Нора Робертс - Vision in White

It must be—

Her thoughts scattered as she heard the door open. “Em? If you’ve come to mooch coffee, you’d better be carrying one of my mugs you’ve walked off with.”

She turned, expecting to see her friend, and watched her mother walk into the kitchen.

“Mom.” Mac’s face went numb. “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping by to see my daughter.” Beaming smiles, Linda tossed open her arms as she rushed across the kitchen to grab Mac in a hard hug. “Oh, you’re so thin! You should’ve been a model instead of the one taking pictures. Coffee, wonderful. Have you got any skim milk?”

“No. Mom, I’m sorry, this isn’t a good time.”

“Oh, why do you want to hurt my feelings?” On Linda, a pout was both pretty and effective—and she knew it. Her baby blue eyes radiated hurt, her soft, pink mouth projected defenselessness—with the slightest of quivers.

“I don’t mean to. It’s just . . . we have an event today and—”

“You

always have an event.” Linda waved it off. “You can spare five minutes for your mother.” As she spoke, Linda tossed her coat over a stool. “I came all the way over here to thank you for the spa. And to apologize.” Those blue eyes took on a sheen of emotion and unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have been so cranky with you, and after you were so sweet to me. I’m so sorry.”

She meant it, Mac knew. For as long as it lasted.

Rather than acknowledge sentiments that would be fleeting, Mac got out a mug. Give her coffee, get her gone, she thought. “Great outfit. You’re awfully suited up for a drop-by.”

“Oh, this?” Linda did a runway turn in the sharp red suit that set off her curves and burned against her fall of blond hair. “It’s fabulous, isn’t it?” She threw back her head and laughed, until Mac had to smile.

“It is. Especially on you.”

“What do you think, the pearls are good with it, aren’t they? Not too matron lady?”

“Nothing could look matronly on you.” Mac offered the mug.

“Oh, honey, don’t you have a decent cup and saucer?”

“No. Where are you taking the outfit?”

“I’m having brunch in the city, at Elmo. With Ari.”

“Who?”

“Ari. I met him at the spa. I told you. He lives in the city. He owns olive groves and vineyards—and, well, I’m not sure exactly, but it doesn’t matter. His son runs most of the businesses now. He’s a widower.”

“Ah.”

“He may be the one.” Forgoing the coffee, Linda pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, Mac, we had such a meeting of the minds and spirits, such an instant connection. It must’ve been fate that sent me to the spa at the same time he was there.”

My three thousand sent you to the spa, Mac thought.

“He’s very handsome, in a distinguished kind of way. He travels

everywhere. He has a second home on Corfu, a pied-а-terre in London, and a summer home in the Hamptons. I’d barely gotten in the door from the spa when he called to ask me to brunch today.”

“Have a good time. You should get started, it’s a long drive into the city.”

“It really is, and my car made a funny noise yesterday. I need to borrow yours.”

“I can’t lend you my car. I need it.”

“Well, you’ll have mine.”

With the funny noise, Mac thought. “Your two-seater convertible won’t work for me. I have client meetings tomorrow, and an outside shoot, which means equipment. I need my own car.”

“I’ll have it back tonight. God, Mackensie.”

“That’s what you said the last time I let you borrow it, and I didn’t see it or you for three days.”

“That was a spontaneous long weekend. Your trouble is you never do anything spontaneous. Everything has to be scheduled and regimented. Do you want me to have a breakdown on the side of the road? Or an accident? Can’t you think of anyone but yourself ?”

“Excuse me.” Carter stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry to interrupt. Hello, you must be Mackensie’s mother.”

THEY COULDN’T HAVE LOOKED MORE DISSIMILAR TO CARTER’S eyes, the petite, curvy blonde in the tailored red suit and the willow-stem redhead in a plaid robe.

Still, both of them froze, and both shot him stares of mingled horror and embarrassment. Then even that connection shattered as Mac’s eyes shifted to misery, and Linda’s to sly calculation.

“Well, well. Mackensie didn’t mention she had company. And such handsome company, too. Mackensie, where are your manners? You’d think she’d been raised in a barn. I’m Linda Barrington, Mackensie’s mother.” She stayed where she was, but held out a hand. “And I’m delighted to meet you.”

