The Dangerous Protector

by Janet Chapman

  The greetings continued for another few minutes, Willow learning that Jason and Matt and Peter had been away for almost two months. Molly walked into the fray of men, pushed them aside, and stepped in front of Jason. “Hiya, Jase,” she said.

  “Molly?” Jason breathed, his expression shocked. He suddenly pulled her into his arms. “When did you grow up?”

  “Just recently,” Molly said with a laugh, hugging him back. “I woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and stopped braiding my hair.” She leaned away and frowned up at him. “If ya’d come ta Scotland with Duncan once in a while, ya’d have known that.”

  Jason tapped the end of her nose. “You haven’t outgrown being a brat,” he said. He turned to Willow, lifted one brow, and gave a slight nod toward Jane.

  Willow started to introduce Jane to Jason again, but instead she snapped her mouth shut in amazement. If she didn’t know better, Willow would think Jane was about to faint. Her friend’s sapphire blue eyes were huge, her face pale, and her mouth was hanging open as she stared at the large, gorgeous, very manly men filling Duncan’s kitchen.

  “I’m Jason,” Jason said, having to walk around the island to hold out his hand to her.

  Jane actually took a step back, still gaping, still mute.

  Willow couldn’t believe it. Jane Huntley had just been outmanned by four hunks. Or rather five, if she included Ahab. It was as if Jane couldn’t believe so much testosterone could be in one room without something exploding—or maybe she was the one about to explode.

  “This is my good friend, Jane Huntley,” Willow said, walking over and lifting Jane’s hand to place it in Jason’s. “She’s a marine biologist at the University of Maine, and she’s going to sail with us tomorrow.”

  “A fish doctor?” Jason asked.

  Willow poked Jane in the back.

  “Ah, lobsters, actually,” Jane stammered, her pale face suddenly flushing pink when she tried to get her hand back, only to find that Jason wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

  Jason canted his head. “Lobsters, huh? Baked or boiled?”

  “A-alive,” Jane said, staring into his smiling gray eyes.

  “I’m Luke,” Luke interjected, pushing Jason aside and taking Jane’s hand from him. “Your underwater camera survived the crash okay, but we’ll have to buy another case of Mason jars to take the water samples.”

  Willow took pity on her obviously overwhelmed friend and pulled Jane free, led her to a stool at the island, sat her down, and handed her a snake egg sandwich. “Is that the only luggage you brought?” she asked, nodding toward the mudroom.

  “I have a suitcase in the car,” Jane said, then gasped and jumped off the stool. “Oh, I brought you today’s Bangor Daily News,” she said, rushing into the mudroom and walking back with her briefcase. She pulled out the newspaper and slapped it down on the counter in front of Willow. “You made the front page, I’m afraid.”

  Willow just stared at the newspaper. There was a picture of her totaled SUV, a small headline on the bottom of the front page that said “Maine Assistant Attorney General Cited for OUI,” and an article long enough that it continued on page 3. The kitchen went suddenly silent as Rachel and Duncan and Kee crowded close to look over Willow’s shoulder. Willow softly started reading the article out loud.

  “State’s assistant attorney general Willow Foster was involved in a vehicle accident Saturday night in Walker Point that totaled her late-model SUV. There were no other vehicles involved, and Foster was transported to an Ellsworth hospital where she was later released with only minor injuries. Foster’s blood alcohol level was reported to be point-two-three.

  “Foster couldn’t be found for comment, and deputy sheriff Larry Jenkins told reporters that his department is looking into circumstances surrounding the accident. When contacted, attorney general John Pike said he had no comment at this time.”

  Willow stopped reading, not bothering to turn to page 3, since the article went on to summerize her two-year career with the attorney general’s office. She looked up at the sea of faces watching her, their expressions guarded. Willow set her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

  “You were not drunk,” Rachel said, putting her arm around Willow’s shoulder.

