Tempting the Highlander (Pine Creek Highlanders #4)

Chapter Seven

F or the first time in what seemed like forever, Robbie woke up to the smell of breakfast and the sound of a woman in the kitchen downstairs. He lay in bed, smelling and listening and smiling. Catherine Daniels was up early this morning, not that he should be surprised. She appeared to be a determined little thing—determined to protect her children and now obviously determined to do her job in exchange for shelter.

Heavenly, strong-smelling coffee. Bacon. Toast. And he would bet his farm the little cat had raided his henhouse again.

Robbie threw back the covers to jump out of bed, only to be stopped by the sharp pain in his side. He finished rising more slowly, uttering curses, and leaned over to examine his wound.

Catherine had done a neat job of stitching him up, though she had used bright pink thread. He looked in the bureau mirror at his chest, running his finger lightly over the cut on his shoulder. It would barely leave a scar once it healed. He carefully stretched his arms over his head, slowly working the kinks out. He would ride back up the mountain to Daar’s cabin today, before the priest showed up here and scared off Catherine and her children.

That brought his thoughts to Mary. Why had that contrary owl stayed behind? What could she possibly hope to accomplish? He had to go back and get her, just as soon as he was healed enough to survive another journey through the storm. Only this time, he was taking both plaids.

Robbie pulled some clean but wrinkled jeans out of his bureau and struggled into them. Then he found an equally wrinkled shirt and slipped it on, whistling through his teeth at his protesting side. Bending down to put on his boots wasn’t even worth contemplating, so he carried them down the stairs in his hands.

He found the table already set. And obviously clairvoyant, Catherine had poured his coffee. It was sitting—steaming, smelling divine—at the head of the table. His new housekeeper was nowhere in sight.

Someone came treading down the stairs, also obviously awakened by the smell of coffee and perfectly cooked bacon. Gunter peeked around the corner, only to scowl. “You haven’t been cooking. This must be the lady’s doing.”

Robbie nodded and sat down at the table while Gunter poured himself a cup of coffee. The boy stopped, lifted the lid of the frying pan on the stove, and sniffed.

“We can’t lose this one,” he said, coming to sit down across from Robbie. “I had a talk with the others while we unsaddled the horses last night. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep her here.”

“Then no running girdles up the flagpole,” Robbie suggested. “And no live fishing bait stored in the fridge.”

Gunter snorted. “I doubt the lady wears a girdle,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee.

Robbie took a sip of his own coffee, that Catherine had poured for him, realizing it was more than any of the other housekeepers had done. Hell, none of them had ever been up early enough to make a pot!

Catherine walked out of the downstairs bedroom, where she and her kids had slept last night, stopped in the middle of the kitchen, and hesitantly smiled. “Good morning,” she whispered, her face turning a warm pink. “I bet you’re both starved,” she said, going over to the stove and filling two plates with bacon and eggs and toast.

“Good morning,” Gunter said when she set one of the plates in front of him. “And thank you.”

“Thank you,” Robbie echoed. “And good morning.”

She murmured something in reply, and hearing the pounding of feet on the stairs, poured three more cups of coffee and filled three more plates, setting them on the table as each one of the boys came down, their eyes blinking and their mouths watering.

“Oh, Lord,” Cody groaned. “I’ve died and gone to heaven. Will you marry me?” he asked Catherine, his hand over his heart as he eyed his breakfast.

“Are you asking me or the eggs?”

“Both,” Cody affirmed, his morning grin rusty but visible. Then he spotted Robbie. “Hell, man, you look like you ran into a train.” He turned incredulous eyes on Catherine. “I retract my proposal,” he whispered. “I don’t want to mess with anyone who can do that to him.”

“I did it to myself,” Robbie said, fingering the bruise on his cheek. “When I fell.”

“Hey, lady. I hate scrambled eggs,” Peter growled, pushing his plate away and glaring at Catherine.

