Reunion

by Karen Ball

  “Gavin MacEwen. He’s a neighbor. And a … friend.”

  “Must be coming to check up on the work.” Connor knelt to put the tools back in the toolbox.

  “Or on the workers,” she muttered under her breath.

  The Blazer pulled up. Gavin cut the engine and stepped out, pushing his hat back off his head as he did so. “Hey there, beautiful.”

  “I assume he’s talking to you, not to me.” Connor eyed her blandly, and Taylor felt a surge of red creep into her cheeks.

  “Yes, well, probably.”

  Gavin came over and slipped his arms around Taylor, giving her a quick kiss. She was so surprised, she didn’t stop him. Then he turned to Connor, one arm still around Taylor’s shoulders, and held out his free hand. “Gavin MacEwen, at your service, sir.”

  Connor shook his hand. “Connor Alexander, resident gofer. For the time being, anyway.”

  Taylor wondered fleetingly at the odd expression of displeasure in Conner’s eyes. Maybe he’s jealous. She dismissed the idea along with the inordinate sense of delight it had triggered. What did she care if Connor Alexander was jealous? The man was nothing more than a temporary employee.

  A very attractive, extremely intriguing, ridiculously appealing temporary employee.

  “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Did you say something, darlin’?” Gavin turned to her, and she closed her eyes. Was this day ever going to end?

  “No.”

  “Well then, lass, put me to work. I’ve come to offer my services.” He crossed his arms, a cocky grin on his face.

  Connor straightened, the toolbox clenched in his hand. “Much appreciated, but we’re all done.” He met Gavin’s gaze evenly. “Looks like your trip was a waste of time.”

  Gavin’s eyes flashed, but the amiable smile never faltered. “Not a bit of it!” He gave Taylor a squeeze, pressing her against his side. “It’s always worth any effort to see my darlin’ girl.”

  Oh, for crying out loud! This had gone far enough. “Well, now that you’re here—” she eased her way out of his arm—“you can help us load the extra poles back into the truck.”

  “With pleasure.” Gavin moved to lift one end of the pole Connor had grabbed. “Anything for you, lass.” He cast a knowing grin at Connor. “On the count of three?”

  Connor gave him a curt nod.

  Together they lifted the timber and walked to the truck. As they slid it into the bed of the vehicle, Gavin gave Connor a casual look. “Ever heard of the caber toss?”

  “Gavin—” Taylor started to protest, but the two men ignored her.

  “Isn’t that a contest of strength you Scotsmen indulge in while you’re wearing skirts?” Connor inquired, turning a wide and innocent gaze on the man beside him.

  Gavin’s eyes snapped. “Those are kilts, mon. Not skirts.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Connor’s tone said he was clearly unconvinced.

  “But then, it takes a man confident in his masculinity to wear one, so I can see how you’d be a bit wary of them.” Gavin sauntered back to the pile of poles.

  “For heaven’s sake, you two!” She might as well have been invisible for all the attention they paid her.

  “Well, now,” Connor drawled, bending to grasp the end of the pole. “Since you’re such a confident man, why don’t you just show me the ropes on this caber game.”

  Gavin fixed his adversary with a stony glance. “Toss, mon. Caber toss.” He straightened. “It’s a test of strength and mettle, not a game.”

  Connor made no reply. He merely fixed the other man with an amused glance.

  Gavin’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head toward an open area in front of the cabin. “Head that way,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Connor complied, and Taylor could hear Gavin muttering under his breath the entire way. The grin that split Connor’s face was one of pure relish.

  “Hello? Anyone want to hear my opinion of this little event?” Taylor asked in even, deliberately controlled tones. “Anyone even care that I’m alive?” When neither man responded, she turned with a furious huff, stomped over to pull open the door of the truck, climbed into the seat, and closed the door with a satisfying slam.

  The sound of the slamming door brought another grin to Connor’s face. Ooooh, she wasn’t happy at all. But that was okay. More than okay, since it meant Gavin’s inopportune arrival was a source of irritation for her. Why exactly that should delight him so, Connor wasn’t prepared to analyze. All he knew was that he didn’t care for the Scotsman’s proprietary air where Taylor was concerned.

