Free Branded by Laura Wright

Mackenzie.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I know Blue. And he knows me. We’re family, Deac.” Her eyes lost their momentary playfulness, and she was back to rain and thunderclaps. “Don’t walk into this life, these relationships, thinking you know anything.”
    â€œI know when a man wants to get a woman into bed,” he countered.
    â€œYeah. I’m sure you do.” She turned toward thedoor and grabbed the handle of the screen. She yanked it back and was about to head inside when the sound of ripping fabric rent the air. Stopping in her tracks, she glanced over her shoulder. “Dammit.” The back of her dress near her left thigh was caught on a nail.
    â€œBack up before it rips clean off you,” Deacon said, heading her way. When he got there, he dropped to one knee. She didn’t move, and he said again, in a darker tone this time, “Do as I say, Mackenzie.”
    She gave an impatient sound, but finally moved back a few inches until her thigh was flush against Deacon’s palm.
    â€œHold still now,” he ordered, awareness snaking through him.
Nice
.
Goddamn
.
Legs
. He eased the fabric off the nail that was embedded in the wood of the screen door, then smoothed her skirt. “All better,” he ground out.
    Quick as a jackrabbit, she moved away from him, from his proximity, from his touch. After that, a man might be inclined to think a woman wasn’t into him—was maybe even disgusted by him. But what Deacon saw when he lifted his head to find her staring down at him, her eyes connecting instantly, made his insides flex and burn. As always with Mackenzie, there was determination in those blue depths and free will and strength. So much damn strength. But on that day,on his family’s porch, inside that circle of three formidable attributes was passion. Clear and hot. Not for a cause, mind. But for him.
    The look disappeared in an instant, and she said nothing as she turned away and walked into the house.
    Holy shit, Deacon thought, coming to his feet. She was attracted to him. Not the child’s crush he always knew she’d had on him—the one she’d used a colossal attitude to hide behind—but a woman’s desire.
    With that curious and possibly problematic development on his mind, he returned to the railing and to the enemy who remained on the top of the hill: Blue Perez Cavanaugh.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The house was quiet when Mac descended the stairs, her stomach grumbling. After all that had happened during the day, the last thing in the world she felt like doing was eating. But now that everyone was either gone or tucked away in their rooms, she wanted a word with Elena.
    She was still stunned by what Deacon had said in the church and what Everett had placed in his will, and she needed to get the woman’s take on things. Plus, she was worried about her, too.
    Twenty different scents rushed her nostrils as she entered the extralarge eat-in kitchen. Though no one sat around it, the supper table was alreadycluttered with food. Except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Mac had never seen anything like it. Elena must’ve started cooking the moment the lawyer had left and not stopped since. A presumption that proved correct as Mac looked over to see Elena rush from stove to refrigerator, her ancient blue checkered apron fastened over her fancy black mourning dress.
    Mac took a seat at the table, her eyes moving over every favorite dish of every person who lived on the Triple C property. This was Elena’s amends, her hope for forgiveness. Mac’s heart pinched with sympathy.
    â€œCome sit down, Ellie,” Mac said in a gentle voice. “You look worn-out.”
    Elena stopped and looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and she was chewing at the inside of her cheek.
    â€œI’m fine, gal,” she said, turning away, bending down and grabbing a large mixing bowl from