Robbie went to rise from his chair, ostensibly to kick the boy in the butt, but at the sight of Catherine’s returning scowl, he sat back down. Maybe he shouldn’t be too quick to intervene but should simply sit back and watch. After all, this could prove to be interesting…or the worst idea of his life.

“My name’s Catherine, to those of you who are interested. But I will respond to ‘lady’ or ‘ma’am’ or ‘hey, you,’ so long as the tone is civil. Now, boy, if you tell me how you like your eggs, I’ll fix you some new ones.”

Well, damn. If that didn’t beat all. Peter actually looked contrite. The rest of the guys looked startled.

“My—uh—my name’s Peter. And I prefer my eggs over easy, with catsup,” he quietly informed her.

She rewarded Peter with a smile and then looked at the others. “I know you introduced yourselves last night, but I can’t put faces to names this morning. I was…it was a bit confusing last night.”

“I’m Rick, and I’ll take my eggs any way you want to cook them. And he’s Gunter,” he said before Gunter could open his mouth. “But don’t pay him no mind. He only looks scary.”

“My name’s Cody, and I’ll eat anything.” Cody darted an accusing look at Robbie. “Well, almost anything. So long as it ain’t burnt or covered with grit.”

“And you can call me Catherine,” she offered, darting a shy look at Robbie before she turned back to the boys. “And my son’s name is Nathan—he’s eight. And my daughter’s name is Nora—she’s six.” She took a steadying breath. “If they act shy with you, please try to be patient. They haven’t been around many strangers, and never around so many men.”

The men label scored the woman several points, Robbie noticed. So, Catherine wasn’t going to talk down or tread lightly around them. That was good. And she definitely could cook. All the plates were cleaned in record time and chairs scraped back and school things quickly hunted up. Until Peter suddenly groaned.

“Damn!” he cursed, slapping his head with his hand as he tossed down his school bag. “I had an assignment for Mrs. Blake. She’s going to have my ass if it’s not in today.”

“Oh! I’ll write you a note,” Catherine said, rushing over to the counter and grabbing a pen. “I’ll explain how you spent the night rescuing us.”

Robbie quietly sipped his coffee. Hot damn, he was a smart man. Already Catherine was acting more like a mother than a housekeeper. The three younger boys were giving her incredulous looks, and Gunter was smiling again. And damn if the woman didn’t scribble the note, send them off, and disappear into her bedroom before Robbie could finish patting himself on the back.

Aye. He was seriously thinking of proposing to her himself.

Quietly, careful not to wake her exhausted children, Catherine unpacked her suitcase and put their meager belongings in the large bureau and closet.

Breakfast had gone well, she decided. She’d managed to serve five males without having one panic attack and gotten four of them out of the house without incident. The fifth one, her new boss, would head into town soon, she hoped, to see a doctor.

Then she’d be able to start breathing again.

Had she lost her mind last night, agreeing to come here and be their housekeeper? No, she had been desperate. She knew she couldn’t keep running. She’d dropped ten pounds in the last two and a half months, and her children had lost the sparkle in their eyes. Pine Creek was the end of the road for them, and six hundred dollars a week, plus room and board, was nothing to spit at.

Robbie MacBain, apparently, was as desperate as she was.

But Lord, did he have to be so handsome? Not only was he tall, but when she’d cleaned him up and sutured his wounds, Catherine had had plenty of time to notice how ruggedly male he was. And he had the most compelling gray eyes she’d ever seen. But more than his looks, the man emitted an aura that screamed testosterone. It was the way he comported himself. The way he looked at a person. He was staring straight into their souls when he turned those beautiful gray eyes on people. She could see it when he looked at one of his boys and could feel it when he looked at her.

Robbie MacBain was ten times the man Ronald Daniels was—ten times bigger and stronger and handsomer. And ten times more potentially dangerous.

Last night, he had offered her sanctuary. And he’d given his word that she would be safe in his house. Oh, she dearly wanted to believe him.

