Highlander for the Holidays (33 page)

He straightened, holding both the food and water dishes. “Toby’s just as lethal as your gun, Jessie,” he said, dumping the water down the sink then going to the pantry. He slid out the thirty-pound bag of dry dog food, dumped what was in the bowl into the bag, then rolled the top closed and set it on the counter. “Don’t feed him anything from this bag, okay?”

“Ian, what’s going on?”

He took hold of her shoulders. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But if neither of us disarmed our guns, then who did? Who else has had access to this house in the last two days?”

“Roger?” she gasped. “But why would he take my bullets or your bolt?”

Ian looked momentarily surprised then shook his head, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Not Roger, Jessie; Brad Dixon. He’s the only one who’s been in here alone. And he knew you kept a gun in your nightstand because he gave it to you, and my rifle was in plain sight.” He gestured toward the bag on the counter. “And the only way he could deal with Toby would be to put something in his food that would at least make him sick enough not to pose a threat.”

Jessie gathered Ian’s shirt in her fists. “But why? Why would Brad do . . .” She jerked away and hugged herself, shaking her head. “You’re implying he’s deliberately intending to harm me, but
why
?” she repeated. She gestured angrily toward the bedroom. “You think Brad feels like some jilted lover or something? And that he’s going to sneak in here in the middle of the night and . . . and what? Murder us in our bed?” She stepped up and grasped his sleeves. “Ian,
Eric
wouldn’t have been capable of doing something that heinous, and Brad’s far more civilized than he was.”

“What did you and Dixon talk about on your walk yesterday morning?”

She gestured dismissively. “He tried to persuade me to go back to Atlanta with him, pointing out everything he had to offer me as well as the differences between the city and Pine Creek.”

“I saw you get upset, and so did he. And I was close enough to hear him tell you to stop reliving it. Were the two of you talking about the night you were attacked?”

Jessie stepped away and rubbed her arms. “Yes. Brad wanted to know if I had remembered anything about what had happened, and he got upset when I told him that I was starting to remember bits and pieces.”

“What sort of bits and pieces?” Ian asked quietly. “You told me Brad was there that night; were you telling him you remembered seeing him?”

“No, I said I’d found out just that day that Eric was having an affair, and that I remember hearing a woman’s voice only I still don’t know if she was in the house or I heard her on the phone. And I said that I remembered parts of the attack, like being carried from the bathroom into the bedroom
after
I heard gunshots.” She looked up in surprise. “I told him I didn’t think I had shot my attacker, but that someone else did.”

“And what was Dixon’s reaction to that?”

“I . . . I can’t remember what he said, because that’s when my cell phone started blaring and Roger sent me a text that said
Stop talking, missy
.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ian’s waist, leaning into him, hoping his solidness would stop her trembling. “What’s going on, Ian? What do you and Roger know that I don’t?”

He held her head pressed to his chest. “I can’t speak to what Roger might know, and I’m only taking a guess here, Jessie, but I believe Brad Dixon didn’t tell the police everything that happened that night or at least not in the order it happened.” He tilted her head back to look at him. “Has this been an ongoing conversation between the two of you these last four years, with Dixon repeatedly asking you what you remember?”

She nodded then pressed her face to his strongly beating heart, suddenly feeling cold despite her layers of wool and long johns. “That still implies Brad wants to hurt me or that he was . . .” She looked up. “Do you think he
knew
the robber?”

He clasped her face in his warm hands and kissed her forehead, then stepped back. “The only way we’ll know for certain is to be standing on TarStone’s summit at the exact time of the winter solstice,” he said, going over and taking his parka off the peg. “Which means we need to leave now, so I can stop and get another rifle from home. Come on, Jess,” he said, holding out her coat. “I believe it’s time I introduce you to the magic.”

