Tempting the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

She stopped in mid-stride, slowly turned back, and looked at the large hand reaching out past the curtain.

  Breathe, she reminded herself, pulling the towel from the rack by the vanity. She stepped closer, the curtain moved, she looked up, and Robbie’s head emerged through the steam, along with one broad shoulder and half of his now clean, naked chest.

  “Are there any leftovers from last night?” he asked, taking the towel and swiping it over his face and then down his chest, using both hands—which caused the curtain to fall away just enough to reveal his right hip and long, muscled right leg.

  Catherine turned away. “Y—Yes. I threw together a barley soup with the leftover roast.”

  He made a sound that was half groan and half anticipation. “Can you heat me up some?” he asked.

  She could probably do that by holding it on her cheeks. Catherine headed out of the bathroom, but he stopped her again.

  “Cat.”

  “Yes?”

  “Was Daniels your first?”

  “M-my first husband?” she whispered.

  She heard the shower curtain slide all the way open. “Your first man,” he softly clarified, standing directly behind her.

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Mr. MacBain.”

  “Aye, but I do,” he said, touching her shoulder with just enough pressure to turn her around to face him. “It’s important for two people entering a conspiracy to know a bit about each other. Have you ever been in a relationship that was good, Catherine?”

  “It was good with Ron. At first,” she amended, keeping her eyes focused on his so she wouldn’t look down. “Things didn’t start going bad until after we moved to Arkansas.” She suddenly frowned. “What do you mean, a conspiracy?”

  “My nighttime adventures on the mountain and your helping me keep them a secret.” He slowly reached out and touched her hair, lifting it off her shoulder, and held it between two fingers. “Was Daniels your first?” he repeated.

  It was all she could do not to back away, though Catherine didn’t know if she stood her ground because she was determined to be brave or if her knees were just too weak to move.

  “I-I had boyfriends in high school.”

  “I think the operative word here is man, Catherine. Was Daniels your first lover?”

  What in hell did he want from her? He was dripping water and blood all over the bathroom and…and making a pass!

  “Yes,” she snapped, pulling away and grabbing up his clothes. She shoved them at his chest, which caused him to lift both hands to catch them—which caused the towel he’d been holding around his waist to drop to the floor.

  Catherine spun around and ran out of the bathroom.

  “Cat,” he growled, stopping her just outside the door.

  “What?” she growled back, still facing away.

  “Just so ya know, it’s my intention to see that he isn’t your last,” he whispered, softly closing the door behind her.

  Catherine stood rooted in place.

  His intention? Had he just made her a promise or a threat?

  Robbie stared up at the ceiling, watching the shifting shadows mark the rise of the sun, and listened to the quiet stirring below as his household prepared itself for another day.

  He’d slept nearly twenty-one hours straight.

  Every muscle in his body urged him to just lie still, to not demand anything of them quite yet. He ached in places he’d forgotten he had. The small, neatly sutured cut on his right hand throbbed with the rhythm of his pulse, his mouth was dry, and his eyelids felt as if they passed through sand every time he blinked.

  Aye. A complaining body and a growing sense of unease was all he had to show for his second attempt to find Cùram’s tree. He didn’t even have Mary. He’d caught sight of the snowy several times, but his independent-minded pet had remained well out of reach and stubbornly silent.

  He’d stayed there seven full days this time, searching both the MacKeage and the MacBain villages for Cùram de Gairn, but he might as well have been hunting a ghost.

  At least the MacKeage camp had heard of Cùram, once Robbie had actually dared to mention the man by name. But the last anyone remembered seeing him had been a month ago. To the MacKeages, Cùram was a warrior known mostly for his unusual tactics on the fighting field and for his jeweled sword that he claimed had been a gift from the fairies. He was a young, handsome, rather quiet man, who was said to rise as eagerly to the call of war as he did to the call of the ladies.

  As for the tree itself, Robbie was sure it was there; he could feel the hum of its powerful energy when he walked the woods north of the MacKeage village. But he had seen no tree with any sort of markings or any oak larger than one he could wrap his arms around.

  He was certainly honing his skills with a sword, though. First on the training field with several MacKeage warriors and again with a chase through the forest by five MacBain idiots.

  His ancestors were sorely trying his patience. He had hoped to avoid actually killing anyone, but by God, the next MacBain who cut him was getting his soul dispatched to hell.

  With a groan pulled from the deepest regions of his body, Robbie finally crawled out of bed. The house had grown quiet with one final bang of the porch door, and he limped over to the window, rested his arms on the sash, and watched Catherine and the four boys walk Nathan and Nora down the driveway.

  Robbie found his first smile in eight days. Nora was perched on Gunter’s shoulders, her tiny hands waving excitedly as she talked nonstop. Nathan was walking between Cody and Peter, showing off one of his school papers. Rick was carrying two small backpacks as he followed, listening intently to Nora.

  And bringing up the rear was his fourth and final housekeeper, her hands tucked in her pockets, her face bathed by the early-morning sun, and a contented smile on her sweet little mouth.

  He had her, Robbie thought with a smile of his own. Certainly not in his bed yet, but he had the little cat almost eating out of his hand. He snorted. She should damn well be getting used to his body by now—she’d seen him naked enough times.

