Текст книги "Wedding The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Not if she’s a grown woman, more than capable of making her own decisions.”

“But wouldn’t you want to understand those decisions?”

Grace conceded with a tender smile. “Yes. I would be on the next plane out,” she admitted. “But Michael should know this James guy is in town.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Grace echoed in disbelief. “Because he has a stake in this now. He’s not going to like the fact that a man has come here looking for you.”

“What stake?” Libby asked, honestly confused. “He’s my landlord, not my baby-sitter.”

“Since when do landlords spend the night?”

“What?” Libby cried. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Grey left to go hunting before daybreak this morning,” Grace said. “And he told me he ran into Michael walking back to his house at four-thirty this morning.”

Libby returned to her chair and rubbed her suddenly aching forehead. So much for discretion.

Grace patted her shoulder. “There’s something you need to understand about these Scots, Libby. They’re more old-fashioned than they are reasonable most of the time.

They can be so damned possessive when it comes to their women that if it weren’t so frustrating, it would be comical. I’ll bet you a penny that Grey’s on his cell phone right now, calling Michael.”

“But why?”

“Because of your reaction,” Grace explained. “Grey saw how shaken you were. And to his way of thinking, that means Michael needs to become involved. It’s a guy thing,”

Grace added with a chuckle. “An unwritten code they all live by, to watch out for each other’s back. Or their women, in this case.”

“That’s archaic. We can take care of ourselves. I don’t need Michael beating his chest to run James off. I can do that all by myself.” Libby stood up, suddenly fortified with anger. “And I’ll tell Michael that if he tries to interfere. It’s an affair, for crying out loud.

A simple, stupid affair that probably won’t even happen again.”

“Uh-oh. He’s already messed things up?”

“I woke up in the back of my freezing truck this morning, all alone, after Michael snuck out. He didn’t even say good-bye or thank-you.”

“The back of your truck?” Grace repeated, her eyes rounding in disbelief. “But what were… why the truck?” she asked, trying hard not to laugh.

“Because it’s the only place that Mary hasn’t been part of. Good God, Grace. I’m living in Mary’s house, sleeping in Mary’s bed, trying to have an affair with her former lover.”

Grace opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry. She was your sister,” Libby continued more softly, instantly contrite. “But can you understand how weird it is for me?”

“I-I hadn’t thought about it from that perspective,” Grace said gently, leaning past her cumbersome belly to give Libby a hug. “I suppose it’s only natural for you to feel… weird.” She pulled back and smiled crookedly. “But the truck?” she whispered, covering her smile with her hand.

Libby shrugged. “It seemed logical at the time.”

“And he didn’t say good-bye. Or… or thank you?”

Libby found her sense of humor and smiled sheepishly. “It does sound rather petty, doesn’t it?”

Grace picked up her purse and headed for the door but stopped and looked back. “I warned you, didn’t I, that he would drive you crazy. So prepare yourself, my good friend. I give Michael ten minutes before he’s darkening your doorstep. Welcome to the Highlands of Maine,” Grace trailed off with a laugh, walking out to join her family.

Libby stared after her and watched as Grey quickly came around the truck, opened the door, and lifted his pregnant wife into the front seat. Six wool-capped heads were lined up in the two rows of seats in the back, all occupied with Elizabeth’s new blue jay necklace.

So, Libby thought with a sigh, walking back to her desk and flopping in the chair. That’s what love looked like.

Would she ever have that? A handsome, strong, protective husband and a whole passel of adorable children?

Lord, she hoped so.

Well, maybe notseven .

Chapter Sixteen

Considering her options,Libby decided the reasonable thing to do was run. She locked her store, climbed into her truck, and headed out of town before her mom and James found her and Michael could play the knight in shining armor and come to her rescue.

She didn’t need rescuing—by anyone. Her mother was there because she was worried about her only child.

James was there on his own agenda.

Libby drove until she saw a sign that had a picture of a picnic table on it. She turned down the dirt road and quickly came to a deserted picnic area on the shore of Pine Lake.

She looked around and then eased her truck deep into a young stand of fir trees. Sure it couldn’t be seen from the main road, she got out of the truck, sat on top of one of the many picnic tables, and stared at the cold water lapping against the icy shoreline.

She snuggled into her blaze orange jacket, pulled up the hood, and tucked her hands in her pockets. And she sighed, thought about her new life, and compared it with her old life in California.

