by L. L. Muir
Only it wasn’t Donny, it was a shapely woman. And she was no helpless damsel at that.
For all his trouble, he got a head-butt to the nose that helped him recall what it had been like to be in a tavern brawl. The darkness before him erupted in bright light, white and red, like a firework going off inside his very skull!
He immediately released the woman and retreated with one hand gripped across his face and the other hand out in front of him in blind defense.
Electric light flooded the kitchen. The blue cabinets glared down from all around like a council sitting in judgement. And, standing before him was Miss Hannah with a long, menacing butcher’s knife in one hand and a heavy pan in the other. The pot rack above her head swung to and fro, announcing where she’d located the latter.
“You!” She frowned, her expression wavering between relief and disappointment. He would like to say she was happy to see him, but she was not.
He held up the empty hand not covering his bleeding nose. “Forgive me, lass. I worried that the deputy had snuck back into the house again.”
She gave him a doubtful look and replaced the pan on the hook above her but kept the knife poised between them. “If you were coming from outside, you would have come from the other direction.”
He inclined his head. “I sincerely beg pardon, lass. I was wrong to take a couch in the library instead. At the time, I thought it prudent, but in truth, it was the dishonorable thing to do.”
“Prudent?” She noticed the blood on his fingers, but held her ground.
He supposed there was no reason to upset her in the dark of the night, so he decided not to tell about her regular intruder.
“Ye’d had a piece of disturbing news,” he said instead. “I worried about ye is all.”
Her frown eased and she nodded, then slid the knife into a block of wood on the counter behind her.
“Did ye come down for a bit of tea?”
She shrugged. “I…” The lass was embarrassed. “I walk in my sleep sometimes.”
Sleepwalking he could understand. At Culloden, not a night went by that someone wasn’t up and about, moving in a trance.
“All it takes is a little upset, aye? I’ve known many who do the same.”
She pulled a cloth from a drawer and wet it in the sink, then handed it over. “I’m sorry about your nose.”
He grimaced and tended to his face. “No regrets, lass. At least I ken ye can defend yerself when needed. Though I am sorry I startled ye.” He looked at the cloth. “The bleedin’s already stopped.”
“Would you like an ice pack?”
“Nay. Feels fine, lass. In truth.”
She took the rag from him, found a clean corner, and wiped a spot on his chin. After giving his face the once-over, she ducked into the next room and when she emerged, the cloth was gone.
“I’m sure you’re exhausted…” She bit her lip and let her words hang in the air between them.
He got the hint. “Not at all. Too wound up to sleep, I reckon.”
Her smile was his reward for reading her mind. Though her hair was ruffled on one side like a hen’s feathers out of place, he said nothing. But his fingers itched to comb through her pale tresses, and not only to put them in their place.
She padded out of the kitchen in bare feet and bid him follow. He tried to ignore the shortness of her ruffled shorts, her long tan legs, and her spice-brown shoulders. But he couldn’t very well close his eyes and grope his way through the house to find her.
Retracing his own steps, they turned down the hall and into the wee library with the homely, but comfortable furniture.
“This is where I meant to stay the night until I came to my senses. Otherwise, I wouldna have found ye poking round the kitchen.”
She scurried to the far end of the sofa, sat, and turned to face him. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re here now. If I went right back to sleep, I might go wandering again. And I hate that.” She gestured for him to sit on the sofa as well, though at the opposite end.
He obeyed. “Perhaps ye’re not as resigned to losing the house as ye supposed.”
“I think you’re right. Never say die, right? And I kind of owe it to Zilla to thwart her if I can.”
“Happy to hear it. I only wish I could summon all the money ye need to settle yer tax bill. Perhaps ye would care to explain what this green belt business is all about. Or might it take too long to explain?”
She grinned at him and lifted her brows suggestively. “That depends. How good are you at foot rubs?”
His mouth hung open, but for the life of him, he couldn’t shut his gob. The lass was inviting him to touch her feet? It wasn’t proper for his own time, sure. But in the lass’s time? It was likely not considered an intimate act. After all, rich folks hired perfect strangers to massage their entire bodies and no one so much as blinked an eye.
Her eyes grew wider while he struggled for a response. His surprise embarrassed her and he scrambled to dispel the awkwardness of the moment.
“I suppose,” he said, frowning seriously, “that it can’t be difficult to master, this foot-rubbing.”
Still, she was embarrassed. “That’s okay. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”
“Nonsense.” He patted his thigh. “Lift yer feet up here and I’ll give it a go. If I cause ye pain, I’ll cease immediately.”
She wavered for only a heartbeat more, then swung her feet up onto the couch while pulling a light blanket off the back of the couch and across her legs, for which he was truly grateful. He no longer could pretend. His will was weak when it came to averting his eyes from any part of her.
She bent one leg and left a single foot on his knee. He picked it up and placed her heel in the palm of his hand, then tentatively took hold of the end of her biggest toe. She giggled. He gave her a diabolical grin and wiggled the digit. She laughed again, but she seemed to be waiting for something more.