  She was also getting used to his touch, albeit slowly, and seemed to be breathing easier whenever he got close. She had enrolled her kids in school, was amazing with the boys, and apparently didn’t mind telling a good fib. And she kept sewing him up without demanding to know how he kept getting hurt.

  Robbie guessed his size wasn’t helping his cause. Hell, his gender was the biggest barrier he had to break through. But he would. Because he had realized, when he’d opened his eyes in the cabin and found himself tied to the bed, that not only had his egg thief saved his life, but that she was the one.

  He’d promised his father that if he ever crossed paths with a woman who could handle his calling, he’d snatch her up before she could know what she was getting herself into.

  Aye, Catherine’s fears were mere illusions masking her true nature. The woman was strong in an utterly feminine way, brave, compassionate, resourceful, intelligent, and beautiful. She was perfect for him. He need only convince her of that truth.

  Time was on his side. Proximity, too. She couldn’t very well remain guarded against him while living under his roof. Aye, providence had brought Catherine here, but now it was up to him to win her heart.

  Robbie watched her wave good-bye to the retreating school bus and then to the boys as they drove out of the driveway. Claiming Catherine might require some gentling, a deep well of patience, and a bit of cunning—but hey, all was fair in love and war, wasn’t it?

  He rather hoped Ronald Daniels did show up. What better way to impress the lady than to slay her dragon?

  Robbie turned from the window, lazily scratching the healed wound on his shoulder, and smiled. He had the little cat to himself for the day, and he might as well give her tail another gentle tug.

  He slipped into his pants, wondering just how open-minded Catherine Daniels was, since he was about to ask her to take out the pink silk stitches in his side and shoulder. By Ca
therine’s count, they’d only been in for a week, but including the seven days of his last adventure and the one day he’d slept away, his wounds had been healing for over two weeks.

  Aye, he would soon learn if she could live with the magic.

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine placed the last breakfast plate in the dishwasher and picked up a cloth and started wiping the table just as the phone rang. She ran to it quickly, not wanting it to wake up Robbie, and caught it on the second ring.

  “Hello,” she said into the receiver.

  “Ah, hello. Is Robbie there?” came the obviously surprised voice on the other end of the line. “Nay, before ya get him, am I speaking to the brave woman who took on the task of babysitting five men?”

  She frowned at the wall. “Yes, this is Catherine Daniels.”

  “I’m Robbie’s father, Michael,” he said. “And I’ve been hearing some impressive tales about ya,” he continued, now with an obvious smile in his voice. “Are they true?”

  “Ah…that depends,” Catherine whispered, tightening her grip on the phone. “What exactly have you heard?”

  “Only that you’re wise enough to want a stout stick,” he said with a chuckle. “And that you’re beautiful as well.”

  “You’ve been talking to Winter,” Catherine said, carrying the portable phone over to the table and sitting down.

  “And Ian,” he added. “Have ya needed to use the stick yet?”

  “Not yet. The boys have been perfect angels.”

  “It wasn’t the boys I was referring to,” he said softly. “Is my son there, or has he left already?”

  “He’s not here,” Catherine said, squaring her shoulders as she planned her fib. “And I’m not sure where he went or when he’ll be back. Can I give him a message for you?”

  “Aye. Could ya tell him his mum is wishing to see him. It’s been over a week since he’s even talked with her.”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll tell him. But he’s been awful busy. One of his tree harvesters broke down, and the priest up on the mountain—Father Daar, I think he said his name was—hasn’t been feeling well, so he’s been looking after him. And then he had to rescue me and my children and then tow my car, and I think there was something about a well pump that he had to replace.”

  A soft chuckle came over the phone. “Ya not only housekeep, I see, but ya’re protective as well. That’s good, Miss Daniels. Those boys could use some mothering.”

  Catherine wasn’t sure if he was lumping Robbie in with the boys or not. “Please, call me Catherine,” she told him.

  “Aye, then, Catherine, if ya could just ask my son to squeeze us in between his many chores, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I-I will,” she whispered, realizing she had sounded like a babbling idiot. What a great first impression.

  “And Catherine?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I might make a suggestion, if my son hasn’t already? Be mindful when you’re running on the roads around here. Our truck drivers can get easily distracted, and I’d hate to see ya in the middle of an accident.”

  “I always move to the edge when I hear one coming,” Catherine said, lifting her chin defensively, wondering if she had become the talk of the town.

  “Aye,” he said softly. “But lass, ya might want to think about…well, maybe ya should wear long pants when ya run.”

  Long pants? “But nobody runs in long pants,” she told him. “They’re too hot and restrictive.”

  Then what he meant dawned on her. Catherine closed her eyes and let out a loud groan, only to gasp and quickly cover the mouthpiece. Great. Two strikes against her, and she hadn’t even met the man yet.

  It sounded as if he also covered the mouthpiece of his phone, but she was still able to hear his sigh. “I’ve offended ya, lass, but that wasn’t my intention. I’m only wanting to make ya aware how dangerous running the roads can be.”

  “I understand. And thank you. I’ll tell Robbie to call you when he gets home.”

