Wedding the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Libby looked up into Grace’s concerned eyes and patted Grace’s hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she told her hoarsely. She shook her head. “You’re a good friend, and I thank you for that. I knew my mom would probably come looking for me, but I thought I’d have more time.”

  “But not this James person?” Grace asked, lifting one curious brow.

  “No, not James,” Libby confirmed. “I didn’t think he would bother.”

  “Do you fear him?” Grey asked, stepping closer, his eyes narrowed with a different sort of concern.

  Libby shook her head again. “I’m not afraid of James, just surprised that he’s here.”

  “Then come to Gu Bràth,” Grace repeated.

  Again, Libby shook her head. “No. That won’t solve anything.” She straightened, took a deep breath, and stood, smiling warmly. “I’ll have to deal with him sooner or later, and it might as well be now.”

  Grace took off the necklace she was wearing and carefully set it on the desk. She rounded up Elizabeth, scooted the girl toward Grey, and motioned that it was time they left. Libby watched them walk out onto the sidewalk and toward their truck parked in front of the Dolans’ store. Libby could see three other heads sitting in the backseat of the truck.

  Grace turned to Libby. “I’m calling Michael,” she stated bluntly. “He should know.”

  “Know what?” Libby asked in surprise. “That my mother’s in town? She’s just worried about me. And do you blame her? What if one of your daughters just up and moved clear across the country? Wouldn’t you be hot on her trail? I’m betting your husband would.”

  “Not if she’s a grown woman, more than capable of making her own decisions.”

  “But wouldn’t you want to understand those decisions?”

  Grace conceded with a tender smile. “Yes. I would be on the next plane out,” she admitted. “But Michael should know this James guy is in town.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Grace echoed in disbelief. “Because he has a stake in this now. He’s not going to like the fact that a man has come here looking for you.”

  “What stake?” Libby asked, honestly confused. “He’s my landlord, not my baby-sitter.”

  “Since when do landlords spend the night?”

  “What?” Libby cried. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Grey left to go hunting before daybreak this morning,” Grace said. “And he told me he ran into Michael walking back to his house at four-thirty this morning.”

  Libby returned to her chair and rubbed her suddenly aching forehead. So much for discretion.

  Grace patted her shoulder. “There’s something you need to understand about these Scots, Libby. They’re more old-fashioned than they are reasonable most of the time. They can be so damned possessive when it comes to their women that if it weren’t so frustrating, it would be comical. I’ll bet you a penny that Grey’s on his cell phone right now, calling Michael.”

  “But why?”

  “Because of your reaction,” Grace explained. “Grey saw how shaken you were. And to his way of thinking, that means Michael needs to become involved. It’s a guy thing,” Grace added with a chuckle. “An unwritten code they all live by, to watch out for each other’s back. Or their women, in this case.”

  “That’s archaic. We can take care of ourselves. I don’t need Michael beating his chest to run James off. I can do that all by myself.” Libby stood up, suddenly fortified with anger. “And I’ll tell Michael that if he tries to interfere. It’s an affair, for crying out loud. A simple, stupid affair that probably won’t even happen again.”

  “Uh-oh. He’s already messed things up?”

  “I woke up in the back of my freezing truck this morning, all alone, after Michael snuck out. He didn’t even say good-bye or thank-you.”

  “The back of your truck?” Grace repeated, her eyes rounding in disbelief. “But what were…why the truck?” she asked, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Because it’s the only place that Mary hasn’t been part of. Good God, Grace. I’m living in Mary’s house, sleeping in Mary’s bed, trying to have an affair with her former lover.”

  Grace opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “I’m sorry. She was your sister,” Libby continued more softly, instantly contrite. “But can you understand how weird it is for me?”

  “I-I hadn’t thought about it from that perspective,” Grace said gently, leaning past her cumbersome belly to give Libby a hug. “I suppose it’s only natural for you to feel…weird.” She pulled back and smiled crookedly. “But the truck?” she whispered, covering her smile with her hand.

  Libby shrugged. “It seemed logical at the time.”

  “And he didn’t say good-bye. Or…or thank you?”

  Libby found her sense of humor and smiled sheepishly. “It does sound rather petty, doesn’t it?”

  Grace picked up her purse and headed for the door but stopped and looked back. “I warned you, didn’t I, that he would drive you crazy. So prepare yourself, my good friend. I give Michael ten minutes before he’s darkening your doorstep. Welcome to the Highlands of Maine,” Grace trailed off with a laugh, walking out to join her family.

  Libby stared after her and watched as Grey quickly came around the truck, opened the door, and lifted his pregnant wife into the front seat. Six wool-capped heads were lined up in the two rows of seats in the back, all occupied with Elizabeth’s new blue jay necklace.

  So, Libby thought with a sigh, walking back to her desk and flopping in the chair. That’s what love looked like.

  Would she ever have that? A handsome, strong, protective husband and a whole passel of adorable children?

  Lord, she hoped so.

  Well, maybe notseven .

  Chapter Sixteen

  Considering her options,Libby decided the reasonable thing to do was run. She locked her store, climbed into her truck, and headed out of town before her mom and James found her and Michael could play the knight in shining armor and come to her rescue.

