Текст книги "Only With A Highlander"
Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Winter sucked in her breath. “It’s for my birthday?” she squeaked. “You’re carving something just for me?”
He stepped outside with a chuckle and called to Snowball before turning back to her. “I thought that might pique your interest, if not drive you nuts for the next three months.”
“Can you give me a hint? Is it made of wood or stone?”
“Maybe it’s made of both,” he said cryptically, picking up Snowball’s bridle and slipping it onto the old draft horse. “Then again, maybe it’s made of nothing more than dreams spun from moonbeams.”
He leaned down and cupped his two hands into a step, so she could climb onto Snowball.
Winter let Tom vault her into the saddle, then took up the reins and smiled down at him. “I’ve never known anyone as secretive as you are,” she told him.
He squinted up at her. “No? Maybe you should look in the mirror more often. You bring your Mr. Gregor over for a visit. I’m anxious to meet him.”
“He is not myMr. Gregor.”
Tom patted her knee. “Don’t lift your hackles at me,” he said with a laugh, turning to Gesader, who was still standing in the cabin door. “Come along, Enchanter,” he said. “Time to escort your lady safely home.”
“Why is it all you men think I need a babysitter?”
Tom looked up at her. “When people care, we tend to get protective,” he said as he turned and headed back to his workshop. “Remember your promise,” he added over his shoulder. “And if you see a tall stranger in a kilt carrying a sword, Miss Curious, you run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.”
Winter scowled at the closing door of Tom’s workshop. Curses, the man was just as cryptic—
and just as confounding—as Father Daar.
Winter finally urged Snowball toward town and spent the ride home trying to imagine what Tom was hiding under that sheet in his workshop.
And what he was hiding in his past.
She would have her answer in exactly three months from yesterday, Winter realized with a sudden smile—on the winter solstice, on her and her sisters’ birthdays.
Chapter Four
W hile Winter was visitingwith Talking Tom, Greylen MacKeage was standing in a cabin halfway up TarStone Mountain, trying very hard not to lose his temper and kill a priest. He knew damn well Grace would be mad at him if he did; but then again, if his wife could hear what Daar was telling him now, she just might offer to help.
“Ye promised I would be long dead before Winter came into her powers,” Grey reminded Daar, his eyes sparking with anger as they bore into the old drùidh.“That she would have a normal life up until then, and be an old woman herself before ye started her schooling. She’s not even twenty-five years old. Ye can’t have her yet.”
“But that was before,” Daar said, moving to put the tenuous safety of the table between them.
“I miscalculated, Greylen. I thought I would have more time. But as I’ve been trying to explain, there’s terrible trouble brewing, and I need Winter to come into her powers now.”
“Nay. I forbid it. Ye’ll not have my baby girl as long as there’s breath in me, priest.” Greylen took a threatening step toward him. “And if ye so much as even hint to Winter about her destiny, I will dispatch ye to hell myself, old man, my own soul be damned.”
Daar had been inching farther away throughout Grey’s tirade and was now pressed up against the back wall of his cabin. The old priest took a calming breath and held out his hands in petition. “Laird Greylen—” He took another shaky breath and tried again. “Grey. Ye don’t understand. Winter won’t even reach old age if she doesn’t step into her destiny now. None of us will be here. Hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Life as we know it will cease to exist.”
Grey crossed his arms over his chest. “Yer penchant for melodrama no longer affects me, priest. The sun will not stop shining if Winter has another forty or fifty years of peace and happiness. Ye cannot have her yet.”
“But it’s already happening,” Daar whispered. “The energy has already begun to alter. Have ye not noticed the fierceness of the storms that have been coming with unusual regularity? They’re the first sign of the trouble that’s brewing, Greylen, and it’s escalating at a rate even I didn’t foresee.”
“Weather is just weather, old man. Since the beginning of time, it has run in cycles. Grace can explain it to ye, if need be.”
The old priest reached up and scrubbed his face with his hands, then scowled at Grey through narrowed, crystal blue eyes. “This is different, I tell ye. Something is disturbing the continuum, which in turn is causing my tree of life to die. And if it dies, the others will soon follow.” He waved his hand wildly again. “And when they all die, the earth dies with them.”
“What exactly is killing your tree?”
Daar shrugged and finally stepped away from the wall. He moved to the hearth and stretched his hands to the fire’s warmth as he stared into it. “A transgression against the life force,” he said without looking up.
“What sort of transgression?” Greylen impatiently growled.