No matter how she looked at it, she’d made the right decision. Even without this… this gift she’d been given, it had been time for a change. Practicing medicine, no matter how honorable and fulfilling, just wasn’t enough anymore.

But was making jewelry really what she was looking for?

Seeing Grace MacKeage with her family that morning had stirred something deep inside Libby. Maybe it wasn’t medicine she was trying to escape but a new life she was seeking. One that included a husband who loved her, children, and a different sort of fulfillment.

Why couldn’t she have it all?

She could practice medicine anywhere. Wherever there were people, there was a need for doctors. California or Maine, it didn’t matter; it only mattered that she find more of a balance in her life.

And for that, Maine came out the winner, hands down. There was something about this place—the mountains, the people, the sense of timelessness that seemed to permeate the air. It didn’t get any more real than shooting a deer for the dinner table or riding through the woods on a horse or an ATV. Even the weather could not be ignored but counted on to affect daily lives. And neighborliness—that was the most remarkable thing here.

Grace had offered her sanctuary that morning, and Libby had been humbled by the offer.

That had made her realize she was closer to these people than she had ever been to anyone back in California—except Grammy Bea.

Yes, she had some serious thinking to do about her future.

“Ya’re developing a bad habit of running away,” Michael said from right behind her.

Libby yelped, jumped up, and would have fallen off the picnic table if Michael’s strong hands hadn’t caught her and pulled her up against his broad, solid chest. His warm, demanding lips covered her mouth, swallowing her curse of outrage before she could scold him for scaring her.

This wasso not right. Michael wasn’t on his knees—she was. He was standing, and she was kneeling on the picnic table, and still he towered over her. And since his hands were busy holding her tightly against him, Libby knew he hadn’t brought flowers or chocolates.

She didn’t want to kiss him back, just on principle. He’d left without saying good-bye that morning, and now he hadn’t even said hello before kissing her. He had some nerve, accusing her of running away.

But he tasted so nice. And he felt so warm and solid. Libby sighed into his mouth. She was such a hussy whenever he touched her, so easy and wanton and instantly turned on.

So she gave up, opened her mouth to his, and melted.

He was so damned sexy, only a dead woman would be unaffected. Libby wrapped her arms around his waist, inside his unbuttoned jacket, and snuggled against him. She tilted her head back, pushed her tongue into his mouth, and tasted pleasure.

Visions of last night rose in her mind—their naked bodies rubbing together, the feel of him entering her, the explosion of sensations that had followed. Why hadn’t she thought to put one of his condoms in her purse this morning? She wanted to feel him inside her again. Right now. Right here.

Libby broke the kiss and buried her face against his chest.

“Good morning,” he said with a chuckle, his chin resting on her head, his chest rumbling against her still tingling lips.

“You left without saying good-bye,” she muttered.

His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry ya had to wake up alone, lass, but I wanted to get home before Robbie got up.” He leaned back and smiled down at her. “Ya looked so peaceful, sleeping like a babe, I didn’t have the heart to disturb ya.”

“I was a block of ice when I woke up,” she complained, not willing to let him off the hook.

He kissed her nose and pulled his jacket more firmly around her, snuggling her against him as if he could make up for the chill she’d experienced.

And the sad thing was, it was working.

“I’m sorry. I should have carried ya inside.”

As apologies went, Libby decided this was a fair one. He was a guy, after all. And what did guys know about romance?

“I’m buying a new bed,” she told him. “The truck just isn’t going to work.”

“Aye,” he said with another chuckle, setting her away. He zipped her jacket up to her chin and tucked the hood more warmly around her ears, holding the edges so she had to look at him. “I can see where ya feel awkward about Mary. And if a new bed will help, I’

ll move her old one to the attic.”

“How did you find me?” she asked, pulling away and climbing off the table. She looked up and frowned at him.

“I thought you were starting to cut Christmas trees today.”

“I left a crew of four men,” he said, sitting down on the picnic table, facing her. “John’s supervising them. And how I found ya is unimportant. Have ya seen your mother yet?”

“No,” Libby said, blushing at the admission that she had run from her as well. “I was just about to head home, figuring she and James have found the house by now.”

His expression hardened. “Ya told me ya weren’t running from a man,” he said with quiet menace. “Am I going to have to drive him off?”

