Tempting the Highlander (Pine Creek Highlanders #4)

Chapter Fourteen

C ody was settled in his bed with an ice bag on his face, a ginger ale for his upset stomach, and the promise of some stew when he felt better. Dinner had been a quiet affair, with Robbie and Marcus conspicuously absent and Nora and Nathan back to their quiet selves. Gunter had decided he needed a walk more than he needed supper, and Rick and Peter were doing the dishes without even being asked.

Catherine was now in the barn, facing her two children as they sat on a bale of hay and stared at her with rounded eyes filled with uncertainty.

“What happened in the kitchen earlier was nothing more than a terrible mistake,” Catherine began, sitting on another bale directly in front of them. “Nora, if anything ever scares you, then you are right to come tell me immediately. Gunter is the one who jumped to conclusions without checking the facts first.” She leaned forward and touched their knees. “And you saw how misunderstandings can lead to a terrible mess. People can get hurt when you react without finding out the truth first. I still want you both to tell me when something or someone scares you,” she said. “But you also have to begin trusting people,” she added, pointing to herself. “We all do, including me.”

“You told Gunter you trust Cody,” Nora whispered.

“I did tell him that,” Catherine agreed with a nod. “Because I do. All of the boys have been extra nice to you, haven’t they? Do you trust them to look out for you, Nora?”

The little girl nodded.

Catherine pulled her daughter into her arms. Nora was six years old. Not sixteen. Not twenty-six. She was just a little girl who had spent her entire life with a frightened and overly protective mother.

“We are all done running from your daddy,” Catherine whispered, leaning forward and putting her hand on Nathan’s shoulder, too, smiling at them both. “There’s nothing he can do to us, and that’s why we aren’t going to be afraid of him anymore.”

“He could hit you again,” Nathan whispered. “He could hurt you bad enough that you go to the hospital like before.”

Catherine shook her head. “No, Nathan, he can’t,” she assured him, relaxing back on her bale of hay. “Just like you guys, I’ve grown up these last three years, too. Your daddy can’t hurt me because I won’t let him. I just forgot that truth for a little while and ran away. But it stops here. This is our home now.”

She canted her head at them. “Do you know what they call people who live in Maine? Maineiacs. And that’s what we are now. We’re Maineiacs.”

“But that means crazy people,” Nathan said.

Catherine nodded. “Then that’s what we are. We’re so crazy that we aren’t afraid of anything or anyone. You both like going to school here, don’t you?”

They both nodded.

“And you like the boys?”

“Gunter kind of scares me,” Nathan said.

“Gunter learned a very valuable lesson tonight,” Catherine assured him. “Remember how I told you to consider all of them guardian angels? Well, wasn’t Gunter trying to be a guardian angel to Nora?”

“I guess so,” Nathan agreed. “But Mom, you shouldn’t have stood in the middle. You could have got hurt by accident.”

“Oh, but I have a guardian angel, too, and he wouldn’t have let me get clobbered.”

“Who?”

“Mr. MacBain. He was standing right there. If he thought I was going to get hurt, he would have saved me.”

“How do you know that?” Nora asked.

“Because we have a deal,” Catherine told her children. “We watch each other’s back. I look out for Mr. MacBain, and he looks out for me.”

“Because you work for him?” Nathan asked.

“No. Because of that trust I was telling you about. He trusts me, and I trust him.”

“I trust Mr. MacBain,” Nora whispered. “And Gunter doesn’t scare me at all, ’cause he’s my guardian angel,” she declared with six full years of authority. “And my bus driver said that the Tooth Fairy lives right here in Maine. Right up on that mountain,” she added, pointing at the side of the barn.

Catherine had no idea how their discussion had gone from guardian angels to tooth fairies, but she was grateful.

“How come the bus driver told you that?” Nathan asked, apparently also ready to change the subject.

“ ’Cause I showed her my tooth,” Nora said, pulling down her lip, then using her tongue to wiggle one of her bottom teeth. “And the Tooth Fairy will come down the mountain and give me a surprise,” she explained. “Just as soon as it falls out and I put it under my pillow.” She finally let go of her lip. “But what does she do with all the tooths, Mommy?”

Well, there was a good question if she ever heard one. Catherine mimicked Nora’s earlier action, shrugged her shoulders, and held her palms up. “I have no idea,” she admitted. She shot her a smile. “But I bet I know who would. Why don’t you go ask Cody and Gunter?”

