The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  The narrow doorway separating the two rooms had been replaced by a wide arch trimmed with intricate, painted molding that opened into a completely remodeled living area. The old double-hung windows were gone, replaced by a bank of solid glass facing the ocean. The fireplace, which had been held together with more soot than mortar, was now a river-stone hearth that took up the entire end wall. And in the center of the polished hardwood floor, surrounded by leather couches and chairs, was a thick, richly colored Persian rug that was nearly as large as her apartment in Augusta.

  Willow walked over to the hearth when she noticed there was wood laid out in it, just waiting to be lit. She pulled a match from the silver-plated matchbox standing on the mantel, struck it, and set the flame to the bottom of the kindling. Once she was satisfied the fire was going, she pulled the cotton throw off the back of a nearby leather chair, sat down on the couch, and carefully tucked her legs up to cuddle under the blanket. She rested her chin on the arm of the couch and stared into the fire with a heavy sigh, listening to the storm and feeling safe and contented for the first time in what seemed like years.

  “For as lovely as ya were in my bed, lass, ya’ve never looked more beautiful than ya do right now.”

  Willow turned at the sound of his voice, self-consciously running her fingers through her tangled hair. Duncan was standing in the archway, fully dressed but barefooted, holding a glass of water in one hand and what looked like a prescription bottle in his other hand.

  “When did you do all this, Duncan?” she asked, pulling her fingers from her hair to wave them at the room. “It’s beautiful.”

  He walked around the opposite couch and came to stand in front of her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a tiger’s grin. “Ya like it, counselor? It’s not too masculine for you?”

  “It’s perfect. It’s…” She frowned up at him. “It’s a true gentleman’s home.”

  Duncan looked around the large living room, then back at her. “I suppose it is a far cry from the cave I crawled out of,” he said, his eyes dancing in the crackling firelight.

  Willow canted her head, her own eyes narrowing. “Who are you, Duncan Ross?”

  He sat down on the couch beside her, put the glass and pills on the coffee table, then took her legs and lifted them over his so that she was sitting with her back against the arm of the couch and her knees cradled in his lap. He resettled the blanket over her legs, then tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  “I’m the man it’s safe for you to love, Willow. I know better than anyone, except maybe Rachel, how delicate yar heart really is, lass. But I can hold it securely, because I’m the one man who loves ya more than life itself.”

  “Oh, Duncan,” Willow whispered, cupping his face in her hands, looking directly into his piercing green eyes. “I don’t want you to love me.”

  “Too late, counselor. I’ve loved ya since our first kiss in the town square, when ya kissed me back and then poked my ribs and started scolding me.”

  “That was lust, Dunky.”

  “Aye,” he admitted, his nod moving her hands. “There’s always been lust between us.” He removed her hands and held them against his heart. “And when we’re sitting in rocking chairs on the porch, watching our grandchildren flying kites in the front field, I’ll still be lusting after ya.”

  “You…you want children?” she whispered, not knowing if the sudden pounding in her heart was excitement or horror—or downright fear. “I hadn’t thought about having babies.”

  “Never?” he asked, clearly surprised. “Ya never pictured yourself as a mama? Not even when you were a child?”

  “Of course I did. But then I grew up and realized that to have babies I had to have a husband.”

  “Is that when yar dream died? When ya decided a husband was more…what is it, Willow? Have ya ever put into words what ya fear?”

  “Getting my heart broken.”

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed, nodding. “That’s the risk we take when we open ourselves up to loving someone. But where I’ve jumped in with both feet, you can’t even seem to get your toes wet.”

  “You’re calling me a coward?” she asked, digging her fingers into his shirt.

  He shook his head, pulling her hands away and holding them safely tucked inside his, down on her thighs. “You’re probably the bravest woman I know, Willow Foster. In all things but one,” he clarified. “Ya’ve decided that if ya let yourself fall madly in love with—oh, let’s say me, for instance—that ya wouldn’t survive if something happened to me.”

  “That’s a bit melodramatic,” she snapped, trying to tug her hands free.