“You are not! I dated James for a while, but that was a hundred years ago. You leave him alone. His being here is not any of your business.”

He stood up, took hold of her hood again, and leaned down as he lifted her face to his.

He said, very softly, “You are my business now, Elizabeth Hart. Last night made it a fact. And,” he continued even more softly when she tried to pull away, “you will accept the claim I made last night.”

“Wh-what claim?”

“That you belong to me now.”

“Are you getting philosophical again or just being contrary? We’re having an affair, Michael. And women stoppedbelonging to anyone when they got the right to vote.”

“Ya can’t change the laws of nature, lass,” he said, suddenly smiling. “Nor can ya deny your own nature. Ya can try, Libby, to pretend it’s nothing more than a simple affair between us, but you’re only fooling yourself. I was there, remember? Ya gave yourself freely and completely, and I accepted.”

“Well, of all the… Michael, you can’t just decide I belong to—”

He stopped her protest with another searing kiss that Libby felt all the way down to her toes. The confounding man tasted better than a dozen gooey glazed doughnuts, and Libby was torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to devour him.

Devouring won, probably because one of Michael’s hands had found its way under her jacket and was caressing her breast. He ran his thumb lightly over her nipple, and Libby sucked in her breath.

“Stop doing that,” she muttered when she finally got her mouth back. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you don’t like what I’m saying.”

He tapped the end of her nose. “I can,” he told her. “It’s one of the privileges of belonging. You can do the same, lass, when ya don’t care for what I’m saying.”

“Even married people don’t belong to each other,” she instructed, only to realize she was talking to his back. Michael had turned and was walking to her truck. Libby ran to catch up. “And having an affair doesn’t even come close,” she continued. “So stop acting like a caveman. What are you doing?”

He was holding her truck door open for her. And before she could protest, he picked her up and plopped her down in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

It was quicker than using the apple crate.

“I’ll follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother,” he said, handing her the seat belt. “And James,” he tacked on with a glare. “And then the four of us will discuss tonight’s sleeping arrangements.”

“What do you mean, arrangements?”

“I mean, if James stays, so do I.”

“Excuse me?”

He took hold of her chin and made her look directly into his steel-gray eyes. “He stays at the hotel, Libby. Or I’ll be in your bed tonight, making sure he isn’t.”

“Of all the absur—”

He kissed her again.

“Cut that out,” she sputtered the minute he pulled back.

“Drive careful,” he told her, completely ignoring her glare. “They’re hauling logs today,” he reminded her, closing the door and walking up the dirt track that led to the main road.

Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake, cursing under her breath and licking the taste of Michael off her lips. Dammit. How was she going to explain to her mother that she hadn’t been here a week and had already gotten herselfbelonging to an immovable mountain of man? All she needed now was for Father Daar to show up for dinner.

Maybe she could ask the priest to turn them all into frogs.

Suddenly, Michael’s statement about making sure James wasn’t in her bed dawned on Libby. She opened the door of her truck, jumped out, and started running after him.

“Hey! Wait!” she hollered, trying to get his attention.

When he didn’t stop, Libby picked up a palm-sized piece of snow and threw it at him.

It hit him smack in the center of his back. By the time he’d turned to face her with a look of disbelief, she’d thrown another snowball at him, this one hitting him in the chest.

“Are ya toying with my temper so I’ll kiss you again?” he asked, his expression fierce, his stance threatening. “Or do ya have a death wish?”

They were standing about thirty paces apart, and he was glaring at the third snowball in her hand. Libby glared back.

“No,” she told him. “I’m trying to control my own temper. I do not care for the insult you just gave me.”

He broadened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “What insult?” he asked, his voice spine-shiveringly low.

“You said you’d be in my bed to make sure James wasn’t. You might as well have slapped my face, if that’s what you think of me. I do not bed-hop, Michael MacBain. I have too much respect for myself, even if you obviously don’t.”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed against the sun. He suddenly uncrossed his arms and opened them wide, holding them out to expose his broad chest as he slowly started walking toward her.

“Throw it,” he said, nodding at the snowball in her hand. “Take your best shot, Libby,”

he softly urged, continuing to walk toward her.

Libby tightened her grip on the snowball and took a step back. “I-I don’t want to throw it. I want you to trust me.”

