Текст книги "Charmed by His Love"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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him away from Inglenook might only make it worse? Kids

have a tendency to build things up in their minds if they’re

left to fester, so shouldn’t Jacob face his scary man and

see he’s nothing more than a bul y?”

“Do you have children?”

He grinned tightly. “Not that I know of.”

Peg sighed as she set the bag in the bin, wondering how

Duncan was stil a bachelor wel into his thirties … unless

he was married.

He held out his hand. “I need the saw.”

Nope, no ring. But then, Bil y hadn’t worn a wedding

band, either, because they were dangerous around

machinery. “This wil have to do,” she said, handing him the

cleaver, “because it would take me at least an hour to find a

hacksaw in the pile of tools in the garage.”

She watched his face darken slightly as he started prying

on a shoulder socket. “Mac told me your husband was

kil ed in a construction accident three years ago,” he said

quietly as he worked. “I recal hearing a few years back

about an excavator rol ing into a river some thirty miles from

here.” He stopped to look at her. “Was that him?”

She nodded. “Bil y was trying to free up an ice jam that

had wedged against a bridge and was causing the river to

flood the town above it, when the ground gave way under

his excavator. It … it took them two days to find his body.”

He went to work on the deer again. “I’m sorry. I can’t even

begin to imagine what it’s like to send someone you love

off to work in the morning and not have him ever come

home again. What are ye planning to do with the sawlogs?”

Peg blinked at the sudden change in subject, then held

open another bag for the pieces of stew meat he was

cutting off the bone. “Bil y started building us a new house

back over that knol about two months after the twins were

born,” she said, nodding behind her. “It was al framed up

and weather-tight, and he’d just started on the interior when

he died.” She smiled sadly when Duncan sat back on his

heels. “It was his idea to cut the pine growing on the hil side

and have it sawed into lumber, then planed into tongue-

and-groove knotty pine for the interior wal s.”

“That’s why you want the logs? You plan to hire someone

to finish the house?”

“No, I intend to finish it.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Al by yourself?”

She sat up a little straighter. “I’l have you know that I’ve

run al the electrical wiring and roughed in the plumbing

over the last three years, and just last month I finished

insulating the attic.” She smiled again, this time smugly.

“And thanks to your buying my gravel, I’l have the house

ready for us to move into by this fal .”

“Al by yourself?” he repeated.

Peg stopped smiling. “Of course not. I have a smal army

of gnomes who cut the boards and hand them to me, a

bunch of fairies who run the wires up through the rafters

because I’m afraid of heights, and an entire crew of elves

that come in every night to clean up the mess we made that

day.”

He went back to work on the deer—again rather

aggressively.

“Construction’s not exactly rocket science,” she muttered,

picking up the smal er knife and slicing steaks off the ribs

once he pul ed the front shoulder free. “And the kids help—

even Peter and Jacob.” She stopped cutting to glare at

him. “Or don’t you think women are capable of doing more

than keeping house and raising babies?”

He set down the cleaver and stood up. “I think,” he said

ever so softly, “that I’d better go check out that hil side

before I have to meet Mac to hike the mountain. I’l bring

over the agreement for you to sign tomorrow morning,” he

finished, reaching down to grab his jacket before turning

away.

“Duncan.”

He stopped and turned back to her.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said, gesturing at the

deer, “and for giving me a fair price for my gravel.”

He merely nodded, then turned and headed down the

knol .

Peg rested her fists on her knees, watching him stop at

the edge of the water and wash his hands. He then rol ed

down his sleeves, slid on his jacket, and made his way

around the flooded pit before final y disappearing into the

trees on the hil side.

She dropped her gaze to the half-butchered deer

and sighed, wondering what had possessed her to turn

hostile. Why should she care if the man had looked

incredulous and then suddenly angry when she’d told him

she was finishing the house Bil y had started for his family?

She was proud of what she’d accomplished, dammit, and

Duncan had no business assuming she couldn’t put a roof

over her children’s heads all by herself.

