“Aye,” he said, leaning over to give her a quick, gentle kiss on her wet hair. “I’ll be right outside.”
With that, Duncan turned and followed the nurse out of the exam room, and walked over to Kee and Luke in the waiting area. “About what happens now,” he said to Kee. “I want Willow to come home with me.”
“Rachel’s not going to allow that, and you know it,” Kee said. “She damn near lost her sister tonight.”
Duncan nodded agreement and blew out a tired sigh. “I know. But if what Willow told me is true, she might still be in danger, and I don’t think we need to put your family in the middle of it. Especially not Mikaela and Nick.”
Kee shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Willow is part of my family. Between you, me, Luke, and Ahab, we can keep everyone safe until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“We can do that just as well at my house,” Duncan rebutted. “Without involving the kids.”
“Rachel won’t allow it,” Kee repeated, shaking his head again. He set his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “I know how you’re feeling, my friend. We’ll ask Rachel, but understand that you’re going to have a fight on your hands.”
“When I picked up Ahab, he told me he found out something at that bar in Trunk Harbor,” Luke interjected. “Seems there’s two men who have been hanging out there for the last couple of weeks. They were asking about Willow. Said they’d heard she’d been in town last weekend and wondered if she was coming back soon. They claimed to be friends of hers from Augusta.”
Both Duncan and Kee turned to Luke.
“Ahab said they looked more like guys Willow might have prosecuted than friends,” Luke continued.
“When was this?” Duncan asked.
“Just last night,” Luke said. “Ahab was going to tell us tonight, when he came to The Rosach. He might have more, but I didn’t hang around long enough to hear it. I just dropped him off and brought Rachel here.” Luke shook his head. “Rachel saw them pulling Willow’s truck over the bank when we drove by. She’s not going to let her sister out of her sight for a long time, I’m afraid. Seeing that twisted chunk of metal really shook her up.”
Rachel came through the exam room door just then, saw the men, and walked toward them. Duncan steeled himself for the battle ahead, wondering how to persuade Rachel it was best for Willow to come home with him and how not to end up in a fistfight with Kee when the man took his wife’s side.
Which would be nothing, Duncan realized, compared to the fight he was about to have when he told Willow she was going home with him.
“Come on,” Rachel said to her husband. “I have to pack some things for Willow.”
“They’re keeping her?” Duncan asked.
“No, she’s going home with you,” Rachel said.
“She is?” Duncan asked, clearly nonplussed. “And you agree?”
Rachel patted his chest, smiling at his surprise. “No, but I don’t have a choice. Willow insists. She told me about the man who ran her off the road and stole her briefcase, and she’s afraid to put Mikaela and Nick in danger.” She frowned over at Kee. “She thinks what happened might be linked to the sick lobster.”
“You know about the lobster?” Duncan asked, drawing her attention again.
Rachel nodded. “Sisters talk to each other, Duncan,” she said, turning and walking to the door. “Come on, I want to get home and assure Mikaela that Willy’s okay. She can come with us when we go to Duncan’s house, to see for herself that her aunt is fine,” she finished as she stepped through the automatic doors.
With a shrug indicating his own surprise, and a smile that said he never would understand women, Kee turned and also disappeared out the door. Luke hung back.
“I think I’ll follow you home,” Luke said. “And maybe spend the night.”
“Thanks,” Duncan said, nodding. “But I also need ya to find out where they took Willow’s truck, and see if ya can get her purse and other stuff and bring it to the house. And while ya’re at it, try to find out what the authorities think caused the accident. Maybe have a look at the vehicle yourself.”
“I can do that,” Luke said. “What about Molly? She’s at The Rosach, isn’t she? I’ll bring her home.”
“Aye. She’s tending bar.” Duncan broke into a smile. “Business is up since she started three nights ago. And she’s been making a small fortune in tips.”
Luke also broke into a smile. “We know it’s not her accent, considering you sound a lot like her,” he drawled. “Must be the package that accent comes in.”
