Secrets of the Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  Ethel snorted and closed the door.

  Megan’s gaze narrowed. “What did you and my father talk about last night?”

  “You, mostly.”

  “You told him you’re Wayne.”

  “Wasn’t I supposed to? Sweetheart, you’ve got to give me a plan book to follow if you don’t want me making things up as I go along.”

  “Then how come you’re still alive?”

  “Because your father is rather old-fashioned. He seems to think parenthood is a team effort.” Jack smoothed down the front of his uniform. “And he thinks being a police officer is a noble profession, and he’s pleased that I want to settle down here in Pine Creek.”

  Her scowl deepened. “What other lies did you tell him?”

  “Not a one,” he said, placing a hand over his heart and holding the other one up in a scout’s salute.

  Megan set her palms on the desk and leaned closer. “Then why, when I stopped into Gù Brath to let him know that I’m heading up the lake to start my survey tomorrow, did he insist that I had to speak with you first?” she asked with lethal softness. “And that if you say no, I can’t go?”

  “That’s why you’re breathing fire? Because your father told you to come ask my permission?” Jack leaned back in his chair with a whistle. “How do he and MacBain do it?”

  “I am not asking permission for anything,” she growled. “I’m here to find out what important thing you have to tell me.”

  “It appears there’s a connection between Collins and Billy Wellington, which now seems to be connected to you. Mark Collins was paying for Wellington’s education.”

  She straightened and crossed her arms under her breasts, over her bulging belly. “My, my, you just keep embellishing your little tale, don’t you? You’ve even managed to tie in my new job to make my father believe I’m still in some sort of danger.”

  Jack knew that on some level she actually believed his “tale,” but apparently her pride—and obvious need to indulge in a bit of revenge—was stronger than her desire to forgive him. He stood up. “Yeah, like I’m foolish enough to lie to your father.” Just to rile her further, Jack mimicked her stance by crossing his own arms over his chest. It was time to bury the nerd. “How are you planning to get up the lake tomorrow?”

  She was momentarily caught off guard by his question, but quickly recovered and lifted her chin defiantly. “By snowmobile. There’s a state ITS trail that runs up the east side of the lake, and a local spur at the north end that goes right through the area I’m studying.”

  Jack knew she was expecting him to argue that she shouldn’t be snowmobiling when she was five months’ pregnant. Instead he asked, “How long a trip is it?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Two hours up and two back, and a few hours to look around the north end of the lake.”

  He nodded. “We should leave no later than nine, then, so we can be back before dark.”

  Her arms fell to her sides. “We?”

  Jack rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I’ve been dying to try my new sled on the trails around here. And since this is your turf, you can be my guide. It’s a win-win opportunity for both of us.”

  “I do not need a babysitter.”

  “But I do. I’ve only ridden on the lake so far, because I don’t know the trails.”

  “Then join one of the local snowmobile clubs. They have maps, and they organize trail rides every weekend. You are not going with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” She tossed up her hands in frustration. “Oh, okay! But you’d better not interfere in my work or slow me down.”

  “Slow you down?” He eyed her suspiciously. “What do you have for a sled?”

  “I’m using one of the ski resort’s snowmobiles. It’s not a speed demon like yours; it’s a working sled. By ‘slow me down,’ I mean you’d better not start complaining that I’m going too fast for my condition.”

  He gave a negligent shrug. “Riding on groomed trails is no more strenuous than driving a car. So,” he said, walking around the desk and opening his door. “Are you packing our lunch, or should I have the restaurant throw us something together?”

  Megan reluctantly followed, then stepped directly in front of him. “I’m in charge of tomorrow’s ride.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I’ll bring a gun.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “No. But only an idiot heads into the deep woods unarmed. And I’ll bring lunch. I have leftovers that need to be used up.”

  “Great. I love cold roast beef sandwiches, especially with mustard and cheese.”

  “And I’m bringing snowshoes, because I want to check out a deer yard I think is up there. What about your knee?”

