HomeBound: Mac Shaw Stories, #1

By Margaret Malory

Friend, wife, soldier, widow, single mother of two, all titles that apply to Mac Shaw but international celebrity by proxy? Not a role she'd ever consider finding herself in. 

 

The bombing of the World Trade Center didn't just affect Mac on an emotional level but on a deeply personal one as well. Jason Shaw, her husband of ten years, lost his life in the twin towers, leaving her in a constant state of emotional numbness and pain. 

 

But a chance meeting in an Afghan desert turned into the rescue of a soldier will change her life in unforeseen ways. 

 

Enter Vincent Clarke, world renowned actor. Vincent was just going about his day to day life when Mac came crashing through it, after rescuing his brother from certain death. 

 

She broke down his reservations without even trying or noticing. Reservations he didn't even know he had. The kind of woman he'd give up his career for if she asked him to. 

 

He's used to the limelight. She's used to living as a ghost. Hollywood heart throb and a navy seal. Can they make things work while the whole world watches?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Malory
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393795193

Book preview

Chapter One

Most people talk about pain like something to be avoided, like an enemy. But then again, most people don’t really know the true meaning of pain. Pain has been my constant companion for the last five years. Pain and I are old friends, so being trussed up and tortured, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, just another day at the office. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess I should start at the beginning.... 

My name is Mackenzie Shaw. Born Mackenzie Anderson. Five years ago, my world came crashing down. I lost the only man I have ever loved, my husband, my best friend... my world, my everything.

I was only nine years old when I first met the boy that would one day come to mean so much to me. Up to that time, I’d been an only child. My father was an army ranger, my mother, a fifth grade English teacher. My father always wanted a boy to carry on the family name though he never told me for fear of hurting my feelings and neither did he make me feel like I was lacking in any way because I wasn’t the son he’d been hoping for. I adored my father and wanted to please him. I did everything a boy would do. I even dressed like one.

When I was seven, my piano lesson was interrupted by a noise coming from the backyard.  When I went to go see what the noise was, I found my father and uncle shooting at empty bottles and cans. I walked out into the backyard just as it was my father’s turn to shoot. He stood, feet planted apart and shoulders back. He brought up his right arm and fired at an empty can. The can exploded into the air.

I clapped happily and shouted with glee. Both my father and uncle turned to look at me with surprised expressions on their faces. They thought I was inside practicing my piano lesson. My father, the tallest man I’d known up to that point, came to me and said softly, What are you doing out here pumpkin?

I heard a noise and came to investigate. I replied.

My father raised an eyebrow at my grown-up answer.

Can I try? I asked.

My father didn’t even hesitate as he handed the gun over to me. This is a Smith & Wesson 5 round 38 revolver. It has 5 chambers and can hold 5 bullets at a time. He explained.

My uncle who up to that point who’d been shockingly silent, put a hand on my father’s shoulder. Paul, what the hell are you doing? She’s only seven years old. He exclaimed.

You and I were hunting deer at that age. My father replied.

Yeah, but she’s also a girl.

Well duh. My father replied, rolling his eyes at him.

I took the gun from my father and looked at it. It was a little heavy but it wasn’t too heavy. It felt... right.

Before you shoot, you have to pull back that little piece on the top there. It’s known as a Hammer block or the safety if you will. When facing forward, it means that the safety is on. In order to shoot, you have to pull the hammer back.

I tested the gun’s weight in my hand, pulled back the hammer, held onto the gun with both hands, pointed at an empty bottle and fired. I missed the target I was aiming at. I know I missed because no can or bottle exploded, the way one had when my father had done it earlier.  But my father and uncle were both looking at me dumbfounded, their mouths hanging open. My uncle gently took the gun from me as my father picked me up and threw me into the air.

Well, I’ll be! My father said, looking at me proudly, then he hugged me to his chest. I wriggled out of his arms and stomped my feet.

I missed. I whined.

My father took my hand and walked me to the line of bottles and cans. He pointed to the bullet I had fired. It was very close to the bottle I’d been aiming for. My father smiled at me and said happily You’re a natural sweetheart.

I smiled happily as he then lifted me onto his shoulders and carried me back into the house. After that day, whenever my father was on leave, he and I were even more inseparable than we were before. I also went from taking ballet lessons to taking karate lessons as the next two years went by in a blur. 

When I was almost nine , my father was reassigned. So we all packed up and left Texas. My father’s new position was in New York and for the first time since I could remember, we lived on the army base.

A year later, a new family moved across the street from us. They were originally from Sweden and had two boys. My mother threw a barbeque to welcome them to the neighborhood. 

At the BBQ, My father was bragging about my skills with a 38 when a tall boy looked at me and said  You’re a girl.  Girls aren’t supposed to know how to shoot, they’re supposed to be soft and wear pretty dresses and stuff.

I punched him square in the nose.  He landed on his butt with a stunned expression on his face as I stood over him and yelled. Take that back!

He looked up at me with a startled look on his face then he started laughing. When he got up, his nose was bleeding. My father told me to take him into the house so he could get cleaned up.

On our way to the house, he introduced himself. I’m Nathan. He said.

As we walked by the kitchen, his mother saw his bloody nose and cried out, Oh God Nate, what happened?

He smiled and simply said I met a girl who didn’t like being called a girl.

I stared at my feet stonily while my mother glared at me. You are grounded, young lady. Now go to your room.

As I left the kitchen, I heard my mother apologize. I’m so sorry Gail. She’s a little headstrong and it doesn’t help that Paul spoils her rotten. I hope this baby is a boy so that Paul can stop raising her like one.

