by Vonnie Davis
She ran down the steps.
Creighton waited. He wrapped a plaid blanket around her, tugging it over her head. “Ye will need this. The storm has worsened.” His face was reddened. Ice flecks stuck to his hair and eyebrows. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and hurried her through the castle, tension pulsing off him. “We’ll go out the kitchen door. ’Tis closest to the stables.”
Her mind cataloged every step of an equestrian delivery, imagining every possible bad scenario. “I’ll need scissors in case I have to cut the sac around the foal.”
“Everything ye need is there.” His broad forehead was furrowed and his full lips pinched.
Fiona was in the kitchen, wearing a blue fleece robe and tightening the tops on two thermoses. “Here. Take these. If it’s a long night, ye’ll need coffee. Sweet child, thank ye for seeing to one of our horses. I’ll adjust yer bill as compensation.”
“That’s not necessary. I can’t bear to see an animal suffer.”
“Can ye hold the thermos bottles, Paisley?” Creighton opened the back door, tugged his hood over his head, and swept her into his arms. “Close the door behind us, Mum.”
Before she could protest, he stepped through the doorway into the frigid tempest and the bitter winds all but stole her breath. Pellets of sleet blew nearly sideways with the strength of the squall. He rolled her toward him so her face was under his jaw. “I’ve got ye.” His long strides and the ease with which he carried her displayed his power. Large muscles enveloped her, keeping her protected. He’d barely taken a dozen or so steps when the horse’s distressed whinny reached Paisley’s mind.
I’m dying!
No, you’re not. I’m coming to help you. How many times had she exchanged thoughts like this with animals? Although she often considered her gift a curse, giving aid to living things satisfied her soul. Whenever her capabilities were needed, she was thankful she could provide ease.
Creighton stopped and balanced her on one knee as he wrenched open the door to the stable. His long fingers snapped on a power switch, shedding enough light to illuminate the center aisle of the stables.
Familiar smells of animals, their acrid waste and straw filled her nostrils.
“Put me down, please.” She was eager to reach the horse. She pushed both thermoses against his stomach and, holding onto the plaid, jogged toward the stall where a yellow mare lay on a bed of clean straw. She raised the latch on the gate and entered. I’m here. She knelt in front of the wild-eyed animal and rubbed a hand down her muzzle. Her other hand stroked the animal’s neck. I’ll take care of you.
I’m scared. The pain is awful.
Paisley leaned her forehead against the horse’s face. I’m sorry this hurts. I promise to do my best to help.
The horse blew through her nose and shuddered. A loud groan escaped as a contraction tensed the mare’s body. Paisley crooned and rubbed her neck until the pain eased.
Can you stand so I can examine you? Paisley stood and stepped back to give the animal room. Creighton leaned against the side of the stall, eyes pinned to both her and the horse, as if he were taking her measure.
“What breed of horse is she?”
While the mare struggled to stand, Creighton removed the blanket from Paisley’s shoulders. “Heather Mist is a Highland Pony, one of the three breeds native to the Scottish Highlands. She’s Colleen’s favorite. If anything happens to her, me wee sweet bairn will be devastated.”
Paisley pushed her glasses toward the bridge of her nose with her index finger. “When children connect with an animal, it’s a beautiful thing. The child benefits as much as the pet.” She walked alongside Heather Mist, her hands gradually rubbing over the animal’s shoulders, withers, and stomach in an effort to calm the horse while she examined her. She spoke in a soft voice to soothe the frightened mare. “She’s small.”
“Standard size for the breed. About thirteen hands.”
“I see.” She stooped to look at the mare’s udders. “Her udders are waxed. That’s good. She’s a pretty yellow color.”
“Aye. We call it ‘bay dun.’ ”
“You said this is her first delivery?” Her hands pressed Heather Mist’s abdomen as another contraction began. How many foals are you carrying?
Two.
Creighton poured some coffee into the lid of the thermos. “Aye, she’s a maiden mare.”
“She’s having twins.”
“How do ye ken?”
Paisley responded with a smile and a kernel of truth, as she often did when human clients asked that question. “She told me.”