“Start speaking, lass, and I’ll start the rubbin’.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hannah felt horribly guilty for suggesting the Scot rub her feet. It obviously made him uncomfortable, and she suspected he’d never really done it before. When he said he was willing to try, she shouldn’t have taken advantage of him, but she was just so hungry for a little human contact, she couldn’t resist.
It wasn’t like either of them was in danger of being seduced, since they were still, basically, at opposite ends of the couch. But she was curious to see if there was some weird chemistry or something between them that could explain that strange feeling she’d had when he laid his hand over hers on the tailgate.
When he’d wrapped his arms around her in the kitchen and brought her out of her sleepwalking trance, she’d been too busy grabbing for a knife and a pan to pay attention to any sizzle where their flesh had connected. But there might have been something. So she was obsessed with the idea of touching him again, or getting him to touch her, in the pursuit of science of course.
But if he was only going to touch the tips of her toes, she’d learn nothing at all. So she started talking.
The logical place to start was with the death of her father. She wiggled her shoulders and snuggled into the pillow at her back. “When I was nine, my dad died.”
His hands stilled. “I am sorry.”
She shook her head. “It was a long time ago. But that’s when my mom and I moved in here, with Grandma and Grandpa Garr.”
He brushed the bottom of her foot, probably dusty from the walk through the house, and she laughed.
“Ye must be ticklesome. Yer foot is jumping about like a trout out of water.”
“I promise it will settle down. Just rub harder.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her, then wrapped his hands firmly around her foot. The heat was delicious, even in the summer heat, and she realized there had been nothing magical between them at all. It was just regular old human touch that made her feel…extra alive.
He started to get the hang of it. “So ye�
�ve lived here since then?”
She suppressed a groan of pleasure. “No,” she said. “When I was a junior in high school, mom and I moved to Boise. She died less than a year before my grandma, and Grandma left this place to me three and a half years ago.”
“And what other kin have ye?”
“Just Zilla. She wasn’t happy when the entire farm was left to me, but she’d already married a guy who owns a bank and half the valley—that feels sooo good.”
She bit her lip and just enjoyed the massage for a minute. He cleared his throat to remind her she was supposed to be explaining.
“I’ve been on my feet for two weeks trying to make sure I had enough artwork for the music festival. I really needed this.”
“Ah, well then, I’m happy I can help in some manner. But ye were saying?”
Right. “So now, Zilla and I never talk unless we run into each other. The few times I’ve tried to call her, she doesn’t answer, doesn’t return my call. I got the message a long time ago. She’s not interested in family ties, but I do miss her daughter. The little girl and I might have been good friends. She is a lot like Zilla was when we were younger, before she married money.
“When my grandmother was still alive,” she continued, “it was a real working farm. I never did much more than gather eggs from the hen house, but she had a few old hands that kept things going from when Grandpa died. And there was a manager for the peach business. I’ve got forty acres here. Beyond the peach orchard, the land goes straight up the mountain for a ways.”
“Peaches?” He sounded both hungry and impressed.
“Yeah. Too bad you won’t be around when Peach Days hit. Nothing better than a fresh peach from this valley.”
“And what do ye do with all of yers? I would think ye’d make a pretty penny—money enough for taxes, perhaps?”
She smiled sadly and toyed with the string ties of her shorts. “Yes. Plenty of money for taxes and everything else. But two years ago, a virus took out the whole orchard.” She closed her eyes for a minute and refused to get emotional over the memory of it. She’d shed enough tears during the real ordeal. “I still had plenty of money from the previous crop, so I wasn’t too worried. But the ranch hands retired when they got a little nest egg from Grandma’s will. I’d butchered all the chickens and sold off the half dozen head of cattle.” She heaved a mighty sigh. “And with little responsibility around here, I thought it was time I went skiing.”
“And skiing is a villainous thing?”
She had to laugh. “Only if you bring home a ski bum and let him rob you blind.”
He grimaced. “Auch, ye didna.”
“Aye, laddie. I’m afraid I did. I was pretty sure I was in love, and after a week of romance, he suggested he move in with me instead of leaving town. I thought it was the only way to keep him, so I agreed. The next day, after…” She didn’t want to verbalize the stupid move she’d made, so she just pointed to the ceiling and her bedroom above, hoping he’d get the picture.
He nodded. He got it. But there was no judgment in his expression.
“I realized I’d made a huge mistake. He stopped being wonderful. He wasn’t even pleasant. And after a few days of that, I would find reasons to stay away from the house. I painted, mostly. Horrible stuff. My heart wasn’t in any of it.”
She’d completely forgotten Dougal was rubbing her foot until he tapped her toes and gestured for the other foot. She dropped the first one on the floor and he took the second one carefully into his hands, treating it delicately, remembering she was ticklish.
No—ticklesome. And she had a feeling she would never allow anyone else to rub her feet again.
“So, while ye were out of the house, he robbed it?”
