by Cait London
Dreams weren’t for him; however, romance if dissected and carefully reconstructed along a model line, would equate to fine-tuning the small motors he loved so much. He knew he could be romantic once he ingested, digested and decided what women—one woman in particular—wanted. The magazine racks were full of information. First, women usually liked appropriate presents. She liked lacy lingerie—Joel grinned, sliding into the thought of Fiona’s long, lean sexy body hugged by lace. Joel scanned the Tallchief pastures leading into the pines that would become wild forests. But then, rebels were never easy to catch, and Fiona did not like rules or ties.
Joel glanced up to Tallchief Mountain where he’d first seen Fiona hurling herself toward him and yelling threats. Her parents lay behind her in the meadow; his father the reason for her grief. One day he would have to visit them. Joel ran his hand across his jaw and prayed that Fiona did not hold their deaths against him or his family. In her circumstance, he didn’t know if he could excuse the damage.
He walked around the cats sprawled on the warm, sunlit sidewalk and glanced at the three huge dogs lying on the front porch. Their unwelcoming, alert expressions reminded him of the Tallchief brothers.
Sybil’s invitation to the Tallchiefs’ Sunday dinner was perfect for establishing base rules. Joel carefully extracted the flower wreath from his pocket and placed it on his head. Though frayed and wilting, it represented Fiona’s claiming of him. He hadn’t been claimed before, and the novelty pleased him. Joel grinned to himself, suddenly feeling boyish and excited about his first girl. He wasn’t finished with Fiona; he would physically control his passion for her—taking care to shave before coming close to her fine skin, and—Joel shuddered. There would be no more bruising. The next time Fiona was in his bed—Joel inhaled abruptly. He would be very careful with her next time.
Though he was wearing his favorite, battered leather jacket, Joel had dressed carefully. He bent to dust his Italian loafers with a handkerchief, glanced at his expensive hand-knit sweater and raised his hand to the big T door knocker. Poised, he listened intently to the happy ruckus inside—a child giggled wildly, a woman worried if the turkey was moist, another if they would have enough dressing, and deeper tones of men coursed through a baby’s furious demands. This was what Joel wanted for Cody, a warm home and a family.
Joel inhaled the crisp mountain air, filled with the scent of pine. “I will try, son.”
Dressed in her kilt and plaid, Elspeth swept out to the porch, looped her arm through his and tugged him into the huge living room. She helped him remove his jacket and hung it in the closet. The weaver of the family, Elspeth said, “Your sweater is a lovely shade of emerald green. It matches your eyes. We’re glad you came.”
Shocking him, Elspeth had been the first woman to note the color of his eyes. He wondered sullenly if Fiona had noticed. “I would have brought flowers, but the local florist—”
Elspeth winked at him. “The local florist doesn’t know you’re coming. She can get nasty, but I think you can handle her.”
A child crawled across Joel’s Italian loafer, studied it for a moment and then sank down to teethe upon it. At the same time a toddler lurched from Talia’s lap, took four steps and grabbed Joel’s Armani slacks with both sticky fists.
Also dressed in their Tallchief kilts and plaids and standing in front of the fireplace, the brothers stared at him, as though he deserved tar and feathers. The teething child pulled herself upon his other pant leg. Joel, fearing to move and hurt a child, stood absolutely still. Sybil hurried by, carrying a huge bowl of salad on her way to the long dinner table. “I am so irritated by Marcella Portway. She just called. I’m a professional genealogist, Joel, and I hunt family treasures—oh, you know that, don’t you? You were very good to acquire Una’s chest before me. Anyway, Marcella Portway is determined that she’s related to Spanish royalty. If she is, I can’t find it.” She glanced at the children latched on to Joel’s slacks. “I hope you like children,” she added.
Joel looked down the distance to the black-haired, gray-eyed girls and imagined Fiona as a child...as a woman carrying his child. He blinked, feeling off-balance. This, he excused, was because he’d awakened feeling like a groom. In his current reasoning, groom led to family man, Fiona in his arms all night and babies. He felt himself go light-headed, a rarity for Palladin’s Iron Man.