Daar shot him a quick frown, then went back to watching the fire. “Well, I’m guessing it might be a drùidhor guardian…ah, misusing his powers,” he said to the flames.
“Now what have ye done?”
“Not me!” Daar yelped, spinning to face him. “I’m not the one causing my tree to die. I’m trying to stop it!”
“Then who is?”
Daar shook his head with a calming sigh and dropped his gaze to the floor. “It could be any one of fifty or so souls. It matters not who, only that my tree is feeling the effects.”
“Fifty?” Greylen whispered in horror. “There are fifty of you drùidhsrunning around?”
“Nay,” Daar said, looking up. “There’s only six to ten of us at any one time. The other souls are guardians.”
“Then why isn’t one of these guardians dealing with this problem? Ye told Robbie MacBain that it’s his duty to protect us from you interfering bastards.”
“That is precisely why I’m thinking it’s a guardian causing the upset,” Daar said, scratching his beard.
Grey let his arms fall to his sides and took a step back. “A guardian?” he whispered. “Are ye saying a rogue guardian is killing yer tree of life?”
“Nay, he’s not doing it directly. He’s just turned against his calling, I’m thinking, and that’s upset the continuum. And that in turn is causing all the trees to weaken, until they die one by one. They cannot thrive when their energy is spent fighting to restore the balance.”
The old drùidhstepped closer, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Winter is our only hope, Greylen. My powers have faded to the point that I can’t keep my tree alive much longer. It will take a much younger, much more powerful wizard to save it. It will take yer daughter.”
“Nay. Ye can’t have her. She’s still only a bairn.”
Daar threw up his hands with a sound of disgust, then pointed at the hearth. “Do ye see that?”
he growled. “Right there, that little knot of wood sitting on the mantel, do ye see it? That’s all that’s left of my once-powerful staff. I’ve spent almost all of my energy trying to save my tree, while at the same time trying to find out who in hell has upset the continuum. But without my staff, I can barely toast bread now,” he ground out, still glaring at Grey.
“Then what do ye have to give Winter, old man? If yer powers are gone, what is there for her to inherit?”
Daar waved an impatient hand toward him. “Winter was borna drùidh,Greylen. She inherited the power from you.”
Grey paled. “Me?” he whispered. “I don’t have any powers, priest. I’m a warrior, not a wizard. Hell, I don’t even have the power to control my own daughters most of the time.”
Daar smiled. “Oh, Greylen. Ye have always carried our legacy in ye. Along with giving her yer warrior’s heart, ye also gave Winter the knowledge of the universe. From birth, Winter has been a drùidh.”
“Then why hasn’t she—” Grey suddenly stiffened. “Ye said ourlegacy. What do ye mean by our?”
“Just that,” Daar said with a smug grin. He angled his head. “Have ye never wondered why I chose you to father my heir, MacKeage? It’s because you and I are descended from the same ancestor.
We’re cousins, Greylen, with only five score of generations between us.”
It was Grey’s turn to scrub his face, as he tried to rub away the horrifying notion. He was related to Daar? Holy hell!
He still wanted to kill him.
“I couldn’t father my own heir,” Daar continued. “Because if a drùidhhas a child, his powers are lost to a future generation. That’s what happened with our mutual ancestor. He chose marriage over what Providence asked of him, and so his power was handed down to me, his grandson.” Daar pointed at Grey. “But you also received the power of a drùidh,held dormant for all those generations, in case I gave up my own destiny or for when I finally needed an heir.” Daar clasped his hands behind his back. “I chose to serve Providence, so I became a priest instead of a husband. Then I simply waited until I could match ye up with Grace Sutter, so ye could have seven daughters together. And yer last daughter, Winter, is my heir.”
Grey thought about that. And he thought about his baby girl’s destiny. He leveled his narrowed, evergreen eyes on Daar. “So you’re saying that each drùidhhas the choice of renouncing his destiny? All he has to do is have a child?”
“Aye,” Daar confirmed with a nod. “Like everyone else on this earth, even drùidhshave free will.”
“Then Winter still has the right to choose.”
“Aye,” Daar said, even while shaking his head in negation. “But if she chooses to renounce her calling, there will be at least a two-generation gap in our lineage. By the time a new drùidhis born in our line, it will be too late. My pine tree will surely die before then, and that would start a disastrous reaction with all the other trees of life.”
“Why can’t another drùidhcome here and save yer tree?” Grey asked. “And ye can leave Winter out of it.”
