A Highlander Christmas Page 13

  And seeing how her ears weren’t wanting to fall off, well . . . could that mean she just might love him back?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Somewhere in the far reaches of sleep, Luke heard Max and Tigger stirring—only seconds before he heard the zipper on the tent slide open. The realization that it wasn’t Camry doing the zipping, because she was snuggled tightly against him, made Luke bolt up in adrenaline-laced alarm.

  “You people are trespassing,” said the man holding the shotgun only inches from his chest, his voice a menacing growl.

  Luke cut off Camry’s yelp of surprise by shoving her behind his back when she also sprang upright. “We’re not looking for trouble,” he told the white-bearded, wild-haired old man. “We’re just doing a little winter camping.”

  Camry peeked past Luke’s arm. “You’re the one trespassing,” she said. “This mountain belongs to Jack and Megan Stone.”

  “You look like land developers to me,” the man snarled, though he did lower the shotgun barrel slightly.

  Which still disconcerted Luke, as now it was aimed at his groin. “We’re not land developers,” he said, leaning sideways to put himself in front of Camry again. He eyed Max and Tigger, wondering why neither dog seemed particularly worried. In fact, they looked downright pleased to have company. “We’re on sabbatical from work, getting some fresh mountain air before we go home to our families for Christmas.”

  “I’m Camry MacKeage,” Camry said, leaning around him again. “My family lives in Pine Creek. We own TarStone Mountain Ski Resort.”

  The gun barrel lowered several more inches as the man arched his bushy brows in surprise. “Camry MacKeage, you say?” His eyes narrowed again on Luke. “You Lucian Renoir?”

  Luke stiffened. “Yes.”

  Their uninvited guest’s expression suddenly turned eager. “Well okay, then!” he said, backing out of the tent—and taking his shotgun with him. Tigger and Max bounded after him. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you people to show up!” he continued from outside. “Dag-nab-it, it took you two long enough to get here!”

  Luke turned to Camry with an inquisitive arch of his brow.

  When she merely shrugged, they both scrambled to put on their boots. They slid their jackets on over their long johns and rushed for the tent door, but Luke pulled Camry to a stop. “Let me go first.”

  “It’s obvious he’s only a harmless old hermit.”

  “Who just happens to know our names? I spent two months on this mountain, and I never saw a trace of him. So just humor me, would you, and let me go out first?”

  She stared into his eyes for what seemed like forever, then suddenly smiled and motioned toward the tent flap. “Be my guest, Maxine.”

  Luke shot her a warning scowl, then poked his head through the flap to find the man sitting on the ground, laughing uncontrollably as Tigger attacked his face with her tongue. Max was flopped on his back with all four paws in the air, his tail thumping the snow as the guy rubbed his belly. Luke looked around for the shotgun and saw it leaning against the track of the snowcat, beside the . . . next to the . . .

  He scrambled out of the tent, pulling Camry with him. The moment she stood up, Luke surreptitiously motioned toward the cat. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Oh my God,” she softly gasped. “That looks like Podly. Or at least its outer housing.” She glanced briefly at the man, who seemed to have completely forgotten them in favor of playing with the dogs. “He’s using our satellite as a sled?”

  “You go check it out,” Luke whispered, heading toward the man. He stopped and held his hand down to him. “You can call me Luke, Mr. . . . ?”

  The still-laughing man took hold of Luke’s hand, but instead of shaking it, he used it to pull himself to his feet. “Dag-nab-it, I seem to be getting older instead of younger,” he chortled, finally shaking Luke’s hand. “Name’s Roger AuClair. You like that sled, Missy MacKeage? I’d be willing to sell it to you,” he called to Camry. “Or if’n you want, I can custom make you one just like it, only out of wood scraps.”

  He walked over to her. “A wooden one would cost you less than this one, ’cause this stuff don’t fall out of the sky every day, you know,” he said, running his gnarled hand over the charred metal. “I still got to polish it up some. You got any sweets in your fancy snow machine?” he asked, peering in through the window of the snowcat. He looked back at Camry. “I’m open to bartering. Pound for pound, anything I build for you in exchange for anything you got that’s sweet, be it home-baked or store-bought.”

