Highlander for the Holidays (18 page)

“Wait,” she said, managing a small laugh even as she gave her nose another swipe. “The keys are in the side pocket, so you don’t have to go anywhere near the minefield inside.”

He opened the door and looked back, specifically at her feet. “Are those the sturdiest boots you own?”

She looked down. “Why? Are we trekking to Siberia?”

It seemed he had to think about that. “Never mind, I’ve just come up with a better idea. Ten minutes,” he said, disappearing into the hall.

Jessie blinked at the closing door as she pulled in a steadying breath and looked at Toby, and shrugged. “I guess I’m game if you are.” She walked to the sink, only to gasp when she looked in the mirror. “Oh, Tobes, I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot more than hot cocoa and doughnuts to cure me,” she said, turning on the faucet to splash water on her face. She pulled several paper towels out of the holder and scrubbed her face dry, then undid the clip at the back of her head and ran her fingers through her hair to pull it over her tear-blotched cheeks. Then with one more fortifying breath, Jessie plastered a smile on her face that she wasn’t feeling and headed back into the chaos.

It took her only two minutes to get her coat and purse and thank Sadie for letting her help out today, but it took another fifteen minutes for Jessie to work her way to the lobby doors—although that was Toby’s fault for attracting children like a hundred-pound, fur-covered magnet.

Feeling much better now that she focused only on the excitement in their eyes instead of their disabilities, Jessie’s smile disappeared when she stepped outside to find Ian leaning against an ATV that had rubber tracks where the wheels should be. She actually took a step back when she noticed Toby’s blanket and pillow from her car in the back cargo area, and she shook her head. “We’re not riding around town in that thing.”

He straightened without saying a word and patted his leg at Toby, who trotted over and reared up to set his front paws on one of the tracks. Ian lifted him into the cargo box, then turned to Jessie. “You want us to bring you back a doughnut?”

“You can’t just steal my dog.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “It’s not stealing if they come willingly.”

Seeing the TarStone shuttle bus arriving from the Bangor airport with more campers, Jessie walked to the ATV, set her purse in the back next to Toby—giving him a good glare as she did—then glared down at the passenger door that was nothing more than a webbed harness as she tried to figure out how to get in.

Ian reached past her and unclipped one side of the webbing and held it out of the way. “It’s just like getting in a car.”

She lifted her left leg and tried to slide onto the seat, but Ian ended up having to cup her backside to keep her from falling and gallantly pushed her into place. “Oh, and look,” she said brightly, hoping he’d mistake her blush for excitement. “It’s even got a windshield just like a car.” She looked up. “And it’s a convertible, which everyone wants to ride around in when it’s nearly freezing outside.”

After silently clipping the webbing, Ian strode around and got in the driver side. But instead of starting the machine, he grasped her chin and kissed her right on her startled lips. “Did ye miss me this past week?” he asked, his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Jessie pulled free and settled the flaps of her long coat over her legs. “I’ve been pretty busy, what with getting moved into my new home and shoveling my way out of a blizzard and taking Merissa to Bangor.” She looked out the corner of her eye at him. “Were you gone all week?”

He leaned closer, his deep green gaze taking on a sparkle. “You know, you get the faintest little twitch at the corner of your mouth when you’re telling one of your straight-faced lies.” He sat up and reached for the key. “So ye might want to do a bit more practicing in the mirror before you—”

The rest of what he said was lost in the rev of the starting engine, and Jessie grabbed the roll bar with one hand and Ian’s arm with the other when the machine started shaking and rattling. “Wait. Aren’t we supposed to wear helmets?”

He looked over and shrugged. “I don’t have one that fits Toby, so it wouldn’t be very fair of us to wear them if he can’t. Don’t worry, Jess; I’ll take it slow and easy with you,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. At least, she thought it was reassuring and not salacious. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Toby, then adjusted some sort of shifting lever, and with a wave at his mother and father coming out the lobby doors to greet their arriving guests, Ian headed into the parking lot.

“Um, I think your father wanted to speak with you,” Jessie said, relaxing her grip on the roll bar when the machine smoothed out and she realized she probably wasn’t going to die today.

