Tempting the Highlander (Pine Creek Highlanders #4)

Chapter Eleven

T hings had gone rather smoothly this morning, since her two children were eager to go to school. Robbie still wasn’t home yet, but everyone else had been fed and rushed out the door, and Catherine was now bringing up the rear of the impromptu parade marching down the driveway.

Her heart was near bursting with joy. All four boys had insisted on waiting for Nathan and Nora’s bus before they headed off to school themselves. Her excited daughter was holding Gunter’s hand and telling him, for the twentieth time, the names of her four new friends.

Including Chad, the snake boy.

Nathan had attached himself to Cody’s side and was asking a million questions about the potato gun and when were they finally going to shoot it.

Rick was carrying Nora’s book bag, which he had presented to her last night after a trip to the attic, and Peter was—well, the poor boy had his nose stuck in a history book, trying to find the date of the Boston Tea Party before his first-period test.

“Mom, will you tell Mr. MacBain that the hens need grain?” Nathan asked as they gathered near the mailbox. “We’re all out.”

Catherine smiled. “You can tell him at supper.”

“Chad wants me to go to his house to play,” Nora said. “He’s got two baby snakes.”

“Is that Chad Perkins?” Rick asked, suddenly interested.

“Uh-huh,” Nora confirmed, nodding.

“I’ll take her over to Chad’s,” Rick offered, looking at Catherine.

Cody snorted. “You just want to ogle Jenny Perkins.”

Catherine became a bit interested herself. “Does Jenny go to your school?” she asked Rick.

His face turning a dull red, he merely nodded.

Peter dug his nose out of his book, eyed Nora speculatively, then looked at Catherine. “There’s an ice cream shop in town. We could take Nathan and Nora for an ice cream Friday night,” he offered. “Gunter can drive,” he quickly added. “So you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Being a janitor at a high school for three years, Catherine had learned a lot about the hormone-driven minds of adolescents. There was something about seeing a guy—of any age—acting nice to a child that made young women sit up and take notice.

Catherine looked at all four boys, who were all eagerly waiting for her answer, and burst out laughing. “So, you’re asking to borrow my kids to attract girls?”

All four faces reddened, but no one denied her claim.

“Can we go, Mom?” Nathan asked.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said. “I’ll even treat.”

“You will?” Cody said, clearly surprised. He suddenly frowned. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

“You’ll really trust us with your kids?” Rick asked.

“Of course. As long as you have them home by nine.”

Four sets of young, masculine shoulders straightened.

“It’s the bus!” Nora cried, darting toward the road.

Gunter barely caught her by the coat. “You don’t leave the driveway until the bus has stopped and you see the driver nod to you,” he instructed, squatting down and smiling to soften his lesson.

“I forgot,” Nora whispered.

“Here’s your bag,” Rick said, sliding it onto her shoulders and patting her head. “And sit in the back of the bus,” he added, turning to Nathan. “The frost heaves are more fun in the back.”

“What’s a frost heave?” Nathan asked.

“It’s a huge bump in the road made by culverts when the ground thaws,” Rick explained, taking hold of Nathan’s hand and walking him past the front of the bus as Cody and Peter followed.

“ ’Bye, Mommy,” Nora said with a wave as Gunter led her by the hand to the bus.

Catherine waved wildly. “Good-bye! Be good, you two!”

But only three boys were left standing on the side of the road when the bus pulled away. “Where’s Gunter?”

Rick jangled a set of keys. “He asked the driver if he could ride in with them, since it’s their first day,” he explained as they walked back into the driveway. “It’s only a short hike from their school to the high school.”

“That was really sweet of him,” Catherine whispered, amazed but not really surprised.

Cody snorted. “Sweet? Gunter? What have you been drinking this morning? Gunter is about as sweet as pine pitch.”

“You’re all sweet,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you for being so kind to my kids.”

Their faces turning red again, the boys quickened their pace to the four-door pickup they used to get to and from school.

“We’re only being nice so you’ll keep cooking,” Cody said, running now. “But one burnt meal, lady,” he called over the bed of the truck as he opened the back door, “and the squirts are toast.”

“He’s teasing, Catherine,” Rick assured her as he slid behind the wheel.

Catherine gave him a smile and waved good-bye as they headed out of the driveway, then stood quietly and admired the beautiful view, in no hurry to face the mess in the kitchen.

