Wedding the Highlander Page 6

  “Oh, Stomper’s a warhorse. But he’s used to me and behaves most of the time. It’s only when Papa rides him that he gets a little wild.”

  “A warhorse?” Libby whispered. She didn’t know what breed a warhorse was, but it sounded large. And mean.

  “Stomper’s really old.” He tried to console Libby, patting her knee. “And he’s not a warhorse anymore. But Papa won’t let him pull the Christmas sled, ’cause he says it’s beneath Stomper’s dignity.”

  The boy was a fountain of information—some of which sent shivers down Libby’s spine.

  There was a knock on the porch door, and Libby stood up, but she stopped to pull her wet pants away from her bum, which is why Robbie beat her to the door.

  A beautiful and very pregnant woman walked in carrying a sack of groceries. “There’s more in the truck, Robbie,” she said, setting the bag down on the counter. She turned and held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Grace MacKeage, Robbie’s aunt.”

  Libby took the offered hand and shook it. “It’s good to meet you, Grace. I’m Libby, and I’ve been hearing all about you from Robbie.”

  Grace snorted. “I just bet you have.” The fortyish woman put her hands on her back to support her swollen stomach as she looked around the kitchen. “So. What do you think of the old homestead? Meet your standards?”

  Libby nodded and rushed to pull out a chair from the table. She checked to make sure it was dry, then waved her new neighbor over. “It’s beautiful. Please, sit down. I don’t have any tea to offer you yet, but we can at least visit.”

  With a nod of thanks, Grace waddled over to the chair and sat down with a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” she said, patting her belly with both hands. “I swear she’s playing soccer in there.”

  Libby nodded at Grace’s stomach. “Your seventh, Robbie said?”

  “Yup. Another healthy and happy girl, having a grand old time at my expense.”

  “When are you due?”

  Grace cocked her head to the side and grinned at Libby.

  “December twentieth, this year.”

  “This year?”

  Grace held up four fingers. “Four pregnancies, not counting this one, and six daughters. All born either on December twentieth or twenty-first, depending on when Winter Solstice was that year.” She waved at the air. “I don’t keep track of the date, just the day.”

  “All your daughters were born on Winter Solstice?” Libby asked. She pointed at Grace’s belly. “And you’re expecting this one the same day?”

  Grace gave a small laugh. “Why not? It’s convenient, having all the birthday parties at once.”

  “But you can’t expect all your children to be born on the same day,” Libby impolitely repeated. “It’s improbable.”

  “Said the doctor to the mathematician,” Grace quietly agreed with a slow nod, leveling her gaze at Libby.

  Libby gasped. She felt the bottom drop out of her new life. “But…how…how did you know?”

  “That you’re Elizabeth Hart, renowned trauma surgeon from Cedars-Sinai?” Grace asked, lifting one brow. “Did you expect me to let my nephew rent his house to a complete stranger off the Internet?”

  Libby returned her visitor’s level stare. “Who else knows besides you? Michael? Robbie?”

  Grace shook her head. “No. Just my husband.” She shot Libby a conspirator’s smile. “Since you didn’t mention that fact in your e-mails, I assumed you didn’t want it advertised.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why you’ve come here, but I don’t really care, Libby. As long as you continue to be the level-headed, intelligent woman my sources say you are, I don’t have a problem with your wanting to hide here. Pine Creek is a haven to more than one lost soul.”

  “I’m not hiding,” Libby softly defended. “Except maybe from myself,” she admitted. She smiled at her new friend, immediately deciding she could trust Grace. “I thought I might be one of those lost souls you mentioned, but if I had doubts about what I’m doing, I don’t anymore. The closer I got to Pine Creek today, the louder the voice in my head told me I was finally where I belonged.”

  Grace set one hand on her knee and the other on the back of the chair and awkwardly pushed herself to her feet. She walked over to Libby and engulfed her in a warm, sisterly hug. “That’s good,” she whispered. “’Cause this town can use a woman of your talent.”