  “Well, are you ready?” Gavin asked.

  “As I’ll ever be. You show me how it’s done, and I’ll follow suit.”

  Gavin gave a brusque nod, then moved so his back was to the cabin. “Set your end of the pole down then.”

  Connor did as instructed and stepped back. Gavin walked forward, pushing the pole, which was a good two feet longer than he was tall, up on end in front of him. That done, he crouched, slid his hands beneath the end of the pole, blew out a few deep breaths, then stood, lifting the pole with his hands cupped beneath it.

  Leaning one shoulder into the timber to keep it balanced in front of him, Gavin shuffled his feet, as though dancing with the pole. Then, in one smooth motion, he did a knee bend, tensed, and straightened quickly, throwing his arms up and forward and launching the pole in front of him. The pole rose in a graceful arc, did a complete flip, and landed squarely on its end. It shuddered, then fell with a resounding thud.

  “Aye!” Gavin brushed his hands with a proud smile. “Now that was a toss to be proud of!”

  “So let me get this straight,” Connor said. “You lift and toss the pole so it goes end over end and lands square.”

  “That’s it. Think you can handle it?”

  “No sweat.”

  “Do not keep talking so proudly or let your mouth speak such arrogance!”

  Connor dismissed the thought. There was no reason for that Scripture to be coming to him now.

  “The Lord hates pride and arrogance.”

  Connor’s brow creased as the two men walked to the pile, took hold of another timber, and made their way back to the field.

  What they were doing wasn’t pride or arrogance. They were just having a little fun.

  “A wise man’s fun is being wise.”

  “Ready?” Gavin’s question pulled Connor from his thoughts, and he hesitated. A quick, gloating gleam twinkled in Gavin’s eyes. “Havin’ second thoughts, are you?”

  This time it was Connor’s face that darkened. “Not a bit.”

  “Fine, then, off with you!” Gavin dropped his end with a flourish.

  Connor walked forward, pushing the timber up on end. When he had it balanced, he crouched and slid his hands beneath the end as he’d seen Gavin do.

  “Remember the rules of lifting, lad,” Gavin cautioned. “Take the load with your legs, not your back. I’d hate to have to carry you back to the truck.”

  Connor didn’t dignify the comment with a reply. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, regulating his breathing, tensing his muscles … one, two, THREE!

  He stood, lifting the pole in his cupped hands. The weight bore down on his laced fingers, and he clenched his teeth.

  “Use your shoulder, mon! Don’t let the caber get away from you!”

  It was good advice. Unfortunately, Connor had no way of following it. The heavy pole swayed back and forth, then began to gain momentum and fall forward. Connor tried wildly to compensate, which only succeeded in bringing the timber back against his shoulder with too much force. He staggered, then started a wild backpedal as the pole fell backward, throwing him off balance as it went.

  “Throw it, Connor!” With one fierce effort Connor tensed his muscles and launched the timber over his shoulder. The momentum of his action combined with that of the pole knocked him flat.

  Connor slammed onto the hard earth, his head snapping back and smac
king the ground with a sickening thunk. The air whooshed from his lungs, and he lay there, blinking, every inch of his body encased in pain, wondering when the stars had come out.

  Vaguely he was aware of a crash, then voices.

  “Connor? Con? Are you okay?”

  Ah. He knew that one. It was a woman … her beautiful auburn hair fell like a silken curtain across her face as she leaned down to him, her moss green eyes filled with alarm.

  “Give him room, lass! The man needs some air.”

  That would have to be Gavin. The idiot who’d gotten him into this mess. The one he’d have to kill … as soon as he could move again.

  Slowly, painfully, awareness filled his mind and he was able to focus.

  “A wise man’s fun …”

  He groaned, and then laughed weakly. “Okay, God, you win …” He coughed. “You’re right. It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “He’s delirious!” Taylor sounded alarmed, bless her. At least she was worried about him.

