Текст книги "Only With A Highlander"
Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“I need to buy a plow for my truck,” he said as they finally broke into a tiny clearing.
“I don’t think your pickup will keep your road open all winter,” she said, stopping at the foot of a large outcropping of ledge. “You need a heavy truck to wing back the snowbanks each time.” She grinned at him through the darkness, just barely able to make out his face. “You may not have enough money left to buy heaven when you’re done building your home, Matt.”
A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he took hold of her shoulders and gently pulled her against him. “Then I guess I’ll have to make Bear Mountain my heaven,” he said, holding her close in his strong, warm embrace. He ran his fingers into her hair and used his grip to gently tilt her head back to look at him. “How are we going to hear the mountain with the wind blowing?”
“You feel it more than hear it,” she said, laying her hand over his heart. “In here.”
His heartbeat felt wonderfully strong as he stood silently staring down at her, and Winter’s own heart started to race with anticipation. He was going to kiss her again, and she decided that this time she was kissing him back.
But he suddenly let her go and disappeared, and it took Winter a moment to realize he’d bent over and was picking up the blanket he’d dropped. “Where should I spread this out?” he asked, stepping over to the wall of granite rising above them and shaking open the blanket. “Here?”
“That’s good,” she muttered, rubbing her suddenly chilled arms, missing his warmth.
“I wish the clouds wouldn’t keep covering the moon,” he continued, kneeling on the blanket and feeling the ground for hidden rocks. “I bet we could see the lake from here.” He sat down on one half of the blanket and held his hand out to her.
It was the sight of that blanket that finally made Winter realize exactly how outrageous her idea had been. What in hell had made her suggest they lie up here in the darkness together? She simply couldn
’t get on that blanket with a man who turned her mind to mush. It was an intimate if not brazen situation she’d created, and Winter wondered how she was going to get out of this mess without truly making a fool of herself.
“Come on,” he said, dropping his hand and patting the blanket beside him. “I promise I’ll keep my fingers laced behind my head,” he told her, his voice coaxingly gentle. “You have my word, Winter, nothing will happen between us that you don’t want to happen.”
And therein lay the very heart of her problem.
Another thick flurry of leaves blew off the ledge above them, scattering like snowflakes over the blanket and catching in her hair. Matt stretched out on his back with a sigh and folded his hands behind his head like a pillow. “The ground is warm,” he said into the darkness. “I expected it to be bone-chilling cold.”
He looked so strange, lying in the forest in his expensive suit and dress shoes. Not that he seemed any more worried about ruining his wardrobe than about scratching his truck. In fact, Matt was a contradiction of refined sophistication and rugged strength. Winter could picture him in a boardroom commanding an army of suits just as easily as she could see him commanding an army of warriors on a battlefield. Matt Gregor was an intriguing mix of brawn and brain, she decided.
“The ground doesn’t feel cold because it’s still warmer than the air,” she explained, stepping closer when he squirmed into a more comfortable position. “The mist you see rising from the forest in the morning comes from the temperature difference.”
“I wish the moon would stay out. It’s full.”
Winter took another step closer. “Actually, it was full last night,” she said, finally sitting on the ground beside the blanket—but not on it. She gathered up her blowing hair and twisted it into a tail that she pulled over her right shoulder. “It was also the autumnal equinox yesterday. It’s rare that both occur on the same day.”
“A full moon and an equinox,” he said, just as the clouds thinned enough that Winter could see his eyes were closed and a soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “That must have brought the fairies out to dance last night.”
Winter found her own smile as she gazed off toward Pine Lake, just barely able to make out the large body of water. “Wouldn’t it be nice if fairies really did exist?” she mused.
“They must,” Matt said. “If you put one in Moon Watchers.”
She turned in surprise. “You saw her? You saw my fairy?”
He opened his eyes to look at her. “Just barely. You tucked her in a high branch and made her nearly translucent.” He resettled himself, closed his eyes again, and frowned. “I can’t feel anything. No hum. No breathing.”
“That’s because you’re not being quiet,” she told him, finally lying back—but only so her head was on the blanket.
“Then stop talking,” he muttered. “And let me concentrate.”
