Did he think she was nuts? There was a smudge of slush on his jacket where her snowball had hit him. And he was telling her to walk into his trap?
But he just stood there, his arms held out from his sides.
Libby rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. He was driving her crazy. If he wasn’t kissing her senseless, he was insulting her, inflaming her, or confounding her so much that she wanted to scream. In an almost perfect repeat of the afternoon he’d asked her to go riding, he was telling her to come to him, not moving, not saying anything, just waiting for her to concede.
She was damned if she did and stupid if she didn’t. This man had somehow engaged her heart while she’d been busy guarding it from him. But if he thought she belonged to him, then he damned well belonged to her, too.
Libby ran and threw herself against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
“I did not mean to insult ya, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, squeezing her so tightly she squeaked.
“I’m sorry I threw snow at you,” she apologized between kisses to his face. “Did I hurt you?”
His laugh shook her. “Nay. But ya did give me a very nice compliment.”
Libby leaned back and blinked at him. “How?”
“By showing me you trust me, lass. Ya feel safe enough to let loose your temper, knowing I would never hurt ya.”
She blinked again. He was right. She smiled, kissed his chin, and laughed out loud. Yeah. She hadn’t given it a thought that he might retaliate.
“I’m not a violent person,” she replied. “I don’t usually throw things at people.”
“Ya have a good arm. And aim,” he said, kissing her on the nose. He let her slide down the length of his body, and Libby gasped the moment her belly rubbed over the bulge in his pants.
“You’re surprised?” he drawled, setting her away. “I cannot hide how ya affect me, Libby.”
She immediately began studying one large button on his wool jacket. “Did you leave so early this morning because you had brought four condoms and only got to use one?” she asked in a whisper, keeping her head down so he wouldn’t notice how red her face had become.
He lifted her chin with his finger, and Libby looked into his tender, warm pewter eyes. “I wasn’t counting, lass. Nor was I expecting to use even that one. I left because I didn’t want Robbie waking up before I got home. I don’t want the boy building fairy tales in his head about us.”
Too late!Libby wanted to shout. She was already building fairy tales of her own.
“Now, how about I follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother?” he suggested.
“You can meet her tomorrow. After the explosion.”
“Oh, but I’d rather meet James today,” he said, leading her to her truck again. “I can give him a ride back to the hotel.”
“He’s an old family friend, Michael. How am I going to explain that he can’t stay at my house when there are four empty bedrooms upstairs?”
He picked her up, set her back in her truck, and turned her chin to face him. “You’ll think of something,” he said in deadly seriousness. “Or I will.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
He arrogantly nodded agreement. “Aye. But not as unreasonable as I will be if he stays.” And, without further discussion, he softly closed the truck door and turned and walked back up the dirt road.
Again, Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake. But she found herself smiling this time, as Grace MacKeage’s words of warning whispered through her head.
Old-fashioned. Protective. Possessive.
Yeah. That was just what this doctor needed.
He didn’t care to be indebted to Greylen MacKeage, but he did appreciate the heads-up Grey had given him that morning about Libby’s visitors. Michael reached his truck parked on the main road and got in, fastened his seat belt, and rubbed his hands over his face.
He wasn’t surprised Libby’s mother had come looking for her, but what in hell was her old boyfriend doing here?
What a mess. He’d told Libby that she belonged to him now, and the woman had not meekly, or graciously, welcomed his claim. Michael knew his authority over her was tenuous at best. They weren’t married. He couldn’t even say they were dating according to modern ways. Making wild, passionate love in the back of a truck parked in a garage was not a date.
No, the only thing Libby had agreed to was a discreet affair. Michael did believe she considered affairs exclusive things, with both parties committed to each other. But that was where his rights ended. Affairs today meant monogamous sex and nothing more—no interfering in each other’s life, no formal contract, no recourse if one behaved in a way the other did not like.
He didn’t want a modern affair with Libby. He wanted the right to follow her home, meet her mother, and kick James’s ass all the way back to California.
Michael’s right palm itched for the feel of his sword, and he held up his empty hand and stared at it in silence. It had been years since he’d wielded his sword with intent, and he was shocked that he wanted to now.
Shocked, maybe, but not surprised. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Libby stirred his baser instincts. A need beyond his ability to comprehend made him want to possess her completely.
With a twist of the ignition, Michael started his truck and pulled onto the paved road behind Libby’s Suburban as she drove past. He rubbed his still itching right hand over his face to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Michael’s heart slammed into his ribs, and his muscles tensed with the instinct to flee.
How could he do it? How could he care for another woman? If he gave his heart to Libby and then lost her, he might not survive this time.
And he had to survive—for Robbie.
Aye. It was a hell of a mess, because it was too late.
Because Libby had managed to capture his heart with a simple, well-aimed snowball.
Chapter Seventeen
There was a rental carparked in her yard, and she could see her mother sitting in the front passenger seat. James was standing on the porch, his hands on his hips, the collar of his dress coat turned up against the cold, and an impatient scowl on his tanned face.
