Katherine stopped them just inside the kitchen door and took Libby by both hands. “Do you really think he’ll drop it?” she whispered.
“He has to,” Libby assured her, reversing their grip and squeezing Katherine’s hands. “Like you said, he can’t prove anything. And he’s beginning to realize he’d only make a fool of himself if he pursues this.”
Katherine smiled with relief. “Of course, you’re right.”
Libby looked around the kitchen, then back at her mother. “So, what do we do for the rest of the day, now that we got rid of James?”
“You take me to town to buy an orange jacket so I don’t get shot. And a hat. I want an Elmer Fudd hat.”
“Katherine Hart.” Libby gasped, giving her mother a wide-eyed stare. “I’m going to take your picture and send it to your garden club.”
“No, we’ll make a Christmas card with the two of us dressed in orange and holding rifles, looking as if we’re about to shoot something. Do you suppose Ian will lend us a couple of guns?”
“So it’s Ian now? What happened to Mr. MacKeage?”
Katherine turned and reached for her coat and purse. “I woke up this morning deciding you’re right. He’s all bluster, under all that hair.”
Libby grabbed her own purse and headed into the garage. She went to the passenger side of her Suburban, took out the apple crate, and set it on the ground.
“I’ve really got to see about getting some running boards,” she said as she helped her mother climb into the truck. “This is getting annoying.”
She picked up the crate and carried it to her door, got in, and struggled to set the crate in the backseat without maiming both of them.
“Whatever possessed you to buy such a big truck?” Katherine asked, fastening her seat belt.
“I don’t think they have any small trucks around here. Everything in this place is big—the landscape, the mountains, the men. Especially the logging trucks. And you should see Michael’s horse. Life is big here. I’m probably going to have a permanent crick in my neck.”
“Are you going to show me your studio?”
“Sure. You can help me fix it up. I have to decide what I need for displays.”
“Maybe you can hire whoever made your bed to make your displays. And we could cut some bare branches and hang your pendants off them. For Christmas, we can get some white felt and create a seasonal theme.”
Libby pulled onto the paved road and darted an amused look at her mother. “You’re really okay with this, aren’t you?”
Katherine smiled back. “Actually, I’m more than okay. I’m glad for you, Elizabeth. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this happy. You’re vibrant. Interested again.”
“Interested?”
“In life,” Katherine said succinctly, only to sigh and shake her head. “And I want to thank you for that.”
“Thank me?”
She turned in her seat to face Libby. “Yes. Thank you for having the courage to change your life, for opening my eyes to the truth, and for giving me the courage to do the same.”
Libby darted another look at her mother. “That wasn’t courage. That was pure, unadulterated fear. I ran, Mom, because I was scared.”
“You could have done any number of things besides run away,” Katherine said, waving her hand dismissively.
“You’re made of stern stuff, Elizabeth. And you’ve reminded me that I have the power of choice, too.”
“But what do…Mom, what are you talking about?”
Katherine studied her folded hands on her lap. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been truly happy.” She shot a worried look at Libby. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved your father. But he was so larger than life that he swallowed me up. I forgot who I was, where I came from, what used to be important to me. I became so busy being Barnaby Hart’s wife, I forgot to be Kate.”
She straightened her shoulders and looked out the window. “My daddy always called me Kate,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten that, too, until last night.”
“So, what are you saying?”
Katherine looked over and smiled. “I’m saying thank you for giving me the courage to be happy again. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here with you. I promise not to interfere in your life. Besides, I’ll be too busy getting back my own life. Do you suppose Pine Creek could use a florist shop?”
Libby was speechless. But very pleased. She’d weathered the storm that had blown in from California and found a beautiful rainbow at the end. Her mother wanted to stay.
Robbie would love that Gram Katie was staying.
Ian MacKeage likely would be pleased too.
But Michael would not. She’d just gotten a beautiful new bed—and a roommate who was also her mother.
They were all sitting in her living room, happily full from another high-calorie, high-cholesterol dinner. John had Guardian snuggled on his chest and was reading the paper. Kate was gently stroking Timid on her lap while she leafed through a crafts magazine. Robbie was in the kitchen, sprawled out on the floor, teasing Trouble with a feather tied to a string.
And Father Daar, thank their luck, had chosen to bless the MacKeages with his company tonight.
Michael was leaning back on the couch, his long legs stretched out so that his socked feet rested on the lower mantel of the hearth. His eyes were closed, his hands folded over his full belly, and he looked like a contented man recovering from a hard day’s work.
Libby was anything but contented. For one thing, her feet couldn’t reach the hearth, so she had to rest them on Michael’s legs. That was nice, but it wasn’t enough.
She wanted to rest her whole body on Michael.
Preferably her naked body. She wanted to try out her new bed.
It had been more than a week since James had left and her mother had announced she was staying. Nine long, sexually frustrating days.
Libby was afraid her hormones were going to explode.
She and Michael had managed to engage in some fairly heavy petting and had worked themselves into a frenzy once or twice, to the point where Libby had been on the verge of suggesting they take a quick ride to the nearest town that had a motel.
