Текст книги "Tempting the Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“I can show you,” Cat quickly offered, turning away from Robbie, probably before she said something she’d be sorry for. She turned back to Robbie. “But the bathrooms,” she said with a shudder. “I want to be in charge of the bathrooms.”

“Why would anyone volunteer for that?” Cody asked.

“Because I have this thing about clean bathrooms. And keeping them sanitary is sort of an art.” That said, she turned back to Robbie, folded her arms under her breasts, raised her chin as high as she dared, and waited.

Robbie curtly nodded agreement, then left her standing in the living room with four incredulous boys staring at her.

If the lady had a thing for bathrooms, who was he to argue?

Chapter Eight

It was Saturday morning,day two of her new housekeeping job, and Catherine was in the chicken coop with her children. The four boys were in the house, cleaning their bedrooms and trying to master the art of vacuuming.

Her boss was in the huge garage with several men from his logging crew, examining the tree harvester they’d trucked in late last night. The gigantic machine was broken, and Catherine had learned it was one of three that Robbie owned and would leave several of his men idle until it was fixed.

She had also learned that all four boys worked in the logging operation at least ten hours a week, doing various jobs. Peter, being only fifteen, was responsible for keeping track of the maintenance records for all the machinery. Cody and Rick did some of the maintenance, changing oil and air filters and keeping the equipment clean. Gunter actually ran some of the equipment, often working right beside the loggers.

Robbie had told her he wanted to nudge the boys in the right direction, and it seemed his logging operation was his means to that end. Catherine decided she had to admire anyone who took on the task of guiding four wayward boys into manhood.

Actually, there were a lot of things she was coming to admire about Robbie MacBain.

The man seemed to have the patience and disposition of a saint. At the supper table last night, and without accusation or condescension, Robbie had told Cody he had to spend this Sunday cleaning John Mead’s skidder, which Catherine had learned was a large machine that dragged trees out of the forest. Apparently, Cody and a few of his friends had shot something called a potato gun at the skidder, smearing it with potato pulp.

Catherine guessed it would be an unpleasant job, considering the potatoes had had four days to dry.

Cody had taken his punishment rather well. Nathan had certainly been impressed, with both the potato gun and Cody’s promise to show him how to shoot it. Catherine’s first instinct had been to forbid Nathan to go anywhere near anything called a gun. Robbie had read her reaction and spoken up before she could, promising her a potato gun was just the thing for an eight-year-old boy to experience. And for some reason that she couldn’t quite understand, Catherine found herself trusting Robbie’s judgment when it came to dealing with young males.

Catherine brought her thoughts back to the task at hand and urged Nathan and Nora further into the henhouse. “Don’t make any sudden moves, and talk softly when you’re working in here,” she told her round-eyed children as she peeled Nora off her leg.

“You have to make sure they always have clean water and plenty of food.” She smiled encouragement. “And for a reward, these little ladies will give us plenty of eggs.”

“Do they bite?” Nathan whispered.

“No. But they may try to peck you. Just ignore them, and they’ll leave you alone.”

“Will they be mad at us for stealing their eggs?” Nora asked, clinging to Catherine’s leg again. “Aren’t eggs their babies?”

“No, sweetie. There’s no rooster here, so the eggs can’t turn into chicks. And the hens won’t mind us taking them.”

“Do we have to do this?” Nathan asked with a groan.

“Yes. You need chores of your own. We live here now, so we all have to do our part.

Everybody works.”

“I made our bed this morning,” Nora boasted.

And a sorrier bed she’d never seen, Catherine thought. “And you did a wonderful job.

But you have to let go of my leg, sweetie,” she said, peeling her off her again. “And come see the nests. This is where you’ll find the eggs. Your job will be to bring the basket down every evening and gather them up.”

She turned to her son, only to have to pull him back into the henhouse, as he’d slowly been inching his way outside. “Nathan, you keep their water bucket and grain feeder filled. And when the grain gets low, tell Mr. MacBain, and he’ll buy some more.”

Nathan’s eyes rounded. “Can’t I tellyou, then you can tell Mr. MacBain?”

“No,” Catherine said firmly, her heart breaking at the sight of his pale face. “That’s part of your job. Mr. MacBain is the boss, and everyone goes to him when they need something.”

“But he’s big,” Nathan whispered.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “Most men are. Gunter’s big. Cody and Peter and Rick are big.

