Текст книги "Wedding The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

He returned to Libby, stopping only long enough to kiss her gaping mouth, and tossed the pillows into the back of the truck. He shook the blanket out to make them a bed, turned, picked Libby up, and tossed her in after it.

And then he climbed in himself, shut the doors behind them, and reached for the buttons on her blouse.

Chapter Fourteen

Libby blinked to adjust her eyesto the darkness of the garage. The truck? They were going to make love in the back of her truck?

Well, she had gotten what she asked for; Mary certainly wasn’t in here. Libby laughed and threw herself at Michael, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. In more of a frenzy than a coming together, they undressed each other, and as each new body part emerged and each interesting patch of skin was exposed, Libby’s urgency grew.

Michael was right—she had no business making up his mind for him. She had warned him, and they would both simply have to live with the consequences. She would not cling to Michael when this affair came to an end—which it eventually must. And if she were destroyed, as the old priest had suggested, she would have no one to blame but herself.

It was liberating, finally giving in to abandon. Libby ran her hands over Michael’s body, reveling in the texture and warmth of his skin, not needing any light for her fingers to form a picture in her mind of his sculpted beauty.

Her pants got stuck at her ankles, and Michael worked to take off her shoes. He heated the air with colorful curses. Libby felt the truck move when he banged his knee on the fender well, and she laughed out loud when he twisted and bumped his head on the roof.

“Dammit, woman,” he hissed, trying to take off his own boots. “If ya don’t quit laughing, I’ll see that you’re sorry.”

Libby snapped her mouth shut—not because of his threat but because her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Michael took her breath away.

She’d seen many naked bodies in her career, some of them beautiful, athletic, and fine testaments to the human species. But Michael was… he was magnificent—beautifully sculptured bone and muscle perfectly proportioned for maximum strength and mobility. She could see now why Father Daar had called him a warrior.

He dwarfed the back of her cavernous truck, and when he turned to take her into his arms again, Libby’s mouth went dry. He was radiating enough heat to steam up the windows. He was so full of vitality, so larger than life, she felt overwhelmed.

But that lasted only until his mouth started doing wondrous things to her collar bone, and his hands introduced themselves to the more sensitive parts of her body. And Libby decided it was time she did the same. She ran her fingers down his solid, rippling torso and then lightly trailed over his hips, slowly inching her way toward his… his…

Michael reared up, a growl erupting from his throat the moment Libby touched him. He captured her hands just as they wrapped around his erection. There was a short, bittersweet tug of war before he was able to pin her down and glare into her smiling eyes.

“When ya finally make up your mind, ya certainly do so with zeal,” he whispered, lowering his lips over hers. “Slow down, lass. We have all night.”

“You can’t do all the touching,” she complained.

“Ya’ll get your chance,” Michael promised, sliding down her body and dipping his tongue into her navel.

Squirming, Libby sat up, grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and guided his mouth on its journey over her stomach. Michael couldn’t decide whether to groan or burst into laughter. She was so honest about what she liked and so eager to direct him to each sensitive spot.

As he kissed a tiny spot just above her hipbone, her little moan of pleasure told him he was driving her wild. He lifted his gaze and saw Libby’s head thrown back against the pillow, her eyes shut tight, her body flushed with passion.

“Oh, my God. Don’t stop,” she cried hoarsely, trying to push his head back down.

He was not about to stop, but he did change his focus, nuzzling back up her stomach until he came to her firm, delicate breasts.

Her grip on his hair tightened. Her body tensed in anticipation, and Michael began a slow and tender assault on her breasts, moving his tongue in sensual circles around each responsive nipple. She groaned and arched her back. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips until she was centered directly under his shaft.

Michael rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Not yet,” he hissed, guiding her mouth down to his. “All night, remember?” he whispered, stilling her hips before she impaled herself on his erection.

She sat up, blinking, lost in a fog of passion.

“Now it’s your turn to touch,” he told her, wondering if he hadn’t lost his own mind.

“Hands and lips only,” he clarified. He had to capture Libby’s eager hands when she started before he was done giving his instructions. “We’re not protected, Libby.”

She abruptly pulled back in alarm. “You were supposed take care of that.”

“I did. It’s in my pocket,” he assured her, folding his arms behind his head, gritting his teeth, praying for some patience of his own and a healthy dose of control.

