Текст книги "Wedding The Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Libby wondered why he’d turned so pale. “Mary brought it to me,” she told him. “Why?

Is it a rare wood? From a protected tree or something?”

“Nay,” Michael said softly, rolling the stick in his hand and hefting its weight. He looked at the snowy owl, his face drawn taut and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Ya say Mary brought it to ya?” he asked, looking back at Libby.

She nodded.

“It appears to be cherrywood,” John interjected, coming up and taking the stick from Michael. He also turned it in his hand, holding it toward Libby. “It’s full of burls.” He traced his fingers over the knots. “See. If you were to cut these off and polish them, you would find a swirling grain that would darken to a deep cherry red.”

Michael carefully took the stick away from John, then looked around as if trying to decide what to do with it. He kept his attention divided between the stick in his hand and the owl silently staring at them. Finally, and with what sounded to Libby like a whispered curse, he walked into the living room and headed toward the hearth.

But he stopped when he reached the brightly burning fire and stared into the flames.

“Please don’t burn it,” Libby softly entreated from the living-room door. “I don’t know why it bothers you, but I would hate to see that beautiful wood destroyed.”

“Don’t burn it, Papa,” Robbie added from beside her.

“It’s Mary’s gift to Libby.”

Michael continued to stare at the fire, the stick clutched in his white-knuckled fist like a club, and Libby found herself holding her breath. Why was he so bothered by Mary’s gift?

Why wouldn’t he say something?

Libby began breathing again when Michael set the stick on the mantel and turned to her.

“Supper smells good,” he said through a tight smile, making no apology and giving no explanation for his actions. He slowly rubbed his hands together as if he were anticipating dinner, but Libby sensed he was trying to rub away the feel of the stick.

“And I’m starved,” Robbie said, turning and running to the table. He sat down next to John and immediately reached for a slice of bread.

John took it away from him and put it back. “You have to wait until everyone’s seated and grace is said,” he instructed in a whisper. “Or you won’t get any apple pie.”

Libby finished mashing the potatoes and put them in a large bowl while Michael took the chicken out of the roaster and set it on a platter. They carried the food to the patiently waiting guests. There was an awkward moment when they both started to sit in the chair at the head of the table.

Each immediately conceded to the other, but only when Libby sat down facing John and Robbie did Michael finally sit at the head of the table. He busied himself carving the chicken. Libby looked over and saw that John was smiling and Robbie was all but drooling onto his empty plate.

“I can say grace while Papa is carving,” the young boy suggested, folding his hands in front of him and bowing his head.

Libby and John did the same, but Michael didn’t stop carving, apparently just as anxious to eat as his son.

“Thank you, God, for the food,” Robbie began. “And for helping Libby cook it perfect.

Amen,” the boy said, grabbing back his slice of bread and slathering it with butter.

Dinner went by almost as quickly as Robbie’s prayer. Michael, John, and Robbie ate as if there were no tomorrow. There wasn’t much conversation, and by the end, there wasn’t much food left. The chicken was reduced to a carcass, the stuffing disappeared, and Libby thought Robbie was going to lick the bowl of potatoes clean.

She was just snatching up the last slice of bread when she heard a squeak. Libby looked over at Mary, who was still sitting on the back of the rocking chair, but the bird wasn’t making a sound. She was, however, looking toward the wall of clothes by the door with interest.

The squeak grew louder, and Libby heard scratching as well. She decided the noise was coming from the box Michael had carried in earlier.

“What’s in the box?” she asked, slowly getting out of her chair and walking around the table until it was between her and the scratching noise.

“I forgot the kittens!” Robbie said, sliding back his chair and running toward the box.

Michael caught him on the way past. “Nay, son,” he said, pulling him onto his lap. “Ya can’t take them out with your pet here,” he told him.

Wide-eyed, Robbie looked at Mary. “Oh,” he said. “I hadn’t thought about that. She might consider them supper.” He suddenly frowned. “But ya told me Mama likes cats.”

“She does. I mean, she did. But your pet might be looking at them a little differently.”

Michael set Robbie off his lap and turned him toward Mary. “Why don’t ya see if she’s ready to go outside?”

“Do you think that’s wise, Michael, for the boy to be handling that owl?” John asked, his worried frown divided between Michael and Robbie. Robbie held out his arm, and the owl hopped onto it.

“She’ll not harm him,” Michael assured John. “They’ve been friends for months now.”