Nathan quickly shook his head, and Nora dropped her eyes to her lap, also shaking her head.

Catherine lifted her daughter’s chin. “If you don’t make peace with everyone, Nora, the silence will be like a black cloud hanging over the house.” She looked at Nathan as well. “I want you both to take a bowl of stew to Cody and ask Gunter to come with you. And take Rick and Peter, too. And then ask all of them what the Tooth Fairy does with all the teeth she collects.”

“What if they fight again?” Nora whispered.

“They won’t,” Catherine promised. “Gunter is very sorry he hit Cody. But now it’s up to you to show them that you’re all still friends. It’s your turn to be their guardian angel.”

“But I’m only a little girl. I can’t be an angel.”

“You certainly can. And so can Nathan. When a group of people live in a house together, they help each other. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are.”

Catherine pulled her children to their feet. “Remember how you helped me save Mr. MacBain’s life up on the mountain? Well, this is your chance to be strong and brave again and chase the black cloud away from the house. Go,” she said, urging them toward the door. “And don’t forget to take Cody some stew. Have Gunter carry it,” she added, thinking of her clean floor.

They slowly headed toward the door at the other end of the barn but stopped when Robbie stepped out of the shadows halfway down the aisle.

“M-Mr. MacBain,” Nathan said.

“Nathan, Nora,” he returned with a nod.

Catherine watched, her breath suspended, as Nathan squared his little shoulders and looked up at the towering giant. “The hens need grain, sir,” he whispered. “And the water bucket leaks because it got all rusty.”

Robbie nodded and set his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll pick up some grain and a new bucket tomorrow. I’ve never much cared for tending the hens myself, and I appreciate your taking over the chore for me.”

Even under the weight of that large hand, Catherine could see Nathan’s shoulders straighten even more. “I don’t mind doing it,” her son said. “And the hens have got used to me.”

“I’m taking Cody some stew,” Nora piped up, not about to be left out. She scrunched up her face at Robbie. “Do you know what the Tooth Fairy does with all them teeth?”

Robbie looked at Nora, clearly nonplussed, and shook his head. “I think you should take your mother’s advice and ask the boys,” he suggested, releasing Nathan. “They’ll likely know.”

Nora grabbed Nathan’s hand and pulled him out of the barn behind her. Robbie watched them leave, then turned to Catherine.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

He didn’t answer but walked down the aisle toward her, and Catherine finally noticed the long, thick stick in his hand. He came within two paces and stopped, tucked his hands and the stick behind his back, and silently faced her.

Catherine took a step back. “You’ve been drinking,” she said, taking another step back.

“Aye, some. But not nearly enough to be drunk, Catherine, so ya needn’t look at me that way. I have never, nor will I ever, get drunk, as I don’t much care for the feeling of being out of control.” He matched her retreat with a step of his own. “And woman,” he whispered, “that is exactly how I felt this afternoon in the kitchen.”

She had backed all the way up against the end wall of the barn, and still he advanced, until he was so close she could feel the heat of his body. He leaned the stick against the wall beside her, placed his hands on either side of her head, and stared down at her so intensely that Catherine had to lock her knees to keep them from buckling.

“And if I ever again catch you standing in the middle of a fight between anyone bigger than your children, I will not be your guardian angel, Catherine, but your worse nightmare.”

He leaned closer, lowering his head so that his face was only inches from hers. “Do you understand what I’m saying, little Cat? You will not put yourself in that position again.”

She would have nodded, if her nose wouldn’t have bumped into his. “Wh-what’s the stick for?” she whispered, turning her head to look past his hand, deciding it was safer than looking into his fiercely disturbing eyes.

He straightened without stepping back, took his hands off the wall, and held them out from his sides, palms toward her. “Ya told me up at the cabin, when I woke up and found myself tied to the bed, that ya didn’t care to feel defenseless,” he said, his brogue thick with…with…Catherine couldn’t decide if it was anger weighing his words or some other emotion.

“So I’ve brought ya a stout stick,” he said, standing there with his arms open. “And giving ya the choice of how ya wish to end this conversation.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He spread his hands wider. “You can either walk into my arms, Catherine, with your promise never to do anything like that again, or ya can take that stick and finish bringing me to my knees.”