 

 

IAN’S GUT TIGHTENED WHEN JESSIE BEGAN BACKING AWAY, her eyes a mixture of confusion and fear. “Jess,” he growled when she turned and bolted for the bedroom, Toby scrambling after her. “Jessie!” he snapped, going after them and hoping like hell Toby remembered they were on the same side, only to find Jessie trying to hide behind the clothes in the closet. “Ah, Jess,” he said softly, walking around the bed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. There’s no—” Ian staggered backward when she emerged holding a thick, burlridden staff nearly as tall as
he
was. “For the love of Christ, woman, don’t point that at anything!” he snapped when she thrust it at him. “Where in hell did you get it?” he asked a bit more calmly when she paled.

“F-from Roger,” she said, holding it away from herself. “He . . . he told me to give this to you when the time came.” She took a step toward him. “And I think this is as good a time as ever. Here, take it.”

Ian took another step back, shaking his head even as he watched his hand reach toward it as if the accursed thing was magnetized. “Lean it against the mattress, Jess. I don’t want ye holding it when I touch it.”

“No, it’s okay. It didn’t spark when I touched it like mine did.”

“Set it down and step back, Jessie. Now.”

The fear and confusion came back in her eyes again as Ian watched Jessie lean the staff on the mattress and step back hugging herself, only to give a soft snort. “Roger said it was too powerful for a woman to handle,” she whispered, her gaze going from the stick to him when he didn’t move. “And he never actually
gave
it to me. I just found it in the back of my closet this morning when I was moving stuff to make room for your clothes.” She grabbed Toby’s collar to pull him back when he tried to sniff the stick. “So, are you going to take it or not? I don’t know why, but I feel we should bring it with us . . . along with your rifle, too. Go on, take it. If it’s meant for you, it’ll only give a little shock; you know, like static electricity.”

Once you own the power, there’s no going back,
Roger had told him. And Ian knew the moment he touched that staff, TarStone would own him as well. “Step back, Jess,” he said, moving closer.

Ian waited until she pulled Toby all the way to the closet, then moved to put himself between them and the staff. He reached out to hold his fingers open around the smooth handgrip on the thick shaft, and felt the powerful hum of energy pulsing through the wood. Planting his feet against the assault he knew was coming, he took a deep breath and snapped his fist around it in an iron grip.

Only instead of feeling a shock of static electricity, the damn thing nearly knocked him off his feet when it exploded in a thunderous burst of energy, filling the bedroom with blinding light of every imaginable color. The sizzling bolts swirled around him in arcing snaps that shook the walls and rattled the windows as every cell in his body seemed to expand and start pulsing in rhythm with the swirling light.

Or rather, the light began pulsing to the rhythm of his beating heart.

He turned the staff and the light swirled in response, and Ian mentally commanded the energy to return to the wood, resting the tip of the staff on the floor as the maelstrom was sucked into the bark-covered burls like a vacuum cleaner and the bedroom went dark but for the soft light of the bedside lamp.

And Jessie and Toby were nowhere to be seen.

“Jessie? Where are ye, lass?” he asked, smiling when he saw the clothes on the hangers move. He walked over and pushed them apart, and looked down to find Toby and Jess sitting pressed up against the back corner. Jessie was hugging Toby so tightly it was a wonder the dog could breathe, both their eyes clamped shut. “It’s okay, you two.”

Jessie mutely looked up at him, then leaned over to look out past him, and then looked up at him again. “What was . . . What just happened?” she whispered, still hugging Toby—only to press even farther away when Ian held the staff for her to see.

“I was getting acquainted with the lovely present you just gave me.” He arched a brow. “Can I ask what you had to barter Roger for it?”

She snorted. “From what just happened, I’d say my soul.” She gave the staff a worried glance then looked up at him again, apparently not quite ready to come out of hiding. “Um, you do know that you don’t have to
accept
a gift just because someone gives it to you, don’t you? It . . . You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want the . . . the walking stick. There’s still time for me to get you something else. Say, a nice cardigan sweater or slippers to match your robe.”

He used the stick to lean on and reached a hand down to her with a laugh. “Too late; the gift’s been given and accepted, and now it’s time we go find out what this big gnarly boy can do.”

“Do?” she squeaked, snatching her hand back. “It
does
stuff?” Her eyes narrowed. “Is it going to shrink like mine has?”