“Yeah, wel ,” she muttered, driving the knife into the meat,

“you men aren’t al you think you’re cracked up to be, either.

Everyone loves a hero except for the wife and kids he

leaves behind when he gets himself kil ed trying to save a

bunch of stupid buildings in some stupid town.”

Which was another reason she was staying a widow—

even if it meant sleeping in an empty bed for the rest of her

life—because she’d be damned if she was going to let her

children get their tender little hearts broken again.

Chapter Five

“Here’s an idea,” Duncan said as he stopped to wait for

Mac to come up beside him. “Why don’t you ask Olivia’s

father to keep an eye on Peg Thompson and her children

while you’re gone? Sam seems like the sort of man who

relishes a chal enge.”

Mac’s eyes lit with interest. “What did she do this time?”

Duncan headed up the mountain again. “Do you know

she owns a high-power rifle and apparently isn’t afraid to

use it?”

Mac pul ed him to a stop. “Peg shot at you?”

“No,” he growled as he started walking again. “She shot

a deer.” He tapped his finger to his forehead. “Smack dead

center between the eyes. The damn animal was dead

before it even hit the ground.”

“Why? Is hunting season not usual y in the fal ?”

“I gathered from what Peg told the deer as she sobbed

al over it that a bag of feed is a hel of a lot cheaper than a

hundred pounds of beef.” Duncan deliberately slowed his

pace when he realized he was getting angry al over again.

“Apparently the woman’s so desperate that she’s wil ing to

risk jacking deer out of season.” He frowned over his

shoulder. “Did you know she’s been finishing off the house

her husband started building before he died? Al by

herself?”

Mac pul ed them to a stop when they reached an open

ledge and shot him a grin. “Are you that much of your

father’s son, Duncan, that you believe the house is going to

col apse because a woman is building it?”

“She’s climbing ladders and messing with electricity and

plumbing torches all by herself. She could fal and break

her neck or set her clothes on fire, and her kids would be

the ones to find her.”

Mac gestured dismissively. “Since the beginning of time,

widows have been doing whatever is necessary to provide

for their children.”

Duncan turned away, striding to the center of the ledge

as he remembered Peg inserting prostitutionfor

destitution. “Yeah, wel , I don’t want her breaking her neck

on my watch.” He shot Mac a glare. “Because the last thing

I need is to find myself trying to explain what happened to a

pissed-off theurgist at her funeral.”

Mac arched a brow. “Is it Peg’s neck you are worried

about or yours?”

“That woman is reckless and stubborn and too damned

proud; and from what I’ve seen so far, those are her good

qualities.”

“Then you, my friend, are either blind or dead. Peg’s

beauty and courage and generous heart clearly outshine

her more … spirited qualities.” Mac folded his arms on his

chest, his silent regard causing the fine hairs on Duncan’s

neck to stir in alarm. “You’re attracted to her,” the wizard

said quietly.

“I just met her.”

“And that scares you.”

“I am notafraid of Peg Thompson.”

“No, you’re afraid of your attraction to her.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to win this crazy argument,

Duncan tried anyway. “I’m a thirty-five-year-old red-blooded

male who’s been attracted to more women than I can count,

so what makes you think Peg is different?”

“You tel me.” Mac’s eyes fil ed with amusement. “You’re

the one who’s angry at her for building a house all by

herself.” He eyed him speculatively again. “Might it have

something to do with the fact that you’re a first-generation

Maine highlander who finds it difficult to have one foot in his

father’s world and the other in this one?”

“Both of my feet are firmly planted in thistime—including

my attitude toward women. I didn’t ask to be born a

MacKeage, and I sure as hel don’t intend to perpetuate a

bunch of antiquated traditions. There are enough magic-

makers running around these woods already, so Laird

Greylen is going to have to rebuild his clan without my help.”

“Ah, I see. It’s not the antiquated traditions you are

opposed to so much as the magic. Tel me, Duncan, what’s

your particular gift?”