As I headed upstairs, I heard Nathan’s mother reply Congratulations!

I continued up to my room to sulk. My mother was always sending me to my room when I didn’t behave like a proper young lady, so I turned on the tv to pass the time. I wasn’t really paying attention but the sound of the A-team playing in the background was comforting and I lost track of time. There was a knock at the door and I automatically said, Come in.

It was Nathan and another boy. He was taller than Nathan but I could tell they were related. It was obvious. They looked very much alike. We brought you some food. Nathan said.

Thanks. I replied.

This is my big brother Jason. He said.

I looked at the teenage boy Nathan introduced as his brother. His eyes were gunmetal gray, and for the first time ever, I wondered what it would be like to do girly things for surely this boy likes girly girls.

Hi. I said.

So, you kicked my little brother’s ass? He asked in a soft voice.

Yeah.. and what of it? I snapped back.

Don’t get your panties in a twist, He smirked as he said it, taking the sting out of his words. But I’m the only one allowed to beat him up.

Not anymore. I replied, smiling back at him.

He laughed then, he had a nice laugh. I took the plate and started eating, ignoring them.  They sat down on the floor next to me and looked around the room.

How come you don’t dress like a girl? Nathan asked.

What do you mean? I asked.

You know, dresses and stuff. He said.

"Because I can’t climb a tree in a dress. Well, I can but I kept stuffing my dress into my underwear and my mom says it’s unladylike to have my undies out. That plus I kept ripping them." I shrugged.

Your room looks like mine. Nathan remarked.

I looked around my room. I had books, trophies and various toys arranged in a bookcase. I had miniature planes and trucks on my desk as well as different types of dolls and barbies. I watched Jason as he looked around the room then back at me.

How old are you Mackenzie? He asked.

I looked at him and grimaced. Ugh, don’t call me Mackenzie, that’s what my mother calls me when I’m in trouble.

Ok, what should I call you then? He asked.

Mac, Kenzie or Andy. I said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter which name he chose.

His eyes widened in surprise. Andy? He asked.

Yeah my last name is Anderson. I replied, rolling my eyes at him as if it should’ve been obvious.

I’ll call you Kenzie or Kenz. Nathan said, smiling at me.

I smiled back at him and said, Sorry about your nose.

He smiled back. I didn’t think a girl could hit this hard. After a short pause, he asked. How come you don’t like being a girl?

I never said I didn’t like being a girl, I just don’t see why I can’t do everything a boy can.

Jason walked over to the shelf with the trophies and turned to look at me. I’m in military school. Nathan used to be as well but he didn’t like it.

I looked at Nathan. You didn’t like military school?  I asked.

No. He answered.

How come? I asked.

Too many rules. He said grimacing.

I laughed. I don’t like rules either.

What are all these trophies for? Jason asked.

Some are for shooting competitions. The others are for karate and Capoeira competitions.

What’s Capoeira? He asked me.

Brazilian martial arts. I replied.

Wow! Nathan exclaimed, You’re a badass.

I looked at him and smiled.

Chapter Two

W hat so funny American ? My torturer asked in broken English, delivering a quick jab to my solar plexus.

I coughed, spitting up some blood. Crap, asshat has caused internal bleeding. As I coughed up what felt like my entire internal organs but turned out to be just more blood, the door to the dingy cell opened and another terrorist walked in.

I just got word, American soldiers have surrounded the compound. He said in Arabic, unaware that I understood every word. Fluently. They both turned to look at me.

Who are you? My interrogator asked. They wouldn’t send soldiers to rescue a nurse.

How many times do I have to say it? I am a nurse on a humanitarian mission working alongside doctors without borders to supply aid and medicine to sick, underprivileged children and I happen to be a very good nurse.

You have training. No civilian would be able to withstand this much pain. He continued.

Ha, what pain? I exclaimed. My grandma hits harder than you.

He went back to conferring with his buddy.

Move the missiles and arm the explosives. When the Americans get in, blow it to kingdom come.

The other man saluted then said fervently before he left. In the name of Allah. As my torturer approached me, I grabbed hold of the rusty chain I was hanging from, getting ready to make my move.

He started ranting. I don’t care who you are, you are going to die, along with all your American scum.

He turned to pick up a dirty knife from the table, one of the many wicked and dirty looking torture devices laid out. Using the chain for leverage, I slowly pulled myself up, while every inch of my body protested and screamed in pain. When he turned around, the surprised look on his face was priceless. I gave a short chuckle before I wrapped my thighs around his neck and lifted. A slight twist to the left, and I heard a crack, confirming I’d broken his neck. I used my toes to pry the keys loose from his belt after dropping him at my feet. 

I slowly lifted my legs up to my hands so as to not drop them. The pain rendered me breathless for a moment and I almost dropped the keys. I ignored the pain and unchained myself, silently dropping to the floor, causing pain to shoot up my legs and up my sides. I hissed but otherwise ignored it. I picked up the knife he’d been holding and stood just inside the doorway, taking slow, shallow breaths to lessen the mind numbing pain that was radiating from my ribs.

By now, my team should be inside the compound. I just had  to wait for a signal. I took a deep breath which really hurt, and silently prayed I’d make it out. Mentally reminding myself that I would not be taken alive again. I flattened myself against the wall to wait. I didn’t have to wait long. There was an explosion from the west side of the compound. The signal I’d been waiting for. My team was in position. Time to take out the trash. The man from before opened the door, took one look at his boss on the floor and turned, pointing his AK-47 right at me. 

With my left hand, I swiped the muzzle of the gun away from me