“Whatever he wants will keep until tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping your parents with the campers instead of taking me trekking through the snow in search of doughnuts?”

“There’s an entire army of staff and volunteers to look after them,” he said, stopping at the main road to check for traffic before turning toward town. “They’ll survive without me until we open up the tube run tomorrow. Are ye warm enough?”

“I’m good. Do you have to register this thing like a car?”

“No, it’s illegal to run ATVs or snowmobiles on town roads.” He glanced over at her and grinned. “So if Chief Stone happens to catch us, you beam him your best smile, okay? And maybe bat those pretty eyelashes at him.”

“You expect me to use my feminine wiles to get you out of a ticket?”

He arched a brow. “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

Oh yeah, Ian definitely was good for what ailed her. “Jack’s my
landlord
,” she said with a laugh, feeling the last vestige of sadness slip away. “I don’t want him to think I’m that kind of girl.” She batted her eyelashes at
him
. “And besides, I have to save my ammunition for when I need to get myself out of a ticket.”

Toby stuck his head between them, his tongue lolling out the side of his smiling mouth as he lifted his snout to the breeze, and Ian gave him a scratch under the chin. “Feminine wiles are an unlimited currency, lass, and if they work once on a man, they’ll work every time. I looked for your cane in your car but couldn’t find it.” He glanced over at her. “Is the Maine air making it obsolete?”

“I guess so,” she said, looking down to adjust her coat again so he wouldn’t see the corner of her mouth twitch, “since I seem to keep forgetting to bring it with me.”

When in actuality Jessie had left her walking stick at home on purpose, not wanting anyone to ask her where she’d gotten it. She’d left the scarf home, too, because she suspected Roger had given her that particular one because it was the MacKeage tartan, which she’d confirmed today when she’d noticed both Sadie and Grace MacKeage wearing scarves of the same plaid. Roger wasn’t giving her little nudges; he was all but hitting her over the head. It would be nice, though, if he’d give her a hint who the other guy was.

“Wait, wasn’t that the bakery?” Jessie asked, pointing behind them.

“Aye, Marge Wimple makes good doughnuts, too, but you’re going to have to earn the ones you’re getting by trekking through the snow first.”

They continued through the tiny town, and Jessie got excited when Ian turned up another road. “Is that where we’re going?” she asked, pointing at the Bigelow Christmas Tree Farm sign. “But I thought Katy’s parents own a Christmas tree farm. Why aren’t we going there?”

“We are. Michael MacBain bought it from the Bigelows over thirty years ago, but he kept the name out of respect for them and still didn’t have the heart to change it after John Bigelow died.” He shot her a grin. “You did intend to put up a tree, didn’t you?”

“Do they sell stands? And decorations for it?”

His grin disappeared as he took his foot off the gas, stopping the machine right in the middle of the road. “Ye don’t own any Christmas decorations?”

Jessie started fussing with her coat flaps. “I . . . No, not at the moment.” She looked at him. “But I’d like to get some this year.”

His smile returned and he started down the road again. “Libby and her mom, whom everyone calls Gram Katie, have a shop full of locally handmade decorations,” he assured her.

Jessie touched his arm. “Thank you for bringing me here, Ian.”

“Remember that thought, okay, when you find yourself kneeling in two feet of snow to chop down your own tree.”

 

 

WITH TOBY ’S HEAD RESTING ON HIS BELLY AS THEY BOTH
lay sprawled in front of the woodstove watching Jessie making hot cocoa in the kitchen, Ian started to worry that he could get used to spending his evenings in a house that wasn’t sparsely furnished and drafty and empty. Hell, he didn’t even care if she scorched the cocoa, because it sure beat the heck out of making his own. Ian gave Toby’s ear a rub as he let his gaze travel around the living room filled with knickknacks and flowery furniture and wondered why he wasn’t feeling out of place, considering he hadn’t felt comfortable even in his own skin, much less indoors, since he’d joined the service five years ago.

He looked toward the stairway at the bullwhip of a tree he’d placed in the stand and smiled. He’d assumed he’d be putting up a tree the MacBains had actually cultivated, but oh, no; Jessie had spotted the “poor lonely fir” growing on the other side of the fence behind Michael’s field of carefully shaped trees, insisting
it
was the perfect tree for her first Christmas in her new home.

