Holy mother of God! Those shorts were barely legal when she bent over! To hell with the mace, Robbie decided, wiping a shaky hand over his face. He was buying the lady a gun.
No, that would pull her shorts down!
Guessing she was only about half a mile from home and feeling that she’d managed to run off most of her anxiety over being separated from her children, Catherine slowed from a steady jog down to a walk. She set her hands on her hips, panting to cool her body, and smiled at the feel of her pounding heart and quivering muscles. It felt good to be running again, not from someone but toward something.
She had entered two marathons and over a dozen five-mile races in the last three years, even winning four of them. She was quite fast over short distances, but the twenty-six-mile marathons had nearly killed her.
But what hadn’t killed her had only made her stronger, she decided, watching her huffing breath puff ahead of her in the crisp spring air as she looked around. She liked this part of the country, she suddenly decided. It was rugged and stunningly beautiful, with its granite cliffs, towering spruce and pine trees, and misty-topped mountains.
It was also a six-mile uphill run from town.
Catherine finally caught sight of the driveway to her new home, not because she spotted the mailbox but because Robbie MacBain, mounted on horseback, was waiting at the end of it.
Had he truly been worried about her?
He’d certainly been startled when she had stripped off her jeans. The guy had looked positively dumbstruck, though Catherine wasn’t sure if it had been because she was going running or because he’d just discovered she had legs.
“I’m impressed,” he said as she approached. “You made good time, especially considering it’s all uphill.”
Catherine pulled her ponytail free and worked her fingers through her hair to reshape it, tying it back off her heated neck. “I hope there’s plenty of hot water, because I’m going to need a thirty-minute shower. I’m out of shape.”
“Really?” he hummed, turning his horse to walk beside her up the driveway. “I hadn’t noticed. Did you enjoy yourself?”
“For the most part,” she told him, looking up with a frown. “All except for those darn logging trucks. They kept blowing their air horns at me. There’s no reason they can’t share the road.”
He muttered something she couldn’t make out as he twisted in his saddle, pulled a jacket off the back, and tossed it down to her. “Why don’t you put this on?” he suggested. “Before you catch a chill.”
Catherine set the heavy wool coat over her shoulders, noticing that it came down to her knees. “Are you going back up the mountain to visit the priest?” she asked, nodding at his horse.
“Aye. That’s why I waited for you. To tell you I won’t be home tonight.”
“All night?”
“Aye. Daar’s not feeling well, and I thought I should stay with him. I’ll be back shortly after sunrise, though. Do you have a problem dealing with the boys on your own this evening?”
“No,” she said as she climbed the porch stairs. She stepped over to the porch rail and turned to him. “How do I get Nathan and Nora from school?”
“Take my truck. The keys are in it.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid your car can’t be saved, Cat. The engine seized. We could put in a new one, but that would only be throwing good money after bad. You should be able to get two hundred dollars for it, though, from the scrap yard.”
Catherine sighed, took off the coat he’d lent her, and held it over the rail to him. “I was afraid of that. Thank you for bringing it back. Ah, can you take the cost of the towing out of my pay?”
He urged his horse up to the rail and took the coat from her. “It didn’t cost us anything and was a good exercise for the boys.”
“Then I’ll thank them tonight by making a special dessert.”
“You’ll save me some?”
Catherine canted her head. “You have a bad sugar addiction, Mr. MacBain. Have you spoken to a doctor about it?”
He leaned over in his saddle, getting quite close, and Catherine forced herself to stand firm and not back away. And if he tapped her on the nose again, by God, she was going to tap him back.
“There are worse vices, Cat,” he said softly.
She was disappointed when he straightened away from her. Darn it. Just when she’d worked up the nerve, too.
“My father’s number is by the phone. His name is Michael. If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to call him, okay?”
Catherine nodded.
“My foreman’s name is Harley. His number is also posted. But Gunter can deal with him for you.”
“He’s a smart kid,” Catherine said, thinking of how the young man had distracted Nora this morning.
“Aye. If only he’d come to that conclusion himself,” Robbie said as his horse fidgeted away. “I’ll be back shortly after sunrise,” he added, giving the horse its head and breaking into a canter toward the woods. “Sleep well tonight, Cat,” he called over his shoulder.
And just like that, he was gone. Catherine stood at the rail, staring at the woods where he’d disappeared, and rubbed her right index finger against her thumb. What would he have done if she’d tapped his nose? Probably fallen off his horse!
But how would he have taken her gesture? As a pass? An invitation for something more? Maybe a kiss?
Oh, what would it be like to be kissed by Robbie MacBain?
She remembered Winter sitting in his lap this morning. The young woman had looked comfortable. Protected. Cherished.
Catherine knew all men were not like Ron Daniels. Some of them were actually nice.
Was Robbie MacBain?
Chapter Eleven
Things had gone rather smoothly this morning, since her two children were eager to go to school. Robbie still wasn’t home yet, but everyone else had been fed and rushed out the door, and Catherine was now bringing up the rear of the impromptu parade marching down the driveway.
