Charmed by His Love

by Janet Chapman

  Again avoiding the porch steps, he headed around the side of the house, figuring he might as well check out the north end of the pit while he was here. Only he hadn’t made it halfway there before a gunshot suddenly cracked through the air.

  Holy hell, now she was shooting at him?

  Duncan dropped to the ground and rolled behind a rock, then eyed the woods for movement where the shot had come from as he tried to rein in his temper. Protecting her children was one thing, and nearly running him down because she was upset about quitting her job was another, but shooting at him was outright hostile—not to mention certifiably insane.

  God dammit, he was pressing charges!

  There; just inside the tree line, he could just make out her silhouette. She slowly stepped into a stand of older trees and Duncan saw she had a rifle up to her shoulder to shoot again, her focus trained ahead of her. He took a calming breath even as he frowned. The woman hadn’t been shooting at him, but was hunting something. Only problem being, it wasn’t open season on anything. Unless she was after a coyote that had been hanging around, worried it might be getting too close to her kids.

  His respect for Peg Thompson went up a notch. Apparently the lady didn’t discriminate between two- and four-legged threats, but simply went after each with equal fierceness. Yeah, well, the protective mama bear was about to be on the receiving end of an ambush. Duncan rose to his feet and silently worked his way to where she’d disappeared, tamping down a twinge of guilt for turning the tables on her. But then, giving her a good scare might actually make her think before she attacked another man nearly twice her size.

  He stopped just inside the woods to let his eyes adjust to the shadows the strengthening April sun cast against the pine and spruce, and slowed his breathing to listen for movement. Only instead of hearing a branch snap or leaves rustle, he heard … Aw, hell, the woman was sobbing again. Duncan silently moved closer, stopping behind a large tree when he saw her kneeling beside the fallen deer.

  “I’m sorry. I know it was a r-rotten trick to lure you here with alfalfa pellets,” she sobbed as she held the knife poised over it. “But twelve dollars for a bag of feed is a heck of a lot cheaper than a hundred pounds of beef. I’m sorry,” she cried, plunging the knife toward the deer’s neck—only to drive it into the ground because she was shaking so badly. Duncan suspected she couldn’t see very well, either, since she was crying so hard. He watched her wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then raise the knife as she sucked in a shuddering breath, apparently steeling herself to have another go at the deer.

  He stepped forward and caught her wrist, ignoring her shriek of surprise as he used his grip to pull her off balance when she spun toward him. “Take it easy, mama bear,” he said, capturing her other swinging fist, then deftly sidestepping when she tried to kick him. “I’m not the enemy.”

  “Let me go!” she cried, tugging against his grip.

  “Not while you’re still holding a sharp object.”

  She immediately opened her hand and Duncan plucked the knife away, stifling a smile when she lunged at the rifle, then cried out in frustration when she discovered his boot was holding it down. He picked up the rifle as she jumped to her feet and backed away with her hands balled into fists at her sides.

  “You scared the daylights out of me!”

  “Yeah, ambushes have a tendency to do that to a person,” he drawled, sliding the knife in his belt at his back. He looked down at the deer between them, then arched a brow at her. “You do know you’re about six months shy of deer season, don’t you?”

  Her face went from blistering red to nearly white even as her chin lifted defiantly.

  “And they probably heard that gunshot clear into town,” he continued when she remained mute. He canted his head. “Then again, maybe you aren’t worried about the hefty fine for poaching because you’re sleeping with the local game warden.”

  She gave him a thunderous glare and pivoted on her heel and walked away.

  Duncan dropped his head with a muttered curse, wondering what he was doing antagonizing her. But dammit, he was still angry from thinking she’d been shooting at him. His stint in the military had ended over five years ago, but some instincts—say, the instinct to survive—didn’t go away when a man took off his uniform.

