Only With a Highlander Read online

  “Does she do commissions?”

  Winter looked up on an indrawn breath. How could she have forgotten she had a customer in the store? Especially this customer. “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “The artist,” he said, nodding toward the wall of paintings, “does she take commissions?”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, I’ll take commissions.”

  One of his dark, masculine brows arched. “These are your paintings,” he clarified softly, more to himself than her as he looked back at the wall. He studied the large watercolor for another moment in silence, then turned fully to face her, his deep golden gaze locking on hers. “I’ll take Moon Watchers,” he said. “But I would like to leave it here until I have a wall to hang it on.”

  Winter drew her own brows together in confusion. “A wall to hang it on?” she repeated.

  He took several steps toward her, then stopped, his mouth lifting in a crooked smile that slammed into Winter like another punch in the gut. It was the smile of a cajoling little boy, and it didn’t belong on a face that…that…masculine.

  “I’m building here in Pine Creek,” he explained, “and I would like to leave the painting with you until my home is finished.” He nodded toward the wall while keeping his gaze on her. “You can leave it on display if you wish. That way I can come in and look at it whenever I want. Just put a sold sign in place of the price. Would that be okay?”

  She had to stop staring into his eyes! She couldn’t think, much less keep up with the conversation. Well, curses. She was acting sillier than Megan and Rose. Winter tore her gaze from his and searched the counter until she found her sales book under Tom’s list. Then she found a pen.

  Next she found her wits, and then her voice again. “I don’t have a problem with you leaving it here. Tell me, what is it that drew ye to Moon Watchers, Mr…. Mr….” She trailed off, her pen poised to write his name at the top of the slip.

  She looked up when he didn’t immediately answer and found him standing just two feet away, his golden eyes once again locking on hers. “It’s Gregor,” he said softly, his deep voice sending another shiver down her spine. “Matt Gregor. And I’ve always had a fondness for bears.”

  Okay, this was bordering on the ridiculous. He was only a guy. Granted, he was a stunningly gorgeous guy, but she was acting like she’d never even spoken with a man, much less been attracted to one. Winter again forced her gaze from his and wrote his name on the slip. She wrote the title of the painting, and then started to write the price beside it.

  A large, unbelievably warm hand covered hers, and Winter stopped breathing. She looked up to find Matt Gregor smiling that little boy smile again, and she could only helplessly smile back.

  “Twenty percent discount if I take a second painting,” he said, his beautiful eyes sparkling with challenge. “I also want to buy that small watercolor of the panther.”

  Winter slowly—trying very hard not to let him see how disconcerted his touch made her—slipped her hand from under his. “I’m sorry, but the panther’s not for sale,” she told him. “It’s part of my personal collection. It’s only on display because I had an empty space on the wall I wanted to fill.”

  Matt Gregor’s expression instantly turned from that of a little boy to a fully engaged hunter. His eyes stopped smiling, their penetrating stare sending Winter’s heart racing in alarm. “I’ll pay as much for the panther as for Moon Watchers,” he said with quiet force. “No discount on either.”

  Double curses! When he looked at her like that, she wanted to give him every painting in the gallery—especially the panther. Winter just barely caught herself from snorting out loud. It was obvious Matt Gregor was used to getting what he wanted.

  But then, so was she. “Gesader is not for sale,” she told him, shaking her head to strengthen her words. “Choose something else that you like, and I’ll give you a discount on it.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her much the same way he had studied her paintings. Winter felt a warmth creep into her cheeks, but she stubbornly held his stare, determined not to let him see her discomfort. She decided then that this would be a lesson to her: stunningly gorgeous didn’t automatically mean nice. In fact, it could sometimes be downright rude.

  Then again, it could also be exhilarating. Winter couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this provoked by a man. Or felt this warm and fuzzy inside. Or this challenged.

  She set down the pen and stepped from behind the counter, walking past Matt Gregor to the east wall of her gallery. She stopped in front of a tiny pastel drawing and crossed her arms under her breasts. “If you like cats, I have this drawing of a Maine lynx.”

