Page 15 of Protecting What's Mine
Glancing down at her watch, she slowed her pace to stay in the appropriate heart rate zone. Enough for a workout but not a flat-out sprint.
“Just breathe,” Mack reminded herself. That’s all she had to do. Breathe and rest. And hope the boredom wouldn’t kill her.
She sucked in a long, slow breath. Then blew it out. The concrete under her feet changed to dirt and pine needles, and she let her thoughts shake free as the trees of the woods closed around her.
Four miles, and she was back at the front door of her rental. The flowerbeds—hell, she had flowerbeds now—needed a good weeding. The lawn was a little tall, and she remembered there was a push mower in the garage that was too small to house her SUV.
She’d squeeze in some yard work later today.
She jogged up the tidy brick steps and let herself inside. The house, a cottage really, felt like something out of a storybook with its rounded front door painted cerulean to accent the daffodil yellow siding. The door opened into the living room that took up the entire front half of the house. Yellow pine floors, cute built-ins, even a tidy brick fireplace that—were she the type—would be nice to curl up in front of with a good book on a snowy night.
But Mack wasn’t the good-book-on-a-snowy-night type. She was the type to hang out of a helicopter, transporting patients from the scenes of their snowy accidents to the nearest trauma center.
“One shift a week,” she reminded herself, heading down the short hallway into the kitchen. Four days in the clinic. One day with the air team.
The kitchen could have used an update, but the creaky cabinets, painted a pale blue, had their own kind of well-used charm. There was a short L of butcher block countertop. A white fridge and stove. No dishwasher. But cooking for one didn’t produce an excess of dishes.
Mack put the kettle on and then assembled the ingredients for her protein shake, her breakfast of nutritional necessity. She jammed fruits, yogurt, sprouts, and green stuff into the blender, topped it with protein powder and chia seeds, and let the appliance do its job.
She gave the kettle and blender a break and ran through a quick set of planks, push-ups, and sit-ups in the dining room next to the adorable stenciled table.
By the time she finished, the kettle was whistling, and the smoothie was as smooth as it was going to get.
She poured both into the appropriate receptacles and headed out onto the deck.
Five days in this place and spying on her sexy neighbor had easily slipped into her daily routine. Of course, that was going to have to change now that she’d given said neighbor a ride home last night.
What were the odds,she wondered. Apparently very good in a small town.
Chief Lincoln Reed was awake. Over the chest-high fence that divided their properties, she could see the lights were on at his place.
“Better not be working out,” she whispered to herself. Just like most health issues, partial dislocations were tricky if they weren’t given the rest they required.
Pot. Kettle,she thought blandly.
And there he was. The big, blond beefcake came into view in the window of what appeard to be a small home gym. He had a piece of pizza in his hand.
Breakfast of champions.
He bent, giving the dog a good scruff and then eyed the pull-up bar mounted to the wall.
“Don’t you dare do it,” Mack murmured into her tea.
Shirtless and slingless, Linc grabbed the bar with both hands and pulled his body up with perfect form.
The big, macho idiot. She knew the type, had spent enough of her adult life around men—and women—like that. First in med school, then the military. Now in her own backyard.
He dropped like a stone after one pull-up instead of his usual thirty and sank to the floor. The dog scooted closer until she was practically in his lap.
Reluctantly, Mack checked her watch.If she skipped meditation, she had time.
A house call would eat up the excess time between now and her first day on the job. He’d probably take it as a sign of attraction, and that didn’t really bother her enough to not go.
On a sigh, she put down the tea, picked up the abominable smoothie, and headed in the direction of the shower.
6
Aknock on Linc’s door before seven a.m. usually meant his previous night’s guest had left something behind. A phone. Car keys. One time a thong.