  Another sigh came over the phone. “Thank ya, Catherine. And we’ll be over one day soon, to properly welcome ya to Pine Creek. Until then, good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” she repeated, pressing the off button before closing her eyes and thumping herself on the head with the phone.

  “Dumb, dumb, dumb,” she muttered. “Could I be any dumber?” She whipped around at the sound of laughter coming from the living-room doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to know that you can fib like a Trojan,” Robbie said with a lingering chuckle. He shook his head. “I come by my protectiveness honestly, Cat. My father might be blunt, but he means well. He’s sincerely worried for you.”

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she muttered. She stood up and placed the phone in its cradle. “Doesn’t anybody in Pine Creek run?”

  He walked over to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Nay. Jogging is more of an urban exercise. Life here involves enough physical labor that few people need to add running to their schedule. Don’t worry about it, Catherine,” he continued, easing himself into a chair at the table. “If you wish to run, then run. People will eventually get used to seeing you and…your legs.”

  She spun around to the sink. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked, diving her hands into the dishwater and vigorously scrubbing the frying pan.

  He softly chuckled. “Much better. I was only wanting a good nap. Thank you for heading off my father this morning. I appreciate how difficult it is to fib.”

  “Why have you been avoiding Libby?” she asked, still facing away until her blush calmed down.

  “She’s a doctor.”

  Catherine turned in surprise. “I’ve been sewing you up, risking your getting an infection, and your stepmother is a doctor? Why don’t you just go see her?”

  “She’s a very intuitive doctor,” he said. “She’d know how I got hurt.”

  Unlike good old dumb her, who didn’t know a darn thing. She turned back to the sink. “Is there a way you could get hold of some antibiotics, or do you keep any for your horses?” She looked back at him. “I know animal drugs and could figure out a safe dose for you.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t get an infection. You sterilized the needle and thread yesterday, and my side and shoulder healed cleanly. In fact,” he said, standing up and pulling his shirttail out of his pants, “I was hoping I could get you to take out these stitches today.”

  “But it’s only been a week.”

  “Aye. But I’m healed. See?”

  Sheer curiosity compelled her to dry her hands on her apron and lean over to lift his shirt. She tugged on the waist of his jeans to see the wound and frowned. Without even thinking, Catherine straightened and unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it to the side, and leaned up to examine the cut on his shoulder.

  They were both completely healed! All that remained of the once deep wound was a thin red line with pink thread sticking out every quarter inch.

  “You have an amazing constitution,” she whispered, lightly running her finger over the scar. She looked up, realized she was a hair’s breadth away from his face—and his mouth—and quickly stepped back.

  Robbie finished taking off his shirt and started unbuckling his pants. Catherine let out a small squeak and headed toward the living room, his soft laughter propelling her into a run.

  Honest to God, the man was driving her crazy. He couldn’t say what he had yesterday in the bathroom, standing there all huge and wet and naked, and expect her not to act like an idiot every time she got close to him. It was her darned libido. Not only had Robbie MacBain managed to stir it awake, but yesterday’s promise—or, rather, yesterday’s threat—had exposed her fear like a raw nerve constantly being poked. Well, she would just poke him back, she decided, taking the scissors out of her sewing kit. She marched into the kitchen, determined to ignore the fact that he smelled nice and warm and sexy and that he looked even sexier.

  “I need to go to th
e logging yard today and would like you to drive me,” he said, sitting in his chair again, scratching the stitches on his shoulder.

  “You can’t drive yourself?” she asked, leaning over and using the sharp point of her scissors to gently loosen one of the stitches—which would be easier if her hand would quit shaking.

  “I could,” he said, twisting his head to see what she was doing to him. “But I’m still half asleep and prefer to—ow!”

  She used her fingers to pull the snipped thread out of his flesh. “That did not hurt.”

  “You poked me with the scissors.”

  “Only because you moved. Quit talking.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to see a tree harvester in action?” he asked, ignoring her edict. “Ow!”

  She straightened and scowled at him. “You didn’t complain this much when I sewed you up yesterday,” she said, using the scissors to point at the small bandage on his right hand.

  “I was numb with exhaustion yesterday,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

  Catherine moved his hand out of the way and went back to work. “Don’t watch,” she suggested. “It makes you anticipate the pain, and you tense up.”

  “You know this from personal experience?” he asked softly, his breath wafting warmly over her hair.

  “Yes,” she absently answered, quickly snipping three threads in a row, then leaning away when he growled.

  She moved his hand out of the way again, snipped the last two stitches, quickly rubbed the sting away with her fingers, and started pulling them out. “There. All done,” she said as she straightened. “Now, stand up and lean against the table, and I’ll take out the ones on your hip.”

  “I’ve a worry you’re enjoying this,” he muttered, standing up and leaning against the table.

  Catherine sat in his chair, scooted it around to face him, pulled down the edge of his open jeans to see his scar, and…She stopped and looked up, realizing the provocative position she was in.

  The door opened, and an old man, dressed in a long black robe and thin white collar, walked into the kitchen. “God’s teeth!” he shouted. “If ya’re needing privacy, then lock your door!”