  “I believe we have some sweet granola bars,” Camry offered with obvious amusement. She glanced toward Luke, then down at the sled, then back at Roger. “But instead of trading me this beautiful piece, would you happen to have other parts of whatever fell out of the sky that we might barter for?”

  “Something about this big, maybe?” Luke added, holding his hands not quite a foot apart. “Sort of square, and rather heavy for its size?”

  “I might,” Roger said, scratching his beard as his gaze moved to Luke. “You know anything about satellite dishes? ’Cause this thing,” he muttered, kicking the sled, “knocked my television dish clean off my roof last June, just before it smashed into the trees behind my cabin. I fashioned another dish from the blasted thing’s parts, but I only get half the channels I used to.” His gaze narrowed. “I might be able to find something about the size you want, if’n you get all my channels to come in. As well as those sweet bar thingies your missy just mentioned.”

  “I know a little something about satellite dishes,” Luke offered.

  Roger snatched up his shotgun, grabbed the rope handle on his sled, and started off up the tote road they were camped beside. “Then come on, people! We only got two hours of daylight left. And today’s Wednesday, and Survivorman is on tonight. I already missed nearly six months of episodes.”

  Luke stood beside Camry, both of them watching the man disappear around a curve, Max hot on his heels. Tigger, getting mired in the deep snow, rushed back to them and started whining.

  Luke scooped up the dog. “Does AuClair look familiar to you?” he asked, still staring up the road. “Those green eyes of his, maybe?”

  “I can’t say,” Camry murmured, “what with all that wild hair covering everything.” She glanced up at Luke. “How does he know our names? And what did he mean, he’s been waiting for us to show up for weeks?”

  “I suppose we’re going to have to ask him.” Luke opened the door of the snowcat and set Tigger inside, then headed back to the tent. “Let’s get dressed and secure everything here so we can catch up with him.”

  Luke crawled inside the tent, sat on the sleeping bag, and slipped off his boots to pull on his pants. “You know anything about television dishes?” he asked. “Because short of tying the old hermit up and ransacking his place—which, despite my actions to date, is one crime I refuse to consider—it looks as if we’re going to have to repair his dish if we want Podly’s data banks.”

  Camry fastened her pants, then slipped back into her boots. She reached over and shut off their catalytic heater, then quickly straightened their sleeping bags before heading back outside. “How many rocket scientists does it take to repair a television antenna?” she asked with a giggle.

  “Two,” Luke said, crawling out behind her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “One to stand on the roof holding the aluminum foil, and the other one to tell him which direction to turn.” He kissed her again, then hugged her so tightly she squeaked. “We just found Podly,” he whispered.

  “Let’s not start celebrating just yet,” she warned. “For all we know, Roger AuClair dismantled the data bank and is using it for a tea tin.”

  Luke dragged her to the snowcat. “Don’t even think it!”

  Camry sat at the rickety old table in the ramshackle old cabin, sipping the peppermint tea Roger had made her before he’d taken Max and Tigger outside to supervise Luke as he repaired the dish.
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br />   The cabin sported two rooms, the dividing wall fashioned from mismatched snowshoes; several broken skis; and a large number of crooked sticks—some with the bark carefully removed to expose beautiful knots. An assortment of dishes and dented pots were neatly stacked on shelves beneath a sagging counter holding a pockmarked enamel sink and hand pump that looked more rusty than solid. The large wood cookstove sitting in the center of the sidewall, radiating the heat of a sauna, was covered with cast-iron pots wafting up steam that smelled of citrus and cloves.

  Basically, Cam might have thought she was sitting smack in the middle of the nineteenth century but for the giant flat-screened television hanging on the opposite wall. On each side of it, rising from floor to rafter, were shelves crammed full of books. Sitting just a few feet in front of the television was a fine-grained leather recliner that looked as if it belonged in a New York penthouse. And tucked into every available nook and cranny scattered around the cabin were what appeared to be pieces of Podly—some the size of a gum stick, some as big as a basketball.