  Apparently afraid she’d further hurt her wrist, Duncan let her go and captured her chin instead, making her look at him. “But it’s dead-on, Willow. When ya do decide to love, you’ll do it with complete abandon. But ya’re afraid to cross that line because ya’re afraid to lose part of yourself.”

  She pulled her chin free and glared at him.

  Duncan merely brought her good hand up to his lips, kissed its palm, and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to warn ya, lass, that ya can’t hold back the forces of nature. You’re wanting an affair, but do ya really think ya can share my bed and not get emotionally involved?”

  “I do.”

  “Ahhh. Right words, wrong context,” he said with a chuckle. “Keep telling yourself that, counselor, and I’ll keep loving ya despite yourself. Are ya ready for some of your pain pills?”

  Willow blinked at the maddening man. He was so damned sure of himself. So sure of her! Dammit, she was not falling in love with Duncan Ross.

  “My, but isn’t this a wonderfully domestic scene,” Luke said as he padded down the stairs. He reached the bottom step, yawned, and ran a hand through his tousled, sort-of-blond hair.

  Willow suddenly remembered her earlier idea. “Luke, can you get away from your construction company for a few days?” she asked, ignoring Duncan’s hand tightening on her thigh. “And crew for us on the Seven-to-Two Odds? We need to take some water samples, and you’d get to use that fancy underwater camera,” she added for good measure, deciding she probably shouldn’t mention Jane Huntley just yet.

  Luke’s gaze shot to Duncan. “I thought you didn’t want a crew,” he said. “That you want it to appear as if you and Willow are…” He waved a hand at the air and looked at Willow. “I thought you were going to use the cover of Duncan trying to court you so that you could snoop around Thunder Island. Having me along would kind of blow your cover, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not if we bring another woman with us,” Willow said. “Then people will think the Seven-to-Two Odds is really just a floating bordello.”

  Luke instantly perked up. “Molly?” he asked, looking at Duncan again. “Is she coming with us?”

  Duncan stood up, tucked the blanket back around Willow’s legs, and turned to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of pain pills. “Molly is going to stay right here and run The Rosach,” he said as he gave the cap a twist. He pointed the open bottle at Willow but looked at Luke. “She’s trying to set you up with her scientist friend from the Lobster Institute. Apparently, Jane Huntley likes men.”

  “You make her sound like a hussy,” Willow said, first glaring at Duncan and then turning to smile at Luke. “Jane’s an intelligent, dedicated marine biologist who also happens to be my good friend.”

  Luke snorted. “Intelligent. Dedicated. Good friend,” he repeated. “Which means she wears glasses thicker than Coke bottles, and she can’t carry a conversation that doesn’t involve words containing less than twelve letters.” He shook his head and lazily scratched his belly through his shirt. “I’m already booked, Willow. I’m distracting Molly for Duncan.”

  “You know Duncan’s using you?”

  Luke’s grin slashed in the firelight. “Of course. Buddies watch each other’s backs.” He stepped down the last stair and walked over to the hearth, turning away from the blaze as he clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Willow sp
eculatively. “Jason’s flying in today. Why don’t you ask him to crew for you? An intelligent, dedicated scientist is right up his ally.”

  “Jason’s coming in?” Duncan asked, drawing Luke’s attention. “How come?”

  “Kee called the guys, but Matt and Peter are busy delivering the yacht they raised to its owner. Jason said he’d come up, though, and help out however he could.”

  “I can’t remember,” Willow said. “What color are Jason’s eyes?”

  Luke gave her a quizzical frown. “Hell, I never noticed. Blue, I think.”

  “They’re gray,” Duncan snapped, finally shaking a pill from the bottle. “Just one,” he growled, handing it to her. “I need ya sober this morning, before ya forget yourself and try and hook me up with your friend.”

  With a smile that said she wasn’t the least bit intimidated, Willow popped the pill in her mouth, took the glass from him, and washed her medicine down with a large gulp of water. She snuggled back under her blanket, resting against the arm of the couch, and stared past Luke into the fire. “I like my bacon cooked crispy,” she said to whichever one of them seemed inclined to start breakfast. “And do you have a television in here, Dunky? I want to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Oh, and Mickey’s outside.”

