“Oh, my,” Katherine breathed, coming to stand beside her. “It’s a work of art.”
“I still say ya gotta get the old bed out before ya bring in the new one,” Ian MacKeage grouched as he carried in the footboard. “Where do ya want this accursed thing? God’s teeth, it’s heavy.”
Katherine spun to face the unfamiliar voice and let out a yelp of surprise when she was nearly run over by the wild-haired, bushy-bearded giant. She pushed Libby out of the way and scrambled after her, running them both into Michael’s solid body. Libby looked up, and Michael leaned down and kissed her on the end of her nose.
“Ya come by your screaming honestly, I see,” he whispered. “Now, strip the bed, and then go make sure ya don’t burn our supper. Ian and I will have everything moved by the time it’s ready.”
Libby pushed Katherine out of the way because her mother seemed glued to the floor. And she was staring at Ian.
Ian was staring back.
“Mother, this is Ian MacKeage,” Libby told her. “Ian, this is my mother, Katherine.”
“Mr. MacKeage,” Katherine whispered. “It-it’s nice to meet you.”
“Kate,” he said, nodding politely. He looked at Michael.
“Are ya roosting for the night, or we gonna do this job, MacBain? Supper smells good, and I’m hungry,” he finished, turning on his heel and walking back through the kitchen.
Michael silently followed, and Libby’s bedroom suddenly felt big again. She looked at her mother, who was staring at the door where Ian had disappeared.
“I think there’s something in the water that makes them all grow big,” Libby told her. “So I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately. If you want to strip the bed, I’ll set another place at the table for Ian.”
Katherine stopped her by grabbing her arm. “He—he called me Kate,” she said hoarsely. “And his scowl is…is…”
Libby patted her hand. “Ian can be a bit rough around the edges, but you don’t have to be afraid of him, Mom. I promise, under all that hair, he’s a cupcake.”
Katherine finally shook herself out of her stupor. “I’m not afraid of him,” she said. “He’s just so…he’s…”
“All man?” Libby finished for her, repeating her mom’s earlier words.
“And then some,” Katherine agreed, going to Mary’s old bed and pulling off the quilt.
Libby took one final look at her new bed, stopping to examine the footboard Ian had leaned against it. It was just like the headboard, minus the moose and half the height, with perfectly matched fir trees lined up like sentinels from post to post.
“Where do you suppose Michael found it?” Katherine asked as she stared at the bed, her arms full of sheets. “It looks to be handcrafted.”
“He must know a furniture maker who lives around here,” Libby speculated, unable to keep from running her hand over it again. “I wonder if the guy could make me a matching bureau?”
Katherine shook her head and made atsk ing sound. “Oh, boy. You’re settling in here faster than frost on a pumpkin.”
Libby lifted a brow at her mother.
“What?” Katherine asked, lifting her chin. “Bea may have been your grammy, but she was my mother. I haven’t traveled so far from the farm that I’ve forgotten my roots.”
“I miss her.”
“I know, sweetie. I miss her, too.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”
Katherine shifted her load of sheets and straightened her shoulders on a deep breath. “That’s good, because I think I just might stay awhile.” She shot Libby a smug grin.
“And since I’ll be gainfully employed, I’ll even kick in for part of the rent.”
That said, Katherine headed for the bathroom, the sheets trailing after her like a queen’s mantle.
“God’s teeth, women!” Ian shout from the kitchen. “The potatoes are boiling over out here!”
Libby ran into the kitchen to find a smoking, stinking mess covering the stove, the potatoes completely boiled dry, and the stainless steel pot so black it looked like cast iron. She waved the dishtowel through the smoke and opened the window over the sink to let in fresh air.
Michael quietly took the dishtowel from her, picked up the ruined pot, and carried it outside.
By the time Libby could see again, four sets of eyes were staring at her, all with varying degrees of accusation. Robbie, his arms full of kittens, looked crestfallen at the loss of half his dinner. Katherine appeared dismayed. Ian looked disgusted. And Michael? Well, his eyes were crinkled, and his shoulders were shaking.
James walked into the house, waving his hand at the smoke while his other hand covered his nose in defense of the smell. “I found this gentleman in the driveway,” he said. “He claims he’s a priest and that he was invited to dinner.”
“I may have changed my mind,” Father Daar said as he brushed past James. “What in the name of God have ya done to our supper?” he asked, glaring at Libby as he wrinkled his nose. “How can ya claim to keep track of people’s innards when ya can’t even manage a pot of potatoes?”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Father,” Libby drawled, turning and shutting off the heat beneath the carrots. “Mom, maybe it’s time you opened another bottle of wine.”
“Why is everyone wearing orange?” Katherine asked, looking around the room full of brightly clothed Scots.
“Are you trying to match the fall foliage?”
“Oh, for the love of—” Ian huffed in exasperation, wiping his face with a broad hand. “It’s hunting season, woman, and we’re not caring to get shot.”
“Sh-shot?”
Ian went to the counter, found the opened bottle of wine, filled the empty glass on the counter, and carried it over to Katherine. “Would ya like to go hunting with me tomorrow morning?” he asked through his beard. “I have a nice little youth’s rifle ya can borrow.”