Winter smiled at nothing, closed her own eyes, and listened to the wind filtering through the treetops around them. She could hear the squeak of a tree trunk rubbing against another trunk; dried leaves crackling as they rolled over each other across the ground; an acorn ricocheting off several branches with sharp pings, finally landing on the forest floor with a muted thud. More rustling came with the scurrying of tiny feet, then the alarmed chatter of a nocturnal flying squirrel scolding them for invading his favorite acorn patch.
If only two days ago someone had told Winter she’d be lying on a mountain at night with a handsome, undeniably appealing man, she’d have told them to pull her other leg. But for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, Winter felt this was about as right, and as real, as it got.
“If you would quit humming, I might be able to hear your mountain,” Matt said softly.
Winter rolled toward him with a laugh. “I’m not humming. That’s the mountain. It’s sharing its energy with you, Matt.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at her, the slash of his smile bright enough to rival the moon. “So you weren’t telling tales. It really is alive.”
She wiggled closer, until she was completely on the blanket and her head was even with his.
“Yes. The mountain is brimming with energy.”
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
She blinked into his dark, unfathomable eyes.
“I want to feel yourenergy, Winter MacKeage. Kiss me.”
Still she didn’t move, caught in his mesmerizing gaze.
Matt lifted his head only slightly and wiggled his laced fingers. “I keep my promises, Winter,” he said, his voice deep with coaxing sincerity. “You’re safe with me tonight. My hands are staying behind my head. Kiss me.”
Heaven help her, she wiggled closer, until she was actually leaning over him.
“Ah, Winter,” he said on a sigh. “You’re as beautiful as the pictures you paint. Give me a taste of your magic, and let me feel what you feel.”
If wishes were horses and beggars could ride, then Winter decided she was about to gallop straight into her wildest fantasy. With her heart racing faster than her mind could keep up, she slowly leaned down and softly touched her mouth to his.
He let out another sigh that parted his lips, and Winter pulled in his familiar taste, easing higher until she was fully draped across his broad chest. His chest rose on an indrawn breath that he held, and she could feel the pounding strength of his heart thumping against hers. The knowledge that she was affecting him as much as he was her gave Winter the confidence to lift her hand and touch the side of his face as she deepened her kiss.
He tasted so good, felt so fine beneath her, so solid and warm and substantial; the charged energy of the mountain hummed through him into her. Prickles of electricity tightened her skin even while embers of awareness flared deep in the pit of her stomach. Winter parted her own lips and touched her tongue to his, shyly exploring the heady sensations that boldly urged her to move her fingers over the taut lines of his rugged face.
He’d asked to feel her magic, but it was hismagic that caught Winter up in its spell; two hearts beating against each other, lips touching and tasting and savoring, the energies of the timeless universe dancing in mystical harmony.
This journey of separate souls seeking each other, that’s what was happening. The magic of being here—with this man, on this mountain, on this storm-energized night—was what Winter had been waiting her whole life to experience.
Matt suddenly turned his head from hers, ending their kiss, his chest expanding on a deep, shuddering breath. “Ye’re one second away from making me break ma promise to ye,” he softly growled.
Winter blinked at him through the darkness, crashing back to reality with a jarring thud that made her rear up in surprise. “You have a brogue.”
There was just enough moonlight to see Matt’s eyes flare and his hands—still behind his head
–tighten into fists. He took another calming breath. “A throwback to my youth,” he said, his enigmatic gaze locked on hers. “I was born in Scotland.” He lifted his elbows in a sort of shrug, still keeping his hands behind his head. “When I get…er…” He suddenly grinned. “When I get completely focused on something, I tend to regress. And hanging out with you today seems to have brought my accent closer to the surface.”
Winter rolled away and lay on her back beside him, clasping her hands on her stomach as she stared up at the churning clouds dancing around the moonlight. “Did you drop the Mac from your name?
Is it really MacGregor ?”
“No. Just Gregor .”
“Do you know what Mathesonmeans?”
“I know the sonpart means son of.”
“Aye. And Matheis Gaelic for “bear.” Your name means son of the bear.”
He rolled toward her, propping his head on one hand and laying his other hand on his thigh.
“Then I guess I own the right mountain, don’t I?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I build jets. Military as well as private.”
Winter digested that. It fit, she decided—a powerful man making powerful aircraft. “We saw a small jet fly in yesterday. Was that you? Do you pilot your own plane?”