He hadn’t expected the tender emotions swirling around him, the buffeting need to become a family man. He hadn’t been invited to Cody’s birth and actually knew little about his son. After Cody’s conception, Joel had learned that his ex-wife had wanted a child to ensure her hold at Palladin, Inc. He wanted Cody to have this family’s warmth, with brothers and sisters tucked around him. Joel wanted to be... “Pa.”
There were steps preceding lover, groom and pa. Fiona, rebel that she was, had skipped wooing Joel. He felt deprived and fragile.
Damn. Add romance to his personal fragile list, Joel decided, because he wanted to romance Fiona in a traditional way.
He noted the dining room table’s glorious, wild arrangement of flowers and greenery, which reminded him of Fiona, color splashing, spilling everywhere. Joel concentrated on the design and frowned, searching for the theme, the angles, the motif. It eluded him. With effort, he could be impulsive, despite Fiona’s sterile opinion of him.
Joel studied the Tallchiefs’ babies and children. To his knowledge he wasn’t sterile, and he’d been impulsive enough not to use his newly purchased supply of protection. The odds of Fiona conceiving on their first night were not high, yet possible—he heard his wistful sigh and stifled it. In his life he dealt with the reality of necessities, not dreams. A family and children would be too much to ask.
Emily, Sybil’s seventeen-year-old daughter, was placing the silver on woven napkins. “He’s got the look,” she noted wisely.
“Oh, no, he hasn’t,” Calum, Duncan and Birk stated at the same time, glaring at Joel.
“Not with our baby sister,” Calum added firmly.
“She’s always loved a good battle. Look at him. Though he doesn’t look like it now with the girls around him, I’ll bet Fiona won’t be bored. Apparently, from childhood, she’s terrorized her share of males. He looks like he could keep up,” Talia stated with a grin.
“Well, there is Una’s dragon and chest legend, you know,” Elspeth noted cheerfully.
“That’s right. There is that,” Joel added smugly, his spirits lifting from the delicate-fragile zone. He reached down to pluck up a child in each arm. Unaccustomed to babies, Joel stood very still, adjusting to them. They squirmed and cuddled to him, smelling of baby powder, laundry softener and innocence.
He returned a juicy kiss first to one and then to the other, just as Fiona came into the room in a swirl of her kilt and plaid, her face flushed and her eyes soft from playing with the baby in her arms. She stopped and stared at Joel while the two toddlers kissed his face, hugged him and pointed to the flowers on his head.
He would remember her forever, dressed in her frilled white shirt, with the Tallchief tartan plaid draped from shoulder to hip to the hem of her kilt. He hadn’t had time to kiss those pretty knees, but he would, and all the rest of her he’d missed in their stormy, fast passion. Toe kissing was definitely added to his romantic list. Desire streaked through him again, skittered under his skin and hardened his body as Fiona’s head went back. He was staring boldly and didn’t care, fascinated by her.
This is my woman, he thought, a goddess of fire and storms and strength and tenderness. Yet she was very feminine, the arch of a brow, the sweep of her hand, the sway of her hips. My goddess, he added mentally. I’ll never hurt her—He stiffened, remembering how he had held her tightly as they’d fought for release, remembering the slight bruises on her wrist and the blood on her sheet.
“What are you doing here?” Fiona demanded coldly, though a hot blush was slowly creeping up her cheeks. She eyed the flower wreath suspiciously.
Joel looked at her, his body tensin
g, muscle by muscle. Little kept him from going to her, sweeping her into his arms for a romantic Valentino kiss, and—on the other hand, he didn’t enjoy feeling like the unwelcome remnants of last night’s dinner. He was certain that when he got the hang of “romantic,” he’d be more comfortable with Fiona.
“He’s come for Sunday dinner, Fiona,” Sybil said, patting him on the shoulder. Joel could have kissed her, his gratitude could even extend to baby-sitting.
“He doesn’t need feeding. Don’t fall for his helpless act. If you only knew how I cooked and cleaned—I even had plans to reform him and get him a job. Go home, Joel.”
“You make a great housewife, Princess. I love it when you sing and mop.” While she steamed, Joel fought the smile tugging at his lips.
