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  “I thank you for your offer, but we MacKeages take care of our own.” Winter suddenly spotted Gesader high up in a large oak tree, sprawled on a branch overhanging the tote road, his huge, unblinking yellow eyes locked on the procession making its way toward him. “So,” she said brightly, turning to Matt with a broad smile, “why don’t you tell me what it is you want in a home, so I can begin to picture it in my mind.”

  Matt looked at her sharply, and Winter realized she may have sounded a bit too enthused while changing the subject.

  “I don’t want a very large home,” he said. “Something more comfortable than showy. I was thinking logs, maybe. A northern lodge, all wood inside and out, with a tall central room that has a large stone hearth.”

  Winter nodded. “That would certainly fit nicely on your mountain,” she agreed, canting her head and looking upward, as if she were picturing Matt’s home. “With plenty of windows facing west to catch the sunset,” she added as they slowly rode under her silent, motionless pet. She looked behind her and waved to Megan. “Come on, Meg. Get Butterball moving,” she called back, turning her glare up on Gesader, who had turned his head and was now watching her and Matt riding away.

  Gesader gave Winter a panther smile that nicely showed off his fangs, then casually started cleaning one of his paws with his broad pink tongue.

  “I was thinking of getting the timber for the house off my land,” Matt continued. Winter turned back around and smiled at him. “I’ve read that a sawmill can be set up right on the site to make dimensional lumber.”

  “There are some portable mills around here,” she told him. “But I think the logs have to season before you build with them. You’ll have to ask a contractor.”

  Megan finally caught up, giving Winter an amused look while bobbing her eyebrows to say that she had seen Gesader. Megan then took over the conversation with Matt, helping him weigh the pros and cons of cutting his own timber.

  Winter only half listened, thinking instead that she was going to kill that black imp for taking such a chance, when it suddenly dawned on her why Matt seemed so familiar.

  Matheson Gregor’s eyes were the mirror image of Gesader’s.

  Matt sat reclined on the high, flat boulder and slowly savored the last bite of his tart apple pie. Megan had pulled an entire picnic from her saddlebags about half an hour ago, when they’d stopped on a bluff high up on Bear Mountain. Matt had taken the generous portion of food Megan had handed him and climbed up on the huge boulder to eat while the two sisters opted to sit on a log about twenty feet away. But instead of enjoying the stunning view of Pine Lake over a thousand feet below, Matt found watching Megan and Winter a far more interesting diversion.

  They were definitely sisters; they both had rich, strawberry blonde hair, trim figures, flawless complexions, and similar facial features and mannerisms. Winter’s hair was woven into a single braid that reached clear to her waist, while Megan’s hair fell loosely down to her shoulders. Winter was about three or four inches taller than Megan, and maybe a tad more curved in all the right places. Both wore snug jeans, scuffed boots, and heavy fleeces over turtleneck jerseys.

  The only difference between the women was their eyes. Megan’s eyes were a sharp, clear green, while Winter’s were an even more vivid crystalline blue, as deep and as reflective as the late September sky overhead. Both women appeared comfortable in the forest, though Matt wasn’t surprised, learning that Megan was a field biologist and having seen Winter’s paintings.

  Winter MacKeage didn’t just paint animals, she painted…well, she painted their souls. She somehow managed to draw an observer deep into the world she created on nothing more than canvas, bringing the flat surface to life in an almost mystical way. Hell, even her carefully detailed trees and moss-covered boulders seemed to resonate with energy.

  The moment he’d spotted the painting hanging in her gallery window of a mother deer and two fawns grazing in a springtime meadow, Matt had realized he not only had to meet the artist—which he had innately known was female—but that he had to find a way to enter her mystical world.

  Winter MacKeage’s physical beauty was merely a bonus.

  Matt thought back to their conversation at the resort. He’d almost blown it back at Gù Brath, when he’d let his anger at Megan’s predicament get the best of him. He’d come damn close to scaring Winter off, and that was definitely the last thing he wanted to do.