“Ya never mind my sister’s package,” Duncan growled. “Ya’re too old for her.”
Completely undeterred by the warning in Duncan’s voice, Luke’s smile widened. “We have the same age difference as there is between you and Willow,” he pointed out. He canted his head. “Or are you getting used to the idea of your sister marrying a sheep farmer?”
“I’m beginning to prefer my mother’s idea of locking her in the Tower of London,” Duncan shot back. He handed his keys to Luke and turned and headed to the exam room. “Start my truck, will ya, so it’ll be warm when I bring Willow out?”
Duncan knocked on the exam room door, then stepped through it to find Willow sitting in a wheelchair dressed in a hospital gown and bathrobe, and with a blanket tucked around her shoulders.
The nurse handed him a small brown bag and a piece of paper. “Here are the instructions for what she has to do for the next week, and some pain medicine. She needs to go see her own doctor within the next few days, once she’s feeling up to it.”
“What about the clothes she was wearing?” Duncan asked.
“She told us to toss them. Oh, here’s your jacket,” the nurse said, picking it up from a chair and handing it to him. “There’s a bit of blood on it, but it should wash out.”
Duncan tucked the jacket under his arm and quickly scanned the instructions. They seemed easy enough, so he looked at Willow and found her smiling up at him—either still a bit drunk or downright pleased with herself.
“So ya’ve appointed me your nursemaid for the next week?” he asked.
Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always had a thing for playing doctor and patient,” she told him. She turned serious. “I can’t go to Rachel’s, Duncan. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Aye,” he said. “And just as soon as it calms down, we’ll head out to sea for a long, relaxing sail.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” the nurse said, her cheeks a bit pink from Willow and Duncan’s not-so-subtle word play. She started pushing Willow out of the exam room. “There’s nothing like fresh air and sunshine to heal a person.”
Duncan tagged along behind them, all but whistling at the thought of Willow being completely dependent on him for the next week. The fact that it was her idea was only icing on the cake, he decided, wondering where he could buy one of those white doctor coats and maybe a stethoscope.
Chapter Ten
With her head tucked in the crook of Duncan’s shoulder and her arm lying across his broad chest, Willow smiled into the darkness as she remembered falling asleep with a deep sense of contentment. Duncan had brought her home last night, carefully installed her in his bed, and then patiently stood back while a parade of people had come to see for themselves that she had survived the crash whole and relatively hearty.
The visitations had started with Rachel, Kee, Mikaela, and Mickey. Mikaela had climbed up on the bed, her baby blue eyes fraught with concern, and proceeded to take stock of Willow’s every cut and bruise and bandage. The seven-year-old had then read Willow a bedtime story from one of the books she’d brought with her, finishing by announcing that Mickey was so worried about Willow that he wanted to spend the night.
Mickey was now snuggled against Willow’s back with his nose resting on her thigh, making Willow feel like a well-guarded sandwich.
Luke had also come in last night, declared that Willow looked like hell, and told her he’d gotten her things from her truck.
A box of Mason jars had been broken, the underwater camera housed in a metal case appeared to have survived the crash intact, everything in her purse was wet but likely salvageable, and her suitcase had soaked through and Rachel would have to deal with her clothes before she could wear them.
Willow had finally met Molly, but she hadn’t been able to comprehend how such a stunningly beautiful, vivacious, and obviously civilized woman could be related to Duncan. Whereas Duncan was tall and powerful and roughly masculine, Molly Ross was utterly feminine—from her elegantly dressed model’s body to her baby-doll face and shining green eyes, all the way to her sexy mane of red-blond curls.
Duncan had put up with the intrusions with commendable patience before finally shooing everyone out by declaring that Willow needed her rest. But Willow had worried rest might be a relative term when Duncan had come back into the bedroom, stripped down to his boxer shorts, and crawled into bed beside her. He had then tried for ten minutes to get Mickey to sleep on the floor, but when the wolf had finally resorted to growling and closed his eyes with a lupine sigh of finality, Duncan had taken Willow in his arms with an answering sigh of his own and gone directly to sleep. Deciding she couldn’t feel more protected and secure, Willow hadn’t even finished a yawn before she’d fallen asleep herself.