Catherine sighed, walked back out to the kitchen, and stared down at the empty plates, the spilled catsup, and the drying egg yolk on the tablecloth. Then she looked around.

Then she shuddered.

She had only peeked in the living room this morning, before anyone had gotten up, but that room had looked no better.

Robbie walked into the kitchen from outside, kicking the snow off his boots, and stopped when he saw her.

“Did we get much snow?” she asked, reminding herself to breathe, forcing herself to relax.

“Only about five inches.” He pointed to the living room. “Your backpack is sitting beside the hearth, and everything’s still in it. Nathan and Nora might want to take advantage of the caps and mittens and play in the snow today. It will probably be gone by tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Are you headed to town to see a doctor?”

“No. I’m riding back up the mountain to see Father Daar.”

“But you can’t.” Catherine advanced on him without thought. “You need to be checked out. Twenty-four hours ago, you were nearly dead.”

He held up his hands, stopping her. “I’m fine, Cat. Still weak and a bit sore, but I’m mending just fine.” He gave her a crooked grin. “You do good work.”

Catherine realized that she had just scolded the man and immediately stepped back.

Robbie stepped closer. “About my little accident,” he said. “I’d rather no one knows I got hurt. If anyone calls today, especially my father, introduce yourself as my new housekeeper, but let’s keep how we met between you and me, okay? I don’t want to worry my family.”

Not knowing what to say, she simply nodded.

“The phone’s likely to ring off the wall,” he continued. “I run a large logging operation, and people are always calling here for something. You can either answer and take a message or let the machine do it.”

“Okay,” she said, turning and picking up several of the empty plates off the table.

“About Father Daar,” Robbie said, drawing her attention again. “He’s an old priest who lives halfway up the mountain. You’ll probably be meeting him soon, since he likes to invite himself over for meals. Don’t be surprised when he shows up.”

“Okay.”

He turned toward the door but stopped and looked back at her. “You did good this morning, Cat. With both the breakfast and with Peter. The boys need to know you can give as good as you get. They’ll quickly come to respect you, and then you’re home free.”

“My—my name is Catherine.”

He stared at her, the corner of his mouth kicked up in another grin, and slowly shook his head. “You’re not even close to being a Catherine,” he whispered. “You’re a beautiful and fierce and agile mountain cat, so you might as well get used to the name.”

Catherine had no clue how to respond to that, so she turned away, hiding her hotly blushing face, and started running water in the sink over the dishes.

“Catherine,” he said, making her look at him again. “I meant every word last night. You have nothing to fear from me.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, either.

He must have decided her cheeks were about to combust from embarrassment, because he finally walked out the door, closing it softly behind himself.

Catherine stared at the spot where he’d stood.

A mountain cat? Cat, not Catherine. Beautiful, he’d said. Fierce. Agile. She suddenly smiled. Being compared to a cat was a compliment, she decided. And she would give him agile, and she certainly wanted to be fierce. But beautiful?

Catherine snorted. She was about as pretty as a rag doll left in the weather for a month. He’d just added that part to score a few points.

He must really, really be desperate for a housekeeper.

Robbie stopped his horse in front of Daar’s cabin and sat staring at the old priest standing on the porch, obviously waiting for him.

“What happened to our agreement that you’d go to my father if I didn’t come back by sunrise?”

“But ya did come back,” Daar said. “I heard the storm. And I looked everywhere for ya, until I went to your boys for help.”

“I couldn’t make it back to the place where I had landed.”

Daar nodded. “I suspected as much. Ya needn’t worry about that,” he told him. “Even if you’re a thousand miles away, you’ll always return to TarStone. It’s the mountain that pulls ya. So, are ya gonna sit there all day and scowl at me, or will ya come sit down and tell me what happened?”

Robbie stayed right where he was. “Mary’s still there.”

“Ya left her?” Daar asked, straightening away from the rail.