Libby wasn’t sure what to think of his dictate, but she sure as heck knew what to do. She started at his navel and ran her hands up the length of him, sliding her fingers through the silky hair covering his chest. She became fascinated by how his muscles shuddered beneath her touch, how his nipples hardened when she lightly raked her fingers across them, how beads of sweat broke out on his shoulders and neck, how he tensed and growled as if he were in pain.

She knew she wasn’t hurting him. In fact, she knew she was driving him wild. And that thrilled her, how just her touch could make a quivering mess of such a strong mountain of man.

She was empowered. Remembering he’d said lips as well as hands, Libby replaced her fingers with her mouth. And mimicking his earlier action on her, she ran her tongue over his nipples. Satisfied to hear his groan, she went in search of other interesting anatomy.

“Have a care, lest ya end this now,” he warned, his voice guttural and strained.

She smiled, flexed her fingers on his hips, ignored his suggestion, and gave him a shockingly intimate kiss.

Michael sat up with a shout and took hold of Libby’s shoulders, lifting her away before he disgraced himself. This had not been one of his brighter ideas, giving this woman such free rein with his body.

“Find my pants,” he ground out. “Now.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile as Libbly scrambled to pick up his pants. His grin broadened when he heard her mutter an impatient curse as she rifled through his pockets. She held up a small foil packet, stared at it, and then turned and stared at him—

or, more specifically, at what she’d just kissed.

She hesitated, looking a bit worried all of a sudden. He took the packet from her, tore it open with his teeth, and set it on the floor, then gathered her back in his arms and ravaged her mouth with a kiss. She melted against him, hugged him fiercely, and kissed him back, opening her sweet-tasting lips to let him inside.

He made love to her senses. His hands roamed over her body and toyed with the curls at the juncture of her thighs. He caressed her intimately, whispered words of anticipation into her cute little ear, and slowly rolled her onto her back, gently placing her beneath him. He slid on the protection while he continued to kiss her and lowered himself until he rested between her thighs.

“Libby,” he thickly entreated. “Open yar eyes and look at me, lass, so I can see that ya understand what is happening between us.”

She looked at him, and Michael saw the fire of passion burning brightly in her beautiful brown eyes.

“Say it, Libby. Tell me ya want me.”

Her hands tightened on his arms as she moved against him, searching for his intimate touch.

“Say it, lass,” he ground out, holding on to his control by the barest of threads. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” she moaned, lifting her hips and straining against him. “Yes, Michael. I want you.”

Satisfied, Michael slowly eased into her, mindful of how delicate she was, studying her face for signs of discomfort.

Her eyes widened. Her fingernails dug into his arms. And he wasn’t sure, but she looked as if she was holding her breath. So he reached down between them and gently stroked her passion back into flames.

She relaxed and opened, and he finally slid fully inside her. And Michael felt as if he’d just entered Heaven, he was so warmed and welcomed and deeply embedded. It was all he could do not to move.

Thank God she moved first, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and lifting her hips. That was all the encouragement he needed. He cupped her face, kissed her lips, and slowly set a gentle rhythm that made her moan into his mouth.

Michael wanted this to last forever. He wanted Libby to feel the strength of their passion as keenly as he did. He wanted her hot and bothered and as wild as he was.

She was definitely bothered. Libby was so focused on feeling him buried so deep inside her, it was all she could do to remember to breathe. Making love to Michael was an unbelievably erotic experience.

But she wasn’t quite satisfied. He was moving too slowly, being too careful. She wasn’t a china doll—she wanted him to let go of his confounded control.

She raked her fingernails over his shoulders, dug her heels into his back, buried her face in his chest, and licked his nipple. He gave a hoarse shout, bucked against her, and sent skyrockets shooting through her body.

“Yes,” she breathed in a shout of her own, urging him on. She arched her back, causing him to withdraw slightly, and then lifted her hips.

He was a quick learner. He moved deeply inside her, then withdrew, then moved deeply again in a tempo that sent her hormones into a riot. Intense pleasure awakened every one of her senses at the feel of his breath against her ear, his body moving against hers, his taste lingering on her lips, and his hands—his large, strong, calloused hands—

guiding their bodies together.

