Libby started setting the table for five people. She was sure that Michael and Robbie would end up eating with them.
“What is James doing here?” Libby asked into the silence. “And why didn’t you call and tell me you were both coming?”
Katherine shot her a frown. “I tried. Twice. But you didn’t answer, and you don’t have an answering machine hooked up.” She stopped peeling and turned to Libby. “I didn’t tell him where you were, Elizabeth. And I don’t know how he found you. But he came to my house and told me he’d tracked you to Maine and that he was coming after you.”
Katherine shrugged. “So what else could I do? I threw some clothes into a suitcase and came with him.”
She stopped Libby from setting the table and took hold of her shoulders. “I spent the entire flight here trying to convince him that Bea’s stories were not true. That there was a mix-up in your operating room and that his patient simply woke up on his own.
Elizabeth, he can’t actually prove anything. If we just stick to our story, he’ll give up and go home. Tell him he can have the grant, and he’ll stop this… this witch hunt.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Libby whispered. “A witch hunt?”
Katherine squeezed her shoulders. “Of course not, dear. But James thinks it is. He grew up hearing Grammy Bea’s stories, too.”
Libby found another knife and started peeling the carrots and tossed them into the pot with the potatoes. “Dammit,” she growled to herself. “I am not a witch.”
Katherine quietly picked the carrots out and put them into their own pot before setting the potatoes on the stove to boil. “Tell me about Michael,” she said, pouring a glass of wine and sitting down at the table to drink it. “He’s very… ah… big. And rather proprietary toward you. Does he have a reason to be acting so possessive?”
Libby dropped her head to concentrate on the carrots, hoping to hide her blush. “He might,” she muttered.
There was a long silence from the table, then her mother asked, “He raised Robbie all by himself?”
“Yes. With the help of Grace MacKeage, Robbie’s aunt.”
“Elizabeth, look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Libby turned to face her, lifting her chin as she fought to keep her blush from spreading.
Katherine gave her a warm, motherly smile. “You can’t possibly get involved with him, Elizabeth,” she said gently. “Not now.”
“I tried not to, but it happened anyway.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to distract yourself?”
Libby sighed. “No. Maybe. Oh, dammit, I don’t know. Michael is… he’s… ”
“All man?” her mother finished. “With more testosterone than is probably healthy?
Elizabeth, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? Getting involved with a man like Michael MacBain will be all-consuming. I figured that out within ten minutes of meeting him. Are you willing to give up your career for him?”
“Why do I have to? I can be a doctor in Maine just as well as in California.”
“You really want to live here? You’ll have to if you fall in love with him. Michael doesn’
t strike me as someone willing to compromise on certain things.”
Libby couldn’t contain her grin. “Like tonight’s sleeping arrangements?”
Katherine shook her head. “I swear, if I hadn’t suggested that James check back into the hotel, Michael would have, and not quite as diplomatically. You don’t find him a bit… oh… a bit domineering?”
“Domineering?” Libby repeated. “He’s old-fashioned, maybe, but he’s not really a chest-beating caveman. He’s actually quite civilized—most of the time.”
“He’s overwhelming.”
“He said he won’t ever get married,” Libby softly confessed, continuing to disclose the mess she’d gotten herself into. “Not that I’m even thinking about marriage,” she quickly clarified, probably to reassure herself more than her mother. “Michael and Robbie can live in their house, and I will be nothing more than a good neighbor.”
Bright lights came through the kitchen window, and the sound of several vehicles pulling up to the house quickly followed. Libby walked to the door, and Katherine leaned over the sink to look outside.
Michael’s truck was turning to back up to the porch stairs, its cargo bay filled with what looked like a very large—and very solid—bed.
Robbie jumped out, came running up onto the porch, and threw himself into Libby’s arms. The impact nearly knocked her off her feet as she wrapped her arms around him and attempted to keep them both upright.
“I’m sorry I yelled and ran out,” he said into her shoulder, squeezing her so tightly he finished pushing all the air from her lungs. “Papa promised me ya won’t leave. Not ever.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Libby whispered, kissing his head.
“Then I guess it’s settled.”
“Aye,” he thickly agreed, looking up. “And he said if we act real civilized, maybe Gram Katie will want to stay, too.”
Libby ruffled his hair and moved them both out of the way when Michael stepped onto the porch carrying a huge and heavy-looking headboard. She gasped, not because Michael winked at her as he walked past but because the headboard was taller than she was.
She ran after him into the bedroom and slid to a halt when he leaned it up against one of the walls. And she stared, wide-eyed and opened-mouthed, at her new bed.
It was absolutely stunning.
The end posts looked to be solid oak that nearly reached the ceiling. Oak cross members held the posts a good five feet apart, forming a thick frame that surrounded a well-defined, large bull moose cut out of thick steel. The oak was stained a warm honey brown, and the moose was painted black. It was walking through a forest of fir trees painted a crisp green, also cut from steel, with larger trees behind it and smaller ones near its hooves.
Libby lifted amazed eyes to Michael. “It-it’s beautiful,” she whispered. She ran one finger over the antlers of the moose, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s absolutely beautiful.” She looked back up at Michael. “Where did you get it?”
“That’s my secret. Do ya like it, lass? It’s not fancy.”
“It’s beautiful,” she repeated, unable to think of a better description. “I love it. Is it really mine?” she asked, running her hand over the smooth oak and tracing several of the trees with her fingers.
“Oh, my,” Katherine breathed, coming to stand beside her. “It’s a work of art.”
“I still say ya gotta get the old bed out before ya bring in the new one,” Ian MacKeage grouched as he carried in the footboard. “Where do ya want this accursed thing? God’s teeth, it’s heavy.”
Katherine spun to face the unfamiliar voice and let out a yelp of surprise when she was nearly run over by the wild-haired, bushy-bearded giant. She pushed Libby out of the way and scrambled after her, running them both into Michael’s solid body. Libby looked up, and Michael leaned down and kissed her on the end of her nose.
“Ya come by your screaming honestly, I see,” he whispered. “Now, strip the bed, and then go make sure ya don’t burn our supper. Ian and I will have everything moved by the time it’s ready.”
Libby pushed Katherine out of the way because her mother seemed glued to the floor.
And she was staring at Ian.
Ian was staring back.
“Mother, this is Ian MacKeage,” Libby told her. “Ian, this is my mother, Katherine.”
“Mr. MacKeage,” Katherine whispered. “It-it’s nice to meet you.”
“Kate,” he said, nodding politely. He looked at Michael.
“Are ya roosting for the night, or we gonna do this job, MacBain? Supper smells good, and I’m hungry,” he finished, turning on his heel and walking back through the kitchen.
Michael silently followed, and Libby’s bedroom suddenly felt big again. She looked at her mother, who was staring at the door where Ian had disappeared.