Текст книги "Secrets of the Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Megan stepped out of her mother’s embrace and scowled at her sister. “No, the curse is not intact, because I am not marrying Wayne.”

“Right. You’re marrying Jack.”

“I am not! He lied to me four months ago, and for all we know, he’s lying now.”

Camry looked at Chelsea. “You must know a good private investigator. Let’s get Jack checked out, and if he is lying, then we get Winter to turn him into a toad.”

“And if he’s telling the truth?” Grace asked, directing her question to Megan.

“Do you honestly expect me to simply forget what he did, and how he did it? You have no idea what he said to me that day. He nearly killed me.”

“But he didn’t,” Grace said softly. “And if he really does love you, and only said what he did to protect you, then yes, you have to forgive him.” She smiled sadly. “But if your heart says Jack Stone is not the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, your father and I will respect your decision.”

Grace turned to Camry, giving her a warning glare. “Winter is not turning anyone into anything. The magic’s been messed with enough lately. Let’s just let Providence get used to our new resident wizard for a while, shall we?”

“Speaking of Winter, why isn’t she here tonight?” Camry asked, obviously anxious to change the subject.

“Matt had to fly to his New York office this afternoon, and she went with him.” Grace turned and surveyed the bedroom, shaking her head. “I think we’ve overdone it with the hand-me-downs. This poor baby won’t have anything new to call its own.”

“Chelsea, could you come upstairs with me?” Megan asked, heading into the hallway. “I have a box up there I need to go through. You can carry it down for me.” She stopped in the door and looked back at the others. “The closet has built-ins and the bureau is empty, so you can put everything away as you sort. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The moment they reached the top of the stairs, Megan looked down to make sure no one had followed, then turned to her twin sister. “I’m going to do as Camry suggested and have Wayne checked out. Your law firm must use private investigators. Can you give me the name of a good one?”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Meg? It’s been my experience that their reports never tell the whole story.”

“You know the saying ‘fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice, shame on me’? Well, regardless of what Mom says about following my heart, this time around I’m listening to my left brain. I don’t care what it costs, just find me an investigator who can travel all the way to Medicine Lake if he has to. I want more than a report filled with public documents; I want pictures and personal interviews, right down to what Jack Stone’s favorite food was when he was five years old.”

“Holy smokes, you really are angry, aren’t you?”

“I’m so angry I bet I could turn him into a toad without any help from the magic.”

Greylen MacKeage was no saint, nor did he have any desire to become one. He was wise enough, however, to know he shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of violence when he was getting so close to meeting his Maker. But God help him, he really wanted to beat Jack Stone to a bloody pulp for what the bastard had put his little girl through. Then again, his warrior’s heart made him wonder if he might have behaved just as badly toward Grace thirty-six years ago, when she had been in danger.

“You’re saying ye have no idea why the man was murdered,” Grey reiterated. “Only that you suspect it had something to do with the study being conducted on the tundra. May I ask why ye never bothered to find out?”

“Because it wasn’t any of my business,” Jack told him. “Once Megan was safely out of the way, I focused only on getting the boy back to his parents in one piece. The murder, and whoever did it, is the Canadian police’s problem.”

“Yet you’re thinking now that the problem has followed my daughter home.”

“Yes.” Jack Stone shifted in his chair beside the woodstove, opposite Grey. “I did discover who headed the organization funding the boy’s education. It’s the man Megan is working for now, Mark Collins. And I find that a bit too much of a coincidence.”

Grey suddenly stood up, hiding his smile when Jack flinched. Good. If he couldn’t beat him up, by God, at least he could enjoy watching the bastard squirm. Grey walked to the counter, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and refilled Jack’s empty glass before sitting back down and filling his own. “I’ll tell Megan she has to resign her position immediately.”

Jack took a gulp of the scotch. “That’s not going to make the problem go away. Collins will simply find another way to get to her.”

Grey nodded. “You’re right. If he went to the trouble of fabricating this project and she resigns, he may come at her directly. Any idea why, Chief?”

“Nope,” Jack said, frowning down at his glass. “Until Collins’s name came up at dinner an hour ago, I thought the problem had stayed in Canada.” He looked toward the woodstove, staring at the fire lapping the glass. “I need to think about the connection.”

“I’ll have Megan move back to Gù Brath until this matter is cleared up.”

Jack looked up in alarm. “You can’t mean to tell her.”