  Apparently realizing they’d been dismissed, the two men quietly disappeared into the kitchen. Willow smiled at the fire, deciding that gray eyes were damn close to blue, and that Jason was a much better match for Jane, now that she thought about it.

  By noon, Duncan’s house was full of people, not the least of which was little Nicholas Oakes, commanding the center of everyone’s attention. The fourteen-month-old had already pulled all the pots from three of Duncan’s bottom cupboards, and was now working on a drawer of plastic bowls and lids. Mickey was supervising, occasionally chasing one of the lids that rolled toward the living room.

  Molly was busy putting together a lasagna for tonight’s dinner, and the men—Duncan, Kee, Luke, and Ahab—were in Duncan’s study doing men stuff. Willow was sitting at the island counter with Mikaela and Rachel, eating ants on a log, chocolate-coated eyes of newt, and snake egg sandwiches.

  Despite their dubious names, Willow had been eagerly devouring the treats, now that her pain pill had finally worn off enough to no longer upset her stomach. Mikaela had come up with the names for the rather odd combinations of food—not without plenty of help from her five and a half uncles. The “uncles” were Duncan, Luke, Jason, Peter, and Matt—five men who had been working as salvagers with Kee when Mikaela’s birth had made her a very integral part of their lives. (Ahab still refused to officially be associated with Mikaela, but the young girl kept insisting he was at least half hers. Anybody seeing Mikaela and the schooner captain together, however, would immediately know that Ahab’s salty old heart was fully engaged.)

  Ants on a log were celery sticks slathered in peanut butter and lined with raisins; eyes of newt were frozen grapes dipped in melted chocolate; and snake egg sandwiches were raw peas slipped between two slices of banana. Peanut butter was the spread of choice to keep the peas from falling out.

  There was a knock on the door. Rachel popped an eye of newt in her mouth and slid off her stool to go answer it. Mickey, apparently deciding no one was entering the house without his approval, quickly bounded past her into the mudroom.

  “Jane!” Willow heard her sister say. “You made it through the storm okay. It’s great to see you again.”

  “That’s your friend, the lady scientist?” Mikaela asked around a mouthful of celery.

  Willow nodded as she wiped some peanut butter off Mikaela’s chin. “You’re going to love her, kiddo,” Willow said after swallowing her own snake egg sandwich. “Jane is smart and funny and she isn’t afraid of anything.”

  Mikaela’s eyes rounded. “Not even spiders?”

  “Especially not spiders,” Willow confirmed. “Jane says spiders are a lot like lobsters, only they don’t taste as good.”

  Mikaela narrowed her eyes. “She didn’t eat a spider.”

  “She did,” Willow said with another nod. “When we were in high school, we got stranded on one of the Pilot Islands overnight while kayaking, and Jane thought we needed to eat bugs to survive. So she swallowed a spider and then tried to get me to do the same.”

  Mikaela’s eyes widened again. “And did you?” she asked in a whisper, her expression more horrified than curious.

  Willow laughed and ruffled Mikaela’s blond curls. “I refuse to answer on the grounds it might incriminate me,” Willow said, slowly lowering herself from her stool to go greet Jane.

  She had to wait, though, until Jane finished hugging Mickey. The tall, athletic, beautiful scientist finally stood up with a laugh and smiled at Willow. “I’ve always wanted to hug a wolf,” she said, wiping her cheek with her hand. “But being kissed by one is even better. Ohmygod, look at you.”

  Willow lifted her hand and touched the bruise on her jaw. “I know,” she said, returning Jane’s smile. “I saw myself in the mirror this morning and screamed.”

  Jane shook her head. “I stopped to have a look at where you went off the road last night. You’re damn lucky you didn’t drown. The trees were broken all the way down to the tide.”

  Willow took hold of Jane’s arm and led her into the kitchen. “I’m just glad my new truck had all those airbags. Jane, this is Molly Ross, Duncan’s sister. Molly, this is Jane Huntley, my friend I told you about.”

  Molly wiped her hands on the towel she was using for an apron and shook Jane’s hand. “It’s nice ta meet ya, Jane Huntley.” Molly’s sexy green eyes sparkled. “You’ve been the main topic of discussion around here this morning.”

