“Cat,” Robbie called, stomping through the kitchen door. “Cat? I need your help.”
Catherine rushed out of the bathroom but came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the large snowy owl perched on Robbie’s arm, silently staring at her.
“What have you got there?” she whispered, slowly inching closer so she wouldn’t startle the bird. She stopped a few paces away and looked up at Robbie and smiled. “A snowy? Where did she come from?”
He walked over to the rocking chair by the clock and eased the bird onto the back of the chair before turning to her. “She’s my pet,” he said, shedding his jacket and tossing it on the table. “And she’s hurt.” He walked to the owl and brushed a finger down her wing. “She’s bleeding and needs to be sewn up.”
Catherine moved over beside Robbie and peered down at the snowy’s belly, seeing the bloodied feathers just above her leg.
“There must be a vet near here,” she said. “Somebody with experience handling wildlife.”
“Nay. I want you to sew her up, just like you did me.”
Catherine frowned at him, then at the bird. “There’s a huge difference between sewing up a small cut on your hand and trying to do the same to an animal without anesthesia. We can’t explain to her about the pain, and she’ll hurt herself even worse by struggling against it.” She looked back at Robbie. “She needs a vet who has the proper equipment.”
“Nay, she’ll lie still for you. I’ll hold her,” he said, going into the living room and returning with her sewing kit. “Use the pink thread. She’ll like that.”
Catherine was watching the bird, who was dividing her attention between them by turning her head whenever either of them spoke, as if she were following the conversation.
“I can’t just sew her up,” she repeated, the snowy looking at her again. “You remember what it felt like to have a needle run through your flesh. Do you think she’s going to just lie there and let me poke her?”
“Aye,” Robbie said, setting the kit on the table, opening it up, and taking out the pink silk thread, a needle, and her small pointed scissors.
Completely ignoring her argument, he walked over to the cupboard, found a pot, filled it with water, dropped the needle and thread and scissors into it, and set it on the stove to boil.
“She’ll understand you’re trying to help her,” he explained, going over to the owl and holding out his arm.
The snowy stepped from her perch onto his shirt sleeve, folded her wings, and blinked at Catherine as Robbie sat down in a chair at the table. He pulled out another chair to face him and patted it.
“Sit, Cat. Come check out this wound, and tell me if you think it should be stitched.”
Catherine eyed the huge, lethal talons curled into Robbie’s shirt sleeve. “At least put your jacket back on to protect your arm,” she suggested, slowly sitting down beside him, careful not to startle the bird.
But instead of putting on his jacket, Robbie tucked the owl against his chest, cupped her tail feathers with his free hand, and tipped her onto her back, cradling the snowy in the crook of his arm as if she were a baby.
It was Catherine who was blinking now. The owl was lying as still as a statue, looking up at Robbie with complete trust.
“Ah…could you hold her feet for me?” Catherine asked.
She waited until he had both sets of sharp talons firmly grasped in his hand, then leaned over and gently used her fingers to lift the blood-stained feathers on the snowy’s belly. She leaned closer, using her other hand to part the down just below the small cut. “It’s not very deep,” she said absently, gently feeling the area around it. “And it’s not infected yet. But it would heal better if I set two stitches.”
“Aye. Mary will be just fine,” he said, running his free hand along the owl’s face.
Catherine got up, set a clean towel in the sink, and poured the boiling pot of water over it, letting the towel catch the needle and thread and scissors. She used another towel to pick them up and carried them back to the table. Then she went back to the sink, carefully lifted out the hot towel, waved it a bit to cool it, then wrung it out.
She carried the damp towel back to the table and sat down. “I’m going to clean her up,” she explained, positioning Robbie’s free hand just below the owl’s head. “Try to keep her still.”
“She’ll not move a muscle,” Robbie said in a croon, smiling down at Mary and tucking his index finger just under her beak.
“She’ll bite you,” Catherine warned. “That beak is as lethal as her talons. Then I’ll have two patients to deal with.”
“But you love tending me,” he whispered, lifting his smile to her.
Catherine rolled her eyes and looked down at the wound, and gently began to clean the blood off Mary’s feathers.
“I would prefer to trim the feathers away, but I don’t want to leave her with a bald spot.” She glanced up. “I don’t think you want to cage her, do you?”
“Nay. She wouldn’t stand for that.”
“How long have you had a snowy for a pet?” she asked, giving her attention back to the wound.
“Since I was eight.”
Catherine snapped her gaze up to his, then looked at Mary’s face. “Owls don’t live that long in the wild. I’m not even sure they live that long in captivity.”
Robbie shrugged his free shoulder. “I don’t question such things, Cat. I merely accept them for the gifts they are.”
She went back to work on the wound, cleaning the blood off the soft, beautiful feathers. Finally, she picked up the thread and scissors, cut a length of the silk, and threaded her needle. She poised her hands over the wound and looked at Mary’s face.
The owl’s huge yellow eyes were closed.
Catherine nodded to Robbie. “Hold her firmly,” she said, leaning over and parting the feathers again.