And Nathan, when you grow up, you’ll be big, too.” Catherine hunched down and looked her son square in the eye, then pulled Nora closer. “You know I wouldn’t stay here if it wasn’t right for us. Try to look at Mr. MacBain and the boys as protectors, like guardian angels.”

“I like Gunter,” Nora confessed shyly. “He was nice to me when I was scared of the horse the other night.”

“I like Gunter, too,” Catherine said, giving her a squeeze.

Yes, the softly spoken Gunter had taken Nora onto his lap and wrapped his coat around her for the ride down the mountain two nights ago.

“Mommy, look! There’s some eggs already!” Nora squealed, which caused several panicked hens to flap wildly.

Which finally caused Nathan to bolt out the door. He ran into the legs of a tall, masculine body. “M-Mr. MacBain.”

“Good morning, Nathan. Getting henhouse-raiding lessons from your mom?”

“I—we—I was just going to get the hens some water, sir.”

“Maybe you should take the bucket with you.”

His face flushed scarlet, Nathan bravely ventured back into the henhouse and picked up the water bucket. Keeping his head down, he quickly moved around Robbie and ran to the house.

“I’m collecting eggs,” Nora piped up, feeling proud of herself and her two oval prizes.

She was also feeling safe behind her mother’s legs. “It’s my new job.”

With an indulgent smile, Robbie nodded to the girl and then turned his questioning, smiling eyes on Catherine.

“I want my kids to have their own chores,” she told him, her own face reddening. “And chickens are a good place to begin. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Robbie nodded, looking as if he couldn’t decide if he dared to laugh or not. Which brought the heat up another notch in Catherine’s cheeks. “Is it okay?”

“You’re their mother. If you want to give them chores, then by all means do.” He canted his head. “You up to a trip into town?”

“To shop?” she asked. “As in what women do best?”

Robbie MacBain at least had the grace to wince. “I guess that was a pretty sexist remark, wasn’t it? But I truly do hate to shop,” he confessed by way of apology. He straightened from the door and let her out, along with Nora, who was clutching her two eggs to her chest. “I have to go pick up a well pump,” he continued, walking beside them. “I can drop you off at the market and then pick you up when I’m done. How would that be?”

“Just let me get Nathan and Nora ready,” she agreed, moving swiftly away from him, hoping it would help her breathe normally again. Good God, the man really was big.

“Ah… about the kids. Would you be willing to leave them here?” he asked.

Catherine spun around and stared up at him. She bit her lip and pondered. She didn’t want to, but she and her childrenhad been living in one another’s pockets for the last two and a half months. Nathan and Nora were fast becoming clinging vines. Finally, she nodded.

“They’ll be fine here, Cat. Gunter and Rick will keep an eye on them. They’ll be safe.”

She nodded again, having nothing else to say. Holding on to Nora’s shoulder, Catherine led the silent girl back to the house to put her eggs away. Then she would start to snip some of those vines tying her family together. Her kids weren’t going to like it any more than she did, but they were safer here than they had been on the mountain when she’d gone to get food. They would survive.

And, she hoped, so would she.

Condoms?

Somebody had put condoms on the list, just below a request for a three-bladed razor.

Condoms. That was all. Nothing was written beside it—not what kind or how many.

Catherine’s face burned beneath the fluorescent lights of the supermarket. Already her cart was full of shaving cream, razors, deodorant, and athlete’s foot medicine. Now it appeared she was also expected to buy rubbers.

There were several different handwritings on the list, obviously put there by several different boys in need. So who needed condoms? She had seen Robbie adding to the list.

Did the man expect his housekeeper to buy his sexual aids? And how many? Three? A dozen?A gross?

Catherine kept her eyes on her cart, willing her face to cool, and made her way over to the aisle of personal stuff. She found what she was looking for right next to the feminine douche and panty shields. Well, darn it. She was a mature, twenty-nine-year-old woman. She could do this. She only wished she knew who she was buying them for. Did Robbie have a girlfriend? She snorted. Of course he did. He was handsome, wasn’t he?

All handsome men had girlfriends.

Did he think she was going to be one of them? Not in this lifetime. She’d sworn off men three years ago. She’d been lying in the hospital at the time, but she’d still had enough sense to make a vow against the entire adult male population.

Looking up and down the aisle, then finally back at the display, Catherine began to read. Lord, what a variety. Plain ones, gold ones, and ribbed ones in various sizes. Heck, there were even some that glowed in the dark! Looking up and down the aisle again, she finally grabbed a package of each. Then she smiled, grabbed two packs of the ones that glowed in the dark, and wished she could be a fly on the wall when the person asking for condoms claimed hisnecessities.