  Jane seemed neither surprised nor appalled at being talked about. “It’s great to meet you, Molly. Is that spaghetti sauce I smell?” she asked, looking toward the range.

  “Willow told us lasagna is yar favorite,” Molly said, going back to the sink to finish washing a pan. “So I decided ta try out this fancy kitchen my brother thought he was needing,” she continued over her shoulder.

  “Jane, I’d like you to meet my niece, Mikaela,” Willow said next, moving behind Mikaela to take hold of her shoulders. “Mikaela is learning to kayak so she can paddle in the Crane Island Kayak Race this Fourth of July.”

  Jane came over and held out her hand. “So you’re the hel—the girl wonder I’ve been hearing about. I have a niece paddling in the peewee race,” she said, shaking Mikaela’s hand while making a production of looking her over. “You better build those muscles up if you hope to win. My Jasmine’s determined to get the trophy this year.”

  Mikaela blinked up at Jane, her hellion’s smile firmly in place, and handed Jane a stalk of peanut-buttered celery lined with raisins. “You want some ants on a log?” she asked, her expression sweetly expectant.

  Jane was just reaching for the gooey treat when she suddenly changed direction. She bent over, peeled Nick’s tiny fists off her pant legs, and lifted him into her arms with a laugh. “You must be Nick,” she said.

  “Boo,” Nick said, pointing at Willow.

  “Yes, Aunt Willy’s got a boo-boo,” Jane confirmed, holding still while Nick touched her own jaw.

  “Boo,” he repeated, only this time shaking his head.

  “No, I don’t have a boo-boo,” Jane told him, handing him to Rachel when she reached for her son. “He’s gorgeous, Rae.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel murmured, settling up on a stool with Nick in her lap and handing him the stalk of celery Mikaela was holding. But instead of eating it, Nick simply sucked off the peanut butter and started playing with the raisins.

  “So,” Jane said, clapping her hands and then rubbing them together. “Where are all these gorgeous men I get to choose from?”

  Willow smiled. Molly stopped washing and turned to gape at Jane. Rachel didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, having known Jane for years, and Mikaela simply answered for everyone. “Daddy and Dunky and Lunky and Ahab are in the study,” sh
e said as she lined up more raisins on another celery stick. “Junky’s going to be here by noon, and…” She canted her head at Jane. “I’d choose Junky, if I were you. He’s almost a scientist and he’s not afraid to eat a bug, either.”

  Jane blinked in confusion. “Junky?” she repeated.

  “His name’s really Jason, but when I was a baby I couldn’t say ‘Uncle Jason’ very good, so I renamed him Junky,” Mikaela explained. She handed her finished celery to Jane. “Here. It’s a lot better than spiders.”

  Jane took the treat, popped it in her mouth, and chewed vigorously while nodding to Mikaela. There was a noise on the porch and Jason stamped into the house, quickly rushing in ahead of the driving rain. Mickey let out a woof and bounded over to him, reared up, planted his paws on Jason’s chest, and licked his chin.

  “Hello, mutt,” Jason said with a laugh, pushing him away. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “And me!” Mikaela yelped, jumping down from her stool and hurtling herself at Jason. “You been gone forever, Junky!”

  Jason caught Mikaela, tossing her in the air then catching her against his chest so he could give her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “I’ve missed you, too, baby,” he said, burying his face in her hair.

  “Oohhh, you’re wet,” Mikaela squealed, wiggling to get down.

  “And you’re sticky,” Jason countered, setting her on the floor and walking into the kitchen. He stepped over to Rachel, kissed a sticky Nicholas on his head, then kissed Rachel’s cheek before straightening. He turned with a smile to Willow, but stiffened and scowled. “You look like hell.”

  Willow was getting used to everyone’s opinion on how she looked, and simply grinned at Jason, taking in his deeply tanned skin, rather compelling gray eyes—and damn if his hair didn’t have sun-bleached highlights running through it. “It’s great to see you, too,” she told him, turning toward Jane to introduce her just as the men came walking down the hall from Duncan’s study.