Greylen lifted one brow. “Are you not a man who learns from his mistakes?”

“She’ll throw a fit when she finds out it was Collins who planted that kid on her study, to watch over whatever he was doing on the tundra. She might confront him herself.”

Grey leaned back in his chair. “I see you’ve come to know my daughter quite well.” He shook his head. “I can control her. And if not, then I’ll ask her cousin Robbie MacBain to have a talk with her.”

Jack Stone’s face darkened, and Grey once again stifled a smile. “No offense, MacKeage,” Jack said in a growl, “but Megan is my responsibility now. She is carrying my child.”

Grey made a point of letting his gaze travel over Jack’s battered body. “No offense, Stone,” he growled back. “But ye seem to be having trouble defending yourself.”

“I am aware of my track record here in Pine Creek, but maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge me. I can be surprisingly effective when I put my mind to it.”

“Can ye, now?”

Jack’s eyes darkened to the color of tempered steel. “Pacifism is not the same as defenselessness, MacKeage. When push comes to shove, I am more than capable of protecting what’s mine.”

With his door closed and a request that Ethel send his phone calls to Simon, Jack sat in his office tucked in the back corner of the police station. The citizens of Pine Creek, Frog Cove, and Lost Gore had spared no expense in remodeling the hundred-year-old storefront on Main Street. They reasoned that by putting an impressive face on law and order, criminals would think twice about targeting their tiny resort communities.

Too bad their plan wasn’t working.

Not that his own plan was doing any better. In winning back Megan, he had gone from being optimistically hopeful to suddenly desperate last night at dinner. What in hell was Mark Collins up to on the tundra, and what was his connection to Megan?

Jack laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his plush leather chair as he stared at the four yellow pads of paper lined up on his desk. Each pad represented a problem he was dealing with; four seemingly unconnected issues occurring simultaneously.

Why, then, was his gut telling him a common thread held them together?

Lord, he hated puzzles. He didn’t care how hard his military superiors had tried to persuade him that he belonged in covert intelligence; Jack had no patience with puzzles as a kid, and he hadn’t grown any fonder of them since. And despite having a sixth sense, as they’d called it, for seeing threads running through the information he’d gathered for them, puzzles still drove him crazy.

Jack studied the first pad, where he’d written LITTLE BASTARDS in bold letters across the top. This was the problem that had gotten him hired, and likely the only one that wasn’t connected to the others.

Pad two, THE BREAK-INS, denoted much more serious offenses. Definitely criminal. Though nothing of great value was ever stolen, the last break-in had resulted in physical contact. Jack wondered just how far his attacker would have gone if MacBain hadn’t shown up. As for whatever the hell had run out of that store, he’d swear it had flown off into the night.

And that’s where the first thread appeared, linking pad number two with pad number three, which he had titled MEGAN. Topping Megan’s list was Kenzie Gregor, sublisted by secrets, designs on Megan, hermit boy, right size for attacker, and possible odor link to break-ins.

Next was MacBain: why had he been in town that night?

Camry: how to ditch her long enough to get Megan alone again.

Win over Megan’s family: he was making progress there.

Turn some of Megan’s anger back into some of that mind-blowing passion. Yeah, like that was going to happen anytime soon.

And then there was the thread linking Megan to pad number four, MARK COLLINS. Collins headed some sort of environmental organization that attracted runaways with the promise of an education, possibly brainwashing their altruistic young minds to help him…do what? Then there was the murder, which was tied to Billy Wellington, who was tied to Collins.

But what did any of it have to do with Megan? Had she seen or done something that might have interfered with whatever Collins was doing on the tundra? Could she have something he wanted? Data? Notes? Samples of…whatever?

Jack looked back at the other three pads. There was something else linking everything together. Something he was overlooking. His gaze moved from pad two to pad three, and his mind’s eye saw another thread slowly weaving between them.

Well, hell. Jack grabbed a pen and flipped the page on Megan’s pad, where he added magic to the list, followed by a question mark. Under that he wrote shaman, then wizard…and then he hesitated. Finally he wrote baby, followed by another question mark.

He set down his pen, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face with a tired sigh.

His office door suddenly burst open, and Megan stormed right up to his desk and planted her hands on her hips. Jack casually piled the legal pads on top of each other and folded his hands over them with a smile. “It’s okay, Ethel,” he called. “Beautiful women can disturb me anytime.”

Ethel snorted and closed the door.

