Текст книги "Only With A Highlander"

Winter frowned at her grumbling sister riding beside her. “Matt needs to ride your horse,” she explained yet again as they rode away from the barn, with Winter leading the riderless Goose Down behind her. “You haven’t exercised Goose in weeks, and I don’t want you getting thrown. And since we both know Butterball is too lazy to buck off a fly, he’s perfect for you.”

Megan actually smiled. “But it’s okay if Goose bucks off your Mr. Gregor?”

“He’s not mymister anything,” Winter said through gritted teeth, glaring at Megan. “And you behave yourself today and not make any sly remarks. This is a business venture we’re on.”

Megan snorted and urged Butterball into a trot, but the aging draft horse only managed an extended ambling walk, completely ruining Megan’s offended act. Butterball really belonged to Camry, who now lives in Florida, working for NASA.

Winter followed in silence as she half anticipated, half dreaded seeing Matt again. Oh, how that man disturbed her in so many ways, on so many different levels. He was handsome as all get out, mysteriously compelling, and…well, dang it, he also seemed familiar to her. Yes, there was something about Matheson Gregor that made Winter think she knew him—or should know him. His eyes, maybe.

When she looked into Matt’s deep, golden eyes, she had the eerie feeling they had met before.

Matt’s size certainly didn’t bother her; she’d grown up in an extended family of large, physical, imposing Scots. Even Matt’s arrogance wasn’t a problem; she was used to male posturing that was more often bluster than menace.

So how come he disturbed her so much? Why did her heart race whenever she saw him?

Curses, this chemistry thing was confusing.

Winter sighed as she followed Megan through the parking lot toward the hotel entrance. She was just going to have to play this out, she decided, and see where it led.

Paul stepped away from a group of tourists gathered at the entrance, greeted Megan and Winter with a nod as they walked under the tall canopy, and took hold of Butterball’s bridle.

Matt Gregor stepped through the lobby door just then and abruptly stopped, his polite smile instantly disappearing at the sight of the two women and three horses. “What the hell?” he whispered, his glare settling on Winter. “I am not riding a plow horse.”

As powerful and imposing as he looked in a suit, Matt Gregor in casual dress defied description. Faded, muscle-hugging jeans, scarred work boots, and a soft-looking, muted-gray flannel shirt had transformed the polished businessman into a rugged outdoorsman.

Remembering her need to keep the upper hand, Winter gave Matt a taste of his own medicine and lifted one brow. “Our horses have pulled a few pranks on us over the years, but I assure you, they have never pulled a plow.”

“That,” Matt said, pointing at Goose Down while keeping his glare locked on her, “is a workhorse.”

Winter patted Goose as he lazily nuzzled Snowball’s neck. “Goose is a Percheron, and he’s perfect transportation for where we’re going today. He’s sure-footed and bomb-proof.” She kicked up a slight grin. “Assuming he likes you well enough to let you ride him.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed at her challenge, and he walked over and took Goose’s reins. He moved Goose away from her, carefully tied his jacket to the back of the saddle, then set his left foot in the stirrup and mounted up with the ease of a man who was obviously comfortable around horses.

He expertly reined the suddenly alert Goose over to Megan and held out his hand. “Matt Gregor,” he said with an amiable smile. “I appreciate you giving up your afternoon to be our chaperone.”

Megan dropped her gaze to the hand he was holding out. “Ah…Megan,” she whispered, finally setting her tiny hand in his.

Matt gently shook it, then looked at Winter and gave an imperial wave of that same hand.

“Shall we ride, then,” he said. “I’m anxious to finally see my land.”

“You bought Bear Mountain without even seeing it?” Winter asked in surprise.

Matt started his own horse toward the parking lot. “I saw a map of it, and aerial photos.” He looked over when she caught up with him. “I could just make out a small cabin in one of the photos, on the shoreline. I thought it might be a good place to build a house, since someone else must have thought so, too.”

“If you don’t mind rebuilding four miles of old tote road,” Winter said. “That cabin is out on a narrow point, and the only access is by way of a winding logging road that travels halfway up and down Bear Mountain.” She gave him another challenging grin. “Or you could park on the main road and hike the mile of shoreline to get to your new home.”

“Or I could just build a road along that shoreline.”

“No, actually, you can’t,” Megan interjected, finally getting Butterball to catch up so that they were riding three abreast up the driveway that led through the woods to Gù Brath. “You’d have to cross a large bog and then build a bridge across Bear Brook where it runs into Pine Lake. The regulations regarding wetlands are strict, and I doubt you could even get a permit.”

