by Vonnie Davis
He braced his hands against the top of his chest of drawers and hung his head. Breaking things off with Kenzie had been the worst mistake he’d ever made. One he’d regretted every day since. He still hadna forgiven himself for thinking it his obligation to live emotionally in the past with his deceased wife. After all, hadna his mum lived without a man since his dad died when Bryce was only five? But then, she hadna fallen in love with anyone, the way he had with Kenzie.
Hell, he kent her better than anyone else. They’d played together every day as youngsters, shared secrets, sworn oaths to each other as teenagers. Then Miranda walked into his life and suddenly everything revolved around her. Losing his young bride so soon after their rushed marriage had flung him into a dark place. ʼTwas Kenzie who had tugged him into the sunlight again, a few years later.
She’s ours. His bear roared within Bryce’s chest. And thanks to yer stupidity, it’s gonna take more than charm to woo our calico-eyed darling. Ye treated her like she had no worth. Due to Bryce’s earlier waffling, not only did he have to listen to his inner bear’s harangues, he also had to convince Kenzie he was now ready to commit to a long-term relationship.
His ending things had left her bitter where he was concerned, and he couldna blame her one whit. He’d been a numpty-headed fool. If he hadna turned from her, she wouldna responded to the advances of Duncan and fallen victim to the fuker’s abuse. He’d always been a bully at school and a charmer in front of the teachers or the principal. Duncan knew how to pour the charisma on when it suited…the diabolical bastard.
The day after she’d miscarried, and he and his brothers had captured Duncan, Bryce hovered by her bedside in the hospital. Nothing or no one could keep him away, including his mum’s lecture about what was proper in everyone’s eyes. He carried a strong sense of responsibility fer Kenzie’s condition. If only he’d kept her near, loved her, cherished her, she’d have been safe with him and little Colleen, his daughter. But no, he’d been too attached to the memory of Miranda.
A man hated feeling useless, especially a Scot. As he’d held Kenzie’s hand while she slept, her face battered and bruised, he’d been emotionally gutted. He’d traced the blue veins on her limp hands, and his tears had plopped on them, for he’d have moved heaven and earth to protect her, to care fer her. But how did a man erase the pain of a woman who’d lost her bairn? What could he do to help her?
If he treated her with gentleness and showed her how precious she was to him, with luck, today might be the beginning of their coming together again. He’d take her someplace special, maybe the Crazy Horse, where they’d gone so often when they’d dated.
A heavy pounding sounded at his bedroom door. “Nobody’s here.”
His five-year-old daughter’s high-pitched giggling from the other side made him smile.
“Knock…knock.”
God, he hoped Colleen never outgrew her sweetness. He loved this game they played so often. “Who’s there?”
“Iva.”
“Iva who?” He sprayed the cologne on his neck and chest, rubbing it in.
“Iva sore hand from knocking.”
He sidestepped to the door and yanked it open, sweeping his little girl and her doll into his arms. Nuzzling Colleen’s neck, he snatched Bella from her grasp and tossed the doll onto his bed. His daughter’s delighted giggles bounced off the walls, alighting in his heart. “Ye old trickster. Yer da didna ken who was pounding at his door like a madman.”
One of her arms linked around his neck. “I’m not a madman, Da, I’m a madwoman.” She pointed to her chest. “One day I’ll have big breasts. If I were a man I’d have a tallywhacker.”
Bryce stilled. “What did ye just say?” She was growing up too fast. Who was the rapscallion she’d picked up such language from? “Where did ye hear the word ‘tallywhacker’?”
“I overheard Butler Bean tell Uncle Ronan his tallywhacker was sore.”
He’d kill them both. “Och, did ye, now?”
Her auburn curls bounced when she nodded. “Uncle Ronan told him to stop whacking it so much.” Her wee forehead crinkled as if she were in thought. “Does it hurt to whack yer tally, I wonder?”
Och yeah, he’d bloody well kill both men for talking that way around his sweet darling. He kissed her nose and tumbled her onto his bed, allowing her to bounce the way she liked. “Let’s not worry about that now. I need yer help. I have a date tonight and dinna ken which shirt to wear.”