  Matt lazily brushed the crumbs off his chest, listening to the low hum of Megan and Winter talking as he gazed out over Pine Lake. The sun hung low in the sky, and he guessed they had about two hours before it dropped behind the chain of mountains on the western shore of the lake, which was nearly thirty-five miles long and seventeen miles across at its widest point. It was a massive body of water, set close to the Canadian border to the northwest, completely surrounded by rugged mountains and wilderness broken only by occasional small towns.

  His research had also revealed the lake was fast becoming a retirement community for corporate executives who were tired of urban congestion. Retirement wasn’t what had brought him here, though. No, it was the land itself that had drawn him: the mountains, clear waters teeming with fish, and the hum of energy that seemed to pulse through the air like nuclear fission.

  That, and his unfinished business with his brother.

  “How come you have a slight accent and Megan doesn’t?” Matt asked, brushing the last of the crumbs off his hands.

  Both women looked up, Megan smiling and Winter frowning.

  “I’ve spent most of the last nine years away from my family,” Megan answered before Winter could. “College wiped out what was left of my brogue.”

  “College didn’t wipe out your brogue?” he asked Winter.

  Her frown turned into a scowl, and Matt held in his smile. Winter MacKeage was a prickly little thing, always trying to stand her ground against him.

  “I didn’t care for college,” she said, getting to her feet and gathering up the leftover food rather than look at him.

  “You didn’t even attend art school?”

  She finally looked up, her expression saying it was none of his business. But again it was Megan who answered for her, also standing up. “College isn’t for everyone,” she said. “Not if their path is leading them in another direction.”

  Matt jumped down from the boulder and held up his hands in supplication. “I have nothing against uneducated women,” he said, watching with amusement as Winter bristled in outrage.

  “I am well educated,” she snapped.

  Again Matt held up his hands, finally freeing his laughter. “I’m teasing, Winter. There’s an intelligence in your paintings the rest of us can only hope to have. You see and feel and understand more about life than a whole university of scholars. I was just teasing,” he repeated.

  The poor woman didn’t seem to know how to respond, all that bluster she’d worked up slowly deflating as she stared at him.

  “We need to get down to Talking Tom’s,” Megan said, packing up what was left of the picnic. “It’s going to get chilly as soon as that sun sets, and you need to get your jacket, Winter.”

  “Talking Tom?” Matt repeated, going over and helping Megan by handing her the wrappers to put in her saddlebags.

  “He lives in the cabin on the point,” Megan explained. “And Winter forgot her jacket there this morning.”

  “In my cabin?”

  Megan straightened, her chin lifting defensively. “Tom’s lived there for the last two and a half years, not bothering anyone. It’s an old run-down cabin, and it’s only accessible by boat or on foot. He’s not bothering anyone,” she repeated.

  And again, Matt held up his hands. “I was just surprised to hear that anyone lives there. Why do you call him Talking Tom?”

  “Everyone calls him that, because he talks to himself when he walks the woods,” Winter told Matt, apparently having gotten over his teasing, though her scowl was still in place. “He talks to himself so the
bears hear him coming. There’s nothing nastier than walking up on a surprised bear. That’s why we have bells on our horses.”

  “I wondered about those. They were driving me crazy.”

  “Better crazy than mauled.”

  “So this Talking Tom. Who is he?”

  Winter shrugged. “He showed up here a little over two years ago,” she told him. “Do you remember seeing the wood carvings in my gallery? Tom did them.”

  “And nobody knows anything about this man, who just walked into town and took up residence in someone else’s cabin?”

  Winter waved at the forest around them. “There’s dozens of old abandoned cabins in these woods. Most of the land belongs to the paper and lumber mills, and as long as they’re not actively cutting an area, they don’t bother people who aren’t bothering them.”

