Tempting the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “Who are Marcus Saints and Judge Bailey?”

  “Saints is a social worker who keeps tabs on the boys. And Martha Bailey is all that’s standing between them and the detention center.”

  Catherine slapped her chest to catch her gasp. “They’re coming to the house today?” she squeaked, her previous terror turning to horror. “Darn it, you have to warn me about stuff like that! Turn around. I have to get home!”

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, putting the truck in gear, checking for traffic, then making a three-point turn in the road. “They won’t arrive until after school.”

  “But I need to start planning for supper now.”

  “The way you cook?” he said as he headed back up the hill. “You could make stone soup, and Saints would be drooling all over himself. And the house is fine, Cat.” He snorted. “It’s a hell of a lot cleaner than the last time they visited. Marcus threatened to call the health department.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The moment they got home, Catherine told Robbie to go to his logging yard, and she spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in near hysterics. She thawed enough beef to feed an army, scrubbed all three bathrooms until they sparkled, dusted, straightened the boys’ bedrooms and remade their beds, vacuumed upstairs and down, washed the kitchen floor, peeled ten pounds of potatoes and carrots, and threw together a double batch of yeast rolls.

  In five hours, by the time the kids got home from school and Martha Bailey and Marcus Saints arrived, Catherine felt as if she had run a marathon—and had somehow managed to survive this one as well.

  Not knowing what to expect but expecting the worst, Martha Bailey had surprised Catherine. She was a tiny woman, pretty in a haphazard sort of way, and genuinely warm. She had also become quite giddy and had burst into a huge smile when Robbie walked out of the barn to greet her and Marcus.

  Now, Catherine was nervously pacing the kitchen porch while they held individual interviews. They were down to the last two boys; Marcus had Gunter in the living room, and Martha was talking to Rick at the kitchen table.

  Nora was terrorizing the barn cats with Cody, Nathan was doing his henhouse chores, and Peter was sitting on the front porch, his nose in a book—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.

  Robbie was rinsing off the last of the logging-yard mud from his truck, which Catherine had told him to face toward the garage doors so their guests wouldn’t see the bug shield. He had chuckled at her command, explaining that the shield had been a gift from the boys, but he had turned the truck inward to wash it.

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer and deciding she could pretend she needed to check on supper, Catherine finally entered the kitchen, only to run into Martha Bailey on her way out. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Miss Daniels. I was just on my way to find you.” Martha smiled sadly. “I can’t stay for supper, I’m afraid. I have my own crew to feed. And from what I’ve been told and from what I’ve been smelling all afternoon, I’m going to miss a real treat. All the boys could talk about was your cooking.”

  Catherine could only nod.

  “Peter said that you make a tasty barley soup.” Martha’s smile returned. “Peter said a lot of things. All the boys did. Welcome to Pine Creek, Catherine. I certainly hope you’ll be staying.” She canted her head. “Although I suspect that if you try to leave, four boys and a handsome giant will hunt you down and drag you back.”

  “I think they were all starving to death,” Catherine said, relaxing for the first time today. She shook her head. “I’ve been warned the boys might be a little hard to handle, but I haven’t seen a sign of that since I came here.”

  Martha patted Catherine’s arm. “It’s amazing how good food can tame the beast. Keep it coming, and I doubt you’ll have any problems. I’ll be back next month, and maybe then I’ll get to sample your cooking. Good-bye. And good luck.”

  Okay, Catherine decided as she watched the woman get into her car and drive away, Robbie was right. Martha Bailey was one of the good guys. But Marcus Saints seemed…well, the man looked as if he picked his teeth with hardened criminals.

  Nathan came dragging up the porch stairs just then, holding his hand cradled against his chest.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Those chickens are ferocious, Mom. They pecked me.”

  Catherine reached down and inspected the boy’s wound. One of the old hens had managed to draw blood, but just barely.