“Because they’re all trying to protect their own trees,” Daar rasped in frustration. “Each tree is dependent on its own lineage of drùidhsto nurture it.”
“Then how were ye able to steal a root from Cùram de Gairn and grow it into yer white pine?”
Daar took a calming breath and dropped his gaze. “I…ah…Cùram’s lineage dates all the way back to the beginning of the continuum. He’s descended from master drùidhs.”Daar shrugged. “That was why Robbie had to get me a root from Cùram’s tree. Its energy is—or was—the source from which every tree of life originated.”
Greylen dropped his chin to his chest, absorbing all that Daar had said. He quietly asked, “But it is Winter’s decision?”
“Aye. It’s her decision,” Daar said softly. “But knowing yer daughter, Greylen, do ye think she can turn her back on her destiny once she realizes the consequences? Is Winter capable of just letting the world come to an end?”
“Nay,” Grey admitted, hanging his head again for another interminable silence. He finally looked back at Daar. “Why are ye so sure Winter can save yer tree? She’s young and unschooled in the way of drùidhs.”He shifted uneasily. “And this rogue guardian? Who’s to protect her from him?”
“You will,” Daar said. “And so will I, however I can. And don’t forget Robbie. He is still a powerful guardian himself, Greylen. We’ll all try our damnedest to protect Winter. Hell, even that beastly pet of hers, Gesader, would lay down his life for her.”
“Ye sound more worried than confident,” Grey said, taking a step toward him. “Can we really protect her?”
Daar held his ground this time, his eyes softening with understanding as he shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, because I don’t know exactly who or what we are up against.”
“How do we find out, then?”
Daar continued to shake his head. “We’ll find out when whoever he is lets us find out. If he’s a rogue guardian, there must be a reason why he turned. But until his agenda is known, we might as well be wearing blindfolds on a moonless night.”
“Why haven’t ye gone to Robbie MacBain with this?”
“I have. He told me I must speak with you first.”
“Ye will not tell Winter without my permission,” Grey said, backing up his words with another threatening step.
Again, Daar stood firm and shook his head. “I have no intention of telling her anything. That’s your duty, Greylen. Once Winter comes to terms with who she really is, she will seek me out on her own.” Daar stepped closer himself. “I only ask that ye not take yer time about it, MacKeage. Once my pine tree falls, it might be too late to save the others.” He shook his head. “And I worry my tree won’t survive the coming winter.”
Grey blew out a frustrated breath as he stared at Daar standing by the fire looking old and feeble and nearly defeated. Grey suddenly felt just as old and equally helpless. He silently turned, opened the cabin door, stepped out onto the porch, and simply stood staring at the lake below as it glimmered in the early-morning sunshine.
“You’re still a powerful warrior, Greylen,” Daar said softly as he stepped onto the porch beside him. “You’re a highlander, MacKeage, with the strength and intelligence to help yer daughter through this. For as far as society has evolved since ye were born over eight hundred years ago, it still needs yer warrior’s heart to save it. That, and Winter’s powerful magic.”
Grey silently continued to gaze at Pine Lake, which was ringed by mountains draped in a mantle of colorful fall foliage.
“And ye have a small army at yer disposal,” the old priest continued. “To help ye in the upcoming battle. Yer wife will stand by your side, Greylen. And me. And Robbie MacBain. And don’t forget Grace’s sister, Mary, is still with us. That Mary is a snowy owl is an advantage, I’m thinking.”
Grey finally looked over at Daar. “I cannot fight what I can’t see, old man.” Folding his arms over his chest, he turned to fully face the priest. “If ye had to take a guess, who do ye believe is the threat? Who turned away from his calling?”
Daar squinted up at him. “Cùram, I’m thinking.”
“But ye said it’s likely a guardian, not a drùidh.”
“Ye know that cùramis Gaelic for guardian,”Daar reminded him. “He’s both, Greylen.”
“But how can that be? Guardians protect us from you drùidhs,ye told Robbie. So how can one man be both? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Aye,” Daar said with a nod. “Ye would think not. But Cùram is a product of both a guardian and a drùidh,and they produced an heir who was unique and very powerful.”
Grey paled. “If a drùidhmates with a guardian, their grandchild is even more powerful than them?”
“Aye. But it also balances out,” Daar quickly explained. “Cùram might be a powerful drùidh,but he can’t use that power against humanity. Ah…not directly, anyway.”