“She left me. She willed the storm to come, then flew off before I could catch her.”

“But why?”

Robbie shook his head. “I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. The energy must have interfered.”

“Then ya must go back. Tonight.”

“Nay,” Robbie said, shaking his head again. “I’m too weak to survive the journey. I need a few days to heal.”

“Heal from what?”

“Four MacBain warriors ambushed me on the third night.”

Daar’s eyes widened, and he suddenly cackled with laughter. “Old habits die hard for those bastards,” he said, only to sober quickly. “So, the war your papa started is still going on?”

“It would seem so. There’s no tree, priest. And no Cùram de Gairn, either.”

Daar thumped his cane on the porch. “It’s there! Ya just didn’t look hard enough. I told ya Cùram was a tricky bastard.”

“I scoured the forest for three days, and there’s no large oak with any marks on it.”

Daar scratched his beard with the butt of his cane. “He’s disguised it,” he whispered. “He knows I’m wanting a piece of the root, and he’s cloaked it in a spell.”

“He knew I was coming? And you couldn’t have bothered to warn me?”

Daar held up his hand. “He knows nothing about ya, MacBain. He probably thinks I’d send back one of the old warriors and was most likely expecting Greylen.” He stepped back up to the rail. “But if he discovers that you’re my knight and that you’re also a guardian, the game changes. He can’t actually harm ya. It’s forbidden.”

“Apparently, my ancestors don’t know that,” Robbie drawled. “They had no qualms about trying to kill me.”

“Pfhaa,” Daar sputtered, waving his hand in dismissal. “Those lawless MacBains couldn’t kill a wounded pig if their lives depended on it.”

Robbie canted his head. “Will you explain that to me?” he asked. “My father is a great warrior—and he’s a MacBain.”

Daar stared at him for several seconds, and Robbie could almost feel the drùidh trying to decide what to say. The old priest finally let out a sigh, folded his hands over the top of his cane, and leaned forward.

“I suppose ya need to know what you’re up against. But ya must promise not to breathe a word of what I’m about to tell ya, Robbie,” he said quietly. “It could cause a terrible upset.”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice even more. “Greylen’s mother, Judy MacKinnon, had an identical twin named Blair.”

“That’s my grandmother’s name. Blair MacKinnon married my grandfather, Angus MacBain, and their first son was Michael.”

“Aye,” Daar said, nodding. “Blair is your grandmama, but ya have no blood ties to Angus. Blair came to their marriage already carrying Michael in her womb and passed him off as belonging to Angus.”

Robbie shook his head. “Angus would have known he wasn’t the first man Blair had been with and would have rejected her on their marriage night.”

“Aye,” Daar agreed, nodding. “But women have been fooling men about such things since the beginning of time.” He shrugged. “It’s survival that compels them, Robbie. Ya must remember that it was a time when such things mattered.”

“Who is my real grandfather, then?”

“Duncan MacKeage.”

“What? But he was married to Judy MacKinnon. Are you saying he fathered babes on both women? On sisters?”

Daar leaned over his crossed arms on the rail. “Judy died when Greylen was less than a year old, and Blair came to the MacKeage keep to tend her dead sister’s child for Duncan. But she had already been promised to Angus MacBain by contract and stayed with the MacKeages for only a year before she finally did her duty and married Angus.”

“But you say she went to Angus pregnant?”

“Aye. Judy and Blair were identical twins, and Duncan felt he was losing his young, beautiful wife all over again. The night before Blair was to leave, Duncan drank too much and ended up seducing her. It was a terrible thing to witness the next morning,” Daar continued, gazing off into the forest. “Duncan was in a fine rage, either from guilt or want, I don’t know which. He even threatened to go to Blair’s father and claim her for himself.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

Daar straightened and focused back on Robbie. “If Duncan had kept her, he would have started a war among all three clans. And so I persuaded him to let Blair go.”

Robbie canted his head. “You had another reason for stopping the match. What was it?”