He nodded, reaching over to lift her blowing hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. “Did you feel the energy, Winter?” he asked softly, his hand returning to his thigh, but not before she saw it ball into a fist. “That wasn’t the mountain humming, was it? That was you.”
Winter felt a blush scorch her cheeks, and she went back to studying the sky. “We’re all part of the same energy,” she told him. “You, me, the mountain, the animals, the storm moving in, we’re all connected.”
“I like the idea of that,” he said, his voice deep with an emotion she couldn’t quite define. “I like the idea of being connected to you, Winter MacKeage.” He suddenly sat up. “But in the interest of keeping my promise that you’re safe tonight,” he said, turning to smile at her, “and my interest in not getting stomped by your cousin, I better take you home now.”
Winter also sat up, capturing her blowing hair and pulling it over her shoulder again. “I think you better.”
He stood, then reached out to help her up. Winter let him pull her to her feet, but Matt kept her momentum going until she was pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped firmly around her. “One more taste, I think,” he whispered, just as he lowered his lips to hers.
He was definitely doing the kissing this time, completely in charge, once again taking up the chase. Winter’s heart rejoiced as his mouth moved over hers with a gentle aggression that sent another charge of electricity coursing through her. She hadn’t scared him away, she realized, as she parted her lips on a relieved sigh and kissed him back.
She melted into the hard, solid heat of his body, and Matt slid one hand down the base of her spine and pulled her fully against him. Winter immediately discovered just how aroused he was, but instead of being alarmed, she boldly moved her hips into his.
Matt lifted his head with a snarl that sounded a lot like Gesader when her pet was disgruntled, and Winter buried her face in Matt’s shirt with a smile of delight. His chest rumbled with a lingering growl as he held her so tightly that his expanding torso squeezed the air from her own lungs.
“Dammit, lady, ye best not be amused,” he growled in her hair, his lips sending another shiver through her. “Ye should be slapping my face. No,” he said, gripping her shoulders and setting her away,
“I should be slapping my own face.” He took hold of her hand and started leading her out of the clearing toward the truck.
“Your blanket,” she said, attempting to get it.
He didn’t let her go, but kept dragging her through the thick woods. “Leave it,” he growled. “I’
m taking ye home. Now.”
Winter let him lead her away in silence, unable to keep her smile contained. Bears didn’t have much of a tail, but she’d just managed to give this one’s tail a good tug.
And his reaction looked very promising.
Chapter Ten
T he storm hit just after midnight,and Winter lay in bed listening to the rain beating on the windows, her scattered thoughts and still-humming emotions making sleep impossible. She reached down to where Gesader usually slept, felt only the quilt, and smiled. Her panther, obviously annoyed at her, had given Winter a throaty snarl when she’d let him in the house, then had padded off to bed with Megan.
It never did take much to put Gesader’s nose out of joint, and apparently Winter’s being on the mountain with Matt had angered her pet. She knew Gesader had been up there. Heck, he’d probably been crouched in the bushes not twenty feet away.
When Matt had all but dragged her back to his truck—in utter silence except for her heart screaming with joy—Winter had noticed several strands of black hair on the windshield when the interior lights had come on. Gesader had been letting her know that he’d been near them the whole time, and that he hadn’t liked being forced to stay hidden.
The night usually belonged to just the two of them, when Winter would paint her nighttime scenes and Gesader would doze beside her. He was a possessive pet, and Winter had never considered how her having a boyfriend might affect him.
Boyfriend,Winter thought with a grin, testing the word in her mind. Did kissing her senseless make Matt her boyfriend? “No,” she whispered to the dark ceiling, shaking her head. That was too corny a label for Matheson Gregor. When she thought of a boyfriend, Winter pictured Patrick Rooney, a nervous teenager holding a wrist corsage, shaking in his polished shoes as he stood at the front door with her papa, waiting to take her to their senior prom.
Patrick had been a boyfriend. Matt Gregor was…curses, he was far more confounding than Patrick Rooney had ever been. She’d never gotten all mush-minded and shivery when Pat had kissed her. Nor had she ever wanted to rip off Pat’s clothes and run her hands over every inch of his body. But that was exactly what she’d wanted to do to Matt up on the mountain—what she would like to do to him right now.
Good heavens, Winter thought with a start, kicking off the suddenly stifling blankets. She was lusting after Matheson Gregor. She frowned at the ceiling. Well, go figure. This chemistry thing was pretty powerful stuff.
