Keep On Loving you Page 2

  “I’m so glad you caught the flowers!” Angelica said, leaning in to kiss Mac’s cheek. “I know you consider the tradition barbaric, but I thought it was fun.”

  She pretended to scowl at her new sister-in-law. “How come there’s no garter toss if you find tradition so great?”

  “That’s because your brother’s a caveman. He said he didn’t want me baring my legs for all the wedding guests to see.”

  Speaking of wedding guests... Mac took a quick look around the room, then leaned in to whisper in her sister-in-law’s ear. “Have you seen Zan?”

  Angelica pulled back, her eyes going wide. “Zan? Your Zan?”

  “He’s not my Zan,” Mac said quickly. “But I...I thought I caught a glimpse of him a minute ago.” I thought I felt his arms around me. I thought maybe my heart would beat out of my chest as we swayed to the music. “Did he call Brett or something and say he was coming back to town?”

  The bride shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  “But did you see—”

  “I wouldn’t recognize him, right? We’ve never met.”

  “Oh.” Mac felt another flush climb up her neck. The man—whoever he was—had her so flustered she wasn’t thinking clearly. “Never mind, then. I’ll just, uh, go put the bouquet down at my place at the table.”

  Then she hurried off the dance floor, keeping a lookout for a dark-haired, hazel-eyed ten-year-gone guy. But when she didn’t see him, she began to wonder about her sanity. Perhaps the night before she’d stayed up too late boxing the chocolates that were going to the guests as party favors. Maybe she needed to gulp down a large cup of hot coffee and get her wits back in place.

  “There you are!” Her sisters, Poppy and Shay, approached, their long skirts swishing about their legs. They wore gowns identical to Mac’s, only different in color. Poppy’s was pink, while Shay’s was a subtle peach.

  “Nice catch,” Poppy said, nodding to the bouquet.

  Mac rolled her eyes. “You saw what happened. It hit me in the head.”

  “Maybe you’ll be better prepared when I throw mine at my reception in two weeks,” Shay said.

  “No,” Mac groaned the word. “Not you, too?”

  “London is insisting.”

  “I’ll hide out in the bathroom, then,” Mac said. “Promise you’ll give me the high sign?”

  “Absolutely,” her youngest sister said.

  Mac narrowed her gaze. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m not even going to pretend I won’t make you be in the gaggle of bachelorettes when it’s my turn,” Poppy put in. “But, anyway, did you see—”

  “I did.” Mac’s heart jumped, then started to race. “I thought maybe I imagined it, but if you saw Zan, too...” She broke off at the puzzlement on her sister’s face.

  “Zan?” Poppy said. “I was going to ask if you’d seen Mason dancing with the little McDonald girl.”

  “Um, no, I didn’t,” Mac mumbled, feeling stupid. “Never mind—”

  “Zan is here?” Shay asked. “Zan Elliott?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. It was just a glimpse,” Mac said.

  Her two sisters exchanged glances. “How much have you had to drink?” Poppy asked.

  No way would Mac mention the two tequila shots. “Never mind. I’m sure I was mistaken.”

  Her sisters looked at each other again. “Oh, Mac,” Poppy said in a concerned voice.

  Mac winced. Poppy had the gooiest heart of any of the Walkers, and right now she was clearly oozing pity for her poor, unattached sister who had delusions about the return of her very first boyfriend, her very first love. “It’s nothing,” she told her sister in a firm voice. “Like I said, a mistake.”

  “But—”

  “Look, they’re about to cut the cake.” Mac pointed toward the other end of the room. “We’d better get over there.”

  Thankfully, that distracted her sisters, and Mac followed slowly in their wake. Could she really have mistaken some stranger for Zan?

  In her mind’s eye, she saw him as he’d looked his second-to-last day in the mountains. She’d been eighteen, he’d just turned twenty-one, and they’d been a couple for two years. That afternoon they’d taken his boat to a secluded cove, where they’d spread a blanket and a picnic. Her intention had been to tough it out and not allow her belly-hollowing longing for him and her aching sadness at his imminent departure to ruin those final warm, sunny hours.