  “Yes, I was,” Willow said, lifting her head to look at her sister. “My blood alcohol level had spiked by the time they got me to the hospital and I was tested. Which is exactly what that guy wanted.” She looked over at Duncan and tapped the newspaper. “This is exactly why he poured that liquor down my throat. He wasn’t only after my laptop—he wanted me to have to deal with this instead of the case I’m working on.”

  Duncan said nothing, just nodded agreement.

  “I have to call my boss. Can I use your study?” Willow asked, standing up and turning toward the hall without waiting for Duncan’s answer. She stopped and looked at Rachel. “Where’s my suitcase? I need my bag of toiletries from it.”

  “I brought everything but the few clothes I hadn’t had time to deal with,” Rachel said, running into the mudroom and returning with her own suitcase. “There’s still a load in the dryer at home.”

  “I only need my toiletry bag,” Willow said, waiting while Rachel dug it out and handed it to her. Willow searched through the bag until she found the jump drive Karen had given her, glad now that she’d put it in a watertight wrapper in case some of her cosmetics leaked. “Jane,” she said, palming the jump drive and looking at her friend. “When I’m done talking to John, may I use your laptop? My secretary downloaded an article and some files that I should probably read.”

  “What’s blood alcohol?” Mikaela asked, looking from Willow to her dad, then to her mom. “Is it red stuff that Dunky serves at The Rosach?”

  “No, sweetie,” Willow answered before either of them could. “It’s a measure of how drunk a person is, of how much alcohol is in their blood.”

  Mikaela shook her head. “You ain’t supposed to drink and drive, Aunt Willy,” she said, her frown disapproving. “They told us at school that you get in accidents when you do. That’s why you went off the road and smashed your truck.”

  Willow closed her eyes on a deep breath, then walked back to the island counter and took Mikaela’s frowning little face in her hands. “I wasn’t drinking and driving, sweetie,” she told her. “But I did have some alcohol after the accident, and that’s why the test said I was drunk. I promise you, baby, I would never put myself or anyone else in danger by driving after drinking.”

  “Okay,” Mikaela whispered, her immediate smile moving Willow’s hands. “I promise not to drive when I drink, either. When I’m old enough to drive,” she clarified. “And I won’t even ride my bike when I have some beer.”

  Willow choked on a laugh and hugged Mikaela, looking over the young girl’s shoulder at Kee and Rachel. Shocked speechless, Rachel vigorously shook her head. Kee just looked dumbfounded.

  “Ya can’t drink until your twenty-first birthday,” Duncan said, glaring at Mikaela.

  Mikaela looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Not even a beer from the fridge? Even when it’s really, really hot, and I’m really thirsty, and there’s no soda in the fridge?”

  Rachel smacked Kee in the stomach, making him grunt. “I’m dumping out that beer,” she told him. “You want a drink, you go to The Rosach.”

  “This is Matt’s fault,” Luke said. “He would give Mikaela sips of beer when she was a baby so she’d go to sleep.”

  “Munky still gives me sips,” Mikaela informed them, though it was obvious she thought that was a good thing. “And he gives Nick beer, too, when he babysits. Munky says it’s good for our…constit…for our guts. That kids drink wine and stuff all the time in other countries.”

  “But not here, baby doll,” Jason said, stepping over and sweeping Mikaela into his arms. “You have to be twenty-one. But don’t you worry about it—I’ll explain everything to your Uncle Matt when I see him again.”

  Satisfied that Matt wo
uld be duly chastised by more than just the females in the room, Willow turned and headed down the hall to Duncan’s study, mentally preparing herself for what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation with her boss.

  John wasn’t going to like that one of his assistants had made the front page of a statewide newspaper, any more than he was going to like the fact that she hadn’t told him what she was working on.

  Maybe she should think about extending her vacation to two weeks. Or maybe three.

  Chapter Eleven

  Willow woke up with a muttered curse and swatted at whatever was shaking her, finally opening her eyes when she heard Duncan chuckle.

  “Hush, now. I need ya to be quiet,” he said, gently rolling her onto her back and sitting her up. “I don’t want to wake the others.”

