by Caro LaFever
“That’s good.” He dipped into her neck, wanting to lick, but willing to only take a sniff of her. “Very good,” he purred into her ear.
She stiffened. “Cam. Robbie’s looking.”
“Is he?” Tucking himself in closer, he nuzzled. “Maybe he’ll learn something new.”
“Cam.” Her voice went all English on him, clipped and cutting.
Chuckling, he eased away and shot a glance at his son.
The boy’s entire concentration was on the loch in front of him. Remembering what he’d been like at seven, he couldn’t help but think kissing wasn’t even on the kid’s radar. “I’m thinking ye were lying to me again, lass.” He glanced back to meet her wary gaze. “The boy wasn’t watching.”
“He might have been.”
Stretching out his legs, he leaned his head on the rail and stared at the sails flickering in the crisp wind. He took the moment in, the warmth of the sun competing with the cool breeze. His son steering the boat with a competent grip—no whining, no wheezing. This woman beside him, solid and real. He hadn’t been happy for so long. Right now, though, he was.
“Da!” Robert’s voice broke through the happiness. “What do I do now?”
He jerked his head around and surveyed the scene. Understanding his son’s concern, he jumped up and paced to the cockpit.
“Maybe…maybe…ye should take it.” His boy’s gaze wavered and his hand lifted from the wheel.
“Naw.” Cam covered the small hand with his own and steered it back to the wheel. “We’ll do it together.”
Jen glanced over her shoulder, toward the front, and saw the reason for Robbie’s concern. A big, lumbering tour boat plowed toward them, white-and-red flags waving in the wind, and several curious faces peering out of the windows.
She looked back at the wheel. Cam bent close to his son, his expression serious for once, as he murmured instructions. The boy appeared worried, but listened with intense interest, his head bent toward his father.
Something quivered inside her. The something that could have been her heart, yet she didn’t want to examine it closely enough to find out.
Cam glanced at her. “Don’t worry,” he called through the whip of the wind. “Robert’s got this.”
The boy’s face lit with an immediate, incredible pride and joy. And whatever it was inside her, tumbled. This man, this boy, so right. “I know he can do it,” she chimed in.
Her young friend threw her a big grin and confidently swung the wheel around. Their boat broke away from the other, tacking to the right, and she looked up to see the boom swinging her way.
“Duck, Jen!” Robbie’s voice barked with excitement.
She ducked. Just in time.
These males. Being around these two would ensure a person never had a moment of peace or a moment of rest. A life filled with thrills and dares and adventures. She’d lost her desire for any of those things when she’d been very young.
Jen sucked in a deep breath of fresh air.
What was she thinking?
She wasn’t enlisting for adventures with these two. Sure, Robbie was her friend but he wouldn’t be for long. Not when she took his favorite ring and disappeared. Sure, Cameron Steward kept showing his interest. Yet she’d bet anything that if there were other women here, more exciting women, he wouldn’t pay any attention to her at all.
“Jen!” The young boy’s voice pierced through the splash of the waves. “I’m going to turn us completely around.”
She gave him an encouraging smile and managed not to meet the glint in his father’s gaze.
Exactly as claimed, the boat glided over the water and aimed its bow towards the mansion standing like a bulky matron on the distant shore. To her relief, Cam didn’t come back to snuggle or tease. Instead, he seemed content to stand behind his son and watch the rocky shoreline. Occasionally, he leaned down to whisper something in his son’s ears or point out how some instrument worked.
Robbie’s face told it all.
Adoration. Trembling delight. All his dreams coming true.
Her throat clutched. Not with the familiar tight knot. No, this was a clutch of the heart, of bittersweet happiness.
They were finding each other.
She saw it. She felt it. And she yearned to be a part of it.
As the boat rode the waves, she let herself take in the last of the setting sun, the fishy smell of the loch, the bracing stroke of the wind. Taking this time, she pieced herself together again.
The memory of her pledge to her grandfather.