The old priest’s face darkened. “Aye,” he whispered. “I did. Identical twins were not welcome in that time, Robbie, and usually one or both of them was killed out of fear of the black magic. But Judy and Blair’s mother refused to let that happen.”

“Mothers had no say back then,” Robbie pointed out. “Not when a husband thought otherwise.”

“Aye, but even though they truly were identical, there was one tiny difference. Blair MacKinnon had six toes on each foot.”

Robbie went perfectly still.

Daar nodded. “That’s why you and Michael both have twelve toes. They’re a gift from your grandmama and the only reason you were even born. Cara MacKinnon persuaded her husband to spare her daughters by claiming they weren’t truly identical.”

“And our gray eyes?”

Daar shrugged. “The twins had gray eyes.”

“So what are you saying, priest? That my father and Greylen are brothers?”

“Aye. Half brothers, both fathered by Duncan from twin sisters.”

Robbie shifted in his saddle. “So Greylen MacKeage really is my uncle,” he whispered, staring at Daar. “It still doesn’t change anything, though. Who slept with whom eight hundred years ago has nothing to do with Grey and my father now. Where’s the danger in knowing they’re brothers?”

“Cùram,” Daar said succinctly. “If he ever learns Judy MacKinnon had an identical twin sister, he would be here before the thunder could finish shaking the ground.”

“But why?”

“Think, Robbie. Two offspring from identical sisters and fathered by Duncan: Greylen and Michael. And their offspring—your seven cousins and your brother and two sisters. Winter MacKeage has already been promised as my successor, and only one drùidh can come from Judy MacKinnon. But that still leaves Michael’s children.”

“But my father didn’t have seven daughters,” Robbie pointed out. “He only had two.”

“Aye. But the seven sequence is my continuum. Cùram’s continuum is not so constrained.”

Robbie ran both his hands over his face, scrubbing hard and thinking even harder. He suddenly stopped and looked up. “You’re saying one of Michael MacBain’s daughters, one of my sisters, could be Cùram’s heir?”

Daar was shaking his head before Robbie could finish. “Not only your sisters,” he said quietly. “It could be your brother. Or you.”

“Then pray it’s me, priest, so I will stop this madness!”

“Nay, Robbie,” Daar whispered. “Pray that Cùram never finds out the truth about your papa. Going up against a drùidh as powerful as Cùram could destroy ya.”

“Better than becoming one!”

“I beg your pardon,” Daar said, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest. “Being a wizard is a noble profession. Your cousin Winter is blessed, not cursed.”

“I want nothing from the magic, priest. I only want to protect my family.”

“Aye, I know that, Robbie. And the best way you can do that is to keep our secret and get me the root of Cùram’s oak tree.”

“I couldn’t find it,” Robbie repeated. “Nor Cùram. None of the MacKeage clan I spoke with had any knowledge of either a special tree or the drùidh.”

“Ya didn’t actually ask them, did ya?”

“Of course not!”

Daar nodded. “Good, then.” He scratched his beard again, his gaze focused off in the distance. “Maybe Mary can find out something,” he speculated. He looked at Robbie. “Maybe that’s why she stayed behind. Meet me back on the summit at sunset in three days, and ya can give it another try. Oh, and one more thing,” Daar said when Robbie started to turn his horse to leave. “Ya stay away from your stepmama. If Libby so much as touches ya, she’ll know exactly how ya got hurt.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Robbie told him. “And now I have a warning for you. We have a new housekeeper. So mind yourself around her, and don’t scare her off.”

Daar perked up. “The woman from West Shoulder Ridge?”

“Aye,” Robbie said with a nod. “But for her I’d be dead now, and you’d be telling your sorry tale to the Highlanders.”

“I will be most gracious when I come visit,” Daar assured him. “Can she cook?”

“I imagine Cat can do anything she puts her mind to.”

