Promise Me You Page 22

  In a strange way Mackenzie felt an affinity with the storm, which had been labeled by the news as turbulent, violent, and angry. Mother Nature was PMSing, and Mackenzie could relate. Her emotions had been all over the map and would hit with such volatile force she’d been left at their mercy.

  Five steps forward and two to the left, Mackenzie grabbed the teapot and filled it. After two more steps left, she placed it on the front burner and turned the switch to high. The familiar muffled click followed by the coil heating never came. Mackenzie moved the pot and held her hand over the burner, palm down, and waited.

  Nothing. No heat rose up to meet her skin. She clicked it off and back on again.

  “Oh, come on!” She slammed the pot down and looked up at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Logically she knew it was only tea, but her logic seemed to set with the sun, and if Mother Nature expected her to make it through tonight, then she needed her damn tea.

  The wind howled, and branches slammed against the glass of the sunroom. The doggy door flapped back and forth. Fearing the flap would rip off its hinge, Mackenzie dropped her head with a resigned sigh and shuffled against the cold tile to fasten it shut. It wasn’t as if Muttley would venture out tonight. She couldn’t even get him to enter the sunroom, let alone go out in the storm.

  When Mackenzie secured the door, her toes settled on cold, wet tiles, and she cursed. In her woe-is-me tantrum, she’d forgotten to throw on not only pants but also her house boots.

  Shaking her head, she turned back toward the kitchen to fetch her boots. An enormous crackle of energy filled the air, so close Mackenzie could feel the static build around her. Before she could move, thunder exploded directly overhead, rattling the glass walls.

  Mackenzie’s heart stuttered. The floor vibrated, sending violent tremors underfoot. She pressed a hand to the wall for balance. The cold glass fogged under her touch when, somewhere close, a transformer exploded, emitting a sharp, static-filled rumble. Directly overhead, another ominous quake of thunder shook the house.

  Muttley let out one ferocious bark after another.

  “Stay, Muttley,” she commanded with a tone that demanded compliance.

  She was about to join him when an ear-piercing crack pounded through the yard and ricocheted off the sunroom’s glass walls, followed by a terrifying crash.

  Instinctually, Mackenzie’s hands flew over her head as she ducked, curling into a ball.

  As if the room were possessed, a chaotic symphony of cracks and bursts erupted as the roof shattered. Her scream was cut short by a shower of glass. Razor-sharp shards rained down, pelting her arms and legs and slicing at her feet.

  The chaos ended as quickly as it had begun. Mackenzie’s ears rang through the still silence. Eventually the buzz gave way to Muttley’s ferocious bark, the whistle of wind as it blew through the space with enough force to whip at her hair. She didn’t need her sight to know that the house had been ripped open and was now exposed to the elements.

  The groan of broken wood, the crackle of leaves, and the scent of sap settled around her, telling her the old oak tree had caused the crash, and she was extremely lucky she hadn’t been in its path.

  Breathing hard, her heart pounding against her ribs, Mackenzie slowly lowered her hands and straightened. She held her breath and shook her head, tiny bits of broken glass sprinkling to the floor.

  Muttley continued to bark, his stress increasing with each cry.

  “Okay, boy,” she told him, “I’m fine. I’m coming.” Mackenzie took a tentative step toward her distressed pup, and pain sliced through her foot. She sucked a breath at the sting of glass and pulled back.

  The clack of Muttley’s nails and the jingle of his dog tags shot fear through Mackenzie’s heart. She thrust her hand out. “Stay,” she ordered. But she was too late, and Muttley yelped in pain, then whined.

  Now she wasn’t the only one with glass in her foot. And there wasn’t anyone around to help. She felt that familiar panic swell, fill her body with the leaden need to sit down until help came.

  She shivered as a cold wind cut through the room. Taking a breath, she bent down to gingerly brush glass from the sole of her foot. When it was clean, she carefully set it down in the same place it had been when the roof caved in.