  “You won’t kick Tom out, will you?” Megan asked, looking at Matt with worried eyes. “He respects the land and the animals. He’s not hurting anything by staying there. And…and we don’t think he has any place else to go.”

  Matt couldn’t help but smile at the pleading woman. “Is that why you don’t think the point would be a good place for me to build?” he asked, looking at Winter to include her. “Because you don’t want Talking Tom evicted?”

  Both women shook their heads. “You’d have to clear all the trees to put a home on that narrow point,” Winter said. “And that would expose your house to the strong winds that blow in off the lake.”

  “And building up here wouldn’t?” he asked, waving at the open expanse in front of them. “This is just as exposed.”

  “The point is too narrow for the legal setback from the lake required for new construction,” Megan said. “You can’t build there even if you wanted to.”

  Matt took the saddlebag from Megan, carried it over to her sleeping horse, and tied it on the back of her saddle.

  “Well?” Winter asked, untying her own horse’s reins. “Are you going to evict Tom?”

  “I haven’t even met the man,” he said, untying his own horse and mounting up. He looked down at the two women glaring up at him and smiled. “But I’ll take your resounding endorsements of his character into consideration.”

  “If you kick him out, I’m not taking your commission.”

  Matt nodded. “I will also factor that in.”

  Winter looked mad enough to spit. Matt turned his horse away before she could see his amusement and headed in the general direction of the point of land Talking Tom was calling home. But he stopped and looked back when he realized he was riding alone. Both women had lead their horses over to what was left of an old stump, and Winter held her sister’s horse while Megan tried to mount up.

  “Wait,” he called, trotting back to them and dismounting with a laugh. “I forgot you can’t reach your stirrups.” He leaned over and laced his fingers into a step for Megan. “You two ride such massive animals. Why not normal horses?”

  Megan stepped into his hands and Matt lifted her into the saddle. She gathered up her reins and smiled down at him. “We had a rather opinionated uncle who thought draft horses were the only safe pet for us girls. He said ponies were spoiled brats and regular horses were unpredictable.” She nodded toward Matt’s horse. “Goose Down is my second pet. The first horse Uncle Ian gave me, Lancelot, had to be put to sleep ten years ago when he broke his leg.”

  “So Goose is really your horse?” he asked as he turned to help Winter mount, only to find her sitting in her saddle. Apparently, she was back to being mad at him.

  “I’d like to meet your uncle Ian,” Matt said, remounting and reining Goose into step behind Winter as she headed out of the clearing.

  “He…ah, died three years ago,” Megan said.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt murmured, falling silent as they carefully made their way down the side of the mountain. They eventually came upon a shallow gorge, the granite and tumbled boulders worn smooth by cascading water as it swirled down the mountain with seemingly endless energy. “Bear Brook, I take it?” Matt asked loudly, to be heard above the noise. He moved between Winter and Megan as they stood with their horse’s hooves just touching the water so they could drink. He gave Goose his head, so he could also drink.

  Winter looked over at Matt, her expression aloof. “There’s a clearing downstream that might make a good building site.”

  “Is there a view of the lake?”

  “You can see the lake from anywhere on this mountain, if you don’t mind chopping down acres of trees.”

  Matt leaned over to Megan. “Is your sister always this pleasant with her patrons?”

  “She’s just worried about Tom,” Megan told him, also leaning close so Winter wouldn’t hear. “Otherwise, she usually has a great sense of humor. And she’s still a little touchy about leaving college after only one semester.”

  Matt gave Megan a nod, backed Goose out from between them, and turned to start down the mountain along the stream. They rode for several minutes, winding their way through the thick forest, and Matt let Goose pick the easiest route. The stream eventually broke through to a natural meadow, and part of Pine Lake came into view again.

  “We can cross here,” Winter called out.

  Matt turned Goose into the stream, and the horse stepped through the knee-deep, babbling water with sure-footed care. Once he was on the other side, Matt looked around the meadow as Winter and Megan moved up beside him.

  “I like it here,” he said. “Where would I place the house?” he asked, looking over at Winter.