Libby walked over and opened the door for Robbie. “Good-bye, Mary,” she said, reaching out and lightly running her finger over the owl’s folded wing. “Thank you for the gift,” she added softly enough that Michael couldn’t hear. “And come back and visit me again.”

Robbie, pleased that Libby was talking to his pet, walked off the porch and into the night with Mary, all the time keeping up a whispered conversation of his own with the bird.

Libby turned to find Michael hunched down in front of the now very noisy box. Robbie must have brought her a pair of kittens. She pushed Michael out of the way, knelt down, and lifted open the flaps.

Three sets of eyes blinked up at her.

Libby caught one of the kittens when it made a leap for her. She picked it up and held it in front of her face. “Well, hello there,” she said, smiling at the huge green eyes staring back at her.

The kitten let out an impatient mew and wiggled to be set down. Libby set it on the floor and pulled out the other two kittens, holding them up to get a good look at them. They were such small, squirming things that she laughed out loud and put them down beside the other one.

The first kitten immediately began exploring its new home, another one sat down by the box and watched, and the last little ball of fluff hid under the flap and trembled.

Michael swept the frightened kitten up and cradled it against his chest.

Libby smileed at him. “What am I going to do with three kittens?” she asked.

“That’s the entire litter,” he told her, caressing his noisily purring bundle. “Robbie didn’

t have the heart to separate them. Any way he figured it, one would be left alone. So you

’re stuck with all three.”

“He knows which one is the female,” John said, coming over and picking up the quiet, watching kitten. “And he’s got a list of names a mile long but said you should choose, since they’re yours now.”

Libby plucked up the brave one trying to climb Robbie’s jacket and cuddled it against her chest. Three. She was the proud parent of three gorgeous kittens.

Robbie burst through the door, rubbing his hands together against the chill of the night.

“What do ya think, Libby?” he asked, smiling like a proud father. “Ya gotta take all of them, ’cause ya shouldn’t separate a family.”

“I’ll take all three,” she assured him, rubbing her chin against the kitten’s soft fur.

“Which one’s the girl?”

“That one,” he said, pointing at Michael. “Uncle Ian says she’s the runt of the litter and needs special attention ’cause she’s scared of everything.”

“Why don’t ya get the supplies from the back of the truck,” Michael suggested to Robbie, “and set them up in the downstairs bathroom for Libby?”

“What supplies?” Libby asked. “I’m not going to feed them in the bathroom.”

“The litter box,” Michael explained, handing her the female kitten and going to the counter. He picked up the apple pie and carried it to the table.

The man was still hungry after the supper he’d just eaten? John handed her his kitten and joined Michael. Libby turned the box on end and pushed all three kittens inside.

The brave one immediately shot back out, but the female and the other one started licking each other.

Careful not to step on the exploring kitten, Libby cleared the table of empty plates and reset it with clean ones. She took the ice cream out of the freezer and brought it to the sink before she opened the sticky bag. The ice cream was a bit soft but still edible. She slid it into a bowl and brought it to the table, along with clean forks and spoons.

Robbie came in carrying two bags and a large bin. He disappeared into the bathroom, and Libby sat down at the table.

John rubbed his hands together. “Oh, boy. You topped it with brown sugar crumble and cheddar cheese,” he said, eyeing the pie. “And you didn’t skimp on the apples.”

More interested in eating it than in admiring it, Michael cut the pie into four pieces and started dishing it out. Libby’s eyes nearly crossed when he set one of the plates in front of her. He expected her to eat a quarter of a pie? She watched as nearly a pint of ice cream landed on top of her piece. She wasn’t going to gain five pounds this winter, she was going to grow wider than she was tall.

The brave kitten started climbing up her pants leg, and Libby reached down, dug his claws out of her knee, and held him on her lap. Robbie came to the table, wiping his newly washed hands on his shirt, and sat down and grinned at the kitten peering over the top of the table.

“What are ya going to name them?” he asked.

“This one will be Trouble,” she told him.

“Nay. He won’t be any trouble,” he said worriedly. “Ya just have to keep an eye on him, is all.”

“I don’t mean I don’t want him,” Libby quickly assured him. “I’m naming him Trouble.

And I’m calling the female Timid.”

Robbie was surprisingly quick to catch onto her theme and smiled with relief. “Then I think ya should call the other one Guardian, ’cause he’s always looking after his brother and sister. And he’s really the smartest of the three. Trouble doesn’t always pay attention to what’s happening around him. Uncle Ian and I had to move a whole row of hay just to get him unstuck, after Guardian alerted us to the problem. And he always stays close to his sister, no matter how much he wants to explore.”