  “You got this,” she whispered, hoping when she said it, it would become truth.

  Biting her lower lip, she balanced herself equally on both feet and crouched. She lightly patted the floor around her, testing the surface for debris. Glass scratched her palms and she gasped, drawing her hands back.

  She so didn’t have this. She was barefoot, alone, and surrounded by a sea of shattered glass.

  “Holy shit.”

  Overwhelmed by the situation, she felt the words choke out of her. She wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed her forehead there. Her insides trembled, and her mind raced. What now? What the fuck now? Savannah was gone, Hunter was out of her life, and she had no way of calling out for help. She was trapped in her own worst nightmare.

  And, God, she was tired. So tired of handling everything alone. A sob of utter anguish rocked her chest.

  Muttley’s barks had become shrill and scraped her nerves. A wave of white-hot, disgusted-with-herself fury swept through her, and she lifted her head and yelled, “Muttley. No.”

  His barks transitioned into whines, and Mackenzie put her head back down, wiping her face with Hunter’s shirt.

  Hunter. The thought of him made longing cut through her. God, she missed him. Missed the way he held her and the way he believed in her—even when she didn’t know how to believe in herself.

  And right then, she could use some of that unwavering belief of his. Needed his courage to take the leap without being able to clearly see the net.

  Tears burned her eyes. Tears of frustration and pain and fear. And for one self-indulgent moment she thought about just giving up. Just sitting down in the glass until the storm passed. Until someone found her. But then she wouldn’t be living independently, would she? Then she would have given up Hunter for nothing.

  Another blast of frigid air wafted through the house, blowing across her wet body and racking a shiver through her.

  She swore at the universe. And then she swallowed her fury and all her self-pity. No one was coming. At least not until tomorrow, and Muttley wouldn’t wait that long. Not when rain splattered them with cold waves of droplets as trees swayed overhead and thunder continued to roll and rattle the house.

  Using her most calm and confident tone, she said, “Muttley, sit.” Then to herself she said, “You got this.”

  She didn’t feel any more capable, but she moved into action anyway.

  Lifting her head, she stretched out one arm at a time as far as she could without toppling over. She touched an end table. She could pull it over and get on top of it, but that was as far as the table would take her. Though it did give her another idea.

  When she couldn’t reach the sofa, Mackenzie pulled the sleeve of Hunter’s flannel over her hand and gingerly swept a spot on the floor clear of glass. Shards pricked at her palm, and when she moved her knee to that spot, baby-fine slivers dug into her flesh. She gritted her teeth and growled through the pain, reaching toward the sofa again. Her fingertips brushed the velour of the arm, and hope sparked, lighting the darkness swamping her chest.

  Shivering with cold, she covered her other hand and repeated the movement until she could reach over the arm of the sofa. Pushing herself upright forced glass deeper into her knees, and she whimpered at the pain. Sliding her hands down the side, she was able to get the piping of a cushion between her fingers and fought to pull the soaked fabric over the arm. The simple task made her arms and lungs burn.

  Thankfully her fear had turned to anger—at her situation. And herself. Anger strong enough to haul the cushion the final few inches over the side.

  Glass flew from the cushion, grazing her face. She flipped the cushion so the side protected from th
e glass turned up, and she dropped it on the floor. She painfully leaned into one knee while she brushed glass from the other and set it on the cushion. Then did the same with the first.

  She rested there a minute, relishing the feel of a glass-free surface, even if it was squishy and cold with rainwater. Once the pain ebbed and she’d caught her breath, she straightened and used the arm of the sofa to help her stand.

  Muttley encouraged her with a bark of excitement.

  “I’m getting there, buddy.”

  With covered hands, she brushed glass from the arm and leaned over it, tentatively searching for more softness. She touched a blanket, got hold of a couple of throw pillows, and dragged them all to her, careful to set them down beyond the cushion where she stood with the glass-free side up.

  Turning, she crouched again and positioned the blanket—the first ladder rung toward safety. Out of breath again, she paused before making her way across the protected floor.