Her heart was near bursting with joy. All four boys had insisted on waiting for Nathan and Nora’s bus before they headed off to school themselves. Her excited daughter was holding Gunter’s hand and telling him, for the twentieth time, the names of her four new friends.
Including Chad, the snake boy.
Nathan had attached himself to Cody’s side and was asking a million questions about the potato gun and when were they finally going to shoot it.
Rick was carrying Nora’s book bag, which he had presented to her last night after a trip to the attic, and Peter was—well, the poor boy had his nose stuck in a history book, trying to find the date of the Boston Tea Party before his first-period test.
“Mom, will you tell Mr. MacBain that the hens need grain?” Nathan asked as they gathered near the mailbox. “We’re all out.”
Catherine smiled. “You can tell him at supper.”
“Chad wants me to go to his house to play,” Nora said. “He’s got two baby snakes.”
“Is that Chad Perkins?” Rick asked, suddenly interested.
“Uh-huh,” Nora confirmed, nodding.
“I’ll take her over to Chad’s,” Rick offered, looking at Catherine.
Cody snorted. “You just want to ogle Jenny Perkins.”
Catherine became a bit interested herself. “Does Jenny go to your school?” she asked Rick.
His face turning a dull red, he merely nodded.
Peter dug his nose out of his book, eyed Nora speculatively, then looked at Catherine. “There’s an ice cream shop in town. We could take Nathan and Nora for an ice cream Friday night,” he offered. “Gunter can drive,” he quickly added. “So you don’t have to worry about anything.”
Being a janitor at a high school for three years, Catherine had learned a lot about the hormone-driven minds of adolescents. There was something about seeing a guy—of any age—acting nice to a child that made young women sit up and take notice.
Catherine looked at all four boys, who were all eagerly
waiting for her answer, and burst out laughing. “So, you’re asking to borrow my kids to attract girls?”
All four faces reddened, but no one denied her claim.
“Can we go, Mom?” Nathan asked.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said. “I’ll even treat.”
“You will?” Cody said, clearly surprised. He suddenly frowned. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
“You’ll really trust us with your kids?” Rick asked.
“Of course. As long as you have them home by nine.”
Four sets of young, masculine shoulders straightened.
“It’s the bus!” Nora cried, darting toward the road.
Gunter barely caught her by the coat. “You don’t leave the driveway until the bus has stopped and you see the driver nod to you,” he instructed, squatting down and smiling to soften his lesson.
“I forgot,” Nora whispered.
“Here’s your bag,” Rick said, sliding it onto her shoulders and patting her head. “And sit in the back of the bus,” he added, turning to Nathan. “The frost heaves are more fun in the back.”
“What’s a frost heave?” Nathan asked.
“It’s a huge bump in the road made by culverts when the ground thaws,” Rick explained, taking hold of Nathan’s hand and walking him past the front of the bus as Cody and Peter followed.
“ ’Bye, Mommy,” Nora said with a wave as Gunter led her by the hand to the bus.
Catherine waved wildly. “Good-bye! Be good, you two!”
But only three boys were left standing on the side of the road when the bus pulled away. “Where’s Gunter?”
Rick jangled a set of keys. “He asked the driver if he could ride in with them, since it’s their first day,” he explained as they walked back into the driveway. “It’s only a short hike from their school to the high school.”
“That was really sweet of him,” Catherine whispered, amazed but not really surprised.
Cody snorted. “Sweet? Gunter? What have you been drinking this morning? Gunter is about as sweet as pine pitch.”
“You’re all sweet,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you for being so kind to my kids.”
Their faces turning red again, the boys quickened their pace to the four-door pickup they used to get to and from school.
“We’re only being nice so you’ll keep cooking,” Cody said, running now. “But one burnt meal, lady,” he called over the bed of the truck as he opened the back door, “and the squirts are toast.”
“He’s teasing, Catherine,” Rick assured her as he slid behind the wheel.
Catherine gave him a smile and waved good-bye as they headed out of the driveway, then stood quietly and admired the beautiful view, in no hurry to face the mess in the kitchen.
Holes, some of them several acres in size, had opened up in the ice of Pine Lake. But in the cove near the tiny town of Pine Creek, she could see one remaining ice shanty and expected that if it didn’t soon get pulled off the lake, it would be swimming with the fishes.
A gentle sense of permanency suddenly swept through her. Catherine could almost imagine that her life was normal; she was an everyday woman sending her kids off to school, looking forward to a full day of motherly chores, in a beautiful old house in a wonderful corner of the country.
It was a rather seductive illusion.
Catherine finally turned away from the view and headed to the house and the messy kitchen. But she stopped, her foot on the bottom step of the porch, when she heard a noise coming from the woods.
Robbie emerged out of the forest and rode his horse straight to the barn. Catherine changed direction and followed him, stepping through the barn door just as he pulled the bridle off his horse.
She didn’t even try to stifle her gasp. He looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted and knotted with twigs, and he had a new bruise on his jaw. There was a bloody cloth wrapped around his right hand, and he had a definite limp when he walked over to hang the bridle on a peg.