Winter felt like one of those itty-bitty wood ticks that would lay dormant on a leaf for over eighteen months at a time, just waiting for a warm body to come brushing by. Well, hadn’t she been lying in wait for nearly twenty-five years? But when Matt Gregor had stepped into her gallery, she’d taken a good look at him and jumped off her leaf with every intention of going for a wonderful ride.
Winter smiled again as she remembered how Matt had stopped his truck at Gù Brath, walked her to her door, and with only a softly spoken good-bye and no goodnight kiss, left without looking back. He’d been restraining himself, Winter decided, her smile turning smug; nice guys did not take advantage of women they cared about after knowing them only one day.
Aye, Matt was a truly noble gentleman.
In a way, he reminded Winter of how her papa treated her mama. No matter how frustrated her father got with his wife, he never took advantage of his strength or size. Not that Grace didn’t push his buttons occasionally, sometimes just for the fun of it, Winter suspected.
Just like she was tempted to do with Matt.
Winter’s smile disappeared as her thoughts bounced to her parents, picturing them holed up in some cave on TarStone. Or more likely they’d sought shelter in the summit house and were cuddled up in front of the giant stone hearth.
But she still didn’t know why they’d suddenly decided to spend the night; she was only sure that something was wrong. It couldn’t have anything to do with Daar’s pine tree, she decided. Her papa wouldn’t mess with the magic, not when it was all that was keeping him from returning to his old time.
Winter had told Robbie about Father Daar’s latest crisis when he’d brought Megan home.
Robbie had scrubbed his face in frustration, let out a tired sigh, and promised to go see the old priest that night. He’d also told Winter not to worry about Greylen, that he’d find him tomorrow and let him know what was going on, and for her to simply go about her business as usual.
Robbie hadn’t liked the part of her story where she’d told him Matt had gone with her to take Daar home. He’d given Winter a ten-minute lecture about trusting men she knew nothing about, and she’
d listened and smiled and nodded in all the appropriate places. Finally realizing his lecture was falling on deaf ears, Robbie had stopped talking with a resigned snort and headed home to mount up and go see Father Daar.
Winter finally closed her eyes with a tired sigh, deciding it was time to let this enchanted day come to an end. It had begun before sunrise, and if she didn’t get some sleep, she was going to greet the next sunrise with a scowl.
And she didn’t want anything to ruin her wonderful mood. She had kissed the man of her dreams tonight, and she couldn’t wait to get another taste of Matheson Gregor’s own special magic.
Matt lay in the king-sized bed in his suite, completely naked and the covers thrown off him, listening to the wind-driven rain hitting the windows. His body still hadn’t cooled down, and little Miss Prickly MacKeage was responsible for his foul mood.
She’d come damn close to losing her virginity tonight, and it was the very fact that she was a virgin that had brought Matt to a screaming halt. Yes, he had realized the moment he’d kissed her in her driveway that Winter had never been with a man, not intimately, anyway. If she were experienced, they wouldn’t be lying in separate beds right now; he would have been all over her up on that bluff, and he wouldn’t have stopped until morning—storm or no storm.
That she had held out for so long, yet had come so damned close to giving him her most precious possession tonight, made Matt break out in a cold sweat all over again. He dismissed the notion that he had stopped out of concern for her feelings, knowing how horrified she’d be in the morning. He even dismissed his long-lost conscience in some rusted region of his mind, that taking her on the ground in the middle of the woods made him no better than a rutting bull moose.
Or bear, he thought with a self-debasing laugh.
A heartless son of a bear.
Well, hell. He had to get over this damnable notion that Winter MacKeage was anything more than a means to an end, because she wasn’t. He was here for one reason only, and once Winter helped him kill his brother, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if her mountain of magic blew itself to hell or not.
Nor did he care if he blew to hell with it.
Grace MacKeage sat a short distance away on a fallen log, watching the three men examine what was left of Daar’s precious pine tree. She moved her gaze up the thirty-some-odd feet of remaining trunk and branches and stopped at the bluntly cut top, which was bleeding thick fingers of pine pitch.
Robbie had climbed the trunk when they’d first arrived, calling down that it didn’t appear to have been cut with a chain saw, but with an old-fashioned crosscut saw.
