Marriage On The Cards: Marry Me, Mackenzie! / A Proposal Worth Millions / Heart Surgeon, Hero...Husband?. Susan Carlisle

butt, didn’t she?”

      “Let’s put it this way...” Dylan said sourly. “It’s going to be a long painful drive back to the city.”

      “Wait here.” Mackenzie tried very hard to stifle her smile but failed. “I’ll be right back”

      Mackenzie returned with Aggie in tow.

      “All right.” Aggie held a first-aid kit in her hand. “Where’d she getcha? I swear that mare gets meaner every year...”

      Mackenzie blurted out, “She bit him in the butt.”

      “Once a tattletale...” Dylan muttered.

      “I’m not a bit surprised,” Aggie said. “That’s one of her favorite spots... She’s gotten me on the fleshy part a couple of times. Do you want me to take a look? See if she broke the skin?”

      “No, thank you!” Dylan stepped back.

      “Oh, come on, Dylan...” Mackenzie teased him. “Don’t be such a baby. Let Aggie take a look.”

      “Thank you,” Dylan said to Aggie, then to Mackenzie, “But no.”

      “Suit yourself. But I suggest you grow eyeballs in the back of your head so you can see for yourself if she broke the skin.” Aggie handed him the first-aid kit and headed back to the office. “And remember...you volunteered at your own risk.”

      “Which way to the bathroom?” Dylan asked Mackenzie.

      “This way.” Mackenzie smirked.

      “I suppose you think this is funny...?”

      “Not at all.”

      “Liar!” Dylan smiled at her. “What happened to the girl who used to have a little integrity, huh?”

      “Here’s the bathroom.” Mackenzie pointed. “Light switch on the left.”

      Dylan went into the bathroom and examined his backside by turning his back to the mirror and straining his neck to look over his shoulder.

      “Damn if she didn’t break the skin.” Dylan ripped open a packet containing an alcohol wipe. He dabbed the wound and then closed his eyes when the alcohol hit it. “And that smarts...”

      “How’s it going in there?” Mackenzie called through the door.

      “She got me good.” Dylan tossed the used wipe into the trash.

      “Make sure you put some ointment on it and a Band-Aid.”

      “I’m not a contortionist, Mackenzie.” Dylan pulled up his underwear carefully.

      After a pause, Mackenzie asked, “Do you want me to do it?”

      “It’s fine.”

      “If you don’t put something on it, won’t it hurt worse when you drive home?”

      “I’ll manage.” Dylan pulled up his jeans.

      Mackenzie knocked on the door. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

      Not waiting for his response, Mackenzie turned the doorknob. “I’m coming in.”

      Dylan tried to lock the door but the lock failed.

      “That lock’s been broken for about a year now.” Mackenzie leaned her hand against the doorjamb. “Will you stop pretending to be a prude and let me help you?”

      “Really? You just open the door and waltz right in? What if I had been in the middle of something?”

      “I could see your boots near the sink, okay? Now, quit whining and turn around.”

      “Mackenzie...” Dylan said. “The bite is on my ass.”

      “So? Do you think that I haven’t seen your butt before? Give me a break! You and my brother and all of your stupid friends mooned everyone in the neighborhood! Remember?”

      “Oh, yeah...I forgot about that.”

      “What did you idiots used to call yourselves again?”

      “The Moonshine Gang.”

      “I’m sorry...” Mackenzie cupped her ear. “I didn’t quite catch that?”

      “The Moonshine Gang,” Dylan said loudly.

      “Thank you. I rest my case. Now, turn around, drop trou, then hand me the ointment. Please.”

      Grudgingly, Dylan turned around and dropped his jeans just enough to expose the wound.

      “She got you, all right.” Mackenzie squeezed some ointment onto the wound. “Hand me one of the big, square Band-Aids, will you?”

      Mackenzie ripped open the package with her teeth.

      “What’s going on back there?” Dylan asked impatiently.

      “I’m baking a cake...what do you think’s going on?” Mackenzie pulled the Band-Aid out of the packet and tossed the empty wrapper into the trash.

      “Voilà!” Mackenzie quickly applied the Band-Aid. “Done!”

      Mackenzie left the bathroom while Dylan straightened his clothes.

      “You’re welcome,” Mackenzie said when he joined her.

      “You should be apologizing to me for barging into the bathroom like that,” Dylan countered with feigned indignation.

      “You should be apologizing for having a manicurist!” Mackenzie retorted.

      Dylan stuck out his hand. “Call it even?”

      “Fine. Even.” Mackenzie shook Dylan’s hand. “Come on...let’s go watch Hope ride.”

      They walked out to the riding arena and both of them leaned up against the fence. Dylan watched Hope canter Gypsy. “She’s got a great seat for riding.”

      “She definitely doesn’t get that from me. I’ve always been a little afraid of horses.”

      “No. That she gets from me.”

      Mackenzie glanced at Dylan. They had known each other in another lifetime, when they were just kids. But there was something comfortable in their silences when it was just the two of them. That something was familiar, unrehearsed, effortless and impossible to fake. There was a shared history; they came from the same neighborhood. There was a common thread of values that transcended the years they had spent apart.

      When Dylan spoke, it was in a lowered voice and for her ears only. “I know you told me that Hope has leukemia. But it doesn’t seem possible. Just look at her. She’s...perfect. She acts like a typical kid.”

      “She’s been in remission for two years, so she’s gained weight. And even though it’s different and that bothers her, her hair finally grew back. But we aren’t out of the woods yet. When she was diagnosed, she was put in the high-risk category, which means she has a greater risk of the cancer coming back.”

      “You know, when you told me about Hope, about her diagnosis, I’ve really tried to educate myself about her type of leukemia.”

      “ALL...”

      “Right...” Dylan nodded. “But I still don’t know what any of it means for Hope.”

      “What do you mean?”

      Dylan turned his body toward her. “Is she going to be okay or not?”

      Mackenzie looked at her daughter, so happy to be riding Gypsy again. “I don’t know, Dylan. There’s no guarantee. Her prognosis is good, but until we hit the three-year mark without a relapse, I’m not going to feel like we’re out of the woods yet. She takes daily doses of medication, she goes in for regular testing and she still takes chemo. And let me tell you, when she does have