Instead of answering, Katherine lifted her glass and didn’t lower it until all the wine was gone. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, handing it back.
“I’ll pick ya up at four-thirty, then,” Ian said. “Dress warm, Kate.”
“But I didn’t mean…I can’t…” She took a calming breath, straightened her shoulders, and glared at Ian.
“I have a previous obligation tomorrow morning, Mr. MacKeage. But thank you for your kind offer.”
“Then how about the next morning? It’s supposed to snow, but that will make tracking the sneaky critters that much easier.”
Katherine snatched her empty glass from him, went to the fridge, and took out the other bottle of wine. Libby decided it was time to rescue her mom.
“Robbie, why don’t you put the kittens in the bathroom and wash your hands? Michael, could you take the roast out for me?” she asked, draining the carrots into the sink. “Sit down, everyone,” she urged. Looking up at Michael she said, “Somebody should go get John. We can’t let him eat alone.”
“He’s visiting neighbors tonight,” Michael told her.
“Oh, that’s good, then.”
Michael remained unusually quiet throughout the meal, but then, Libby was quiet herself. She couldn’t decide if it was because she was overwhelmed by the chaos or amused. In all the hundreds of dinner parties she’d attended in her lifetime, not one had ever come close to providing the joy she was feeling right now.
Her kitchen was full. The food was good, the company was unique, and the setting couldn’t be more charming.
Oh, yeah. She was settling in faster than frost on a pumpkin.
Chapter Nineteen
Seeing the car pull upat the end of the field, Michael shut off his chain saw, set it beside the newly cut stump, and signaled his crew to continue working before heading down the row of felled Christmas trees. He pushed up the visor on his hard hat and pulled off his gloves. James Kessler got out of the car, leaned against the fender, and tucked his hands into his coat pockets.
Michael came to a halt three paces away. “I wondered when you’d show
up,” he said, stuffing his gloves into his back pocket before crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re wasting your time, Kessler. Libby’s staying.”
Michael expected some sort of reaction for such a bold declaration, but Kessler’s indifference surprised him.
“If she stays, she’ll be ruined,” he simply said, without malice and with only a hint of concern. “She has a contract, and if she breaks it, she’ll never work as a surgeon again.”
“She’ll work if she wants to, if she’s as good as ya claim.”
“She’s not good, MacBain, she’s brilliant. Elizabeth is methodical, precise, and unbelievably controlled in the operating room. It’s only her personal life she’s determined to screw up.”
“It’s her life.”
“She won’t stay. She’ll eventually get over this temper tantrum and realize what she’s given up.”
“If ya knew Libby at all, you’d know this isn’t a tantrum she’s having. Tell me, if she did no harm to the woman she almost operated on, why do ya think she ran?”
Kessler took his time answering, giving Michael a long, calculated look. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “There were rumors that something was strange about the case right from the start. Elizabeth’s team was the first to see the woman, and she needed immediate surgery. But she was perfectly healthy by the time she arrived in the operating room.”
“And how was this explained? Libby wasn’t the only person to see her.”
Kessler straightened away from the car. “It wasn’t explained. The surgeon of record couldn’t be found because she’d run away.”
“And you’re here to take her back and have her apologize. Exactly what is Libby sorry for?”
“For leaving.”
“Ah. So she did nothing ethically wrong, then.”
“It’s unethical to walk away from her obligation to the hospital. And she has a responsibility to find out what happened to her patient.”
“But she has more of an obligation to herself,” Michael softly contradicted. “Tell me why you’re really here, Kessler.”
“Elizabeth’s my friend. We grew up together, and since her father died four years ago, I’ve been looking out for her.”
“She’s not capable of looking out for herself?”
“Apparently not.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s more than your concern for a friend that brought you clear across the country. And more than what happened in her operating room. Why are ya here, Kessler?”
The other man’s features darkened. “She did something to one of my patients,” he said tightly. “The kid was in a coma when Elizabeth went into his room. But when she walked out, he was sitting up and asking for his parents.” Kessler balled his hands into fists at his side, his stance defensive. “I want to know what she did to him.”
The fine hairs on the back of Michael’s neck stirred, and he uncrossed his arms. “What is it you think she did to him?” he asked softly.
Kessler suddenly blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re a farmer, MacBain,” he said, waving at the field of Christmas trees. “You know nothing about medicine or the politics that goes with it. Elizabeth treated the boy that morning, but once he became my patient, she shouldn’t have gone near him. And the kid sure as hell didn’t come out of that coma on his own.”
Michael thought about the knife tucked inside his boot and wondered what reaction he would get if he pulled it out and held it against Kessler’s throat.
“You came here because you’re pissed Libby visited your patient?” Michael asked. He shook his head again and crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately relaxing his stance and ignoring his urge to go for the man’s throat.
“You’re leaving today,” he said evenly. “And you’re leaving alone.”
“Dammit. This isn’t even your concern, MacBain. I only came here this morning because you seem to have some sort of…influence with Elizabeth. And I need to know what she did to my patient.”
Again, the fine hairs on Michael’s neck stirred at the realization that this conversation was not about medicine or its politics. The man was hiding something.