He gulped his coffee. “Did she now?” After shaking the remaining drops of coffee from the lid, he screwed it back onto the thermos.
She stepped behind the horse. Heather Mist groaned with the strain of the contraction. “How long has she been laboring?”
“I came out to check on her shortly after ye went upstairs. An hour, maybe two.”
She removed her coat and slung it over the gate. “Can you get me scissors, towels, iodine, and gauze pads, if you have them? Lubricant for my arm?”
“Of course.” His retreating footsteps were muffled by straw.
Wrapping her arms around Heather Mist’s neck, Paisley stared into terror-filled eyes. Here’s what’s wrong. Only one leg is coming out. I’m thinking the other is bent. I’m going to ease my hand inside you and straighten the foal’s other leg. Then things should be easier. I want you to lie down now. You’re being very strong.
The horse nodded and snorted before lying down again.
“As soon as her next contraction ends, I’ll do what I need to do. They’re coming about every two minutes, so that doesn’t give me much time to get in and do my thing before her inner muscles cramp around my arm. I’ll need to work fast.” She glanced into his concerned eyes. “Wish me luck.”
* * *
Creighton relaxed, sensing the confidence Paisley exuded. Beneath her fragile-looking exterior, she radiated competence. He admired her obvious innate strength. “Yer being here has already brought us luck. Heather Mist wouldn’t let me near her to help.”
Paisley glanced over her shoulder at the mare before aiming a shy smile his way. His heart turned over just as it had in his office when she smiled. Vulnerability mingled with strength was such a compelling combination, and this American had it in spades. “She’s afraid of your size.”
He stepped closer, so their thighs touched, and her lips parted on a sigh. “I would never hurt anything that belongs to me.” With a fingertip, he brushed back a strand of Paisley’s golden hair. “Or anyone who’s entrusted their heart in me care.” Both stilled. Her blue eyes darkened as she stared into his eyes. Her lips parted and he inhaled her sweet breath. The turbulent winds howling outside were a mere breeze compared to the electrical storm of sexual awareness arcing between them.
Paisley’s face was devoid of makeup, showcasing her porcelain skin. No smoky shadows or dark mascara framed her eyes. In this unadorned state, their true beauty radiated an honesty he felt powerless to resist. His hand slid up her slender neck and sensed the tremor his touch set off within while her eyes darkened and the pulse at the base of her neck quickened. Aye, he enjoyed her response, reveled in it, took pride in it and, God help him, craved more of it.
A loud groan broke the spell. Paisley kneeled and rubbed her hands in circular movements over the horse’s distended abdomen. A lilting tune hummed from her lips to soothe and the bear within Creighton eased into tranquillity as much as the mare.
This soft-spoken lass has a mystical power within her, so she does.
She crawled behind the animal and shoved her sweater sleeves above her elbows. She took the bottle of gelled lubricant and slathered it onto her right arm. “As soon as the contraction ends, I’ll begin.”
Creighton wasn’t used to a woman assisting in the delivery of large animals. Colts usually weighed between five and six stone, sometimes more. “Can I help ye?”
She slid her hand int
o the mare’s birth canal. “Get behind me. I may need you to help pull me back if the foal is as large as I fear.”
“I suppose now’s a fine time to be asking ye if ye’ve done this before?” He kneeled behind her and placed his hands at her waist, inhaling her unique scent. While the stench of fear emanated from the mare, none came from Paisley. By now, her arm was completely inside the horse. He winced. “God, I’m happy not to be a mare right about now.”
She sang her soft song as she worked, her movements efficient, competent.
The lass fascinated him. He exhaled a sigh of relief when she slid the second small hoof from the mare.
“Towel, please.” She wiped fluid from her arm.
Heather Mist groaned again. The mare’s head was turned so she could watch Paisley. The two made eye contact as if they communicated on some level, like two women talking.
“Scissors? I’m going to cut the sac so the foal can birth easier.” Once she’d made a small incision, she used the towel to grasp the foal’s feet and slowly pulled down toward Heather Mist’s hind hooves. “By pulling the legs down rather than straight out, it’ll help rotate the foal’s head through the birth canal.”
