The Wilde Bunch. Barbara Boswell

      Two

      Kara gaped at him, stunned into speechlessness. Mac’s words seemed to hover tangibly in the air between them. Once again, she felt the heat of intensified color turn her cheeks a scalding pink.

      “If—if this is your idea of a joke, I don’t appreciate it.” Kara finally found her voice. She wished she sounded less anxious and more sternly forceful. She had never felt so off-balance in her careful quiet life. “Uncle Will bought my plane ticket and he—”

      “No, he didn’t. I paid for that ticket. If the Rev told you otherwise, he was—well, lying.” Mac shrugged at her shocked look of outrage. “Hey, the man is only human, after all. ‘Let he who is without sin’ and all that...”

      “Do you honestly expect me to believe that Uncle Will would invite me here, implying that he was paying for my ticket,” she emphasized the word, for Will hadn’t come right out and said that he’d bought it. “That he would be part of some plot to get me out here to m-marry you without ever mentioning you to me? That’s right, he never even mentioned your name, let alone this—this crazy notion you seem to have about—”

      “It’s not the way I would’ve handled things myself,” Mac said, frowning his disapproval. “I thought the Rev would be up-front with you. After all, he was the one who came up with the idea in the first place.”

      “He wouldn’t do such a thing!” Kara cried. “Not Uncle Will.”

      “Listen, baby, Uncle Will dreamed up the whole thing. I didn’t even know you existed, until the Rev told me. He knew I was having trouble with the kids, and we both knew I needed a wife to help me with them. He suggested that you might be willing to come out here and marry me. When you accepted my ticket, I assumed you’d accepted the—uh—position.”

      “Ohhh!” Kara covered her burning cheeks with her hands. “This can’t be true!”

      “But you know it is.” Mac’s voice was firm.

      “No!” Kara closed her eyes, fighting a crushing urge to burst into tears. “I came out here to visit my uncle—”

      “He’s your stepfather,” Max said bluntly. “The Rev told me all about his marriage to your mother. I was surprised to hear it. I don’t think anybody in Bear Creek knows he was married before or has a grown stepdaughter.”

      “Ex-stepdaughter,” Kara corrected tightly. “Ginny, his wife, made the ex very definite over the years. When I was still a little girl, she told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him Daddy anymore, that he had daughters of his own and I was not to think of myself as one of them.”

      “Ouch.”

      “Yes, it hurt. He told me to call him Uncle Will, instead. I did as he asked, but for a long time afterward I still thought of him as my dad. My real father died shortly after I was born, and Will was the only father I’d ever known.”

      “So he placated his wife at your expense?”

      “He had no choice,” Kara loyally defended her former stepfather. “A husband does what he has to do to make his wife happy.”

      “Let me rephrase that for you—a wimp caves in and lets the woman have the upper hand,” Mac said scornfully. “And it’s always a big, big mistake.”

      “One you’d never make, I’m sure,” Kara murmured, because she simply could not let his chauvinistic remark go unchallenged.

      “That’s right,” Mac agreed proudly. It seemed he’d interpreted her challenge as a compliment. He shook his head, bemused. “None of this sounds like the Rev and Ginny I’ve known for the past fifteen years.”

      “Uncle Will was heartbroken when my mother left him for another man. So was I.” Kara’s voice grew bleak, remembering that sad time. “Mom always claimed he married Ginny on the rebound and Ginny knew it. That’s why she resented Will’s relationship with me so much. I was a reminder that my mother, and not Ginny, was the great love of his life.”

      “It’s hard to imagine the Rev in the role of romantic lead,” Mac said wryly. “And even harder to picture Ginny as a possessive shrew, nasty to little girls. She’s always been so helpful and upbeat.”

      “I doubt that even the most helpful, upbeat woman likes to think of herself as second best when it comes to love. Women always found my mother a threat because she was—and still is—a very beautiful woman.”

      Kara felt Mac’s eyes upon her, assessing her. Doubtlessly trying to imagine how a very beautiful woman had managed to produce such an ordinary daughter. It was not the first time she’d been confronted with that particular puzzle.

      “Unfortunately, I look nothing like my mother. From the pictures I’ve seen, I take after my dad’s side,” she felt compelled to explain. “Average in every way.”

      “There is nothing wrong with the way you look,” Mac said gruffly.

      Kara shifted uncomfortably and turned her attention to her cat, kneading his fur with gentle fingers. She had never discussed herself or her past so frankly with any man, and she suspected she’d sounded downtrodden and filled with self-pity. Which she was not! She felt a surge of anger at Mac Wilde for putting her into this unholy predicament.

      Mac reacted to her silence. “Are you waiting for me to counter with a feature-by-feature rave of your face and figure?” He heaved an impatient sigh. “Look, I’ve never been one of those touchy-feely types who ooze syrupy compliments and pour on the charm. And I—”

      “Obviously not,” Kara cut in tartly. “You seem extremely practical with no time or patience for anything dealing with emotion or sentiment. I guess that falls into the dreaded touchy-feely department? Well, has it occurred to you that there might be a direct correlation between your hardheadedness and your need to—to attempt to buy a wife?” She had never been so caustic or outspoken in her life, but somehow Mac brought it out in her.

      Mac arched his brows. “At the risk of sounding redundant—ouch!”

      He lifted his hand from the wheel to run one long finger along the length of her arm, from her shoulder to her fingertips. “The lady has claws, hmm? Just like her kitty.”

      Kara shivered. Though well-protected under the heavy cotton of her sweater, her skin tingled along the path that he’d traced. “Don’t patronize me,” she growled.

      “Whatever you say, sweetie.” He flashed a teasing grin.

      A quivering spiral of tension coiled in her stomach. When