  Libby leaned back. “I…I’m through with doctoring.”

  Grace gave Libby a wink as she pulled away. “I wasn’t talking about your talent with a scalpel,” she said softly.

  Robbie came through the door with his arms loaded with paper sacks. Libby rushed to help the boy, wondering what her new friend meant by her comment,

  “You shouldn’t have done this for me, Grace,” Libby scolded. “It’s a tiring chore for someone in your condition.”

  Grace snorted. “It’s less tiring than keeping six girls entertained. I’ll have to go rescue my husband from them soon, but I have time for tea,” she said, reaching into one of the sacks and pulling out a box of tea.

  “Did you buy any water?” Libby asked, looking through the other bags.

  Grace laughed. Robbie gave Libby a quizzical look. “You don’t buy water at the store,” he told her. “You turn on the faucet.”

  “It’s well water,” Grace clarified. “And the sweetest in the country.”

  Libby felt a blush creep into her cheeks. “I’m not such a city girl that I’m unredeemable,” she said lamely. “I just had a momentary brain cramp.”

  Grace patted Libby’s arm as she walked past her with the teakettle. “It took me months to reacclimate,” Grace assured her. She put the kettle on the range to boil and then walked over to the table and picked up Libby’s soggy computer. “This doesn’t look good.” She turned to Libby. “What happened?”

  “She decided to give her car a bath in our pond,” Robbie answered before she could, laughing at his own joke.

  “Remember? I told you Papa had to fish her out.” He shot a devilish look at Libby. “We thought about throwing her back, though, so she could grow some more.”

  Grace messed the boy’s hair. “Your father’s sense of humor is not something to emulate, Robbie,” she chided. “Go look it up in the dictionary in the living room,” she added at his questioning frown.

  Grace turned her attention to Libby’s own questioning look the moment Robbie ran into the living room. “When he’s not acting like the eight-year-old he really is, he can be quite brilliant. And often quite scary.”

  “He must be in, what, second grade?” Libby asked.

  Grace nodded. “He reads at an eighth-grade level, thanks to Michael. And his grasp of mathematics is well beyond that, compliments of his Sutter genes,” Grace said with a proud smile.

  “He looks much older than eight,” Libby said, still skeptical.

  “That’s thanks to Michael, too. But then, you’ve met his father,” Grace added, a twinkle brightening her eyes. “I heard you were about to take a swing at him.”

  “I only managed to make him laugh.”

  Grace patted Libby’s arm and then opened a cupboard and took down two mugs. “And that, Libby Hart, is a miracle,” she said. She nodded her smile of approval. “I’ve probably seen Michael laugh only twice since I’ve known him. And both times were at another person’s expense. Once at my own.”

  “The man sounds wonderful,” Libby said.

  Grace MacKeage suddenly turned serious. “He is wonderful,” she declared with all the loyalty of a sister-in-law.

  “They don’t make men like Michael MacBain anymore.”

  “You mean big and ferocious-looking?” Libby asked, deciding to lighten the mood.

  But Grace nodded agreement. “Yes, Michael can be intimidating, if you let him.” She looked up and down Libby’s small body, and Grace’s smile suddenly returned. “You might have to stand on a chair, but I think you can give back just as good as you get.”

  Libby didn’t disagree. She did decide that she was su
pposed to be the hostess here, even though it was Grace’s family home. She took over the chore of making the tea and waved Grace back to her seat.

  “But I’m supposed to emulate my papa,” Robbie said as he walked back into the kitchen. “It means to try to be equal to, if not better than, a person. I want to be just like Papa.”

  Libby carried the mugs of tea to the table and sat down, amused by her new landlord.

  “You can grow big like your papa,” Grace agreed, pulling Robbie up against her belly to hug him. “And you can even emulate Michael’s manly swagger.” She took hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. “But you will be more civilized, Robert MacBain, when it comes to women.”