  They’d made love for the last time, the wide shoulders of his rangy body blocking the sun so that she couldn’t read the expression in his hazel eyes as he’d entered her. But her legs had wound around his hips, tight, like two vines that could bind him to her forever.

  He’d cupped her face in his hands. One hot tear had leaked from her eye and he’d brushed it away with his thumb, the stroke slow and tender. “Mackenzie Walker,” he’d whispered. Just that, as if memorizing her name.

  Maybe he no longer even remembered it. Maybe he’d never thought of that girl again, who’d given him her body and who’d wanted to give him everything else: her heart, her soul, her whole life.

  She grimaced, thinking of that green and unguarded young woman. Likely Zan had headed down the mountains and never thought of her again.

  Except that didn’t explain the postcards that had come to her regularly over the past decade. On their fronts were photos of places like Oslo and Algiers and Singapore. On the other side, a single-letter message, three bold strokes that made up the letter Z.

  No other thought. No return address. Just a pointed reminder of the young man who’d left her behind.

  Mac was older now, but maybe no wiser if she truly thought for even a second that Zan might return to the place he’d always sworn to leave.

  Standing near the table at the far end of the room, she watched Angelica and Brett feed each other bites of cake with the tidiest of manners. When her brother brushed an errant crumb from his bride’s bottom lip, a hot press of tears burned at the back of Mac’s eyes, which she ruthlessly held back.

  God, how was she going to make it through two more of these darn events?

  Poppy was the family crier, but Mac was on perilous ground herself and thanked God she was recruited to pass out slices of cake. A diversion was necessary. Moving among the guests wasn’t as much of a reprieve as she’d hoped, however. It was easy to agree about the bride’s beaming smile and the groom’s clear dedication to his new wife. But other comments weren’t so simple to smile through.

  When will we see you married, Mac?

  Why hasn’t some man finally put a wedding band on your finger?

  Whatever happened to that boy of yours...that Zan Elliott?

  At this last, she stopped short, staring down at tiny Carmen Lind, who had to be closing in on ninety and wore her silver hair braided in a crown on top of her head. “What made you think of him, Mrs. Lind?” Mac asked, through a suddenly tight throat.

  The little lady dug into her cake with relish. “Who, dear?”

  “You mentioned Zan.”

  “Who?”

  Mac smiled a little. “Zan Elliott. You just brought up his name.”

  “Oh, yes. Such a good-looking young man. But he got into a lot of trouble, I recall. Those bad boys always catch a girl’s eye, don’t they?”

  At nine years old, Mac’s big brother had brought Zan around one day, and she’d tagged after the two boys until Brett knocked her down into a pile of pine needles. Already she’d been too stubborn to cry or complain. Instead, she’d thrown a pinecone at Brett in retaliation and her bad aim meant it nailed Zan in the butt. He’d whirled, laughter glittering in his eyes, then leaped on her to “shampoo” her hair with a handful of dusty needles.

  Red-faced and sneezing, she’d handed her heart over to him.
>
  It had been that fast. That simple.

  Mrs. Lind glanced around, her fork in midair. “You know, I thought I saw him a few minutes ago. Did he come to congratulate your brother?”

  Brett. Mac whipped her head around, searching out the groom. If Zan had returned, surely he would have spoken with Brett.

  It wasn’t easy getting a quiet moment with the groom, though. The reception was wrapping up and it seemed that each guest needed to pause on their way out the door for a short word with the new couple. She hung in their periphery, intent upon swooping in as soon as her brother was free.

  Finally, the only people left in Mr. Frank’s were the bridal party and the bartender. While her sisters went to a back room to help Angelica out of her gown and into something warmer for the ride home, Mac snagged her brother by the sleeve.

  “Hey, I’ve got to ask you something.”

  “Me first,” Brett said. “I’m going to drive the car around. In about five minutes, when you hear me honk the horn, bring my bride outside, okay?”