Megan’s gaze narrowed. “What did you and my father talk about last night?”

“You, mostly.”

“You told him you’re Wayne.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to? Sweetheart, you’ve got to give me a plan book to follow if you don’t want me making things up as I go along.”

“Then how come you’re still alive?”

“Because your father is rather old-fashioned. He seems to think parenthood is a team effort.” Jack smoothed down the front of his uniform. “And he thinks being a police officer is a noble profession, and he’s pleased that I want to settle down here in Pine Creek.”

Her scowl deepened. “What other lies did you tell him?”

“Not a one,” he said, placing a hand over his heart and holding the other one up in a scout’s salute.

Megan set her palms on the desk and leaned closer. “Then why, when I stopped into Gù Brath to let him know that I’m heading up the lake to start my survey tomorrow, did he insist that I had to speak with you first?” she asked with lethal softness. “And that if you say no, I can’t go?”

“That’s why you’re breathing fire? Because your father told you to come ask my permission?” Jack leaned back in his chair with a whistle. “How do he and MacBain do it?”

“I am not asking permission for anything,” she growled. “I’m here to find out what important thing you have to tell me.”

“It appears there’s a connection between Collins and Billy Wellington, which now seems to be connected to you. Mark Collins was paying for Wellington’s education.”

She straightened and crossed her arms under her breasts, over her bulging belly. “My, my, you just keep embellishing your little tale, don’t you? You’ve even managed to tie in my new job to make my father believe I’m still in some sort of danger.”

Jack knew that on some level she actually believed his “tale,” but apparently her pride—and obvious need to indulge in a bit of revenge—was stronger than her desire to forgive him. He stood up. “Yeah, like I’m foolish enough to lie to your father.” Just to rile her further, Jack mimicked her stance by crossing his own arms over his chest. It was time to bury the nerd. “How are you planning to get up the lake tomorrow?”

She was momentarily caught off guard by his question, but quickly recovered and lifted her chin defiantly. “By snowmobile. There’s a state ITS trail that runs up the east side of the lake, and a local spur at the north end that goes right through the area I’m studying.”

Jack knew she was expecting him to argue that she shouldn’t be snowmobiling when she was five months’ pregnant. Instead he asked, “How long a trip is it?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Two hours up and two back, and a few hours to look around the north end of the lake.”

He nodded. “We should leave no later than nine, then, so we can be back before dark.”

Her arms fell to her sides. “We?”

Jack rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I’ve been dying to try my new sled on the trails around here. And since this is your turf, you can be my guide. It’s a win-win opportunity for both of us.”

“I do not need a babysitter.”

“But I do. I’ve only ridden on the lake so far, because I don’t know the trails.”

“Then join one of the local snowmobile clubs. They have maps, and they organize trail rides every weekend. You are not going with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She tossed up her hands in frustration. “Oh, okay! But you’d better not interfere in my work or slow me down.”

“Slow you down?” He eyed her suspiciously. “What do you have for a sled?”

“I’m using one of the ski resort’s snowmobiles. It’s not a speed demon like yours; it’s a working sled. By ‘slow me down,’ I mean you’d better not start complaining that I’m going too fast for my condition.”

He gave a negligent shrug. “Riding on groomed trails is no more strenuous than driving a car. So,” he said, walking around the desk and opening his door. “Are you packing our lunch, or should I have the restaurant throw us something together?”

Megan reluctantly followed, then stepped directly in front of him. “I’m in charge of tomorrow’s ride.”

“Of course you are.”

“I’ll bring a gun.”

“Expecting trouble?”

“No. But only an idiot heads into the deep woods unarmed. And I’ll bring lunch. I have leftovers that need to be used up.”

“Great. I love cold roast beef sandwiches, especially with mustard and cheese.”

“And I’m bringing snowshoes, because I want to check out a deer yard I think is up there. What about your knee?”

“It’s much better, thanks. But in the interest of not slowing you down, I’ll just find a sunny spot and take a nap while you hunt for your herd of deer. If you bring the leftover gravy, I can build a fire to heat it up. You want me to make the cocoa?”

She again eyed him suspiciously, apparently wondering why he was being so cooperative. “Um…okay. But I—”

She was interrupted when someone cleared his throat nearby. Jack looked over to see Robbie MacBain standing there, Ethel hovering behind their newest guest. She shrugged when Jack didn’t say anything, then went back to the front desk.