“Cat?” Daar repeated. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s my name for her,” Robbie said, turning his horse away.

“MacBain!” Daar snapped, stopping him yet again.

“What?”

“Ya cannot be tempted by this woman,” he warned. “I don’t care if she did save your life, our problem comes first.”

“I have my priorities straight,” Robbie said. “Just make sure yours are.” He walked his horse back up to the porch, causing the wizard to step back. “Because if I find out you’re playing me in order to get your book of spells, or if I ever learn that you’ve lied about any of this, there won’t be a place, or a time, where you’ll be safe.”

Daar gasped and took another step back until he was pressed up against the cabin wall. “When did ya find out?” he whispered. He shook his head. “It was the storm, wasn’t it? Ya became aware of all your guardian powers while in the storm.”

“Aye,” Robbie growled, nodding. “Fully aware.”

That said, Robbie pointed his horse down the mountain and decided to turn his thoughts to more pleasant things.

He wondered what Cat was cooking for supper.

The first thing Robbie did upon returning to the house was stop and take off his boots on the rug by the door. The second thing he did was tiptoe through the spotless kitchen to the downstairs bedroom and see his new housekeeper sound asleep, her arms thrown protectively over her children. The third thing he did was open the oven door and spend a full minute breathing in the smell of the pair of stuffed roasting chickens.

Then he ladled himself a steaming mug of the hot cocoa he found on the stove and went into the spotless living room.

And then he got mad.

The lady and her kids should be sleeping the sleep of the dead. They’d cleaned the downstairs of his house, every last nook and cranny of it, not a speck of dirt left unrouted. The damned woman must have worked herself and her kids to death. And that made him mad.

So Robbie sat in the living room, quietly simmering with anger, and listened to truck doors slam and four pair of boots bang onto the porch.

“Oh, shit, man! Hey, don’t push.”

“Then get out of the way. What are you doing standing in the door? Move!”

“It’s blue.”

“You’re face is gonna be black and blue if you don’t get out of the way.”

“Don’t go in there! Can’t you see, you moron? The kitchen floor’s clean. Take off your boots.”

“Oh, shit! It is blue.”

There was a sudden silence. Despite his anger, Robbie had to smile. He could almost picture the unbelieving faces standing in the kitchen door. Hell, even he had forgotten the damned floor was blue.

“Wow, look at this place. What’s that smell?”

“Oh, God. It’s roasted chicken. I know it is.”

“It’s awfully quiet in here. Do you suppose the little girl still takes a nap?”

“She’s little and a girl, ain’t she? So everybody keep quiet. Little girls need their sleep.”

Somebody snorted. Four pair of boots dropped onto the rug.

“Ssshhhh!”

“Hell. Get a grip, you guys. You’re gonna wake the women.”

“Women? What makes you think Catherine is sleeping?”

“Wouldn’t you be, dip-shit, if you had cleaned this place?”

And on and on it went, in whispers, until the four boys had come to grips with what they were seeing. They finally tiptoed into the living room, all sipping cups of hot cocoa, only to smile at Robbie.

“Wow, man. Did you see this place?” Rick asked.

“I saw,” Robbie returned quietly, his anger reemerging. “And I am not pleased.”

“Why the hell not? The house has never looked so good,” Peter said.

“It shouldn’t have gotten so dirty to begin with,” Robbie pointed out. “Catherine Daniels is not our slave. I want all of us to pitch in from now on. Everybody picks up after himself, and everybody helps with the dishes, the vacuuming, and the laundry.”

Everybody groaned.

“And if you guys are anywhere near intelligent, you won’t run this one off. You will be nice and polite and helpful to her and her kids, and maybe we can all go on eating well. Or do you like bachelor life?” he asked.

Everybody heard the growl in his voice and nodded.

“We’ll treat the lady like a queen. And we’ll be nice to her kids, won’t we?” Rick promised, giving each of the boys a warning glare.