“I do,” he said, his pace unhurried, his gaze locked with hers, his arms still spread to provide her with a perfect target. Libby suddenly felt like prey being stalked. She opened her hand, let the snowball fall to the ground, and took another step back.

“I never meant to imply you would sleep with him,” he continued. “It’s James I don’t trust. The man just came clear across the country to find you. He has an agenda.”

“But that’s just it,” she said, somewhat desperately, as she continued to move back. “It doesn’t matter if he does or not. I can deal with James.”

She looked over her shoulder, trying to judge if she could make it to her truck before Michael could catch her. Lord, what had she been thinking, throwing snowballs at him?

He suddenly stopped. “Ya won’t make it,” he said softly, reading her intention. “Come here, Libby.”

Did he think she was nuts? There was a smudge of slush on his jacket where her snowball had hit him. And he was telling her to walk into his trap?

But he just stood there, his arms held out from his sides.

Libby rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. He was driving her crazy. If he wasn’t kissing her senseless, he was insulting her, inflaming her, or confounding her so much that she wanted to scream. In an almost perfect repeat of the afternoon he’d asked her to go riding, he was telling her to come to him, not moving, not saying anything, just waiting for her to concede.

She was damned if she did and stupid if she didn’t. This man had somehow engaged her heart while she’d been busy guarding it from him. But if he thought she belonged to him, then he damned well belonged to her, too.

Libby ran and threw herself against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

“I did not mean to insult ya, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, squeezing her so tightly she squeaked.

“I’m sorry I threw snow at you,” she apologized between kisses to his face. “Did I hurt you?”

His laugh shook her. “Nay. But ya did give me a very nice compliment.”

Libby leaned back and blinked at him. “How?”

“By showing me you trust me, lass. Ya feel safe enough to let loose your temper, knowing I would never hurt ya.”

She blinked again. He was right. She smiled, kissed his chin, and laughed out loud.

Yeah. She hadn’t given it a thought that he might retaliate.

“I’m not a violent person,” she replied. “I don’t usually throw things at people.”

“Ya have a good arm. And aim,” he said, kissing her on the nose. He let her slide down the length of his body, and Libby gasped the moment her belly rubbed over the bulge in his pants.

“You’re surprised?” he drawled, setting her away. “I cannot hide how ya affect me, Libby.”

She immediately began studying one large button on his wool jacket. “Did you leave so early this morning because you had brought four condoms and only got to use one?”

she asked in a whisper, keeping her head down so he wouldn’t notice how red her face had become.

He lifted her chin with his finger, and Libby looked into his tender, warm pewter eyes.

“I wasn’t counting, lass. Nor was I expecting to use even that one. I left because I didn’t want Robbie waking up before I got home. I don’t want the boy building fairy tales in his head about us.”

Too late!Libby wanted to shout. She was already building fairy tales of her own.

“Now, how about I follow ya home, and you can introduce me to your mother?” he suggested.

“You can meet her tomorrow. After the explosion.”

“Oh, but I’d rather meet James today,” he said, leading her to her truck again. “I can give him a ride back to the hotel.”

“He’s an old family friend, Michael. How am I going to explain that he can’t stay at my house when there are four empty bedrooms upstairs?”

He picked her up, set her back in her truck, and turned her chin to face him. “You’ll think of something,” he said in deadly seriousness. “Or I will.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

He arrogantly nodded agreement. “Aye. But not as unreasonable as I will be if he stays.”

And, without further discussion, he softly closed the truck door and turned and walked back up the dirt road.

Again, Libby stared out the windshield at Pine Lake. But she found herself smiling this time, as Grace MacKeage’s words of warning whispered through her head.

Old-fashioned. Protective. Possessive.

Yeah. That was just what this doctor needed.

He didn’t care to be indebted to Greylen MacKeage, but he did appreciate the heads-up Grey had given him that morning about Libby’s visitors. Michael reached his truck parked on the main road and got in, fastened his seat belt, and rubbed his hands over his face.

He wasn’t surprised Libby’s mother had come looking for her, but what in hell was her old boyfriend doing here?

What a mess. He’d told Libby that she belonged to him now, and the woman had not meekly, or graciously, welcomed his claim. Michael knew his authority over her was tenuous at best. They weren’t married. He couldn’t even say they were dating according to modern ways. Making wild, passionate love in the back of a truck parked in a garage was not a date.

