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‘It’s not a laughing matter anywhere, is it?’
She shrugged and pulled her hand from behind her back to reveal a tennis ball. Bandit started to bark.
‘He came amply provided for.’
With that, she threw the ball and Bandit hurtled after it. She set off after him, turning back after four or five strides.
‘Well? Aren’t you coming?’
The previous two days he’d walked the property line behind the house and away from the sea. With an internal curse he kicked himself into action, trying not to let the holiday spirit infect him. But when Bandit came back and dropped the ball at Mac’s feet and Jo gave a snort of disgust all he could do was laugh.
‘Shut up and throw the ball for the ungrateful bag of bones.’
So he did.
They walked down a steeply inclined field, and then across level ground, and the whole time Mac tried to ignore the scent of the sea and the tug of the breeze caressing his face and the feeling of ease that tried to invade him. He hadn’t realised it but he’d grown cramped in the house these last few weeks, and moving now was like releasing a pent-up sigh.
He didn’t deserve to enjoy any of it.
He slammed to a halt. But it was going to prove necessary if he was to remain healthy. Jo was right about that. And he had to remain healthy. He had a debt to pay off.
‘Are you okay?’
That warm honey voice flowed over him, somehow intensifying the sun’s warmth and the silk of the breeze.
‘Not tired out already, are you?’
He kicked forward again. ‘Of course not.’ That wasn’t to say that the hill on the way back wasn’t going to give him a run for his money. ‘I’m just...’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m just trying to figure out the best way to apologise for my behaviour on Monday, when you arrived.’
‘Ah.’ She marched up a low sand dune.
He didn’t want to go onto the beach. He hadn’t guarded his privacy so fiercely to blow his cover now. As if sensing his reluctance, she found a flat patch of sand amongst a riot of purple pigface and sat to watch as Bandit raced down to the water’s edge to chase waves. After a moment’s hesitation he sat beside her. He kept his right side towards her.
‘You were expecting me on Monday, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why the foul temper? You didn’t seriously expect to live under the same roof as someone and manage to avoid them completely, did you?’
Had he? He wasn’t sure, but he could see now what a ludicrous notion that was. ‘I’ve obviously fallen into bad habits. It wasn’t deliberate, and it certainly wasn’t the object of the exercise.’
‘By exercise I suppose you’re referring to holing up out here in royal isolation? What’s the object?’
‘The object is to write this darn cookbook, and I was having a particularly rough day with it on Monday.’
She let out a breath. ‘And I waltzed in like a...’
‘Like a cyclone.’
‘Wreaking havoc and destruction.’
‘And letting in the fresh air.’
She turned to stare at him. His mouth went dry but he forced himself to continue. ‘You were right. I’ve been shutting myself up for days on end, hardly setting foot outside, and some days barely eating. If you hadn’t shown up and shaken me up I’d have been in grave danger of falling ill. And I can assure you that’s not what I want.’
He wasn’t on a suicide mission.
He readied himself for a grilling—did he mean what he said or was he trying to manipulate her for Russ’s benefit, et cetera, et cetera?
Instead she turned to him, her gaze steady. ‘Why is the cookbook so important?’
CHAPTER FOUR
WAS THE COOKBOOK a way for Mac to take his mind off the fact he no longer had a television show? No longer had a job? His fisted hands and clenched jaw told her it consumed him, and not necessarily in a good way.
When he didn’t answer she tried again. ‘What’s the big deal with the cookbook, Mac?’
He finally turned to look at her. ‘Money.’
‘You have a deal with a publisher?’
He gave a single nod before he turned back to stare at the sea.
‘If you hate it that much—’ and she was pretty certain he did ‘—can’t you just...?’ She shrugged. She didn’t know how these things worked. ‘Change your mind? Apologise and pay back the advance?’
‘You don’t understand.’
Obviously not.
‘I need the money.’
She had no hope of hiding her surprise, but she did what she could to haul her jaw back into place in super-quick time. ‘But you must’ve made a truckload of money from your TV show.’
