Undercover Bromance Page 8

  “As fascinating as I find it to learn that you struggle with chin hairs, we have more important things to talk about.”

  “Like how those shoes look like they cost more than my car?”

  “You’re going to give me fashion advice? You look like the before picture of a makeover segment.”

  “This man bothering you, Livvie?” A man with a barrel chest and a bad knee ambled toward them from one of the outbuildings, wiping his hands on a grease-stained towel. His buzzed hair and steely eyes spoke of a life spent in positions of authority. A limp said he was past his prime.

  “Your boyfriend?” Mack whispered.

  Liv glared up at Mack before answering the man. “Very much,” she said. “Can you make him go away?”

  Mack strode forward, hand extended. Behind them, Liv snorted. “Don’t. You might mess up your manicure.”

  “Braden Mack,” he said.

  The man accepted the handshake with a stronger-than-necessary grip. “Earl Hopkins.”

  “We call him Hop,” Liv said, joining them. She nodded toward Mack. “And I call him Chin Hair.”

  Hop sized him up. “Ever serve?”

  “Time or in the military?”

  “Either.”

  “Nope.”

  Hop snorted and looked Mack up and down once more, stopping with a smirk at the bloody, ripped shin of his jeans. He glanced at Liv, eyebrow raised. “Randy get him?”

  Liv smiled.

  Hop nodded. “Rooster’s good for something, at least.”

  “You named it Randy?”

  Liv rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, Hop. Tell Rosie I’ll be in in a few minutes to help finish dinner.”

  Hop nodded at Mack. “He eating with us?”

  Liv and Mack spoke at the same time.

  “No.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Liv glared at him. “You’re not staying for dinner.”

  “What’re we having?”

  “Whatever you’re allergic to.”

  Hop gave another snort and wandered toward the main house.

  “Quite a life you’ve got here, Liv.”

  “Feel free to leave anytime.”

  “Come on, seriously. Why the hell do you live here?”

  She stomped up the same path that Hop had taken without answering.

  “Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Mack said, scrambling to catch up. “But I’m bleeding.”

  “You’ll survive.”

  “Who knows what kinds of diseases that thing has?”

  “You’re right. You should leave and head straight to the emergency room and tell them exactly what happened.”

  He was ready with a quick retort, but it died on his lips because ten feet away, on the other side of the fence, Randy jumped on the back of a hen and—“What the hell is he doing to that chicken?”

  “Didn’t spend much time in the country as a kid, did you?”

  “Sure. Spent a whole day at a one-room schoolhouse where we shoved a stick into a rotten apple and called it a doll. There was never a murderous rooster in any of our lessons.”

  Randy jumped off the hen’s back. “Jesus. That was fast.”

  “The male of every species is trash.”

  “I’m not. I’m one of the good guys.”

  Liv snorted as she opened the back door. She let the screen go, and it damn near smacked in him the face.

  “Thanks,” he said, ducking in just in time. He followed her into a mudroom and down a short hallway that led into a spacious farmhouse kitchen where a woman with a long gray braid stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled awesome in a large red pot.

  “I found a stray,” Liv said, heading for the fridge. “Randy got him.”

  The woman turned around, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “And who might you be?”

  Mack flashed his signature grin and held out his hand. “Braden Mack, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

  He threw in a wink for good measure, and the woman smiled as she shook his hand. “Well, it sure is pleasure to meet you too.”

  “Seriously?” Liv said, putting her Chinese food in the fridge. “Even you?”

  “Sorry to intrude at dinnertime, Ms. . . .” He let the sentence hang.

  “Call me Rosie,” she said, waving her hand at the formality. “And it’s not an intrusion at all. We have plenty. We’re having pot roast.”

  Mack patted his stomach and winked again. “My favorite.”

  Liv made a gagging noise, which earned her a scathing look from Rosie.

  “Liv, where are your manners?” Rosie chided, nodding toward the hallway. “Go help him clean that cut.”

  Liv let out a sigh like a kid who’d just been told to watch her little brothers while the grown-ups played cards. “Fine. Come on.”

  Mack followed her to a small downstairs bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the white porcelain tub and stretched his legs out. They spanned the entire distance between the bathtub and the pedestal sink, where Liv was wetting a wash cloth.

  She turned around with a bottle of something sinister-looking. “Roll up your pant leg,” she said, crouching in front of him.

  He fought the dirty urge to comment on the convenience of her position. Instead, he bent at the waist and pulled his jeans up to reveal an inch-long cut on his shin. Blood matted the dark hair and trickled down in a little river toward his shoe.

  Liv scoffed and looked up with a curl of her lips. “This is what you’ve been carrying on about?”

  “Look how much blood there is.”

  “It’s a scratch. God, be a man.”

  “That,” he said, pointing in her face, “is the second sexist comment you’ve made since I got here.”

  “What was the first?”

  “When you made fun of my manicure.”