  Willow blinked at him in the soft light coming from the master bath doorway. “What time is it?” she asked, pushing the hair off her face, nearly poking herself in the eye because she forgot her hand was bandaged. She glanced at the nightstand. “Four?” she said, turning to scowl at Duncan. “You got me up in the middle of the night to give me a pill?”

  “Are ya always this cranky when ya wake up?” Duncan asked with another chuckle, handing her not a pain pill, but a pair of her jeans, a T-shirt, and one of her sweaters. “Get dressed. I want to catch the outgoing tide.”

  Willow came completely awake, just noticing Duncan was fully dressed, including his jacket. “We’re leaving? Right now? Are Jane and Jason awake?”

  “Nay,” he said, walking to the bureau. “They’ll catch up with us later.”

  “But why are we leaving so early?”

  Duncan tossed a pair of wool socks on the bed, leaned down, and captured her chin. “Because if I don’t get ya all to myself for at least half of today, I’m liable to do something I’ll regret.”

  Willow blinked up at him, a warmth of awareness suddenly washing through the pit of her stomach. It appeared Duncan had finally reached the end of his patience, and their affair was starting this morning come hell or high water or outgoing tide.

  Willow cupped his hand holding her chin and beamed a smile up at him. “You could have had me all to yourself last night, but you never even came to bed.”

  “I’m not wanting an audience of ears around when we finally get this affair started. Especially with my innocent baby sister sleeping in the bedroom right above us.”

  Willow snorted and pushed him away, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. “If Molly’s an innocent baby, then I really am a virgin again,” she muttered.

  “Ya take that back,” Duncan said, facing her with his hands on his hips. “My mother’s sole purpose in life for the last ten years has been to keep starry-eyed men away from Molly.”

  “Which is why your sister resorted to cruising the Internet to find a boyfriend,” Willow countered, also putting her hands on her hips. “What is it with you and apparently also your mother? You act like this is the Stone Age instead of the twenty-first century. Molly is twenty-six, not sixteen. And you’re her big brother, not the ordained patriarch of the Ross clan.”

  “Ah, but I am, counselor. I inherited the position six years ago when my father died.”

  Willow snorted. “You take yourself way too seriously, Dunky. Molly is an intelligent young woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

  “Might I remind you that she came running to me?”

  “Which only proves her intelligence. Molly knew better than to head off to New Zealand by herself, but she apparently needed to get away from her mother. So she came to you.”

  “So I could deal with the sheep farmer,” Duncan snapped.

  “No, so you could deal with your mother. For all you know, the sheep farmer doesn’t even exist. Molly’s just tired of being treated like a child and being told what to do.”

  “You’ve figured this out by spending one day with her?”

  “No, because I was her,” Willow told him. “Because my father was just as overprotective and as bossy as you are. Why do you think I was such a brat all through high school?”

  “Then why isn’t your sister like you?”

  “She is,” Willow said with a sudden smile. “Rachel is just as headstrong and determined to get her way as I am, only she’s much more subtle about it. Where I kick and scream and bluster, Rachel just quietly goes about getting what she wants.”

  Duncan crossed his arms over his chest, lowering his brows in a frown. “We can’t always get what we want, counselor.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because sometimes life intervenes. Or sometimes what we want is not what’s best for us.”

  Willow canted her head. “A philosophical troglodyte,” she whispered, mimicking his stance by crossing her own arms under her breasts. “You’ve decided you want me,” she said, her tone nonaccusing. “But what if getting me is not what’s best for you? What if it’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  He dropped his hands to his sides, nonplussed. “How could loving you possibly be bad for me?”

  “I could break your heart.”

  He immediately shook his head. “Ya wouldn’t. Once ya give your heart, lass, you’ll give it for keeps.”

  “I could die. I could have died two nights ago.”

  Duncan strode over to her, his eyes all but glowing in the dim light. He took hold of her shoulders, and despite his obviously foul mood, pulled her gently against him. “Aye. Ya would have broken my heart then,” he whispered against her hair. “Which is why you’ll be more careful in the future.”

