“I’m going to the Prospect and setting up camp. You’re going home and staying the hell out of my business.”
He shook his head and grinned at her. “Ah, Mercedes. Haven’t you figured it out yet?
When you stayed put today, you gave me your trust.”
“Istayed put because I had things to do.”
Sadie wiggled free, went to the hammock, and picked up the stolen diary and her own journal. She turned to find Morgan sitting on her porch, watching her. Faol was sitting beside him. The wolf’s head was cocked at an inquisitive angle, his eyes following her every movement.
And if Sadie didn’t know better, she would think the two arrogant fools were grinning at her.
She strode to her truck, ignoring the male parade that silently fell into step behind her.
She climbed in, but before she could shut the door, Morgan had one hand on the roof and one arm resting on the inside handle, effectively stopping her from leaving.
Sadie glared at him.
He grinned at her. “Until later,gràineag,” he said as he softly closed her truck door.
Sadie rolled down the window. “What does that mean?” she hollered to his retreating back.
He stopped, only turning his head, and shot her a wink. “It’s a term of endearment, lass.
And one that fits you much better than that glove you wear on your right hand.”
He walked into the woods with that nonanswer, and Sadie watched as Faol ran to catch up. The wolf stopped, though, just before he entered the forest and looked back at her.
He gave a single bark, then turned and also melted into the landscape.
Sadie heard the sound of pounding hooves traveling through the woods then, and she listened until only their fading echo remained. Morgan MacKeage and his odd band of animals were gone, disappearing as suddenly as they had arrived.
Sadie turned and stared out the windshield at the road ahead of her. “An endearment, huh?” she whispered to herself. “I’m thinking of a few of my own for you, MacKeage.
And I doubt you’ll like them any better than I like mine.”
That said, she twisted the key in the ignition and put her truck into gear. She was heading into the great woods herself, with the hope that this valley was big enough for her to avoid the Dolan brothers, her boss, the wolf, and Morgan MacKeage while she searched for Jedediah’s gold.
Chapter Eleven
The problem with lust,as Sadie saw it, was that raging hormones knew no sense of discretion. They were just as happy to target the first handsome male—suitable or not—
who had the unfortunate luck to step into their path. And it was exactly that sort of recklessness that was causing Sadie such worry now.
Because her hormones definitely liked Morgan MacKeage.
Sadie absently tossed another stick onto the dying fire and took a sip of chamomile tea as she watched the wood catch and flare into flame. The air was heavy with summer-tropical moisture, pregnant with the promise of thunderstorms. That was why she had positioned her campsite away from the threat of suddenly rising river water, towering trees that might attract lightning, and the path of falling rocks that might suddenly slip down from Fraser Mountain without warning.
The same way her heart might suddenly slip, also without warning, over the spell of Morgan’s unforgettably deep, mesmerizing, forest-green eyes.
And that was the problem. How could she casually let Morgan know that friendship was not what she wanted but that a lusty affair was more to her liking? And how could she orchestrate it all without taking her clothes off?
Her hormones didn’t seem to understand that she simply couldn’t undress and hop into bed—not if she didn’t want Morgan hopping right out and running away in horror.
Sadie set her mug of tea on a rock near the fire and slowly worked the glove off her right hand. She flexed her fingers and turned her palm up, staring at the maze of scars that patterned the smooth skin like white lines of spider silk.
Whenever she tried to look at her scars with detachment, Sadie could almost make herself believe they weren’t that ugly, nothing more than damaged skin that had done a very efficient job of healing.
She still had use of her hand. The skin, although tight and somewhat more leathery than its original version, was still nicely functioning to protect the bone and muscle and cartilage beneath it.
Sadie splayed her fingers wide. It was the romantic view of herself that made her put her glove on every morning, made her wear a body sock and long sleeves, and made her sometimes wish that her father had never reached her in time.
“Do you wear your glove so much you forget what your own hand looks like?”
Sadie fell off the log she’d been sitting on, landing on the ground with a yelp of surprise.
Her foot hit the mug of tea, sending it into the fire. The liquid hissed as it evaporated on the embers, and the plastic cup burst into colorful flames.
The laughter of a highly amused male wafted into the campsite, followed by the forms of two shadowed bodies—one impressively tall, the other short and fur-covered.
“Dammit, MacKeage. You travel these woods like a ghost.”
He laughed again and hunched down in front of her. Sadie caught her breath. He appeared more formidable than the old-growth pines that towered over these woods, more solid than the mountains, and far more wild than the river that ran in rapids just a hundred yards away.
His wavy blond hair was loose, with two thin braids holding it off his face. His shoulders were broad enough to make her heart race, his hands on his knees large enough to make her mouth dry. He wore a pack on his back, the straps pulling his shirt taut against his chest, nicely showing off every muscle a man would need to make a girl’
s head spin.
“Come on, lass. Let me help you up.”
Sadie stared at the hand he held out to her. What was it with this man, that he always insisted on taking her right hand? Ignoring his offer, a bit peeved that she was having lustful thoughts and he seemed totally oblivious, Sadie rolled over and got to her feet without his help. She immediately put some distance between them, at the same time tucking her bare right hand into her pocket.
Morgan pivoted on his haunches and sat on the log she had been occupying. He reached down, picked up her glove from the ground, and held it up to examine it in the light of the setting sun.
“It’s made of fine soft leather,” he said as he rubbed the glove between his fingers. He looked up at her. “Do you need it to protect your skin, Mercedes?”
She balled her hand in her pocket and gritted her teeth to keep from growling in frustration. “No,” she told him succinctly, lifting her chin and holding out her left hand for the glove.
He tossed it to Faol. The wolf immediately snatched it up and looked at her, the glove dangling out of his mouth like a dead rat.
“Then why do you wear it?” Morgan asked, drawing her attention again.
Sadie glared at the man. “What is it with you people? Is it a Scottish thing, this need you have for being rude? First that nosy old priest, and now you. Why I wear a glove is my business.”
He shook his head, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. “Ever thegràineag,” he said, shrugging out of his pack and letting it fall to the ground behind him.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you come sit with me,” he said, patting the log beside him.
Sadie immediately became suspicious. She held her position, crossing her arms under her chest and burying her right hand in the folds of her fleece.
“What are you doing here, MacKeage?”
He picked up his pack. “I’m thinking a hunt for gold might be a nice adventure,” he said, undoing the buckles and opening the top flap. He shot her a grin. “And I’m also thinking it might be the most fun with you.”