Libby noticed that Michael had stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth, to listen to Robbie’s story. His features had tightened, and he had gone deathly still.

“Guardian, huh?” she said to Robbie, keeping her attention on Michael. “Then that’s what I’ll name him,” she agreed, setting Trouble down on the floor and pushing him toward his siblings. “How’s the pie, Michael?” she asked.

“Too tart?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s perfect,” he said, finally lifting his fork to his mouth.

Libby looked down at her own plate. She couldn’t possibly eat another bite. She pushed the dish away and stood up to clear the table of everything but the men’s dessert.

Michael snatched her own plate closer so she wouldn’t take it away.

“If you’re not going to eat it,” he said, “then I can’t see letting it go to waste. Robbie, where did ya come up with the nameGuardian?” he asked, turning his attention to his son. “Why notAngel orWarrior or something like that?”

“Ya can’t call a boy cat Angel, Papa,” Robbie said, rolling his eyes. “AndGuardian andWarrior are different. A warrior has a duty to protect, but a guardian has a higher calling. And the kitten knows this, and so that makes him a guardian.”

Libby stared in fascination. The boy sounded more like a philosopher than his daddy did.

She kept an eye on Michael as she walked to the fridge with the butter. His eyes were gleaming, but his fist was clenched tightly, his complexion was pale, and he was eerily still again.

“What higher calling?” he softly asked.

Libby saw Robbie shrug as he ate a mouthful of pie. He swallowed and said, “I don’t know, Papa. It’s just something I understand but can’t explain.” The boy shot his father a worried look. “But being a warrior is good, too. And very noble.”

“Aye,” Michael agreed. “Very noble,” he softly repeated.

“How about we call him Noble?” Libby suggested.

“That’s a nice name.”

“Nay,” Michael whispered, turning his attention from Robbie to her. “Call him what he is. Guardian.”

Libby had never witnessed such an odd conversation. It was as if Robbie and Michael were the only ones who knew what they were talking about. John, apparently having witnessed many discussions like this over the years, was happily eating his pie and ice cream.

Libby turned from Michael’s intense stare and started running hot water into the sink of dirty dishes. She added soap, listened to the silence broken only by the clink of forks touching plates, and contemplated the imagination of an eight-year-old boy. She thought about Michael’s reaction, both to the stick Mary had brought her and to Robbie’s choice of a name for a tiny kitten.

Libby decided that she may have come to a good place when she’d moved to Pine Creek, but it was also a weird place. A little off kilter. Maybe otherworldly.

It was as if she were standing in the middle of the Twilight Zone. She’d actually befriended a snowy owl that shouldn’t even be living this far south, she’d met an old priest who thought he was a wizard and claimed to be almost fifteen hundred years old, she’d seen dead flowers brought back to life, and she was trying very hard not to get emotionally involved with a philosophical and very sexy man whose actions and beliefs made her think he was centuries old himself.

And then there was her own gift.

Yes, she fit in perfectly.

Chapter Thirteen

Michael stared down at histwo empty dessert plates and considered how long it had been since he’d had such a tasty meal.

Too bad it had settled like lead in his gut.

He glanced toward the living room, toward where thedrùidh’s stick sat on the mantel.

He knew it was the other half of Daar’s missing staff; the old man had been hunting for it for five years, since it had shot free of the waterfall when Morgan MacKeage had blown up half of Fraser Mountain.

Where had Mary found it? And why in hell had she brought it to Libby, of all people?

“Why don’t I take Robbie home?” John suggested, standing up and rubbing his own full belly as he headed for the door. He put on his hat and jacket and went over to Libby and kissed her on the cheek. “That was a wonderful supper,” he said, smiling contentedly.

“But Robbie and I can’t stay to help with the dishes. We both need our beauty sleep.

You’ll stay and help, won’t you, Michael?” he asked, turning to the table. “You don’t mind the walk home if Robbie and I take the truck?”

Michael nodded to John. “Robbie, why don’t ya collect the kittens?” Michael instructed.

“Make a bed out of their box, and lock them in the bathroom for tonight. Then ya can go home with John and tuck each other into bed.”

“You want to lock them in the bathroom?” Libby asked from the sink, turning to look at Michael, sending soap suds flying in front of her. “But why?”