  She’d done it.

  “Oh my God!” She’d actually done it. She could use these props to get her out of the glass and reach Muttley. Make sure he was okay. Then she could call 911.

  There would be insurance, cleanup, repairs, and new furniture to deal with, but she’d done it. She’d survived an emergency on her own with only superficial scrapes.

  She made her way across the glass to her dog, and this time when the tears came, they originated from someplace different. A complicated combination of relief and bitterness at the injustice of it all swirled together to make a giant knot in her stomach.

  She’d pushed through, found her independence, and proved to herself she could do it. On her own terms. Yet the one person she wanted to share the moment with was gone.

  Muttley used the pillows she’d thrown down as a bridge to meet her halfway, licking her face when she reached out.

  She made it to his dog bed and swiveled, dropping her butt to the soft, dry surface. When she caught her breath, she could tend to her wounds, change into dry clothes, and call emergency crews to help with the house.

  Yup, Mackenzie was officially self-reliant.

  And she was heartbreakingly miserable.

  Hunter’s stomach rolled as he turned onto Mackenzie’s street.

  The rain came down in sheets, filling the already-flooded streets of downtown and turning his usual fifteen-minute trip to Mackenzie’s into an hour and change—an agonizing hour spent thinking about Mackenzie and realizing that the guy lucky enough to spend his life with a woman like Mackenzie wouldn’t hesitate to put her needs first.

  And Hunter was going to be that guy. Was going to spend his life showing her just how special she was.

  First, though, he had to convince her to give him another chance. And every second he wasted driving through puddles was another second she was left thinking she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  The darkened streets and downed poles only added to the stress. But when Hunter pulled into her driveway and saw the destruction, his heart went from pounding to thundering.

  Branches littered the walkway, her front porch swing was hanging by one chair, and the giant oak behind her house was gone.

  The truck was barely in park when Hunter leaped out and raced up to her front porch. Calling her name, he shoved through the front door, and his chest nearly exploded.

  The old oak wasn’t gone. It had torn through the sunroom’s roof and obliterated the back wall. Twisted metal, sheet music, and pages from her journal littered the space. Shattered glass covered every horizontal surface. And her guitar, the one she’d used to create all her music, was in pieces beneath the tree trunk.

  “Mackenzie,” he yelled, dread spiraling through his veins as he strained to listen for her response. For any sound that would let him know she was okay.

  Silence was his only answer.

  He called out again and heard a bark coming from the back of the room. And that’s when he saw her.

  Mackenzie.

  Sitting at the edge of the destruction among the debris, in the dog bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head down. Muttley sat beside her, his tail wagging at the sight of Hunter. Relief and regret forced the air from Hunter’s lungs.

  “Mackenzie.” He rushed toward her and crouched, scanning her body for injuries. She had cuts on her shins, blood streaks marring her skin. “Are you hurt?”

  She lifted her head, her expression exhausted and confused. “Hunter?” A shiver rocked her wet body. “What are you doing here?”

  What are you doing here?

  Talk about an arrow straight through his heart.

  He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her body, watchful of the scratches on her shoulders and arms and a little more alarmed when he saw the bloodstain near the hem of her shirt.

  “You’re bleeding.” He tugged her shirt up slightly, looking for a wound.

  “It’s not all mine,” she said, and—thank Christ—he pulled her carefully against him.

  “I came here to tell you I was an idiot, but then I saw the tree, and I thought—”

  He silently shook his head, not wanting to go where his thoughts had led him a moment ago.

  He cut a look at the gaping hole in the sunroom, the spot on the sofa where Mackenzie usually sat now occupied by a thick branch of the old oak that had once been in her yard. Then he saw the trail of blankets and pillows highlighting her location at the time of the crash, and his blood turned to ice.

  A foot to the right and he wouldn’t be holding her right now.

  “Were you in the sunroom when it came down?”

  He hoped to God she’d say no, but the small nod of her head made him sick.