“I was hiding behind the door when Providence was

handing out gifts.” He turned away to look down at the new

Bottomless Sea. “Which is fine by me; I real y don’t need to

start fires without matches, or talk to animals, or travel

through time.”

“Have you even tried?” Mac asked quietly.

Duncan snorted. “I quit trying when I was eight.” He

gestured at the mountain they’d just hiked up and shot a

grin over his shoulder. “I’m one hel of an earth mover,

though. I figure the road should at least be passable by the

time you get back from California, although it’s going to

take al summer to finish the five larger bridges if you keep

insisting they be made of stone.” He turned to face him.

“But I stil say you should let me build them out of rough-

hewn timber if you real y want to give your resort guests a

true Maine experience.”

Duncan widened his grin when Mac’s eyes narrowed at

his changing the subject. But he’d be damned if he

understood how the wizard had decided he was attracted

to Peg, much less that he didn’t much care for the magic—

even as he wondered which topic was more frightening.

Mac took off his jacket. “Here’s an idea,” he said with an

equal y frightening smile. “I’l fight you for the bridges.”

Duncan went stil but for the fine hairs on his neck rising

again. “Excuse me?”

“We’l use swords.” The wizard arched a brow. “You are

the reigning champion of the highland summer games

down on the coast, are you not?”

“How in hel do you know that?”

“And since I’m about to spend the next two months

driving a lumbering house across the country and back with

only my wife and children for company, I believe I’m up for a

rousing battle before I leave. In fact, it might be nice if we

met up here a couple more times this week to break a

sweat together, as I haven’t faced a worthy opponent since I

left Midnight Bay.”

Yeah, right; like he was going to match swords with a

wizard.

“No magic,” Mac assured him. “Only mortal brain and

brawn … and skil .”

“Sorry,” Duncan drawled, “but considering I came here to

build a road, I didn’t think to bring my sword.”

Mac gestured to his left. “No problem; I brought one for

you.”

Duncan stiffened again when he saw the two swords

leaning against a stunted old pine tree growing out of the

ledge.

“I believe you’l find the grip wil fit your hand,” Mac said,

walking over and picking up one of the swords. He slid it

out of its sheath, then turned and held it out to Duncan. “Just

as it did your father’s.”

Duncan slowly reached for the ancient-looking weapon,

only to feel a powerful surge of energy sweep through him

when he closed his left fist around the hilt. He snapped his

head up. “My father’s sword was nearly nine hundred

years old when he and the others came to this time over

forty years ago, and was sold for a smal fortune.”

Mac nodded. “Yes, I believe it was purchased by an

anonymous bidder at an auction house in Edinburgh.”

“And old Uncle Ian’s sword?” Duncan asked, staring

down at the one in his hand. “It was decided at the time that

Greylen and Morgan should keep their weapons as they

were the youngest of the four warriors, but Greylen needed

the money from the sale of Ian’s and Dad’s to buy TarStone

Mountain.”

“Old Ian found his beloved weapon hanging in his

hut when Robbie MacBain took him back to his original

time several years ago.”

Duncan lifted his father’s sword so that the sunlight

reflected off the tarnished and pitted steel, pul ing in a deep

breath at how perfectly balanced and how … right it felt in

his hand. “Al the time I was growing up, Dad complained

that his left palm constantly itched to wield a true and

proper weapon again. When he comes to visit me at the

work site, can he see this? Wil you let him hold it again?”

“That privilege is yours, Duncan, as is the sword. It’s my

gift to you.”

He snapped his gaze to Mac again. “Why?”

The wizard tossed his jacket down beside the tree, then

began unbuttoning his shirt. “Because it belongs in a

MacKeage’s hand, not hanging on some col ector’s wal

gathering dust.”

“But it’s worth a smal fortune.”

“A weapon’s worth is in the man who wields it.”

Mac tossed down his shirt and unsheathed the other sword,

then turned to Duncan with a frown. “Are you not going to

strip off?” He grinned. “Or are you feeling the need to keep

a little cloth between my blade and your flesh?”