  She didn’t need rescuing—by anyone. Her mother was there because she was worried about her only child.

  James was there on his own agenda.

  Libby drove until she saw a sign that had a picture of a picnic table on it. She turned down the dirt road and quickly came to a deserted picnic area on the shore of Pine Lake. She looked around and then eased her truck deep into a young stand of fir trees. Sure it couldn’t be seen from the main road, she got out of the truck, sat on top of one of the many picnic tables, and stared at the cold water lapping against the icy shoreline.

  She snuggled into her blaze orange jacket, pulled up the hood, and tucked her hands in her pockets. And she sighed, thought about her new life, and compared it with her old life in California.

  No matter how she looked at it, she’d made the right decision. Even without this…this gift she’d been given, it had been time for a change. Practicing medicine, no matter how honorable and fulfilling, just wasn’t enough anymore.

  But was making jewelry really what she was looking for?

  Seeing Grace MacKeage with her family that morning had stirred something deep inside Libby. Maybe it wasn’t medicine she was trying to escape but a new life she was seeking. One that included a husband who loved her, children, and a different sort of fulfillment.

  Why couldn’t she have it all?

  She could practice medicine anywhere. Wherever there were people, there was a need for doctors. California or Maine, it didn’t matter; it only mattered that she find more of a balance in her life.

  And for that, Maine came out the winner, hands down. There was something about this place—the mountains, the people, the sense of timelessness that seemed to permeate the air. It didn’t get any more real than shooting a deer for the dinner table or riding through the woods on a horse or an ATV. Even the weather could not be ignored but counted on to affect daily lives. And neighborliness—that was the most remarkable thing here. Grace had o
ffered her sanctuary that morning, and Libby had been humbled by the offer. That had made her realize she was closer to these people than she had ever been to anyone back in California—except Grammy Bea.

  Yes, she had some serious thinking to do about her future.

  “Ya’re developing a bad habit of running away,” Michael said from right behind her.

  Libby yelped, jumped up, and would have fallen off the picnic table if Michael’s strong hands hadn’t caught her and pulled her up against his broad, solid chest. His warm, demanding lips covered her mouth, swallowing her curse of outrage before she could scold him for scaring her.

  This wasso not right. Michael wasn’t on his knees—she was. He was standing, and she was kneeling on the picnic table, and still he towered over her. And since his hands were busy holding her tightly against him, Libby knew he hadn’t brought flowers or chocolates.

  She didn’t want to kiss him back, just on principle. He’d left without saying good-bye that morning, and now he hadn’t even said hello before kissing her. He had some nerve, accusing her of running away.

  But he tasted so nice. And he felt so warm and solid. Libby sighed into his mouth. She was such a hussy whenever he touched her, so easy and wanton and instantly turned on. So she gave up, opened her mouth to his, and melted.

  He was so damned sexy, only a dead woman would be unaffected. Libby wrapped her arms around his waist, inside his unbuttoned jacket, and snuggled against him. She tilted her head back, pushed her tongue into his mouth, and tasted pleasure.

  Visions of last night rose in her mind—their naked bodies rubbing together, the feel of him entering her, the explosion of sensations that had followed. Why hadn’t she thought to put one of his condoms in her purse this morning? She wanted to feel him inside her again. Right now. Right here.

  Libby broke the kiss and buried her face against his chest.

  “Good morning,” he said with a chuckle, his chin resting on her head, his chest rumbling against her still tingling lips.

  “You left without saying good-bye,” she muttered.

  His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry ya had to wake up alone, lass, but I wanted to get home before Robbie got up.” He leaned back and smiled down at her. “Ya looked so peaceful, sleeping like a babe, I didn’t have the heart to disturb ya.”

  “I was a block of ice when I woke up,” she complained, not willing to let him off the hook.

  He kissed her nose and pulled his jacket more firmly around her, snuggling her against him as if he could make up for the chill she’d experienced.

  And the sad thing was, it was working.

  “I’m sorry. I should have carried ya inside.”

  As apologies went, Libby decided this was a fair one. He was a guy, after all. And what did guys know about romance?

  “I’m buying a new bed,” she told him. “The truck just isn’t going to work.”

  “Aye,” he said with another chuckle, setting her away. He zipped her jacket up to her chin and tucked the hood more warmly around her ears, holding the edges so she had to look at him. “I can see where ya feel awkward about Mary. And if a new bed will help, I’ll move her old one to the attic.”

  “How did you find me?” she asked, pulling away and climbing off the table. She looked up and frowned at him.

  “I thought you were starting to cut Christmas trees today.”

  “I left a crew of four men,” he said, sitting down on the picnic table, facing her. “John’s supervising them. And how I found ya is unimportant. Have ya seen your mother yet?”

  “No,” Libby said, blushing at the admission that she had run from her as well. “I was just about to head home, figuring she and James have found the house by now.”

  His expression hardened. “Ya told me ya weren’t running from a man,” he said with quiet menace. “Am I going to have to drive him off?”