Colleen scrambled to sit straight, acting like a forty-year-old spinster. “Who will ye be escorting, then?” Her hands were at her waist. Och, what a delight she was.
“ ‘Escorting,’ is it?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m taking Kenzie Denune out for dinner and then helping her move some things into Miss Effie’s house.”
Colleen’s head tilted to the side. “Does she still look sad? I haven’t seen Kenzie since Uncle Creigh’s wedding. I sat next to her fer a while at the repeption—”
“ ‘Reception,’ me sweet one.” There were still some sounds she struggled with, no matter how many times he went over them with her.
“Reception. I brought her me big box of crayons and art paper to cheer her up, because I ken she’s an artist. She showed me how to draw flowers and animals. And…and she made a big fuss over everything I drew. Told me I was a born artist, she did. She treats me so nice, Da. I really, really like her.”
“I really like her, too, me sweet one.”
“I think she was sad at the re…reception because ye were flirting with Aggie with the big chest.” His daughter made the appropriate size indication with her hands.
“I was not flirting. I was…just being friendly with the lassie.” Bloody hell, when had he started justifying his behavior to his little girl? “What makes ye think Kenzie was upset over me being friendly with Aggie?”
She picked up her doll and ran her fingers over its mussed hair. “Well, she kept scowling at ye every so often and mumbling. It was odd, though, she was unkennin’ of yer name. She was confused until I straightened her out.”
“What do ye mean?” How could Kenzie forget his name? They’d been best friends since they were Colleen’s age and through most of school. They’d also been lovers before her marriage to Duncan.
Colleen scratched at a couple of mosquito bites on her leg. “She kept calling ye Randy Asa Goat. I told her she was being silly. Billy McDuff’s middle name is Asa, but yer name is Bryce Ewan Matheson.”
Randy as a goat, was it? She’d married another man in pretty short order after Bryce had ended their relationship, and yet he was a randy goat fer moving on with his life? Och, we need to have a long talk, so we do. Why should she care who I flirt with when she willna give me the time of day?
“Da? Why is Kenzie moving in with Miss Effie?”
“She’s to be Miss Effie’s personal assistant.” He opened the door to his closet and glanced over his shoulder. “What do ye think?”
Colleen slid off his bed to stand by his side. “What’s a percibal assiphisant?”
“No, me sweet one. A personal assistant.” He ran his hand over her curls and spoke more slowly, dragging out the words so she could capture all the sounds. “Do ye think ye can say it properly?”
“Personal assiphikant…no.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to work on that one.” Standing on her tiptoes, she fingered a variety of shirts. “If ye’ll be helping Kenzie move, ye dinna want to be fancy. Will ye be proposing tonight, then?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
Propose? What had put that idea into her wee head? “No. Why do ye ask?”
Her sneakered foot wiggled back and forth. “Because she’s nice and gives warm hugs. Plus, I need a mum like all the other girls and I’d rather it be her than anyone else.” A frown marred her angelic face. “Some of the girls call me ‘half-orphan.’ ” Her pointy chin jutted. “And I dinna like it.” Her brown eyes glanced at his. “But I ken if I smack one of them, I’ll be the one to get in trouble.”
He s
quatted and folded her into his arms. Damn them all for hurting his little girl. “Yes, me sweet one, that’s usually how it works. I remember getting in trouble a lot fer hitting others when I was your age. I had a bad temper, so I did.” He lifted her chin with two fingers. “Best ye come to yer da and we’ll talk about it, just ye and me.”
They linked their pinky fingers. “Pinky secret. Pinky swear,” they repeated together.
“Well, if ye aren’t proposing, wear the shirt I made ye. She’ll be impressed.”
He held out the T-shirt Colleen had so painstakingly decorated—with her handprints, among other things. Buzzards and bats, how he hated to put the thing on fer a date. He’d taken to wearing it around the lodge to please her, fer he’d never hurt his wee sweet bairn by telling her how butt ugly it was. Or that a man just didna feel comfortable wearing such a thing out in public. He cut his gaze to his daughter. “Are ye sure?”
Her auburn curls did their bouncy dance again. “Yup. Trust me on this. It makes ye look handsome, Da. She willna believe her eyes when she sees ye in this shirt.”