“So ye think Cùram de Gairn has renounced his guardianship, and that he’s the one killing yer tree?”
“Indirectly,” Daar emphasized softly, turning to look out over the vista below. “Something has angered or hurt Cùram so badly that he’s turned away from his calling. But in doing so, he’s also negated a good deal of his powers.” Daar looked over and squinted up at Grey again. “And that’s why I’m thinking he’s trying to find another way to get what he wants.”
“And my daughter is about to step into the middle of the bastard’s anger and try to stop him?”
Daar nodded. “Aye. Winter was born with the ability to save us.”
“She was born a woman!”
Daar softly chuckled. “Aye. And that, MacKeage, is her greatest advantage. Being a woman gives Winter an inner strength no man can ever hope to match. Have ye not seen that same strength in yer own wife?”
Greylen found his first smile of the morning. “Aye. Grace has had me shaking in my boots more than once.” He quickly sobered, turned away, and strode down the porch to his waiting horse. After mounting up, he reined around to face the priest. “I must think on what ye’ve told me this morning.
Winter’s not going to like this any more than I do. She’s an artist, and all she wants to do is capture her beautiful animals and forest on canvas.”
“I am well aware of Winter’s wants,” Daar said, lifting his neatly barbered, white-bearded chin.
“Or are ye forgetting I’m the one who talked her into returning home from college?”
“I haven’t forgotten, priest,” Greylen growled. “Ye came close to getting your home burned down that day.”
“She was miserable, MacKeage. She didn’t belong in that world, and she knew it.” Daar pointed an age-bent finger at him. “And so did you. That’s why you and Grace drove all the way to Boston that very night, and packed up her belongings and moved her home.”
Grey shook his head. “Aye. I’ve never been able to deny Winter anything. Or any of my daughters, for that matter. But then, neither have ye,” he growled. “It was you who urged Megan to go to Canada with Wayne Ferris to study goose migration.”
Daar hunched his shoulders and lowered his gaze, brushing down the front of his black wool cassock. “I’m not a soothsayer,” he muttered. “I couldn’t foresee that the man was a blackguard.”
Grey urged his horse up to the porch rail, right up to the priest who had been interfering in his life for over thirty-eight years. “Then quit yer meddling,” he ground out. “Ye’ve done enough damage already. Ye stay up here in yer cabin and away from my family.”
Daar stepped back. “They’re all grown up and following their own paths,” he said, nodding furiously. “But I…I’m still invited to their birthday party, aren’t I? I’ve made a gift for each of them.”
“Ye may come to their birthday party,” he conceded. “I’ll let Robbie MacBain know when Grace and I decide to speak with Winter. Until then, ye tend yer tree and try to find out if it’s truly Cùram de Gairn we’re dealing with.”
Daar nodded furiously, his hands clasped together in front of him. Greylen gave him one last warning glare, then turned his horse and headed back down the mountain.
Damn it to hell. He dreaded his upcoming conversation with Grace.
Chapter Five
I nstead of stopping at the barnupon returning from her visit with Tom, Winter continued on through the thick stand of evergreens that separated her family home from the TarStone Ski Resort. As she guided Snowball across the nearly full parking lot and headed toward the hotel, she noticed that most of the license plates were from states south of New England.
“The leaf-peepers have arrived in full force,” she told Snowball, reining him around a car of tourists backing out of a parking slot. “I hope Megan got the gallery opened early.” As she rode under the stone and cedar canopy of the hotel entrance, she said, “Good morning, Paul. Only two more weeks of this craziness, then we’ll have a short break before the snows come and the skiers arrive.”
“I like it when it’s busy,” the porter said as he took hold of Snowball’s bridle and smiled up at her. “The tourists can be entertaining at times.”
Winter slid down off her horse and patted Paul’s arm as she headed inside. “No need to park him in the valet lot this morning,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“There’s a guy named Gregor waiting for you in the lobby,” Paul told her just as she slipped through the huge glass door.
Winter immediately spotted her target and came to an abrupt stop. Matt Gregor stood with his back to her, studying the large mural of TarStone she’d painted six years ago, which covered the lobby wall all the way up to the balcony connecting the east and west wings of the hotel. He was wearing a pewter gray suit today, equally as expensive and as perfectly tailored as the one he’d been wearing yesterday, and his hair was again pulled back at the nape of his neck.
