He saw Mercedes suddenly jump as if she’d been kicked, and she snapped her gaze to her mother and scowled. Tired of standing there with his hand out and not getting the response he wanted, Morgan simply moved to the back of her chair and pulled it out. Mercedes shot to her feet as if he had pinched her and leveled her scowl on him.
“I’d rather not dance,” she said.
He took her arm and guided her to the dance floor. “I promise not to step on your toes,” he assured her, turning her into his embrace.
This was the nicest thing Morgan had discovered about modern society, the slow dancing. It was like courting in public. Perfectly acceptable. Encouraged, even.
Aye. He definitely liked dancing.
Except that dancing with Mercedes Quill was like wrestling with the ridge pole on the roof of his house. She was as stiff as a board and uncooperative. And Morgan soon discovered it was his feet that were in danger of being stepped on.
Holy hell. The woman didn’t know how to dance. He would subtly guide her in one direction, and her feet would head off in another instead, trying to lead him. Morgan couldn’t keep his smile from tugging free. And that little quirk seemed to deepen her scowl even more.
“Ah, lass. Just this once, just for five minutes, give me your trust,” he entreated, firming his grip on her waist and moving them into a rhythm that matched the music.
“I don’t like dancing.”
“In general, or just with me?”
“Both.”
He chuckled and pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. It was definitely nice to dance with someone he didn’t have to bend over to hold.
“Maybe you’d enjoy yourself a bit more if you had drunk your wine,” he suggested.
She snapped her head up. “I don’t like wine.”
Morgan blew a sigh over her head, praying for patience. It was difficult being a gentleman to a gràineag.
“Then why didn’t ya say so?” he asked, trying his damndest not to sound disgruntled, shoving her head back down so she wouldn’t see his own scowl.
“Because you didn’t give me a chance,” she muttered into his jacket. She popped her head up again. “Just like you didn’t give me a chance to order my own dinner.”
“You ate the salmon.”
“Because I happen to like salmon.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She blinked at him, started to say something, then suddenly sighed and returned her head to his shoulder. Morgan grinned. She was still having trouble finding her words. That was fine with him. Her body language was all that mattered.
The woman in his arms slowly began to relax, and together they moved to the soft music, slowly learning to sway in harmony.
He wanted her. That simply, that urgently; he wanted Mercedes Quill with the passion of a man long lost and needing the anchor of a special woman. But what Morgan really wanted was for Sadie’s own simmering passion to ignite in his arms. Together they could probably light up the entire valley.
“Hey, Moose Woman!” someone hollered from across the dance floor.
His date’s feet stopped moving, and Mercedes stiffened into a pole again. Her fingers dug into his back, and Morgan wasn’t sure, but it felt as if she were trying to crawl inside his jacket.
“Moose!” the voice repeated, closer this time. “When did you get back?” the man asked as he and three other men and two women approached.
Mercedes stopped trying to hide and finally pulled free of his arms and turned around. The quick glimpse Morgan got of her expression told him that this was not a welcome reunion with old friends. Her entire face was scorched red.
“It is you,” the man said. “I thought you had a job in Boston. What was it? Oh, yeah. Meteorology. You make it as a weather girl yet?”
“Ah, no. I’ve moved back home,” Mercedes said, darting an embarrassed look around the room.
“Hey, that’s good. That you’ve come back, I mean. We’re just headed over to Nadeau’s for a beer. Want to join us?” The guy looked briefly at Morgan, then back at her. “You can bring your friend if you want.”
“No, Peter. We’re here with my mom and her date,” she told him.
“Aw, come on, Moose. We can catch up on old times,” he said, aiming a cajoling punch at her arm.
Morgan stepped forward and caught the man’s hand before it could connect with his date.
“Peter, is it?” he asked.
Peter nodded, trying discreetly and unsuccessfully to get his hand back.
“Well, Peter. My date’s name is Sadie, not Moose. And if you try to punch her again, I’m going to break your hand,” he finished softly, squeezing Peter’s hand just enough to get his point across before he released him.
Now, as warnings went, Morgan thought this one had been nicely delivered according to modern rules. His date, however, appeared to take exception. She whirled on him, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Peter the idiot was even less believing. He actually took a step closer. So did the three men behind him.
Morgan gently pushed Mercedes behind his back. She stayed there all of three seconds before she came bounding back around to stand between him and the four now defensively postured men.
“I’m going to help them beat you up if you cause a scene,” she whispered in a much more threatening voice.
“You want to go with them?” he asked, trying to keep his smile from escaping. His date was flaming mad—and obviously unaware of the scene she was creating all by herself.
“No, I don’t want to go with them. And I don’t want a fight breaking out, either. It’s an old nickname from high school,” she said, leaning up to whisper her confession. “Peter didn’t mean anything by it. And he didn’t try to punch me to hurt me. Now, stop being a caveman, MacKeage.”
He had two choices. He could shove the spitting-mad woman into the arms of his now approaching cousin and give in to his urge to punch Peter the idiot in the nose. Or he could finish dancing with his date.