—
Kenzie couldna believe her eyes. What the hell kind of shirt did Bryce have on? It looked like he’d walked through a cheap jewelry store while wearing a magnet on his verra fine chest.
His truck’s loud muffler had pulled her attention from her conversation with Effie in the front parlor and drawn her to the large bay window. Unwanted excitement at seeing him again had her heart beating erratically in her ears, pounding a rhythm of secret desires through her system. She battled those unspoken longings and won. A scowl of victory narrowed her eyes.
“What has your attention, Sparrow?” Effie drew near.
The two of them had worked hard to make Kenzie presentable fer her dinner out with Bryce. While she’d showered, Effie had mended the shoulder seam and then hand-scrubbed the clod’s muddy handprints from her blouse before tossing it into the dryer. She’d also set about sewing the tear in Kenzie’s favorite skirt. They’d worked together as an efficient, nearly silent team on her appearance.
And what had he done? He’d shown up in a bright pink T-shirt nearly covered with doodads that sparkled in the late-afternoon sun.
Honestly, the fool looked like a walking neon sign for a cut-rate whorehouse.
“Oh look, he’s wearing the shirt Colleen made him for his birthday.” Effie’s hand drifted to her heart. “The child was so excited over her gift, she couldn’t wait for her dad to open it at his party. The little sprite crawled on Bryce’s lap and opened the package for him.” Effie’s laughter was like wind chimes: tinkling, soothing. “I’m betting she told him to wear it tonight. There’s something special about a man who loves a little girl so much he’d make a bit of a fool of himself to please her.”
Kenzie wouldna know. Her da had died shortly after she’d turned four and she barely remembered him. What would it be like to be cherished by a man so much, he’d wear such an outlandish garment and no doubt damn anyone to hell who commented on it?
She tilted her head to the side and allowed her artist’s eye to evaluate the creation as his long steps brought him closer to the house. Colleen showed a strong artistic flair. With some positive instruction, who knew how her talent might develop? If Kenzie ever got the chance she’d show Colleen how to use various mediums.
Colleen’s small handprints were outlined in silver and filled with little silver mirrors. Jewels and beads had been glued in a haphazard pattern over the pink T-shirt. Black beaded fringe edged the sleeves. With an unsteady hand, the child had painted “Me Da Is the Best” in bright purple.
Kenzie shook her head. “Yes, one might say he draws the eye in that shirt.” Still, what man ambled the way he did? Or filled out a pair of Levi’s like that? The denim lovingly cupped his manhood as if it were precious cargo.
Effie elbowed her. “Oh, the man saunters like walking sin, doesn’t he? I wonder who the flowers are for?”
“They’re pink. They must be fer ye.” The American often exhibited childlike exuberance, and Kenzie was beginning to enjoy it.
Bryce rang the doorbell and Effie hurried to answer it. As soon as the old woman opened the door, Bryce’s low voice and deep laughter skittered across Kenzie’s nerve endings, kissing them as they raced by. She was overcome with the strangest urge to run and hide—not out of fear of him, but of her own desires. His spurning of her feelings over a year ago had left scars she didna want to revisit. She curled her fingers into tight fists. Determination steeled her heart.
I willna let him hurt me again.
Chapter 3
Effie had Bryce engaged in a spirited conversation from the moment he stepped into the house. She asked him questions about Colleen and, like a proud da, he regaled her with little stories.
Rumors abounded over Mathe Bay of how the three Matheson brothers had an exceptional fondness fer the pink-haired American. Gossipy old womenfolk blamed it on Effie’s flirtatious nature. A few claimed Effie used a Yankee curse on every man she came in contact with. Even aged Earnan Matheson, the clan’s veterinarian, walked sprightlier around the playful, talkative woman.
After spending a few hours with Effie, Kenzie would have classified her Wiccan sister as being cheerful and animated with most everyone she met. Would any of the old lady’s optimism rub off on her? Kenzie could certainly have used a morsel of it, fer when had she last had anything to look forward to?
The days her pregnancy tests had been positive.