  He sighed to expel the last of his anger, and watched Peg Thompson skirting her flooded gravel pit on her way to her house. “Bring back some plastic bags and any bins you might have,” he called after her. “And a hacksaw,” he added when she stopped and simply stared at him in silence. “You want to stand there and think it to death,” he continued, “or let me help you get this guy cut up before school gets out?”

  She continued staring for several more seconds, then turned and started running. Duncan dropped to his knees with a snort and pulled the knife out of his belt. He hoped like hell she was sleeping with the game warden, because if he got caught butchering an illegal deer, he was taking the hefty fine out of her first check. And then he intended to take being labeled a poacher out of the contrary woman’s decidedly feminine hide.

  Chapter Four

  Peg slammed into her house and immediately ran into the bathroom and threw up, then collapsed onto the edge of the tub to hug herself. She didn’t know which had rattled her more, that Duncan MacKeage had scared the daylights out of her or that he’d caught her poaching. Low-life criminals shot deer out of season, and if Duncan didn’t turn her in to the authorities he would at least run back to Inglenook and tell Mac and Olivia that he now had proof she was crazy.

  Except he’d told her to get some bins and a saw, so did that mean he was going to become an accomplice to her crime? Or was he just being nice to get her gravel?

  Only she didn’t have any gravel to sell him, did she, since that stupid earthquake had flooded her pit with seawater. For the love of God, there were actual tides.

  Peg stood up and stepped over to the sink to splash water on her face and rinse out her mouth. Why in hell did she keep thinking she should know someone named MacKeage from Pine Creek?

  She’d been to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort in Pine Creek—twice, actually. Once over February vacation her senior year, when their high school basketball team had been so bad they hadn’t even made it to the tournament, and all the seniors had decided to go skiing as a consolation prize. And she and Billy had honeymooned at TarStone, which they’d been able to afford only because it had been off-season.

  Peg walked to the kitchen, deciding she must have heard the name MacKeage on one of her trips. And she did recall a good number of people at the resort and in town spoke with a slight Scottish brogue like Duncan’s, and that she and her girlfriends had found it quite sexy—although Billy hadn’t been amused when she’d asked him to please roll his Rs on their honeymoon.

  Peg picked up her pace when the cuckoo clock her in-laws had given them for a wedding present announced she only had four hours before she had to catch the school bus in town on her way to her mother-in-law’s to pick up the boys. She dug through the pantry for a couple of bins and grabbed the box of freezer bags she’d bought specifically for the deer. Setting the bags in the bin, she added a large cleaver—because she didn’t have time to hunt through the garage for a hacksaw—then tossed in several hand towels and a bar of soap before she rushed back out the door.

  She stopped on the deck at the sight of the large pickup sitting behind her van, and drew in a shuddering breath. She’d never seen it before, but if it were red instead of dark green, it could have been an identical twin to her late husband’s truck. Billy’s pickup had also worn several layers of mud and road dust and a company emblem on the door, its cargo bed crowded with a diesel fuel tank and large toolbox. Except their emblem had said Thompson Construction instead of MacKeage.

  The pickup had been the first thing she’d sold after Billy had been killed, so her heart would stop lurching every time she’d drive in the yard before she remembered he wasn’t home. But it had been when she�
�d caught Isabel—who’d only been three at the time—glaring up at the driver’s door with fat tears streaming down her cheeks as she’d shouted to her daddy to come home now that the sheer force of Billy’s death had brought Peg to her knees.

  She repositioned the bins on her hip, carefully walked down her rickety old stairs, and ran along the shoreline and up the steep bank to the woods. She came to a stop and took a calming breath when she saw Duncan kneeling beside the deer, his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up as he expertly dealt with the animal.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said, setting down the equipment and kneeling across from him. She held out her hand. “I can take over now.”

  He rolled the already skinned animal over and began butchering it with obvious experience. “Thanks, but I prefer you unarmed.”