No, the only thing Libby had agreed to was a discreet affair. Michael did believe she considered affairs exclusive things, with both parties committed to each other. But that was where his rights ended. Affairs today meant monogamous sex and nothing more—

no interfering in each other’s life, no formal contract, no recourse if one behaved in a way the other did not like.

He didn’t want a modern affair with Libby. He wanted the right to follow her home, meet her mother, and kick James’s ass all the way back to California.

Michael’s right palm itched for the feel of his sword, and he held up his empty hand and stared at it in silence. It had been years since he’d wielded his sword with intent, and he was shocked that he wanted to now.

Shocked, maybe, but not surprised. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Libby stirred his baser instincts. A need beyond his ability to comprehend made him want to possess her completely.

With a twist of the ignition, Michael started his truck and pulled onto the paved road behind Libby’s Suburban as she drove past. He rubbed his still itching right hand over his face to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Michael’s heart slammed into his ribs, and his muscles tensed with the instinct to flee.

How could he do it? How could he care for another woman? If he gave his heart to Libby and then lost her, he might not survive this time.

And he had to survive—for Robbie.

Aye. It was a hell of a mess, because it was too late.

Because Libby had managed to capture his heart with a simple, well-aimed snowball.

Chapter Seventeen

There was a rental carparked in her yard, and she could see her mother sitting in the front passenger seat. James was standing on the porch, his hands on his hips, the collar of his dress coat turned up against the cold, and an impatient scowl on his tanned face.

Libby drove straight into the garage and quickly walked back to the rental car. She opened the passenger door, waited until her mother got out, and hugged her warmly.

“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Katherine Hart hugged her back and kissed Libby’s cheek before pulling away. “It took us a while to find out where ‘here’ was,” Katherine returned loudly enough for James to hear, pulling her own collar up against the chilly breeze.

“Elizabeth,” James said, turning Libby into his arms and hugging her. He also kissed her on the cheek, then leaned away, still holding her shoulders, and his scowl returned.

“Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in?”

“That can wait,” Katherine said, glancing at the truck that had pulled up beside their rental car. “Who would this be?” she asked Libby as she stared at the giant stepping out of the truck.

Libby took one look at Michael and quickly pulled away from James. She took hold of her mother’s arm and led her over to the truck. “This is my landlord, Michael MacBain,”

Libby told her. “Michael, this is my mother, Katherine. And this is James Kessler.”

“Missus Hart,” Michael said, bowing slightly as he took her hand. “Kessler,” he said, nodding curtly, then giving his attention back to her mother. “It’s nice to see that you’ve come to help your daughter settle in.”

“I’ve come to take my daughter home, Mr. MacBain.”

“Really?” Michael asked, lifting one brow. “It’s my understanding that she is home.”

With the grace of a woman who’d found herself in many social situations throughout her husband’s illustrious career, Katherine Hart set her features into polite amusement. She looked around at the rugged landscape, at the house Libby was renting, and then lifted her assessing gaze to settle on Michael.

“Home is where her work is. And where her family is, Mr. MacBain. And that is in California.”

Libby was getting a crick in her neck trying to watch everyone’s expression as Michael and her mother talked about her as if she wasn’t even there. Which was, Libby realized, a great performance from Katherine for James’s benefit. Her mom was playing the worried parent role almost too well.

But it was James who most alarmed Libby. He was being unusually quiet, his golden eyes intent on Michael as he tried to decide exactly how the giant fit in here.

Michael took hold of Katherine’s elbow and started leading her to the house. And Katherine, ever the epitome of grace, let him, craning her own neck to give him her attention.

“We needn’t stand in the cold,” Libby heard Michael say as she tagged along behind them. “I’ll get a fire going in the hearth, and your daughter can make ya some tea.”

James pulled Libby to a halt. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“My landlord.”

“In residence?”

“No,” she shot back, pulling away from him. “Will you calm down. He’s just being neighborly.”

“He’s being damned forward, if you ask me. Get rid of him, Elizabeth. We have to talk.

Alone.”

“Oh, we’ll talk, all right,” she said, running to catch up with Michael and her mother.

It was just as she was walking through the kitchen that she heard Michael say from the living room, in utter and complete seriousness, “Libby can’t return to California until after Christmas, even if she wants to. She’s obligated to work for me, in payment for a mishap that occurred the day she arrived here.”