His observation had only served to deepen the mystery. Why had someone bothered to climb thirty feet into the air to cut the tree? And where the hell was the top?
Grace looked down and studied her chewed fingernails, blocking out the hushed conversation between Grey and Daar and Robbie as they searched the woods for signs of what had happened while speculating on whyit had happened. Her eyes felt too big for her head, swollen and itchy from a sleepless night of crying. What had started out as a pleasant picnic with Grey yesterday had quickly turned into a nightmare for Grace when her husband had told her about his visit with the old priest that morning.
Their beautiful, innocent, unsuspecting daughter, Grey had explained, was being asked not only to step into her destiny now, but to face an adversary the likes of which none of them could even imagine.
Cùram de Gairn, Grey had said, was likely here—in this time and on their mountain—seeking revenge for the death of his own tree of life. That, or he had some other agenda they couldn’t figure out. All Grey had emphasized was that Winter was their only hope of stopping the bastard.
The fate of the world, it seemed, rested on the delicate shoulders of a twenty-four-year-old child.
Oh, how Grace wished for her predictable science to be all that there was again. At one time her world had been filled with only numbers, equations, and dreams of traveling into space. But when she had met Greylen MacKeage, Grace had discovered that the true wonders weren’t out there,but right here on earth, as close as the mountain she’d grown up on. That was when her science had run headlong into the magic, and thirty-three years and seven daughters later, that magic was threatening not only her innocent baby, but the future of all of mankind.
A shadow fell over her, but Grace didn’t look up. Her husband lowered down on his haunches, lifting her chin so that she was staring into his deeply worried eyes. “Any idea, wife,” he asked softly,
“why the tree was cut so high up?”
She let out a shuddering breath and shook her head in his hand, tears stinging the backs of her eyes again.
“I need ye, Grace. I need ye to be strong right now for Winter. None of us can fight what we don’t understand. Please stop being a mama and be a scientist just long enough to help us figure out what
’s happening.” His eyes softened with a tender smile. “Then ye can go back to protecting yer daughter.”
“But I don’t know why it was cut so high.”
“Robbie said he thinks he can save the pine, at least for a little while,” Grey said softly, turning to sit on the log beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her to him, just as he had been doing since yesterday afternoon. “He’s going to cap the wound so it will stop oozing pitch, and we’
ll mulch the roots with leaves and pine needles to keep the frost away for as long as possible.”
“What’s the point?” Grace whispered, leaning into him, just as she had been doing since yesterday afternoon.
“It’s not dead yet,” Grey told her. “And it’s all that’s left of Winter’s power. Robbie will cut one of the remaining branches so Daar can make her a staff.”
Grace looked up without lifting her head off his shoulder. “You’re sending our baby after this monster with nothing but a branch from a dying tree?” she asked. She sat up and clutched his arm. “Why can’t Robbie give her some of his power? Or Mary? She’s still around. I saw the snowy this morning, when Robbie came to the summit house to get us. Why can’t the guardians lend Winter some of their powers?”
Grey held her face in his hands and used his thumbs to brush away her tears. “The white pine is their energy source as well as Daar’s,” he softly explained.
Grace pulled away and stood up, hugging her arms as she stared at the old priest studying his wounded tree. “Then he’s won,” she said. “Cùram de Gairn stole back his power, and he’s won the fight without us even realizing we were at war.” She turned and faced her husband. “It’s over. Winter doesn’t ever have to know about her destiny. Telling her would only make her think she’s failed us somehow, when it’s really our fault for wanting her childhood to be normal.” Grace lifted her hands, then let them fall back to her sides. “We’ll alljust die together.”
Grey stood up to his towering height and ran his palms soothingly over her arms and shoulders.
“Daar doesn’t believe it was Cùram who did this,” he said, nodding toward the tree behind her. “He thinks Cùram would have taken a piece of the tap root, and then likely burned what was left of the pine.”
“And you believe that senile old goat?” Grace snapped, stepping away and angrily waving at the air. “Most days he can’t even remember what year he’s living in!”
Her husband brought her into his arms again and held her head to his chest. “Shhh,” he crooned. “Calm down, wife. Ye can get angry when this is over.” He tilted her head back so she could see his smile. “We’ll get angry together, I promise. But for now ye need to think about Winter and how we can help her.”
“Grace,” Daar said from behind her.