She quickly rearranged her cart to conceal her purchases and headed to the front of the store, determined to get through the checkout without blushing herself to a sunburn.

As the many different cans of shaving cream went down the conveyor belt, followed by the many different deodorants, followed by the condoms, the lady running the register widened her eyes with each purchase. The condoms finally caused the woman to look up and raise an eyebrow. “Having a pajama party?”

Cat raised her chin. “Want to be invited?”

The grandmotherly woman sniffed and went back to checking items—until the truck pulled up in front of the store, nose in. That was when the woman looked from Catherine to the truck, then back at Catherine. Her eyebrow rose again.

Catherine looked for a giant hole to crawl into. The bug shield on the truck sported bold lettering that said “FOUR PLAY.”

Catherine had seen the moniker when she’d climbed into the truck this morning. Lots of people lettered their bug shields, and the truckwas a four-wheel drive, so the wording made sense. But it made a different kind of sense when a person considered that the large Suburban belonged to a bachelor.

Robbie walked into the grocery store, his hat pulled low over his eyes against the sun, and found his housekeeper standing at the cash register, her face scorching red. He approached the checkout in time to see the grocery boy toss several familiar-looking packets into a bag as the youth asked Cat, “That your ride, lady?” nodding his head toward the door.

Robbie turned and looked at his truck. And then it dawned on him. Red face. Small packets. “FOUR PLAY.” Catherine Daniels was mortified. He was in trouble.

Pulling his hat lower to hide his own flush and barely able to control an urge to laugh, Robbie grabbed four of the bags and took them out to the truck. He came back through the door just in time to see Cat hand the check he’d given her to the cashier.

“Robert MacBain,” the lady read. She looked at Cat. “You staying out there?”

“I’m… ah… I’m the housekeeper,” Cat whispered.

He should have checked the list this morning. Dammit, Catherine Daniels was going to quit just as soon as she got in the truck. First she was going to give him hell for contributing to the delinquency of minors, and then she was going to quit.

But shehad bought the condoms.

Robbie grabbed the remaining three bags, only to have the contents of one spill out.

Good God! Glow-

in-the-dark rubbers! His shoulders started to shake.

His blushing housekeeper bent down, picked up the packets, and stuffed them in her pocket. Muttering something that sounded rather nasty, she ran from the store.

Robbie took his time placing the bags in the back of the Suburban, all the while willing his shoulders to quit shaking. Lord, what a picture. Catherine Daniels was sitting in the front seat, facing forward, her hands on her cheeks. He finally found the courage to get in the truck and, without saying a word, backed it away from the curb and headed out of town.

It was a six-mile, silent ride home.

Was she going to quit?

Would he let her?

Her two kids were sitting on the porch when they returned, and Robbie drove up to the back door, then went in search of the boys to unload the groceries.

And as soon as they were done, he would have a little talk with them about condoms and women and embarrassing situations. And then he was going to turn around and leave without asking which one had added them to the list.

“There’s an old man inside,” Nathan whispered, taking Catherine’s hand as they walked into the house.

“And he’s got a really fluffy beard,” Nora added. “And he said my eyes was pretty, just like twinkling stars.”

“I hope you thanked him for the compliment,” Catherine said, stopping inside the doorway and bending down to untie Nora’s laces.

“I complimented him back,” Nora boasted as she held on to her mother’s shoulder and kicked off her boots. “I told him his eyes was all wrinkled at the edges.”

Catherine looked up, horrified, but had to move aside without correcting her daughter so that Robbie could come in.

“You have company,” she told him. “An elderly gentleman.”

“Aye. Gunter told me he was here. It’s my uncle, Ian MacKeage,” he explained, glancing toward the living room as he shed his own boots. “The boys will unload the groceries in a few minutes. Do you have any of that pie left from last night?”

“One piece.” Catherine handed her children the coloring books and crayons she had bought them, urged them toward their bedroom, and walked over to the counter. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

But before she could grab the pot, Robbie took hold of her arm to lead her into the living room. Catherine broke free with a gasp and took several steps back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking his hands behind his back. “I would like to introduce you to Ian,” he continued, dismissing the incident as if it never happened. As if she hadn’t overreacted.

“He lives just over the ridge,” he continued, nodding toward the sink window. “My four uncles own the TarStone Mountain Ski Resort. The lights you see at night are the ski trails.”