“You two sound like you’re planning a trip to the backcountry,” MacBain said, frowning at Megan. “Have you spoken with your father today?”

“Apparently you have,” Megan snapped. She suddenly shot her cousin a smug smile. “I’m going, and Wayne’s going with me.”

Robbie’s glare returned to Jack. “This is your idea of keeping her safe?”

“I’ll be right behind her the whole way. If a moose tries messing with her, I’ll run it over with my sled.”

He thought MacBain was going to punch him, and bit back a grin.

Megan snorted. “I’ll most likely be saving him,” she said, doing exactly that by stepping between them.

She was his little warrior, all right, giving him hell one minute and protecting him the next. Jack wondered if she even realized what she was doing.

“We’ll be on the snowmobile trails, Robbie,” she continued. “What can possibly be dangerous about that? Tomorrow’s a weekday, so there won’t be much sled traffic, and I’ll have the satellite phone if we run into trouble.”

“Did you follow that guy’s tracks the other night?” Jack asked Robbie.

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” he said, walking past Megan into the office.

By the scowl Megan gave his back, she apparently didn’t like her cousin’s dismissing her any more than she liked Jack doing it.

So Jack did it again. “I’ll meet you in front of your house at nine tomorrow morning,” he told her, stepping back into his office and partially shutting the door. “Don’t forget the gravy.”

Megan spun on her heel and stormed down the hall. Jack took a moment to admire her lovely backside, then closed the door and turned to Robbie.

“What’s your background, Stone?”

Jack walked to his chair. “Covert intelligence.”

“You were in the field?”

“And more dark alleyways of European and Middle Eastern cities than I care to recall.” He sat down and motioned for Robbie to do the same. “I promised Greylen I would keep his daughter safe, and I will. Tell me about Kenzie Gregor.”

“Kenzie? Why?”

“What’s his story? And what’s his interest in Megan?”

“He’s only been in this country a short while, he lives up on TarStone with an old priest named Daar, and he considers Megan a sister. I made some calls this morning to a few of my old military friends, and they’re looking into Mark Collins for me.”

“Good. The more information we get on Collins, the better. Explain the social structure around here for me—best as I can tell, there are at least three…clans? The MacKeages, the MacBains, and the Gregors. Is Greylen really a laird?”

“He’s laird of the clan MacKeage. My father is also a laird, though neither man uses the title anymore.” His eyes lit with amusement. “Unless they’re wanting to flex their muscles at someone.”

Jack ignored that last part. “Yet you seem to be the go-to man around here. Megan and Camry respect your authority, as does Greylen.”

Robbie settled back in his seat with a smile. “I was the first American born. My mother, Mary, and Grace MacKeage were sisters. Mary died when I was born and Libby is my stepmother. As for my role here, I suppose you could call me a sort of guardian of the families.”

“Why do they need you to look out for them?”

“That’s the way clans work. Four MacKeage men and my father settled here thirty-nine years ago, and though they readily adapted, they’ve come to rely on me in most matters because I grew up here. The old priest who lives on TarStone, Father Daar, came with them. He’s a strange fellow who usually keeps to himself. If you happen to meet him, don’t take too seriously what he might say. He’s getting on in years and becomes confused sometimes.”

“And the Gregors?”

“Matt owns a jet engine company in Utah. He arrived in Pine Creek last September, and owns Bear Mountain. Winter, Grey’s youngest daughter, married Matt at Christmas. His brother Kenzie has been here since the wedding.”

“And Kenzie Gregor lives with the priest.”

Robbie nodded. “He looks out for the old man. Why are you interested in Kenzie?”

“Because he’s interested in Megan.”

Robbie shook his head. “Not in that way.”

“And I believe he’s the man who attacked me two nights ago.”

“What makes you think that?”

Jack shrugged. “Where did the tracks lead?”

“I followed them to a bog about three miles up the east side of the lake, at the base of Bear Mountain. Then they simply vanished into thin air.”

“Tracks don’t just vanish.”

“Bear Creek enters the lake through that bog, and the flow has covered nearly thirty acres in glaze ice.” Robbie also shrugged. “That’s where I lost him. The man may have had a snowmobile parked on one of the nearby trails, and could have gone in any direction after that. Have you considered that maybe the connection to Collins is with you, not Megan?”

“I’ve considered it, but why go to the trouble of hiring Megan if it’s me he’s after?”

“To use her to get to you? After all, you’re the one who directly interfered in whatever he was doing in Canada, according to what Greylen told me.”

