At Close Range. Marilyn Tracy

he sat down, the little girl with the big black eyes and missing teeth scooted a bit closer and whispered loudly, “They really are squashes. Don’t worry. It’s nothing scary.” She patted his hand and, in doing so, ripped something loose in his long-closed heart.

      Corrie, who had almost convinced herself that it was just another rollicking evening at Rancho Milagro, had nevertheless been all too aware of every single move that Mack Dorsey made. She’d heard his throaty chuckle at Juan Carlos’s cheeky prayer, witnessed his surprise when no one took exception to it and saw the precise moment little Analissa had gotten under his skin forever.

      She’d felt him jolt when Analissa patted the scars on his long, beautiful hands and told him not to worry; the squash confections weren’t scary. Everything in him seemed to stiffen, as if electrified. And she’d heard him take a hitching breath, as if what he was about to say he swallowed instead.

      The children fell as silent as only kids could be while eating with total concentration. The adults talked about various ranch details, feeding the cattle, the shopping trip that day, adding a new corral for the horses in the spring, speculation on adding an official schoolhouse. It should have been just another normal evening, everything casual, simple, but it seemed thrown into chaos with the addition of Mack Dorsey, who contributed nothing to the adult conversation and seemed ill at ease with the children’s chomping noises.

      Pushing her own plate aside, Corrie glanced at Jeannie, so at home in her special element of creating a home for disparate souls, and saw her friend’s gaze resting on Mack. To Corrie’s certain knowledge, Jeannie had never judged anyone, and Mack Dorsey appeared no different. Jeannie’s eyes conveyed nothing but warmth, welcome and a sincere level of curiosity.

      Next to her, however, Leeza stared at Mack as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns. Her eyes widened and a look of recognition flooded her face. She straightened and stretched out her hand to Jeannie, who, although not breaking her easy smile, looped slender fingers over her friend’s wrist.

      Leeza ignored the message. “Mack, I’m sorry, aren’t you—”

      “Leeza,” Jeannie murmured in warning. Corrie tensed, waiting for Leeza to continue. Much as she, herself, might want to know about Mack, she didn’t want to put him on the spot.

      “I finished my plate, señoras. Can I have dessert now?” Juan Carlos interrupted.

      “Let’s see that plate,” Jeannie said, and with no more than a cursory glance, gave her opinion that dessert was in order. “But only after everyone helps clear these dishes.”

      Seven bodies bobbed up from the table and Leeza’s question faltered in the wake of so much clatter of dishes and silverware.

      Corrie hid a smile as little Analissa snatched Mack’s plate away mid-bite with a blithe “You’re done, right Señor Mack?” and a happy grin when he nodded, before she added confidentially, “I’ll be right back. You stay here, ’kay?”

      “Okay,” he said, wiping his mouth on one of the cotton napkins and nodding at the intent young face waiting for an answer from him.

      “Right here,” Analissa commanded.

      “Just for you, I’ll wait right in this very spot. Can I move while you’re gone?” A half smile played around his lips and Corrie could tell Analissa had melted the frost in his eyes.

      The little girl nodded solemnly. “But you can’t go away.”

      “I won’t,” he said.

      “Promise?”

      Corrie frowned when he hesitated. What possible harm could it do to promise the little girl he’d be there when she got back? It would only take a matter of minutes while the kids deposited the dishes and brought in Rita’s amazing anise-flavored biscochitos and homemade ice cream.

      “Promise?” Analissa demanded. “You have to promise. And cross your heart.”

      “If you hurry back, I’ll be here,” he said, and reached his hand out as if he would stroke the little girl’s hair. His hand hung there for a moment, then dropped back to his lap as if the child’s aura had burned him.

      Corrie’s breath tangled in her throat, both at the look of withdrawal in Mack’s gaze and at the lack of promise to the little girl. He’d agreed, but it had been a half promise at best, not the whole she’d asked for. Luckily, Analissa didn’t notice. She only beamed brightly, her partially toothy grin brightening the dining room as it always did. Before the child reached the door to the kitchen, she managed to lose most of the silverware on the two plates she smashed together, and chip at least one of those plates against the doorjamb.

      Leeza leaned forward again, having retrieved the errant silverware and handing them to Jeannie’s adopted daughter, who was indulgently smiling at Analissa. “Mack, aren’t you the one who—”

      Chance’s wineglass toppled into Leeza’s lap and he swore as he stood up, napkin in hand, and mopped up the wine. He apologized to the table at large for being every kind of a clumsy fool, then before a shocked Leeza could even remonstrate, he leaned down to say something in her ear before turning to kiss his wife soundly.

      To Corrie’s surprise, Leeza flushed and shot Mack an apologetic look.

      Corrie knew Chance wasn’t clumsy; his every move was measured and slow, calm and deliberate. The marshal had spilled his wine on purpose, stopping Leeza’s questioning of Mack.

      Why? What didn’t he want brought out at the Rancho Milagro dinner table? What did he know about Mack? How he acquired his terrible scars, what accident befell him?

      Why was Chance avoiding her eyes? Why did Mack appear so tense and stiff beside her? And why did her journalistic instincts rise so readily to the surface when she wasn’t working in the field anymore and never, ever wanted to again?

      “Mack,” Jeannie asked, commanding attention as she stretched and leaned back into her chair, “what period of history interests you the most?”

      “Prehistoric,” he said swiftly.

      “Why is that?”

      “Because the lines were so clear in those days. Survival was all that mattered. Find a cave, find a mate, make a home, go out and hunt a bear or two for food, clothing and fat for the fire. Simple. Hard, but simple.”

      “Sounds rather macho,” Leeza murmured.

      Mack waved a hand in a noncommittal gesture but nodded as he took a sip of wine. “Oh, there were plenty of matriarchal tribes then, too, but the bottom line was still the same. Survival.”

      “What about happiness?” Corrie asked, twisting her own untouched wineglass around, wondering why his answer might mean something important.

      “Happiness?” he asked.

      Corrie thought he repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before, didn’t know its meaning.

      He turned to look at her, as if he were trying to imprint some unspoken knowledge on her, and answered, “Happiness was a matter of security, safety, ensuring everyone in the cave had shelter, food and water. Safety. That’s all that matters.”

      She heard his switch from past to present tense. “But—”

      The door to the kitchen burst open and a beaming Analissa sailed through, carrying a tray laden with ice cream in paper cups.

      “Dessert,” she called, and, taking small, heel-to-toe steps, made her careful progress to Mack.

      He looked at her as if surprised she’d returned, as if the little girl, all by herself, was a miracle on this ranch in the middle of nowhere.

      He gave one of those half lifts of his lips. The little girl nodded solemnly. “You’re here,” she said. The smile that followed her words could have lit the entire city of Carlsbad.

      Mack cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

      Little