Page 128 of Saving Grace

Chapter Thirty-Six

MACK

History repeats itself. That’s what they say. I never would have put much stock in the phrase until lately. But after hearing Helena’s story, the pieces of the puzzle come together. Grace grew up watching her father control her mother. It’s what she thought a successful relationship was. And it was her greatest downfall.

Until the day she decided for herself.

God knows how very grateful I am she did.

I sit in silence as the two women share stories at a lone park bench somewhere in the suburbs of Harrisburg. Tension racks to an all-time high as Grace relays with somber words what happened since the day she left their family home. Her mother’s face works through every emotion possible. As does mine. I know Grace’s story. She’s shared it with me, in snippets and long talks. Hearing it again is no less painful than the first time.

A fresh hell.

Although it’s over, and she is safe, my heart breaks for every day she needed someone to look out for her and didn’t have them. I have to divert my gaze when Grace tells her mom about the night she fled Raymond. Helena’s face is plain fuckin’ heartbreaking.

I want to kill that motherfucker so bad it hurts.

With any luck, he’ll be holed up in prison for a long while. And when the day comes he’s released, I’ll be waiting for him to step foot on the ranch. He’ll be buried under one of Harry’s precious damn fence posts. Deep inside the stone-cold earth. Only thing he’s good for is compost, anyhow.

Overdramatic—maybe. Luckily for the idiot, Grace has a restraining order on him. If he decides to ignore it? He’ll end up on the wrong end of my wrath.

“. . . kinlay?”

I shake my head, refocusing on the women in front of me. “Yeah?” The word is raw.

“I was wondering if I could put Grace and you up for the night.” Helena looks at me with a hopeful gaze.

“Grace?” I ask, studying her reaction.

“I would love that, Mama.” She hugs her mother.

Right there—the moment that makes this entire goose chase worth it. What we came for. We make our way through the park and down a street. The entrance to Westwood Village comes into sight, and Grace bumps into my side, squeezing my hand. I glance down at her, finding the biggest grin on her face. The happiest she’s been in days.

“What?” I ask quizzically, kicking up a lone brow.

She pushes up on her toes, tiptoeing as we walk. Her mouth brushes my neck as she tilts her head up. “How am I going to keep my hands off you in Mama’s home?”

I turn my head and nip her ear. “I have ways of keeping you quiet, gorgeous girl, while you come around my cock. And can promise you multiple orgasms while I’m at it.” I wind my arm behind her neck and slide my hand over her mouth. Her head tosses back with a laugh that warms my soul. Brown locks sway over her back, tussling over her shoulders.

“I’ll see you keep that promise, Mackinlay Rawlins.”

Our luggage is still hanging from my other hand. How far have I toted these bags today? The symbolism of the whole day isn’t lost on me. I’ll carry Grace’s baggage ‘til the end of the earth, with my last breath. To say I’m the savior here would be a grave misconception. If anyone saved anyone, she saved herself. And dragged me up along with her on the way.

“Oh.” Grace turns back, arms outward like she set to spin around. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something for weeks.”

“Yeah?” I chuckle. “What is it?”

“What’s the deal with the captain thing?”

My fingers dig into Grace’s throat. Her eyes flare, telling me she wants more. She wants my hands rough on her body. Her way of showing me her strength. Added bonus, it turns her on faster than a grass fire in a lightning storm. Her back arches, knees dug into the picnic blanket I laid under the tree. At the base of the mountain, Trigger and Sergeant are tied to the closest old shade tree.

I’m not one hundred percent comfortable on a horse yet, but I trust Trig. Always have. We took it steady. Besides, there is no way I’m passing up the only day off Grace has had for the two weeks since we came home from Pennsylvania. Her hips roll and my cock twitches. The tight grip her walls have on me sends me higher with every move she makes.

“Mack, god, I have missed you.” Her words are raspy. Her eyes close as her head tilts back. I loosen my grip on her throat and clamp my teeth over a nipple. A whimper rattles past my palm.

“Fuck, Grace. Sweet Jesus. When you do that with your hips...”

Heat pools low in my spine. Electricity concentrating, I’m set to explode. I send the most errant thoughts into my head, desperate to hold off. Today, this picnic, is special.

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