Paisley’s breathing was labored.
Creighton wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her steady as she worked.
“If all goes well, the head will deliver with the next contraction. I may need to help get the shoulders out. And you may need to help pull me backward.”
His arm tightened fractionally. “I’m here for ye.”
As she’d predicted, the foal’s head surged into the world with Heather Mist’s next groan of pain. Paisley gently pulled out its shoulders and hips. She stood and reached for the towel draped over the gate. “Both mother and child need to rest now. It’s crucial to allow nature to dictate the time they need to finish the process.” The new mother tended to her newborn in typical instinctive behavior, licking away the protective sac.
Creighton shook the plaid blanket over a bale of straw in the corner of the stall. “Ye also need to rest. ’Tis a fine job ye’ve done this blustery night.” Now would be a good time to question her about the reasons behind her and her grandmother’s trip to Scotland. What did she know about Effie’s plans for Mathe Bay? He didn’t want her to know anything. He wanted her innocent. Surely a soul as sweet as hers wouldna contain conceit or greed.
She swiped her clean arm over her forehead and plopped onto the plaid. “I hope the second one births easier.” She accepted the cup of coffee he handed her and exhaled a sigh. “Look at them.” She motioned with her cup. “Love at first sight. A bonding time for mother and child. No matter the species, it’s always a beautiful thing to watch.” Her voice was soft and reverent, full of childhood wonder. Did the woman have any clue how beautiful she was to watch?
“Ye love what ye do, then.”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper of sunshine across his skin, and he stepped into its warmth.
He sat next to her. “How many years have ye done this?” The desire to know all about her took hold and rooted in his heart.
“I hung out at a local veterinarian’s office when I was in high school. I made copies of forms and did filing. Cleaned cages and mopped floors.” She sipped her coffee. “Walked dogs and held kittens. Read manuals on veterinary care.”
He poured more coffee into his cup and settled the thermos between his thighs. “What did ye do for fun?”
A deep, sexy laugh erupted from her and stirred his loins. “That was my fun.” She glanced away and shifted her shoulders. “I wasn’t very popular. If I wasn’t at home with Gram or my nose wasn’t buried in a book, I was at the vet’s office. So, when it came time to think about careers, it was pretty much a no-brainer.” Blue eyes settled on his. “What about you? College? Sports? I bet you were popular.”
“Popular? To a degree. I ran cross-country and threw shot put.” God, how the bear in him loved to run. “I went to university in Inverness and studied business and hotel management. Came home every chance I got. Hated the close confines of the city. Missed me brothers, heathens that they are. Graduation couldn’t come fast enough.”
Paisley nodded and drank more coffee. “I know exactly what you mean. Home is important. It’s a safe zone.”
What did she mean by that? Had someone tried to hurt her? The bear within growled and stood on its hind legs. Possessiveness and the urge to protect this young woman grew.
“Have ye always lived with yer grandmother?” Maybe her parents were deceased.
She shifted and clasped her hands. “Since I was almost thirteen, yes.” Her gaze shifted away for a beat while she exhaled a long breath. “Tell me about Angus, my grandmother’s uncle.” Was she changing the topic? Or fishing for information?
“He was a good man. Intelligent. Always one to voice his opinion. And so cheap his arse squeaked when he walked.”
Her laughter was a beautiful sound that made him smile in return. “I’ve always heard Scots are cheap, but I”—her eyes twinkled in the stable’s dim lighting and her smile widened—“I’ve never heard it put quite like that.”
He chuckled, enjoying the ease of talking with her. “Aye, we Scots know the value of a coin.”
Wrinkles creased Paisley’s forehead and she worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Why would he include Gram in his will? He hadn’t seen her since she was a young girl. Granted, she wrote him once a month, called him her pen pal, but she never expected he’d leave her anything. The lawyer’s phone call came as a complete surprise.”
Was she being candid? Her demeanor seemed open and honest. Or did he want to believe her so badly he imagined her innocence? “Ol’ Angus only had one remaining niece, yer grandmother, and a great-nephew, Malcolm, whom ye will meet at the funeral.”
