Michael shot Libby a suspicious look, and she answered him with a sweet, innocent smile. His gaze turned to molten, liquid pewter, and she kicked up her smile another notch.
“I can take ya to the airport tomorrow,” he said, slowly turning away from her to give his attention to her mother.
Kate sighed, closed her magazine, and cuddled Timid under her chin. “It’s such a long flight, I’ve been putting it off. Libby, do you think you should go back with me? To put your own things in order?”
Of course, she should. But her problems in California seemed minor right now, compared with the problem of getting Michael alone and naked and hot enough to use the three or four condoms tucked under the pillow of her new bed.
“I’m going to wait,” she said, getting up and casually stretching her arms over her head.
“I’ve been communicating with Randal Peters about breaking my contract, and he’s talking to the board. They probably won’t decide anything until after Christmas, anyway. And I’ll have to make an appearance then and try to talk them out of suing me.”
“Can they really sue you?” John asked, looking up from his paper.
“I did have a contract, and I did break it.”
“What happens if they sue you?” he asked.
“It wipes out my savings. And my reputation is ruined.”
“Does that mean you can’t doctor again?” John asked, frowning with worry.
Libby smiled. “I’m sure a small hospital can be talked into overlooking my sin. Rural communities are always crying for skilled surgeons.”
“There’s a small hospital in Greenville,” John offered.
“And another one in Dover-Foxcroft. You could check with them.”
“I might, when I feel ready to ‘doctor’ again. Right now, I just want to get my studio up and running. Which would go much easier,” she said with feeling, darting a pointed look at Michael, then glaring at John, “if someone would tell me who made my bed so I can get him to make my displays.”
John quickly raised his newspaper back in front of his face. And Robbie, who had just walked into the living room with Trouble perched on his shoulder, spun around and headed back into the kitchen. That left only Michael for her to glare at.
He smiled, stood up, and tapped her on the end of the nose before following his son into the kitchen. “Is there any pie left?” he asked as he disappeared.
Kate laughed and also stood, settling Timid comfortably into the crook of her arm. “You might as well give up,” she said with a lingering chuckle. “They’ve formed a conspiracy, and when males decide to bond, dynamite won’t budge them.”
“But what’s the great secret? Whoever made the bed should be proud of his work.”
“Maybe he’s shy,” Kate offered. “You know, the humble craftsman who does it for the love of the art, not the glory.”
“I can keep his secret, if that’s what he wants. I just need some displays.”
“Why don’t you tell Michael what you need, and he’ll tell whoever made your bed?”
Kate suggested, heading upstairs to her own bed.
Oh, yes, Libby thought. She wanted to tell Michael what she needed, all right, and it had nothing to do with displays. She needed him.
Michael seemed quite content with the way things were now—a little foreplay stolen at odd times, dinner together almost every evening, going to their separate work every day and their separate beds every night.
Libby had caught him staring at her on occasion, with a speculative, calculated look in his gray eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking; he’d been a closed book ever since James had visited him.
And that worried her. What had they talked about?
James hadn’t said. He’d come back, said good-bye to her and Kate, wished them well, and left in a cloud of dusty snow.
So, Libby had asked Michael what had happened between him and James. She had gotten only a smile for an answer and a kiss that had not only shut her up but made her forget her question.
Libby poked at the fire in the hearth, pushing the dying embers to the back, banking them for the night. John rose from his chair, folded his paper, and set it over Guardian like a tent.
“We’re calling it a night, I’m guessing,” he said, coming over and kissing Libby on the cheek. “I just heard Michael’s truck start. Thanks for the delicious supper, Libby. It’s been a far sight easier going to work every day knowing I’ll be getting a decent meal at night. You’re a good cook.”
With a wave, he walked to the truck, where Robbie waited inside.
Robbie gave her a huge good-bye wave through the windshield, opened the door for John, and scooted to the middle of the seat. Libby noticed that the driver’s seat was empty.
Michael walked out of the kitchen, brushing sawdust off his jacket. “I’ve refilled the woodbox,” he told her, reaching out and pulling her into a warm embrace. “Supper was good tonight, lass. Thank you.”
“And now that you’ve eaten all my food, you’re leaving.”
“I have two trucks headed to New York tomorrow morning, and they’re not loaded yet.
The crew’s arriving at dawn.”
Libby sighed and leaned her head on his chest, wrapping her arms under his jacket and around his waist. He pulled the edges closed over her back and hugged her tightly.
“Ya seemed mighty determined to get rid of your mother tonight, lass. Any reason in particular?”
She pinched his side and smiled into his chest when he flinched. “You know why. You’
re killing me, Michael. I’m in danger of exploding.”
His chest under her ear rumbled with gentle laughter. “Aye. And I’m anxious to see that.” His arms tightened around her, all but lifting her off her feet. “Soon, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her back, “we’ll get to try out your new bed.”
“Why won’t you tell me who made it?”
“Because he asked me not to.”
She looked up and smiled. “Was it Santa Claus? Are you really one of his elves, sworn to secrecy?”
He kissed her on the nose. “If I say yes, then I’ve blown my cover, now, haven’t I? Just enjoy the bed, lass, instead of turning it into a puzzle ya need to solve.”
“I’d enjoy it better if I didn’t have to sleep in it all by myself,” she whispered, running her socked foot up the back of his leg.
“Be good,” he growled. “We have an audience.”
“We always have an audi—”
He kissed her soundly on the mouth despite their audience. Libby clung to him, kissed him back, and ran her foot up his leg again. His kiss turned into a growl, and she smiled into his mouth.
He might think he knew how to shut her up, but she knew how to beat him at his own game. By the time he walked to his truck, Libby was sure that steam was coming out of his ears. And his walk was a bit stiff, his fists were clenched, and whatever he’d whispered as he stepped off the porch was most definitely not something Robbie should hear.
Chapter Twenty
It took another two daysfor Kate finally to leave for California. Michael had offered to drive her to the airport in Bangor, but Libby had taken her so she could do some shopping in a town that had more than two stores. She spent the entire day in Bangor after seeing her mother off, and the back of her truck was now filled to the roof with shopping bags.
Libby decided it was time she turned her house into a home. She’d already talked with her young landlord and gotten his permission to move some of the old furnishings up to the attic. Libby respected Mary Sutter, and all the Sutters who had come before her, but it was important that she put her own signature on the house.
And she was starting with the bedroom.
Her beautiful new bed was her inspiration. Moose were such ugly creatures they were actually quite endearing, with their massive antlers and dangling goatees, their long, powerful legs and oversized heads. And the fir trees on the bed, painted such a rich, vibrant green, had made Libby decide on a woodsy, outdoor theme.