  She sensed him moving to stand beside her, but she continued to look at the drawing of a confounded lynx that was searching for the hare it had been chasing. In the background, its head just slightly showing above a snowdrift, was a perfectly camouflaged snowshoe hare watching the lynx. “If you’re building a house here, Mr. Gregor, you might consider works depicting local wildlife. We don’t have panthers in Maine, but we do have lynx and bobcat and bear.”

  “Where did you come up with the name Gesader?” he asked, not addressing her suggestion.

  Looking down the wall until her gaze fell on the small watercolor of the black leopard napping on a large tree limb, she smiled affectionately. “It’s Gaelic for ‘Enchanter.’ ”

  “Gaelic,” Matt Gregor repeated, stepping around to face her. “I thought I detected a slight accent. Are you Irish?”

  “Nay, Scots,” she said in an exaggerated brogue. She nodded toward the information card pinned next to the drawing and held out her hand. “Winter MacKeage.”

  His own hand swallowed hers up, his grip warm and firm but not overpowering. “My pleasure, Miss MacKeage.” He lifted one brow again. “Or is it Mrs.?”

  “Miss. But it’s Winter to my patrons.”

  His grip tightened. “I’m not a patron yet, Miss MacKeage. We haven’t concluded our negotiations.”

  Winter forced herself to leave her hand in his. “Full price for Moon Watchers, and you can have By a Hare’s Breadth for half price,” she offered, nodding toward the lynx drawing.

  Matt Gregor, still holding her hand, let out a soft sigh. “Nothing I offer you will get me that panther, will it?”

  Winter finally slipped her hand free, tucked it behind her back, and rubbed her fingers together as she slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, but he’s not for sale. Do we have a deal?”

  He moved his gaze from hers to the lynx drawing, studying it for several seconds before looking back at her. “Deal,” he softly said with a nod. He pulled the tag from the wall, then moved over to Moon Watchers and pulled its tag. He walked back to the counter and set both tags down next to the sales slip she had started to fill out, while Winter walked behind the counter and picked up her pen.

  “About that commission,” he said as she started to write.

  She stopped and looked up. “What is it you want? I must warn you, I don’t do paintings of mechanical things.”

  He folded his arms back over his chest. “It’s not a painting I want from you, Winter MacKeage, but your vision.”

  Winter set down her pen. “Excuse me?”

  “Your artist’s eye,” he said just as cryptically. “I want to commission you to pick the spot where I should build my home.”

  Winter could only stare at him.

  “And then I want you to do a watercolor of what that home should look like,” he added.

  She was thoroughly confused now. “What it should look like?” she repeated. “You mean, from the architectural plans? But they usually give you a model to look at.”

  He shook his head. “There are no plans as of yet. I intend to take your watercolor to the architects and have them design the house you envision, sitting on the spot you choose.”

  More than being confused, Winter was utterly speechless.

  Matt Gregor let out another soft sigh, set both hands on the counter, a
nd leaned toward her. “It’s a simple request, Winter. I purchased Bear Mountain two years ago, and now I’m ready to build on it…just as soon as you pick the best spot and the best type of home for the land.”

  “But why me?”

  He leaned even closer. “Because I’ve decided I like what you see and feel for the forest.”

  “But a home is a very personal thing.”

  “Yes,” he readily agreed, straightening up and crossing his arms again. “But after spending a few days with me hiking my land, you’ll get to know me well enough to come up with something I’ll like.”

  Winter was no longer confused, she was back to being alarmed. A sudden thought struck her. “Shouldn’t your wife have some say in what you build for a house?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Oh. Ah…well…I’ll have to think about your request. I’m an artist, Mr. Gregor, not an architect.”

  “It’s Matt,” he said softly, reaching inside his suit jacket and pulling out a slim, black leather wallet. “And I’ve explained that I’m not asking you to design my home, but to simply envision it and choose where it should sit.” He pulled out a credit card and set it down on the counter next to the still-incomplete sales slip. “I’ve taken a suite at the TarStone Ski Resort,” he continued, pulling out a business card and setting it beside the credit card. “You can call my cell phone tomorrow morning at ten and give me your answer.”