  “Okay. But—”

  “No time, Mac. I want this to go perfectly.” Then he strode away.

  Vexed, Mac huffed out a sigh. But then Angelica came back into the main room, still managing to look bridal in a pair of leggings and an off-white winter coat, the hood lined in pale pink fleece. Her cheeks matched the color and her obvious happiness couldn’t help but spill over on everyone within ten feet.

  Mac exchanged smiles with her sisters. “Lucky brother,” she said, then hooked her arm in Angelica’s. “Lucky us to get such a wonderful new sister.”

  Tears swam in the bride’s eyes.

  “None of that now,” Mac admonished. “I’m determined to keep my composure.”

  Poppy’s fiancé, Ryan, had already handed Poppy his handkerchief. Shay was digging through her man Jace’s suit pocket for his.

  “C’mon, guys,” Mac scolded. “This is a celebration.” Then she heard the sound of a car horn. “That’s our cue.”

  Angelica didn’t resist as Mac pulled her toward the front door. When Mac threw it open, they stood in the doorway, silenced by the sight in front of them.

  A sturdy SUV stood angled at the curb, a vehicle made for the mountains with its heavy-duty snow tires. But instead of being the usual black or silver or white, the paint job was a profusion of flowers in pink and green and yellow and blue.

  Jace cleared his throat. “Check out the license plate.”

  Mac redirected her attention. Seven letters spelled out WLKRWIF.

  “Walker wife,” Angelica whispered, then hiccuped a sob.

  “Oh, jeez,” Mac said, even though her heart was being squeezed like a sponge. “You’ve turned sappy, bro.”

  But Brett only grinned as he pulled his bride into his arms. “You’re a real mountain girl now,” he told her.

  “I’m your mountain wife,” Angelica said, pressing her cheek to his chest. She let out her breath in a shuddering sigh. “You know what I need.”

  “I do.” He kissed the top of her hair. “And I’ll always do my very best to give it to you.”

  Angelica looked back at the car, smiled. “What made you think of spring on four wheels?”

  “Because you’re every season of my heart.”

  On the brink of losing control of her own sentiments, Mac walked away, pushing past Shay and Jace and Poppy and Ryan, both couples moved by the moment into their own hugs and kisses. The closeness of the pairs was cutting her to the bone and another moment witnessing their happiness might have her bawling like a baby. Single. Alone.

  Who would have thought Brett had such a grand gesture in him? The SUV symbolized that Angelica had carved her place as a Walker in their mountains. But he’d made it all her own by painting it to please his bride’s very feminine side.

  “Mom always said,” she murmured to the empty room, as she went in to collect her belongings, “there’s something irresistible and utterly grand about a grand gesture.”

  Reaching her place at the long table where the bridal party had sat, she snatched up her coat from the back of the chair and tucked her tiny evening purse in the outside pocket. Then she looked at the bouquet. Maybe she’d leave it there.

  But that might hurt Angelica’s feelings. So she scooped it up and brought the cool petals of the roses to her nose. As she drew in their sweet fragrance, her gaze landed on the cocktail napkin that had been tucked beneath them.

  Emotions bombarded her. Elation. Anticipation. Thrill. Then the lessons learned through heartache had her locking down on those feelings. The older and wiser Mac was no longer the naive girl who’d been left behind. Experience had taught her to protect herself by curbing flights of fancy and avoiding bouts of what-could-have-been.

  Still, that didn’t stop her from dropping her hand to the soft paper surface, where she ran a fingertip over the three distinctive ink slashes that etched a single letter.

  Z.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ZAN ELLIOTT PUSHED open the door of Oscar’s Coffee, situated smack-dab in the middle of the village of Blue Arrow Lake. Already chilled by the short walk from his car, the inside heat hit him like a slap, and a shudder racked his body. He clutched the jamb as the world tilted for a moment. When it righted again, he shrugged off the brief disorientation.

  A caffeine deficit, most likely. Or it could be that the altitude was getting to him. Though he’d traveled to higher elevations in the past ten years, it had been that long since he’d visited these particular mountains.

