slap his arrogant face. Slap away that icy barrier that he lived so comfortably behind. A cruel smile tugged at his mouth.
“What? And spend the next three weeks all alone out here? No way, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” she snapped. “Either you work with me on strictly a business level or I’ll quit.”
“Business it’ll be,” he growled, his eyes glittering with anger. “You’re a real hellcat, aren’t you?”
“Only when I’m cornered,” she flung back, feeling the weakness stealing over her. She was coming out of the delirium and her stomach growled.
“Looks like even hellcats get hungry,” he observed. “The cook made some chicken soup for you.”
Mackenna groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me the cook stole a chicken! I’ve warned them about that. They can’t steal local poultry just because we’re building the road through here.” She closed her eyes, knowing that the chief of the village would soon arrive with a legitimate complaint. She couldn’t remember how many chickens per mile of road they had been forced to make reparations for. Too many, Mackenna told herself. Supplying the cooks with foodstuffs was a continuing problem. When deliveries didn’t come through, the cooks got creative. Raiding the local villages was easy late at night; chickens couldn’t see well in the dark, and it was easy to sneak up on one, stuff it in a gunny sack, and bring it back to camp. Mackenna raised her hand to her forehead.
“If it’ll make you feel any better, your graveyard shift bought you a chicken late this afternoon.”
Mackenna looked up at him. “They bought it?” she asked disbelievingly.
Brock’s eyes glittered with mirth. “What’s the matter? Did you sign up a bunch of thieves?”
She gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t tell me you haven’t encountered the same problem elsewhere!”
He pursed his lips. “They bought the chicken. So relax. Do you want some soup?”
It sounded good. She nodded. “Please.
Brock slowly rose to his full height. In the confines of the tent his stature seemed enormous; he was a mountain of a man, every grouping of muscles that shaped his body planed to rugged durability. There was strength there. And Mackenna suddenly knew that it was a good strength, despite his gruff demeanor. She reflected on this as he watched her with his guarded, unreadable gaze. “I’ll have one of your thieves bring it over to you. In the meantime, try to get back on your feet fast. I don’t like weaklings.”
A cold chill of anger washed over her. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice harsh. “I’ll get back to work just as soon as I can. But I’m sure as hell not going to die for you out there on that road!”
He snorted softly, walking toward the entrance, his large, work-hardened hands resting casually on his lean hips. “Enjoy your convalescence, Mackenna. Get this grief of widowhood out of your system and let’s get saddled up and moving on this road.”
Tears blurred her vision as he left. She came close to agreeing with what Sully had said: Brock was a cold man, a man without a heart. It didn’t seem to matter to him how deeply he hurt her with his stinging remarks. It was as though he had a cruel streak, as though he were still lashing out to get even. Anger burned away any residue of her self-pity. He was right about one thing: It was time to set aside her past. She would never forget Ryan or the six years of happiness they had shared. That would remain a guarded treasure within the secret chambers of her heart. But it was time to get on with the job of living once again.
Chapter Four
“Mac! Dammit, you can’t get up yet!” Sully stood back, glaring at her.
Mackenna finished tying her bootlaces, resting momentarily on the cot. “It’s not a matter of whether I want
“What? And spend the next three weeks all alone out here? No way, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby,” she snapped. “Either you work with me on strictly a business level or I’ll quit.”
“Business it’ll be,” he growled, his eyes glittering with anger. “You’re a real hellcat, aren’t you?”
“Only when I’m cornered,” she flung back, feeling the weakness stealing over her. She was coming out of the delirium and her stomach growled.
“Looks like even hellcats get hungry,” he observed. “The cook made some chicken soup for you.”
Mackenna groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me the cook stole a chicken! I’ve warned them about that. They can’t steal local poultry just because we’re building the road through here.” She closed her eyes, knowing that the chief of the village would soon arrive with a legitimate complaint. She couldn’t remember how many chickens per mile of road they had been forced to make reparations for. Too many, Mackenna told herself. Supplying the cooks with foodstuffs was a continuing problem. When deliveries didn’t come through, the cooks got creative. Raiding the local villages was easy late at night; chickens couldn’t see well in the dark, and it was easy to sneak up on one, stuff it in a gunny sack, and bring it back to camp. Mackenna raised her hand to her forehead.
“If it’ll make you feel any better, your graveyard shift bought you a chicken late this afternoon.”
Mackenna looked up at him. “They bought it?” she asked disbelievingly.
Brock’s eyes glittered with mirth. “What’s the matter? Did you sign up a bunch of thieves?”
She gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t tell me you haven’t encountered the same problem elsewhere!”
He pursed his lips. “They bought the chicken. So relax. Do you want some soup?”
It sounded good. She nodded. “Please.
Brock slowly rose to his full height. In the confines of the tent his stature seemed enormous; he was a mountain of a man, every grouping of muscles that shaped his body planed to rugged durability. There was strength there. And Mackenna suddenly knew that it was a good strength, despite his gruff demeanor. She reflected on this as he watched her with his guarded, unreadable gaze. “I’ll have one of your thieves bring it over to you. In the meantime, try to get back on your feet fast. I don’t like weaklings.”
A cold chill of anger washed over her. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice harsh. “I’ll get back to work just as soon as I can. But I’m sure as hell not going to die for you out there on that road!”
He snorted softly, walking toward the entrance, his large, work-hardened hands resting casually on his lean hips. “Enjoy your convalescence, Mackenna. Get this grief of widowhood out of your system and let’s get saddled up and moving on this road.”
Tears blurred her vision as he left. She came close to agreeing with what Sully had said: Brock was a cold man, a man without a heart. It didn’t seem to matter to him how deeply he hurt her with his stinging remarks. It was as though he had a cruel streak, as though he were still lashing out to get even. Anger burned away any residue of her self-pity. He was right about one thing: It was time to set aside her past. She would never forget Ryan or the six years of happiness they had shared. That would remain a guarded treasure within the secret chambers of her heart. But it was time to get on with the job of living once again.
Chapter Four
“Mac! Dammit, you can’t get up yet!” Sully stood back, glaring at her.
Mackenna finished tying her bootlaces, resting momentarily on the cot. “It’s not a matter of whether I want
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