She could feel the truck rocking with the force of his thrusts. And for some strange reason, that realization sent Libby over the edge of control. She clung to Michael, cried out, and climaxed so violently she thought she might burst into flames. And just when she thought it was over, he reared up, growled deep from his throat, and stilled. He pulsed inside her, the strength of his own climax a magical thing to witness. She pressed her palms to his chest, felt his heart slamming against his ribs, and her own heart lurched with the realization that more than a simple affair had been started tonight.

So very much more.

Michael was shaken to the very soles of his bare feet. He slowly lowered himself to his elbows, staying inside her, reluctant to let the moment end. He brushed back her damp hair and kissed her forehead, then finally rolled to his side and settled her comfortably against him.

Damn, but it was true—wonderful things did come in small packages sometimes.

Michael lifted his head and found Libby had her eyes closed, her head nestled against his chest, and one hand possessively clutching his neck.

Michael settled against the pillows and pulled the blanket over Libby’s back, tucking her firmly against him. He thought about the three other foil packets in his pants pocket, and his smile returned. He wondered if Libby had noticed them when she’d found the first one and if she might be thinking she’d better get some rest now, while she could.

Come to think of it, he was feeling a bit exhausted himself. He stared at the roof, and his smile disappeared. Her damned truck. He couldn’t believe he’d brought Libby into the garage, into this damned truck, to make love to her. He was about as romantic as a bull moose willing to rut in a beaver bog.

No wonder she had nothing to say.

Michael was gone. Libby knew this because she was cold. Her nose was running, her feet felt like blocks of ice, and she was wrapped up so tightly in the quilt trying to keep warm that her body ached.

He’d left. The unromantic, insensitive jerk had snuck off in the small hours of the night without even saying good-bye.

He hadn’t said thank you, either.

How could a man know so much about a woman’s body that he could take her on a fantastical journey to Heaven and back and not know that he was supposed to stick around long enough to tell her he’d enjoyed the trip as much as she had?

Weren’t affairs supposed to be flaming things because of the romance? Wasn’t that why women usually agreed to have them?

Libby pulled the quilt up over her face to cover her freezing nose and groaned when she discovered aches in places she’d forgotten existed.

Dammit. What had she expected from a self-acclaimed throwback? Flowers? Music and candlelight? A note left on her pillow? Libby pushed the quilt down and looked to her right, half hoping to see a note on the pillow beside her.

Nothing. Only the cold imprint of where his head had been.

She sat up and looked around the shadowed interior of her truck. As love nests went, it could have been worse, considering the options available. She could have been waking up in the barn, she thought with a sigh of self-pity.

Libby loosened the cocoon of her quilt and crawled to the door of the truck. She opened it and backed out, wincing when her bare feet hit the concrete floor of the garage. She pulled the quilt along with her, and something fell on her feet. She looked down, picked up the packet, and stared in disbelief. She looked at the carpeted floor of her truck, saw two more packets, and her disbelief turned to horror.

Four? Michael had brought four condoms with him last night?

Every inch of Libby’s body—even her toes—instantly heated with outrage. The man had sat at her dinner table with four condoms tucked in his pocket, fortifying himself for a night of marathon sex.

Well, no wonder he’d left. She’d flopped against him like a drunkard after they’d made love and had fallen asleep before she had even finished yawning. Truth told, it had never occurred to her that he might want to do it again. In her experience with men, they’

d have sex, cuddle a few minutes, and then get up and go home—but not while she’d been unconscious and only after a sweet kiss good-bye and a thank-you.

Libby turned on her heel and marched into the house. She stomped to the trash can, lifted the lid, and dropped the three packets inside.

“There. Take that, Mr. Macho Michael MacBain,” she muttered as she headed to the bathroom. He’d have to crawl on his knees if he wanted to see her again. And he damned well better have flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other.

Libby opened the bathroom door but stepped back with a yelp of surprise to avoid stepping on Trouble.

She’d forgotten about the kittens.

All three of them went scurrying past her and out the door, and Libby blew out a resigned sigh as she watched them run into the kitchen. She’d have to make sure they knew where their litter box was.

She walked to the shower, turned it on, and dropped the quilt at her feet. She stepped under the warm spray and let it cascade over her body, determined to wash away all thoughts of Michael.