  “It’s much better, thanks. But in the interest of not slowing you down, I’ll just find a sunny spot and take a nap while you hunt for your herd of deer. If you bring the leftover gravy, I can build a fire to heat it up. You want me to make the cocoa?”

  She again eyed him suspiciously, apparently wondering why he was being so cooperative. “Um…okay. But I—”

  She was interrupted when someone cleared his throat nearby. Jack looked over to see Robbie MacBain standing there, Ethel hovering behind their newest guest. She shrugged when Jack didn’t say anything, then went back to the front desk.

  “You two sound like you’re planning a trip to the backcountry,” MacBain said, frowning at Megan. “Have you spoken with your father today?”

  “Apparently you have,” Megan snapped. She suddenly shot her cousin a smug smile. “I’m going, and Wayne’s going with me.”

  Robbie’s glare returned to Jack. “This is your idea of keeping her safe?”

  “I’ll be right behind her the whole way. If a moose tries messing with her, I’ll run it over with my sled.”

  He thought MacBain was going to punch him, and bit back a grin.

  Megan snorted. “I’ll most likely be saving him,” she said, doing exactly that by stepping between them.

  She was his little warrior, all right, giving him hell one minute and protecting him the next. Jack wondered if she even realized what she was doing.

  “We’ll be on the snowmobile trails, Robbie,” she continued. “What can possibly be dangerous about that? Tomorrow’s a weekday, so there won’t be much sled traffic, and I’ll have the satellite phone if we run into trouble.”

  “Did you follow that guy’s tracks the other night?” Jack asked Robbie.

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” he said, walking past Megan into the office.

  By the scowl Megan gave his back, she apparently didn’t like her cousin’s dismissing her any more than she liked Jack doing it.

  So Jack did it again. “I’ll meet you in front of your house at nine tomorrow morning,” he told her, stepping back into his office and partially shutting the door. “Don’t forget the gravy.”

  Megan spun on her heel and stormed down the hall. Jack took a moment to admire her lovely backside, then closed the door and turned to Robbie.

  “What’s your background, Stone?”

  Jack walked to his chair. “Covert intelligence.”

  “You were in the field?”

  “And more dark alleyways of European and Middle Eastern cities than I care to recall.” He sat down and motioned for Robbie to do the same. “I promised Greylen I would keep his daughter safe, and I will. Tell me about Kenzie Gregor.”

  “Kenzie? Why?”

  “What’s his story? And what’s his interest in Megan?”

  “He’s only been in this country a short while, he lives up on TarStone with an old priest named Daar, and he considers Megan a sister. I made some calls this morning to a few of my old military friends, and they’re looking into Mark Collins for me.”

  “Good. The more information we get on Collins, the better. Explain the social structure around here for me—best as I can tell, there are at least three…clans? The MacKeages, the MacB
ains, and the Gregors. Is Greylen really a laird?”

  “He’s laird of the clan MacKeage. My father is also a laird, though neither man uses the title anymore.” His eyes lit with amusement. “Unless they’re wanting to flex their muscles at someone.”

  Jack ignored that last part. “Yet you seem to be the go-to man around here. Megan and Camry respect your authority, as does Greylen.”

  Robbie settled back in his seat with a smile. “I was the first American born. My mother, Mary, and Grace MacKeage were sisters. Mary died when I was born and Libby is my stepmother. As for my role here, I suppose you could call me a sort of guardian of the families.”

  “Why do they need you to look out for them?”

  “That’s the way clans work. Four MacKeage men and my father settled here thirty-nine years ago, and though they readily adapted, they’ve come to rely on me in most matters because I grew up here. The old priest who lives on TarStone, Father Daar, came with them. He’s a strange fellow who usually keeps to himself. If you happen to meet him, don’t take too seriously what he might say. He’s getting on in years and becomes confused sometimes.”

  “And the Gregors?”