  “I went to close the dog flap when the tree snapped,” she said, and for a moment, he saw the event without eyes, the way she must have experienced it. The noise, the uncertainty, the struggle. “Thankfully Muttley was in the house somewhere when it came down. Only once things settled, he tried to get to me and stepped in glass, so I told him to stay put, that I’d come to him.”

  “Of course you did,” he said, easing down next to her in the dog bed. There wasn’t enough room, and his butt was hanging half-off, but he didn’t care. She was all right.

  She’s all right, he realized, and a rough laugh escaped.

  Okay, maybe it was closer to a cry, because—Jesus—most people in the same situation would have been too panicked to safely navigate themselves out of that disaster. Not Mackenzie.

  Nope, in nothing but her nightshirt, bare feet, and the bravery of an army, she’d managed not only to get to safety but also to rescue her rescue dog.

  “He actually stayed.” She tilted her face toward his and flashed a small and tremulous smile. “He stayed put so I could come to him and get the glass out of his paw.” She turned to Muttley and ruffled his ears. “Didn’t you, boy?”

  Muttley barked, then plopped half his body across Mackenzie.

  “He trusts you.” He gently lifted Mackenzie so she was on his lap, then pulled Muttley against Hunter’s side, until all three of them were fully in the dog bed. “He’s a smart dog.”

  With a nervous whine, Muttley rested his muzzle on Hunter’s thigh.

  “I’m really okay.” She tried to get up, but he held her to him. “Most of the blood is from Muttley’s paw.”

  “I may have been slow on the uptake, but I know you are,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m the one who needs a hug right now.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, and that’s how they remained for a long moment. Silently holding each other, while Hunter breathed in her scent.

  And sitting there with Mackenzie in his arms, he realized that his cousins were right. It didn’t matter how long it took or how perfectly everything fit together, love wasn’t a destination. It was a journey.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Seriously, I’m okay,” Mackenzie said into the phone for what felt like the hundredth time, as they pulled into Hunter’s garage. “Muttle
y’s okay, and the house can be fixed.”

  Her relationship with Hunter? That was still up in the air.

  He’d swooped in like some kind of superhero for hire, held her until she stopped shaking, bandaged her wounds, then packed her and Muttley safely into his truck and driven them to his place.

  He’d been warm and caring and gentle—so incredibly gentle she’d nearly wept. But whenever she’d broached the topic of them, he’d squeezed her hand and said, “We’ll get there.”

  Only now they were at his place and they were no closer to there than they’d been last week at the symphony.

  “You sure, darlin’?” Arthur’s concern came over the phone line loud and clear. “You sound like maybe you could use a strong shoulder, some tissues, and maybe some of my chili. Maybe I should come home. My chili always makes you feel better. Plus, there’s going to be contractors to call, crews to orchestrate, and you’ll need a place to sleep. You can’t sleep with all that racket and chaos going on.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to be done tonight, and I’m already staying at a friend’s,” she assured him. For how long she didn’t know, but for tonight she had everything that mattered: her safety, her dog, and her man.

  Without warning, the passenger-side door opened, and Hunter leaned in, slipping the phone from her hand.

  “Hey, Arthur, this is Hunter. The friend,” he said, and she didn’t miss the humor in his voice. “Mackenzie is a little battered but holding strong. All she needs now is to get warmed up and a good night’s sleep.”

  “And where will you be sleeping?” Arthur asked Hunter, and had Mackenzie not been so tired, she would have laughed at the parental tone.

  “That’s up to the lady,” Hunter assured him.

  “Don’t say that.” Mackenzie pressed her palm over the mouthpiece. “Now he’ll think that we’re—”

  “What did you say, darlin’?” Arthur’s voice was muffled but audible. Which meant he’d heard her.

  She uncovered the phone. “That he’s sleeping on the couch.”

  “Good girl. Now if you need anything before I get home or something changes and you need a place to stay, you have the spare key.”