But as she lathered herself up and heat slowly seeped back into her bones, Libby remembered Michael’s strong, sensual hands touching her. She remembered waking once or twice last night to find herself pulled up against Michael’s warm body, trapped in his possessive embrace. And she remembered feeling safe and secure and anchored to something more solid than TarStone Mountain.

By the time she dried off, Libby’s anger had subsided. With only a towel wrapped around her, she walked back into the kitchen and opened the trash bin. She took out the condoms, carried them into the bedroom, and put them in the nightstand beside the bed.

Dammit. She’d give him one more chance to make this affair work. And if he didn’t start living up to her expectations, she just might visit Father Daar and ask the crazy old man to turn Michael into a frog.

Chapter Fifteen

By nine-thirty that morning,Libby had unpacked most of the boxes she’d mailed to herself, and her jewelry studio was beginning to get organized. She was sitting with her feet propped up on the desk that already occupied the store and was contemplating how she wanted to display her product.

She was also halfway through her second warm, gooey, absolutely decadent glazed doughnut, which she’d bought at the bakery next-door. If she wasn’t careful, the doughnuts and hot cocoa could become a very bad habit.

She needed displays, she decided, licking her sticky fingers and picking up her cocoa.

Maybe some glass-fronted cases she could hang on the wall and a glass and oak counter like the one the Dolans had in their store next-door. But instead of knives and bullets and rifle scopes, hers would be filled with glass birds, acorns, woodland mammals, and colorful beads.

And loons. She should work on designing a nice loon pendant to sell, since the aquatic birds seemed so popular in the Northeast. She’d seen them decorating shirts, hats, and paintings in the Dolans’ store yesterday. There had been almost as many carvings of loons for sale as there had been moose.

She should probably design a moose, too. But not as a pendant, maybe a small figurine that could decorate a wooden box or something.

Was there a woodworker in Pine Creek she could team up with? Maybe there were other craftsmen—and women—who could use an outlet for their work. She could form a co-op of some sort, and that way the studio could be open more hours, everyone taking turns manning the counter.

Libby dropped her feet to the floor, picked up her pen, and began making a list of the possibilities. Her spirits soared. She hadn’t been this excited since she’d taken a scalpel in her hand for the very first time.

But even that hadn’t been this exciting. The scalpel had been just the next step in a long line of steps to become a surgeon. Building a crafts studio was completely different.

Grammy Bea had been right. Embarking on a new and creative career was what her soul had been yearning for. There were no rules, no strict procedures she’d have to adhere to, and certainly no one looking over her shoulder and telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

It was a very liberating epiphany.

She was thirty-one years old, intelligent, but it amazed her that it had taken so long to realize that she hadn’t been happy. She’d been fulfilled as a surgeon—giving traumatized people their lives back was very rewarding—but she’d caught herself more than once over the years yearning for more, secretly searching for something that was missing in her life.

Libby’s laugh echoed off the empty studio walls. For all her surgeon’s illusion of control, she’d never really had it. The medical establishment had been dictating her every move—medicine and the people who were supposed to love her, who were supposed to want what was best for her.

Well, nowshe was doing what was best for her.

And she was damned proud of herself.

There was a knock on the door, and Libby looked up to see Grace MacKeage peering between cupped hands through the window, a young child doing the same by her knee.

Libby waved them both in, a smile of welcome on her face as she stood to greet her first guests.

“Welcome to NorthWoods Glass Studio,” Libby said, stopping in front of them. “And who have we here?” she asked, leaning down to the adorable, shy girl clinging to her mother’s leg.

“This is Elizabeth,” Grace said, pulling the young child’s thumb out of her mouth.

“Elizabeth, this is Libby. You both have the same name, but she prefers to be called Libby. Say hello.”

Instead of speaking, Elizabeth popped her thumb back between her teeth and hid her face in Grace’s plump belly.

Grace sighed when she straightened and smiled at Libby. “We’re still working on meeting new people. So that’s the name, NorthWoods Glass Studio?”

Libby shrugged. “I’m just trying it out. What do you think?”

“It has a nice ring,” Grace agreed, looking around at the bare walls. Her eyes widened when they came to rest on Libby’s torch on the workbench. “You’ve set your equipment up right here in front?” she asked, walking to the workspace, young Elizabeth shuffling along with her. “I expected you’d work out back and fill the front with displays.”

“I thought people would like to see how it’s done,” Libby explained, following Grace.