“What happened?” she asked, rushing to him. “You’re hurt. Is it your side again? Did you pull out the stitches?”
“Nay,” he said, limping back to his horse. “Only my hand is bleeding.” He lifted the stirrup and started tugging on the cinch buckle with his good hand.
Catherine crowded him out of the way. “Let me do that. You go get in your truck. I’ll take care of your horse and then drive you to the doctor.”
He stepped out of her way but didn’t leave. “Can ya handle a horse?” he asked, his voice gruff and his brogue unusually thick.
“I grew up on a ranch in Idaho,” she told him, freeing the cinch and pulling the saddle off. She carried it to the side of the aisle and set it down with a thud. “Go on,” she repeated, waving him out. “I’ll put him in a stall and give him some hay.”
“Has everyone left the house?”
“Yes. About five minutes ago.”
He slowly turned and limped out, and Catherine led the horse to the first empty stall she found. She grabbed several flakes of hay, tossed them in behind the animal, checked to see that he had water, and ran out of the barn.
Robbie was just climbing the porch stairs.
“Get in the truck!” she shouted.
He continued into the house.
“Stubborn man,” she muttered, jogging to the house. She came through the door and found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, already stripped down to just his pants and boots.
“What are you doing? You don’t need to clean up to go see the doctor.”
“I’m not going anywhere but in the shower,” he said, sitting down in a chair. He leaned over to unlace his boots but groaned instead, set his elbows on his knees, hung his head, and stared at the floor. “I just want a hot shower, for you to sew up my hand and find me some aspirin, and then help me upstairs,” he told the floor. He looked up. “Can ya do that, Catherine?”
She was gaping at his chest and shoulders. The man was filthy. Scratched. And he had several new bruises. “You didn’t babysit the priest last night, did you?” she whispered.
“No.”
“And you hadn’t just fallen down the day I found you.”
“No.”
“How did you get hurt?”
He stared at her, his sunken, bloodshot eyes unreadable, then slowly shook his head. “I’d rather not say.” He canted his head. “How are ya at telling fibs, Catherine?”
“Fibs? What sort of fibs? And to whom?”
“Everyone. My father and Libby. The boys. And whoever else asks.” He gave her a weak smile. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m banged up. Especially my father and Libby.”
“You’re more than banged up,” she said, stepping forward and taking hold of one of his boots. “You look like hell.”
“Thank ya. But I’m more exhausted than hurt,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in the chair as she unlaced and pulled off his boot. “A shower, aspirin, and twenty-four hours of sleep, and I’ll be back in fighting form.”
“So you can go out and get in another fight?” she asked, pulling off his other boot.
“Ah, Cat,” he groaned, scratching his naked chest. “I had them outnumbered.”
“Them? You had them outnumbered?”
He reached out and lightly tapped the tip of her nose. “I’ll be fine, Catherine,” he said, slowly standing up.
She scrambled out of his way, scrubbing her nose with the palm of her hand.
“I’ll use the shower downstairs, if that’s okay with you,” he said, limping into the bathroom before she could answer.
Catherine was left standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the scattered clothes and drops of blood on her clean floor.
What had happened to him last night? And why didn’t he want his family to know? And them? Who in heck was them?
Her boss expected her to sew him up again and tell fibs. But wh
at could he possibly be doing on that mountain at night, dressed the way he had been the first time she’d found him, and carrying a sword?
The only answer Catherine could come up with that made even a little bit of sense was that he was crazy. Either that or she was, because she was going to sew him up and then fib to everyone, because…because…darn it, because he had asked her to.
He trusted her. Yeah, Catherine decided, squaring her shoulders and absently rubbing her nose again. Robbie trusted her to keep his crazy secret.
She let out a sigh, picked up his jacket and boots and set them by the door, gathered up his shirts and socks and tossed them into the laundry room, then headed upstairs to find him some clean clothes.
When was the last time anyone, other than her children, had trusted her? Not since her parents had been alive.
She had forgotten how empowering it felt. And besides, this was her chance to show Robbie MacBain that even self-appointed guardian angels needed help once in a while.
Catherine came back downstairs carrying a clean change of clothes, wondering how tough her boss really was. The last time she’d put a needle to him, he’d been unconscious, but that wasn’t going to be the case this time. She snatched up her sewing kit as she passed through the living room and continued into the kitchen, dropping the kit on the table and going to the bathroom.
“I have clean clothes for you,” she called over the sound of the shower.
“Set them on the hamper.”
Catherine stood at the door, her hand on the knob, and tried to remember if the shower curtain was opaque or transparent.
Darn. It was both. Mostly opaque, but with clear plastic fish swimming through it. Well, shoot. She had seen every imposing inch of the man’s body six days ago. Surely she could handle another peek, couldn’t she?
Catherine slowly opened the door and, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, walked in and dropped the clothes on the hamper, then spun around to leave just as the shower shut off.
“Could you hand me a towel?”
Tempting the Highlander Page 13