Her own family and their demands. That’s what she needed to focus on.
The boat edged toward the boathouse.
“Keep it straight, son,” Cam instructed, before swinging his big body over the teak cockpit. He paced to the main mast. With agile, efficient movements, he rolled the sail in, and then the other. Giving her a quick grin, he strode down the boat and started the motor. Within a few minutes, they were lodged in their berth.
The father stared at the son. “Ye did good, Robert.”
A fearful glee crossed the kid’s face. “Robbie.”
“Robbie, eh?” His father jumped off the sailboat and wrapped the rope on the end of the dock. He glanced at his son again. “Robbie’s a name for a youngster.”
The boy bristled with immediate indignation.
His father ignored the warning and plowed on. “I’d say any boy who can pilot like ye did isn’t a youngster any longer.”
The bristle faded.
“I’d say,” he continued, “that a boy should be called Rob after a trip like this.”
“Rob?”
Cam nodded, a solemn look on his face. “Rob.”
Another clutch came, this time in her heart. In her imagination, she saw the bonds, saw the ties and ropes and strands wrapping around the son and father, drawing them closer.
“Okay,” the boy finally agreed, a hesitant wonder in his voice. “I guess that would be fine.”
“Well,” his father clapped his big paws together. “That’s set, then.”
He stared straight at her, with his odd, intense eyes. “Time for a wee bite to eat, don’t ye think, Jenny?”
Testing her again. But it seemed absurd after this afternoon to insist on Ms. Douglas. “I think Jen would be better.”
“Better?” A flicker of delight flashed across his face as he leapt into another tease. “Naw, that’s not right.”
“What?” Her mouth, without her assent, rose in a reluctant grin.
“Better would be Ms. Douglas.” His two-tone eyes twinkled. “Best is Jen.”
“I call her Jen,” his son joined in. “I think that is the best.”
“Better and best aren’t quite good enough for me, though.” Cam’s gaze never left hers. “Jenny is my name for her. Only mine.”
The something that had quivered on the loch, now rose and rose. Past her gut, past her soul, past her heart. She feared this something as it soared straight out of her and into the heavens.
“Ye okay?” A quizzical look filled Cam’s expression at her silence.
“Jen?” Robbie turned to stare at her in concern.
“I’m okay.”
Cam hopped on the boat, a worried frown drawing his brows down. Leaning in, he grabbed her twisting hands. “Another spot of problems with your breathing?”
“No,” she said, staring at their joined hands instead of into his eyes.
“Now, don’t be embarrassed about it.” He scooped her into his strong arms, pulling her into his warmth. “Just take your time. We’ll wait.”
Robbie crouched beside them. “She’s sick?”
“No,” his father responded, his voice calm, his hand smoothing across her back, trailing comfort and heat in its path. “Jenny sometimes has trouble breathing when she’s scared.”
“I’m not scared.” But yes, she was. She wasn’t having one of her usual attacks. The attacks that came when she became so angry or so furious or so hurt. This attack was wors
e. This panic inside couldn’t be healed by taking deep breaths.
The boy kneeled, a serious look on his face. “I know what it’s like not to able to breathe. I remember.” A small hand tucked in between his father’s and hers. “I’m right here for ye.”
His father kept stroking his hand over her. “Ye remember, Rob? It doesn’t happen anymore?”
“No, Da.” The kid glanced up to meet Cam’s keen gaze. “It hasn’t for a long time.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m fine.” She wrestled away from the two males and stood. “I wasn’t having an attack.”
Cam let her go, dropping his hands to the teak boards, leaning negligently on the bow. “What were ye having then?”
Not you. I won’t let myself have you.
“Are ye sure you’re okay?” Robbie gazed at her, concern still lingering in his gaze.
“I’m sure.” She looked around, trying to find a way out of this too intense situation. “How do I get off this boat?”
“Ye have to jump, Jenny.” Cameron Steward’s rich voice curled inside her, testing once more. “Can ye jump?”