“She doesn’t seem so bad,” Cody conceded. “Not like the other ones. Hell, the second lady couldn’t even take a joke.”

“It’s hard to laugh when your girdle is flying from the flagpole,” Rick accused, glaring at both Peter and Cody.

“I bet Catherine’s underwear would be a sight prettier.”

“Leave the lady alone,” Gunter said softly.

Peter quickly nodded, his hands going up defensively.

“Catherine and her kids need to be here,” Gunter continued, looking at each of the boys. “They were living in that old cabin, for chrissakes, and probably need this place more than we do. And be careful with the girl, Nora. Do any of you realize that she’s barely spoken to any of us? And she only whispers to her mom and brother? Be nice to her.”

Everybody nodded again. Robbie hid his smile. Well, hell. This was the first time he’d seen these guys agree on anything all at the same time. Had a miracle fallen into his lap or what?

“Oh, hi. You’re back,” Catherine mumbled as she walked into the living room, her eyes blinking with sleep.

Robbie sucked in his breath. She looked like an angel. Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were…well, sexy-looking. Robbie felt his insides clench, his anger turning to desire with the suddenness of an explosion.

Hell. If Catherine Daniels even caught a hint of what he was thinking, she’d run screaming back up the mountain to her hidey-hole—and he wouldn’t be able to catch her this time, either.

“I—ah—dinner will be ready in two hours,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing at the boys’ undisguised gawking.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Cody whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

Her blush deepened.

Robbie thought to intervene, but Gunter beat him to it.

“Ignore the moron, Catherine. The boy thinks with his taste buds, and chicken is his favorite,” Gunter said. “And the house looks great. We really didn’t know the kitchen floor was blue,” he added, lightening the mood.

She gave him a thankful smile. “I was as surprised as you.” But then she sobered and gave them each a tentative look. “I didn’t get to the upstairs today,” she confessed, not seeing Robbie’s glare at that admission, since she was looking at the boys. “I didn’t want to go into your bedrooms without permission, so I didn’t get any laundry or make the beds. I wanted to speak with each of you first.”

“You were respecting our privacy?” Rick asked.

Catherine nodded. “If you have clothes that need washing, just leave them in the hall if you don’t want me going into your rooms. But if you want me to change your beds, put away your clean clothes, and vacuum and dust, then all you have to do is show me what’s off limits and what’s not.”

“It’s all off limits,” Robbie said.

Catherine spun around, her eyes wide and confused. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to do my job.”

Robbie stood up.

She took a step back.

“The boys will help with the housework. They will wash their own clothes, make their own beds, and do the vacuuming. They’ll be responsible for keeping their bedrooms clean, and they’ll help with the supper dishes.”

Her chin rose throughout his speech, and she was scowling at him by the end of it. But as soon as she realized what she was doing and just how defiant she appeared, Robbie watched her instantly deflate. Then he saw her realize what she was doing again, and her shoulders squared and her chin rose—but just a little.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Cook. Take care of your kids. Go for walks.” He smiled. “And you can shop. You can be responsible for buying the food and anything else we need.” Yeah. That was a good idea. He hated shopping. “You can handle that. Women love to shop.”

If she hadn’t been so wary of him, Robbie would swear that Cat was near to stomping her foot in frustration.

“But we can’t figure out the washing machine,” Peter said. “It’s possessed by demons.”

“I can show you,” Cat quickly offered, turning away from Robbie, probably before she said something she’d be sorry for. She turned back to Robbie. “But the bathrooms,” she said with a shudder. “I want to be in charge of the bathrooms.”

“Why would anyone volunteer for that?” Cody asked.

“Because I have this thing about clean bathrooms. And keeping them sanitary is sort of an art.” That said, she turned back to Robbie, folded her arms under her breasts, raised her chin as high as she dared, and waited.

Robbie curtly nodded agreement, then left her standing in the living room with four incredulous boys staring at her.

If the lady had a thing for bathrooms, who was he to argue?