Matt frowned ahead of them, then looked at Megan. “So I can’t build anywhere on the shoreline?”

“You can, as long as you keep a large setback from both the lake and any nearby bogs.”

“Or you could build farther up on the mountain,” Winter suggested, drawing his attention. “The trade-off to hearing the waves lap the shore would be to have a really spectacular view.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. “That might work.” He turned to Megan. “Are the regulations as—”

He suddenly brought Goose to an abrupt halt. “Is that a castle?” he asked, staring at the large structure in front of them.

“That’s Gù Brath, our home,” Winter explained, not surprised by his reaction. She let her gaze follow his, to travel up the towering walls of their stone and granite home. “And it’s a keep, not a castle.

A keep is only part of a castle, usually the central, most secure tower. Our papa and uncles didn’t need a home as big as a castle, so they built a keep.”

“Is that a moat?”

“Not really,” Winter said with a chuckle. “It’s the stream that runs off the mountain, and it’s only on this side of the structure. The bridge you have to cross to get to the door does pull up, though, like a drawbridge.”

It seemed Matt couldn’t stop staring at Gù Brath. “It hardly has any windows,” he said. “And that black stone. What is it?”

Winter shrugged, but Matt didn’t see the gesture. He was busy examining her home. “It’s the rock TarStone gets its name from. It runs in fissures through the gray granite of the mountain, as wide as a football field in some places. The stone was brought down the mountain to build our home some thirty-five years ago.”

Matt finally looked at her. “You called it Gù Brath. What does that mean, and how is it spelled?”

“It’s spelled G-U B-R-A-T-H, and it’s Gaelic for ‘forever.’ Our papa and uncles named their home Foreverbecause they said they were never moving again.”

Matt narrowed his eyes at her, apparently suspicious he was getting only the tourist’s version.

He went back to examining her home. “That section on the left side. That looks newer than the rest of the…house,” he observed.

“That’s our family wing, added twenty-six years ago. The wing has nine bedrooms, a swimming pool, a computer lab, and a really big kitchen.”

Matt looked at her again. “Did I hear right yesterday? There are seven of you MacKeage girls?

I mean women,” he quickly amended with an apologetic grin.

“Yes. Though just Megan and I live at home now.”

“Where do you fall in the birth order?”

Winter widened her smile. “I’m the baby girl.” She nodded toward Megan. “We have a sister named Elizabeth between us, and then there’s Megan’s twin, Chelsea, our twin sisters Sarah and Camry, and Heather is the oldest.”

“All are married but you?”

Despite thinking he was being impolitely curious, Winter decided to continue explaining her family to Matt, so he would know what he was getting himself into—just in case he mightbe thinking of asking her on a date. “Heather is married and living in California with her husband and three bairns. Sarah is married with one bairn, and lives in Scotland. Camry is single and a scientist for NASA in Florida, Chelsea has four boys and is a lawyer in Bangor, and Elizabeth teaches third grade here in Pine Creek.

She has two kids,” she finished with a laugh at his look of awe.

“And when are you and your husband expecting your child?” Matt asked, looking at Megan.

Megan’s face turned three shades of red. “I…I’m not married,” she whispered.

“Forgive me,” Matt murmured. “Seeing your condition, I just assumed—”

“How do you know she’s pregnant?” Winter asked, drawing his attention away from her mortified sister. “She’s not even showing yet.”

Matt shook his head, his smile softening his features, then turned that smile on Megan. “Women have a certain look when they’re expecting,” he softly told Megan. “A beautiful glow.” He reached out and laid a hand on Butterball’s mane, just above where Megan was holding the reins. “I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you. But at the risk of being even more impolite, is the father around?”

Megan, looking down at his hand on Butterball’s mane, merely shook her head.

“Does he know about the child?”

“He knows,” Winter snapped, deciding Matt Gregor was getting much too personal about something that was none of his business. “And Megan is better off without the slimy coward,” she added, using Snowball to crowd Matt’s horse into moving up the trail. “We need to get going or we’ll miss the sunset from Bear Mountain.”

Matt settled Goose back down to a walk, continuing up the forest road just past Gù Brath, and turned to Winter, looking not the least bit apologetic. “I only asked because I have several connections in my business,” he softly told her the moment they were out of Megan’s hearing. “Which allow me to reach people in a multitude of ways. Give me his name, and I can make him show up here tomorrow, vowing his undying love for your sister.”