Thoroughly disgusted with herself and hoping her face wasn’t flaming red, Catherine ducked her head and scooted past him into the living room. She came to a stop when the elderly, barrel-chested, wild-haired man rose from a chair by the hearth.

“Ian,” Robbie said, walking over to him, “this is our new housekeeper, Cat Daniels.

Cat,” he said, smiling at her frown for not introducing her as Catherine, “this is Ian MacKeage, my uncle. Don’t believe anything he tells you about me.”

“And I have tales that would curdle your blood, lass,” Ian said, holding out his hand to her.

Catherine walked over and watched her hand completely disappear as Ian’s large, blunt fingers gently wrapped around hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. MacKeage. I believe you

’ve already met my children, Nathan and Nora?” she asked, about to apologize for her daughter’s wonderfulcompliment.

Ian beat her to it. “The wee one’s a bonny lass,” he said with a chuckle, still holding her hand. “Candid, too. And your boy’s one to be proud of.”

“Th-thank you. Would you like some coffee and a piece of pie? It’s cherries from a can, but the crust is homemade.”

“Thank you, but no,” Ian said, finally releasing her and turning to Robbie. “I’m just out for my daily walk and was hoping I could talk this boy into accompanying me back.”

“You needn’t be afraid of bears, Uncle,” Robbie drawled, his eyes shining with warmth.

“They don’t much care for tough old hides like yours.”

Ian snorted. “They’re more worriedI’ll eatthem.” He turned to Catherine. “Nice to meet you, Cat,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “I hope ya know what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into here,” he added over his shoulder as he reached the coat pegs by the door.

“I could find ya a big stick if you’re wanting one,” he offered, shrugging into his coat and turning to face her as he buttoned it up. His smile was quite visible through his bushy beard, and his eyes really did wrinkle at the corners. “Nothing like a good smack with a stout stick to get your point across.”

“Ah… thank you,” Catherine whispered, not knowing how else to respond. “But disciplining the boys is Robbie’s department. I’m just the housekeeper.”

“It wasn’t the boys I was referring to,” Ian said over his shoulder as he walked out the door. “Come on, young Robbie. At my pace, it’ll be dark before I get home.”

Catherine stood at the window of the closed kitchen door and watched the two men slowly make their way across the yard and disappear into the woods. The house was unusually quiet but for the steady, comforting tick of the grandfather clock in the corner and the occasional giggles of her two children coming from the bedroom.

When was the last time she’d heard them giggle?

She liked it here, Catherine suddenly decided. Large males and condoms notwithstanding, this wonderful old house had an almost palpable sense of security—

four boys and one determined man, and an apparent extended family, bound by the common goal of living each day with hope.

Catherine wanted to hope. Nathan and Nora could thrive here, and with a bit of encouragement, they could not only learn to trust again but look ahead instead of over their shoulders.

And maybe she could, too. She would start with Robbie MacBain. The next time he touched her, even if it killed her to do so, she would not panic and pull away. She couldn’t very well expect her children to be brave if she couldn’t even control her own reactions to a simple, innocent touch from a man.

Ronald Daniels would not win.

It was just as she told her kids. They had five guardian angels, and now the offer of a stout stick, to back them up.

Chapter Nine

Robbie held thelow-hanging branch out of his uncle’s way, thinking he should have the boys trim back the edges of the overgrown tote road running between his home and the ski resort. Ian leaned on the stick he’d left in the forest so no one would see him using a cane to steady his eighty-five-year-old legs. Robbie hid his smile and tucked his hands behind his back, matching his stride to that of the old warrior’s.

They walked in companionable silence up the gently rising road for several minutes, until Robbie quietly asked, “What’s on your mind, Uncle?”

“Death.”

“Death in general or of someone in particular?”

Ian looked at him from the corner of his eye. “My own. Thinking about one’s mortality is an everyday event at my age.”

“I imagine it is.”

“I don’t want to die here, Robbie.”

“I don’t think you have a choice, Uncle. None of us does.”

The old man stopped and canted his head. “It’s not death I’m thinking to avoid but the place. I’ve a wish to see my children before I die. And I’m needing to wrap my arms around my wife and bury my face in her bosom. I miss the smell of the village fires, the heather in the fields, and the clanking swords of sparring warriors. I want to go home, Robbie,” he whispered. “And I want ya to take me.”

“I can’t do that, Uncle.”