What to do?
Both actions stirred his blood.
Both would be equally satisfying.
With a grin sent to Callum, Morgan reached out and pulled Mercedes back into his arms, turning them both so that his back was to the intruders, smartly dismissing them as a threat to his evening. He ignored her squeak of surprise and nodded his head to Callum, who had now stopped his advance through the dancers. But his cousin didn’t return to his seat until the four men and two women, obviously confused by the sudden loss of a fight, simply walked away.
“Never issue threats you can’t back up, lass,” Morgan whispered into her hair. “It’s a bad habit that might prove dangerous someday.”
She popped her head off his shoulder and stared at him in silence. Her blush had calmed down slightly, but still her entire face glowed with lingering anger.
Morgan lifted his hand, entwining his fingers in her hair so she couldn’t look away, while he gently continued to coax her body to sway with his to the music.
“If I apologize for terrorizing you the other day, will you call a truce to our silent war?” he asked. “And maybe start enjoying yourself tonight?”
“No.”
Why didn’t her answer surprise him? “Will you kick me in the shin if I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?”
Her gracefully arched brows puckered together, and her eyes narrowed, as if she suspected he was toying with her. Morgan gave up trying to make pleasant conversation. Instead, he urged her head back down to his shoulder before he gave in to his own urge to kiss her—right here on the dance floor, in front of God and all these people.
It was damn prickly business, trying to possess a gràineag.
It was also damn fun.
Sadie didn’t know what to make of her date. One minute he was pricking her temper, then defending her from an embarrassing nickname, and the next minute he was telling her she was pretty.
And he was a bossy date. The guy hadn’t stopped manh
andling her all evening. He was constantly leading her here and there, ordering dinner and drinks for her, then guiding her over the dance floor like a drill sergeant.
And now they were walking the two miles back to her home because Morgan had decided it was a beautiful evening for a moonlit stroll.
Sadie still couldn’t understand why she liked him.
Can a man actually smell sexy? Sadie had been around plenty of men, but when she’d found herself in Morgan’s arms on the dance floor, all she could think about was how sexy he smelled. Warm in a masculine sort of way, with just a hint of the woods.
And he felt the way he smelled—just as sexy and very inviting. Sadie couldn’t believe she’d been able to relax enough actually to snuggle against him. Heck, what girl wouldn’t be enchanted to find herself in the arms of a tall, powerful, very handsome god? She’d have to be insane not to take advantage of the moment, to rest her head on his broad shoulder and sway to the music as if she were a goddess.
Which was why Sadie had said her goodbyes to her mom and Callum and had gone along with Morgan’s plan to walk her home.
She was in no hurry for this dream date to end.
Sadie sighed into the stillness of the peaceful night. She was going to have to admit her actions four days ago had been wrong. Morgan had proven himself a gentleman tonight, and she could at least act like a lady. She would have to apologize.
“I’m sorry I took your picture the other day,” she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the road. “I had no right to invade your privacy that way.”
Sadie stopped when she realized she was speaking to empty air. She turned and looked. The man was standing several steps back, staring at her. And he was not smiling.
“Dammit, MacKeage. I wasn’t thinking, okay? It’s just that you…well, you surprised me, and I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing.”
Without responding to her not-so-gracious apology, he slowly slipped out of his jacket and walked up to her. He swung the jacket past her head and settled it over her shoulders, gathering the lapels together and tightly entrapping her.
Sadie caught her breath as she stared up at him, just as trapped in the depths of his moonlit evergreen eyes.
“Did you like what you saw through the viewfinder, lass?” he asked, his gaze never wavering from hers.
She couldn’t have answered that question if she dared.
He suddenly smiled and released his hold on his jacket. He touched the end of her nose with one finger and shot her a wink. “It doesn’t matter if you did or not,” he said, moving to continue their walk toward home. “It’s the only body I’ve got, and you’ll just have to get used to it.”
Sadie blinked at his back, watching him walk away. She ran to catch up, tripped on her heels, and started skipping as she pulled first one shoe and then the other one off. She ran into him then, when he unexpectedly stopped and faced her.
“Ya can’t be baring your feet,” he said, reaching to take her shoes from her. “There might be glass or metal on the road.”
Sadie quickly tucked her shoes into the pockets of his jacket she was wearing and moved past him, walking on the pavement now, once more leading the way home. “I went barefoot the first ten years of my life,” she said over her shoulder. “Besides,” she said as his stride quickly brought him beside her, “I know a priest with a magic cane who can heal me just like that.” She snapped her fingers in the air.
She was suddenly brought to such an abrupt halt and spun around that one of her shoes fell onto the road.
“What do you know of a priest with a magic cane?” he asked.
Sadie blinked again. Morgan had gone deathly pale and frighteningly still, but for the fire of inquest in his now emerald-black eyes.
“I…I met the old priest who lives up on TarStone Mountain,” she said, not knowing what to make of his reaction.
“When?”