Winter blinked at him. Was this guy for real? He couldn’t be offering to strong-arm Wayne Ferris.

Matt sighed and shook his head. “Look, I know it’s none of my business. But I hate—” He moved his gaze to the trail ahead. “I had a sister once in the same situation, only at the time there was nothing I could do to help her.” He looked over his shoulder to check on Megan, then back at Winter.

“But I can certainly help your sister, if you want me to.”

“Why would Megan want a slimy coward declaring undying love to her? She’s better off without him.”

Matt grinned. “You have a point. Okay then, give me his name and I’ll make him sorry he ever met Megan.”

Winter found her own smile, thinking of Wayne Ferris getting his comeuppance. “Just like that,”

she said to Matt. “You would go after a man you don’t even know, for a woman you just met?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said ever so softly, once more checking on Megan before looking back at Winter. “I couldn’t do anything for my sister, but I can help Megan.”

Winter thought about that, about this new facet of the man whose golden eyes she found so compelling. Apparently, he had a personal code of justice he lived by, albeit a tad skewed if he was willing to punish one man for another man’s crime. How interesting. And disturbing.

“I thank you for your offer, but we MacKeages take care of our own.” Winter suddenly spotted Gesader high up in a large oak tree, sprawled on a branch overhanging the tote road, his huge, unblinking yellow eyes locked on the procession making its way toward him. “So,” she said brightly, turning to Matt with a broad smile, “why don’t you tell me what it is you want in a home, so I can begin to picture it in my mind.”

Matt looked at her sharply, and Winter realized she may have sounded a bit too enthused while changing the subject.

“I don’t want a very large home,” he said. “Something more comfortable than showy. I was thinking logs, maybe. A northern lodge, all wood inside and out, with a tall central room that has a large stone hearth.”

Winter nodded. “That would certainly fit nicely on your mountain,” she agreed, canting her head and looking upward, as if she were picturing Matt’s home. “With plenty of windows facing west to catch the sunset,” she added as they slowly rode under her silent, motionless pet. She looked behind her and waved to Megan. “Come on, Meg. Get Butterball moving,” she called back, turning her glare up on Gesader, who had turned his head and was now watching her and Matt riding away.

Gesader gave Winter a panther smile that nicely showed off his fangs, then casually started cleaning one of his paws with his broad pink tongue.

“I was thinking of getting the timber for the house off my land,” Matt continued. Winter turned back around and smiled at him. “I’ve read that a sawmill can be set up right on the site to make dimensional lumber.”

“There are some portable mills around here,” she told him. “But I think the logs have to season before you build with them. You’ll have to ask a contractor.”

Megan finally caught up, giving Winter an amused look while bobbing her eyebrows to say that she had seen Gesader. Megan then took over the conversation with Matt, helping him weigh the pros and cons of cutting his own timber.

Winter only half listened, thinking instead that she was going to kill that black imp for taking such a chance, when it suddenly dawned on her why Matt seemed so familiar.

Matheson Gregor’s eyes were the mirror image of Gesader’s.

Matt sat reclined on the high, flat boulder and slowly savored the last bite of his tart apple pie.

Megan had pulled an entire picnic from her saddlebags about half an hour ago, when they’d stopped on a bluff high up on Bear Mountain. Matt had taken the generous portion of food Megan had handed him and climbed up on the huge boulder to eat while the two sisters opted to sit on a log about twenty feet away. But instead of enjoying the stunning view of Pine Lake over a thousand feet below, Matt found watching Megan and Winter a far more interesting diversion.

They were definitely sisters; they both had rich, strawberry blonde hair, trim figures, flawless complexions, and similar facial features and mannerisms. Winter’s hair was woven into a single braid that reached clear to her waist, while Megan’s hair fell loosely down to her shoulders. Winter was about three or four inches taller than Megan, and maybe a tad more curved in all the right places. Both wore snug jeans, scuffed boots, and heavy fleeces over turtleneck jerseys.

The only difference between the women was their eyes. Megan’s eyes were a sharp, clear green, while Winter’s were an even more vivid crystalline blue, as deep and as reflective as the late September sky overhead. Both women appeared comfortable in the forest, though Matt wasn’t surprised, learning that Megan was a field biologist and having seen Winter’s paintings.

Winter MacKeage didn’t just paint animals, she painted…well, she painted their souls. She somehow managed to draw an observer deep into the world she created on nothing more than canvas, bringing the flat surface to life in an almost mystical way. Hell, even her carefully detailed trees and moss-covered boulders seemed to resonate with energy.