“What sort of mishap?” Katherine asked as she sat on the couch facing the hearth. “And what sort of work?”

Michael hunched down and started building a fire. “Libby ran over several of my prize Christmas trees,” he said as he laid sticks of kindling over the paper. “And I’ve agreed to let her pay for them by working in my Christmas shop this season.”

Libby realized she was standing in the living-room door with her mouth hanging open.

She snapped it shut, darting a look from Michael’s broad back to her suddenly speechless mother. James had taken a seat beside Katherine and was now gaping himself.

Only Michael seemed oblivious to the silence. “So she can’t leave until her debt to me is satisfied,” he continued, turning to smile at Katherine. “If you’re staying for a while, I could use your help as well, for a fair wage, of course. Do ya bake, Missus Hart? Or maybe ya do crafts? We’re needing Christmas tree ornaments to sell, and handmade ones do very well.”

Libby’s mouth fell open again. Had Michael just offered her mother a job? For money?

Katherine Hart probably hadn’t even seen a real dollar bill in years. And she certainly hadn’t worked since high school.

“Elizabeth can pay for the trees,” James said. “She’s a highly successful surgeon and can’

t be working in a Christmas shop. She needs to get back and salvage her career. How much does she owe you?” he asked, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’

ll write you a check right now.”

Michael struck a match and lit the paper beneath the kindling, watching until it caught before he turned to look at James. He shook his head.

“Money won’t pay for the trees,” he told him. “They were prize Douglas fir, ya see, certain to win first place at the state fair next summer. Put your checkbook away, Kessler. I’m needing help more than I’m needing money.” He looked from James to Libby. “Besides, she’s already agreed.”

James and her mother turned on the couch and also looked at her. Prickles of heat rose in Libby’s cheeks. Dammit, Michael was crazy.

He was also a genius.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “I promised to work for Michael until Christmas.”

“Elizabeth,” James said, standing to face her. “You’re about to be sued for breach of contract. You left without notice.”

Michael also stood up.

“We can discuss this later, James,” Katherine said, tugging on James’s hand to get him to sit down. “Elizabeth, did you put on some tea?” she asked. “And thank you for the offer for a job, Mr. MacBain. I-I’m flattered and will certainly think about it.”

“That’s good, then,” Michael said, rubbing his hands together as he walked into the kitchen, turning Libby ahead of him, and pushing her toward the stove. “I think I’ll just go downstairs and check on the furnace, since I’m here. Ya said it was making a funny noise?”

“Yes,” Libby snapped. “It’s making a lot of noise and blowing lots of hot air.”

A startled scream came from the living room just then, and Libby and Michael both rushed to the door at the same time. They saw Katherine standing on the hearth, holding on to the run in her stocking as she stared at Trouble, who was trying to jump up after her.

James grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck, holding it away from himself as if it were trash. Trouble let out an angry mew, and suddenly Guardian was climbing up James’s pants leg to rescue his brother.

Libby beat him to it and also rescued Guardian while she was at it. “Aren’t they adorable?” she asked her mother, holding the kittens against her chest as she faced Katherine. “Robbie gave them to me. There’s another one, too,” she said, looking around. “Her name is Timid. And this is Guardian, and this is Trouble,” she added, turning each one to face her mother. “Kittens, this is my mother.”

Katherine let James help her down from the hearth and leaned over to check the run in her stocking. She brushed her hair back from her suddenly embarrassed face and darted a look at Michael and then back at Libby.

“Who’s Robbie?”

“He’s really my landlord,” Libby explained. “He’s Michael’s son. This is his mother’s house.”

“And where is his mother now?”

“She died when Robbie was born,” Libby told her.

And again, Katherine darted a look at Michael. “Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. MacBain.” She looked around the room and then back at Libby. “Where’s the other one?” she whispered.

“Timid, you called her?”

“She’s probably hiding, hence the name,” Libby told her, walking over and handing the two kittens to Michael.

“Maybe you should go check on the furnace now, before it starts blowing any more hot air.”

James came walking into the kitchen, holding Timid at arm’s length. “Here’s the other one.”

“Oh, you’re scaring the poor thing,” Katherine said, snatching Timid away from him and cuddling her against her cashmere coat. “She’s just a baby.”