“Are you awake, Doctor Dunky?” she whispered.
Duncan’s arm gently tightened around her. “I’m awake. Are ya sore, lass? Do ya need one of your pills?”
“No. I am sore, but it’s kind of a cozy I-don’t-want-to-move soreness. You’re all the medicine I need right now.”
Duncan lazily rubbed her arm, the movement making Willow cuddle more closely against him as she curled her fingers into the springy soft hair of his chest. She couldn’t see the clock by the bed, and was too comfortable to lift her head to look, but Willow guessed it was early morning. The storm was still raging outside, the wind blowing a heavy rain against the windows of the nineteenth-century farmhouse.
Duncan had bought the seventy-three-acre, saltwater farm just before he’d purchased his pub. The stately but rundown house sat on a shallow bluff that jutted into the ocean east of Puffin Harbor, about three miles from the center of town.
“Are ya thirsty? Would ya like a glass of water?”
“No,” Willow murmured, turning her head just enough to kiss his chest. “I only need to cuddle and talk.”
“Then we’ll talk, counselor. Tell me why you were run off the road.”
“Only if you promise not to get angry,” she said, tickling his chest hair when she felt him tense. “And not get all chest-beating protective on me.”
“Ya told Rachel ya thought it had to do with the sick lobsters,” he said, neither agreeing with nor arguing against her edict. “What makes ya think that? What else has happened?”
“A guy was in my apartment Wednesday and snooped through my home computer,” she said, moving her bandaged hand to trail her fingers over his clenched jaw. “And somebody was in my office that same night, and went through my files and office computer. He stole some papers.”
“And did ya tell your boss?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I couldn’t prove any of it.”
“And now your laptop was stolen.”
“Yes. It had copies of the files that were stolen, articles on pesticide poisoning from the Internet, and a fax from Jane Huntley. Jane,” Willow said on a gasp, lifting her head toward Duncan. “What if she’s in danger, too? They might even break into her lab.”
Duncan gently pulled her head back down and ran his fingers soothingly through her hair. “We’ll call her and warn her this morning,” he said. “And we’ll suggest she take a little vacation. What do ya think is going on, Willow? What have ya discovered about the lobsters?”
“Jane is pretty sure it’s pesticide poisoning, and that there must be a lot of it draining into the waters around Thunder Island for it to be killing lobsters over half a mile out.”
“And ya’re thinking someone dumped this pesticide near the island,” Duncan softly surmised. “But we saw no containers. Could they have just poured it into the sea?”
Willow moved her head against his chest. “No. Jane said if it had been poured out, it would have been dispersed by the ocean currents. For it to still be affecting the lobster, the source is still intact and leaching the poison with each tide. That’s why she wants the water samples.” She lifted her head and tried to see through the darkness. “That’s what we were supposed to do this weekend. Take samples and look in the quarry with the underwater camera she loaned me.”
Duncan gently urged her head back down again. “We still can. Just as soon as the storm plays out, we’ll head to sea.”
Willow popped her head up again, digging her bandaged fingers into his chest. “We could bring Jane with us. That way she can help, and we’ll know she’s safe.”
Even though it was dark, there was enough light coming from the crack under the hall door for Willow to see Duncan’s scowl. “This is supposed to be our time together,” he said. “Just you, me, and Mickey.”
“But I’ll be useless for several days. Jane can crew for us. She comes from Fisherman’s Reach and knows her way around boats. And she can help you take the water samples.”
“No.”
“But it’s perfect,” Willow continued, warming up to her plan. “Hey, what about Luke? He could come with us. Luke has blues eyes, doesn’t he? And his hair is sort of blond.”