The moment he’d spotted the painting hanging in her gallery window of a mother deer and two fawns grazing in a springtime meadow, Matt had realized he not only had to meet the artist—which he had innately known was female—but that he had to find a way to enter her mystical world.

Winter MacKeage’s physical beauty was merely a bonus.

Matt thought back to their conversation at the resort. He’d almost blown it back at Gù Brath, when he’d let his anger at Megan’s predicament get the best of him. He’d come damn close to scaring Winter off, and that was definitely the last thing he wanted to do.

Matt lazily brushed the crumbs off his chest, listening to the low hum of Megan and Winter talking as he gazed out over Pine Lake. The sun hung low in the sky, and he guessed they had about two hours before it dropped behind the chain of mountains on the western shore of the lake, which was nearly thirty-five miles long and seventeen miles across at its widest point. It was a massive body of water, set close to the Canadian border to the northwest, completely surrounded by rugged mountains and wilderness broken only by occasional small towns.

His research had also revealed the lake was fast becoming a retirement community for corporate executives who were tired of urban congestion. Retirement wasn’t what had brought him here, though. No, it was the land itself that had drawn him: the mountains, clear waters teeming with fish, and the hum of energy that seemed to pulse through the air like nuclear fission.

That, and his unfinished business with his brother.

“How come you have a slight accent and Megan doesn’t?” Matt asked, brushing the last of the crumbs off his hands.

Both women looked up, Megan smiling and Winter frowning.

“I’ve spent most of the last nine years away from my family,” Megan answered before Winter could. “College wiped out what was left of my brogue.”

“College didn’t wipe out your brogue?” he asked Winter.

Her frown turned into a scowl, and Matt held in his smile. Winter MacKeage was a prickly little thing, always trying to stand her ground against him.

“I didn’t care for college,” she said, getting to her feet and gathering up the leftover food rather than look at him.

“You didn’t even attend art school?”

She finally looked up, her expression saying it was none of his business. But again it was Megan who answered for her, also standing up. “College isn’t for everyone,” she said. “Not if their path is leading them in another direction.”

Matt jumped down from the boulder and held up his hands in supplication. “I have nothing against uneducated women,” he said, watching with amusement as Winter bristled in outrage.

“I am well educated,” she snapped.

Again Matt held up his hands, finally freeing his laughter. “I’m teasing, Winter. There’s an intelligence in your paintings the rest of us can only hope to have. You see and feel and understand more about life than a whole university of scholars. I was just teasing,” he repeated.

The poor woman didn’t seem to know how to respond, all that bluster she’d worked up slowly deflating as she stared at him.

“We need to get down to Talking Tom’s,” Megan said, packing up what was left of the picnic.

“It’s going to get chilly as soon as that sun sets, and you need to get your jacket, Winter.”

“Talking Tom?” Matt repeated, going over and helping Megan by handing her the wrappers to put in her saddlebags.

“He lives in the cabin on the point,” Megan explained. “And Winter forgot her jacket there this morning.”

“In my cabin?”

Megan straightened, her chin lifting defensively. “Tom’s lived there for the last two and a half years, not bothering anyone. It’s an old run-down cabin, and it’s only accessible by boat or on foot. He’s not bothering anyone,” she repeated.

And again, Matt held up his hands. “I was just surprised to hear that anyone lives there. Why do you call him Talking Tom?”

“Everyone calls him that, because he talks to himself when he walks the woods,” Winter told Matt, apparently having gotten over his teasing, though her scowl was still in place. “He talks to himself so the bears hear him coming. There’s nothing nastier than walking up on a surprised bear. That’s why we have bells on our horses.”

“I wondered about those. They were driving me crazy.”

“Better crazy than mauled.”

“So this Talking Tom. Who is he?”

Winter shrugged. “He showed up here a little over two years ago,” she told him. “Do you remember seeing the wood carvings in my gallery? Tom did them.”

“And nobody knows anything about this man, who just walked into town and took up residence in someone else’s cabin?”

Winter waved at the forest around them. “There’s dozens of old abandoned cabins in these woods. Most of the land belongs to the paper and lumber mills, and as long as they’re not actively cutting an area, they don’t bother people who aren’t bothering them.”

“You won’t kick Tom out, will you?” Megan asked, looking at Matt with worried eyes. “He respects the land and the animals. He’s not hurting anything by staying there. And…and we don’t think he has any place else to go.”