“Carter Maguire.” He crossed to her, took her hand. When he would have shaken it, she sandwiched his between hers.

“Good morning, Carter. Where did Mac happen to find you?”

“I like to think I found her.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” With a light laugh, she tossed her hair. “Are you from Greenwich, Carter?”

“Yes. My family’s here.”

“Maguire, Maguire. I wonder if I know them. Mackensie, for heaven’s sake, get the man some coffee. Sit down, Carter.” She patted the seat of a stool in invitation. “And tell me everything.”

“I wish there was time, but Mackensie and I have to get ready for an event.”

“Oh? Are you a photographer, too?”

“No, just helping out.”

She let her gaze sweep over him, quick and flirtatious. “You certainly look helpful. At least keep me company while I have my coffee and Mac goes up to dress. Mac, go up and put yourself together. You look like a ragamuffin.”

“I was just thinking how pretty you look,” Carter said to Mac. “So Sunday morning.”

Linda let out a light laugh. “I said you were a charmer. I can always spot them. Watch your step, Mackensie. Someone might steal this one. Now, Carter, sit right down here and tell me all about yourself. I insist.”

“Take the car.” Mac grabbed her keys out of the basket on the counter. “Take the car and go.”

“Really, Mackensie, there’s no need to be rude.” But Linda took the keys.

“You want the car, you’ve got the keys. Offer holds for exactly thirty seconds.”

Chin lifted, Linda picked up her coat. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior, Carter.”

“No need. No need at all.”

“Better hope this one’s tolerant, or you’ll end up alone. Again.” With a last glance at Mac, Linda sailed out.

“Well. That was bracing. I wish you hadn’t given her the keys,” he began and started toward her.

Mac threw up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Please don’t. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of that, but please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?”

“Anything.” She lifted her hand a little higher as she took a step back. “I don’t know what I was thinking. God knows what I was thinking. I told myself it was a mistake. I knew I should stop it, just stop it before it got this complicated. But I got caught up. It’s my fault.”

“I take it you’re not talking about your mother anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Carter. This? This you and me thing? It can’t go anywhere. It can’t go where you want it to. It’s not you, it’s—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off. “Don’t make it a clichй. You’re better than that. We’re better than that.”

“It

is me.” Because her voice wanted to break, she sharpened it. “I’m not equipped for this. I’m not the long-haul girl. I’m the one who panics and runs out of your house because it got a little too comfortable.”

“Ah. That explains that.”

“That’s

me. Do you get it? I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“You can tell me what you want, Mackensie, but not what I want.”

“Of course I can. You’re . . . infatuated enough to imagine we’ve got a future. To want one. You’re traditional to your bones, Carter, and it won’t take long for you to want a solid commitment, marriage, family, the house, and the three-legged cat. It’s how you’re wired, and I’m telling you the wires got crossed with me.”

She tossed the whisk she’d yet to use in the sink. “You don’t even know me. This has been a flirtation, a sexual buzz, a reflection of something old. A crush that intrigued you and flattered me, and we’ve let it go too far too fast. We’re rushing along here to nowhere because the road’s been smooth. But there are potholes and bumps. God, we haven’t even had a fight, so how can we think—”

“That’s all right,” he interrupted. “We’re about to. I’m not sure who you think less of at this moment, yourself or me. Do I want commitment, marriage, family, the house, and the damn cat—which I already have, thanks. I do, eventually. That doesn’t make me an idiot.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Potholes and bumps? Welcome to the world. Every road has them. They’re there to be navigated, avoided, driven over or through to the other side. Your problem is you keep driving straight into the pothole that is your mother, and letting that wreck the rest of the trip. She’s not to blame for your poor navigation skills. You are.”

“I know very well . . . Wait a minute. Poor navigation skills?” The first hints of temper flushed her cheeks. “I know where I’m going, and how to get there. I just took a detour. Stop talking in metaphors.”

He cocked his brow. “I believe you took that one and ran with it. Detour my ass. We have something together. It may be something neither of us anticipated, but it’s real.”

“I have feelings for you, Carter. Of course I do. Obviously I do. And that’s why I’m telling you we need to step back. We need to reevaluate.”

“Why do you let her run your life?”

“What? I don’t.”

“She’s a selfish, self-involved woman who strips you emotionally because you allow it. You give in, give her what she wants rather than standing up to her.”