Saints and curses, the man was even more imposing than she remembered. She could fit ten of her galleries in the three-story lobby, and Matt Gregor still seemed to take up the entire space. Yet the several dozen people milling about were acting as though the most gorgeous man to set foot in Pine Creek didn’t even exist. Were they all blind? Or was she the one blinded by that confounding chemistry her papa had been rumbling about this morning?
Matt Gregor suddenly turned to face her, his sharp golden eyes immediately locking on hers.
Winter stood rooted in place, the people having to step around her to exit, and tried to figure out how she was going to spend even one day with this man without making a complete fool of herself.
“You’re late,” he said from less than three paces away, his silent strides making short work of the large lobby. He stopped in front of her, also oblivious to the chaos around them as his deep, piercing gaze continued to hold her captive. “I’ve been waiting almost an hour.”
“I had to tend a sick pet this morning,” Winter said without apology, deciding that if she didn’t quickly get the upper hand with this man—or at least get on equal footing—she might as well just throw herself at him right here in the lobby, right in front of God and the tourists. “And I had to visit a friend I’ve been neglecting. But I’m here now, Mr. Gregor,” she continued when he started to say something. “To tell you that I’ll take your commission, but with a few stipulations.”
He folded his arms over his chest and lifted one dark brow. “And those would be?” he asked ever so softly.
She already knew quite a lot about Matheson Gregor, Winter realized. Such as his body language, which said he got a bit impatient—if not downright irritated—when things didn’t go his way or run on his schedule. Nor did he seem to care to have the conversation directed by someone else. Well, he was going to like her stipulations even less.
“We’ll explore your mountain together,” she told him, “but we’ll always have a third person along with us.”
Both of his brows dropped into a frown, his eyes narrowing at what she was implying.
“And,” she continued before he could comment, “I’ll pick three or maybe four sites for you to choose from, but my sister, Megan, can veto any or all sites if they’re unacceptable.”
His frown deepened. “Megan? Is she also an artist? I’m hiring you, Miss MacKeage, not a committee.”
Winter merely smiled. “You might want to rethink that, Matt,” she said, hoping that using his first name would help counter some of that imposing presence the man exuded like elixir. “Megan is a wildlife biologist, and it defeats the purpose of coming to the wilderness to build a beautiful home if you end up destroying that wilderness while you’re at it. I’ve heard there’s a deer yard someplace on Bear Mountain, and there are delicate habitats you need to work around. Megan can help you navigate the environmental regulations, and she can ensure that your house and the road to your house are both environmentally friendly and legal.”
As she suspected, Matt Gregor might fancy the notion of an artist choosing the location of his home, but he didn’t much care to have someone actually telling him what he could and could not do.
“What’s a deer yard?” he asked.
“It’s where the deer gather together to survive the harsh winters. It’s usually the same sheltered spot every year, with plenty of feed so they don’t have to expend a lot of valuable energy trekking through deep snow. Some yards can hold over a hundred deer, and building a road through one, or even close to one, could be devastating to the herd.”
“And your sister, Megan, can get around these regulations?”
“No. She can make sure you don’t harm the wilderness just so you can have a pretty view out your front window,” Winter said calmly, not caring that she was further irritating him. Actually, she was finding the notion rather invigorating. “We’ll head to Bear Mountain this afternoon,” she told him.
That imposing brow rose again.
“So you have time to do some shopping at Dolan’s Outfitter Store,” she continued before he could comment. “Business suits are not exactly horseback riding attire.” And again, before he could say anything, Winter spun on her heel to head back outside.
But the lobby door refused to open. Winter looked down and saw a large, familiar hand holding it closed at about the same time she felt the heat of his body all but surrounding hers.
“Is there a reason we’re not taking my truck?” he asked softly, his breath moving wisps of her hair.
“You have a truck? I thought you flew in,” she said, without moving an inch.
“I bought a truck and had it delivered yesterday.”
She finally turned her head to look at him, refusing to step out of his loose embrace. “If you want a true feel for the land, you need to see it on horseback.”
Someone pulled on the lobby door, trying to get in. Matt Gregor let go, stepped back, and Winter slipped out past the people coming in. She took Snowball’s reins from Paul and lifted her left foot for him to help her mount.
But instead of her foot being grabbed, two large hands spanned her waist instead, and Winter was effortlessly lifted onto Snowball’s back before she could finish gasping. She set her feet in the stirrups and glared down at Matt Gregor, who was looking up at her with eyes glimmering with amusement.
“Megan and I will be here at two,” she said before he could speak. “And dress warmly. We likely won’t be home until after sunset.”