“Sorry,” he said, reaching down to her again. “I’m afraid mine’s only going to grow stronger.” He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet, then had to catch her when she bumped into his staff and jumped away with another squeak. “It’s not going to hurt you, Jess; it only responds to my touch.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until he felt her relax against him. “Much the same way you do.” He let her go to snag her hand. “There, that’s done,” he said, leading her around the bed. “Now it’s time we got down to business. Come on, Toby, you’re not going to want to miss this.”

Ian led Jessie into the kitchen, leaned his staff against the counter, and started stuffing her into her coat—only to stop. “What did you just say?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing,” she said, finishing dressing herself.

Ian captured her hands when she started buttoning her coat. “I believe you just mentioned something about a marriage proposal.”

She became very interested in the zipper on his ski bib. “I might have been telling Toby that . . . not to . . .” She sighed and looked him right in the eyes. “You didn’t spend the day setting up a romantic scene in the summit house, did you, where you were going to get down on one knee and . . . and ask me if I’d do the honor of . . . oh, for the love of God, come on!” she snapped, grabbing her perfectly smooth walking stick and heading outside—completely forgetting the basket she’d packed them.

Ian stood staring at the humming door she’d slammed shut and then scrubbed his hands up and down his face with a groan. He’d spent the day preparing to barter his very soul for Jessie’s life, and she’d been floating around here picturing him asking her to marry him tonight? On his knees? Up at the summit house? No, at a
romantically staged
summit house. Considering he knew Eric Dixon had hustled her to the altar in less than five weeks, did Jessie expect him to hustle her into marriage in only three?

Ian gave his face one last scrub, wondering if he did propose what her answer might be after what she was about to witness. Sure as hell not yes, he thought with a snort, grabbing his staff and the food basket and heading out the door—making sure to leave it unlocked. He walked to the snowcat parked in the driveway just in time to find Jessie trying to help Toby get in. He nudged her out of the way and lifted the dog into the cubby behind the seats, then lifted Jessie over the track and set her inside, plopped the basket on her lap, and softly closed the door on her scowl. But her scowl quickly turned to panic when he opened his door and wedged his staff next to her walking stick between them before he got in.

After stopping at his cabin to get another rifle, the ride up the mountain was made in silence, even Toby seeming to know something was afoot tonight. Either that or the dog had decided not to argue with him anymore since seeing him handling a thunderstorm in the bedroom.

It was just nearing midnight when Ian stopped next to TarStone’s faded old snowcat and shut off the engine. But instead of opening his door, he stared out the windshield at the lone figure standing on an outcropping of ledge at the very peak, dressed in a dark billowing robe and leaning on a tall, gnarly staff twice as thick as his and riddled with three times more burls. Ian turned just enough to see Jessie out of the corner of his eye, and found her also staring at Roger, her hands clasping her coat at her throat and stark terror shining in her starlit eyes.

He reached over and pulled her hands down and held them in one of his, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Jess. Do you remember the second thing I told you to remember about the magic?”

“Th-that it will keep knocking me on my butt until I . . . I believe.”

“Well, after tonight your butt should be safe,” he said with a soft chuckle, giving her hands a squeeze. “Do you remember the first rule?”

“No.”

He gave her another squeeze and chuckled again. “You don’t try to explain the magic; you simply accept it. And lastly, once you do, anything is possible.” He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed the back of her glove. “Including miracles.”

He saw her pull in a deep, shuddering breath before she finally looked at him. “I got my miracle last night, but I still don’t know what miracle I’m supposed to give you.”

He gave her hand one more kiss, then opened his door and got out and turned to face her. “I’ll give you until Christmas day to figure out what it is. Come on,” he said, reaching back to help Toby down over the track. “Let’s go see what’s brought our good pal Roger out on this cold winter night.”

He took out his staff and walked around the snowcat to help Jessie wade through the knee-deep snow up to the windswept ledge, then helped to steady her when Roger turned toward them. Oh yeah, the old bastard was dressed in full regalia, right up to his pointy velvet hat.