Grace tried to turn, but her husband shifted them both toward Daar while keeping her in his embrace.
“Grace,” Daar said again, wringing his hands, his eyes fraught with worry. “Ye have to tell Winter today.”
Grace pulled free and glared at Daar. “I am not telling my daughter a damn thing,” she hissed.
“And neither is Grey and neither are you.”
“But—”
She pointed an angry finger at him. “You say one word to Winter, and you’re going to discover I can be just as dangerous as my husband. I will cut out your heart, you interfering old goat,” she growled, taking another threatening step closer.
Daar took several steps back, his eyes widened in shock. He’d never heard her speak to him like that, and truth told, Grace was a bit surprised herself. But dammit, she was angry enough to kill something.
Grace spun around at the sound of her husband’s laughter, only to have Grey pull her back against him in a tight hug. “And that, old man,” Grey said over her head, “is what happens when ye threaten a mama’s bairn. I agree with my wife. We find out who cut yer tree, and why, before we tell Winter anything.”
“But—”
“Ye make my daughter her staff, priest, and worry about saving what’s left of yer precious pine.
When we feel the time is right, Grace and I will have our talk with Winter. But until then, ye’ll just have to wait for yer heir. If,” he tightly whispered, “Winter even wantsto follow her calling. The choice is ultimately hers.”
Grace smiled into her husband’s chest. Now she remembered why she’d married this wonderful man. She’d fallen in love with a highland warrior formidable enough to scare the whiskers off a charging lion.
Chapter Eleven
D espite only getting about six hours of sleep,and waking up still worried about her parents, Winter did spend the morning doing as Robbie had suggested by going about her business as usual. The storm had quickly spent itself out overnight, giving way to a late September sun that was shining brightly through the sparkling clean, floor-to-ceiling windows of her art gallery.
Megan, having survived her evening of practicing motherhood, seemed to be in a domestic mood this morning. By nine o’clock, she had already feather-dusted every painting and display in the gallery, and had gone outside to remove the street grime from the windows with a long-poled mop and squeegee. Having finished a good half hour ago, Megan had next turned her mop on the windows at Dolan’s Outfitter Store, and then shared tea with Rose by the potbelly stove in Rose’s store.
Winter had spent her first hour at the gallery setting Tom’s newest figures out and getting caught up on her paperwork. She was now sitting on a stool behind the counter with a sketch pad and pencil, so engrossed in her vision of Matt’s home nestled in the highland meadow that she never heard the overhead doorbell tinkle. She gasped in surprise when a large shadow suddenly appeared over her drawing and would have fallen off her stool but for the strong hands that caught her.
“What are you working on?” Matt asked with a chuckle, letting her go and tucking his hands behind his back as he looked over her shoulder.
Winter slapped the sketch pad to her chest and turned on her stool to scowl at him. “I’m just doodling.”
He stepped around to face her and folded his arms over his chest. “That looked like a house you were ‘doodling.’ ” He lifted one brow. “Is it my house?”
Winter stood up and closed the pad. “Maybe,” was all she said as she slid the pad under the counter.
“Can I see?”
“No. I don’t show my work until I’m done.”
His brow lifted again. “Why not?”
“Because my work never makes sense to people until it’s completed. What I start out with is usually a lot different than the final product.”
“So your doodling is really your thought process?”
“Yes,” she said, frowning when she noticed what he was wearing. “You have to start dressing more appropriately, Matt. You’re going to ruin all your nice clothes.”
“I am dressed appropriately,” he said, glancing down at his crisp gray suit, then back at her,
“for the office. I have to fly to New York this morning, but I’ll be back early this evening. Have dinner with me again tonight?” He grinned crookedly. “I mean, tryto have dinner with me tonight?”
“You expect to fly to New York and be back before dinner?”
“Better yet,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll eat at Lutèce, and I’ll have you back by bedtime.”
Winter just got her second surprise of the morning. “Come with you to New York City?” she squeaked. “In your jet?”
His grin broadened. “I’ll even let you try your hand at flying,” he offered, his face lit with that same cajoling expression he’d used on her the first day they’d met, when he’d been trying to get a discount. “Ever fly at mach one?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Private jets don’t go that fast.”
“Mine does. It’s a modified fighter.”
Her suspicion grew. “You couldn’t have landed a jet that powerful at our tiny airport. The runway’s too short.”