Matt couldn’t help but smile at the pleading woman. “Is that why you don’t think the point would be a good place for me to build?” he asked, looking at Winter to include her. “Because you don’t want Talking Tom evicted?”

Both women shook their heads. “You’d have to clear all the trees to put a home on that narrow point,” Winter said. “And that would expose your house to the strong winds that blow in off the lake.”

“And building up here wouldn’t?” he asked, waving at the open expanse in front of them. “This is just as exposed.”

“The point is too narrow for the legal setback from the lake required for new construction,”

Megan said. “You can’t build there even if you wanted to.”

Matt took the saddlebag from Megan, carried it over to her sleeping horse, and tied it on the back of her saddle.

“Well?” Winter asked, untying her own horse’s reins. “Are you going to evict Tom?”

“I haven’t even met the man,” he said, untying his own horse and mounting up. He looked down at the two women glaring up at him and smiled. “But I’ll take your resounding endorsements of his character into consideration.”

“If you kick him out, I’m not taking your commission.”

Matt nodded. “I will also factor that in.”

Winter looked mad enough to spit. Matt turned his horse away before she could see his amusement and headed in the general direction of the point of land Talking Tom was calling home. But he stopped and looked back when he realized he was riding alone. Both women had lead their horses over to what was left of an old stump, and Winter held her sister’s horse while Megan tried to mount up.

“Wait,” he called, trotting back to them and dismounting with a laugh. “I forgot you can’t reach your stirrups.” He leaned over and laced his fingers into a step for Megan. “You two ride such massive animals. Why not normal horses?”

Megan stepped into his hands and Matt lifted her into the saddle. She gathered up her reins and smiled down at him. “We had a rather opinionated uncle who thought draft horses were the only safe pet for us girls. He said ponies were spoiled brats and regular horses were unpredictable.” She nodded toward Matt’s horse. “Goose Down is my second pet. The first horse Uncle Ian gave me, Lancelot, had to be put to sleep ten years ago when he broke his leg.”

“So Goose is really your horse?” he asked as he turned to help Winter mount, only to find her sitting in her saddle. Apparently, she was back to being mad at him.

“I’d like to meet your uncle Ian,” Matt said, remounting and reining Goose into step behind Winter as she headed out of the clearing.

“He…ah, died three years ago,” Megan said.

“I’m sorry,” Matt murmured, falling silent as they carefully made their way down the side of the mountain. They eventually came upon a shallow gorge, the granite and tumbled boulders worn smooth by cascading water as it swirled down the mountain with seemingly endless energy. “Bear Brook, I take it?”

Matt asked loudly, to be heard above the noise. He moved between Winter and Megan as they stood with their horse’s hooves just touching the water so they could drink. He gave Goose his head, so he could also drink.

Winter looked over at Matt, her expression aloof. “There’s a clearing downstream that might make a good building site.”

“Is there a view of the lake?”

“You can see the lake from anywhere on this mountain, if you don’t mind chopping down acres of trees.”

Matt leaned over to Megan. “Is your sister always this pleasant with her patrons?”

“She’s just worried about Tom,” Megan told him, also leaning close so Winter wouldn’t hear.

“Otherwise, she usually has a great sense of humor. And she’s still a little touchy about leaving college after only one semester.”

Matt gave Megan a nod, backed Goose out from between them, and turned to start down the mountain along the stream. They rode for several minutes, winding their way through the thick forest, and Matt let Goose pick the easiest route. The stream eventually broke through to a natural meadow, and part of Pine Lake came into view again.

“We can cross here,” Winter called out.

Matt turned Goose into the stream, and the horse stepped through the knee-deep, babbling water with sure-footed care. Once he was on the other side, Matt looked around the meadow as Winter and Megan moved up beside him.

“I like it here,” he said. “Where would I place the house?” he asked, looking over at Winter.

She pointed toward the high side of the meadow. “Up there, maybe. That would be the best view.”

Matt looked at Megan. “Can I build here without disturbing too much of the wildlife?”

Megan shrugged. “Probably. I know there’s a deer yard up here somewhere. Tom might know where it is.”

“What about building a road? We’ve come, what…three or four miles from the main road?”

“It can be done,” Megan assured him. “If you have deep pockets. Roads and bridges aren’t cheap.”

“But the logging companies build hundreds of miles of forest roads all the time,” Matt pointed out. “They must have a system that doesn’t break the bank.”