Highlander for the Holidays (36 page)

What in hell was the matter with Ian? For crying out loud, the man had saved her life and then simply let her walk out of his. Although to be fair, he was probably working day and night because TarStone was in full operation, as she could barely get through town or any of the stores without bumping into a group of skiers.

But still, he could at least have called.

She hadn’t heard from Roger, either, since that night on the mountain. And really, considering her four-year nightmare, the ending had been rather anticlimactic. Jack Stone had come to see her later that afternoon, and explained a bit more about how they’d caught Brad red-handed lighting her porch on fire. It would be up to the courts to decide which state got first dibs on prosecuting Brad, Jack had told her, Maine or Georgia. But, he’d gone on to assure her, she was perfectly safe now.

Depressed as hell, but perfectly safe.

Jessie wiped her eyes to make sure she didn’t have any stray tears when she heard her parents stirring upstairs. They’d arrived yesterday afternoon and instantly fallen in love with her new home; her dad quite proud of her for driving a hard bargain on the price, and her mom utterly mesmerized by the flocks of colorful birds constantly fluttering around her large bird feeder on the deck.

The bird feeder hadn’t been there yesterday morning when she’d driven into town to get some last-minute gifts to stuff in the five stockings she had hanging on the mantle behind the stove. She had a sixth stocking filled with male necessities—including a box of condoms stuffed in the toe—hidden in the bottom drawer of her bureau, but she was waiting to see if she should bring it out.

It wasn’t looking good so far.

“Good Lord, the crows are better alarm clocks than roosters,” Maureen Pringle said as she came down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and smiled at the little fir tree, then slid her smile to Jessie. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom. Did you sleep well?”

Maureen headed into the kitchen with a laugh. “I can’t even remember my head hitting the pillow,” she said, opening cupboard doors until she found the mugs. “I thought I was going to have trouble getting to sleep because it’s so quiet here, but I guess all this wonderful fresh air—and all those glasses of wine—took care of any problem I might have had.” She came back into the living room carrying a mug of coffee, sat down on the couch, and patted Jessie’s knee. “I’ve never seen you looking healthier, Jess.” She waved her mug toward the window. “And Dad and I have to admit that we were wrong; moving here appears to be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.” She shifted to tuck her foot under her body to face Jessie, her I’m-yourmother-so-don’t-even-try-to-lie-to-me look making an appearance. “So considering this is the first time in four years I’ve seen you so . . . alive, I think you’d better explain the sadness that comes into your eyes when you think no one is looking,” she said gently, touching Jessie’s arm. “What’s the matter, baby?”

Jessie pulled in a deep breath and looked out the window at the birds already flocking to the feeder. “I’ve fallen in love with Ian.”

“In four weeks?” Maureen asked in obvious alarm. Her hand on Jessie’s arm tightened. “Are you sure, Jess? Is it possible that it’s only . . . infatuation?”

“Oh, it’s definitely love.”

“Then why the sadness?”

Jessie finally looked at her. “Because even though he said he loved me, I haven’t seen Ian since he saved my life four days ago,” she quietly explained, already having told her parents about Brad and what had really happened back in Atlanta as well as three days before they’d arrived—hence the many glasses of wine she and her mother had consumed and the goodly amount of bourbon her father had downed.

Maureen glanced toward the hallway, then looked back at Jessie and smiled. “The man left his bed, so I assume he’s planning to see you sometime in the near future. Say, once your parents are no longer sleeping upstairs?”

“You weren’t here for the last three days,” Jessie pointed out. “And he hasn’t called or texted me, not once.” She waved toward the deck. “He waited until I went into town yesterday to sneak over and put up that bird feeder.”

“Maybe he’s a little panicked. Men get funny like that when they suddenly realize they’ve fallen in love. Hell,” Maureen said with a laugh, lifting her mug toward the ceiling, “I didn’t see your father for almost a month after he declared his undying love for me. He claimed he had a pressing deadline for a museum he was head architect on, which kept him so busy, apparently, that he couldn’t even pick up the phone and call.” She squeezed Jessie’s arm again. “It appears as though love takes men by surprise, baby, and they go a little crazy when they suddenly discover they can’t breathe properly unless they’re drawing in the scent of the woman they love.”

“Yeah, well, I hope Ian’s passed out cold on his mountain from lack of air.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got it bad,” Maureen chuckled, lifting her mug to her lips just as Jacob Pringle came down the stairs.

He stopped beside the tree and smiled at them. “Now there’s a sight to greet a man first thing Christmas morning: the two women he loves cuddled together on a couch, looking positively radiant.” But then his smile disappeared and he rubbed his forehead. “Do you have any aspirin, Jess? I seem to have a bit of a headache this morning. Apparently my system’s not used to all this fresh air.”

Jessie got up with a snort. “Your system’s not used to your downing a pint of bourbon in one evening.

