Libby saw Michael turn and cross his arms over his chest. And he just stood there, contemplating her in silence from across the empty yard.
Libby forced herself not to fidget. Lord, but she missed making love to him. It had been four long weeks, with even longer nights. More than the Christmas carols, his stubborn patience was driving her crazy.
She knew what he was doing. She knew he was waiting for her to come to him and talk about what had happened that night at the Brewers’.
But being near him every day, even without the intimacy, was better than not having him in her life at all. And that’s exactly what would happen if he ever learned the full scope of her secret.
“I noticed ya sitting on the snowmobile the other day,” he said, still standing across the yard, his eyes focused intently on her. “Would ya like to go for a ride, lass?”
“Right now?” she asked, trying to decide if he was being sincere or merely calculating his chances of getting her alone, far away from any distractions. “But what about the shop?”
“It’s Christmas Eve and won’t be so busy today. Most people have already put up their trees. Kate and Ian can look after things.”
She did want to go for a ride, but she really, really didn’t want to be alone with Michael.
She’d either attack his beautiful body or break down completely and blurt out all her worries.
“I have to help get ready for tonight’s party.”
He uncrossed his arms and set his hands on his hips.
“We won’t be gone long,” he said, his coaxing voice sending chills down her spine. “I’ll have ya back in two hours.” He turned and headed to the machine shed. “Get your coat and mittens,” he instructed over his shoulder, apparently decided they were going. “Ya can wear Robbie’s helmet.”
Libby stood rooted in indecision, rubbing her hands on her thighs. And then she ran into the shop, told Kate where she was going, promised to be back in time to help out with the party, and stormed out through the front door as she slipped into her jacket.
More than her life, she was putting her heart in Michael’s hands, but this was one ride she could no longer avoid. They were settling things between them this morning.
And Libby figured she had a fifty-fifty chance of coming off the mountain with a soul mate or walking back alone with nothing but misery for company.
Michael started the engine of the powerful snowmobile and let it idle to warm up while he picked up Libby’s helmet and watched her come running from the shop.
She didn’t look like a person thrilled with the prospect of riding a snowmobile for the first time. No, she looked like a woman rushing headlong to a hanging, and Michael knew it was her own neck she was feeling the noose tighten around.
His heart ached for her. And for himself. He, too, felt as if this trip might be the death of him, because if Libby couldn’t handle what he was about to tell her, his heart probably would break clean in half this time.
“I’m ready,” she said, coming to a halt just outside the machine shed. She took the helmet from him, turning it upside down and ducking her head inside. She straightened and smiled tightly and fastened the strap under her chin. “Can I drive?”
“No,” Michael said, turning to hide his smile. She might be suspicious of his motives, but that didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm for the ride itself.
He climbed onto the sled and revved the engine, inching it out of the shed. He grabbed his own helmet off the handlebars, put it on, and patted the seat behind him. As soon as she hopped on, he tucked both of her feet securely on the foot rails and guided her hands to the handles by her side.
“Just lean against the backrest, and try to relax,” he instructed. “Ya needn’t worry about keeping your balance. It rides more like a car than a motorcycle. And I’ll take it slow.”
“Not too slow,” she chided, peering at him through the open face of her helmet.
He flipped down her visor and started up through the rows of Christmas trees in the direction of TarStone Mountain. But he turned at the trail that led to her house and pulled to a halt in her yard a few minutes later.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, lifting her visor.
“I thought we could pick up some lunch to take with us.”
“A picnic? In the middle of the winter?”
Michael shrugged and climbed off the snowmobile.
“Why not? We’ll find a sunny spot out of the wind.”
She was running to the house before he could finish and disappeared through the door.
Michael turned and looked toward TarStone, thinking about what he intended to do just as soon as he got Libby far enough away from civilization that she couldn’t run screaming for help.
For a woman who’d just given birth to her seventh daughter four days ago, Grace MacKeage had still had enough energy last evening to give him a scathing lecture on a woman’s need to know she was about to get married.
Michael had visited Gu Bràth last night, on the excuse that he and Robbie had wanted to see the newest MacKeage bairn. But the moment Robbie had left the room to go play with Heather and the girls and Greylen had left with his brand-new baby in his arms, Michael had sat down in front of the fire next to Grace and told her of his intention to marry Libby on Christmas Day.
He’d expected Grace’s surprise but not her anger. She’d stood up, leaned over him, and poked him quite sharply in the chest. And with that same finger waving in his face, she had proceeded to educate him on the finer points of romance, timing, and modern women’s minds.
Which was why he was here now with all of Grace’s words rattling around in his head, stealing Libby away so that he could propose properly.
Michael snorted, took off his helmet, and rubbed his neck in an attempt to keep the sweat from trickling down his back. Grace also had made him promise that he wouldn’t propose until after he’d explained his journey through time.
Which is why they were going up the mountain. He’d learned his lesson with Mary and was not letting Libby out of his sight until she was calm enough not to run.
He turned at the sound of the storm door slamming shut and saw Libby, her arms hugging an overstuffed pack, running back to the sled. He took the pack and secured it on the backrest, climbed back onto the sled, and waited for her to get settled behind him again.
“Do I have to hold on to the handles?” she asked. “Can’t I just hold on to you?”
“Whatever’s comfortable, lass,” he said, starting the engine. “Ready?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
He saw her take a deep breath, slap down her visor, and nod. The moment her hands came around his waist, Michael set off up the back trail to West Shoulder Ridge. They rode in companionable silence for several miles, until Libby tapped him on the shoulder.
“I want to drive,” she demanded when he stopped to see what she wanted. “It doesn’t seem very difficult.”
He stood up so she could scoot forward and climbed on behind her. “This is the throttle,” he said, placing her thumb over the lever on the right side of the handlebar.
“Push softly, as it’s quick to respond. And this is the brake,” he added, wrapping her fingers over the lever on the left. “Ya must always keep your feet on the rails, Libby, even if it feels as if we’re tipping, or ya might break an ankle. It steers just like a bicycle but without the leaning.”
She used her elbows to nudge his arms away and pushed on the throttle. They shot off like a rocket. And then they came to an abrupt halt when she slammed on the brakes.
Michael braced his feet to keep from crushing her against the handlebars and closed his eyes and prayed for patience.
“It’s touchy,” she complained in a shout through her visor, just as she pushed on the throttle again.
She didn’t brake this time, and Michael was suddenly glad he’d decided not to give Libby her own sled for this trip. For the next two miles, they flew like a drunken jackrabbit up the mountain as she slowly got a feel for the powerful machine. Michael had to intervene only four times to keep them from bouncing off trees.