“No.” I pushed his hand away.
He had been about to step forward with me next to him, but then he stopped. “Why not?” He turned to look at me. Up close I could finally get a good look at his face. He seemed so familiar. Must be because I’d accidentally married his brother.
“Are you and Gavin twins?” I asked, before I could put the brakes on between my brain and my mouth.
“Nope, not even close.” He ducked his shoulder again and forced it into my armpit. “Come on, I have to get you inside before my mom skins my hide.”
“Aren’t you a little old for the Aunt Jemima treatment?” I asked, deciding not to fight his help anymore. I really couldn’t walk without it. It wasn’t so much the twisted ankle as the possible sun stroke.
He chuckled. “You don’t know my mother, do you?”
“No, I don’t know any of you.” I limped along, appreciating his support but loathe to admit it out loud.
“If you don’t know any of us, then what are you doing out here asking for Gavin?”
I battled with myself, wondering if I should tell him the truth or go with my genealogy story. It made little sense that I’d be tracking just Gavin down for a family tree project, but the lie was easier to go with than reality. Even standing here on his family’s land within arm’s reach of my goal, real life was just too big and scary.
“I’m doing a project researching my family tree, and his name came up. I’m just following leads.” I told myself it wasn’t a complete lie, hoping to assuage the guilty feelings that were making my face burn. According to the records of the State of Nevada, I am officially part of the MacKenzie tree … sitting right next to Gavin on one of its branches, in fact. If I really was doing a project, all of this would make complete sense. Kind of. Except for the marrying-someone-and-not-remembering-it part.
“Huh. Sounds interesting,” said Ian, but not like he really meant it. “Did you go to Utah first?”
“Why would I do that?” I inhaled sharply when my bum foot accidentally dropped down and caught the edge of the road, twisting it back.
Ian slowed down to accommodate my pain and mumbled cussing. “I thought that’s where all the best genealogy records were kept.”
Since I’d been talking out of my butt this entire time, I had no idea if he was right about that or not, but I figured there was no harm in shining him on. “Yeah, well, I just did it all online. But you’re right about Utah. I might go there next.”
“So you’re just flying around all over the country following family tree leads?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Don’t you have a job?” We’d reached the porch and my ankle was throbbing at this point. I turned to face him where he was standing one step below me.
“Yes, I have a job. I’m an attorney.”
He snorted. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Do you really want an answer to that question?” I asked, ready to let him have it. I’d reached the end of my patience with this idiot.
“Who’s this?” asked a male voice behind me.
I turned around and almost had a stroke over the glowing blue eyes that bore into me from under a straw-colored cowboy hat.
“Mack,” I said in a strangled whisper, memories rushing over in a giant tsunami to drown me in raw emotion.
“Andie,” he said, his face set in angry lines.
Chapter Twenty
“WHOOP, THERE SHE GOES AGAIN,” said Ian, catching me as I tilted backwards. He lifted me up like a baby and carried me into the house, dropping me onto a couch from a couple feet up.
My head lolled around as my body bounced up off the cushions. I was so dizzy, I feared I was going to yack in their living room. When my body finally settled into a still position, I stared at the ceiling, swallowing several times to get control of my stomach and throat. Do not throw up, do not throw up!
A woman who looked to be in her fifties and wearing a well-worn denim dress appeared, standing over me. Her dyed brown hair was pulled loosely into a bun and a pair of sunglasses were pushed up to the top of her head. In her hand was a glass of fluorescent yellow liquid. “Here, sweetie, take a drink of this.” She sat on a coffee table just next to me.
“What is that? Antifreeze?” I asked, my voice muddy with fatigue and nausea.
She hooted loudly and then smiled. “Antifreeze? Now that’s a new one. I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but never poisoning a houseguest with automobile products. Come on now, drink up your Gatorade. You’re dehydrated.”
I smiled weakly. “Oh. Gatorade. That’s good.” I put the troll doll down on the tabletop and took the glass with a shaking hand, drinking the entire serving of watery sourness in about five swallows.
“Good,” she said, patting my arm and taking the glass back before standing. “Come on, Ian. Let’s let this young lady have her peace with Mack.”