“Ya haven’t owned kittens before, have ya?” Michael asked, standing up and carrying his two empty plates to the sink. “These are barn cats, mostly nocturnal. They’ll keep ya awake all night, get into God knows what trouble, and leave little presents all over the place until they learn where their litter box is.”

“Oh,” Libby said, looking at Robbie and nodding. “That sounds like a plan. Here,” she added, taking two bowls out of the cupboard and handing them to him. “Use these for their food and water.”

John started collecting the scattered kittens while Robbie went into the bathroom and made up their new home. Michael helped John search, but it took him a good five minutes to find Trouble. He was in the living room, climbing up the back of the couch.

“Come on, Trouble,” he said with a chuckle, plucking the young daredevil off the couch.

He turned the scrawny kitten until they were looking eye to eye. “You’ve been properly named, I’m afraid,” he said, carrying Trouble into the bathroom.

“Ya don’t have to worry about tucking me in, Papa,” Robbie said after John had deposited his kitten and left to warm up the truck. “Mary said she’d follow me home and stay until morning.”

Michael looked up from setting Trouble in front of the food dish and stared into his son’

s eyes. “Mary told you I would be staying here all night?” he choked out.

Robbie nodded. “Aye. She really likes Libby, Papa, and thinks ya should fall in love with her.”

Michael gently took hold of the boy’s shoulders. “We’ve had this talk before, son. I don’t want ya getting your hopes up. I cannot love another woman, and I know you understand why.”

Robbie patted his cheek. “Ya can if your heart gets healed,” the boy contradicted. “And Mary said Libby can do that. She’s special, Papa.”

“Mary?”

“Nay, Libby.” The boy frowned at the wall, obviously thinking. “What did she call it?

Oh, yeah,” he said, looking back at Michael and smiling. “Providence. She said providence brought Libby to us.”

Michael sat down on the floor, leaned against the wall, and scrubbed his face with his hands. He just might return Daar’s staff and have thedrùidh cast a spell that would send that owl back where she came from in a storm of flying white feathers. Dammit, he would not risk his heart again.

Robbie patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Papa. I know it’s scary, but you’re the bravest person that ever lived. You’re a warrior, remember? And warriors fear nothing.”

Michael looked up to find the boy grinning at him.

“So ya can’t be afraid of one tiny woman,” his wisdom-speaking son explained. “And Mary said Libby needs us. Both of us. That we can’t spit on providence when it comes calling.”

“Mary saidspit?” Michael asked, eyeing Robbie suspiciously.

The boy shook his head. “Nay, I saidspit . I think she saidre-rebuke or something like that.”

Michael didn’t know whether to hug Robbie or put the boy over his knee. “Son,” he said with a growl, “ya’re interfering in matters beyond the both of us.”

Robbie nodded agreement. “Aye. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain, Papa. That you

’re wasting your time being afraid of Libby. Didn’t ya tell me, when we buried Gram Ellen, that life happens whether we like it or not?”

The boy was eight, and already he was haunting Michael with his own words. He scrubbed his face again, stood up, and turned Robbie to face the kitchen. But before the boy could open the bathroom door, Michael leaned down and whispered to him. “The next time ya have occasion to talk with Mary, ya tell her for me to mind her own business. Because it’s my higher calling to raise you, and I’ll do it without interference from her, your aunt Grace, or anyone else who tries to have a say in the matter.

Understand, young man?”

Robbie twisted around and threw himself against Michael. Michael lifted him up and hugged him tightly.

“I love ya, Papa,” the boy whispered shakily. “And it’s my duty to see ya smile again.”

Michael took a shuddering breath and buried his face in Robbie’s shoulder. “I’m smiling like the village idiot every time I look at ya. And I love ya more than life itself, son.”

“Is everyone settled in here?” Libby asked, cracking open the door.

Michael turned, shielding Robbie’s tears from her. “Everyone’s settled,” he said to Libby

’s startled, blushing face. “We’re just saying good night.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” she stammered, backing out and closing the door.

Robbie sat up in his arms, swiped away his tears, and grinned. “How can ya not love her, Papa? She’s so… so… ”

“Small?” Michael finished for him.

The boy clasped Michael’s face in his hands and tried—but failed—to give him a serious look. “I think her hair has grown a wee bit, Papa. And she looks to be gaining weight.

She’ll probably have curves by spring.”

They were back to their discussion of two nights ago. “And the spring after that, she’ll probably be so fat we can roll her down TarStone like a snowball,” Michael added, deciding that if he couldn’t discourage the boy, he might as well join him.