  “You’ll live, Nathan. Come on, I’ll clean you up and put on a Band-Aid.”

  “It’s a dangerous job, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “Let me guess,” she speculated, pushing him into the house ahead of her so he wouldn’t see her smile. “You still haven’t told Mr. MacBain that you need grain.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “No.”

  “Nathan.”

  “I hope they starve.”

  “Nathan.”

  “Why can’t you just tell him for me?”

  “Because, young man, that’s your job.”

  “But he’s scary,” Nathan whispered, looking up at her with huge puppy-dog eyes.

  “He’s been nothing but kind to us, Nathan. He’s not like your father,” Catherine whispered, squatting down and taking hold of his shoulders. “You have nothing to fear from Mr. MacBain.” She brushed the hair away from his face. “Honey, if you tell him the hens need grain, he’ll see what a responsible young man you are and respect you for doing your chore. And Nathan, you’ll respect yourself if you approach him bravely and do your job. You’ll be one of the boys here. You don’t see them being afraid of Mr. MacBain, do you?”

  He thought about that, frowning. “No,” he finally admitted. “And Mr. MacBain will be proud of me, too.”

  Catherine sighed. “Nathan, you do your chores for yourself. Not for Mr. MacBain and not for me. I want you to see that you can deal with people, especially men, and not be afraid. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.”

  “I understand,” he whispered. “I know you’re scared I’ll grow up to be like Daddy. And I’m trying not to.”

  Catherine felt a sharp stab to her heart. When had her beautiful little boy realized her greatest fear? “Come on, let’s tend that vicious old hen wound.”

  Peeking toward Gunter and Marcus in the living room, Catherine lifted Nathan onto the counter, got the first aid kit from the cupboard, and started cleaning his wound. Robbie came in from the yard, walked past her and Nathan to the stove, lifted the lid on the huge steaming pot, and started stirring the stew.

  Catherine took the spoon away from him and shooed him upstairs to change his wet shirt. She headed back to Nathan, replacing the lid on the stew as she walked by, but turned when Nora came running into the kitchen, screaming bloody murder.

  She ran to her daughter. “Nora, what is it?”

  “A monster!” Nora wailed. “Daddy’s in the barn!”

  Just then, Cody slammed through the door, looking frantic and hysterical himself, and Nora whimpered and tried to run away.

  Catherine froze in shock, clinging to her daughter. Ron was here! He was here!

  “Daddy’s in the hayloft!” Nora cried again, burying her face in Catherine’s stomach.

  “It was me,” Cody said, drawing her attention. “I was just playing. I forgot. I’m sorry!”

  Gunter tore past her with a deadly, feral growl and dove toward Cody before anyone had time to grasp the situation.

  “You bastard!” Gunter shouted, his fist aimed at Cody’s shocked, bloodless face.

  Catherine finally came out of her stupor, realizing what was happening. “Gunter!” she yelled.

  As if in slow motion, Catherine could only watch as Gunter’s fist connected with Cody’s face, sending the defenseless boy reeling into the wall behind him. His head hit with a solid thunk, suspending Cody long enough for Gunter to connect again, this time w
ith Cody’s stomach. The battered boy slid in a boneless heap to the floor.

  Catherine rushed straight into the fight and stood between the enraged young man and his fallen prey.

  Her eyes glaring at Gunter, she didn’t see Marcus Saints start in their direction or see Robbie grab him by the shoulder and stop him.

  “You son of a bitch!” Gunter growled, trying to move around Catherine.

  “Gunter! No!” she shouted when he tried to take another swing. She moved with him, blocking his way. “Enough,” she said more calmly. “You will not hit him again.”

  Gunter turned his anger on her. “You heard! He scared Nora,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

  “No, you’re not,” Catherine said firmly, flinching when he tried to shove her out of the way but managing to keep her body between him and Cody.

  He grabbed her shoulders, and Catherine lifted her chin. “He made a mistake,” she whispered. “Cody would never scare Nora on purpose. He was only playing.”