  He was surprised by how...not odd it was to be back.

  That befuddled him, too. He’d never considered the environs of Blue Arrow Lake truly home—that had been the beach house where he’d lived with his parents and siblings until he was nine—yet coming back four days ago he’d experienced an unexpected settling of his restless soul.

  It should worry him a little, he thought, as he stepped up to the register and gave the order for his drink. Christ, did it mean he was getting old?

  Then he moved toward the pickup counter, his gaze landing on the man standing directly in front of him—and suddenly he was a boy again.

  Aware of the grin stretching his mouth, he clapped his hand on Brett Walker’s shoulder. “So you’re a husband now. It boggles the mind.”

  Brett turned, and his familiar gray eyes widened, then narrowed. “Zan.”

  “In the flesh.” He rocked back on his heels, studying his old friend. While he’d seen Brett at a distance when he’d crashed the wedding reception, he hadn’t been near enough to completely register the changes the years had wrought. The other man’s hair was shorter now, and scars slashed his eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose. He’d probably gained thirty pounds of pure muscle. “I’m not sure I’d beat you at arm wrestling like I used to.”

  “That’s revisionist memory, pal,” Brett said, then turned back when the barista called his name. Swiping up his drink, he didn’t give Zan a second glance before strolling around a corner to the seating area.

  “Well,” Zan said to the empty space around him, “thanks for the effusive welcome. It’s great to see you again, too.” Not sure if he should be amused or affronted, Zan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Apparently Brett wasn’t interested in hashing over old times.

  Not that Zan mulled over them very often himself. He wasn’t a person who liked to look back, and it didn’t take a genius to understand it stemmed from the family tragedy he wanted to forget. Still, he’d had many good times with Brett. He’d been living with his grandfather just a few weeks when after school one day the towheaded oldest Walker had casually asked him, “You fish?”

  Zan had lied, of course, and said yes. Little time passed before they were fishing buddies, and biking buddies, and, later, chasing-after-girls buddies. Nearly inseparable, thou
gh their temperaments were not completely aligned. When Zan had proposed trouble, Brett had counseled caution. Zan ran red lights, Brett took note of stale yellows. During the execution of Zan’s wildest pranks, Brett had participated only as lookout.

  But they’d both had a dogged determination, so when his own tall Americano was ready, he took the same path as his old friend. He really wanted to have a conversation with the other man. What was the story about his wife and marriage? How were the rest of the Walkers faring?

  Sue him, but he was curious about what Poppy and Shay had been up to during the past ten years.

  Not to mention their older sister.

  Turning the corner into the seating area, he caught sight of Brett in the far corner at one of the brightly painted picnic tables set on the scarred cement floor. Across from him sat dark-haired, blue-eyed Mackenzie Walker.

  Zan’s world spun again as a thousand memories assaulted him.

  Cheeky little-girl Mac, with her gamine grin and her resolve to do anything and everything along with her big brother and his best friend. Like Brett, he’d ignored her, teased her and even went to great lengths to ditch her until her pouting lower lip would melt his will.

  Coltish preteen Mac, all skinny arms and legs and big eyes that followed his every movement. She’d had dark mutterings about every high school girl who caught his and Brett’s attention freshman year.

  Then she’d been in high school, too, and other boys were fixating on her. For a time, he’d fooled himself that his own interest in Mac was merely brotherly—and that the eye daggers he threw at the guys who hit on her were because he only had her best interests at heart. Then one summer afternoon, a playful wrestling match rocked his world when he flipped her to her back and found himself hovering over her, his hips between her spread legs.

  This is Mac, he’d tried telling himself. Mac, who in winter had a habit of shoving snow down the back collar of his jacket. Mac, who’d once pretended to have a leg cramp while swimming in the lake so he’d jump in to save her—wearing his favorite leather boots. Mac, who’d hidden his car keys when he was sixteen so he was late to pick up Hot Body Harmonie Ross the night he was her date to her senior prom.