  “Papa can be civilized,” he countered, grinning up at his aunt. “He buttoned Libby’s shirt up so I wouldn’t see her breasts. That was civilized, don’t you think?”

  Libby had just taken a sip of her tea, but instead of swallowing, she spit it all over the table. She slapped her hands to her flaming cheeks and stared in horror at Grace.

  Grace lifted a brow and smiled at Libby, then looked back at Robbie and nodded. “That was a very civilized thing for Michael to do,” she agreed. She set the boy away and gave him a pat on his backside. “Why don’t you go arrange some paper and kindling in the hearth? I’m sure Libby would like to light a fire this evening to stare at while she contemplates just what she’s gotten herself into here.”

  Robbie ran back into the living room, eager to do his important chore, and Grace turned laughing eyes on Libby.

  Libby continued to stare in horrified silence.

  “I’m scared to death to tell you how similar our arrivals to Pine Creek are,” Grace said, shaking her head. “For fear you’ll turn around and run back to California.”

  That cryptic remark brought Libby out of her stupor. “How similar?” she asked, blinking at Grace’s very pregnant belly, wondering just how similar their lives would continue to be.

  Grace nodded toward the kitchen door at Libby’s ruined suitcase. “I also had an accident arriving here, and everything I brought with me was ruined.”

  She smiled as she said this, and Libby became intrigued. “What sort of accident?”

  “My plane crashed,” Grace said, waving it away as if it were unimportant. She nodded at Libby’s computer. “Even my laptop was ruined, like yours. But that’s not the point of this story. I was also unconscious in the arms of a very large, very intimidating man.” She patted her belly. “That was eight years and almost seven babies ago.”

  Libby was back to being horrified.

  Grace laughed and awkwardly stood up. “You’ve come to a good place, Elizabeth Hart. This house will keep you warm and cozy, the land will recharge your batteries, and the people will welcome you.” She walked to the living room door to watch Robbie lay up the fire, then turned to Libby again, an impish smile lighting her eyes. “And Michael MacBain is going to drive you crazy, but that won’t stop you from falling in love with him anyway.”

  Chapter Five

  Libby spent the first night in her new hometossing and twisting in her bed as unsettling dreams ran through her mind. In her mind’s eye, she could see a huge white bird fluttering against the ceiling over her head, its beating wings charging the air with a pulsing blue light; a large, snorting, out-of-control horse galloping through the woods with her clinging to its back, screaming in terror for someone to help her; and a giant, with hands like forged steel and eyes as deep and dark as the granite of the mountains, shouting over the howl of the wind.

  Libby opened her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  A large hand covered her mouth. “My God, woman, but you do love to holler,” Michael MacBain whispered, his face mere inches from hers.

  The heat of his hand, the feel of his warm breath brushing her cheeks, and the weight of his large, very male body pushing against her sent prickles of awareness through every nerve in Libby’s body. The howl of the wind from her dream continued, the rain driving against the bedroom windows only adding to the chaos of her reeling emotions.

  “I’m going to remove my hand,” Michael said, his eyes reflecting off what appeared to be the beam of a flashlight lying on the bed beside them. “And if you scream again,” he continued softly, “I just might shut you up with a kiss this time. Do you understand, Libby?”

  Libby frantically nodded.

  What in hell was he doing there in the middle of the night?

  But, more important, why wasn’t she afraid?

  She should be scared to death, waking up to find a man she’d only met yesterday in her bedroom. But truth be told, Libby was more afraid of herself at the moment. It had been a long time since she’d felt the kind of energy that sparked between them.

  And it was then that Libby realized why he was there.

  Michael MacBain felt the energy, too, and it scared him just as much as it scared her. He was in her bedroom in the dead of night, hoping to unnerve her enough that she’d run back to California before that energy created a very big problem for both of them.

  Oh, she was sorely tempted to call his bluff.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he suddenly stood up.

  Libby sat up in bed, hugging the blankets to her chest.

  Michael took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. “Dammit, woman. Why in hell aren’t you slapping my face?”