Holes, some of them several acres in size, had opened up in the ice of Pine Lake. But in the cove near the tiny town of Pine Creek, she could see one remaining ice shanty and expected that if it didn’t soon get pulled off the lake, it would be swimming with the fishes.

A gentle sense of permanency suddenly swept through her. Catherine could almost imagine that her life was normal; she was an everyday woman sending her kids off to school, looking forward to a full day of motherly chores, in a beautiful old house in a wonderful corner of the country.

It was a rather seductive illusion.

Catherine finally turned away from the view and headed to the house and the messy kitchen. But she stopped, her foot on the bottom step of the porch, when she heard a noise coming from the woods.

Robbie emerged out of the forest and rode his horse straight to the barn. Catherine changed direction and followed him, stepping through the barn door just as he pulled the bridle off his horse.

She didn’t even try to stifle her gasp. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted and knotted with twigs, and he had a new bruise on his jaw. There was a bloody cloth wrapped around his right hand, and he had a definite limp when he walked over to hang the bridle on a peg.

“What happened?” she asked, rushing to him. “You’re hurt. Is it your side again? Did you pull out the stitches?”

“Nay,” he said, limping back to his horse. “Only my hand is bleeding.” He lifted the stirrup and started tugging on the cinch buckle with his good hand.

Catherine crowded him out of the way. “Let me do that. You go get in your truck. I’ll take care of your horse and then drive you to the doctor.”

He stepped out of her way but didn’t leave. “Can ya handle a horse?” he asked, his voice gruff and his brogue unusually thick.

“I grew up on a ranch in Idaho,” she told him, freeing the cinch and pulling the saddle off. She carried it to the side of the aisle and set it down with a thud. “Go on,” she repeated, waving him out. “I’ll put him in a stall and give him some hay.”

“Has everyone left the house?”

“Yes. About five minutes ago.”

He slowly turned and limped out, and Catherine led the horse to the first empty stall she found. She grabbed several flakes of hay, tossed them in behind the animal, checked to see that he had water, and ran out of the barn.

Robbie was just climbing the porch stairs.

“Get in the truck!” she shouted.

He continued into the house.

“Stubborn man,” she muttered, jogging to the house. She came through the door and found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, already stripped down to just his pants and boots.

“What are you doing? You don’t need to clean up to go see the doctor.”

“I’m not going anywhere but in the shower,” he said, sitting down in a chair. He leaned over to unlace his boots but groaned instead, set his elbows on his knees, hung his head, and stared at the floor. “I just want a hot shower, for you to sew up my hand and find me some aspirin, and then help me upstairs,” he told the floor. He looked up. “Can ya do that, Catherine?”

She was gaping at his chest and shoulders. The man was filthy. Scratched. And he had several new bruises. “You didn’t babysit the priest last night, did you?” she whispered.

“No.”

“And you hadn’t just fallen down the day I found you.”

“No.”

“How did you get hurt?”

He stared at her, his sunken, bloodshot eyes unreadable, then slowly shook his head. “I’d rather not say.” He canted his head. “How are ya at telling fibs, Catherine?”

“Fibs? What sort of fibs? And to whom?”

“Everyone. My father and Libby. The boys. And whoever else asks.” He gave her a weak smile. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m banged up. Especially my father and Libby.”

“You’re more than banged up,” she said, stepping forward and taking hold of one of his boots. “You look like hell.”

“Thank ya. But I’m more exhausted than hurt,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in the chair as she unlaced and pulled off his boot. “A shower, aspirin, and twenty-four hours of sleep, and I’ll be back in fighting form.”

“So you can go out and get in another fight?” she asked, pulling off his other boot.

“Ah, Cat,” he groaned, scratching his naked chest. “I had them outnumbered.”

“Them? You had them outnumbered?”

He reached out and lightly tapped the tip of her nose. “I’ll be fine, Catherine,” he said, slowly standing up.

She scrambled out of his way, scrubbing her nose with the palm of her hand.

“I’ll use the shower downstairs, if that’s okay with you,” he said, limping into the bathroom before she could answer.

Catherine was left standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the scattered clothes and drops of blood on her clean floor.

What had happened to him last night? And why didn’t he want his family to know? And them? Who in heck was them?