Libby drove straight into the garage and quickly walked back to the rental car. She opened the passenger door, waited until her mother got out, and hugged her warmly.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Katherine Hart hugged her back and kissed Libby’s cheek before pulling away. “It took us a while to find out where ‘here’ was,” Katherine returned loudly enough for James to hear, pulling her own collar up against the chilly breeze.
“Elizabeth,” James said, turning Libby into his arms and hugging her. He also kissed her on the cheek, then leaned away, still holding her shoulders, and his scowl returned.
“Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?”
“That can wait,” Katherine said, glancing at the truck that had pulled up beside their rental car. “Who would this be?” she asked Libby as she stared at the giant stepping out of the truck.
Libby took one look at Michael and quickly pulled away from James. She took hold of her mother’s arm and led her over to the truck. “This is my landlord, Michael MacBain,” Libby told her. “Michael, this is my mother, Katherine. And this is James Kessler.”
“Missus Hart,” Michael said, bowing slightly as he took her hand. “Kessler,” he said, nodding curtly, then giving his attention back to her mother. “It’s nice to see that you’ve come to help your daughter settle in.”
“I’ve come to take my daughter home, Mr. MacBain.”
“Really?” Michael asked, lifting one brow. “It’s my understanding that she is home.”
With the grace of a woman who’d found herself in many social situations throughout her husband’s illustrious career, Katherine Hart set her features into polite amusement. She looked around at the rugged landscape, a
t the house Libby was renting, and then lifted her assessing gaze to settle on Michael.
“Home is where her work is. And where her family is, Mr. MacBain. And that is in California.”
Libby was getting a crick in her neck trying to watch everyone’s expression as Michael and her mother talked about her as if she wasn’t even there. Which was, Libby realized, a great performance from Katherine for James’s benefit. Her mom was playing the worried parent role almost too well.
But it was James who most alarmed Libby. He was being unusually quiet, his golden eyes intent on Michael as he tried to decide exactly how the giant fit in here.
Michael took hold of Katherine’s elbow and started leading her to the house. And Katherine, ever the epitome of grace, let him, craning her own neck to give him her attention.
“We needn’t stand in the cold,” Libby heard Michael say as she tagged along behind them. “I’ll get a fire going in the hearth, and your daughter can make ya some tea.”
James pulled Libby to a halt. “Who the hell is this guy?”
“My landlord.”
“In residence?”
“No,” she shot back, pulling away from him. “Will you calm down. He’s just being neighborly.”
“He’s being damned forward, if you ask me. Get rid of him, Elizabeth. We have to talk. Alone.”
“Oh, we’ll talk, all right,” she said, running to catch up with Michael and her mother.
It was just as she was walking through the kitchen that she heard Michael say from the living room, in utter and complete seriousness, “Libby can’t return to California until after Christmas, even if she wants to. She’s obligated to work for me, in payment for a mishap that occurred the day she arrived here.”
“What sort of mishap?” Katherine asked as she sat on the couch facing the hearth. “And what sort of work?”
Michael hunched down and started building a fire. “Libby ran over several of my prize Christmas trees,” he said as he laid sticks of kindling over the paper. “And I’ve agreed to let her pay for them by working in my Christmas shop this season.”
Libby realized she was standing in the living-room door with her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut, darting a look from Michael’s broad back to her suddenly speechless mother. James had taken a seat beside Katherine and was now gaping himself.
Only Michael seemed oblivious to the silence. “So she can’t leave until her debt to me is satisfied,” he continued, turning to smile at Katherine. “If you’re staying for a while, I could use your help as well, for a fair wage, of course. Do ya bake, Missus Hart? Or maybe ya do crafts? We’re needing Christmas tree ornaments to sell, and handmade ones do very well.”
Libby’s mouth fell open again. Had Michael just offered her mother a job? For money? Katherine Hart probably hadn’t even seen a real dollar bill in years. And she certainly hadn’t worked since high school.
“Elizabeth can pay for the trees,” James said. “She’s a highly successful surgeon and can’t be working in a Christmas shop. She needs to get back and salvage her career. How much does she owe you?” he asked, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ll write you a check right now.”
Michael struck a match and lit the paper beneath the kindling, watching until it caught before he turned to look at James. He shook his head.
“Money won’t pay for the trees,” he told him. “They were prize Douglas fir, ya see, certain to win first place at the state fair next summer. Put your checkbook away, Kessler. I’m needing help more than I’m needing money.” He looked from James to Libby. “Besides, she’s already agreed.”
James and her mother turned on the couch and also looked at her. Prickles of heat rose in Libby’s cheeks. Dammit, Michael was crazy.
He was also a genius.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “I promised to work for Michael until Christmas.”
“Elizabeth,” James said, standing to face her. “You’re about to be sued for breach of contract. You left without notice.”
Michael also stood up.
“We can discuss this later, James,” Katherine said, tugging on James’s hand to get him to sit down. “Elizabeth, did you put on some tea?” she asked. “And thank you for the offer for a job, Mr. MacBain. I-I’m flattered and will certainly think about it.”