“You expect me to be a worthy opponent against your

thousands of years of experience?”

Mac stood the tip of his sword on the ledge between his

feet and rested his hands on the hilt. “I was under the

impression MacKeage fathers raised warriors.”

“Real y? I prefer to think they raised us not to be fools,”

Duncan muttered even as he leaned his sword against the

tree—because dammit to hel , it appeared he was going to

have to battle the bastard. He shed his jacket, unbuttoned

his shirt and shrugged it off, then picked up the sword and

turned to Mac with a heavy sigh. “So, about those bridges;

are you saying that if I draw first blood, we build them my

way?”

Mac palmed his sword and touched it to his forehead

with a slight bow, then planted his feet as he gripped his

lethal and far older weapon in both hands. His grin turned

feral again with his nod. “If you manage to spil anyof my

blood, then you may build your timber bridges. But if I draw

first blood, you wil make damned sure Peg Thompson

doesn’t break her beautiful neck on your watch.”

Since he figured he was damned either way, Duncan

swung his weapon in a swift arc as he lunged into Mac’s

defensive strike, his MacKeage war cry rising above the

loud, echoing peal of their clashing swords.

“Is there a reason I left a nice warm bed at two a.m.—which

happened to be occupied by an even warmer woman, I

might point out—to spend three hours running a gauntlet of

road-stupid moose to get here before the sun comes up,

only to find you stil in bed … Boss?”

“Ye nudge me again, and you’re going to wish you’d hit

one of those moose instead of my fist,” Duncan growled

without opening his eyes—partly because one of them was

swol en shut, but mostly because he didn’t want his

nephew’s face to be the first thing he saw this morning.

“I figure we have about an hour before it gets above

freezing and the road postings go back into effect,” Alec

said, his voice wisely moving away. “Or is it your intention

to be on a first-name basis with the local deputy sheriff

before we’ve even hauled our first load?”

Duncan opened the one eye he could and immediately

closed it again when Inglenook’s otherwise empty dorm

suddenly flooded with light. He then tried to push back the

blanket only to discover his arms didn’t want to move—

along with every other muscle in his body except his mouth.

“What time is it?”

“Half an hour before sunrise,” Alec said, his voice moving

closer. “What in hel happened to you? Christ, ye look like

you tangled with a bear.”

Duncan snorted, then immediately groaned in pain, but

he did manage to open both eyes. “I tangled with our new

resident theurgist.”

“Why?” Alec asked, looking around as if he expected

Mac to materialize. “What in hel did ye do to piss him off?”

“He wasn’t pissed off; he merely wanted some sport.”

Duncan snorted again, this time using the pain to lever

himself into a sitting position, then immediately hung his

head in his hands with a curse. “Only problem is, Mac’s

idea of sport involves swords. And not the dul ones we use

at the summer games, either, but real weapons designed

to draw blood. Some of it mine,” he muttered, straightening

enough to run a hand over his torso. “Christ, I think one of

my ribs is cracked.” He waved at the bed beside him.

“Look under my pants.”

Alec lifted the pants but dropped them on the floor in

surprise, then reached down and slid the sword halfway out

of its sheath. “This isn’t your sword. It looks authentic,

like … like Dad’s.”

“It’s my father’s,” Duncan whispered. “Mac gave it to me.”

“But I thought Cal um and old Uncle Ian’s swords were

sold at auction forty years ago, along with several daggers.”

“They were bought by an anonymous bidder named

Maximilian Oceanus.”

Alec squinted down at it. “That’s definitely fresh blood.”

He straightened, arching a brow as he slid it back into its

sheath and set it on the bed. “Mac’s?”

Duncan swung his legs off the side of the bed, then hung

his throbbing head in his hands again. “I might have lost the

battle, but I did manage to spil a few drops of imperial

blood, and the bastard’s also going to be a little slow

getting out of bed this morning.” He lifted his head and

grinned. “So I guess we’re building timber bridges, since

that was our wager.”

“And for the buckets of your blood that he spil ed, what

did Mac get?”