“That way, if they order something special, they can watch me make it.”

Grace turned interested blue eyes on her. “You’ll take commissions?”

“Sure. Or I’ll try,” Libby clarified. “Working with glass is not always an exact art, and sometimes I end up with some rather funky-looking pieces.”

“Jewelry only?” Grace asked, nodding at the glass blue jay Libby wore.

Libby lifted the bird from around her neck, leaned down, and placed it over Elizabeth’s head, deftly shortening the cord and settling it against the child’s jacket.

“I can make small figurines that can be displayed,” Libby explained. “Just not too big. I have to build up the glass in layers, and there’s a limit before it starts to get unwieldy or cools unevenly. Then it just shatters.”

Grace looked down at her daughter, who was busy admiring her new necklace, then back at Libby. “Could you make a sword, do you think? Not too big,” she said, holding her index fingers about ten inches apart. “With a tartan wrapped around it? Does the glass come in many colors?”

Libby frowned, trying to picture what Grace had in mind. “It only comes in certain colors, but I can usually melt them together, creating a wide spectrum.”

“If I draw you a picture of what I’d like, would you be willing to try?”

“Yeah. I’ll give it a go.”

“Ah—before Christmas?” Grace asked.

“Oh, sure. If you give me something to go by, I can have it done by Thanksgiving.”

“Great,” Grace said. “Then consider me your first official customer. Do you have any jewelry ready to display?” she asked, peering into one of the open boxes. “Something from nature?” She shot Libby a lopsided grin. “I have a sister-in-law who practically lives outdoors.”

Libby started pulling out some of the glass pendants, earrings, and bracelets she’d made over the years, and Grace and Elizabeth immediately started oohing and aahing as they sorted through them. Then Grace stopped and held up a necklace, turning it toward the sunlight streaming through the front windows.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered. “The colors are almost alive. It feels heavy to be so delicate, and the raspberries look good enough to eat.”

The necklace was made of bright red, bulbous berries interspersed with green raspberry leaves. The glass she’d used was transparent, not opaque, and the sunlight glittering through it cast a colorful prism on Grace’s hands.

“It’s more rugged than it looks,” she told Grace as she dug through the box, looking for the matching bracelet. “I even make key chains out of some of the beads.” She gave Grace a crooked smile. “Although the thin leaves might chip if it’s dropped.”

Grace was only absently paying attention. She was busy clasping the necklace around her neck and looking for something to see herself in. “Oh, I love this,” she said, taking the mirror Libby handed her, fingering the raspberries as she admired the necklace in the mirror. “Every August, we spend a whole day picking wild raspberries. They grow wild and abundant around here. What do you think, Elizabeth?” she asked, holding her very pregnant belly while she leaned over for her daughter to see. “Does this look good on Mommy?”

Elizabeth nodded, more interested in her own necklace. “I like my bird,” she said, holding it up.

“Then it’s yours,” Libby told her. She looked at Grace.

“If that’s okay? I forgot about your other daughters. And it might be small enough for Elizabeth to choke on,” she added, looking at the young girl.

“Thank you,” Grace said, nodding. “And don’t worry. It won’t be left around like a toy.”

She turned Elizabeth to face her and lifted her daughter’s chin. “You’ll keep it in my jewelry box and only wear it when you’re dressing up to go out, right?”

Elizabeth quickly nodded agreement.

“Then say thank you to Libby.”

“Thank you, Libby,” Elizabeth dutifully repeated, all signs of her previous shyness gone. “I can wear it to my birthday party. And you can come if you want. It’s… it’s… ”

She looked at her mother. “What day, Mama?”

“December twenty-first this year, sweetie,” Grace confirmed for Libby. “And since I expect to be quite busy that day,” she said with a laugh, patting her belly, “I think we’ll have the party a few days early. And you are certainly invited.”

Libby was about to thank her and accept when a shadow darkened the interior of the store. All three of them turned just as a large man walked in with two cute, wide-eyed toddlers in his arms.

“Oh, my God,” Grace said, rushing up to him. “Don’t you dare set them down. They’ll be worse than two bulls in a china shop.”

“Bird,” one of the toddlers said, pointing at her sister.

“Down,” the other toddler demanded, wiggling to get free.