Though he’d told her cutting it would in essence be stealing, since it wasn’t growing on MacBain land—
not
telling her it was growing on MacKeage land just to see how daring she really was—Jessie had snatched the saw out of his hand, saying nobody was going to miss one little tree in a gazillion million others. She’d then taken a quick look around to make sure there weren’t any witnesses, then tromped through the knee-deep snow and cut the poor lonely thing off at the stump. She’d tromped back dragging it behind her, slapped the saw against his stomach, and told him to cut a cultivated tree, then proceeded to wrestle her prize up onto the roll cage of the ATV—all the while telling the poor lonely thing it was beautiful.

But when Ian hadn’t moved quickly enough, she’d frantically shoved him toward a perfectly shaped tree as she continued scanning the field for witnesses, saying they needed the one they’d already paid for in order to disguise the one she’d stolen. And if they got caught . . . well, she’d batted her pretty lashes at him and asked if he’d come bail her out of jail if her feminine wiles didn’t work on a happily married chief of police.

They sure as hell had worked on him, because that’s when Ian had felt a powerful blow to his chest that nearly brought him to his knees, and damn if he hadn’t taken a proper breath since.

Oh yeah; Jessie Pringle stole his breath away when she was being sassy and daring, and now she was making a run at his heart just by making him cocoa while he grew way too comfortable in her warm, intrinsically feminine home.

Dislodging Toby, which sent him ambling to his bed with a doggy sigh, Ian sat up when Jessie walked over with two mugs and handed him one. He looked down to see an army of tiny marshmallows and frowned. “Are there any doughnuts left?” he asked, pushing the marshmallows to the side to find the cocoa. He licked his finger as he looked at her. “I’m pretty sure we bought half a dozen and only each ate one on the way home.”

“I ate one and you inhaled three, so I ate the last two while you were filling the wood box.” She disguised her sassy smile by lifting her mug to her mouth and blowing on it. “Thank you for doing that.”

Ian patted a spot beside him on the thick wool rug. “Come sit down and enjoy the fruits of my labor with me.”

She set her mug on the hearth then used his shoulder to steady herself as she carefully knelt and slowly sat down beside him. But instead of tucking her legs underneath her or crossing them, she stretched them out in front of her, only to laugh when she realized she couldn’t reach her cocoa.

“We could sit on the couch if you prefer,” he said, handing it to her. “Or you could sit between my legs and lean back against me.”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” she murmured, this time lifting her mug to hide her blush behind its steam. “Do you have activities this week for the kids who aren’t disabled? And the parents; is anything special planned for them?”

He wiped his upper lip after taking a sip, then wiped his sticky hand on his shirt and nodded. “We have a live band in the lounge two of the nights for the parents, and we run a shuttle bus the other nights so they can go down to Pete’s and really cut loose. And Thursday, Alec and I and some of our regular ski patrol staffers will take a group of the older siblings up the mountain to backcountry ski, thanks to Mother Nature’s cooperation this year. But a lot of the activities are designed for everyone to do together. There’s a treasure hunt that’s ongoing all week, pitting families against each other as they follow clues that lead them all over the resort and even into town. Each treasure is a prize in itself, but the family that finds the most wins a trophy, an allexpenses-paid vacation at TarStone, and bragging rights.”

“Wow. I don’t want to volunteer; I want to
attend
Camp Come-As-You-Are.”

“Sorry, we don’t allow thieves to enroll,” he said, nodding toward her Christmas tree. “If ye want, I could come by tomorrow evening and hang the garland and lights you bought on your porch.” He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Say . . . in exchange for you cooking me supper?”

“Sorry,” she said, drawing out her
R
s to mimic his burr, “but only if you like something out of a can, since the crows ate the beef roast I bought to practice on.”

Ian leaned away in surprise. “How can anyone ruin a roast? Ye put it in the oven and it cooks itself.”

“Yes, it’s so easy, it cooks itself into a big black brick,” she muttered, quickly taking a sip of her cocoa—only to suck in half her tiny marshmallows as well.