Robbie shook his head. “Nay, Papa. She won’t.”

“Son,” Michael said with a chuckle, giving him a squeeze. “It’s not only beauty a man wants from a woman. It’s who she is that’s important.”

“Mama was beautiful.”

“Aye, she was. But that’s not why I fell in love with her.”

“It’s not?”

“Nay. I fell in love with Mary’s sass,” Michael told him through a smile. “And her compassion and strength of heart.” He nodded. “But mostly her sass, which I’m frightened to say you’ve inherited,” he finished, putting Robbie down and turning him to face the door again. He gently swatted his backside. “John is growing old waiting for ya. Go home, brush your teeth, and go to bed. I’ll have breakfast cooking when ya get up.”

Robbie visibly shuddered. “Cereal,” he said, opening the door and finally walking out to the kitchen. “And toast,” he added as he sassily swaggered to his coat. “You’ve gotten pretty good at toasting bread.”

Michael followed his son and helped him button his coat. “Tell John to bank the fire in the woodstove,” he instructed, setting Robbie’s hat on his head. “Don’t let him add more wood. I’ll do that when I get there.”

“Aye,” Robbie promised, walking over to Libby. “Thank ya for the delicious supper,”

he told her. “You’re a good cook.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, hugging him good-bye. “Oh, and I finished the little job you gave me,” she added, going over to the sideboard and picking up the box, handing it to Robbie. She straightened the collar on his jacket and smiled crookedly. “I hope it’s exactly what you wanted.”

Robbie looked at Michael. “You’ll compensate her, Papa?”

Michael nodded and pushed his son toward the door. “I will. Now, good night.”

Robbie finally stepped onto the porch but stopped again to look at Libby. “I’m making ya a surprise for Christmas,” he told her. “And even Papa doesn’t know what it is. So don’t bother trying to get him to tell.”

Robbie turned without waiting for a response, carrying his secret box to the waiting truck. Michael watched until their taillights disappeared down the driveway and then softly closed the door and turned to Libby.

She was rubbing her hands on her thighs and looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“You’ve had a couple of busy days,” he said as he approached her. “Ya look tired, lass.”

She started backing away. “I like being busy. And… and I’m not tired.”

Michael followed her retreat. “Then what seems to be bothering ya?”

“You,” she said, finally stopping against the wall, her large brown eyes rounded with the caution of a deer.

“You’re the one who was bothered tonight. By Mary’s gift and by Robbie’s talk of guardians.”

Michael pinned her in place with only his stare, not touching her, not moving any closer.

“They’re not bothering me now. But you are.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek, then leaned forward and lifted her chin to meet his lips. But he didn’t kiss her. He whispered mere inches from her mouth, “Ya bother me very much, lass.”

She ducked under his arm and scurried away and didn’t stop until she had put the table between them. “We have to talk,” she said, gripping the back of one of the chairs.

“About us.”

Michael leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He studied her pale complexion in silence.

“I had a visitor this morning,” she began. “Father Daar showed up here looking for breakfast.”

Michael was careful to keep his expression neutral. “I’m not surprised,” he told her.

“The old man makes a habit of inviting himself to meals all over Pine Creek. He probably had supper at Gu Bràth tonight.”

Libby let go of the chair and nervously rubbed her arms. “We had a very interesting talk.”

“Did ya? About what?” he asked conversationally, already knowing he wasn’t going to like her answer.

Libby wiped at a crumb on the table. “About… about magic,” she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes searching his, trying to gauge his response.

Again, Michael refused to betray his alarm. “I hope ya didn’t take what he had to say to heart. Daar’s quite old and prone to fanciful notions.”

“Have you ever touched his cane?” she asked, his negligent pose seeming to calm her enough that she lessened her grip on the chair.

“Aye. Many times,” he told her. He shrugged. “It’s so delicate it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap in half.”

“Have you ever seen him… do anything with his cane?”

Michael straightened away from the wall and walked to the table, keeping it between them. “What are ya getting at, Libby? What happened this morning?”

“Do you believe that Robbie’s pet is really his mother?”

Michael closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said softly, deciding this conversation was over. He walked around the table, swept Libby into his arms before she knew his intention, and carried her into the living room. He sat down on the couch and held her tightly on his lap.

She started toying with one of the buttons on his shirt, her troubled eyes reflecting the light from the fire in the hearth. Michael stilled her hand with his and waited until she looked up at him.

