“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.”