“No. He never took anything from the house—just every dime out of my bank accounts. He got onto my computer, hacked into my accounts, and cleaned me out. One morning, he said he was going to the store, and I never heard from him again. I was so busy being relieved, it was a couple of days before I realized what he’d done. The cops couldn’t do anything. He was long gone, and everything he’d told me—his name, family, everything—had been a lie.”
“So ye were penniless. But what does that have to do with this green belt?”
She sighed with the weight of her present dilemma settling on her shoulders again. And she wasn’t going to worry about anything tonight…
“The farm was zoned as Greenbelt, which basically means agricultural, so my taxes were one hundredth of what they would have been otherwise. But in order to remain in the Greenbelt, there have to be crops or certain animals present. Farm animals. And the county sends people around to find proof you’re keeping up your end of the bargain.”
“And yer peaches and animals are gone.”
“Yes. After the orchard got hit, Zilla told me I wouldn’t have to keep animals if I got the place registered as an historical site. So I did. My great-great-great-grandfather Garr was the first sheriff of nearby Cache County. The house was one of the first built in Liberty. A few other things, like being the first to have electricity, helped the house qualify. So I thought my taxes would stay low.”
“And I take it this Zilla hadn’t been truthful?”
She snorted indelicately. “Flat out lied. Historical registries have nothing to do with taxes. And jumping through all those hoops just kept me distracted. She was the one to sic the county on me. Suddenly, I had a tax bill that could choke a horse.”
“Ye couldn’t sell part of the property, in order to keep the house?”
“My well-meaning grandma made stipulations in her will. I got the property and the house, but the property couldn’t be sold for ten years. She probably thought that ten years’ worth of peach production would have me pretty well set, even if the taxes went up. I tried one last appeal to the county. I didn’t point fingers, but I told them I’d been misled. And I made sure my petition would be addressed while Zilla and her family were out of town. With her on hand to vote it down, I didn’t have a chance.”
“But ye’ve decided not to go down without a fight, aye?”
“Right. Any suggestions?”
He shrugged, tucked her second foot beneath the blanket, and sat back. “What have ye of value besides yer paintings, lass?”
She glanced around the room. “I suppose I could make a little money on a yard sale. The house is packed with antique furniture. But that won’t be enough now. And you’ve already seen what happens when someone tries to buy my paintings.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Standing in the water closet, staring at himself in the mirror for the first time in centuries, Dougal was torn by what he saw there. Even though he’d hoped to be reinstated to the same form he’d had before the battle, he was surprised to find such youth in his own face. After so many years, even though he’d lain dormant most of the time, he expected to appear a bit…wiser. Unfortunately, other than a bit of a twinkle in his green eyes, he still looked like the young lad who’d been so passionate for the cause.
Passionate. An unfortunate choice of words.
He was a young buck spending the night alone in a house with an equally young and passionate doe. And his gentleman’s honor was stretching a mite thin, what with the devil whispering, “What a shame it would be to have mortal life again and not taste the sweetness of a bonny lass’s lips.”
He closed his eyes and breathed for a piece, trying to think of nothing but the echo of his heartbeat and that breathing as it ricocheted off the sparkling white tiles around him.
In. Out. In. Out. Lucky for the chance to prove myself. Lucky for a chance to win that boon. Blessed beyond measure to have two new days…with a bonny lass.
He splashed cold water on his face yet again and tried to forget that he’d had his hands on her already, albeit her pretty feet. It was enough to distract him from his purpose altogether. Even the serious nature of their conversation couldn’t help when his body seemed more focused than his mind.
H for ho
t. C for cold.
Yet again, he turned on the water and splashed a liberal amount on the back of his neck and his face.
There. Better already. Perhaps it wasn’t really the power of his will that waned. Perhaps it was only the heat of the summer night, the heat a mortal body was ill-equipped to handle.
He rolled his sleeves a bit higher on his arms, slipped off his boots and socks so more air could reach his skin.
He was not undressing. He was not. He knew of two abject cowards who had taken advantage of the lass—the villainous ski bum, and the gun-toting stalker. He refused to do anything that might lump him in with that lot. He was a Cameron, after all. And not just that, but a MacSorlie from Glennevis. And though the praise had come after he’d lost his life, his mortal enemy, The Wolfe himself, called his clan the bravest of them all. So, resisting a morsel of temptation was the least he should expect from himself.
And like the lass, he was determined to keep up the fight.
Unfortunately, the temptation was going nowhere.
~
Hannah stood in the doorway and waited for Dougal to come out of the bathroom. She didn’t want to risk him heading out to the work shed without her noticing. And if she remained on that couch any longer, she might drift off to sleep, and he might decide to let her.
She wanted to sleep. She just didn’t want to do it alone.
He was taking a long time, and he kept turning the sink on and off again. If he wanted a shower, he should have just taken one. In fact, he could have taken two showers in the time he’d spent playing with the sink.
Finally, the door opened and Dougal Cameron in all his kilted glory stepped into the hall and faced her. He almost looked frightened when she ambushed him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” His eyes narrowed like he didn’t trust her.
