This was not the Mace Tyler that Tim had always known. Sure, she was still far too sure that she was right—which she usually was. There’d never been any question where the brains of the family had landed. Of both their families.
But she lived in a picture postcard house, which didn’t sound like her at all, and was presently leaning down into his truck with her butt facing him. Her jeans were worn almost to holes and were so soft that they traced every curve. The outline of where the multi-tool lived was a white imprint on the worn denim. Her position emphasized things that Stephen would beat the crap out of him for noticing if he were still around.
Mace the girl from childhood had been replaced by Macy Tyler the stunning woman. Mace, no—Macy had changed. Not that he’d ever say her proper