  Libby couldn’t help but smile as she ran her own shaking hand through her hair. “I can be contrary that way,” she told him. “When I think a person has an ulterior motive, I have this need to call his bluff more often than not.”

  “My God,” he breathed. “You’re reckless.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Michael.”

  “You should be,” he growled, taking a step toward the bed. “Do you not realize what could have just happened between us?”

  “Nothing would have happened, Michael, so stop posturing. You didn’t really come here to mess up my sheets.”

  He gaped at her, clearly at a loss for words, then scrubbed his face with his hands. He gave a growl from deep in his chest, and suddenly he was on top of her again—only this time, he wasn’t sitting, he was lying beside her, trapping her under the blankets.

  One of his hands wrapped around her shoulders, and the other hand caught her hip as he pulled her tightly against him. Libby found herself nose to nose with the giant, staring into his turbulent gray eyes.

  It was probably time to panic. Michael MacBain was obviously not used to having his bluff called. And truth told, Libby was not used to being manhandled by large, angry men.

  Yes, she should have been scared. And she would have been, but for the simple, telling act of Michael carefully moving away from her swollen knee, using his leg to trap her thigh instead.

  “Don’t mistake me for one of your civilized California men,” he said softly, contradicting his action. “It’s not only distance you’ve traveled to get here, Libby Hart. Men in these mountains have a tendency to finish what we start, and we don’t allow anyone, especially a tiny thing like you, to call our bluff.”

  “What’s your point, Michael?”

  “Dammit, Libby. Do you even realize why you were lured here?”

  She shouldn’t smile. But Libby simply couldn’t help herself. “Your son is looking for a new mama,” she told him. “And he seems to think I might be a good candidate.”

  He reared back to glare at her. “So you admit you’re hunting for a husband?”

  Her smile turned into a laugh. “I am not.”

  It was obvious he didn’t believe her when his hand tightened on her backside. Libby quit smiling.

  “So you admit you came here tonight to scare me away?” she asked, turning his question back on him.

  “I came because I was worried about you in this storm.”

  “What storm?”

  He let out a sigh strong enough to move her hair. “The snow has turned to a driving rain,” he explained with growing impatience. “Th
e electricity’s gone out.”

  “You came all the way over here, broke into my house, and woke me up to tell me the power’s out? How very sweet of you.”

  He leaned more of his weight on her. “Are you always this reckless when you have a two-hundred-pound man pushing you into the mattress, lady, or do you merely have a death wish?”

  “I haven’t been on a mattress with a two-hundred-pound man in a very long time,” she told him, wiggling a bit so she could breathe more easily. “Are you going to get up?”

  “I haven’t decided,” he snapped, moving back against her. He brushed a curl from her face but stopped and fingered what Libby knew was her white lock of hair. He studied it and then studied her face.

  “Why have you come here?”

  Libby guessed Michael had decided not to get up but to talk instead. And she didn’t know if she should be relieved or alarmed.

  “I’m starting a new life.”

  “What was wrong with your old life?”

  “It didn’t fit anymore. I suddenly found myself unable to breathe. Like now.”

  He lifted his weight, but only slightly, as he continued to study her. And Libby’s relief slowly turned to alarm. She was beginning to get hot under the covers, and it wasn’t from too many blankets.

  Michael MacBain had the most beautiful eyes Libby had ever seen. And that little flutter in the pit of her stomach was becoming an internal storm that mocked the one raging outside.

  “Are you going to tell me what you did in your former life?”

  “No.”

  “But you are saying that you’re not here to find yourself a husband and a ready-made family.”

  “That’s the story I’m sticking to.”

  “I won’t allow you to break my son’s heart, Libby.”

  “I won’t, Michael.”

  He was silent for a bit, his finger again toying with her hair. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Then that leaves us two choices. I can show you how to run the generator, or we can—how did you so nicely put it?—mess up your sheets.”

  Oh, she was tempted. Making love to Michael MacBain would most likely be the experience of a lifetime.