She very carefully pushed the needle through one side of the wound, darted a glance at the owl’s face and saw that her eyes were still closed, and quickly moved the needle across the small tear and through the flesh again, deftly making a snug but not too tight knot. And as fast and as carefully as she could, she repeated the procedure just above the first stitch, using the scissors to snip the thread before she straightened.
She let out a deep sigh, only to realize she’d been holding her breath the entire time. “I can’t believe she didn’t even twitch,” she whispered, running her hand over the smooth feathers of Mary’s belly.
The owl’s eyes were open again, staring at Catherine. Robbie lifted his arm and set the bird upright on his sleeve.
“There, little Cat. You’ve just made a new friend,” he said, taking Catherine’s hand and guiding it down Mary’s back. “Everyone should have a pet as special as this lady.”
“I can’t believe she let me stitch her,” Catherine repeated, stroking the calm bird. “She’s amazing. And so beautiful. Her feathers look like lace.” Catherine smiled up at Robbie. “There really is magic around here. I can’t imagine a wild snowy being anyone’s pet. They’re not usually seen this far south. She’s been hanging around for over twenty years?”
“Aye,” Robbie said, standing up and taking Mary back to her rocking-chair perch. “We’ll put some papers down on the floor so she won’t make a mess. What do you have she can eat?” he asked, going over to the fridge before she could reply. “Any raw meat?”
“There’s some defrosted hamburger in there,” Catherine told him, cleaning up her medical supplies and setting the needle and scissors in the sink with the wet towel.
She went into the laundry room and came back with yesterday’s newspaper, slowly walking behind the owl and laying out the paper on the floor.
“Ah, Nathan and Nora will be home soon. What are we going to do about Mary? They might frighten her, and she could hurt herself flying around inside the house.”
“Nay,” Robbie assured her, spooning out a bit of the meat. “She likes kids.” He looked at Catherine. “She’s safer than those old hen
s around children. She won’t peck them.”
Catherine stepped back and put her hands on her hips, staring at the snowy. “So, we just let her perch there for…for how long?” she asked, watching Robbie take some of the meat off the spoon and hand-feed the owl.
“Until she decides she’s had enough of us,” he said. “She’ll walk to the door and stare at you until you open it.”
“Have the boys met Mary?”
“Nay. They know about her and that she’s special to me, but she hasn’t been around here for several months. And she hasn’t come inside since they came here.” He shook his head. “I have caught her peeking in the window, though, and shaking her head at the mess her house was in.”
“Her house?”
“Aye. Haven’t I mentioned that my mother’s name was Mary?”
“You named an owl after your mother?”
“I was eight,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And I wanted a mama in the worse way.” He grinned. “But then I found Libby and decided she would make me a good mum.”
“You found Libby?”
“Aye. On the Internet.” He waved his spoon at the kitchen. “I rented out this house to her. I’d inherited it from my mama, and it was just sitting empty, so I placed an ad on the Internet, and Libby answered.”
“When you were eight?”
“Aye.” His grin widened. “And being the smart man my papa is, he fell in love with Libby and married her before she could realize what she was getting herself into.” He turned fully to face her and waved at the kitchen again. “This house has a history of luring women to marriage,” he said, his voice deep and his eyes penetrating. “My Aunt Grace and Mary were sisters, and this is their family home. Grace brought me here when I was only four weeks old, after my mother died from a car accident in Virginia, and she ended up marrying Greylen MacKeage.”
He set the spoon on the table and walked over to her, and it was all Catherine could do to stand her ground. He seemed larger than ever and unusually appealing. “So far, it’s been two for two for this house,” he whispered, running his knuckles down the side of her cheek. “And God willing, little Cat, it will be three for three.”
She couldn’t respond to save her soul.
He wasn’t really implying marriage. Good heavens, they had shared one kiss in the barn.
And it looked as if they were about to share another!
He finished his caress by using a finger to lift her chin and then lowered his mouth to hers. The contact was so gentle—and so fleeting—that Catherine was back to wondering if it was happening at all. Darn it, the guy needed lessons on stealing kisses more than he needed lessons on paying attention.
But as soon as Catherine thought that, his arms wrapped around her and he deepened the kiss. Her own arms somehow found their way around his neck, and her tongue also had a mind of its own and eagerly went in search of his.
It didn’t even unnerve her this time when he cupped her bottom and pulled her intimately against him, and Catherine felt his intentions poking her belly. She might have even wiggled a bit, because Robbie groaned, tightened his arms, and started her heart racing with his hot, intoxicating mouth.
Their impassioned embrace had her all but lifted off her feet, and Catherine was about to climb up his body and wrap her legs around him when the owl let out a loud, sharp whistle that made her ears ring.
It was followed by the pounding of small feet on the porch.
Catherine scrambled back so fast Robbie had to grab her shoulders to keep her from falling. She tugged down the hem of her sweater—how had it gotten that high?—and scrubbed her swollen, tingling lips with her sleeve.
Robbie spun on his heel, snatched her sewing kit off the table, and strode into the living room. She noticed his walk was a bit stiff, and saw him give a quick tug on his pant leg.