  “How can you know that?”

  Catherine set her hand on his heaving chest. “Because I trust Cody, Gunter. He just wasn’t thinking.”

  “Then I’ll teach the son of a bitch to think!” he snapped, pushing her away, trying to get to Cody.

  Catherine stepped between them again, getting a bit angry herself. “How, Gunter?” she hissed, shedding her sweater and pulling up the right sleeve of her shirt, exposing a three-year-old scar. “Is this how you’re going to teach him?” She lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose another scar, this one running from her waist up to just under her breast. “Or maybe like this!” Catherine turned her back on the stunned man and parted her hair at the nape of her neck, exposing yet another scar about two inches long. “Maybe this would teach him to think!”

  She turned back to Gunter. “Will giving Cody a beating make Nora feel safe?” she asked through clenched teeth, taking another step forward, causing the suddenly pale boy to back up. “Did spending three weeks in the hospital so my children’s father would be sent to prison solve my problems?”

  Catherine stopped and blinked through blurry eyes, her anger suddenly deflated. “Don’t you see, Gunter?” she whispered. “I’ve frightened Nora so badly that an innocent game of hide-and-seek scares her.”

  Gunter stared at her, his chest heaving and his eyes clouded with uncertainty. “How do you know, Catherine? How can you know Cody wasn’t being mean?”

  “I trust him, Gunter. The same way I trust you.”

  Catherine reached out and touched his chest again, gently this time, and quietly spoke to the young man she’d come to care so much about. “You acted without thinking, Gunter. You’ve lived with Cody longer than I have. Would he purposely scare Nora? Is he really that malicious?”

  “No.”

  “You owe him an apology,” she said.

  Cody, who had either wisely or painfully remained silent until now, suddenly sucked in his breath. “No,” he croaked. “I don’t need an apology.”

  Catherine turned and tried to help the battered boy to his feet. Gunter silently moved around her and carefully lifted Cody up, holding him by the shoulder when he started to sway.

  Cody ignored Gunter, instead keeping his attention on Catherine, staring at her in silence. “Thank you,” he finally said. “I’ve never really done anything in particular to earn your trust—but thank you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t thank me, Cody. I need to apologize to you. Nora overreacted, and it’s my fault. I’ll talk with her.” Catherine’s eyes welled up with tears as she looked at the battered young man. “Will you please let me explain it to her, and—and still be her friend?”

  Robbie MacBain watched as Cody tried to comprehend the terrified mother who was apologizing to him for trying to protect her children. He scrubbed his face several times, up and down, hoping to work the blood back into it. He looked over at Marcus and saw that the man was as pale as he was. Never, ever, did he want to witness anything like that again.

  He didn’t know which had been harder; to see his defenseless housekeeper standing squarely in front of an enraged young man, to see her anguish at her children’s fears, or to see the undisputed testimony of her scars that told him just where those fears were founded. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to interfere and all of his strength to hold back Marcus Saints.

  Never, ever, did he want to see that again.

  Breaking into the charged silence, Robbie slapped Marcus on the back. “Come on, warden, I’ll buy you a drink in my office.”

  Saints dazedly nodded and let Robbie lead him out of the kitchen. They walked through the attached shed to the office Robbie had built on the end of the garage two years ago—which was also where he kept his medicinal supply of scotch whisky.

  But tonight’s dose would probably be the whole bottle before either man would get his emotions back under control.

  No…never again.

  “I want to know where you found her,” Marcus demanded half a bottle later.

  “Raiding my henhouse,” Robbie returned, taking another sip of his scotch.

  “What?”

  “Just another delinquent for my farm.”

  “No, really, where did you find her? She got any sisters?”

  “Hell, I hope not. One Catherine Daniels is enough.”

  “She’s not from around here.”

  “Arkansas.”