“He’d look great in a kilt,” Lacey, Birk’s wife, noted with a grin as she took the toddlers.
Joel studied Fiona and knew he wanted more from life than corporate legalities, Italian and French brand names on his suits and shoes, and watches that cost fortunes. “I’ve never gone steady. You know, like in high school, when the girl wears the guy’s ring,” Joel admitted, and watched Fiona’s expression go blank.
“You’re a cool guy. Any guy who can give a girl an elephant is okay with me,” Emily stated. “Let’s eat.”
Fiona frowned at him. “I’ll want to talk with you privately. Please take off that ridiculous wreath.”
“I’m a modern man, Princess. Instead of you wearing my ring, I’m wearing your wreath.”
“I like his style,” stated Alek, who had had to battle for Elspeth.
“Thanks.” Joel glanced to the Tallchief brothers who were approaching, glowering at him.
“Oh, they’re just bristling because they love Fiona and want to protect her...and dinner is waiting,” Sybil said as she and the other wives grabbed their respective husbands. They herded their husbands to the table, plopped babies in their laps and humed to adjust the high chairs that were placed around the table.
Talia indicated an empty place to Joel. “You’ll have to sit by Fiona...unless she wants us to reorganize the whole table and all the high chairs.”
Joel nodded. Talia deserved a free sample—bangle bracelets—from Palladin’s newest jewelry acquisition. He noted Sybil’s classic style and decided that pearl stud earrings would be suitable, a gold comb for Elspeth and a delicate ring for Lacey.
“You’re staying here tonight, Fiona,” Duncan ordered flatly while dipping potatoes onto his daughter’s plate. He stared at Joel, a hands-off-my-baby-sister look.
After dinner Fiona folded her arms across her chest and studied the Tallchief males and Alek, all bent over, their heads beneath the hood of the sports car on the driveway and their kilts blowing in the wind. Joel was in the driver’s seat, revving the engine, obviously wallowing in delight as he showed off his mechanical pet. He tossed a tool to Duncan, who grinned with delight and immediately dived under the hood. The sounds of revving followed, the males obviously delighted.
Fine-tuning an engine seemed to make friends of unlikely men. Raised with brothers and cars, she’d helped tune engines in her time, and she wasn’t tuning Palladin’s personal one.
“I could kick all my brothers’ backsides. He’s just seducing them, that’s all.” Throughout dinner Joel had ignored her.
He seemed little like the lover she’d held in her arms until five o’clock this morning. After he’d left, she’d gathered her bedding around her, keeping Joel’s scents close; she’d hugged his pillow and hugged Una’s chest close. She’d cried and muttered and slashed aside the bruised rose petals and then had picked up the old thread and the shuttle and begun tatting as she’d learned on her mother’s lap. Her emotions caused her to flash through a foot of lace, full of mistakes at the beginning, then the design smoothing out as she decided her life was untouched by Joel—he simply did not matter.
Well, there was that matter of her heart tearing when he had closed the door.
Minnie, usually a playful cat swatting at thread, had sprawled upon the bed; she had studied Fiona with huge topaz eyes. Abe and George had made for the windowsill sunning while Fiona had tatted furiously.
Then she remembered the sight of Joel holding the two Tallchief toddlers, the whimsical, battered wreath tilting rakishly on his head. It was heart stopping. Add his pleased grin and Joel could be—there was nothing so dangerous as this morning’s lover looking like a potential father.
The Corvette’s motor revved as Birk, an ex-race-car driver, leaned around the hood to speak to Joel.
Elspeth came beside Fiona, looping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s clear to see that Joel isn’t falling at your feet, despite wearing that wreath. When he finally did take it off, he was so careful with it, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You should have seen your expression when he announced that he was entering Maddy’s Friday Night Tango and Talent Contest for charity. Amen Flats is buzzing. I just bet the casseroles and dinner invitations are arriving at his house right now. I wonder who will be his partner?”
“Aye. Women will fall all over him, and he’ll win,” Fiona muttered. She had experienced his technique, several of them in fact, and Joel was a champion when he set his mind to it.
She would not have her life constructed in neat little blocks.