As it was, she had two of the condoms tucked in her purse, just in case John went visiting while Robbie was in school and Michael’s crew was busy up in the twelve-acre field.
So far, though, things hadn’t fallen into place.
“If ya keep fidgeting, lass, I’m gonna send ya out for more wood,” Michael threatened, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Mom, when are you planning to go back to California to close up your house and get things straightened away?” Libby asked.
Kate looked up from her magazine. “I thought I’d wait until after Thanksgiving.”
Michael opened his eyes and sat up, dropping Libby’s feet to the floor with his. “But that’s my busy season,” he said. “I was counting on your help in the shop. Ya told me you’d work.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realized things started that soon for you.”
“Thanksgiving’s still two weeks away,” Libby interjected.
“Maybe you should go now. It shouldn’t take you more than a week to get things in order. You’ll be back in plenty of time.”
Michael shot Libby a suspicious look, and she answered him with a sweet, innocent smile. His gaze turned to molten, liquid pewter, and she kicked up her smile another notch.
“I can take ya to the airport tomorrow,” he said, slowly turning away from her to give his attention to her mother.
Kate sighed, closed her magazine, and cuddled Timid under her chin. “It’s such a long flight, I’ve been putting it off. Libby, do you think you should go back with me? To put your own things in order?”
Of course, she should. But her problems in California seemed minor right now, compared with the problem of getting Michael alone and naked and hot enough to use the three or four condoms tucked under the pillow of her new bed.
“I’m going
to wait,” she said, getting up and casually stretching her arms over her head. “I’ve been communicating with Randal Peters about breaking my contract, and he’s talking to the board. They probably won’t decide anything until after Christmas, anyway. And I’ll have to make an appearance then and try to talk them out of suing me.”
“Can they really sue you?” John asked, looking up from his paper.
“I did have a contract, and I did break it.”
“What happens if they sue you?” he asked.
“It wipes out my savings. And my reputation is ruined.”
“Does that mean you can’t doctor again?” John asked, frowning with worry.
Libby smiled. “I’m sure a small hospital can be talked into overlooking my sin. Rural communities are always crying for skilled surgeons.”
“There’s a small hospital in Greenville,” John offered.
“And another one in Dover-Foxcroft. You could check with them.”
“I might, when I feel ready to ‘doctor’ again. Right now, I just want to get my studio up and running. Which would go much easier,” she said with feeling, darting a pointed look at Michael, then glaring at John, “if someone would tell me who made my bed so I can get him to make my displays.”
John quickly raised his newspaper back in front of his face. And Robbie, who had just walked into the living room with Trouble perched on his shoulder, spun around and headed back into the kitchen. That left only Michael for her to glare at.
He smiled, stood up, and tapped her on the end of the nose before following his son into the kitchen. “Is there any pie left?” he asked as he disappeared.
Kate laughed and also stood, settling Timid comfortably into the crook of her arm. “You might as well give up,” she said with a lingering chuckle. “They’ve formed a conspiracy, and when males decide to bond, dynamite won’t budge them.”
“But what’s the great secret? Whoever made the bed should be proud of his work.”
“Maybe he’s shy,” Kate offered. “You know, the humble craftsman who does it for the love of the art, not the glory.”
“I can keep his secret, if that’s what he wants. I just need some displays.”
“Why don’t you tell Michael what you need, and he’ll tell whoever made your bed?” Kate suggested, heading upstairs to her own bed.
Oh, yes, Libby thought. She wanted to tell Michael what she needed, all right, and it had nothing to do with displays. She needed him.
Michael seemed quite content with the way things were now—a little foreplay stolen at odd times, dinner together almost every evening, going to their separate work every day and their separate beds every night.
Libby had caught him staring at her on occasion, with a speculative, calculated look in his gray eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking; he’d been a closed book ever since James had visited him.
And that worried her. What had they talked about?
James hadn’t said. He’d come back, said good-bye to her and Kate, wished them well, and left in a cloud of dusty snow.
So, Libby had asked Michael what had happened between him and James. She had gotten only a smile for an answer and a kiss that had not only shut her up but made her forget her question.
Libby poked at the fire in the hearth, pushing the dying embers to the back, banking them for the night. John rose from his chair, folded his paper, and set it over Guardian like a tent.
“We’re calling it a night, I’m guessing,” he said, coming over and kissing Libby on the cheek. “I just heard Michael’s truck start. Thanks for the delicious supper, Libby. It’s been a far sight easier going to work every day knowing I’ll be getting a decent meal at night. You’re a good cook.”
With a wave, he walked to the truck, where Robbie waited inside.
Robbie gave her a huge good-bye wave through the windshield, opened the door for John, and scooted to the middle of the seat. Libby noticed that the driver’s seat was empty.
Michael walked out of the kitchen, brushing sawdust off his jacket. “I’ve refilled the woodbox,” he told her, reaching out and pulling her into a warm embrace. “Supper was good tonight, lass. Thank you.”
“And now that you’ve eaten all my food, you’re leaving.”