She spun toward the window to wipe at the tears suddenly blurring her vision. How long would she grieve the loss of her bairns? The first and the one that would’ve been growing big within her now. She’d be waddling in that awkward way of women getting ready to deliver. Instead…she pressed spread fingers to her flat abdomen and released a long exhale of regret.
When her gaze rose, it made contact with the blue eyes of her lynx as he nested amid the shrubbery on the other side of the glass. Stop agonizing. There will be more bairns. They will be sired by a Highlander with more passion than ye have ever known.
“But the doctor said there’d be no more.” Kenzie had grieved every moment since her loss. She walked through every day with an emptiness in her soul and in her womb.
The lynx raised his hind leg and licked his nether regions. ʼTis what I think of the doctor’s foolish predictions.
“Kenzie?” She whirled toward Bryce’s voice. He stood at the entrance to the parlor, his wide shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Some unseen force sucked all the oxygen from the large room, and Kenzie struggled to catch her next breath.
Evidently he felt it too. He stood there, his gaze locked on hers, a silent statement of longing in his eyes, an inaudible declaration that practically chanted her name.
Her hormones, lonely heathens that they were, whispered a come-hither response she hoped he couldna hear. She glanced over her shoulder to beg the lynx that this man with the fickle heart not be the one to give her the bairns she desired with every Scottish breath in her body. Surely her advisor didna mean to imply the man with all this passion would be Bryce “randy as a goat” Matheson. To her disappointment, the shrubbery lay flat—the lynx had vanished.
Bryce stepped to the side to allow Effie to peek her head into the room. “You were right, Sparrow, the pink flowers were for me.” Effie held them to her nose and inhaled. “Aren’t they beautiful? I’m off to find a vase to put them in.” She stood on tiptoe in her pelican baffies and patted Bryce’s closely cropped beard. “If I had heels on instead of my bedroom slippers, I could reach your handsome cheek better.” The older woman winked and somehow managed to bring forth a blush on his freshly shaven face. “Oh, I do love a thoughtful man.” She bustled in the direction of the kitchen.
He stepped through the doorway. “ ‘Sparrow’?” His eyebrows rose and the corners of his full lips quirked.
“Aye. Fer some strange reason, the American feels I need a nickname and, fer a motive known only to her, has titled me with Sparrow.
Nothing fancy or pretty like the name of a flower or butterfly.” She lifted open hands and let them drop in resignation. “Just a small, plain bird.” So typical fer me.
“Nay, me luv.” He approached, holding a planter in his hands. The jewels glued to his pink T-shirt sparkled in the setting sunlight beaming through the window. “Havna ye heard how the ancient Greeks associated sparrows with Aphrodite, the goddess of love?”
She laughed in spite of her disheartened mood. “I’ve never met anyone who can make up stories the way ye do.” Or pretend to have emotion where none truly exists.
“Och, ʼtis no story. ʼTis the truth I give: When sparrows mated, it was due to their abandoned nature.” His head inclined so he could whisper a kiss to her neck, sending shivers from her shoulders to the soles of her feet. “Even Chaucer and Shakespeare wrote about the sparrow’s lustful conduct.”
“Ye lie.” But he hadna. She’d read her fair share of the two English authors and, now that Bryce had alluded to it, she did recall their mention of the sparrow.
“Nay. I speak only the truth.” He stepped closer to murmur in her ear. “I have memories I cherish of the abandon ye exhibited when I made sweet love to ye. Yes, me calico-eyed leannan, the name Sparrow suits.”
“I have a name. I insist ye use it. Dinna insult me with endearments.” The heat of a blush raced up her neck and across her cheeks. How dare he mention those moments that occurred over a year ago, when he was the one who’d tossed her aside? She’d tried her best to forget how, in his arms, her skin had nearly scorched at his touch and at the devilish things he could do with his mouth that would have sent any woman to heaven and back. They certainly had her. Until guilt fer forgetting his dead wife started eating at his soul, and he’d told her he couldna continue seeing her.
I canna allow him to charm me into his arms again.
“We canna talk about what meant so little to ye, Bryce Matheson. As a widow, it is improper fer me to discuss what or who came before me dead husband.” Even if Duncan did beat me fer everything that went wrong in his life.