  Connor laughed harder and rolled onto his side.

  “Maybe you’re right, lass.” Gavin’s voice was filled with uncertainty, which only added to Connor’s mirth.

  “Maybe you should radio for a doctor—”

  Connor cut Taylor off by raising a hand. “No—” he spoke between hoots of laughter and gulps of air—“No, just give me a minute. I’ll be okay.”

  He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and Taylor moved to slip her arm around his waist. As he stood, she pulled his arm around her shoulders, steadying him.

  He looked down at her, amazed that someone so small and slim could be so strong.

  “Well, your toss landed, true enough, Alexander.”

  Connor followed the Scotsman’s gaze—and cringed. The timber was lying half in, half out of the cabin. It had gone through the front window as cleanly as an arrow shot from a giant’s bow. Regret washed over him, then relief that neither Gavin nor Taylor had been hurt.

  “Taylor, I’m sorry.” Gavin wasn’t an idiot. He was.

  “The cabin’s not a big deal, Con.” Her voice was husky with concern, and Connor looked at her in surprise.

  He started to straighten, to move away from her support. “I’m okay, Taylor.” Then a movement caught his eye, and he glanced behind her to catch a dark look of displeasure on Gavin’s face. Connor bit his lip to keep from grinning with delight. Oh, this was too good to be true. He wouldn’t have to kill the man after all. He could have his revenge in a much more enjoyable way.

  “Then again …” He let his voice sound weak, and she tightened her hold on his waist. He sagged against her, leaning his forehead against the top of her head and speaking into her fragrant hair. “Maybe I do need some help after all.”

  Gavin sputtered and moved toward them, but—much to Connor’s delight—Taylor didn’t even notice. She moved toward the truck, still supporting Connor and making sympathetic sounds. He cast a waggish look over his shoulder at the Scotsman.

  The sight of Gavin standing there, looking ready to explode, almost made the whole escapade worth the pain Connor knew he’d be experiencing for the next week.

  “What are you looking at?”

  At Taylor’s question, he started, feeling a guilty flush creeping into his face.

  “Um, well …”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, took in Gavin’s stormy expression, then brought her eyes back to Connor. Before he could formulate a believable explanation, she stopped cold. Caught unaware, he toppled forward, landing again in a pile on the ground.

  She stood over him, hands planted on her hips, her face thunderous. “I was worried about you.”

  “Taylor—”

  “I knew you’d only ask for help if you really were hurt!”

  “I—”

  “Forget it!”

  “Darlin’.” Gavin reached out to put his hand on her arm, but she brushed him off, angry tears glimmering in her eyes. She pinned the Scotsman with a glare, and he fell silent—a move Connor thought was remarkably wise.

  She held out her hand to Gavin. “Give me your keys.” He didn’t even bother to argue. Again, a wise move.

  He nodded toward the Blazer. “In the ignition.”

  She spun on her heel, stomped to the Blazer, and climbed in. As soon as the engine came to life, she threw the vehicle into drive and stomped on the gas. Gravel flew in all directions, and Connor and Gavin dove for cover.

  “Well, laddie,” Gavin said after a moment, “looks like we’ve got a window to fix.”

  “Aye.” Connor stood and brushed off his jeans. He watched the Blazer disappear around a hill.

  He gave a weary sigh. And that’s just the beginning of the repairs I need to do.

  THIRTEEN

  DONELLE CAMUS WAS JUST STARTING TO SIP HER TEA WHEN the kitchen door slammed open. She looked up with a start to see her daughter storm into the room, stomp over to a cupboard, and jerk a glass from the shelf. Muttering the entire time about ridiculous louts and brainless dolts, she flipped on the tap, filled the glass with water, then spun around to stomp out of the room.

  Raising her delicate eyebrows with interest, Donelle smiled.

  Ah, love. Wasn’t it grand?

  Later that evening, after a bath full of Epsom salts, Connor started to think he might actually be able to move again someday without grimacing.

  He dropped into the oversized chair and leaned his head back. “I blew it, Lord.”

