Yesterday's Scandal (The Wild McBrides 3)

MAC FELT as though dozens of people were watching when he climbed out of his truck at the Garrett house. As if there was someone standing in every window, gaping and speculating. He hadn’t felt that way when they’d left the site together, but he did now. Things had changed.

His concern was for Sharon, not himself. Knowing the way rumors circulated in this town, and the pleasure the locals took in embellishment, he hated to think of Sharon being the subject of those tales. He hadn’t given much thought to it before, never having cared particularly what people said about him, but it was different now. He found himself suddenly feeling protective and possessive, two emotions he hadn’t intended to feel.

He’d told himself all he wanted from Sharon was some information, not sex. Now he didn’t know what the hell he wanted. He only knew he couldn’t let Sharon be hurt by his personal vendetta. For the first time since his world had fallen apart two years ago, he cared about someone else’s feelings besides his own.

He helped her out of his truck. She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing, her cheeks flushed, her hand resting so trustingly in his, and it made his stomach tighten.

He wouldn’t hurt her, he promised himself.

“I have to go back to the shop,” she said, making little effort to hide her reluctance.

He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he did. “I know. I have to get back to work.”

“Mac?”

She’d learned to say his name so beautifully. The single syllable sounded almost musical from her lips. And he was starting to feel like a foolish sap standing here mooning over her. “Yeah?” he asked, more gruffly than he had intended.

“I had a great lunch.”

Damn, he wanted to kiss her. It was only the thought of those watching eyes that held him back. “So did I,” he said, instead.

Proving she wasn’t oblivious to possible onlookers, either, she glanced quickly at the house before reaching out to touch his hand. “No regrets,” she reminded him.

Damning to hell anybody watching, he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a quick, hard kiss against it. “I’ll call you later,” he promised as he released her and stepped back.

She smiled, and turned toward her car. Something stopped her just as she reached for the door handle. “Emily Davenport invited me to a party at her house tomorrow afternoon,” she said, looking at him over the top of her car. “She encouraged me to bring a friend. Would you like to go as my guest?”

A party at the Davenport house. He was sure every McBride in Honoria would be in attendance, maybe a few from out of town. A great chance to get a good look at them, maybe pick up a bit more information, he realized. This was the reason he’d cultivated Sharon’s friendship from the beginning, wasn’t it? Because she gave him better access to the McBrides. So why was he suddenly feeling like a snake?

“I’d really like you to come,” she added when he hesitated.

“Is your brother going to be there?”

She bit her lip, and he could tell that she’d forgotten her brother temporarily—and that she was flooded with sudden guilt because of it. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “He’ll be there. But he’ll behave himself, I guarantee that. And maybe after you spend a little more time with him, you’ll realize that he couldn’t possibly have…well, you know.”

Mac glanced at the scrape on his truck, and remembered that fleeting glimpse of Brad Henderson disappearing around the corner of a building. Because he’d made a vow to himself that Sharon wouldn’t be hurt, he chose to keep that memory to himself. He could handle a punk kid with an attitude problem. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be out of place, I’d like to come with you tomorrow.”

She smiled. “Great. Do you want to ride with us or meet us there?”

“I’ll meet you,” he decided, choosing to forgo the car ride with her brother.

“Okay. See you there. One o’clock. Do you know where they live?”

Wade and Emily Davenport lived in a house that had been built by Josiah McBride Jr., who had a one-in-three chance of being Mac’s father. “Yeah. I know where they live.”

“Great. Um—call me tonight?”

“I will.” He watched her get into her car and drive away, giving him a little wave as she disappeared down the driveway. It took him back for a moment—his wife used to wave to him like that when she drove away.

She hadn’t waved when she’d left the last time. Her shoulders had been slumped with grief and defeat as she had driven away. And, knowing when it was time to let go, Mac hadn’t tried to stop her.

He’d decided his course that day—that he would find the answers to the questions that had haunted him all his life. That he would make someone pay for the pain he and his mother had suffered. Pain that had carried over to destroy his marriage. And now another woman was in a position to be hurt by him.

If there was a curse involved with being born a bastard McBride, then the most generous thing for him to do would be to stay far away from Sharon Henderson. Unfortunately, he was afraid it was already too late to protect her.

“Hey, boss,” a jovial carpenter called out on his way to the supply building. “Didya’ have a nice lunch?”

Mac’s first instinct was to belt the guy. And then he realized the question had been asked without any ulterior meaning, that he was the one who was making too much of it. “Yeah, it was fine,” he said, trying to keep his tone pleasant. “How’s it going in there?”