“Aye, ya can,” he softly contradicted. “Ya was given the task of watching over Daar for us, not because you’re the eldest but because you’re our guardian. And I’m thinking ya have the ability to grant my request.”

“Have you spoken with Grey about your wanting to go back?” Robbie asked, neither affirming nor denying Ian’s claim.

“Nay. Only you.”

“What about Kate? The two of you have been companions for over twenty years now.

Are you willing to leave her?”

“It was Kate who gave me the courage to finally ask ya,” Ian said with a nod. “She’s always known my heart belongs to my wife, and she’s been after me for some time now to find a way to get back to Gwyneth. We’ve had a good friendship, and I care a great deal for Kate,” he added. “She’ll not only understand, she’ll be happy for me.”

“And the rest of us?”

“You will be happy for me, too. Grey and Morgan and Callum and your papa have wives and children and grandbabies now. Their home is here, and mine is back there.

That’s why Kate kept encouraging me to go speak with Daar.” Ian laid his hand on Robbie’s arm. “But I’d rather bring my matter to ya. It’s you I trust.”

Robbie led Ian to the edge of the road, and they both sat down on a fallen log. “But the journey itself could kill you, Uncle. Surely you remember how violent it was thirty-five years ago.”

Ian’s face paled. “You’ve been,” he whispered. “You’ve already traveled back, haven’t ya?”

Robbie said nothing.

“It was three nights ago, wasn’t it?” Ian speculated, taking hold of Robbie’s arm again. “I heard the thunder and felt the entire mountain shake. And the next morning, I heard it again.”

He pointed at Robbie’s waist. “That gash on your side. It was made by a sword, I would bet. Ya went back and nearly got yourself killed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The little lass, Nora. She told me they found ya lying in the woods, and that they thought ya was dead. She said her mother used thread from her kit to sew up a cut in your side.” He pointed at Robbie’s face. “Ya didn’t get that bruise on your cheek from bumping into a door, and ya didn’t go to Libby so she could heal ya, because she would realize how ya got hurt.”

Robbie sighed and stared across the road at nothing. “They mustn’t find out,” he finally said, looking back at Ian. “Grey and Callum and Morgan and my father—they can’t know about this. Did Grey hear the storm?”

“Nay,” Ian said, shaking his head. “He and Grace are down visiting Elizabeth at college.

And the others live too far away to have heard it.”

Robbie nodded. “Then please don’t tell them.”

“What are you and that crazy priest up to?”

“It’s… complicated. I went back to try to get a new book of spells for Daar.”

“What?Ya know how dangerous it will be for us if that old fool gets his hands on the spells.”

“But if he doesn’t,” Robbie quietly explained, “then your wish will be granted on this summer’s solstice. But you won’t be going back alone.”

Ian went utterly still, his face turning pale again around his widened hazel eyes. “All of us?” he whispered.

“Aye,” Robbie gently returned. “In three months, if Daar can’t extend the original spell that brought you here, all five of you will go back.”

Ian looked away, saying nothing.

“I won’t let it happen, Uncle.”

Ian looked back at him. “I can help,” he said, squaring his age-stooped shoulders. “I’m old, but I ain’t dead yet. I can’t wield a sword anymore, but I know that time, the people, and the land. I can help,” he repeated with a growl, grabbing Robbie’s arm again. “Take me back with ya.”

Robbie gently pulled Ian’s hand free and held it in his. “I saw Gwyneth,” he quietly told him. “When I went back, it was ten years after you had left. She never remarried and lives with your daughter, Caitlin.” He smiled. “Caitlin is married to a fine warrior, and she has three bairns.”

A huge grin spread through Ian’s beard, and he squeezed Robbie’s hand. “How did my Gwyneth look?”

“Beautiful,” Robbie whispered. “And very busy spoiling your grandbabies.”

“Did ya actually speak to her?”

“Aye. I told her I was a distant relative, and had been away for several years, when she wondered why she didn’t know me. She fed me and spoke of her husband, asking if I remembered Ian MacKeage.”

“What did ya say?”

“I said I remembered a giant, ill-tempered, wild-eyed warrior who scared little children when he walked by.”

Ian snorted and pulled away, clasped his hands together, and looked up at Robbie with eyes far more shining than wild. “And Niall?” he asked. “Did you see my son?”

“He’s Laird Niall now.”

“No!” Ian grabbed his chest. “But how can that be?”

Robbie shrugged. “He was elected, I gather, a few months after Greylen disappeared.

You’re all legends, Uncle. Grey and Morgan and Callum and you, you’ve all become the talk of the campfire.”