“Ya’re a doctor, Libby. A woman of science who needs for things to make sense,” he gently told her. “And Robbie’s pet doesn’t fit your concept of reality. But do ya need to question everything around ya? Can ya not simply take some things on faith?”

“That’s what Father Daar said,” she admitted, frowning.

“And I’m still trying to decide if I can or not. But that’s not what’s bothering me tonight.”

“It’s not?” Michael asked, surprised. “Then what is?”

“Us. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… to, well, to be together.”

Michael forced his hands not to tighten around her. “And why is that?”

She started toying with his button again, intensely studying it as she spoke. “I don’t want to get emotionally involved with you, Michael,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her. She finally looked up at him. “We… we can’t be together. I don’t know if I can need you for only a little.”

“Aye. Need can become a habit.”

“And I won’t do that to you, Michael. Or to myself. I don’t want to cling or for you to feel… clung to. And so I’ve decided we shouldn’t be together,” she finished, looking at his chest again.

What had happened this morning between Libby and Daar, Michael wondered?

And what in hell had happened to their affair?

Michael lifted her chin and smiled. He tightened his grip on her thigh. “I’ve never much cared to have someone else make my decisions for me,” he told her. He lifted his finger from her chin to her lips to stop her from speaking. “No matter how noble that person is trying to be, lass. Ya leave making up my mind to me.”

Michael decided this conversation was over as well. He turned Libby on his lap so that she straddled him, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her.

He was not letting the woman change her mind. He wanted her and knew damned well she wanted him. And a visit from a crazy old priest would not keep them apart.

Libby made a mewling sound not unlike that of her timid kitten, and Michael’s heart slammed against his chest. She was such a delicate thing. So tiny and precious and real.

Her hands pushed at his shoulders, desperately refusing his kiss. He felt her thighs squeeze his hips as he pulled her more intimately against him, welcomed her breasts pushing at his own pounding heart, tasted the sweetness of her passion quietly simmering just below the surface. Michael wanted to rip off all their clothes and make love right there on the couch.

He broke their kiss and started unbuttoning her shirt.

“N-no,” she shakily whispered, stopping him. “We can’t, Michael.”

He hesitated, suddenly uncertain about his own intentions.

Was it lust driving him now or something more?

She was just as inflamed as he was. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks were flushed with color, and her hands on his shoulders trembled with her own barely controlled passion.

“It’s going to happen, Libby,” he told her, keeping the urgency out of his voice. “If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. Our paths have crossed, and what’s happening between us can’t be ignored. It won’t go away, lass. It will only get more powerful.”

She cupped his face with her small, delicate hands, her eyes searching his, her whole body tense. And then she smiled and leaned forward and kissed him—so very sweetly.

He stopped breathing and again raised his hands to the buttons on her blouse.

And again, she stopped him.

“Not here,” she whispered.

He started breathing again. Not no—just not here. Okay, he decided, standing up before she could change her mind, holding her in his arms. The woman wanted a bed—he’d damned well find her one.

He carried her through the kitchen, his urgency compounded by her hands clinging to his shoulders and her mouth exploring his jaw. Michael captured her lips and kissed her again, keeping one eye on their path so he didn’t run them both into the table. He entered the bedroom and all but ran to the bed, set her down and stretched out half on top of her, and started unbuttoning her shirt again.

And again, she stopped him.

“Dammit,” he growled. “Now what’s the matter?”

“Not here,” she whispered. “N-not in Mary’s bed.”

He reared up in disbelief. “Dammit, woman. This is Mary’s house.”

“N-not here, Michael,” she repeated, pushing against him, her huge brown eyes swimming with emotion.

“Please,” she entreated. “Find us someplace else.”

Michael blew out a frustrated sigh, looked up, and glared at the headboard.

Goddammit. There was no place else. It was below freezing outside, his own house was occupied, and he couldn’t make love to her in the barn. He rolled to the side and threw an arm over his face, blowing out another sigh, this one resigned. The mattress dipped, and he lifted his arm enough to see Libby standing beside the bed, hugging herself.

He rolled off the bed, gathered up the blanket and two pillows, took hold of Libby’s hand, and strode out of the bedroom. She followed in silence as he led her into the garage, pulled her to the back of her truck, and handed her the quilt and pillows. He opened the back door, pulled out the third seat and set it on the floor, walked around to the side of the truck, and folded down the backseats.