“I see your point,” Jack said, shuffling through his pads until he found the one marked MARK COLLINS. “But the thread I’m seeing is linking Megan to him, not me.”

“Thread?” Robbie repeated, peering down at the pad.

Jack wrote his own name on the page, followed by a question mark. “Covert intelligence, remember?” He looked up. “I was good at my job because I could see threads linking what appeared to be unconnected information together.” He shrugged. “You would likely call them gut instincts. I call them threads.” He stood up, walked to his office door, and opened it. “Thanks for following those tracks the other night. I appreciate your effort.”

Robbie stepped into the hallway. “I hope you’re able to keep your promise to protect Megan.”

“I have a feeling you’ll be watching my back.”

The tall Scot smiled tightly. “Aye, Stone, I will.” He started walking away, but stopped at the end of the hall and looked back. “Good luck tomorrow, my friend. Mind that my cousin doesn’t run you in circles and leave you in the woods. She can get creative when she’s wanting to prove a point.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Jack said, stepping back into his office and softly closing the door. O-kay. Another thread had just connected; MacBain knew Jack’s attacker and was covering for the bastard. Obviously guardian wasn’t a hollow title.

Nor was laird, apparently.

Megan’s family was nearly as weird as his own.

Chapter Twelve

J ack sat on his snowmobile on the lake in front of Megan’s house, sipping coffee from his Thermos as he watched the MacKeage family in action. Greylen had arrived on a snowmobile laden with equipment about twenty minutes ago, and Grace MacKeage had pulled into the driveway in their SUV shortly after. Camry, in a coat thrown over her pajamas and unlaced boots on her feet, was battling the cold by dancing in place as she added her own two cents to the send-off.

When Grace wasn’t playing the buffer between Megan and Grey, she was eyeing Jack, apparently trying to assimilate what she knew about Wayne Ferris with the man her daughter was heading into the woods with this morning.

Jack shot her a wink.

Grace immediately left the group and walked over to him. “May I offer you a word of advice, Mr. Stone?” she asked, her expression congenial.

“I only take advice from people who call me Jack.” He pulled out a cup and large Thermos from his saddlebag, poured out some hot cocoa, and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Jack,” she said, taking the steaming cup. She looked back at the scene near shore and shook her head. “My husband raised our girls to be very comfortable in the woods, yet every time one of them heads out, he feels compelled to remind them of everything he taught them.”

“It’s a father-daughter thing. He wouldn’t be lecturing a grown son, would he?”

Grace blew on her cocoa. “No, he wouldn’t. That’s why you only got a nod from him this morning.”

Jack chuckled softly. “A man can say a lot with a nod. This morning, it said that if I don’t bring his daughter back safe and sound, not to bother coming back myself.”

Grace gave a soft laugh. “Are you a patient man, Jack?”

“It so happens my patience is legendary. Why, am I going to need it?”

“Oh, yes.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Camry said you don’t have any family. Is that true?”

“It’s been just me and my shadow for the last twenty years.”

“Then promise me you won’t let the size of our family scare you off.”

“Exactly which size would that be? The height, or your sheer numbers?”

Megan’s beautiful mother laughed. “Both, I suppose.” She grew serious again. “At times you might feel like you’re running a gauntlet, I’m afraid. They’re going to test you repeatedly, and I suspect Megan will be leading the pack.”

“My great-grandfather used to call me Coyote,” Jack told her. “And coyotes are very resilient animals, Mrs. MacKeage.”

“Call me Grace, Jack. And please, stop calling Grey laird,” she asked, rolling her eyes. She turned thoughtful. “If I remember correctly, isn’t having a coyote for a totem a good thing? Aren’t they considered uncommonly cunning?”

“A rocket scientist who knows Native American lore?”

“You’d be surprised how open-minded scientists are about the unexplainable. You might want to remember that when you’re dealing with Megan. Camry said your great-grandfather was a shaman.”

Jack sighed. “Forest Dreamwalker was the last of a dying breed, which lost its appeal with modern medicine.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. Your grandchild will have ten fingers and toes and won’t be born with a feather in its hair.”

She gave him a sharp look. “We will love that baby if it has twelve toes and two heads. We are not prejudiced people, Mr. Stone.”

“I’m sorry. I had no call to imply that you are,” he said, feeling his face flush. “It’s just that when most people hear the word shaman, they start thinking of campfire rituals and mystical trances.”