  He then picked up the pen she’d been using, wrote SOLD in bold black letters on the back of the tag, and walked over and pinned it beside Moon Watchers on the wall. He came back, did the same to By a Hare’s Breadth, walking over and pinning it beside the drawing.

  Winter finally finished writing out the sales slip, ran his card through her authorization machine, tore off the credit slip printout, and handed it to him to sign.

  He scrawled his signature in bold letters, then took the credit card and receipt and slipped them in his wallet. “You have no problem with my leaving my paintings here?” he asked.

  “No problem,” she agreed. “So you own Bear Mountain? Are ye moving to Pine Creek, or just building a vacation retreat?”

  “I’m building a home, but I haven’t decided yet when I’ll be moving here,” he told her, tucking his wallet back inside his suit jacket. “That depends on my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  Matt Gregor smiled benignly, nodded, and headed toward the door. He stopped and looked back. “I’ll expect you to meet me in the lobby of TarStone at ten in the morning, to tell me you’ve accepted the commission. Don’t disappoint me, Winter. I don’t take rejection well.” That said, he opened the door, walked out to the tinkle of the overhead bell, and disappeared down the street as quickly and mysteriously as he’d appeared.

  Winter picked up the business card he’d set on the counter. Matheson Gregor, it read in solid green letters, with a New York City address but no mention of what type of business he was in. She looked over at Moon Watchers.

  He had a fondness for bears, he’d told her.

  And he owned Bear Mountain.

  Another shiver ran down Winter’s spine, but this time there was nothing warm and fuzzy about it. It hadn’t been a tiger’s eyes that had captured her attention this afternoon, but those of an equally impressive creature.

  Matheson was Gaelic for “son of the bear.”

  Chapter Two

  “Curses on you, you stubborn old beast,” Winter growled as she tugged on the saddle cinch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  A soft chuckle came from her left, and Winter looked over to see her papa striding along the row of stalls. “Cursing poor old Snowball hasn’t worked once for ye in twenty years,” Greylen MacKeage said as he crowded Winter out of the way, then patiently waited until the aging draft horse grew tired of his game and finally released his breath. Greylen quickly tightened the cinch, then lowered the stirrup into place. “And just where are ye sneaking off to so early this morning?” he asked, turning to face her. “It’s still an hour to sunrise.”

  Winter shot him a sheepish grin. “What gave me away? Was it that floorboard you refuse to fix? I was sure I missed it this morning.”

  Her papa gave an affectionate tug on a loose lock of hair that had escaped from the single thick braid hanging down her back. “I’m not needing a creaky floorboard to know when one of my daughters is sneaking around. My ears haven’t slept since Heather was born.” He turned serious. “You’re heading to Bear Mountain, aren’t you? I thought we decided at dinner last night that you won’t be taking Gregor’s commission.”

  “I didn’t decide anything. It was you and Mama who decided, and you based that decision on Megan’s say-so alone.”

  “Your sister told us Matt Gregor is a dangerous-looking man,” he softly countered, his rich, spruce green eyes darkened with fatherly concern. “And she also mentioned that he’s as big as Robbie. I don’t care for the idea of you roaming the woods with him.”

  Winter rolled her eyes. “Megan thinks every man is big and dangerous looking. She’s five-foot-three; I’m large to her.”

  “We know nothing about Gregor,” Greylen countered, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet in his “I’m your father and you’ll do as I say” stance. “Only that he checked into our hotel yesterday and told the clerk he’d be staying at least a month.”

  Her papa’s posturing hadn’t worked on Winter once in the last twenty-four years, and it wasn’t going to work this morning, either. Winter smiled and patted his arm. “I’m just going for a ride on Bear Mountain, Papa. And I’m going alone. I only want to have a look around before I give Mr. Gregor my answer.”