  Marcus whistled. “She answer an ad in the paper? How did you word it? ‘Position open for adventuresome woman. Pay is two thousand dollars a week. Extensive health plan and a retirement fund after only six months’?”

  Robbie scowled at him. “I found her raiding my henhouse six days ago. She and her kids were hiding out in an old cabin up on the mountain.”

  Robbie could tell Marcus still didn’t believe him. He took another sip of his drink and tried again. “She’s running away from the bastard who gave her those scars.”

  Marcus looked at Robbie and then at his empty glass. “Is she divorced?”

  “Aye.”

  “Got custody of the kids?”

  “Aye.”

  “Does he know she’s here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Dammit, give me a break. She told Gunter he went to prison. Is he out?”

  “Paroled three months ago.”

  Marcus closed his eyes. “She’ll be safe here.”

  “Aye, she will.”

  “Maybe,” his friend clarified, glaring at Robbie with slightly drunk eyes. “How the hell could you just stand there and let that happen? How could you know Gunter wasn’t going to flatten her against the wall? Dammit! She stood nose-to-chest with the meanest brawler this side of the Canadian border!”

  “Let’s just call it instinct, Saints.” Robbie sighed and looked down at his drink. “At least, that’s what I knew at the time. Looking back, I would say I was insane. I honest to God don’t know how I just stood there, either.” He took a sip of his drink and continued. “But Gunter finally got a good look at violence from a victim’s perspective, didn’t he? So I guess my instinct was right.”

  “Do you ever screw up, MacBain?”

  “Nay, never. That’s why you gave me the boys, isn’t it?”

  Marcus snorted. “They’re here because no one else wants them. Hell, even the detention center didn’t want Gunter.”

  “It would have only made him harder, and you know it.”

  Marcus refilled his glass and took another long swallow of the nerve-calming liquor. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I moved heaven and earth to get him here.”

  Robbie chuckled. “You know that fierce little cat you just saw in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s been a firecracker waiting to explode all day. She was sure you and Martha would find fault with something and take Cody and Rick and Peter away. I think she would have taken a stick to you both if you had tried.”

  Marcus snorted. “That’s why I was getting suspiciou
s looks all afternoon, when I wasn’t getting cookies shoved down my throat.” A sudden gleam appeared in his eyes. “You—ah—have room for two more boys, don’t you?”

  “Nay.”

  “Oh, come on, MacBain. This house is big.”

  Robbie set his glass down on the desk, lowered his feet to the floor, and stood up. “I have a logging crew of twelve men—some of which, I might add, have run my rigs off the road when Cat went jogging by in her short shorts. I have four boys who are just starting to get their acts together and now two little children who are afraid of their own shadows. I’ve got a housekeeper who is scared to death of anything bigger than she is—which is just about everything—and now I’ve taken on the impossible task of trying to court the woman. And you want me to add to that?”

  Marcus’s jaw, which had gone slack, suddenly snapped shut. “You’re going to court her?” he asked, his eyes wide and glazed with drink. “As in marriage?” he croaked, just before he burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  Marcus snorted. “Robert MacBain, the most eligible bachelor in the north Maine woods,” he said, waving his hand at the air. “And a man most determined to stay that way, rumor has it. You want to court Catherine Daniels?” he asked, breaking into another spasm of laughter.

  “Aye!”

  Marcus finally turned serious and shook his head. “That woman will never become another man’s wife.”

  “Aye, she will. Catherine is going to marry me, and she’ll damn well be deliriously happy about it!”

  They both refilled their glasses at that arrogant statement. One with determination, one with awe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cody was settled in his bed with an ice bag on his face, a ginger ale for his upset stomach, and the promise of some stew when he felt better. Dinner had been a quiet affair, with Robbie and Marcus conspicuously absent and Nora and Nathan back to their quiet selves. Gunter had decided he needed a walk more than he needed supper, and Rick and Peter were doing the dishes without even being asked.