Chapter 10
She’d jumped out of the boat and right into the fire.
A fire in her soul. A fire in the library. Both meant she’d been caught.
“Jen.” Robbie gave her a scathing look. “You've got to hold the stick straight.”
His father’s chuckle drifted from behind them.
“The stick is straight,” she objected.
“No, it’s not.” The boy gave her an irritated puff of breath. “Here. Let me.”
“Fine.” She stuck the stick in Robbie’s hands and leaned away from the fireplace.
She should have gone directly to her room and safety, instead of to the library. But Cam had wheedled and Robbie had pleaded and she found herself helping to raid the decrepit kitchen for supplies.
“We’ll have a wee fire and cook our food over that,” Cam had announced. “It will be fun.”
Fun seemed to be these two males’ operative word. The word put a big grin on the father’s face and elicited a yelp of excitement from the son.
Jen couldn’t say no.
All the lights were off in the library. “Of course they have to be,” Cam had stated. “Or else it won’t feel like a campfire.”
The food they’d pilfered surrounded them. Plates of crispy brown apples competed with bowls of hot beans. Tin-foil-wrapped potatoes steamed with butter, and a row of half-burned sausages waited to be munched on.
“Ye need to roll the sausage as ye put it over the fire.” Robbie’s eyes narrowed behind the glint of his glasses.
“It’s the main course, so it has to be done right,” his father stated.
“You’re not much help.” She looked at the reclining male. He lay in lazy disarray, his head leaning on the side of a stuffed sofa, his hands relaxed on his stomach.
“I believe Rob has it well in hand.” A grin spread across his face, his white teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I’m here to devour the feast.”
All the pillows and blankets they could find in the house had been piled by the hearth. “It will be like the campfires I used to sleep by when I traveled.” Cam’s eyes had lit with fond memories. “We can even sleep here.”
She was not going to sleep here.
She wasn’t that stupid.
“Okay.” Robbie jumped from his crouch, a steaming sausage waving in the air. “We’re ready to eat.”
Jen considered herself a healthy eater, but these two males put her to shame. They dived into the food with both hands. Literally.
“There are spoons.” She pointed at the mishmash of utensils she’d insisted on dragging from the kitchen. “And forks. And knives.”
Cam gave her a twinkling wink. “When I get to the beans, I’ll ask for a spoon.”
“I don’t need a spoon to eat a banger.” The boy stuffed the bread-wrapped sausage into his mouth.
The father watched his son, his odd eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Ye aren’t a picky eater, are ye?”
The boy slowly chewed and then swallowed. “Who told ye I was?”
“Your granny.” Cam leaned over and flipped a log on the fire, his gaze on the flames.
“I used to be.” Robbie fiddled with the edge of the tin-foiled potato sitting on his plate. “But not anymore.”
“Hmm.” Another log landed on the blaze and a shower of sparks shot up in a sprinkle of light. “What changed?”
She nibbled on the last of her sausage, letting the spicy pepper and minty sage roll on her tongue. These two were finding each other. The knowledge made her happy, and if she could help them before she left with their precious ring, perhaps this would be a small way of paying them back.
“I guess I got hungry.” The boy flashed a mischievous grin at his father and got a chuckle in response.
“Did ye?” Cam swept a pot of beans into one paw and giving her his own mischievous glance, dug out a spoon from the pile of utensils. “I used to be a picky eater, too.”
“Ye were?” His son appeared dazzled, as if this shared trait was a great honor to be worn with distinction.
“At your age the only thing I wanted for supper was fish and chips.”
Robbie’s face scrunched in distaste. “Fish?”
“Aye.” His father eased back on the pillows, his long legs stretched toward the fire. “Ye don’t like fish?”
“No.” The answer was decisive.
She wiped her hand over her mouth to conceal her smile. The man across from her noticed, though, and gave her a knowing grin. “You’ll like fish when we go and catch our own.”