  “Ye’re going to take his commission,” Greylen muttered. Then his eyes narrowed in warning. “I will allow it, but only as long as ye promise to always take someone with ye when ye’re hiking the woods with this man.”

  “Does Gesader count?” she asked, holding in her grin.

  Greylen MacKeage thought in silence, rubbing his chin, then finally nodded. “That beast would kill anyone who tried to harm ye.” He shook his head. “It still baffles me that ye survived yer childhood before that panther came along. Every gray hair on my head is from constantly having to hunt ye down or pull ye out of some scrape ye got yerself into.”

  Winter lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry for being such a trial to you, Papa. But I do love those gray hairs,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through them. “They make you look so wise and noble.”

  Before she could step away, however, her papa pulled her into a hug that lifted her toes off the floor. “You’re not a trial, baby girl, you’re my eighth most precious blessing.”

  Winter smiled into his shoulder. Her mama was her papa’s first blessing, and his seven daughters made him eight times blessed, he was always telling them. “I love you, Papa. Please don’t worry about me. I have a whole forest full of protectors.”

  “Aye,” he growled, with one last squeeze before he set her back on her feet. He unhooked Snowball from his tether and handed her the reins. “Wait for me outside. I’ll ride partway across TarStone with you.”

  “And just where are you going so early this morning?”

  His eyes sparked fiercely. “The old priest asked me to come up and have breakfast with him.” He shook his head. “I’m thinking he’s wanting something mighty important if he’s daring to summons me rather than Robbie MacBain.”

  Winter gave a laugh and started leading Snowball out of the barn. “And your curiosity has gotten the best of you,” she said over her shoulder. “So you’re also sneaking off before sunrise.”

  Once outside, Winter led Snowball over to a set of stairs built specifically for mounting. Her uncle, Ian MacKeage, had built the steps nearly thirty years ago, when Winter’s oldest sister, Heather, had first started riding.

  All seven MacKeage girls had learned to ride almost as soon as they’d learned to walk, much to their mama’s dismay. But their very
opinionated uncle Ian had taught them all to handle huge horses, at the same time trying to convince Grace MacKeage that her daughters were safer on docile, bomb-proof draft horses than they were on ponies. Snowball had been Ian’s gift to Winter on her fifth birthday, and she could still remember her mama’s scream when she had walked directly under her new pet’s belly without her hair even touching.

  Snowball and Winter had taken immediately to each other, and they’d spent twenty adventurous years exploring the forests surrounding TarStone Mountain.

  “I know you still miss yer uncle Ian, lass, but understand that he’s happy now,” her papa said as he led his own horse over to her.

  Winter realized she was staring at the steps her uncle had lovingly constructed for them so long ago. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye,” she reminded her father. “He left without saying good-bye to any of us.”

  Her papa lifted her chin so she could see his tender smile. “He left you a note, baby girl, telling you how much he loves you.”

  “Do you…do you think he’s still alive, Papa?” Winter asked as she mounted Snowball.

  “Aye. He’s only been gone just over two years, and Ian had many good years in him still. He’s with his wife and children, Winter. He’s happy, and you need to be happy for him.”

  “I can be happy for Ian and still miss him,” she said, standing up on the top step and turning to Snowball. She looked back. “You…ah, promise you won’t suddenly disappear too, will you, Papa?”

  He slowly shook his head. “I promise. I’m here until the angels wrestle me away from you.”

  Greylen also mounted up, then nudged his horse forward as he looked toward the summit of TarStone. “That damned old priest had better not be up to something,” he said, looking back at Winter with a scowl fierce enough to burn toast. “I’m getting too old for his antics.”

  “Then I guess you’re too old to win a horse race!” she called out, urging Snowball into a clomping gallop.

  Within seconds, her father was beside her again, his own horse moving with an easy stride. Greylen MacKeage did not ride a draft horse like his daughters, but a semiwild beast descended from the warhorse that had come through the maelstrom with him thirty-eight years ago.