She slapped her hand over her mouth to check her laughter, just as the kitchen door slammed open and Nathan and Nora came running inside. They dropped their backpacks on the floor, tossed their jackets toward the pegs—missing them completely—and kicked off their boots in four different directions.
“Did you ask him, Mom?” Nathan asked, padding up to her in his sock feet. “Can I have it?”
“Oh, honey, I haven’t asked him yet,” she told him, rushing over to catch Nora before she got the lid off the cookie jar. “Wash your hands first, young lady,” she said, pointing her toward the bathroom.
But Catherine changed her mind and guided Nora over to Nathan, squatted between them, wrapped her arms around both children, and turned them toward the rocking chair.
“Calm down, you two, and see who’s come for a visit.”
Both children gasped, and Catherine hugged them tightly when they tried to rush forward. “Her name is Mary. She’s a snowy owl and Mr. MacBain’s pet. And see the pink thread on the bottom of her belly? She hurt herself, and she’s staying with us so she can get well. I don’t want you to touch her,” she continued. “Wounded animals are dangerous, and jumping and yelling will scare Mary, and she could hurt herself even more. And see her feet? Those are her talons, and she uses them to hunt for mice and rabbits and to defend herself. And her beak is strong, and she could peck you quite badly if you scare her.”
“She’s the prettiest bird I ever seen,” Nora whispered.
“She’s got really big eyes,” Nathan added, also whispering.
“And Mr. MacBain told me she likes children. But that doesn’t mean she wants you to touch her. Only go near Mary if Mr. MacBain is holding her and lets you come up and pat her. Understand?” she asked, giving them both a squeeze.
They both nodded, and Catherine stood up and pointed them toward the bathroom. “Go wash your hands, and I’ll give you a snack.”
Robbie came back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “I want a snack, too. And what did Nathan want you to ask me?”
Catherine walked to the fridge, resisting the urge to lick her lips. She could still taste him.
Still feel his heat surrounding her.
“He wants your permission to move into the spare bedroom upstairs,” she said, grabbing the bowl of gelatin and taking it to the counter. She shot him a grin over her shoulder. “Our bed is a bit crowded, and Nathan complained that Nora is all elbows and knees. But I think it’s more that he wants to be one of the guys and move upstairs with them.”
“There are two twin beds in that room,” he said. “Does Nora want to move up, too?”
Catherine took down three bowls and started spooning out the gelatin. “She’s not ready to cut the apron strings.”
“We could set up a cot in your room, then, and at least get her out of your bed,” he suggested.
Catherine took him his bowl of dessert, set it down in front of him, and stuck a spoon in it. “That’s a good first step. Nathan is right, my daughter is all elbows and knees when she sleeps.”
The children came out of the bathroom, wiping their hands on their clothes, and sat at the table facing Mary. Catherine gave them their dessert.
“You got a really cool pet,” Nathan told Robbie. “Can she still fly, even though she’s hurt?”
“Aye. And as soon as you’re done eating, I’ll hold her so you can pet her. And after that, I’ll help you get settled in your new bedroom upstairs.”
“Oh, great!” Nathan said. “It’s right next to Cody’s room, isn’t it? He’s going to show me how to shoot the potato gun this weekend.” Nathan thought for a minute, then added, “We’re going to shoot it at that big rock up in the pasture, so you don’t got to worry we’ll hit anything important.”
“Aye. Rocks make good targets. And I think I’ll join you. It’s been a few years since I’ve shot a rock. Nora, would you like to move upstairs with your brother?” Robbie asked, giving the girl his attention.
Nora filled her mouth with gelatin and shook her head.
Catherine turned back to the counter to hide her smile. That was the longest conversation Nathan had had with a man in ov
er three years. Well, heck, were they all settling in here or what?
She looked over at Mary and caught the bird staring at her. Then the owl lazily blinked one eye and emitted a low, humming chatter.
Chapter Seventeen
It was Friday afternoon, Mary was perched on the front porch railing watching Robbie give Catherine her lesson in stick fighting, and Catherine was trying to knock her sweet-kissing boss’s head off again.
But Robbie wasn’t letting himself get distracted today, and Catherine was only beating herself up. She’d lost her grip on the stick twice already, and once it had hit the ground and bounced back up and smacked her in the thigh. Then, not five minutes later, she’d tripped over her own feet and ended up with a mouthful of dead grass.
Not even trying to stifle his laughter, Robbie had picked her up and given her another lecture on physics.
But for the last twenty minutes, Catherine had noticed him checking his watch, and she even managed to catch the edge of his foot with her stick because he had glanced toward TarStone.
Darn it. He was going back up there! And he would come limping home tomorrow morning all beat up again.
“That’s enough for me,” she said, leaning against her stick and brushing her hair out of her face. “I feel as if I’ve run a marathon.”
Robbie straightened from his crouched position. “But it was just starting to get fun,” he said, breaking into a wide grin. “It’s not every day I get to watch someone beat themselves up.”
“Which is why we’re stopping,” she said, walking toward the house. “I’m not providing entertainment for you and your bird.”
Robbie fell into step beside her. “Mary wasn’t laughing at you. She was cheering you on.”
Tempting the Highlander Page 20