She was finally scared to the point that she started to tremble. “I’m not going to hit you.”

“Then walk into my arms. Prove your words to your children that ya trust I’ll not hurt ya.”

“I-I don’t want to do that, either. I just want to walk away.”

“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not one of the choices I’ve given you.”

“But why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because I need to hold ya,” he whispered. “And feel for myself that you’re okay.”

“But I am okay. Gunter didn’t hurt me.”

“Walk into my arms, Catherine,” he softly repeated. “Give me the same trust ya gave Gunter.”

She dropped her gaze to his shirt. “I can’t. It’s not the same thing. Hugging leads to…it leads to other things.”

“Aye. It quite often does.”

“I can’t do it.” She looked up at him, her eyes entreating. “Don’t you understand? I can’t ever trust my…my…another man that way.”

“Then pick up the stick.”

“No!” she snapped, feeling provoked. She crossed her arms under her breasts, refusing to touch that darn stick. “I am walking out of here, Robert MacBain, without hitting or hugging you!”

“And just how are you going to do that?” he asked, crossing his own arms over his chest. “I seem to be standing between you and the door.”

She stamped her foot. “This is silly. You can see I’m okay.”

“But can’t ya see that I’m not?” he whispered, holding out one of his hands.

She glared at him. “That’s the liquor making you shake.”

“Nay, little Cat. It’s you.” He spread both hands again. “Walk into my arms, Catherine.”

She stared up at him, into his unfathomably deep, pewter gray eyes. What did he want from her? More than trust, she’d wager. But what?

“J-just a hug?”

“Aye. Just for you to allow me to hold you in my arms.”

Catherine leaned away from the wall, hesitated, inched closer, took a deep breath, and slowly reached around his waist.

Ever so gently, and somewhat tentatively himself, he closed his arms around her and cupped her head to his chest.

“Ah, Catherine,” he whispered with a sigh. “Ya’re the bravest person I’ve ever been privileged to meet.”

She stood there, stiff in his arms, and waited for the panic to overwhelm her. But all she felt was his powerful heat and the steady, strong beat of his heart. The taut muscles of his back slowly relaxed as he tenderly engulfed her, one of his hands lightly caressing her spine.

Catherine released her own sigh and melted against him.

His chest rumbled softly. “Aye, Cat, ya feel just fine.” He touched his lips to her hair. “And so delicate for one so strong.”

A lump rose in her throat, making it impossible to respond other than by digging her fingers into his back. It had been a hundred thousand years since she’d been hugged.

“I can die happy now,” he whispered, responding to her touch by tightening his arms.

“It’s only a hug,” she was finally able to say, although it came out muffled against his chest.

“Aye, but I understand how special it is. Providence is smiling on us both tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, looking up.

He allowed only her head to move, not her body, and smiled down into her eyes. “Do you believe in magic, Catherine?”

“Of course I do,” she said, smiling up at his shining eyes. “Magic is what makes the sun rise every morning.”

“Nay,” he whispered, slowly shaking his head without taking his eyes off hers. “That would be physics. Magic is what brings a woman to my mountain, when she had a million other mountains to choose from, and then lets her pull me back from the brink of death. And magic moves her into my house and then gives her the courage to walk into my arms.”

He feathered one large, callused finger over her brow and down her cheek, ending at her chin and lifting her face to his. “It’s two people, Catherine,” he whispered, his mouth only inches from hers, “discovering a mutual and sacred trust.”

He finished his definition with the merest hint of his lips on hers, a kiss so tender and fleeting Catherine felt herself leaning up, yearning for more.

But it was over before she could decide if it had happened at all. She could only gasp when she was suddenly whisked off her feet, carried over to the stack of hay bales in the corner, and set down on the top bale with a lighthearted chuckle.

Robbie hopped up beside her, reached over and took her hand in his open palm, and used his thumb to caress her fingers.

“It never ceases to amaze me how such delicate hands can be so strong,” he said. “I’ve never fully appreciated how a woman’s lack of physical strength actually enhances her ability to thrive.”

Catherine also stared down at their hands, trying very hard not to let his simple touch make her heart race. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“When I want something to happen, I have a tendency just to demand results,” he explained, using his thumb to draw a lazy circle on her palm. “And when that doesn’t work, I rely on my size and strength to get what I want. But you, Catherine,” he said, closing his fingers over hers. “You approach a problem quite differently.”