  “You are not! I dated James for a while, but that was a hundred years ago. You leave him alone. His being here is not any of your business.”

  He stood up, took hold of her hood again, and leaned down as he lifted her face to his. He said, very softly, “You are my business now, Elizabeth Hart. Last night made it a fact. And,” he continued even more softly when she tried to pull away, “you will accept the claim I made last night.”

  “Wh-what claim?”

  “That you belong to me now.”

  “Are you getting philosophical again or just being contrary? We’re having an affair, Michael. And women stoppedbelonging to anyone when they got the right to vote.”

  “Ya can’t change the laws of nature, lass,” he said, suddenly smiling. “Nor can ya deny your own nature. Ya can try, Libby, to pretend it’s nothing more than a simple affair between us, but you’re only fooling yourself. I was there, remember? Ya gave yourself freely and completely, and I accepted.”

  “Well, of all the…Michael, you can’t just decide I belong to—”

  He stopped her protest with another searing kiss that Libby felt all the way down to her toes. The confounding man tasted better than a dozen gooey glazed doughnuts, and Libby was torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to devour him.

  Devouring won, probably because one of Michael’s hands had found its way under her jacket and was caressing her breast. He ran his thumb lightly over her nipple, and Libby sucked in her breath.

  “Stop doing that,” she muttered when she finally got her mouth back. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you don’t like what I’m saying.”

  He tapped the end of her nose. “I can,” he told her. “It’s one of the privileges of belonging. You can do the same, lass, when ya don’t care for what I’m saying.”

  “Even married people don’t belong to each other,” she instructed, only to realize she was talking to his back. Michael had turned and was walking to her truck. Libby ran to catch up. “And having an affair doesn’t even come close,” she continued. “So stop acting like a caveman. What are you doing?”

  He was holding her truck door open for her. And before she could protest, he picked her up and plopped her down in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

  It was quicker than using the apple crate.

  “I’ll follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother,” he said, handing her the seat belt. “And James,” he tacked on with a glare. “And then the four of us will discuss tonight’s sleeping arrangements.”

  “What do you mean, arrangements?”

  “I mean, if James stays, so do I.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He took hold of her chin and made her look directly into his steel-gray eyes. “He stays at the hotel, Libby. Or I’ll be in your bed tonight, making sure he isn’t.”

  “Of all the absur—”

  He kissed her again.

  “Cut that out,” she sputtered the minute he pulled back.

  “Drive careful,” he told her, completely ignoring her glare. “They’re hauling logs today,” he reminded her, closing the door and walking up the dirt track that led to the main road.

  Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake, cursing under her breath and licking the taste of Michael off her lips. Dammit. How was she going to explain to her mother that she hadn’t been here a week and had already gotten herselfbelonging to an immovable mountain of man? All she needed now was for Father Daar to show up for dinner.

  Maybe she could ask the priest to turn them all into frogs.

  Suddenly, Michael’s statement about making sure James wasn’t in her bed dawned on Libby. She opened the door of her truck, jumped out, and started running after him.

  “Hey! Wait!” she hollered, trying to get his attention.

  When he didn’t stop, Libby picked up a palm-sized piece of snow and threw it at him.

  It hit him smack in the center of his back. By the time he’d turned to face her with a look of disbelief, she’d thrown another snowball at him, this one hitting him in the chest.

  “Are ya toying with my temper so I’
ll kiss you again?” he asked, his expression fierce, his stance threatening. “Or do ya have a death wish?”

  They were standing about thirty paces apart, and he was glaring at the third snowball in her hand. Libby glared back.

  “No,” she told him. “I’m trying to control my own temper. I do not care for the insult you just gave me.”

  He broadened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “What insult?” he asked, his voice spine-shiveringly low.

  “You said you’d be in my bed to make sure James wasn’t. You might as well have slapped my face, if that’s what you think of me. I do not bed-hop, Michael MacBain. I have too much respect for myself, even if you obviously don’t.”

  He stared at her, his eyes narrowed against the sun. He suddenly uncrossed his arms and opened them wide, holding them out to expose his broad chest as he slowly started walking toward her.

  “Throw it,” he said, nodding at the snowball in her hand. “Take your best shot, Libby,” he softly urged, continuing to walk toward her.

  Libby tightened her grip on the snowball and took a step back. “I-I don’t want to throw it. I want you to trust me.”

  “I do,” he said, his pace unhurried, his gaze locked with hers, his arms still spread to provide her with a perfect target. Libby suddenly felt like prey being stalked. She opened her hand, let the snowball fall to the ground, and took another step back.

  “I never meant to imply you would sleep with him,” he continued. “It’s James I don’t trust. The man just came clear across the country to find you. He has an agenda.”

  “But that’s just it,” she said, somewhat desperately, as she continued to move back. “It doesn’t matter if he does or not. I can deal with James.”

  She looked over her shoulder, trying to judge if she could make it to her truck before Michael could catch her. Lord, what had she been thinking, throwing snowballs at him?

  He suddenly stopped. “Ya won’t make it,” he said softly, reading her intention. “Come here, Libby.”