Duncan lost his grin. “He gets me keeping an eye on a

widow and her four little heathens for the next two months.”

“Then you got the best of him after al . You actual y like

little heathens, and I’ve yet to meet a woman who didn’t fal

al over herself trying to get your attention.”

“Oh, Peg Thompson got my attention, al right.” Duncan

ran a finger over the claw marks on his neck. “These are

from her, not Mac. And yesterday, after nearly running me

down with her minivan, I went to her house and thought she

was shooting at me only to walk up on a deer that she’d

nailed right between the eyes.”

Alec folded his arms with a grin. “Does that mean my

summer job comes with hazard pay?” His expression

suddenly perked up. “No, never mind; I’l settle for fringe

benefits. How about if I keep an eye on the obviously

discerning widow, since she doesn’t seem al that

enamored with you? Is she as pretty as she is lethal?”

Duncan sprang to his feet before he remembered it was

going to hurt, his snarl al the more threatening for his pain.

“I even catch you talking to Peg and you’re going to find

yourself limping al the way back to TarStone Mountain.”

Alec lifted his hands in supplication—although he was

stil grinning. “A tad protective, aren’t you, considering ye

don’t seem al that enamored with the widow Thompson

yourself.”

“And pass the word along to the crew; the woman is off-

limits.”

“Including you?”

“ Especiallyme,” Duncan hissed as he bent down to

swipe his pants off the floor. “Unhook the bul dozer you

brought and hook your wheeler up to the excavator,” he

said, careful y slipping into his pants. Christ, he hurt. And

the worst part was that he’d agreed to meet Mac up on the

mountain for another round tomorrow. “Did you happen to

notice any lights on in the dining hal ?” he asked as Alec

headed for the door. “It’s the building behind this one.”

“Sorry, al its windows are dark.”

Duncan slid on his shirt, gritting his teeth against the

pain. Damn, either he’d gotten out of shape over the winter

or skiing required completely different muscles than sword

fighting. “Wait. You got any coffee left in your thermos?”

“Not enough to cure what’s ailing you this morning. I do

believe I packed a fifth of liquid gold in my duffel

bag, though.”

Duncan waved him away with a snort. “Sure, why not? A

shot of Scotch sure as hel can’t hurt. Warm my truck up

while you’re at it, would you?”

“Anything else? Ye want me to crush some aspirin to put

in the Scotch, or dab ointment on your boo-boos, or give

you a massage … Boss?”

Duncan stopped looking for his boots and picked up the

sword, then took a threatening step toward him. “It’s not

getting any colder outside, and I’m not so sore that I can’t

stil outrun you.”

“Hel , if I’d wanted this kind of abuse I’d have stayed in

my nice, warm, occupied bed,” Alec said with a chuckle,

heading outside.

Duncan closed his eyes on a curse, feeling a real y long

day coming on.

And if he’d had any idea how true that was going to be

he would have crawled right back in bed, because damn if

they didn’t pass Peg’s tired old minivan half an hour later

sitting on the side of the road with its hood up about two

miles from her house.

“Keep going,” Duncan said into his radio mike when the

trailer brake lights came on ahead of him. “But keep an eye

out for a woman and four kids walking.”

“Our merry widow?” Alec responded way too cheerily.

“If they haven’t made it home yet, I’m putting her in

the excavator and the little heathens in the truck with you.”

“Since when are you afraid of women?” Alec returned,

the radio doing nothing to disguise his laughter.

“Since I saw this particular woman shoot a deer right

between its eyes,” Duncan said, a bit startled to hear the

laughter in his own voice. Although it might only be the three

aspirin and healthy swig of Scotch making him smile.

Damn, he had a thing for stubborn, too-proud women—

which usual y meant trouble for any stubborn, too-proud

man foolish enough to find himself attracted to one of them.

“There they are,” Alec said, just as the trailer brake lights

came on again.

Duncan keyed the mike. “Swing past them and stop. But

stay in the lane,” he added. “The road shoulders are stil

soft.”