  “Matt owns a jet engine company in Utah. He arrived in Pine Creek last September, and owns Bear Mountain. Winter, Grey’s youngest daughter, married Matt at Christmas. His brother Kenzie has been here since the wedding.”

  “And Kenzie Gregor lives with the priest.”

  Robbie nodded. “He looks out for the old man. Why are you interested in Kenzie?”

  “Because he’s interested in Megan.”

  Robbie shook his head. “Not in that way.”

  “And I believe he’s the man who attacked me two nights ago.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Jack shrugged. “Where did the tracks lead?”

  “I followed them to a bog about three miles up the east side of the lake, at the base of Bear Mountain. Then they simply vanished into thin air.”

  “Tracks don’t just vanish.”

  “Bear Creek enters the lake through that bog, and the flow has covered nearly thirty acres in glaze ice.” Robbie also shrugged. “That’s where I lost him. The man may have had a snowmobile parked on one of the nearby trails, and could have gone in any direction after that. Have you considered that maybe the connection to Collins is with you, not Megan?”

  “I’ve considered it, but why go to the trouble of hiring Megan if it’s me he’s after?”

  “To use her to get to you? After all, you’re the one who directly interfered in whatever he was doing in Canada, according to what Greylen told me.”

  “I see your point,” Jack said, shuffling through his pads until he found the one marked MARK COLLINS. “But the thread I’m seeing is linking Megan to him, not me.”

  “Thread?” Robbie repeated, peering down at the pad.

  Jack wrote his own name on the page, followed by a question mark. “Covert intelligence, remember?” He looked up. “I was good at my job because I could see threads linking what appeared to be unconnected information together.” He shrugged. “You would likely call them gut instincts. I call them threads.” He stood up, walked to his office door, and opened it. “Thanks for following those tracks the other night. I appreciate your effort.”

  Robbie stepped into the hallway. “I hope you’re able to keep your promise to protect Megan.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll be watching my back.”

  The tall Scot smiled tightly. “Aye, Stone, I will.” He started walking away, but stopped at the end of the hall and looked back. “Good luck tomorrow, my friend. Mind that my cousin doesn’t run you in circles and leave you in the woods. She can get creative when she’s wanting to prove a point.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Jack said, stepping back into his office and softly closing the door. O-kay. Another thread had just connected; MacBain knew Jack’s attacker and was covering for the bastard. Obviously guardian wasn’t a hollow title.

  Nor was laird, apparently.

  Megan’s family was nearly as weird as his own.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack sat on his snowmobile on the lake in front of Megan’s house, sipping coffee from his Thermos as he watched the MacKeage family in action. Greylen had arrived on a snowmobile laden with equipment about twenty minutes ago, and Grace MacKeage had pulled into the driveway in their SUV shortly after. Camry, in a coat thrown over her pajamas and unlaced boots on her feet, was battling the cold by dancing in place as she added her own two cents to the send-off.

  When Grace wasn’t playing the buffer between Megan and Grey, she was eyeing Jack, apparently trying to assimilate what she knew about Wayne Ferris with the man her daughter was heading into the woods with this morning.

  Jack shot her a wink.

  Grace immediately left the group and walked over to him. “May I offer you a word of advice, Mr. Stone?” she asked, her expression congenial.

  “I only take advice from people who call me Jack.” He pulled out a cup and large Thermos from his saddlebag, poured out some hot cocoa, and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, Jack,” she said, taking the steaming cup. She looked back at the scene near shore and shook her head. “My husband raised our girls to be very comfortable in the woods, yet every time one of them heads out, he feels compelled to remind them of everything he taught them.”

  “It’s a father-daughter thing. He wouldn’t be lecturing a grown son, would he?”

  Grace blew on her cocoa. “No, he wouldn’t. That’s why you only got a nod from him this morning.”

  Jack chuckled softly. “A man can say a lot with a nod. This morning, it said that if I don’t bring his daughter back safe and sound, not to bother coming back myself.”