Her boss expected her to sew him up again and tell fibs. But what could he possibly be doing on that mountain at night, dressed the way he had been the first time she’d found him, and carrying a sword?

The only answer Catherine could come up with that made even a little bit of sense was that he was crazy. Either that or she was, because she was going to sew him up and then fib to everyone, because…because…darn it, because he had asked her to.

He trusted her. Yeah, Catherine decided, squaring her shoulders and absently rubbing her nose again. Robbie trusted her to keep his crazy secret.

She let out a sigh, picked up his jacket and boots and set them by the door, gathered up his shirts and socks and tossed them into the laundry room, then headed upstairs to find him some clean clothes.

When was the last time anyone, other than her children, had trusted her? Not since her parents had been alive.

She had forgotten how empowering it felt. And besides, this was her chance to show Robbie MacBain that even self-appointed guardian angels needed help once in a while.

Catherine came back downstairs carrying a clean change of clothes, wondering how tough her boss really was. The last time she’d put a needle to him, he’d been unconscious, but that wasn’t going to be the case this time. She snatched up her sewing kit as she passed through the living room and continued into the kitchen, dropping the kit on the table and going to the bathroom.

“I have clean clothes for you,” she called over the sound of the shower.

“Set them on the hamper.”

Catherine stood at the door, her hand on the knob, and tried to remember if the shower curtain was opaque or transparent.

Darn. It was both. Mostly opaque, but with clear plastic fish swimming through it. Well, shoot. She had seen every imposing inch of the man’s body six days ago. Surely she could handle another peek, couldn’t she?

Catherine slowly opened the door and, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, walked in and dropped the clothes on the hamper, then spun around to leave just as the shower shut off.

“Could you hand me a towel?”

She stopped in mid-stride, slowly turned back, and looked at the large hand reaching out past the curtain.

Breathe, she reminded herself, pulling the towel from the rack by the vanity. She stepped closer, the curtain moved, she looked up, and Robbie’s head emerged through the steam, along with one broad shoulder and half of his now clean, naked chest.

“Are there any leftovers from last night?” he asked, taking the towel and swiping it over his face and then down his chest, using both hands—which caused the curtain to fall away just enough to reveal his right hip and long, muscled right leg.

Catherine turned away. “Y—Yes. I threw together a barley soup with the leftover roast.”

He made a sound that was half groan and half anticipation. “Can you heat me up some?” he asked.

She could probably do that by holding it on her cheeks. Catherine headed out of the bathroom, but he stopped her again.

“Cat.”

“Yes?”

“Was Daniels your first?”

“M-my first husband?” she whispered.

She heard the shower curtain slide all the way open. “Your first man,” he softly clarified, standing directly behind her.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Mr. MacBain.”

“Aye, but I do,” he said, touching her shoulder with just enough pressure to turn her around to face him. “It’s important for two people entering a conspiracy to know a bit about each other. Have you ever been in a relationship that was good, Catherine?”

“It was good with Ron. At first,” she amended, keeping her eyes focused on his so she wouldn’t look down. “Things didn’t start going bad until after we moved to Arkansas.” She suddenly frowned. “What do you mean, a conspiracy?”

“My nighttime adventures on the mountain and your helping me keep them a secret.” He slowly reached out and touched her hair, lifting it off her shoulder, and held it between two fingers. “Was Daniels your first?” he repeated.

It was all she could do not to back away, though Catherine didn’t know if she stood her ground because she was determined to be brave or if her knees were just too weak to move.

“I-I had boyfriends in high school.”

“I think the operative word here is man, Catherine. Was Daniels your first lover?”

What in hell did he want from her? He was dripping water and blood all over the bathroom and…and making a pass!

“Yes,” she snapped, pulling away and grabbing up his clothes. She shoved them at his chest, which caused him to lift both hands to catch them—which caused the towel he’d been holding around his waist to drop to the floor.

Catherine spun around and ran out of the bathroom.

“Cat,” he growled, stopping her just outside the door.

“What?” she growled back, still facing away.

“Just so ya know, it’s my intention to see that he isn’t your last,” he whispered, softly closing the door behind her.

Catherine stood rooted in place.

His intention? Had he just made her a promise or a threat?

Robbie stared up at the ceiling, watching the shifting shadows mark the rise of the sun, and listened to the quiet stirring below as his household prepared itself for another day.