One of those blasted brows rose again, along with one side of his mouth. Matt stepped back with a sudden, chest-rumbling laugh. “I’ll see you and your chaperone at two o’clock then,” he said.
Winter turned Snowball around with a muttered thank-you to Paul and headed for home without looking back. Not that she could have even if she’d wanted to, what with Matt Gregor’s deeply resonating, utterly male laughter still pulsing through every nerve in her body.
Winter walked in the back door of Gù Brath and took off her boots before stepping into the monstrous kitchen. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said to her mother as she walked over to the counter. “I was wondering if you could watch the gallery this afternoon.”
“Sorry,” Grace MacKeage said without turning away from the counter. “I’m packing a lunch.
Your father and I are headed to the summit for a picnic.”
Winter plucked a piece of chicken off the platter and popped it in her mouth. “Papa’s taking you up the mountain?” she asked once she’d swallowed. “He never mentioned anything about a picnic to me this morning.”
“Your father came in from his morning ride and told me to pack a lunch,” Grace said, tossing her head to settle her long blonde hair back over her shoulders. “And I’m not pressing my luck by asking questions.” She glanced at Winter. “Sorry. You’ll have to find someone else to watch the gallery. Maybe Libby’s mom can. You know how much Kate enjoys being needed these days.”
Stealing one of the slices of tomato, Winter bolted away from the counter. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I’ll ask Gram Katie. If she has any problems, Rose is right next door.”
“Where are you and Megan off to this afternoon? Before she left this morning, your sister implied she’d be at the gallery until closing.”
“She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re taking a ride to Bear Mountain,” Winter explained, opening the fridge. “Megan can still ride a horse, can’t she? She’s only three months along.”
Her mother’s hands were clasped against her bosom and the smile on her face was wide enough to make Winter fully straighten in alarm. “What?” Winter asked. “You look like I just discovered the secret to ion propulsion. What are you smiling at?”
“You,” Grace said softly. “You’re taking Mr. Gregor’s commission.”
“Then you should be throwing a fit, not smiling. You didn’t want me to take it last night.”
“No,” her mother contradicted with a shake of her head. “Your fatherdidn’t want you to take it. I just went along with Grey until I could get him alone and change his mind.”
“You want me to take Matt Gregor’s commission?” Winter whispered. She shook her head with a laugh. “Well, curses. This morning Papa was acting like it was hisidea.”
Grace snorted. “After I spent half the night explaining to that hardheaded man that he had to stop holding onto you with an iron grip.” She smoothed down the front of her apron, clasped her hands at her waist, and cleared her throat. “I think you should stop hiding, Winter, and come out and join the living. And if Matt Gregor bothers you as much as I think he does, he just might be the man to make that happen.”
“He might also be a serial killer.”
Grace gave Winter the same motherly smile she used on her daughters whenever she was determined to get a point across without losing her patience. “The mathematical probability of finding a serial killer wearing an expensive suit, flying here in a private jet, and paying thousands of dollars for a whimsical painting of bear cubs is about the same as your papa asking Father Daar to come live with us at Gù Brath.”
Winter closed the fridge door and held up her hands in petition. “Please, no more probabilities,”
she groaned. “I still haven’t gotten over the last time you pointed out my chances of ending up an old hermit like Tom.”
“You’re a good part of the way there already,” Grace said softly. She walked up, pulled Winter
’s long single braid over her shoulder. “What is it you think you’re risking, Winter, by letting your heart lead you into the arms of a man?”
“Independence, maybe?”
Her mama gave her braid a tug. “I’ve been married for thirty-three years to possibly the bossiest man in the universe,” she said, her motherly smile turning even more tender. “And have managed to raise seven well-adjusted daughters despite him. And contrary to popular belief, the day I married your father is the day I gainedmy independence. It’s quite liberating, Winter, to follow your heart.”
Winter leaned over, kissed her mama’s cheek, and stepped away. She headed to the counter and snatched up a slice of tomato, popped it in her mouth, and studied her mother while she chewed and swallowed. “A man came into my gallery yesterday and offered me a commission to choose a building site for him,” she finally said. “He did not ask me to marry him, contrary to how you’re all acting.” She waved a hand at the air. “He didn’t even flirt, not even a little bit. Heck, he got irritated when I wouldn’t sell him my painting of Gesader. And here you and Papa are, acting as if I’ve turned down his marriage proposal.”
“So you aren’t attracted to Mr. Gregor?”