Duncan carefully untangled himself from around her, got out of bed, and turned to tower over her, a dark silhouette against the dim light from the hall. “What in hell does the color of Luke’s eyes have to do with anything?” he growled.
Willow lay back on the pillow, reaching over and running her fingers through Mickey’s fur. “Jane’s got a thing for blond-haired, blue-eyed hunks. If I tell her about Luke, she not only won’t argue about coming with us, she’ll probably run all the way down here.”
“Luke’s busy distracting Molly.”
Willow gasped in surprise. “You’ve got your best friend distracting your sister away from the sheep farmer?” She snorted. “My God, Dunky, you really are a caveman.”
Duncan crouched down by the side of the bed and took Willow’s chin in his fingers. “You’re calling me names, when you’re suggesting we use Luke to lure your scientist friend down here?” he whispered. Willow could just make out the slash of his grin as he shook his head. “We both should be ashamed of ourselves.”
“But they’d be perfect for each other, Duncan. Jane lives for adventure. And she’s really cute.”
Duncan leaned over and softly kissed her lips. “So are you, counselor. Especially when you’re lying in my bed.”
Willow relaxed back onto the pillow with a sigh. “We’re never going to get this affair going,” she muttered. “The gods are against us.”
“I’ve warned ya about never saying never,” Duncan said, standing up and heading to the master bath. He snapped on the light, then turned to face her. “You’ll get your affair, woman. I only hope ya can deal with the consequences when ya do.”
With that cryptic remark, he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. Willow heard the shower start, and she rolled toward Mickey. “So, Mr. Mouse, what do you suppose he meant by that?” she asked, ruffling his fur.
Mickey’s answer was a yawn that ended when he jumped off the bed and trotted to the hallway door. Willow threw back the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed, and snapped on the bedside light. She pulled up the hem of Duncan’s T-shirt she’d worn to bed, and looked down at her left knee. The doctor hadn’t bandaged it, and she could see a bruise darkening the lower outside of the joint. She must have banged it against the truck door during the crash.
Willow stood up, keeping her weight on her good right leg, then slowly settled her weight onto her left leg. She didn’t feel more than a warning twinge, and decided the doctor was right, that it wasn’t sprained,
only bruised. She’d be mobile, at least, though definitely slow. Every muscle in her body felt as if she’d gone a few cycles in a tumble dryer—which Willow supposed she had when she’d rolled down that embankment.
She limped to the door and opened it, allowing Mickey to go trotting down the hall toward the kitchen. Willow followed more slowly, frowning at what she was seeing, suddenly gasping when she stepped into the kitchen.
This was not Duncan’s house. There was no sign of the warped white cupboards, scarred countertop, chipped enamel sink, cracked linoleum floor, or rusted tin ceiling. The old appliances—avocado green, if she remembered correctly—were gone, as was the battered table that used to sit in the center of the room and the ancient relic of a wood cookstove that used to be at the end of the counter.
No, instead Willow found herself standing in a kitchen that could have come straight from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Emeril Lagasse walked in and started cooking breakfast.
This new kitchen had counters of granite, cupboards of solid cherry, red oak planked floors, and the ceiling was definitely newly installed painted tin. The appliances were stainless steel, the six-burner range looking like it belonged in a five-star restaurant. Old-world charm was everywhere she turned, but with a carefully detailed sense of modern efficiency.
It was stunningly sophisticated. An epicure’s kitchen.
What it definitely wasn’t was a kitchen that belonged to a troglodyte. Heck, Willow realized, she wouldn’t know how to cook in this kitchen.
She really must have been drunk last night, because she hadn’t noticed any of this when Duncan had brought her home. Though he’d carried her straight into the bedroom, he had carried her through the kitchen, but she couldn’t remember if the lights had been on or not.
Mickey whined from somewhere to her left, and still gawking around in wonder, Willow limped into what she discovered was the mudroom. She opened the porch door, let Mickey out into the wind-driven rain, and turned and shuffled back through the kitchen, continuing on to where the old parlor used to be.
The Dangerous Protector Page 12