  Grace gave a soft laugh. “Are you a patient man, Jack?”

  “It so happens my patience is legendary. Why, am I going to need it?”

  “Oh, yes.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Camry said you don’t have any family. Is that true?”

  “It’s been just me and my shadow for the last twenty years.”

  “Then promise me you won’t let the size of our family scare you off.”

  “Exactly which size would that be? The height, or your sheer numbers?”

  Megan’s beautiful mother laughed. “Both, I suppose.” She grew serious again. “At times you might feel like you’re running a gauntlet, I’m afraid. They’re going to test you repeatedly, and I suspect Megan will be leading the pack.”

  “My great-grandfather used to call me Coyote,” Jack told her. “And coyotes are very resilient animals, Mrs. MacKeage.”

  “Call me Grace, Jack. And please, stop calling Grey laird,” she asked, rolling her eyes. She turned thoughtful. “If I remember correctly, isn’t having a coyote for a totem a good thing? Aren’t they considered uncommonly cunning?”

  “A rocket scientist who knows Native American lore?”

  “You’d be surprised how open-minded scientists are about the unexplainable. You might want to remember that when you’re dealing with Megan. Camry said your great-grandfather was a shaman.”

  Jack sighed. “Forest Dreamwalker was the last of a dying breed, which lost its appeal with modern medicine.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. Your grandchild will have ten fingers and toes and won’t be born with a feather in its hair.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “We will love that baby if it has twelve toes and two heads. We are not prejudiced people, Mr. Stone.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no call to imply that you are,” he said, feeling his face flush. “It’s just that when most people hear the word shaman, they start thinking of campfire rituals and mystical trances.”

  She remained silent, and Jack wanted to kick himself. “At the risk of shooting myself in the foot, Megan and Camry seemed alarmed when they learned about my great-grandfather.”

  Grace looked down at her cocoa. “They’ve been fascinated with the magic since they were little g
irls.” She looked up. “So, Jack. Can you explain to me why you couldn’t have kept my daughter safe without completely devastating her?”

  “When Megan told me she was pregnant, I simply panicked. I didn’t know what in heck was going on, other than that a man had been murdered. I just wanted her off that tundra so I could concentrate on getting Billy Wellington out of harm’s way.”

  “Do you have any idea what it does to a woman when she gives herself to a man that completely, and he throws it back in her face?”

  “No, ma’am. I only know what it did to me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “More than I ever thought possible.”

  “And have you told her that?”

  Jack stilled in surprise. “Not lately,” he admitted.

  Grace gave a feminine snort. “Don’t you think you should?”

  “She won’t believe me.”

  “I believe you, Jack.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “Because you’ve let yourself get beaten up all week.”

  “You think that’s been on purpose?”

  “Are you incapable of defending yourself, then?”

  Damn, she was perceptive. “But what would my getting beaten up prove to Megan?”

  “Maybe that you need her as much as she needs you?”

  “Are we leaving today, or what?” Megan called out. “You’re slowing me down, Jack.”

  She’d finally called him Jack! “I’m ready when you are,” he called back, quickly stashing his Thermos and picking up his helmet. He looked at Grace. “You think it’s as simple as me telling her that I love her?”

  “No—I think it’s that complicated.”

  Megan pulled up beside them on her sled. “What are you two talking about?” she asked through the open visor of her helmet.

  “You, mostly.” Jack slid on his own helmet, then reached out and started his sled. Megan zoomed off, heading up the cove, and Jack looked at Grace again. “Thanks for the advice.” He slapped down his visor and gave his sled the gas, aiming for the cloud of snow dust already half a mile up the lake.

  Megan zoomed up the lake with abandon, every fiber of her being humming in joy. Finally she was back doing what she knew and loved. How had she strayed so far from herself? She didn’t belong behind some counter selling her sister’s paintings; she belonged outdoors with the cold wind nipping her nose and the crisp air sharpening her senses.