“Whoa, maybe I wil risk limping back to TarStone.”

“Alec,” Duncan hissed in warning as the excavator slid

into the oncoming lane, al owing his own headlights to land

on Peg and her four children standing out of the way clear

across the ditch.

“I’m just saying,” Alec continued as he pul ed back into

his lane and came to a stop. “I don’t have a problem with

deer-shooting women.”

Duncan tossed down his mike and got out of his truck,

watching Peg help one of the twins back across the ditch

before gathering al four children around her.

“Do you know what’s wrong with the van?” he asked,

stopping two paces away when one of the boys scooted

behind her.

“It might be the alternator.” She lifted a hand to her eyes

against the glare of his headlights and he heard her sigh.

“Or it could only be out of gas, because I think the fuel

gauge might have quit working last week.”

“Peg, this is my nephew, Alec MacKeage,” he said when

Alec walked back to them. “He’s going to be helping me

build Mac’s road this summer.”

“My pleasure, Peg,” Alec said with a smile. He squatted

down. “And who are you?” he asked, extending his hand to

the twin Duncan assumed was notJacob, since he wasn’t

the one hiding behind his mother.

“I’m Pete,” the boy said, lisping through a missing front

tooth as he shook Alec’s hand. He gestured over his

shoulder. “And that’s my brother, Repeat, and Charlotte and

Isabel. Wil you give me a ride in your evascator?”

“Wel , Pete, I do believe the boss won’t let anyone near

the equipment unless they’re at least twenty-five years old,”

Alec said, standing up and ruffling Pete’s hair. “Heck, he

only let me start driving it last year, and I’m thirty!”

Pete shot Duncan the evil eye, then looked up at his

mom. “We could ride the school bus to town and stil go to

the Drunken Moose for cimminin buns. And we’l bring a jug

with us for some gas. Repeat and I can take turns carrying

it back to the van.”

“How about if Alec and I take you home,” Duncan offered,

giving the kid a warm smile, “and once we get the van

running, your mom can take you to the Drunken Moose for

cinnamon buns? How does that sound, Pete?”

Al he got for answer was another evil eye—which ended

abruptly when Peg gave the boy a nudge. “Um … if you’re

headed our way, we’d appreciate that ride,” she told

Duncan. “But you don’t have to deal with my van. I have gas

at home.”

“And if it’s the alternator?”

“I can have my brother-in-law, Galen, tow it home.”

“He owns a tow truck?”

She blinked at him, then began herding her children

toward his pickup. “No, he owns a rope,” she said over her

shoulder way too cheerily.

Alec gave a quiet chuckle, slapping Duncan on the back.

“Oh man, are you in dark blue–eyed, sassy-mouthed

trouble.”

“Turn right about a mile and a half up the road,” Duncan

told him as he limped toward his pickup, only to break into

a painful jog when he remembered there was a sword lying

on the backseat. “Wait up,” he said across the hood on his

way by. “I need to make room for everyone.”

Peg left her girls and one of the boys standing on the

passenger side and walked around the front with the other

boy in tow. Duncan opened the rear door and grabbed the

sword, and had started to slide it behind the backseat when

the opposite door opened and the older girl stumbled back

with a gasp just as a shout of excitement came from beside

her.

“That’s a sword!” the boy—he was pretty sure it was Pete

–cried. “Is it real? How come you got it?”

Duncan closed his eyes on a silent curse and backed out

of the truck holding the sword, causing the twin holding

Peg’s hand to scurry behind her again. Oh yeah, it was

already a long day, and the sun was only just now peeking

over the horizon.

“I have it because every summer my family goes to

something cal ed the highland games down on the coast

and we …” He smiled through the truck at the boy, feeling

the back of his neck heat up. “Wel , we al spend the

weekend pretending we’re highlanders living centuries

ago.” He slid the sword behind the seat, then grabbed his

duffel bag and straightened. Smiling again to cover his

grimace when his muscles protested, he tossed the bag in

the cargo bed—only to jump back when he turned and

nearly bumped into Peg, who was gaping at him in the

rising sun.