“That’s good, then,” Michael said, rubbing his hands together as he walked into the kitchen, turning Libby ahead of him, and pushing her toward the stove. “I think I’ll just go downstairs and check on the furnace, since I’m here. Ya said it was making a funny noise?”
“Yes,” Libby snapped. “It’s making a lot of noise and blowing lots of hot air.”
A startled scream came from the living room just then, and Libby and Michael both rushed to the door at the same time. They saw Katherine standing on the hearth, holding on to the run in her stocking as she stared at Trouble, who was trying to jump up after her.
James grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck, holding it away from himself as if it were trash. Trouble let out an angry mew, and suddenly Guardian was climbing up James’s pants leg to rescue his brother.
Libby beat him to it and also rescued Guardian while she was at it. “Aren’t they adorable?” she asked her mother, holding the kittens against her chest as she faced Katherine. “Robbie gave them to me. There’s another one, too,” she said, looking around. “Her name is Timid. And this is Guardian, and this is Trouble,” she added, turning each one to face her mother. “Kittens, this is my mother.”
Katherine let James help her down from the hearth and leaned over to check the run in her stocking. She brushed her hair back from her suddenly embarrassed face and darted a look at Michael and then back at Libby.
“Who’s Robbie?”
“He’s really my landlord,” Libby explained. “He’s Michael’s son. This is his mother’s house.”
“And where is his mother now?”
“She died when Robbie was born,” Libby told her.
And again, Katherine darted a look at Michael. “Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. MacBain.” She looked around the room and then back at Libby. “Where’s the other one?” she whispered.
“Timid, you called her?”
“She’s probably hiding, hence the name,” Libby told her, walking over and handing the two kittens to Michael.
“Maybe you should go check on the furnace now, before it starts blowing any more hot air.”
James came walking into the kitchen, holding Timid at arm’s length. “Here’s the other one.”
“Oh, you’re scaring the poor thing,” Katherine said, snatching Timid away from him and cuddling her against her cashmere coat. “She’s just a baby.”
“I can lock her in the bathroom with the others,” Michael offered, holding out his hand.
Her mother turned Timid away from his reach. “No, she’s trembling. I think I’ll just hold her a bit.”
And just like that, Libby knew that Katherine Hart had won Michael’s approval.
Michael put Trouble and Guardian into the bathroom and then disappeared into the cellar. Libby put the kettle on to boil. Katherine took a seat at the table, still cuddling Timid, and looked around the kitchen.
“This is a wonderful house,” she said. “So old New England. How did you find it?” she asked, giving Libby a pointed look that said she was keeping up the charade.
“On the Internet,” Libby told her, going to the fridge, hoping there was something hiding in there to eat. She found half a block of cheddar cheese, two apples, and a cucumber. She carried everything to the counter and started cutting it up, arranging slices on a plate for a snack.
“Why Maine?” James asked, sitting at the table opposite Katherine.
Libby shrugged. “Why not?”
“Do you realize the trouble you’re in, Elizabeth? You walked away from your contract. And your responsibilities,” he told her, his voice scolding. “As it is, your little trip will probably cost you a fortune in fines
. But that’s nothing compared with what it’s already cost your reputation. You walked out of your operating room, Elizabeth. You left a mess.”
Libby stopped slicing the apple and turned to look at him. “I sent Randal Peters a certified letter saying I had to leave for personal reasons.”
“I talked to Peters, and he doesn’t care what reason you cited. He knows you left because of what happened,” James said, standing up and coming over to her, taking her by the shoulders. “There’s still time to straighten this out, Elizabeth. If you come back right now and apologize to the board and beg their forgiveness, this can be dealt with quietly.”
“What exactly happened,” Michael asked as he stepped through the cellar door, “that requires an apology and begging?”
James spun to face him. “This isn’t your concern, MacBain. It’s Elizabeth’s.”
“And yours?” Michael asked softly, walking up to stand directly in front of James. “Libby doesn’t strike me as a woman willing to beg for anything. So, tell me what she’s done that needs an apology.”
James returned to the table and stood behind the chair he’d been sitting in. “It was a stupid mistake,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “She nearly cut into a perfectly healthy woman in her operating room. But that’s not something you throw your career away for.”
Michael turned and looked at her, his pewter-gray eyes gently probing hers. “Is that true, lass? Ya left because of this mistake?”
“It’s a serious mistake for a surgeon, Mr. MacBain,” Katherine said, drawing his attention. “But it wasn’t my daughter’s fault. They brought her the wrong patient.”
Michael looked back at Libby.
She turned to the counter and began cutting the apple again.
“She must have felt responsible,” she heard Michael tell Katherine. “Enough to doubt her ability to perform her job.”
“I repeat, this is not your business, MacBain,” James said tightly. “We will deal with Elizabeth’s problem.”
“By advising her to beg?” Michael asked so softly that shivers of alarm raced up Libby’s spine.
Wedding the Highlander Page 19