“Mmm. There are rules to this game, Fiona,” Elspeth murmured. “He’s out to claim you.”
Fiona snorted delicately. “He’s barely paid attention to me, and I’m not a woman to be claimed.”
Elspeth laughed. “We’ll see. Here they come, ready for more cherry pie and ice cream. They had better not wake the babies up from their naps. I like Joel Palladin, though he’s as wary as you are. There is tenderness in him, and honor, too. Dad and Mom would have liked him. He’s giving up everything to try to make a life for his son. He’s a bit stiff around the edges, but in the midst of the Tallchiefs, I would expect that.”
“Joel is a very formal man. You should see his office. There isn’t a paper clip out of place. He has rules for everything. His secretary said, ‘You can’t go in. Mar. Palladin’s list of rules clearly says that—’ Palladin’s rules aren’t for me. I won’t have him put me on a list, setting up rules on male and female roles...his being the dominant, well-organized one, of course.”
Elspeth grinned. “Oh, I think Joel is very adept at getting what he wants. He’s probably willing to make adjustments.”
Fiona inhaled unevenly and straightened. Joel could entice her brothers with his toy and charm her family, but winning her over after leaving her this morning was another matter.
Joel came in the door, laughter on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. Fiona’s breath caught in her throat, her desire to kiss his beautiful mouth so strong she almost leaped upon him.
Joel stared at her, her heart seemed to kick up two beats, circled her chest and pattered merrily.
“Would you tango with someone else?” she demanded in a whisper, and knew that if he held another woman close, a part of her would tear away. For there were rules attached, when a man looked at her that way.
Joel walked toward her, taking her hand. With the air of a polished executive at a fancy corporate cocktail party, he smiled coolly, though the heat in his eyes jarred her into shivering. “We’re going now. Fiona wants to discuss plants for my house, and we have to start practicing for the contest,” he said smoothly.
While her brothers tried to find reasons why she shouldn’t go with Joel, Fiona stared at him and blinked. He hadn’t spoken to her, and now he was staking his claim as easily as ordering a second piece of pie.
“Wonderful,” she tossed back, wanting privacy for cutting his arrogance in half.
“You can’t just bring me to your house and toss me into your bed,” Fiona whispered when Joel finally lifted his lips from hers.
Joel breathed rapidly, his face hot. “The gearshift was getting to me.”
They were both breathing hard, tangled around each other. There was nothing smoot
h and polished about his heart racing against her breast, or his look strolling down her body—it reminded her of summer heat lying close and ready to erupt over a cool mountain meadow. Nor the hand smoothing her breast beneath her now-wrinkled, frilled shirt. His hand skimmed down her body, slid beneath her kilt and rose slowly, smoothly on her thigh. His boyish grin delighted her as he unfastened her brooch and tugged her Tallchief plaid away. He toyed with the buttons on her shirt. “Mmm. Let’s see what’s under all this—”
Fiona couldn’t resist placing her hand upon the chest he’d just bared. “Joel...” she whispered, arching her body up to his, meeting his hungry kiss.
Hours later Fiona sat naked, bundled in a quilt with Joel, while they watched the firelight in his new freestanding woodstove. He tightened his arms around her, ran his lips along her cheek and nibbled at her earlobe, then he was silent, locking his thoughts from her, withdrawing to his private pain that lurked, never far away.
She held his hand, smoothing it, fitting the hard larger shape of his palm and fingers against her own. “Cody will adjust. Children do.”
“I don’t know if this is the right move, bringing him here.” Joel glanced at her, and seemed to withdraw within himself, as though he’d taken more pain than he could bear. “He’s not happy with me. We have no relationship, and I come off feeling like a bully every time I try to help. I’m usually laying down rules, because he hasn’t had that many. Patrice let him run wild. I was too wrapped up in my own life and thought he’d been getting better parental care. Her folks are great, and I thought she’d be better with him than me. That was a mistake I’ll always regret. I yelled at him once, another something I regret,” he added unevenly. The pain in Joel’s tone caused Fiona to ache, for she knew that he was remembering how he’d been treated.
“You’re nothing like your father, Joel”
“Aren’t I?” The hard answer came back too weary, too old and ragged.