She remained silent, and Jack wanted to kick himself. “At the risk of shooting myself in the foot, Megan and Camry seemed alarmed when they learned about my great-grandfather.”

Grace looked down at her cocoa. “They’ve been fascinated with the magic since they were little girls.” She looked up. “So, Jack. Can you explain to me why you couldn’t have kept my daughter safe without completely devastating her?”

“When Megan told me she was pregnant, I simply panicked. I didn’t know what in heck was going on, other than that a man had been murdered. I just wanted her off that tundra so I could concentrate on getting Billy Wellington out of harm’s way.”

“Do you have any idea what it does to a woman when she gives herself to a man that completely, and he throws it back in her face?”

“No, ma’am. I only know what it did to me.”

“Do you love her?”

“More than I ever thought possible.”

“And have you told her that?”

Jack stilled in surprise. “Not lately,” he admitted.

Grace gave a feminine snort. “Don’t you think you should?”

“She won’t believe me.”

“I believe you, Jack.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because you’ve let yourself get beaten up all week.”

“You think that’s been on purpose?”

“Are you incapable of defending yourself, then?”

Damn, she was perceptive. “But what would my getting beaten up prove to Megan?”

“Maybe that you need her as much as she needs you?”

“Are we leaving today, or what?” Megan called out. “You’re slowing me down, Jack.”

She’d finally called him Jack! “I’m ready when you are,” he called back, quickly stashing his Thermos and picking up his helmet. He looked at Grace. “You think it’s as simple as me telling her that I love her?”

“No—I think it’s that complicated.”

Megan pulled up beside them on her sled. “What are you two talking about?” she asked through the open visor of her helmet.

“You, mostly.” Jack slid on his own helmet, then reached out and started his sled. Megan zoomed off, heading up the cove, and Jack looked at Grace again. “Thanks for the advice.” He slapped down his visor and gave his sled the gas, aiming for the cloud of snow dust already half a mile up the lake.

Megan zoomed up the lake with abandon, every fiber of her being humming in joy. Finally she was back doing what she knew and loved. How had she strayed so far from herself? She didn’t belong behind some counter selling her sister’s paintings; she belonged outdoors with the cold wind nipping her nose and the crisp air sharpening her senses.

She felt so exhilarated, she didn’t even mind that Jack was tagging along. It rankled that her father had so quickly decided that he liked him on some man-to-man level, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy today’s outing—and maybe even have a bit of fun at Jack’s expense.

Megan checked her mirror and saw that Jack had caught up and fallen in line behind her, and she stifled a snort. Did he think she was falling for his act? She was on to him now; under that defenseless-appearing exterior, Jack Stone was as hard as his last name implied.

Megan continued across the lake as fast as she dared, considering every little bump bounced her baby down on her bladder. Damn. She hadn’t thought about having to stop for bathroom breaks with Jack along. She’d borrowed Elizabeth’s suit from when her sister had been pregnant, but she was going to have to take off the damn thing completely to pee in the woods—which was going to be chilly and time-consuming.

She sure hoped Jack was a patient man.

Megan frowned. Those had definitely been angry bees, not butterflies, fluttering around in her stomach when she’d stood nose to chin with him yesterday, jostling for position. And she didn’t care how stressed he had looked, or that any fool could see he needed a day in the woods as much as she did. Why had she capitulated so quickly and agreed to let him come along?

Because she was a softhearted sap, that’s why.

Megan zoomed past a lone ice fisherman tending his traps, gave him a wave, and aimed her sled toward a well-traveled path leading to shore. She slowed down to maneuver over the rough transition from lake to solid ground, then glided up the winding spur to the ITS trail.

Maine had an amazing Interstate Trail System that took advantage of many of the unused logging roads in the winter. These virtual highways were proudly maintained by local clubs, to the point that they were nearly as wide and often smoother than their automobile counterparts.

They were definitely faster.

Megan stopped at an intersection, looked for sled traffic before turning north onto the ITS trail, and accelerated to thirty-five miles per hour. She noted Jack still in her mirror, and wondered how he liked taking second place. When a man owned a snowmobile engineered to attack the trails at speeds in excess of ninety miles per hour, that usually meant he had a lead dog mentality. Did Jack?

Of course he did. He’d bought that chick magnet, hadn’t he?

Good Lord! Did he see her as some fluffy snow bunny who would swoon over a man riding a cherry red rocket?