“I remember when Angus’s wife passed away. Gram wrote him once a week for a long time. She said he needed to know life went on after losing someone you loved.” She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose that’s why this trip has me so concerned about Gram. The rush to get ready at the last minute and the long flights were hard on her.” She chewed at the corner of her bottom lip, something he recognized as a nervous habit. “I guess you could say she’s the free spirit, and I’m the worrier.”
Her hands clasped and unclasped and, to his surprise, his hand covered hers. The silkiness of her skin sparked the urge to touch more of her smoothness. Protect, his bear counterpart insisted. Aye, protect, his heart responded.
Heather Mist stood, tearing his attention from the thoughts and feelings raging through his soul.
Paisley screwed her cup back onto the thermos and stood. “She’s getting ready to finish delivering this one. Then we’ll begin the process again, but it should be shorter and less terrifying for her.” She stepped to the head of the mare and with her hands on both sides of the horse’s head, she stared into its eyes.
Creighton couldn’t take his gaze off the two of them. It was as if the American poured strength into the animal. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear waves of celestial energy shimmered between them. What was going on here? Was he as tired as all hell and hallucinating? Or so enthralled with the golden-haired lass he was visualizing his own attraction to her?
An hour later, Creighton carried Paisley into the warmth of the kitchen, using the layer of ice on the ground as an excuse to hold her in his grasp. With her expert help, two healthy foals were born. She’d worked hard on delivering the second, smaller one. Both the scope of the complications and the strength of Paisley’s skills impressed him. Dark circles on her pale face proclaimed exhaustion.
“I’ll carry ye up to yer suite. Ye look dead on yer tiny American feet.”
She yawned. “I’ll need a shower.”
His footsteps faltered and he stared at the verra tempting female in his arms.
A blush spread across her cheeks and she looked at the ceiling, the floor, her hands … everywhere but at him.
Her hand fluttered to her hair in a nervous
gesture. “I … I didn’t mean …”
“Oh?” Lord, she was an appealing woman when she was flustered. He fought a smile. “That’s a service we dinna provide here at Matheson Lodge.” He climbed the stairway. His thoughts snagged on the image of her in the shower. Truth be told, he would love to step under a hot spray of water with her, run his hands and soap over her smooth skin until he’d lathered every inch of her body and then, God help him, he’d gladly lick off every tiny bubble. Christ, can a man climb the stairs with a feckin’ hard-on?
At Paisley’s door, he set her down and asked for her keycard. Once he’d opened the suite door, he ran his fingertips down her silky cheek. “Good night, lassie,” he whispered, not wanting to waken his family or their guests. “Sleep well. ’Tis a good thing ye’ve done tonight. We willna forget yer kindness nor yer impressive skills with animals.”
Her palms rested on his chest and her sky blue eyes tugged at his soul. “Thank you. Tonight was an experience I’ll never forget. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better. I was afraid of you before, but I’m not now.”
Something primal in him snapped. While her hands resting on his chest stirred his loins to the point of bursting, his fingertips itched to stroke the soft skin he longed to kiss. The urge to inhale her beguiling scent until he lined his lungs with it, so he’d always breathe in her essence, was so strong his male instinct overrode his restraint. The bear in him roared. Take! He backed her against the wall, his arms caging her forearms over her head. “Is that so, lassie?” Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, his gaze bore into her shocked eyes. “Aye, ye’d do well to be afraid of me, for I want ye naked, beneath me like I’ve never desired another woman before.”
A squeak escaped and her eyes widened for a beat before she ducked beneath his arm and scurried into her suite of rooms, slamming and locking the door behind her.
Chapter Four
Paisley’s eyes flickered open. Her cheeks were stiff from the cold. She exhaled and vapor wafted from her mouth in the early morning light. Hadn’t Fiona said to keep the bedroom doors open to get heat from the fireplace in the sitting area? Paisley burrowed into the warmth of the down comforter. Heat was the last thing on her mind when she dashed into this room last night. Protection from Creighton had been uppermost. Or had she fled to hide from her own desires? She pinched her eyes shut as if to block out all her musings.