“H-how?”

He shifted his shoulders to face her more fully, still keeping her hand gently trapped in his. “Take tonight for instance. I would have taken Gunter by the scruff of his neck and given him a good taste of his own medicine.”

“You wouldn’t have hit him.”

“Nay,” he agreed, shaking his head. “But he sure as hell would have walked away with something to think about.” He lifted their hands and touched her knuckles to his lips. “Yet you accomplished the same thing without violence. Instead of trying to pound some sense into the boy, you showed Gunter what aggressive behavior looks like from the other side. Same results but much more resounding.”

“I was just trying to stop him from hitting Cody again.”

“Aye. But where I would have used my strength to stop him, you used shame.”

“I don’t want to shame anyone,” she whispered.

“But is that not a stronger emotion, Catherine? Which lesson will stay with Gunter? Seeing his action for what it is and being ashamed of himself, or merely being defeated by someone bigger than him? And that, little Cat,” he said, using his free hand to tap her nose, “is why women are stronger than men.”

Catherine balled her own free hand into a fist and fought the urge to rub her nose. “You’re making me out to be something I’m not. I wasn’t being brave or smart or trying to teach Gunter a lesson. I just wanted to stop the fight.”

He nodded toward the stick leaning against the wall. “You could have found a weapon, a chair even, and stopped it just as quickly.”

“If words wouldn’t have worked, I probably would have,” she said, finally giving in and rubbing her nose.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “I don’t doubt you would have. Because, just like me, you also find a way to get what you want.”

He lifted her trapped hand and opened his, brought her palm to his lips, and kissed it, then closed her fingers over his kiss and let go.

“So, Catherine,” he said with a sigh, relaxing back against the wall, canting his head to stare at the far end of the barn. “We’ve decided that we trust each other; we agree that you are just as strong as I am, only in a different way; and we have six young people in the house who need our combined strengths to see that they become fine adults.” He looked at her. “What say we expand our little conspiracy, join your children with my boys, and see what we can do about growing them up?”

“But that’s what we are doing.”

“Nay. Tonight, when I set my hand on Nathan’s shoulder, that was the first time I’ve touched your son. And other than Nora taking my hand at school, I haven’t gone near her.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Wh-What are you asking?”

He lifted her chin to look at him. “I’m asking for your permission to be part of their lives. To be an example of what a…a father should be. That a man is someone they should look to for shelter and security, not run from.”

“Don’t you already have enough on your plate with the boys, your family, and your…your…whatever you’re doing up on that mountain?” Catherine asked, waving toward TarStone.

“Nay. You can never overfill a plate when you’re sharing it with someone.”

“But why would you want to take on my children?”

“Because I want you.”

“No.”

“I’ve given you a stout stick.”

“I do not hit people!”

“But you will have to, little Cat,” he whispered, taking hold of her chin again and leaning close. “Because that’s the only way to get rid of me.”

“I’ll just leave,” she said, her words washing against him, only to echo back the regret in her voice.

“You’re done running, Catherine. You’ll take your stand here, with me, or you might as well dig a hole and crawl inside and pull it closed behind you.”

“You’re doing it again,” she said, scrambling around until she knelt facing him, determined to make him understand. “You’re seeing something that’s not there. I’m not the brave woman you keep saying I am. I have all I can do to get up every morning and face another uncertain day.”

“But ya still get up, lass.”

“I don’t want you to want me,” she whispered. “It will only hurt us both.”

“Too late,” he murmured, cupping her face. “When you found me on the mountain and chose to save my life rather than run, it was too late for both of us.”

Catherine thought about telling him that she hadn’t had any choice at all. She thought about going over and getting that stick and finally making him understand. And then she thought about how secure she had felt in his arms when he’d hugged her. How brave. And yeah, how strong.

So strong in fact, Catherine decided as she looked into his compelling gray eyes, that she could finally quit wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by Robbie MacBain and simply kiss him herself.

Mimicking his hold on her, she cupped the sides of his face and pulled his mouth down on hers. And it wasn’t a fleeting kiss she gave him, by God, but one that wouldn’t leave any doubt that it was happening.

Robbie made a noise—she couldn’t decide if he grunted or groaned—folded her into his arms, and leaned back against the wall. He canted his head and deepened the kiss—that she had started—by parting his lips over hers.