  “Careful?” she muttered into his chest. “I was run off the road.”

  He stepped back, holding her by the shoulders, and scowled at her. “Ya should have told someone what had been happening to you. Ya could have told me if ya didn’t want to tell your boss. I would have gone to Augusta and driven ya here.”

  “Then we both would have been run off the road.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But at least we’d have been together.”

  Willow reached up with one hand and cupped the side of his face. “Duncan, you’re proving my point instead of your own. Giving your heart so completely only means it will be impossible to bear when something happens.”

  “Not when something happens, lass, but if. And not giving your heart means being only half alive.”

  Willow sighed and picked up her clothes. She headed to the bathroom, stopped in the doorway, and turned back to Duncan. “I had this same conversation with Rachel two years ago, when she was trying not to fall in love with Kee. Now you’re the one trying to convince me that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” she said softly. “What you wrote on my hand the other day, that I can run but that I can’t hide—you weren’t saying I couldn’t hide from you, you were telling me I couldn’t hide from love.”

  “Aye.”

  “Having an affair isn’t hiding. It’s jumping in with my eyes wide open.”

  “Passion is no substitute for love, Willow.”

  She canted her head. “Then maybe we should call off the affair, if you don’t think it will go anywhere.”

  “Not on your life, woman,” he growled. “Ya’ve made the offer, I’ve accepted, and two seconds after we drop anchor off Thunder Island, it begins.”

  Willow went utterly still, a shiver of awareness coursing through her at the realization that Duncan was deadly serious. Unable to respond, Willow quietly turned and entered the bathroom, softly shut the door, and closed her eyes on a deep sigh. For the first time since meeting Duncan Ross, she was afraid she really was in danger of getting what she wished for.

  Duncan stood at the wheel of the Seven-to-Two Odds, his attention divided between the silent woman beside him sipping hot chocolate and the rough sea ahead as he guided the schooner toward Thunder Island. Since leaving the house two hours ago, Willow had been unusually quiet, and Duncan was starting to worry.

  He was pushing her, he knew, but he couldn
’t seem to help himself. He still hadn’t recovered from the scare she’d given him two nights ago; nor would he likely recover until he got Willow naked beneath him again and could feel her come alive in his arms.

  The truth of her words this morning, that she could have died in the crash, had made it appallingly clear just how scared she was of loving him—because Duncan had gotten a good taste of that fear himself. But he loved her, dammit. And even though she’d deny it with the tenacity of a true lawyer, she was in love with him.

  Hell, they acted like an old married couple most of the time; they trusted each other, were there for each other when they needed a shoulder to lean on, and could all but read each other’s minds most of the time. Like now, for instance. Duncan knew Willow was rethinking her offer of an affair—not because she suddenly didn’t want him, but because she was finally beginning to realize that she might be wanting him too much.

  Duncan silently watched as Willow set the cup of cocoa next to the thermos he’d made her before they’d left the house. She stood up and walked toward the bow of the ship with drunkenlike steps, the deck pitching and rolling on the rough sea, Mickey padding along behind her.

  The storm had finally moved out to sea, leaving crystal-clear skies and a stiff northwesterly breeze that continued to raise four- and five-foot swells ahead of them. The sails were furled tightly closed, and the Seven-to-Two-Odds’s powerful diesel engine cut through the waves with ease.

  The sun was a full hour above the horizon by the time they pulled into calmer waters on the lee side of Thunder Island. Duncan noticed that the sound of the wind-driven, crashing surf was growing fainter as they moved down the eastern shoreline of the island. He brought the engine to an idle, tied off the wheel, and also walked forward.

  “How’s this?” he asked as he came up beside Willow. “Shall we anchor here for the day?”

  She turned from staring at the island and gave him a tentative smile. “This is the best place for now,” she said softly. “But we’ll have to move to the Pilot Islands for the night. It gets too rough here when the tide’s coming in.”