“What?” he asked, looking down at himself. He touched

his cheekbone when he remembered his bruise. “This? Oh,

I … um, I fel when I was hiking the mountain with Mac

yesterday.”

“Peter, get out of the truck,” Peg said, backing away. She

gestured for her daughters to do the same. “Charlotte, take

Peter’s hand and start walking home,” she instructed.

“Here, Isabel, you take Jacob.”

“Wait,” Duncan said, grabbing her sleeve. “I’m going to

give you a ride.”

She checked to make sure her children were out of

earshot, then turned on him, her nose wrinkling as she

pul ed out of his grip. “Thank you, but I have no intention of

putting my children in a truck being driven by someone who

smel s like a distil ery.”

“What? Hey, I’m not drunk.”

“No, you’re obviously hungover.”

“I fell.”

“Because you were drunk.”

“No, I wasn’t. I just … fel .” He blew out a sigh—which

made her wrinkle her nose again and start walking

backward. “Okay, look, I’l admit that I had a smal swig of

Scotch this morning, but only one sip just to make my

muscles stop screaming.” Too bad it wasn’t doing a damn

thing for his pounding head at the moment. Duncan looked

up the road to see Alec’s tail ights disappearing around a

curve, then looked back at Peg, who was halfway to her

children. “Dammit, quit walking away from me.” He opened

his driver’s door. “Okay, then, youdrive.”

She stopped and turned to him. “Only if you ride in the

cargo bed.”

“What!”

“That’s the only way I’m putting my kids in your truck.”

Christ, she was contrary. “God dammit,” he growled

under his breath, turning and limping to the rear of the truck.

“I didn’t do one damn thing to deserve this. Not one

goddamned thing,” he muttered, hoisting himself onto the

bumper and practical y fal ing over the tailgate into the

cargo bed.

“Come on, guys, we’re riding,” Peg cal ed out, running to

the driver’s door with her children scrambling after her.

Duncan settled against his duffel bag and turned up

the col ar on his jacket, grinning tightly at the little heathen

kneeling on the backseat giving him the evil eye. Forget the

long day; it was going to be a damn long two months.

Chapter Six

Peg sat at the picnic table the boys had helped her drag

down next to the beach and watched them alternating

between using sticks to fling seaweed back into the water

and stopping to watch the equipment working on the

hil side across their … new cove. She in turn was

alternating between keeping an eye on them and studying

her copy of the agreement she had just signed with

MacKeage Construction.

It was al happening so fast, it didn’t seem real.

Yesterday she’d been desperate enough to shoot a deer

out of season, and today she was on the verge of being

able to buy the rest of the materials to finish her house and

also upgrade to a newer used van. And she would stil have

enough money left over to final y stop feeling like she was

one second away from … prostitution, she thought with a

grimace.

Of al the crazy things to have said! When she’d climbed

into her lonely bed last night, Peg hadn’t been able to stop

remembering the look on Duncan’s face when she’d mixed

up destitutionand prostitution. His jaw may have gone slack, but she hadn’t missed the unholy gleam in his sharp

green eyes that had immediately fol owed. She’d spent al

night being hot and bothered by that gleam, and it had been

al she could do to face him this morning without blushing to

high heaven. That is, until she’d gotten a good look at his

face and smel ed his breath.

Peg lifted her gaze to the excavator digging another test

hole and saw Duncan standing off to the side talking to the

logger he’d contracted. Oh, she hoped there was gravel up

there, because if there was, then a good many of her

troubles would be over. But if that horseback continued

running west, al of those big fat checks would be going to

her neighbors every Friday afternoon—assuming the

Dearborn brothers were wil ing to give up growing pot on

their land to sel the gravel beneath it.

She’d had a couple of go-rounds with the two old coots

who’d bought the rickety old shack a quarter mile up the

road last spring. They’d started out neighborly enough, but

not five months after they’d moved in, Evan and Carl had

knocked on her door and accused Peg of sneaking over