“Well, I suppose, but—”

“Let me finish it out. When she got tired of it, or saw something shinier, she lied, cheated, betrayed, then laid it all out as your fault for not caring enough. Would that be about right?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t factor in—”

Mac held up her hand again. “She’s Linda. She’s . . . Corrinda. She’s the same model as my mother, just a younger version. I’ve lived my entire life in that cycle, except for the sex. And I know it’s easier to see the cycle from outside it. You and me, Carter, we’re a couple of patsies. Worse, we let them convince us we’re at fault for their selfish, demeaning behavior. If I’d known all this I wouldn’t have . . . yes, I would. I’d have reacted exactly the same way because it’s knee-jerk. It’s the Linda factor.”

“That doesn’t erase the fact that I helped create the situation, and let it continue when I didn’t love her.”

“I love my mother. God knows why, but I do. Under the seething resentment, the frustration and rage, I love her. And I know that under the selfish, abusive whininess, she—in her strange Linda way—loves me. Or, at least, I like to think so. But we’ll never have a healthy relationship. We’ll never have what I want. It’s not my fault. Corrinda—as she will now and forever be to me—wasn’t yours.”

“I wish I hadn’t let it hurt you, what happened. I wish I’d handled it better.”

“Next time we run into her, you can introduce me properly as the woman you’re involved with.”

“Are we?” Those quiet blue eyes looked into hers. “Involved?”

“Is that going to be enough? Can you understand I’m trying to deal with the fact my emotional closet is cluttered, disorganized, and messy? That I don’t know how long it might take me to sort it out?”

“I’m in love with you. That doesn’t mean I want you to be with me, stay with me because you think it’s expected. I want to be here when you sort it out, while you sort it out. I want to know it’s truth when you tell me you love me.”

“If I do, if I’m able to say that to you, it’ll be the first time I’ve ever said it to a man. And it’ll be the truth.”

“I know.” He took her hand, kissed it. “I can wait.”

“This has been the strangest week.” She brought their joined hands to her cheek. It felt right, she realized. It felt right to have him there with her. “I think we should go upstairs and finish making up.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SHE KISSED HIM ON THE STAIRS AND FELT THE LONG DAY SETTLE into place. “No wonder we’re attracted to each other.” She snuggled in briefly before taking his hand to continue up. “We both carry the patsy gene. It’s probably like a pheromone.”

“Speak for yourself. I prefer thinking of it as being considerate by nature and thinking the best of others.”

“Yeah. Patsy.” She laughed up at him, then jerked to a halt when she saw stupefied shock rush over his face. “What? What’s the—Oh God. Oh my God.”

She stood, as he was, staring at the tornado debris of her room. “I forgot. I . . . forgot to tell you I’m actually an international spy, a double agent. And my arch nemesis broke in earlier to search for the secret code. There was a terrible battle.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

“It’s Zen.”

“Your arch nemesis?”

“No. No, the ultimate goal. Look, just go downstairs until I stuff all this back. It won’t take that long.”

“It’s a small department store,” Carter said with some wonder. “It’s a boutique.”

“Yes, for the temporarily insane.” She hauled up an armful of clothes. “Really, give me ten minutes. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I applaud your optimism. Mackensie, I’m sorry what happened upset you this much.”

“How did you—”

“I have two sisters and a mother. I recognize the signs of an angry cleaning spree.”

“Oh.” She dumped the armload back on the sofa. “I forgot you have knowledge of the basic framework.”

“I’ll help you put everything back. Somewhere. Since I was part of the problem.”

“No. Yes. I mean, yes, you were part of the problem. Like the tip of the iceberg. But under the surface was the really massive . . . rest of the iceberg,” she decided. “Like Titanic’s. You know from my mother’s mortifying visit up to Corrinda—”

“You’re really going to keep calling her that?”

“Yes. Anyway, you know that part of it, but what set this off, the last twitch of the finger on the trigger circles back to Linda.”

She walked to the bed this time, took an armload. “She didn’t bring my car back. And, because she didn’t want to bring my car back, as that would have entailed bringing herself back when she was having a good time in New York, she didn’t answer her phone.”

She turned after hanging up the load and turned to find him behind her with another. “Thanks. She also neglected to leave me the keys to hers, so I couldn’t have used it if I’d wanted to. By yesterday morning I was ready to do murder, but then I had a pep talk from Laurel—who takes no crap from anyone. I so admire that in her. After that, I had my mother’s car towed to this garage, this mechanic’s place.”

“That was brilliant. Appropriate consequences for inappropriate behavior.”

“That sounds so Dr. Maguire. Appropriate maybe, but it’s mean, too, especially since the guy knows Del and agreed to charge Linda for the towing and the storage.”

“I take it, since your car’s out front, she finally brought it back. She’d have been furious about hers being towed.”

“And then some. It was ugly. Very ugly, during which I learned even when you stand your ground, do what’s right, it hurts. A fist in the face, you could say,” she added with a small smile for him. “And skipping over the details, I ended by calling her a cab and locking her out of the house.”

“Good. She’ll think twice before pulling something like that again.”

“There’s that optimism. It’s so shiny. She never thinks twice, Carter. It’s going to take a lot more of the same before we’re done. It’s on me to do it. To keep doing it, and to keep taking that fist in the face without giving ground.”