The boy’s head popped up from his examination of his half-eaten potato. “You’ll take me fishing?”
“I did say a boy has a lot to learn, didn’t I?”
His son’s eyes gleamed with happiness. “Yes, ye did.”
“Then we’re going fishing.”
“When?”
His father laughed at the eager question. “I’ll have to get some permits, and get the boat ready.”
“The other boat,” Robbie said. “Not the sailboat.”
“Correct.”
“I thought you owned the loch.” She ventured into the conversation. “Why would you need permits?”
“Och.” Cam glanced her way, his gaze intent. “Ye know that, do ye?”
“I did my due diligence before I came for the job.” Her spine straightened trying to shrug off the guilt of knowing more about this man than she should.
“Hmm.” His gaze never left her face. “Due diligence. Such a lovely, pompous phrase.”
She forced a frown past the guilt. “You—”
“When ye go all English on me, Jenny,” he cut in, his voice rich and redolent with layered nuance. “It makes me quite excited.”
A shot of pure lust zinged from his predator eyes right into her belly.
“She does have her English ways,” his son piped in, oblivious to the underlying currents. “Like, she insists I wash my hands every time we leave the garden.”
“That is not an English way.” She pushed back on both the lustful gaze of the father and the son’s nonsensical complaint. “That is merely common sense.”
Cam chuckled at her offended objection. “Now, don’t get on your high horse.”
“I’m not—”
“Before ye get all hot and bothered,” his voice rolled through the last words, bringing heat to their meaning. “I’ll answer your question.”
“What question?” She frowned again, this time in confusion.
“You’re so hot and bothered you’ve forgotten?”
Robbie laughed. “You wanted to know why Da needs permits if he owns the loch.”
“I do own the loch, but I still have to follow the rules I agreed to.” Big hands laced through each other on his flat, hard stomach. “I lease out the far end to an angling club and a boating society. That’s where the tour boat came from. And that’s wh
ere I need to get the permits.”
“I didn’t know that.” The boy’s brows furrowed as if this lack of knowledge irritated him.
“It’s a big loch. It should be shared.”
The generosity in Cam’s deep voice startled her. Jen lusted after this man and had a heart for his determination to know his son, yet she hadn’t expected this character trait. She’d supposed he held onto his wealth and his possessions like her grandfather did—with a hard, tight fist.
“Surprised ye, did I?” His sharp gaze centered on her. “Curious.”
“When can ye get the permits from the angling people?” Robbie inserted himself into the conversation, his voice impatient.
“I don’t necessarily need to get the permits, but it’s the right thing to do.” His father’s two-toned eyes never left her face. “Ye want to keep good relations with your neighbors.”
Another start ran through her. She’d supposed from the lack of contact with the outside world, this man lived an isolated life on purpose.
“So,” the boy rolled the word in his mouth, a clear attempt to copy his father’s way with language. “We’ll be able to fish tomorrow?”
Cam laughed. “More likely next week.”
Robbie’s shoulders slumped in immediate dejection.
“Don’t worry, lad, you’ll get your fish.”
“Fish.” The boy pouted, yet his eyes twinkled with glee.
His father gave him a glinting look before swinging his attention back to her. “Do ye like fish and chips, Jenny?”
“I suppose I could choke down a supper of that every once in a while.” Her full stomach and the warmth of the fire made it too hard to object to the name he used.
“Too lowbrow for your Sassenach sensibilities?”
His son giggled as he peeled open a warm apple for his dessert.
Jen shot him a look and then swung back to answer his father. “It’s been my experience the usual fish and chips isn’t very good and isn’t very healthy.”
“Och,” he teased. “Your vast experience.”
Robbie snickered again.
She felt a heat rising inside. Not of anger, she could take the teasing. But of embarrassment. Because the man wasn’t talking about fish and a pile of potatoes. She could tell by the way his wide mouth edged into wickedness and his golden eyelashes lay half closed, barely concealing the glitter in those odd eyes.