  Her eyes went round. “If you throw your money away on manicures, you deserve to be ridiculed.”

  “I don’t get manicures, but so what if I did? Men can get manicures if they want.”

  “Never said they couldn’t. I think anyone who wastes money on manicures should be ridiculed.”

  It was an interesting tidbit that Mack filed away for further examination later. For now, he’d just change the subject. “What’s up with Hop? He a cop?”

  “Retired state detective and a Vietnam vet. I wouldn’t fuck with him if I were you.”

  “He doesn’t seem like Rosie’s type.”

  “Oh, they’re not together.” She laughed, and it was the first genuine sound of affection he’d ever heard her make. He kind of liked it. “He helps out here, and I’m pretty sure he’s been in love with her since high school, but no, they’re not together.”

  She poured cold liquid onto his cut, and Mack yelped. “Jesus, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Cleaning the wound.”

  “With what? Hydrochloric acid?”

  “Peroxide, pansy-ass.”

  “There you go again, questioning my manhood. I’ll have you know that it is a scientific fact that men have a lower threshold for pain—Jesus Christ!” She’d poured another capful of the vile liquid on his wound. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Absolutely.” She stood. “I needed to test your scientific theory. Turns out you’re right.”

  “It stings,” he pouted.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a square bandage. “Come out when you’re done, or better yet, don’t.”

  Mack let that one slide. He taped the bandage over his wound, washed his hands, and then walked back into the kitchen. Liv was setting the table in the attached dining room.

  “Want some help?” he asked.

  Rosie answered. “You just sit and make yourself comfortable. Liv, get him something to drink.”

  He sat down in one of
the open chairs with a grin.

  “What do you want?” Liv practically growled.

  “Water is just fine.” He winked at her, and she bared her teeth.

  Hop wandered in then, hair wet and clothes fresh as if he’d just showered. “I’m having a beer,” he said pointedly as if to say that’s what real men do.

  “Well, if you are, then so am I.”

  Hop nudged Liv away from the fridge, grabbed two bottles of Budweiser, and sat down opposite Mack.

  “Where are you from?” Hop asked, shoving a bottle across the table.

  “Des Moines.”

  Liv looked up quickly from the island, where she was sorting silverware. “Really?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She shrugged. “You don’t seem like the Iowa type.”

  “Family?” Hop prodded.

  Mack stiffened, which did not go unnoticed by Hop. The man lifted a single eyebrow.

  “My mom still lives in Des Moines, but she’s moving here soon. I’m buying her a house.”

  “And your father?” Hop asked, eagle-eyed.

  “Dead,” Mack gave the familiar lie.

  “I didn’t know that,” Liv said, and he glanced over at the softness in her tone. “I’m sorry.”

  Mack shrugged to cover the shame. He felt guilty about her sympathy but not enough to tell her the truth. The truth was worse. “It was a long time ago.”

  Ten minutes later, dinner was served. Liv sat in one of the chairs across from him, and Rosie and Hop claimed the other two ends.

  “Gorgeous place you got here, Rosie,” Mack said.

  Liv rolled her eyes and shoved the bread basket into his hands.

  “Been in my family since 1870,” Rosie said. “Both my grandfather and my mother were born right upstairs.”

  “No kidding?” Mack said. “And where were you born?”

  “A coven in the woods,” Hop said.

  “You can eat out with the goats if you want,” Rosie told him.

  “Don’t mind her,” Hop told Mack. “She’s just pissed the Equal Rights Amendment was never adopted.”

  “One more state. That’s all we needed.”

  Mack was beginning to understand why Liv lived here. This was pure entertainment.

  “So you and Livvie are dating?” Rosie asked.

  Water sprayed from Liv’s mouth. “God no.”

  “That’s too bad. It’s been a long time since Liv had a man.”

  “Rosie,” Liv whined.

  Mack grinned again. “Is that right?”

  Liv sat up straight. “I don’t want a man. I don’t have time for a man. They’re needy, clingy, and never keep their promises.”

  Mack whistled. “Damn, girl. Who hurt you?”

  “The patriarchy,” she deadpanned.

  “So what brings you by, then?” Hop said.

  “I’m trying to help her.”

  Liv shoved a bite of food into her mouth. “I don’t need his help.”

  “What’s this about?” Rosie asked.

  “Mack here thinks he’s Superman and wants to swoop in and save the damsel in distress.”

  “And Olivia here”—a booted foot nailed him in the shin under the table—“thinks she can take someone like Royce Preston down all by herself. I’m trying to convince her that she’s going to need help.”

  “He might be right, Liv,” Rosie said.

  “I can handle this,” Liv said, with a pointed glare in his direction.

  Rosie shook her head, lips tight. “I can’t believe we’re still fighting this shit.”

  Hop sighed. “Here we go again.”

  Rosie pointed her fork at Hop. “You men need to get after your own. We’ve been fighting this shit too long.”

