“I think there’s something in the water that makes them all grow big,” Libby told her.
“So I’ve been drinking a lot of water lately. If you want to strip the bed, I’ll set another place at the table for Ian.”
Katherine stopped her by grabbing her arm. “He—he called me Kate,” she said hoarsely. “And his scowl is… is… ”
Libby patted her hand. “Ian can be a bit rough around the edges, but you don’t have to be afraid of him, Mom. I promise, under all that hair, he’s a cupcake.”
Katherine finally shook herself out of her stupor. “I’m not afraid of him,” she said. “He’s just so… he’s… ”
“All man?” Libby finished for her, repeating her mom’s earlier words.
“And then some,” Katherine agreed, going to Mary’s old bed and pulling off the quilt.
Libby took one final look at her new bed, stopping to examine the footboard Ian had leaned against it. It was just like the headboard, minus the moose and half the height, with perfectly matched fir trees lined up like sentinels from post to post.
“Where do you suppose Michael found it?” Katherine asked as she stared at the bed, her arms full of sheets. “It looks to be handcrafted.”
“He must know a furniture maker who lives around here,” Libby speculated, unable to keep from running her hand over it again. “I wonder if the guy could make me a matching bureau?”
Katherine shook her head and made atsk ing sound. “Oh, boy. You’re settling in here faster than frost on a pumpkin.”
Libby lifted a brow at her mother.
“What?” Katherine asked, lifting her chin. “Bea may have been your grammy, but she was my mother. I haven’t traveled so far from the farm that I’ve forgotten my roots.”
“I miss her.”
“I know, sweetie. I miss her, too.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”
Katherine shifted her load of sheets and straightened her shoulders on a deep breath.
“That’s good, because I think I just might stay awhile.” She shot Libby a smug grin.
“And since I’ll be gainfully employed, I’ll even kick in for part of the rent.”
That said, Katherine headed for the bathroom, the sheets trailing after her like a queen’s mantle.
“God’s teeth, women!” Ian shout from the kitchen. “The potatoes are boiling over out here!”
Libby ran into the kitchen to find a smoking, stinking mess covering the stove, the potatoes completely boiled dry, and the stainless steel pot so black it looked like cast iron. She waved the dishtowel through the smoke and opened the window over the sink to let in fresh air.
Michael quietly took the dishtowel from her, picked up the ruined pot, and carried it outside.
By the time Libby could see again, four sets of eyes were staring at her, all with varying degrees of accusation. Robbie, his arms full of kittens, looked crestfallen at the loss of half his dinner. Katherine appeared dismayed. Ian looked disgusted. And Michael?
Well, his eyes were crinkled, and his shoulders were shaking.
James walked into the house, waving his hand at the smoke while his other hand covered his nose in defense of the smell. “I found this gentleman in the driveway,” he said. “He claims he’s a priest and that he was invited to dinner.”
“I may have changed my mind,” Father Daar said as he brushed past James. “What in the name of God have ya done to our supper?” he asked, glaring at Libby as he wrinkled his nose. “How can ya claim to keep track of people’s innards when ya can’t even manage a pot of potatoes?”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Father,” Libby drawled, turning and shutting off the heat beneath the carrots. “Mom, maybe it’s time you opened another bottle of wine.”
“Why is everyone wearing orange?” Katherine asked, looking around the room full of brightly clothed Scots.
“Are you trying to match the fall foliage?”
“Oh, for the love of—” Ian huffed in exasperation, wiping his face with a broad hand. “It’
s hunting season, woman, and we’re not caring to get shot.”
“Sh-shot?”
Ian went to the counter, found the opened bottle of wine, filled the empty glass on the counter, and carried it over to Katherine. “Would ya like to go hunting with me tomorrow morning?” he asked through his beard. “I have a nice little youth’s rifle ya can borrow.”
Instead of answering, Katherine lifted her glass and didn’t lower it until all the wine was gone. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, handing it back.
“I’ll pick ya up at four-thirty, then,” Ian said. “Dress warm, Kate.”
“But I didn’t mean… I can’t… ” She took a calming breath, straightened her shoulders, and glared at Ian.
“I have a previous obligation tomorrow morning, Mr. MacKeage. But thank you for your kind offer.”
“Then how about the next morning? It’s supposed to snow, but that will make tracking the sneaky critters that much easier.”
Katherine snatched her empty glass from him, went to the fridge, and took out the other bottle of wine. Libby decided it was time to rescue her mom.
“Robbie, why don’t you put the kittens in the bathroom and wash your hands? Michael, could you take the roast out for me?” she asked, draining the carrots into the sink. “Sit down, everyone,” she urged. Looking up at Michael she said, “Somebody should go get John. We can’t let him eat alone.”
“He’s visiting neighbors tonight,” Michael told her.
“Oh, that’s good, then.”
Michael remained unusually quiet throughout the meal, but then, Libby was quiet herself. She couldn’t decide if it was because she was overwhelmed by the chaos or amused. In all the hundreds of dinner parties she’d attended in her lifetime, not one had ever come close to providing the joy she was feeling right now.
Her kitchen was full. The food was good, the company was unique, and the setting couldn’t be more charming.
Oh, yeah. She was settling in faster than frost on a pumpkin.
Chapter Nineteen
Seeing the car pull upat the end of the field, Michael shut off his chain saw, set it beside the newly cut stump, and signaled his crew to continue working before heading down the row of felled Christmas trees. He pushed up the visor on his hard hat and pulled off his gloves. James Kessler got out of the car, leaned against the fender, and tucked his hands into his coat pockets.
Michael came to a halt three paces away. “I wondered when you’d show up,” he said, stuffing his gloves into his back pocket before crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re wasting your time, Kessler. Libby’s staying.”
Michael expected some sort of reaction for such a bold declaration, but Kessler’s indifference surprised him.
“If she stays, she’ll be ruined,” he simply said, without malice and with only a hint of concern. “She has a contract, and if she breaks it, she’ll never work as a surgeon again.”
“She’ll work if she wants to, if she’s as good as ya claim.”
“She’s not good, MacBain, she’s brilliant. Elizabeth is methodical, precise, and unbelievably controlled in the operating room. It’s only her personal life she’s determined to screw up.”
“It’s her life.”
“She won’t stay. She’ll eventually get over this temper tantrum and realize what she’s given up.”
“If ya knew Libby at all, you’d know this isn’t a tantrum she’s having. Tell me, if she did no harm to the woman she almost operated on, why do ya think she ran?”
Kessler took his time answering, giving Michael a long, calculated look. “I don’t know,”
he finally said. “There were rumors that something was strange about the case right from the start. Elizabeth’s team was the first to see the woman, and she needed immediate surgery. But she was perfectly healthy by the time she arrived in the operating room.”
“And how was this explained? Libby wasn’t the only person to see her.”