  She did not, however, see anything that resembled a data bank.

  Hearing Luke’s footsteps on the roof—which creaked threateningly under his weight—Cam reached into her coat and pulled Podly’s transmitter out of the pocket. She stood up to glance out the window and saw Roger sitting on the ground, fighting back two ecstatic dogs as he called instructions up to Luke.

  Cam looked down at the transmitter. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Fiona,” she whispered as she started walking around the cabin, holding the tiny instrument out in front of her. “But if this is about that bib I gave you that said Shamans Rock, you’re a smart enough girl to know that I was only trying to piss off your daddy. You’re going to grow up to be a wonderful drùidh just like your parents, probably even more powerful. And really, I truly enjoyed spending time with you this past week—even if you were only messing with me. But please, Fiona, don’t mess with Luke. He’s such a good man, and he’s trying so hard to make up for eavesdropping on Podly. Help me help him find the data bank . . . in one piece,” she tacked on as she continued around the cabin.

  “A-and while you’re at it, could you help me figure out if this ache in my chest is because I love Luke more than I fear the magic? Because if that’s what’s making my heart hurt, then I’m afraid you’re also going to have to help me find the courage to do something about it.”

  The little transmitter suddenly chirped, and Cam stilled on an indrawn breath. “Where?” she whispered, moving the instrument left and then right.

  It chirped again when she started walking toward the front of the cabin, giving a series of beeps that increased in frequency. As she waved it back and forth like a homing device, it eventually led her to the front wall, then started vibrating when she passed it near a dusty old frame hanging at eye level.

  It took Cam a moment to realize she was looking at some sort of certificate. She pulled down the sleeve of her sweater, rubbed away the dust, and suddenly frowned.

  Roger AuClair was a justice of the peace?

  She squinted to read the date, but the ink was smudged by what appeared to be a thumbprint. June something, the year two thousand and . . . something.

  She held the transmitter next to the frame, and it started vibrating excitedly again. Cam’s heart thumped madly, and a flurry of butterflies took flight in her belly. “What are you saying?” she whispered.

  The cabin door beside her suddenly opened, startling Cam into tossing the transmitter into the air with a gasp of surprise. It bounced off an equally startled Roger, causing Luke to bump into him when the old hermit stopped in midstep. All three of them watched as the transmitter clattered to the floor, rolled up against the leather recliner, and loudly chirped.

  Roger walked over and picked it up just as Max tried to grab it. “Dag-nab-it, what are you doing back here, you infernal thing?” he asked the instrument. He held it toward Camry. “You make it stop that blasted noise, Missy MacKeage, or I swear I’m going to take my shotgun to it.”

  When Cam only gaped at him, he thrust the transmitter toward Luke. “I thought I’d seen the last of this blasted thing when I gave it to Fiona.”

  Luke stopped in midreach. “Did you say Fiona? She was here?”

  “Of course she was here.” Roger slapped the transmitter into Luke’s hand. “Who do you think told me to expect you?”

  “Fiona Gregor?” Luke glanced uncertainly at Camry. “How old is she?”

  Roger’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes, Gregor. And I never know how old she’s going to be when she shows up.” He held his arm out at eye level. “But this time she was in her teens, about yeahigh, with long blond hair and big blue eyes.” He kissed his fingers with a loud smack. “And she bakes the sweetest pies this side of heaven.”

  “When was Fiona here?” Camry asked.

  “Well, let me see,” Roger murmured, smoothing down his shaggy white beard, then tapping his fingers against it as if counting. “Last time, it was almost three weeks ago.” He nodded toward the transmitter. “I bartered her six apple pies for that thing. But what she didn’t know was that I would have given it to her for free.” He suddenly scowled, pointing at them. “But don’t you go telling her that when you see her, you hear? It would hurt her feelings,” he said with a nod. “She was beside herself happy, thinking she was getting the best end of the bargain, ’cause I didn’t tell her it suddenly starts squawking for no reason. I spent the good part of last summer tearing this cabin apart looking for a mouse before I realized it was that thing making those little noises.”

