CHAPTER 7
Hunter owed his cousin. Big-time.
Not only had Mackenzie stayed through dinneranddessert, she didn’t seem in any rush to cut and run. Even though Savannah and Brody were taking their sweet-ass time putting the munchkin to bed—something about covering the floor with wee-wee pads—Mackenzie hadn’t reached for her purse once.
Bedtime would have been the perfect excuse for her to make her exit, no questions asked. Instead, she’d sauntered out to the front porch, asking if he was coming, since, apparently,shewas ready to talk. Although they hadn’t done much talking.
Nope, it was forty degrees, a light drizzle coating everything in sight, and Mackenzie sat on the porch swing, sipping her julep as if it were summer in the Caribbean instead of March in Tennessee.
From Brody and Savannah’s place in Oak Hills, Hunter could make out the bright lights of Broadway flickering in the distance and the blue bulbs of the bridge reflecting in the smooth waters of the Cumberland River below.
It was so tranquil and stunning he’d often considered giving up his loft downtown to move up here. Be near Brody and his niece—and away from the chaos and noise that filled the city.
His gaze landed on Mackenzie.
Talk about stunning.
Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and a few curls had escaped and were dancing in the wind. She had her feet tucked beneath her, those elegant fingers wrapped around her empty glass, as her eyes stared out on the horizon. She looked relaxed, completely at ease, and so damn beautiful it was hard to look away.
So he didn’t. He took the time to study her, noticing the subtle changes in her face. Her cheekbones were more pronounced and her lips still full and lush, but the laugh lines didn’t seem as defined as they’d once been. The elegant slope of her neck drew him in, feminine and silky, her pulse pounding at its base.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, her gaze never leaving the horizon.
“You,” he admitted quietly. “How did you know? Can you see shapes and shadows?”
Hunter knew from Susan’s situation that there was a wide spectrum for those deemed legally blind: everything from the ability to see up to twenty feet away, to light perception, to complete darkness. Susan had lost her central vision, leaving her with some peripheral awareness.
“No shapes or shadows, just blackness. But I can feel your breath on my cheek, sense that you’re watching me.”
A nauseous feeling churned in his gut at the reality of her life. And how challenging it would be for a woman who’d spent her early twenties confined by her family situation to finally gain her freedom only to be thrown into complete darkness, with no hope of escape.
It was Mackenzie’s worst nightmare. Yet she’d managed to come out the other side stronger than before. More in tune than ever.
“During supper, it felt like you could track me. Track everyone in the room.”
“I didn’t want to ever be caught off guard, so I practiced following sounds and voices until I was good enough that nothing could surprise me.” She turned her head his way, and proving her point, those bright green eyes locked on his. “Which is why what you and Brody pulled was mean.”
The hit was a lot like the woman. Honest and direct. “I wouldn’t call it mean, more of a step in the right direction.”
She snorted. “I haven’t seen an ambush like that since you and your cousins cornered Ben Backster in the alley behind the bar for trying to look up my skirt.”
They’d done a lot more than corner the prick, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Every time you leaned over to serve a tray of drinks, he’d decide to rest his head on the table, sideways, to get a better view of what color panties you had on. You were the reason Big Daddy changed the dress code for waitresses: ‘Skirts must cover more than butt cheeks.’”
Hunter had written the rule, then forced Big Daddy to implement it. His cousins had given him shit for months.
“My skirts were not that short,” she said, and speaking of skirts, the breeze picked up, causing her current skirt to flirt higher up her thighs. “I think you’re being dramatic.”
Hunter averted his gaze. “I think you’re drunk.”
“I don’t get drunk,” she explained, her tone so serious Hunter found himself laughing. “But can you stop moving the swing? I don’t do so well with motion anymore.”
“The swing isn’t moving, Trouble. That would be the first sign that maybe you should hand over the booze and slow down a little.” When she didn’t, he snatched her glass and set it on the patio table.
“I’m tired of slowing down. Last week, Muttley got so impatient he tried to drag me across the street.” She crossed her arms, showing more than enough cleavage for Hunter to know she was drunk—and chilly.
“Well, if you were slurring your words then, like you are now, maybe he misunderstood your command.”