“And Megan and James? How are they?”

“Megan married a Maclerie warrior and has five bairns, Gwyneth told me.” He took hold of Ian’s hand. “And James died three years after you left, in a hunting accident. I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“It was hard times back then,” Ian said, turning away and swiping at his eyes. “The cost of mistakes was high.” He turned back to Robbie, his sad eyes looking worried. “What would happen if I suddenly showed up? How would I explain where I’ve been?”

“With the boldest lie we can think of,” Robbie suggested. He stood up and helped Ian off the log. “Not that I’m saying youcan go back. I need to think about the ramifications,”

he explained as they started walking again.

“What ramifications?”

“We would have to come up with a good lie for this time as well. Men can’t just disappear. People would investigate.”

“You only have to say that I returned to Scotland. Ya don’t have to mention whattime I returned to.”

“Aye. That would work. But there’s still the storm and your age to consider.” He stopped and turned to him. “There’s a good chance you might not survive.”

“Then I die trying.” Ian gathered the front of Robbie’s jacket in his fists. “Give me the dignity to go down fighting, Robbie. Give me the gift of seeing my wife again.”

Robbie covered Ian’s hands with his own. “I understand your want,” he told him, pleased by the spark in Ian’s eyes. “But it’s not really my decision to make. It’s ultimately yours.” Robbie took a shuddering, painful breath. “And if you truly wish to go home, then I will be honored to help you get there.”

He leaned over and kissed Ian on his bearded cheek, then wrapped his arms around him in a gentle hug. “In one week, Uncle, I’ll take you back,” he whispered near his ear, closing his eyes against the sting of his imminent loss. “Spend these next days making peace with all who love you. But remember, you can’t tell them you’re going. They mustn’t know what I’m doing, for their own sakes.”

Ian hugged him back and stepped away with a firm nod of agreement, then turned, brushing at his face as he started for home again.

Robbie silently fell into step beside him.

Aye. Every warrior deserved to die trying. And with a boon from providence, Ian would again bury his face in his wife’s bosom before that happened.

It was late Sunday evening, and Catherine was sitting in a chair by the hearth, sewing the ripped pocket of a shirt. She realized now that she should have set out a larger box when she’d asked if anyone had any clothes that needed mending. The cardboard box she’d tossed down on the living-room floor, with Nathan’s crayon letters spelling out

“MENDING,” was overflowing.

She should have known, having an eight-year-old male of her own, how hard boys were on their clothes. Multiply that by four—no, five, as she’d seen Robbie sneak a shirt into the pile—and the task could be daunting.

But it was a task she welcomed. For Catherine, sewing was not only a stress reliever, it was also her greatest joy. Back in Arkansas, she had taken in sewing to earn extra money. Being a janitor at the local high school had paid well enough, but making wedding dresses and prom gowns of her own creation had paid even better. She’d almost been ready to quit her day job and become a seamstress full-time when the letter about Ron’s release had come in the mail.

She had missed sewing these last couple of months, Catherine realized as she carefully made the small invisible stitches on the pocket of Rick’s shirt.

Nathan and Nora were already sound asleep. So was Cody. The boy had come dragging in around five, eaten supper without much conversation, and climbed the stairs and fallen into bed without even asking what was for dessert. Catherine would bet he’d think twice about where he aimed his potato gun in the future.

Gunter and Rick were out in the machine shop helping the mechanic dismantle the tree harvester. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.

Robbie walked into the living room just then, a bowl overflowing with apple cobbler and ice cream in his hand, a spoon in his mouth, and a cup of hot cocoa in his other hand. He sat down on the couch facing the fire, set his cocoa on the side table, pulled the spoon from his mouth, and smiled at her.

Catherine was proud of herself. In only four days, she had learned how to breathe normally around the huge man. Now she only had to learn how to stop staring at him.

“You have to be careful what you wish for around here,” he said, using his spoon to point at the box by her feet. “You’re liable to be rewarded in spades.”

In an attempt to look relaxed and not at all bothered by his being so close, Catherine shrugged and smiled back. “I don’t mind. I’m really a seamstress by trade.”

He lifted a brow. “Really? What do you sew?”

“Dresses, mostly. For weddings and proms and other special events.”

“That sounds complicated,” he said, digging into his ice cream. “I remember Maggie’s wedding dress. Or rather,” he said with a snort, “I remember the weeks of deciding which pattern was theright one and then finding someone to make it.”