He’d slept nearly twenty-one hours straight.

Every muscle in his body urged him to just lie still, to not demand anything of them quite yet. He ached in places he’d forgotten he had. The small, neatly sutured cut on his right hand throbbed with the rhythm of his pulse, his mouth was dry, and his eyelids felt as if they passed through sand every time he blinked.

Aye. A complaining body and a growing sense of unease was all he had to show for his second attempt to find Cùram’s tree. He didn’t even have Mary. He’d caught sight of the snowy several times, but his independent-minded pet had remained well out of reach and stubbornly silent.

He’d stayed there seven full days this time, searching both the MacKeage and the MacBain villages for Cùram de Gairn, but he might as well have been hunting a ghost.

At least the MacKeage camp had heard of Cùram, once Robbie had actually dared to mention the man by name. But the last anyone remembered seeing him had been a month ago. To the MacKeages, Cùram was a warrior known mostly for his unusual tactics on the fighting field and for his jeweled sword that he claimed had been a gift from the fairies. He was a young, handsome, rather quiet man, who was said to rise as eagerly to the call of war as he did to the call of the ladies.

As for the tree itself, Robbie was sure it was there; he could feel the hum of its powerful energy when he walked the woods north of the MacKeage village. But he had seen no tree with any sort of markings or any oak larger than one he could wrap his arms around.

He was certainly honing his skills with a sword, though. First on the training field with several MacKeage warriors and again with a chase through the forest by five MacBain idiots.

His ancestors were sorely trying his patience. He had hoped to avoid actually killing anyone, but by God, the next MacBain who cut him was getting his soul dispatched to hell.

With a groan pulled from the deepest regions of his body, Robbie finally crawled out of bed. The house had grown quiet with one final bang of the porch door, and he limped over to the window, rested his arms on the sash, and watched Catherine and the four boys walk Nathan and Nora down the driveway.

Robbie found his first smile in eight days. Nora was perched on Gunter’s shoulders, her tiny hands waving excitedly as she talked nonstop. Nathan was walking between Cody and Peter, showing off one of his school papers. Rick was carrying two small backpacks as he followed, listening intently to Nora.

And bringing up the rear was his fourth and final housekeeper, her hands tucked in her pockets, her face bathed by the early-morning sun, and a contented smile on her sweet little mouth.

He had her, Robbie thought with a smile of his own. Certainly not in his bed yet, but he had the little cat almost eating out of his hand. He snorted. She should damn well be getting used to his body by now—she’d seen him naked enough times.

She was also getting used to his touch, albeit slowly, and seemed to be breathing easier whenever he got close. She had enrolled her kids in school, was amazing with the boys, and apparently didn’t mind telling a good fib. And she kept sewing him up without demanding to know how he kept getting hurt.

Robbie guessed his size wasn’t helping his cause. Hell, his gender was the biggest barrier he had to break through. But he would. Because he had realized, when he’d opened his eyes in the cabin and found himself tied to the bed, that not only had his egg thief saved his life, but that she was the one.

He’d promised his father that if he ever crossed paths with a woman who could handle his calling, he’d snatch her up before she could know what she was getting herself into.

Aye, Catherine’s fears were mere illusions masking her true nature. The woman was strong in an utterly feminine way, brave, compassionate, resourceful, intelligent, and beautiful. She was perfect for him. He need only convince her of that truth.

Time was on his side. Proximity, too. She couldn’t very well remain guarded against him while living under his roof. Aye, providence had brought Catherine here, but now it was up to him to win her heart.

Robbie watched her wave good-bye to the retreating school bus and then to the boys as they drove out of the driveway. Claiming Catherine might require some gentling, a deep well of patience, and a bit of cunning—but hey, all was fair in love and war, wasn’t it?

He rather hoped Ronald Daniels did show up. What better way to impress the lady than to slay her dragon?

Robbie turned from the window, lazily scratching the healed wound on his shoulder, and smiled. He had the little cat to himself for the day, and he might as well give her tail another gentle tug.

He slipped into his pants, wondering just how open-minded Catherine Daniels was, since he was about to ask her to take out the pink silk stitches in his side and shoulder. By Catherine’s count, they’d only been in for a week, but including the seven days of his last adventure and the one day he’d slept away, his wounds had been healing for over two weeks.

Aye, he would soon learn if she could live with the magic.