  She pointed toward the high side of the meadow. “Up there, maybe. That would be the best view.”

  Matt looked at Megan. “Can I build here without disturbing too much of the wildlife?”

  Megan shrugged. “Probably. I know there’s a deer yard up here somewhere. Tom might know where it is.”

  “What about building a road? We’ve come, what…three or four miles from the main road?”

  “It can be done,” Megan assured him. “If you have deep pockets. Roads and bridges aren’t cheap.”

  “But the logging companies build hundreds of miles of forest roads all the time,” Matt pointed out. “They must have a system that doesn’t break the bank.”

  “You could hire men from their crews,” Winter suggested. “To build it on weekends.”

  “That would take forever to finish four miles of road.” He shook his head. He looked at the lengthening shadows creeping across the meadow and urged Goose forward. “Let’s go get your jacket,” he said. “And you can introduce me to my tenant.”

  They rode three abreast through the meadow until Megan suddenly stopped. “Look,” she said, pointing at the ground. “See the disturbed grass?” She looked around the clearing, then over at Matt, and smiled. “I bet there was a big battle up here last night. Have you ever seen two bull moose fighting, Matt?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head as he visually examined the broken shrub and matted grass. “Is it rutting season?”

  “It’s just starting,” Megan clarified, walking her horse in a circle as she studied the ground. She looked at Matt. “This is moose country. I hope you don’t mind sharing your home with huge animals that think landscaping shrubs are candy. In the language of the Micmac Indians, moose means ‘twig eater.’ ”

  “What about bear?” Matt asked, scanning the edge of the clearing. “I’m assuming they named it Bear Mountain because bear live up here.”

  “The mountain was named for what it looks like rather than what lives on it,” Winter interjected. “If you see this mountain from the lake, you can just make out the image of a sleeping bear.” She pointed to an area just below the summit. “From a distance, that dropped ridge would be his head, stretched out over his front paws. The brook cuts a winding path that makes the outline of a rear leg tucked against his body, and the long, narrow peak,” she said, pointing first to the south end of the knife-edge peak, then to the north, “is his back, finishing the illusion.”

  Matt
just stared at Winter in silence, watching her hand stroke out a drawing only her mind’s eyes could see. This was it; he was witnessing firsthand the magic he’d felt in her paintings. Winter’s eyes sparked with passion, her whole body moving into each gesture as her hand gracefully stroked out the lines of her vision. She had forgotten he and Megan were even there, Matt suddenly realized. Winter was completely immersed in a painting only her imagination could see.

  Dancing to a magic only she could feel.

  If he had any doubts before, they were vanished at the sight of Winter MacKeage the artist. And one way or another, Matt decided, he would find a way to capture some of that magic for himself.

  Chapter Seven

  Winter hadn’t been bluffing up on the mountain: if Matt told Tom he had to move out of his cabin, she wasn’t taking his commission. She’d be danged if she would work for a man who didn’t have a heart.

  Winter led the silent procession along the shoreline to the tiny clearing and stopped in front of Tom’s cabin. She quickly slid down off Snowball and headed out back to the workshop.

  “Tom,” she called as she rounded the side of the cabin. “I forgot my jacket this morning.”

  Tom emerged from the workshop, once again taking the time to wrestle the rickety door shut before he turned and greeted her with a crooked grin. “I’m glad your head is attached to your shoulders, or you probably would have forgotten that, too.”

  “Tom,” Winter said softly, rushing up to him. “The guy who bought Bear Mountain is here.”

  “Good. I’ve been looking forward to meeting your Mr. Gregor ever since you told me about him this morning,” Tom said calmly, using his finger under her chin to close her gaping mouth.

  Winter spun around and followed Tom as he headed to the front of the cabin. Tom reached Megan just as Matt had finished helping her down off her horse. Turning Winter’s sister around to face him, Tom folded her into a warm, grandfatherly embrace.