Page 40 of Comeback
I shook my head. “Of course not. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
She touched my forearm. “That’s really sweet of you, Jack. Thank you. She’ll love it, trust me.”
“Good.” I nodded. “You girls ready to go back up? I’ll throw these on the barbeque and we can go swimming and fishing while they cook.”
“Does that sound good, Mackenzie?” Emma asked.
“Yeah!” she shouted.
We climbed the stairs to the upper deck. I laid the ribs on the grill, meat sizzling as it touched the searing hot rack, and closed the lid. After a few hours of swimming, we’d be starving, and these things would be falling off the bone.
Emma was applying sunscreen all over tiny Mackenzie, who wore a swimsuit, a life vest, and orange floaties on her arms.
I took off my shirt and kicked off my shoes. “You two ready to jump in?”
“Almost,” Emma said. “Mack needs to use the potty.”
“If you want to, you can go potty in the lake,” I told Mack.
“Ja~ack!” Mackenzie said, laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “The fishies wouldn’t like that very much. That’s where they live.”
I cracked a grin. “Well, where do you think theygo potty?”
I could tell her mind was being blown as she imagined fish using the potty.
“C’mon, Mack,” Emma said. “Let’s take you to the bathroom.” Emma grabbed Mack’s hand to take her to the bathroom in the lower deck, but the little one yanked her hand free.
“No, Mommy! I can do it by myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay … holler if you need something.”
We watched as Mackenzie went down the stairs, one by one. Emma let out a sigh. “She’s starting to get more independent.”
“That’s good, right?”
“For sure.” She smiled bittersweetly. “I won’t lie. It’s hard to watch—part of me wishes she could need me forever. That’s selfish, I know. And it’s obviously not what she needs after what she’s been through. But that’s how I feel, you know? It’s hard to explain.”
“I don’t think it’s selfish. I think it’s your instinct,” I said. “You’re a great mom.”
She laughed. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. It’s obvious.”
“Anyway,” she said, eager to change the subject. Her eyes narrowed with mischief. “I guess I should change into my suit, huh?”
“Yeah. Feel free to use the stateroom.”
“No need.” With her eyes on mine, she grabbed the bottom of her sundress—she wanted to make sure she had my attention. And God, did she ever. “I’ll get changed right here.”
Slowly, she pulled the sundress up and over her body. My hungry eyes inched up her supple thighs and over her soft curves. She balled her dress up in her hands, her pert breasts jiggling in her triangle bikini top, and tossed it aside.
A quiet groan of frustration escaped my lips. Her skin looked as soft and smooth as porcelain. She was a work of art.
“Damn,” I muttered, a husky knot tightening in my throat. “You’re amazing.”
