Charming The Highlander

“Wait! Mary’s not here. And I don’t know anything about taking care of these animals.”

He rolled down his window and looked at her. “Just give them food and water. They’ll take care of themselves until Mary gets back.” He looked up toward the barn. “And don’t turn your back on that Jezebel of a goat. You’re liable to find yourself not able to sit down for a week.”

That said, he had the truck started and was racing out of the driveway before she could protest. The ice-coated gravel caused his truck to slide first in one direction and then the other. He never stopped, even when he reached the main road, skidded around the corner, and slammed into the opposite snowbank. Grace cringed at the sound of tires spi

She stared at the spot where he had disappeared until something pecked at her foot. She looked down to see a plump, mahogany-red chicken interested in eating her shoe. Several more birds quickly joined it, descending on Grace as if someone had suddenly rung the di

“Shoo. Get, you birds,” she said, backing away. She slowly headed toward the barn and retrieved the two half-empty bags of animal feed she could see sitting just inside the door, being careful not to fall for fear the birds would eat her.

She unrolled the tops of the paper bags and looked at the pictures on them. One had chickens all over the front of it, and the other one had a herd of goats grazing placidly in a pasture.

Well, that was easy enough. She scooped a handful of the chicken feed out and scattered it over the floor of the barn. The entire bunch of chickens immediately started flocking inside, quickly gobbling up the feed. Grace spread a few more handfuls for good measure.

She stood inside the door, out of the rain, and looked back down the driveway. She was stu

The sky was low, completely masking the mountains that surrounded Pine Creek, so low in places that even the tops of tall trees were hidden. And her house looked as if it was covered in a crystalline skin.

An urgent, angry bleat came from inside the barn behind her. Grace turned to see the head of a goat, with two pointed horns and two huge black eyes staring at her from behind a half-chewed wooden stall door.

The Jezebel. She grabbed the other bag of feed and dragged it over to the impatient animal. She dumped several handfuls in a pail by the stall door and opened the door to set it inside. But she didn’t even get the latch sprung before the pail went flying and Grace found herself sitting on the floor. The goat jumped over her, just missing her head with its sharp little hooves, and ran out of the barn before she could scream.

Dammit. She didn’t know a thing about handling animals. She stood up and brushed herself off. Let the stupid beast run around in the rain if it wanted. She righted the pail and refilled it with more food, then pulled down a bale of hay that was stacked in the next stall. She spread it out over the barn floor, away from the chickens.

As she was leaving, Grace saw the baby monitor. Mary must have used it to monitor the animals at night.

Grace unplugged the transmitter and took it down off the shelf. The receiver would be in the house someplace. She could use this with Baby. She’d put this transmitter in her bedroom and carry the receiver on her belt whenever she had to come outside and tend these blasted animals. She’d have to look for a book on animal care while she was at it. She hoped Mary had an entire library of them.

Grace hurried back to the house to check on Baby, nearly tripping over three cats who were determined to beat her inside. Damn. She hoped there was cat food in the cupboard.

“There you are, sweetie,” she whispered to the just waking baby. “That was a good nap you had.” She laughed as she picked him up. “It’s the first time in a long time you’re actually waking up in the same place where you went to sleep.”

She kissed his warm, soft cheek and cuddled him against her, inhaling his unique scent. He was so precious. She hoped for some quiet time for just the two of them, so they could get to know each other on a one-to-one basis.

Wishful thinking. Their peace lasted less than an hour.

Grace looked up from the book on animal husbandry she was reading aloud to Baby when she heard the now familiar sound of the snowcat making its way up her drive. She set the book aside and carefully rearranged Baby in her arms as she stood up.

As she walked into the kitchen, she heard the engine shut off and then the voices of men talking. The murmurs suddenly turned into a shout of surprise. She looked out the only window not covered with ice just in time to see Morgan ru

She didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know the outcome. The man lost the race. Grace heard what sounded like a curse, only in a language she didn’t recognize, and then Morgan was sitting on the frozen gravel, shouting at the triumphant, retreating goat.

Grey, carrying Grace’s two bags from the plane, simply walked past him, chuckling. He strode onto the porch and suddenly stopped, staring at her kitchen door.

Grace used her foot to pull it open and greeted him with a smile. “My bags. You’ve brought my stuff.”

“What happened to your door?” he asked, not moving, still looking at the broken wood.

Grace walked away so he would come in. Morgan, rubbing his butt, followed him.

“It…ah, I had a visitor last night. He broke it.”

“Who?” Grey asked with anger in his voice, setting her bags down.

What could she tell him without adding fuel to the apparently old, ongoing battle between the MacKeages and Michael MacBain?

She almost wanted to shake her head at the absurdity of it. They were like modern-day Hatfields and McCoys, with only a name being mentioned to set them off. She had witnessed that firsthand last night, when she had i

“I’m waiting,” he said, his stance telling her he might be waiting but his patience was waning.

“Michael MacBain was looking for Mary,” she told him, setting Baby down in the overstuffed chair and securing him with the pillow again. She really was going to have to come up with a more respectable crib.

Before Baby was three.

“MacBain,” Morgan snarled from behind Grey, turning to examine the door himself. “That bastard broke into your home?”

“Do you own a gun?” Grey asked, still unmoved, still looking at her.

“A gun?” Alarmed, she turned to face him. She shook her head. “No. And I wouldn’t use one if I did. I’

m not going to shoot anybody. That’s barbaric. And it’s not legal, either.”

“It is if you’re defending yourself,” he countered.

“From Michael? He was just looking for Mary.”

“And what was his reaction when he didn’t find her?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.

“What do you think it was?” she asked back, moving closer to him herself. Dammit, she didn’t like his posturing. He was acting as if she was an idiot for not being afraid of a grieving man. “He was devastated,” she told him. “Thank you for bringing my things,” she added.

Her change of subject did not deter him. He moved even closer, taking her by the shoulders with his huge, warm hands. “Stay away from him, Grace. Michael MacBain is trouble.”

She pulled away from him immediately. His simple touch sent shivers coursing up and down her spine.

And those shivers had nothing to do with fear.