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Mack expected her to recoil once she saw him. Covered in tattoos from his neck to his wrists, he knew he could be an intimidating bastard. That was generally the point—but never when it came to women.
Her body relaxed when she saw him though and she let out a shaky laugh. “I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry,” Mack said, still eyeing her up and down and waiting for her to flinch away from his gaze.
Instead she let the refrigerator door fall shut and she walked toward him, hand extended. “Hi there, I’m Cal. I’ve seen you around but I guess we’ve never officially met.”
Chicks usually reacted to him one of two ways. Either they took one look at his tattoos and reacted like he was about to steal their shit and murder them. Or they saw him and thought sex. Couldn’t say he minded either reaction, generally.
But Calla didn’t flash him a smile or flip her hair or any of the other shit women of the second persuasion usually did. She just looked friendly, hand still held out.
Mack stared for a moment, then took her hand and gave it a shake. What was her deal? “Mack.”
“Good to meet ya, Mack.” Then she tilted her head and stared at him more intently. “So, you regularly sit in dark rooms ready to scare the bejesus out of people?”
He cracked a smile at that. She was cute. He held up his empty glass. “A glass of milk helps me sleep sometimes.”
“Milk?” The edge of her mouth quirked up.
He shrugged. “Ran out of tequila.”
She shook her head, the slight smile still in place. “Well good luck with that.”
Then she turned back to the fridge and resumed hunting for whatever it was she’d been after in the first place. He watched her as she pulled out a plate that had aluminum foil covering it with a little post-it.
For Calla ONLY. He’d seen it earlier when he got his milk and smirked because Mel and everybody else knew that anything in the fridge was fair game unless marked. Which meant most the time the fridge was running on empty except right after the weekly groceries. Having six grown men on the property would do that.
Calla didn’t look at him again as she pulled off the foil and then went over to the microwave, popping in the plate of meatloaf, potatoes and beans. It took her a couple tries to figure out the settings, but soon it was whirring and lit up as it reheated her food. She kept her body toward the counter, back to him.
Was she just pretending to ignore him? If there was one thing Mack could say about himself, it was that he provoked reaction in people. It was a little disconcerting to have her be so oblivious to him.
Unless it was an act. Chicks did that sometimes. At least the ones that were trying to play it cool.
Curious, he stood up, grabbing his milk glass and taking it to the sink. His path led him right by her.
She glanced his way and gave him a polite nod but then went back to watching her food cook.
All right, either this woman was the best actress he’d ever met or she genuinely didn’t give a damn if he was there or not.
He should have walked away right then. Man he was, plans he had, he should have given her the silent treatment he did everyone else and forgot her existence. Forgot how her apple-bottomed ass had looked when she bent over to look in the fridge. He shoulda forgot how her clear, pale skin and moon eyes had looked at him so huge and innocent as she held out her hand to him.
But Mack was shit. Always had been and always would be. And if there was one truth about shit, it was that shit liked to stick. To dirty up clean things. To befoul them.
A thought which again, shoulda had him running the other direction.
One problem kept popping up in the way of sane, rational thought, though.
He wanted her.
He’d been feeling restless lately. He’d come out to this little patch of nowhere to kill time until… well, until he did what needed doing.
He thought he’d come out here and pass a few years under the radar. Wait it out.
It shoulda been enough just to live. To be a free man living in the world. When he first came to the ranch a couple years ago, just getting away from all the shit back in Jersey had been enough. He could go hang out with the horses when he got sick of people. The manual labor of the ranch was usually enough to clear his mind. He liked working with his hands.
It had been peaceful. Sort of. Until night came anyway. Then his hands were still and there was nothing to do except think.
Like tonight. He’d jolted awake with his fists clenched and his heart racing. Bone’s goddamned voice ringing in his head. When he looked at the clock, he saw he’d barely been asleep for half an hour.