  Camry inched closer to Luke and slipped her hand into his, taking a fortifying breath when he quietly squeezed it. “I noticed you’re a justice of the peace, Mr. AuClair, and I was wondering if you perform weddings?” she asked, squeezing Luke’s hand in return when he stiffened. “And what you might charge for your services.”

  “Well now,” Roger said, his eyes glinting in the setting sunlight coming through the open door. “That would depend on what you might have that I’d want.” He arched one bushy brow. “I’d be willing to barter for that big dog of yours, seeing as how I lost my own faithful black friend almost thirteen years ago. He wasn’t half as handsome as your Max, what with his missing part of one ear and his eyes being foggy, but he was all heart, I tell you.” He nodded. “I’d marry you two up for Max, but you can keep Tigger. She’s friendly enough, but she don’t seem all that practical, what with having almost no legs and needing to wear that prissy sweater.”

  “I’m sorry, but Max is—”

  “Will you please excuse us, Mr. AuClair?” Luke said, cutting Cam off by dragging her out the door. “We’ll just be a moment.”

  Luke led her a fair distance from the cabin, then spun around to face her. “Mind telling me what you’re up to?” he asked, a distinct edge in his voice.

  “I’m accepting your proposal.”

  “Now? You want some crazy old hermit to marry us?” He took hold of her shoulders. “Camry, this isn’t the time or the place. I asked you to marry me only hours ago, and that’s not enough time for you to make that kind of decision.”

  Cam’s heart started pounding so hard that her ribs actually hurt. “A-are you having second thoughts?”

  “No!” His hands on her shoulders tightened. “But if we’re not legally married, then you won’t believe you’re trumping the universe.”

  “But he’s a real justice of the peace. I saw his certificate hanging on the wall.”

  “That certificate is probably as old as the cabin.”

  “No, it was issued to Roger AuClair by the state of Maine in the year two thousand and something. It’s real. It even has the Maine seal on it.”

  “But we don’t have a license. Or witnesses. And I’m not an American citizen. This isn’t a decision you can make in a few hours and then do in two minutes.”

  “You young folks needn’t worry about the paperwork,” Roger said, waving some papers as he walked toward th
em. “You’ll be legally wed. Fiona brought me your license,” Roger continued when Luke spun around in surprise. He handed the papers to him. “She filled out all your information, and she even signed as your witness.”

  “That’s impossible.” Luke scanned the page, then flipped over to the next page. “Who in hell is this other witness, Thomas Gregor Smythe?” he asked, turning to Cam when she gasped.

  “H-he’s an old hermit who used to live in Pine Creek. And he’s also Winter’s . . . grandson,” she whispered, her heartache turning to dread when Luke took a step back.

  She glanced briefly at Roger AuClair, then back at Luke. Only instead of calmly explaining what she finally realized was going on, Cam suddenly threw herself into his arms. “I’ve spent my whole life running from the magic!” she cried. “And instead of hating me for it, the magic gave me you!” She looked up, blinking back tears as she clutched his jacket. “Please, Luke, I need you to love me uncompromisingly, unpretentiously, and . . . and unconditionally,” she ended in a desperate whisper.

  Luke took hold of her shoulders and held her away from him. “But the real Fiona Gregor is only five months old. And her mother is younger than you are. Thomas Smythe can’t be Winter’s grandson, because he isn’t even been born yet,” he growled. “None of this is making any sense, Camry.”

  “Miracles don’t have to make sense,” Roger interjected, drawing Luke’s attention. “That’s the unconditional part of love, Renoir. It’s what causes a mangy old pound mutt to hold on to a child who would love him forever for nearly an hour, and compels a mother to wait twenty years,” he said, looking at Cam, “letting the secret to ion propulsion orbit the world until her daughter is ready to take ownership of her destiny.” He nodded toward the papers Luke held crushed in his fist. “And it’s opportunities given to those courageous enough to look deep inside themselves, and accept what they see—flaws and all—as the miracles they are.