Or fishing for something.
And suddenly, Michael knew there was more at stake here than Libby’s career. Whatever had happened to the two patients Libby had seen that day had affected her so strongly that she’d turned her entire life upside down.
And she had run here to protect herself. Michael rubbed the spot where Libby’s snowball had hit him yesterday. Did he really care what had happened in California?
Nay. All that mattered was that she belonged to him now, and that James Kessler had just become more of a threat than an inconvenience.
Michael smiled and stepped forward. “Aye, Kessler, I’m only a farmer,” he said evenly. “But I know more about the human body than ya might think. For instance,” he whispered, touching Kessler’s chest just below the knot in his tie. “I know that if ya poke a man right here, with just enough pressure, ya can crush his windpipe.
“And,” he continued, removing his hand and holding it palm forward, ignoring Kessler’s suddenly defensive stance, “if I were to shove on the end of your nose, I could drive the cartilage into your brain before ya even realized my intent.”
Kessler took a step back, bumping against the fender of the car. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, his eyes widening and his face flushing with anger.
“Aye, I am,” Michael growled, taking hold of his tie and pulling him closer. “So, decide, Kessler. Is interfering in Libby’s life worth risking your own?”
Kessler grabbed Michael’s hand and tried to tug free. Michael simply twisted his wrist, tightening the knot against his throat. “Go home, Kessler. And don’t come back. And if I ever hear of ya contacting Libby again, I’m going to hunt ya down and show ya exactly what I know about human anatomy.”
His warning delivered, Michael opened his hand and stepped back. Kessler immediately stuck his finger into the knot of his tie and pulled it loose, gasping for air as he took two steps to the side.
“You’re actually threatening me,” he said, more in disbelief than in horror. “There are laws against that, MacBain.”
Michael crossed his arms over his chest again. “I don’t particularly care for those laws,” he drawled.
Kessler smoothed down his clothes in an attempt to regain his composure. “Look. We’re both civilized men. There’s no need to reduce this to a pissing contest. I came to see you this morning to explain my concern for Elizabeth.”
“There’s only one civilized person here, Kessler, and I’m beginning to think it’s me. You’re pretending concern for Libby when you’re really trying to destroy her career.”
“Dammit. Don’t you get it? Something strange happened to those two people, and Elizabeth’s at the center of it. Aren’t you even curious about what she did to them? Or are you too blinded by lust to see that you’re panting after a damn freak!”
Michael quickly stepped forward and wrapped one hand around Kessler’s throat while using his other hand to lift him up by the belt. He threw him onto the hood of the car, shifted his thumb to the pulse in Kessler’s neck, and pressed.
“As I live and breathe, I’m going to regret not beating you to a bloody pulp,” Micheal whispered into Kessler’s flushed face. “But you’re worth more to Libby whole and hearty,” Michael explained, pressing his thumb deeper.
“Because you’re going back to California, and you’re going to make all those questions about her go away.”
Kessler squirmed, trying to pull his neck from beneath Michael’s thumb. Michael repositioned his grip on Kessler’s tie again and dragged the man across the hood as he walked around the front of the car. Once on the driver’s side, he pulled Kessler back to his feet, opened the car door, and shoved him inside.
“Ya have one hour to get out of town,” Michael said, leaning down to look him in the eye. “But you’ll stop at Libby’s first and assure her that you’ll smooth th
ings over for her at the hospital.”
“You’re insane,” Kessler whispered, his eyes bulging and his face flushing red as he stared up at Michael in horror.
“Aye,” Michael agreed. “I’ve been told that before. And I’ve been known to start wars for lesser reasons, which is why you’d be wise to do as I say.” He took hold of Kessler’s shoulder and squeezed until he winced. “And the news Libby gets from California had best be flattering, Kessler, or I’m coming after ya and finishing this. Understand?” he asked, squeezing harder.
James Kessler frantically nodded.
Michael decided their conversation was over. He gently closed the car door and walked back through his field of Christmas trees, sweat trickling down his back despite it being almost cold enough to snow. And as he returned to work, he wondered what had happened between Libby and the two critically injured people who were now walking the earth as if they’d never been hurt.
“He seemed in a bit of a hurry,” Katherine said as she stood beside Libby, both of them watching James pull out of the driveway. “Where do you suppose he went this morning, before he came here?”
“My guess is he went to see Michael.”
“Oh,” Katherine said, lifting her hand to her chest. “I would love to have been there.”
“Not me,” Libby said, rolling her eyes. “Michael probably got all manly and clammed up and wouldn’t even talk to him.”
“That doesn’t explain James’s decision to leave so suddenly, after coming all the way here and not really accomplishing anything,” Katherine said with a frown. “And he looked a little wild-eyed, don’t you think?”
Libby lifted a brow. “Are you implying Michael scared him off?” She laughed. “That’s ridiculous. He’d never do something like that.” She hooked her arm through her mother’s and walked them back into the house. “James probably realized how foolish he was being. Now that he’s seen I haven’t suddenly grown a set of horns or a tail, he’s anxious to get home and claim that grant money before I change my mind and go back.”
Wedding the Highlander Page 21