  Peg ducked her head, figuring he deserved a couple of cheap shots after what she and her kids had done to him. Good Lord, those were her claw marks on his neck, and she hadn’t missed that he’d been limping at the wedding. “I’m sorry we attacked you the other day,” she whispered. “And first chance we get, my children will apologize to you, too. They … We’re more civilized than that.”

  He sat back on his heels, his steady green eyes darkening with concern. “You also might want to have a talk with them about confronting strange men, because the next guy might actually retaliate.”

  Peg felt her cheeks heat again. “Don’t worry; they got the lecture of their lives that night. The card you left in my door mentioned you want to buy gravel,” she said, deciding it was time to change the subject. She gestured toward the pit. “But as you can see, it’s underwater.”

  He used the knife to point at the far end of the pit. “Do you own the land to the north? How far back?” he asked when she nodded.

  “I have a hundred and eighty-four acres, almost all of it running up that hillside.” She shook her head. “But the horseback runs east to west, and my land stops three hundred yards in the woods to the west of the pit.”

  He went back to butchering the deer. “Would you mind if I brought over my excavator tomorrow and dug a few test holes to the north? There’s a good chance that vein of gravel runs up the hillside as well.”

  Peg’s heart started pounding with excitement. Oh God, it would be the answer to her prayers if it did. That is, until she remembered she now owned lakefront property. “It doesn’t matter which direction it runs,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “The Land Use Regulatory Commission will never let you expand the pit because of the fiord.” She snorted and opened the box of freezer bags. “Up until last week, I lived nearly two miles from the lake.”

  “Let me deal with LURC and getting the permits,” he said, holding out several steaks and nodding for her to open one of the bags. “I’ll find a way to meet the required setbacks.” He arched a brow. “Assuming we can settle on a price.”

  Peg set the steaks in the bin and grabbed another bag, her heart pounding again. “I guess that would depend on how many yards you’re looking to buy.”

  His eyes suddenly lit with amusement. “Thirty wheeler loads a day, five days a week for at least two months—or maybe even well into summer if I have to go all the way up the mountain before I find decent gravel on Mac’s land. And I was thinking two dollars a yard is a fair price for everyone concerned.”

  Peg jumped to her feet and actually stumbled backward. Two dollars a yard! And with twelve yards in a wheeler, times thirty trips a day … Holy hell, that was seven hundred and twenty dollars a day!

  She suddenly stiffened, crumpling the plastic bag in her fist. “Do you think I just crawled out from under a rock, or that because I’m a woman I don’t know what gravel costs? I’m not letting you pay me two dollars a yard!”

  Duncan MacKeage also stood up, his amusement gone. “Two fifty then, but not a penny more.”

  “No!” Peg said on a gasp, taking a step back—until she realized what she was doing and stepped forward and pointed toward her house. “You can just get in your truck and drive back to Inglenook, Mr. MacKeage, and tell Olivia that I don’t appreciate being played for a fool!”

  “What in hell are you talking about? Two-fifty a yard is a damn fair offer. And what’s Olivia got to do with this, anyway?” He thumped his chest. “I’m the one signing the checks, not the Oceanuses, so it’s my profit you’re trying to gouge.”

  “Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told Olivia; I am not a charity case!” she all but shouted, bolting for the house.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered, catching her within three strides. He turned her around to face him, his hands on her arms tightening against her struggles. “Peg, listen to me,” he said calmly. “I think we have our wires crossed.” He relaxed his grip when she stilled, but didn’t let her go. “What’s your idea of a fair price?”

  “There isn’t anyone in a hundred miles of here who would pay more than a dollar for stumpage.” She started struggling again when he smiled. “So if Olivia told you to offer me two fifty, you can just go back and tell her that I don’t want or need her charity.”

  “Aw, Peg,” he said, letting her go and stepping away. “I don’t think Olivia even knows I want to buy gravel from you.”

  Peg balled her hands into fists to counter the tingling in her arms from where he’d held her. “Then why did you offer me twice the going rate?”

