t so frustrating.
She was just plain scared. Libby knew that he knew her secret, and she was worried he might reject her for possessing the power to heal.
And so, in defense, she was rejecting him first.
That, too, would be laughable if it weren’t so maddening.
Michael had been allowing her silent rebellion only because this was one lesson Libby needed to learn by herself. Trust was a tenuous concept to instill in a person and could be taught only by example.
It was just too bad it was taking Libby so long to decide she could trust him.
He’d give her until Christmas. If she didn’t come to him by then and openly discuss what had happened at the Brewers’, well, he just might steal the woman out of her precious moose bed and take her into the mountains—and not return until she agreed to marry him.
Michael straightened from rubbing the bottom drawer of the bureau and stepped back to admire his work. The rich, warm grains of the oak shone through the many layers of paste wax. He smiled at the tall bureau. Libby was going to have to stand on her tiptoes to see into the top drawer. Maybe he should make her a step stool from the scraps of wood he had left. Hell, she had to get a running start as it was, just to hop into bed.
Damn, but he missed making love to her.
Aye, he’d give her until Christmas to come to her senses. One more week was about all he’d last, he figured, before he went crazy and jumped her beautiful bones in the wreath-making shed.
Michael tossed his rag onto the workbench, shrugged into his jacket, and stepped out into the frosty night air. The cold snow crunched under his feet as he stopped and stared at the hundreds of Christmas trees standing in perfect rows, broken only where felled comrades had been cut to decorate people’s homes.
A full moon reflected off the fresh eight-inch snowfall, illuminating a landscape covered in a pristine mantle of white. TarStone Mountain stood cold and silent in the background, with Fraser Mountain nothing more than a distant shadow to the north.
Michael took a deep breath and sighed in contentment. He was at peace with the world for once, he decided as he rubbed his chest where Libby had hit him with the snowball.
Actually, he felt more confident than content, that he would live out his natural life in this time, now that he knew the olddrùidh would never get back his powerful staff. He hadn’t destroyed the cherrywood stick but had hidden it where Daar, and especially that interfering owl, would never find it.
Michael chuckled, tucked his hands into his pockets, and started walking to the house, watching his breath puff gently into the crisp night air. One week, and they’d be a family, brought together by either providence or chance, ranging in age from nine years old to eight hundred and thirty-six.
But this time, he was waiting until after the wedding to tell his bride about his fantastical journey.
“If I have to listen to one more Christmas carol, I swear I’m going to scream,” Libby threatened as she dropped several cinnamon sticks into the heating cider. “Why can’t we make a switch that turns them on only when a customer walks through the door?”
Kate straightened from putting a log in the woodstove and dusted off her hands, wincing as a rendition of “Jingle Bells” sung by chipmunks filled the Christmas tree shop. “We could accidentally drop the CD player into the pond,” she suggested. “Or maybe I could get Ian just to shoot it.”
Libby fixed the problem herself by simply walking around the counter, shutting off the player, and removing the disc. She opened the back door and threw the CD like a Frisbee as far as she could.
She nearly hit Robbie, who stopped so abruptly he slid to a halt as the flat, spinning missile disappeared into the snow beside him. He turned his surprised pewter eyes back on her and smiled and shook his head.
“Gram Ellen always did strange things just before Christmas, too,” he said, walking past her into the shop.
“Papa said my pay envelope is here. Can I have it? Leysa and Rose will be here soon, and I need my money.”
“What for?” Kate asked, opening the cash register and lifting out the brown envelope.
She waved it in the air.
“Why would a young fellow need money at this time of year?”
“It’s Christmas,” he said, smiling up at her. “And Leysa’s taking me shopping in Bangor with her and Rose.”
“Again?” Libby asked, turning Robbie, unbuttoning his coat, and buttoning it back up in sequence. “This is the third time this month.”
“I wasn’t shopping the other two times. I was babysitting.”
“Rose?” Libby asked. “You were watching an infant?”
“Not by myself,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Leysa just needs me to keep Rose entertained in the stores. I get to push her stroller, and we play while her mama shops.”
“And I bet you’re a great help,” Kate said, straightening his cap and tucking the envelope into his pocket. “What are you shopping for today?”
Apparently having endured all the female fussing he could, Robbie started inching his way to the door. “It’s Christmas,” he repeated, lifting his chin. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Can you tell me when you expect to be home?” Libby asked. “Remember, we’re having our party tonight.”
“Leysa promised we’d be back in plenty of time. She said she wouldn’t miss it for anything.” He stepped out into the snow but stopped and looked back, scowling at Libby. “Don’t ya peek in my workshop while I’m gone,” he warned. “Or Santa won’t be generous with ya tomorrow morning.”
Libby held up her hand in a scout’s salute. “I promise not to peek. Robbie,” she said, lowering her voice and stepping out the door with him so Kate wouldn’t hear, “will you please tell me what I’ve been helping you make for Michael? I know it’s some sort of display case I’ve been lining with an old piece of wool plaid, but I don’t know what it’s going to display. And the plaque I painted is for the case, I’m guessing, but what doesTàirneanaiche mean?”
The smile he gave her was filled with secrecy and no small amount of satisfaction. “You’
ll find out tomorrow morning,” he said. He leaned in and whispered, “Isn’t Christmas fun? All the secrets and surprises? Everything builds up until ya think you’re gonna burst, and then it gets revealed all at once. You’re gonna love the surprise Papa’s planning for ya, Libby.” His smile turned up several notches. “I know I am. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to be the happiest boy in the world. And tomorrow night, you’re gonna be the happiest woman, ’cause your dream’s gonna come true.”
“And what dream would that be?” she asked, raising one brow as she returned his contagious smile. “How do you even know what I dream about?”
“Mary told me,” he said succinctly. “She knows all kinds of stuff like that.”
“Mary told you what I dream about?” Libby asked in alarm.
Robbie patted her shoulder and rolled his eyes again. “She can’t see into your head or nothing,” he assured her. “She just knows what’s good for people.” His smile returned.
“And she say’s Papa’s gift is exactly what both of ya need.”
He turned at the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway. “There’s Leysa and Rose. I gotta go.” He turned back to Libby, threw himself into her arms, and hugged her tightly.
“I’ll see ya tonight. Make sure there’s plenty of cheesecake. I really love cheesecake,” he said, squeezing her tightly and then letting go, running to the waiting truck.
Michael emerged from his workshop and caught Robbie just as he was opening the truck door. He handed the boy a folded piece of paper, gave him a hug good-bye, and settled him in the backseat, snapping the seat belt closed. He spoke a few minutes to Leysa, tickled Rose’s chin, and then softly shut the door and watched as they drove away.