  “Your words are truth …”

  “Very funny,” he muttered, recognizing the verse from 2 Samuel. Rolling his sore shoulders, he rested his elbows on his knees, then pushed himself out of the chair.

  No point in putting this off any longer.

  Taylor had just settled into her favorite chair and taken a sip of her hot chocolate topped with miniature marsh-mallows when a knock came at the door.

  She looked at Sasha and pulled a face. “Guess who that is.” The knock sounded again. “He knows he’s in trouble, so he won’t come in until I open the door.”

  Sasha tilted her head, her ears perked, as a third knock sounded, this one a bit more forceful. Taylor leaned back in her chair, giving the husky a pondering look.

  “What do you say, girl? Do we let him in?”

  Sasha yawned, her pink tongue curling, and then lowered her head to her paws.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Taylor stood, went to the door, and with a sharp twist of her wrist threw the dead bolt. That done, she padded back to her chair, folded her slippered feet beneath her, and snuggled into the soft cushions.

  Take that, Alexander!

  Standing on the porch, Connor heard the dead bolt latch. He turned the doorknob, just to be sure he’d really heard what he thought he had. The door was locked.

  “Fine! She doesn’t want to talk, we don’t talk.” He turned, jamming his fists into his jeans pockets and started back to his cabin.

  “Well, I must admit I’m disappointed. You give up far more easily than I would have expected.”

  He spun around. Donelle Camus sat in one of the rockers on the porch, watching him with a bemused smile on her face. He knew he should say something polite, but he was too frustrated.

  Her eyes filled with compassion. “I know, dear. She can be a bit trying.” Her elegant features creased into a frown. “Sometimes she gets … well … dramatic.”

  Connor snorted indelicately, and she smiled.

  “Yes, I can see you understand. Well, never fear. There are ways around that stubborn streak, which I’m quite certain she gets from her father.”

  Connor cocked an eyebrow, but he was no fool. No way was he going to argue the point.

  She stood and took his arm. “Come along, Connor.”

  He let her lead him back to the front door.

  “Stand right there, if you please.” She gave him a gentle push so that he was off to the side of the door. Then she reached out and gave a quick knock and turned the doorknob. At Connor’s surprised look, she patted
his arm. “She knows I’d knock and just come in. To do anything different now would seem odd, wouldn’t it?”

  Before he could answer, Taylor’s muffled, wrath-filled voice shot out. “Go away!”

  “Taylor, it’s Mom.” She glanced at Connor, and her smile was severe. “Why is the door locked, dear?”

  Connor felt a grin break over his face as he heard scuffling inside, as though Taylor had bolted from her chair and hurried to the door. Within seconds, the dead bolt sounded and the door opened.

  Taylor stood there, mortification on her face. “Oh, Mom! I’m sorry! I thought it was—”

  “Thank you, dear.” She reached out one manicured hand to take hold of Connor’s sleeve and pull him forward with surprising strength. “Connor needed to talk with you, and I simply couldn’t believe you meant to lock the door.”

  Taylor stared at her mother, then she began to sputter and protest as Donelle propelled Connor into the house.

  “Have fun, you two,” she said as she pulled the door shut.

  As he stood there in the entryway, Connor could hear her bell-like laughter floating on the breeze.

  Taylor was so angry, she was shaking. Her own mother! A traitor!

  She swiveled, presenting Connor with her back, and returned to her chair.

  “Taylor …”

  She was not going to speak to him. Not a word.

  “Taylor, please.” He came to stand in front of her chair.

  She stared right through him.

  With a sigh he knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. The touch of his hands sent an alarming jolt through her, and Taylor finally met his eyes. They were brimming with remorse. “Taylor, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  Ohhhhh, he had to be sincere, didn’t he?

  She exhaled and sagged back in the chair, her hands still held captive. “You were both silly nits.”

  He hung his head. “I know.”

  A smile twitched at her lips. “And you destroyed the window in the cabin.”

  “It’s all boarded up, and as soon as we can get the glass, I’ll go back and replace it.” He raised his head and met her eyes with a slightly hopeful look.