“Call Del. He’ll remember. And let me just say this is why we’re friends. When you get your teeth into it, Mac, you’re beautiful.”

“So lend me your car.”

“Make the calls, and it’s yours.”

SHE FELT RIGHTEOUS. SHE FELT STRONG. BY THE TIME SHE’D completed her shoot, run her errands, stopped off to buy more twenty-gauge wire for Laurel, she decided she deserved new shoes. Maybe, considering the trauma and triumph of the last few weeks, she deserved new earrings, too.

Earrings for Linda, she decided. Shoes for Carter. Celebration and commiseration.

Maybe she’d go by his place on the way home. While she was feeling strong and righteous. They were two smart people who cared about each other. Surely they could find a compromise, some middle ground, some solution.

She didn’t want to lose him, she thought. She didn’t want to go through her life Carter-less.

She wandered through the mall until she hit the Holy Grail. The shoe department at Nordstrom.

Maybe she needed new boots, too. You could never really have too many boots. New shoes and new boots would give her that firm sense of self-reliance she needed to go to Carter’s. She could pick up a bottle of wine, like a peace offering. And they’d talk, and he’d look at her that way he looked at her. And . . . that would be pulling a Linda, she decided, as she had Laurel’s car.

But she could still go by, still take the wine. She could ask him to dinner at her place. It could be a kind of joke, an icebreaker. Hey, I brought you this wine. Why don’t you come over for dinner later tonight and bring this with you? Of course then she’d have to stop off and buy something to fix. Or she could just raid Mrs. G’s supply.

No, no, she thought as she picked up a pair of electric blue ankle boots that sang her name. She had to cook. Had to show him he mattered enough for her to make the effort. He mattered. It all mattered.

Which was why she was so screwed up over it in the first place.

“It’s . . . Meredith, isn’t it?”

Mac turned, glanced at a vaguely familiar blonde. “No, sorry.”

“But aren’t you the wedding photographer?”

“Yes. It’s Mackensie.”

“Of course! Sorry. I’m Stephanie Gorden. I met you at my cousin’s wedding last Saturday.”

“Oh, right. How are you?”

“Surrounded by shoes. I’m great. What fabulous boots! Corrine and I are playing hooky this afternoon. Corrine! Come over and meet Mackensie.”

Oh God, Mac thought. How could fate hand her fabulous boots and a kick in the ass at the same time?

“Corrine, this is Mackensie. She’s a wedding photographer, and a very good friend of Carter’s.”

“Oh?”

And Corrine was perfect, Mac thought. So make that a kick in the ass along with a slap in the face. She glided over in exquisite red peep-toe pumps with her glossy dark hair spilling in romantic curls to her shoulders. Eyes, deep and sultry, scanned Mac as her soft, shapely lips curved in a cool smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Great shoes.”

“Yes. I think they’re going to be mine.”

Even her voice was perfect, Mac thought bitterly. Low and just a little throaty.

“So, you know Carter Maguire.”

“Yes. We went to high school together. For a while.”

“Really?” Absently, Corrine picked up a pair of kitten-heel slides. “He never mentioned you. We were involved for quite some time.”

“Corrine and Carter,” Stephanie said cheerfully. “It was practically one word. It’s so funny running into you like this. I was just telling Corrine I’d heard Carter was seeing someone, and that I’d seen you together at Brent’s wedding.”

“Funny.”

“And how is Carter?” Corrine asked, as she set the slides back down. “Still buried in his books?”

“He seems to have time to come up for air.”

“Haven’t been seeing him very long, have you?”

“Long enough, thanks.”

“You two should compare notes.” Stephanie gave Corrine a friendly hip bump. “Corrine could give you a lot of pointers where Carter’s concerned, Mackensie.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun? But, I like the discovery. Carter’s a fascinating and exciting man, entirely too much of one for notes. Excuse me. I see a pair of slingbacks with my name on them.”

As Mac aimed for the other side of the department, Stephanie arched her eyebrows. “Exciting? Carter? He must’ve evolved since you dumped him, Cor. I have to say, he did look on the hot side when I saw him Saturday. Maybe you should’ve hung on there a bit longer.”

“Who says I can’t have him back if I want him?” She looked down at the pumps. “In fact, I may take my new shoes on a little visit.”

Stephanie snickered. “You’re a bad girl.”

“What I am, is bored.” She frowned over at Mac. She thought she should be the one to have those boots. They’d certainly look better on her than some skinny, orange-headed tight ass. “Besides, why should she have Carter? I saw him first.”

“I thought Carter bored you.”

“That was before.” On a long sigh, Corrine sat, scanned the small mountain of shoes she was considering. “The trouble with you, Steph, is you’re married. You’ve forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the competition. The score.”

She slipped off the pumps, slipped on a pair of spikeheeled sandals in metallic pink. “Men are like shoes. You’re supposed to try them on, wear them awhile—as long as they look good on you. Then toss them in the closet and shop for more.”

She stood, angled to study the results in the mirror. “And every now and then, you pluck something out of the closet, try them on again and see how they look.”

She glanced over, scowled when she saw Mac trying on the blue boots. “The one thing you don’t do is let somebody else go rooting around in your closet.”

ROUTINE, CARTER THOUGHT, HAD ITS PURPOSE. IT GOT THINGS done, offered a certain comfort and kept hands and mind occupied. He hung up his coat, went to his home office to lay his evening’s work on the desk. He checked his messages.

There was a pang when Mac’s voice failed to breeze into the room, but that was routine, too.

Parker had advised a little time and space. He’d give Mac more time. Another day or two.