“I have two trucks headed to New York tomorrow morning, and they’re not loaded yet. The crew’s arriving at dawn.”
Libby sighed and leaned her head on his chest, wrapping her arms under his jacket and around his waist. He pulled the edges closed over her back and hugged her tightly.
“Ya seemed mighty determined to get rid of your mother tonight, lass. Any reason in particular?”
She pinched his side and smiled into his chest when he flinched. “You know why. You’re killing me, Michael. I’m in danger of exploding.”
His chest under her ear rumbled with gentle laughter. “Aye. And I’m anxious to see that.” His arms tightened around her, all but lifting her off her feet. “Soon, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her back, “we’ll get to try out your new bed.”
“Why won’t you tell me who made it?”
“Because he asked me not to.”
She looked up and smiled. “Was it Santa Claus? Are you really one of his elves, sworn to secrecy?”
He kissed her on the nose. “If I say yes, then I’ve blown my cover, now, haven’t I? Just enjoy the bed, lass, instead of turning it into a puzzle ya need to solve.”
“I’d enjoy it better if I didn’t have to sleep in it all by myself,” she whispered, running her socked foot up the back of his leg.
“Be good,” he growled. “We have an audience.”
“We always have an audi—”
He kissed her soundly on the mouth despite their audience. Libby clung to him, kissed him back, and ran her foot up his leg again. His kiss turned into a growl, and she smiled into his mouth.
He might think he knew how to shut her up, but she knew how to beat him at his own game. By the time he walked to his truck, Libby was sure that steam was coming out of his ears. And his walk was a bit stiff, his fists were clenched, and whatever he’d whispered as he stepped off the porch was most definitely not something Robbie should hear.
Chapter Twenty
It took another two daysfor Kate finally to leave for California. Michael had offered to drive her to the airport in Bangor, but Libby had taken her so she could do some shopping in a town that had more than two stores. She spent the entire day in Bangor after seeing her mother off, and the back of her truck was now filled to the roof with shopping bags.
Libby decided it was time she turned her house into a home. She’d already talked with her young landlord and gotten his permission to move some of the old furnishings up to the attic. Libby respected Mary Sutter, and all the Sutters who had come before her, but it was important that she put her own signature on the house.
And she was starting with the bedroom.
Her beautiful new bed was her inspiration. Moose were such ugly creatures they were actually quite endearing, with their massive antlers and dangling goatees, their long, powerful legs and oversized heads. And the fir trees on the bed, painted such a rich, vibrant green, had made Libby decide on a woodsy, outdoor theme.
Somewhere in the back of her truck was a shopping bag containing flannel sheets that had pine tassels and pinecones printed on them. She’d even found a new quilt made of appliquéd blocks of loons, moose, black bears, and chickadees—which Libby had learned were Maine’s state bird. She’d bought a checkered dust ruffle, pillow shams, and several matching towel sets.
She’d also bought two new lamps for the sides of the bed, both made from birch tree with carved chickadees perched on the branches. There was a wool rug someplace back there, a framed print of a moose feeding in a bog in the morning mist, and new curtains that matched the dust ruffle.
But her most exciting purchases, and ironically the least expensive, were the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d found at a neat little shop in downto
wn Bangor. She couldn’t wait to get home, stick them up on the bedroom ceiling, turn out the lights, and fall asleep under the stars.
Libby focused past the wiper blades as they tried to keep up with the driving rain that had been pelting the truck for the last twenty miles. It was starting to sound more like sleet than rain, and she was glad she’d made it through Pine Creek before the roads glazed over to ice. Only three miles to go. The whole ride home, the radio had said that a nor’easter was coming up the coast and that the rain would turn to snow in the mountains first, probably by nightfall. It was night now, and the weatherman was being proved right.
Michael had given her his cell phone before she’d left, and he had called her three times already today. The last time, he had been rather blunt about getting her butt in the truck and getting home before the storm hit.
But she hadn’t minded his macho attitude, simply because she couldn’t seem to get enough of the guy.
Maybe they could go out on an actual date tomorrow night. She’d spend tomorrow rearranging her room, making it pretty and romantic. She’d take a nice, long bubble bath, paint her toenails, and even dig out some of her makeup.
She was a modern woman; she would ask Michael out. She would pick him up, pay for dinner, and bring him back to her bachelorette pad so he could thank her properly for the nice evening.
She might even buy him a whopping bouquet of flowers.
Libby sighed with relief when she finally pulled into the garage. She jumped out and ran to the open garage door, looking through the wind-driven mix of snow and sleet toward the chicken coop. Damn. There was no help for it, the chickens needed tending. She pulled up the hood on her jacket and sprinted across the yard, slamming through the coop door. She waved away a flurry of feathers from the startled birds.
“Sorry, girls. Well, aren’t we all nice and cozy in here? Got any eggs for me tonight?”
They blinked in answer and immediately started pecking her muddy shoes. Libby changed the water in their dish and refilled their food pan. She scooped up six huge eggs, tucked them into her pockets, and ran back out into the storm.
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