  “Because the going rate just rose in direct proportion to your pit’s proximity to the new Bottomless Sea, or don’t you realize the building boom that’s going to follow that underground saltwater river here? Hell, a year from now you’ll be kicking yourself for selling me gravel for only two bucks a yard.”

  “Two fifty,” Peg quickly corrected, her heart pounding with excitement again.

  “God dammit, you were expecting to get a dollar.” He stepped toward her. “Two dollars even, and I’ll throw in a couple of days’ labor from my crew to make some minor repairs on your house.”

  She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye because he was so close, and she shook her head. “Two twenty-five a yard and I get the logs from the hillside. And I want them neatly stacked in my driveway so I can have a portable sawmill come cut them into lumber.” She shot him a tight smile. “You can have the pulpwood.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve already worked out my deal with the logger I’ve hired to clear the road up the mountain.”

  “Then renegotiate with him. I want those sawlogs.”

  “Okay, if you’ll settle on two dollars a yard.”

  Peg pointed at the hillside. “That gravel is all that’s standing between me and prostitution,” she growled, only to cover her mouth with a gasp when his jaw slackened. “Destitution! It’s all that’s standing between me and destitution!” she cried, splaying her hands to cover her blistering face.

  “Okay, then,” he said, sounding like he was fighting back laughter, “for the sake of men everywhere, I’ll give you two twenty-five a yard for the gravel, along with any logs we cut on your land.” She jumped in surprise when he lowered her hands and held them in his. “And I’ll do some repairs on your house,” he continued, the amusement in his eyes contradicting his serious tone, “for your promise not to attack me again—or any of my crew.”

  Peg was tempted to give her promise after she kicked the laughing jerk.

  Apparently he was a mind reader, because he suddenly let her go and stepped back, then held out his right hand. “Deal?” Only just as she started to reach out, he pulled it back. “With exclusive rights to your gravel,” he added, all trace of amusement gone. “If I’m going through the trouble of expanding your pit, I want to be the only one hauling out of it.”

  Hell, for two dollars and twenty-five cents a yard he could camp out in her pit for all she cared. She extended her hand. “Deal.”

  He shook it, then swapped it to his left hand and started leading her back up the knoll. “We’ll get the deer in your freezer, and then I have a purchase a
greement in my truck that I need you to sign.”

  “Um … don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” she said, moving to the other side of the deer and kneeling beside the bin once he let her go. “But am I supposed to keep track of how many loads you haul?” She felt her face redden at his intense stare. “I … My husband never sold stumpage because he wanted the full price he got by hauling the gravel himself, so I’m not really sure how this works.” She shrugged. “I’ve only sold an odd load here and there in the last three years, when someone needed to patch a camp road or fix their driveway.”

  He knelt down with a heavy sigh. “I know you don’t know anything about me, but even if you weren’t a personal friend of Mac and Olivia’s, I value my reputation as an honest businessman a hell of a lot more than a few stolen loads of dirt. I’ll keep track of every load that leaves your pit and personally deliver you a tally slip and a check every Friday afternoon. And when I’m done hauling I’ll make sure your pit is safe, so you won’t have to worry about any steep banks caving in on your children.”

  Peg dropped her gaze. “Thank you,” she said, pulling another bag out of the box.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” he said, amusement in his voice again. “But can you tell me what precipitated your family’s little attack on Saturday? I got the impression you all thought I was some man who had scared your son.”

  “Jacob—he’s the younger of the twins—had a run-in with one of the scientists the day before, and it was all I could do to get him back to Inglenook that morning. From what Jacob told me, the guy caught him trying to climb up on the submarine and pulled him off and started dragging him toward the lake, saying he was going to use him for shark bait. Jacob’s only four, and the poor kid believed the bastard.”

  Duncan stopped cutting, the look in his eyes making Peg lean back. “That morning you said you thought I was Claude; is he the bastard?”