“The other day. Thursday. He came to visit me.”
Morgan’s hands on her shoulders tightened. “You stay away from Daar,” he told her. He shook her slightly. “Understand, Mercedes? You stay away from that old priest.”
She could only gape at him.
He shook her again. “You’re not to believe anything he tells you.”
And with that command issued, Morgan turned on his heel and started toward her house again. And again, Sadie found herself gaping at his back. His moods changed more often than the weather.
She ran to catch up. “Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
He stopped and turned to her.
“I want to know if you’re the one stealing my trail markers.”
“Trail markers?”
“My orange ribbons. You said so yourself, earlier tonight, that you didn’t want a park built in Prospect Valley. Are you taking my ribbons, hoping to stop it?”
“And will taking the ribbons stop it?”
“No.”
“Weren’t some of those ribbons on MacKeage land?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her.
Sadie dropped her gaze to the knot in his tie. “They might have been,” she quietly admitted. “But stealing ribbons won’t stop the park.”
He took hold of her hand and started walking again, this time across the grass, in the direction of the town pier that jutted into Pine Lake. Sadie allowed him to lead her to a bench, aware that he hadn’t answered her question and resigned to the fact that he probably would never admit to stealing her trail markers.
“Why a park in Prospect Valley?” he asked as he settled her on the bench and then stood across from her, leaning against the pier rail.
“Why not? It’s a beautiful valley with plenty of recreational features. We have the opportunity to offer four-season use—camping, hiking, kayaking, snowmobiling, fishing. You name the sport, and the public can come here to do it.”
“We? Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”
“Right now it’s a group of businessmen from around the state who have formed a consortium. Eric Hellman hired me to help work up a proposal to present to our legislature.”
“These businessmen, what is their gain? Why have they come together with the hope of building a park here?”
Sadie frowned at his question. “Maybe because they want to see this vast wilderness preserved for future generations.”
“Or maybe they hope to profit?” he asked very quietly. “Will they donate all the land to this park, or are they intending to sell lots for vacation homes?”
“But that’s the point,” Sadie said, leaning forward to make her own point. “Not only will the park open a beautiful piece of land to the public, it will also help grow the economy of this area. Just as your ski resort has done. Look at all the shops and inns that have cropped up since you opened. The population of Pine Creek is nearly double in winter. With a new park, that economic boom could be year-round.”
“And then what do you have, Mercedes? Another small city with hordes of people overrunning the wilderness, crowding the animals onto smaller and smaller tracts of land?”
Sadie stood up, pulling the lapels of Morgan’s coat tightly around her. Morgan stepped away from the rail and took hold of her shoulders.
“I know why the businessmen have come up with this plan, Mercedes. But I don’t understand your connection. What is it you hope to gain?”
“Nothing,” she said, torn between pulling away and wanting to lean into his broad chest.
The man was making her angry.
But he still smelled sexy.
“Since I learned to walk, I’ve been hiking that valley,” she continued, looking up into his serious, deep green eyes. “And I want to be part of preserving it.”
“Has the valley not been happily existing all these years without your intervention? Can a person not hike and fish and hunt there now? And will turning it into a park not ultimately destroy the valley, if more and more people come here?”
Dammit.
She hated that his argument made a certain kind of sense. Hadn’t she had that very worry herself? Wasn’t it still a concern?
“Why are you so against the park?” she asked. “Your family will likely profit the most. Your hotel will be full winter and summer. Your restaurant on the summit could be open year-round.”
“It’s already open year-round. And how much profit does one family need? Especially at the expense of the land.”
Morgan suddenly released her shoulders, took hold of her right hand again, and started walking them toward her house.
“My camera. I want it back,” she said, deciding it was time to change the subject and probably better to keep a line drawn between them.
He was too handsome and tall and masculine and…and too damned sexy to be attracted to her. She would bet that when Morgan MacKeage made love to a woman, they both got naked, sweaty, and completely consumed by each other. All the lights would be on. The covers would be stripped from the bed, with no place to hide. Everything would be exposed.
Well, if she lived to be a hundred, she was never getting undressed in front of a man.
Especially a man who could give Adonis a run for his money.
“What camera?”
“What?” Sadie asked, completely lost in her train of thought. “Oh. The camera I had with me the other day, that you took the film out of. I want my pack, my GPS, and my camera back.”
“I don’t have your camera. I left it on the ground.”
“You must have come back later and gotten it, along with everything else.” She squeezed his hand which was holding hers. “I want my stuff back.”
“On my honor, lass. I didn’t return and take your belongings,” he said softly. “Did you go back and look for them?”
“Yes.” Sadie sighed into the night. “I’m never going to see my stuff again, am I? Someone else must have come along and found it.”
“I’ll buy you a new camera, Mercedes. It’s my fault yours got lost.”
“It doesn’t matter. The camera can’t be replaced, anyway. It was my dad’s.”
He used his grip on her hand to stop them again. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, staring down at her with serious eyes.
Loving the Highlander Page 10