“You stay right where you are, Chelsea,” Grace said, adjusting the child’s blaze orange wool hat. She turned to Libby with a proud smile. “Let me introduce you to some more of my family. This is Chelsea, who’s almost four, and her twin sister, Megan. And if you haven’t guessed by now, this is my husband, Greylen. Grey, this is Libby Hart.”

“Miss Hart,” he said with a nod, his smile no less imposing than his size. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He took a quick look around her shop, settled his gaze on his wife’s neck, and let out a totally male resigned sigh. “You haven’t even finished unpacking, and already you have a customer. Two,” he clarified with a chuckle, looking at the blue jay Elizabeth was wearing.

Libby was speechless. Was there something in the water around here that made all the men so big? She’d met Michael, Ian, Callum, and now Grey. They were all giants… all Scots… all overwhelming.

This one, though, had his hands full. Six girls and one more on the way. The man would have seven daughters to deal with by Christmas. Libby realized they were all staring at her while she stood there like an idiot, gawking.

“Er, it’s nice to meet you, too,” she finally managed to say. She even managed to smile.

“And you can’t expect a woman—no matter her age—to walk into a jewelry shop and not try something on.”

A gleam came into his clear green eyes. “I’m quickly learning the minds of females.” He affectionately squeezed his two daughters in his arms, looking from one to the other and then at his wife. “Have you told her your news yet, or have you been too busy shopping?”

“Oh, Lord, I did forget,” Grace said, turning apologetic blue eyes on Libby. “Katherine Hart and James Kessler checked into our hotel late last night. And they asked the desk clerk if he knew you, and where you might be staying.”

Libby felt a crushing weight land on her shoulders. Her feet were bolted to the floor, her head felt twice its size, and her heart started pounding against her ribs so violently she couldn’t breathe.

James was in Pine Creek?

“Wh-what did the clerk tell them?” she whispered, grabbing hold of the desk for support.

Grace stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. “It’s a small town, Libby. He told them he thought the name was familiar, but he didn’t know where you lived.”

“Where are they now?”

Grace shot a worried look at her husband, then looked back at Libby and shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume they’re in town somewhere, looking for you. They’ll probably check with the post office, don’t you think? Have you signed up for mail delivery yet?”

Grace must have thought Libby was either going to fall over or throw up, because she guided her to the chair behind the desk and made her sit down. She took hold of Libby’s shoulder for support.

Dammit. All she had wanted was a little time to get settled before she had to face the scene that would inevitably take place. She wasn’t surprised her mother had come, since Katherine had sounded more curious than worried the last time they’d talked on the phone. But honest to God, she had never expected James to track her down and actually come here. And how had he found her, anyway? Libby knew for certain her mom hadn’t told him.

But they were both here. Now. In Pine Creek.

“You don’t have to see them, Libby,” Grace said softly, squeezing her shoulder. “If you’

re not ready, you can come to Gu Bràth and stay with us until they give up and go back to California. No one has to know where you are.”

Libby looked up into Grace’s concerned eyes and patted Grace’s hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told her hoarsely. She shook her head. “You’re a good friend, and I thank you for that. I knew my mom would probably come looking for me, but I thought I’d have more time.”

“But not this James person?” Grace asked, lifting one curious brow.

“No, not James,” Libby confirmed. “I didn’t think he would bother.”

“Do you fear him?” Grey asked, stepping closer, his eyes narrowed with a different sort of concern.

Libby shook her head again. “I’m not afraid of James, just surprised that he’s here.”

“Then come to Gu Bràth,” Grace repeated.

Again, Libby shook her head. “No. That won’t solve anything.” She straightened, took a deep breath, and stood, smiling warmly. “I’ll have to deal with him sooner or later, and it might as well be now.”

Grace took off the necklace she was wearing and carefully set it on the desk. She rounded up Elizabeth, scooted the girl toward Grey, and motioned that it was time they left. Libby watched them walk out onto the sidewalk and toward their truck parked in front of the Dolans’ store. Libby could see three other heads sitting in the backseat of the truck.

Grace turned to Libby. “I’m calling Michael,” she stated bluntly. “He should know.”

“Know what?” Libby asked in surprise. “That my mother’s in town? She’s just worried about me. And do you blame her? What if one of your daughters just up and moved clear across the country? Wouldn’t you be hot on her trail? I’m betting your husband would.”