  Hop held up his hands. “What’re you yelling at me for? I didn’t do it. I’ve never sexually harassed a woman in my life.”

  “Oh, don’t you pull that not all men crap with me. The reason men like Royce Preston get away with it is because every other man in the world enables them.”

  “How’d I become the bad guy?”

  Mack cleared his throat. “I believe what Rosie is trying to say is that bad guys get away with it because the good guys look the other way.”

  He met Liv’s surprised gaze and shrugged.

  Hop shook his head. “Bad guys have always existed and always will.”

  “Only because good guys let them.”

  “Now listen here,” Hop said, getting all blustery, “I was putting dirtbags who hurt women in prison when you were still in diapers. So don’t come in here and lecture me, son.”

  Rosie slammed down her fork. “And this is my table, Hop, so you’d better be politer to my guests if you want to keep sitting at it.”

  Liv kicked him again under the table.

  Mack held up his hands. “I apologize. I was rude.”

  “You were no such thing,” Rosie said. “He needed to hear that.”

  Hop muttered under his breath and returned to his food. Rosie put on a bright smile. “So your mom is moving to Nashville?”

  “She is.” He smiled. “She’s actually flying out next weekend to look at houses. She’d love a place like this, but I’m trying to convince her to get something closer to my house.”

  “Oh, how fun. You should bring her by and let her see the farm.”

  Liv sat up straight. “What?”

  “That sounds amazing, Rosie.” Mack winked. “I just might do that.”

  “We’d love to have her.”

  Dinner continued with a steady stream of mindless chatter about the farm, but every few seconds, Mack caught Liv shooting daggers at him across the table. When they were finally finished eating, he thanked Rosie for the delicious meal and offered to help clean up.

  “You two go on,” Rosie said. “Hop will help me.”

  Hop grumbled something impolite, and Mack didn’t want to wait around to see how Rosie responded. He stood. “Liv, shall we?”

  Liv puffed out another one of those long-suffering sighs. She led him outside and back to his car. She stopped by the driver’s door and folded her arms across her chest.

  “What’s up with your shitty mood all the time?” he teased, because he was quickly finding that teasing her was one of life’s great pleasures.

  “Hmm, let’s see.” She cocked a hip and pretended to think. “I worked my ass off to be a pastry chef, and now I’m back to searching for a job.”

  “I offered you a job.”

  “My old boss is out there sexually harassing women—”

  “Which I offered to help you do something about.”

  “And Jessica hasn’t returned any of my messages.”

  He grinned and leaned closer. “Which I have an answer for.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I just thought you’d be interested to know that I know where to find her.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Mack twirled his keys around his finger. “Meet me at Temple tomorrow at three. We’ll go together.”

  “I don’t like the together part of that sentence.”

  Mack winked. “You keep fighting it, Liv. But you’re going to start to like me.”

  He could practically hear the eye roll.

  “Afraid my charm will start to get under your skin if you spend too much time with me?”

  She sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there at three.”

  He climbed behind the wheel and shut his door. She stood in the driveway and watched him leave.

  It was a petty thought, but he smiled with the realization that he’d finally been the one to walk away from her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next afternoon, Mack heard the clunk-clunk of his manager’s chunky-heeled boots making a loud beeline for his office as s
oon as he arrived.

  Sonia produced far more noise than seemed possible for a woman who stood barely five feet tall and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. But Sonia walked like she lived—pissed off and deliberate. Which sounded like someone else he was getting to know. She and Liv were either going to start a girl gang or kill each other.

  Sonia appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Mack lifted his chin to indicate he wanted her to come inside. “Shut the door. I need to talk to you.”

  She whined. “Is this going to take long? Because Joe fucked up the bourbon order, so unless you’re here to save my ass, I don’t have time for a chat.”

  “You do remember that I’m your boss, right?”

  “Yeah, for all the good it does me. You made any progress on hiring a new bartender yet?”

  Mack crossed his arms, feeling smug and looking forward to proving it. “I just might have, actually.”

  Sonia paused before asking skeptically, “What kind of progress?”

  “I know someone who needs a job.”

  “Great. When can he start?”

  “She.”

  “When can she start?”

  “Well, I haven’t actually convinced her to take the job yet. Or even asked her if she wants it.”

  Sonia grunted. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Mack nodded again at the chair in front of his desk. “I really do need to talk to you, though.”

  His serious tone raised the maturity level in the room. Sonia shut the door and sat down. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is,” he said. “I need this to stay between us.”

  The maturity didn’t last long. “Oh God, you got someone pregnant.”

  “What? For fuck’s sake. No.”

  “Good. Because I am not ready to be an aunt or anything, and Lord knows I am no one’s idea of a godmother.”

  “Can you stop talking for a minute?”

  She sank against the chair. “I’m all ears.”

  “I mean it, Sonia. You can’t speak a word of this to anyone.”

  “Fuck you. When have I ever—”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I just—this is serious.”

  “Then what the hell is taking so long? Spit it out.”