He tasted like very fine scotch, a perfect blend of heat and masculine appeal that set her mind spinning. There was nothing tentative about him this time, nothing fleeting or obscure.

Catherine opened her mouth, her growing urgency yearning for more, and melted against him, tasting, teasing his advancing tongue, welcoming the tremors racing through her. She also made a sound but recognized it as her own sense of wonder that she was not frightened but empowered by his response.

The muscles of his shoulders tightened under her hands, the tendons in his neck straining as he moved to taste her. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples quickening from the blasting heat of his chest against hers.

Catherine rose to meet each new sensation and decided her libido was far from dead. This towering giant of a man, with his maddening choice of a stick or a hug, only mocked her fears with his mouth, his taste, his all-consuming presence.

He broke the kiss, his lips forging a trail of quivering pleasure along her jaw, up her cheek, and across her temple. And then he covered her head with his hand and tucked her under his chin with a sigh so fierce the air rushed from her lungs.

“I’m thinking we should stop now,” he whispered. “Before I forget my noble intentions.”

Catherine would have sighed herself if his impassioned embrace would have let her. She’d somehow ended up straddling his lap, and the indecent position—and the blatant evidence of his not-so-noble desire pushing intimately against her—finally unnerved her.

She tested those very intentions by trying to wiggle free. He groaned quite loudly, picked her up, and stood her on the floor before she could gasp.

She faced him, clutching the front of her sweater in her fists, her forearms pressed against her sensitized breasts, her face feeling as if it was about to combust.

“No more choices, Cat. Just turn around and walk away.”

“I…this was…that kiss wasn’t…”

“Go in the house, Catherine.”

She spun toward the door.

“And take the stick with you.”

Catherine turned back, shaking her head. “I don’t want it.”

He slid off his perch and walked to the stick, and picked it up, then came over, put it in her hand, and closed her fist around it. “But I do want ya to have it. Stand it next to the clock in the kitchen, and if another fight ever breaks out and I’m not home, use it.”

She tried to shove it back at him. “I won’t hit anyone.”

He continued to hold her fist closed over the stick. “If a stranger comes to the house and threatens your children, will you waggle your finger at him?”

“Of course not.”

“If Rick starts fighting with Peter and won’t stop, and there’s no one else around, what will you do?”

“I…I would…I’d…”

He gently ran a finger down the side of her face. “It’s only a weapon, Cat. An equalizer that can multiply your strength times ten. A stout stick can make the difference between being completely defenseless against someone twice your size or being victorious.”

“It’s also a weapon that could be turned against me.”

“Aye. But tomorrow I’ll begin teaching you how to keep that from happening.”

“What?”

“Weapons are only as effective as the person using them, Catherine. But with the proper training, you could drop a bear in its tracks with only a stick.” He smiled and lightly tapped the end of her nose. “And I’m going to show you how to do that. You can always find something for a weapon, be it a baseball bat, a broom handle, or a tree branch.”

She pulled free, clutched the stick to her chest, and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she snapped it shut, spun around, and marched toward the end of the barn.

“Sleep well, little Cat,” he softly called after her.

Catherine stopped at the door and turned back to him, still clutching the stick to her chest. “I—I would like for you to set an example for Nathan and Nora,” she quietly told him. “And I do want to help with the boys.” She lifted her chin. “But I also want you to stop whatever you’re doing up on that mountain.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to settle for two out of three.”

“I could stop you by telling your father.”

“Aye, but you won’t. It’s not adventure that takes me up the mountain, Catherine, but duty. And the one thing you must never do is interfere in my duty.”

“Your duty,” she repeated, glaring at him. “What kind of duty compels a man to get beat up and nearly killed? That’s not duty, that’s foolishness.” She waved her hand in frustration. “And if you know you’re going to get in a fight, why in heck don’t you carry something better than that stupid sword you had when I found you?”

He softly chuckled. “That stupid sword is my weapon of choice, just as that stick will be yours once I’ve instructed you. Go in the house, Catherine. You’ve dealt with enough for one day. In time, you’ll come to understand why I do what I do, but not tonight.”

She stared down the long aisle of the softly lit barn; he stood with his feet planted firmly, his arms crossed over his chest, and his piercing gray eyes focused directly on hers.

Catherine turned and quietly walked out of the barn.