“Are we going to meet the man who owns that bed today?” he asked, following her into the bathroom.

“I . . . I don’t think so,” she said, taking the bottle of aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. “Ian’s pretty tied up at the resort. I imagine this is one of their busiest weeks.”

“A man’s never too busy to meet the parents of the woman he’s sleeping with.” He touched her arm. “You know I’ve always urged you to make your own decisions, but you’ve been here only four weeks and already you’re living with the man.” He touched her fleece over the scar on her collarbone and smiled sadly. “I’m just scared, Jessie, as a father who nearly lost his daughter when she was swept off her feet by a man she barely knew.”

“I’m not twenty-four anymore, Dad, and believe me, I’ve aged twenty years since then. Ian MacKeage is as solid as the mountain he works on and more honest and noble than any man I know.” She smiled, patting his chest. “Besides you, of course.” But then she sobered. “I love him so much, it hurts to breathe when he’s not around.”

Jacob took the aspirin out of her hand and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Then stop looking so sad when you think no one is looking. The man will get his priorities in order soon. And you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because only a complete idiot would risk losing the smartest, prettiest, spunkiest woman I know. Besides your mother, of course,” he said with a laugh, heading out into the kitchen, only to stop and squat down beside Toby in front of the woodstove. He lifted the dog’s head by his chin. “And you, you big lug; don’t tell me you’re also smitten with this MacKeage fellow.”

Jessie laughed, stopping beside them. “Toby wasn’t won over all that easily, especially when he realized he had to forfeit his spot in my . . . bed,” she finished lamely, feeling her cheeks heat to blistering red. She made a beeline for the kitchen. “I did
not
just say that,” she said with a laugh.

“Good,” her dad said as he stood up, “because then I’d have to go buy a shotgun and hunt the man down to make an honest woman of my daughter.”

Jessie buried her face in the fridge, partly to cool her blush but mostly to hide her smile. If only her dad knew how real that threat would be coming from a MacKeage male if one of their women were involved, he certainly wouldn’t be laughing.

Her mom came over and stood next to her looking in the fridge. “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked. “And what do you want me to do? Should I peel the potatoes?”

Jessie pulled the crisper drawer out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “No, just wash the potatoes and let them dry, and then I’ll oil and season them and put them in the oven an hour before we eat. But you can peel the carrots while I prepare the roast,” she said, lifting the ten-pound hunk of beef she’d driven to Greenville to buy when it looked as if nobody was donating a venison roast.

Maureen stopped taking potatoes out of the crisper drawer and turned to her. “When did you learn to cook?”

“I’ve been a closet chef for over three years now.” And the only reason she’d burnt the first roast she’d fed to the crows was because it had been the first time she’d cooked in an electric oven. Why in hell were the burners propane and the oven electric? “But don’t tell anyone, okay?” she whispered through her smile. “Because then people will stop feeding me and expect me to feed them.”

After finding a travel mug for his coffee, Jessie’s dad took Toby for a walk, saying he wanted to check out the neighborhood, and she and her mom threw together a light breakfast for them to graze on while they finished putting dinner together. She was cooking enough to feed an army, and even though there might only be just the three of them, Jessie had her mom set two extra places at the table.

She’d walked out to the mailbox every day for the last four days, often stopping when she reached the spot where Roger had been set up selling his wares, and even called out his name. But he never came, despite her doing as he’d instructed by walking there with the intention of seeing him. Roger had also stopped texting her, and the couple of texts she had sent to her old phone number hadn’t been replied to.

Apparently the old goat had also walked out of her life, now that he’d gotten what he wanted—which Jessie had decided was for Ian to accept the magic. The problem with that, however, was that she didn’t think Ian had
wanted
to accept it, and she was beginning to believe the only reason he had accepted it was to save her from Brad. But now that she was safe, Ian was stuck with the magic and likely avoiding her because she had completely ruined his life.

By noon Jessie was just taking the roast out of the oven to let the meat rest before she carved it when she heard the distinct rumble of a trail groomer coming down the road.

“Oh my,” Maureen said, looking out the door window. “Jessica, did you move to Maine or the North Pole?”

Jessie stood on her tiptoes to see out the sink window, and smiled through her disappointment when she saw the faded old groomer stop right in the middle of her front lawn. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you to set a place at the table for Santa Claus,” she said, laughing at her mother gaping out the window in the door.

Maureen scampered back to let Roger come inside, then scampered back even farther when he turned and carefully set the large wool sack he had slung over his shoulder down on the floor. “Merry Christmas!” he barked out to the house in general, even as his gaze landed on Maureen. He swiped his fur-lined hat off his head, ran his fingers through his wild mane of hair—further mussing it up—then smoothed down his beard bristling with his grin as he strode directly up to her.

“If’n I had to guess, I’d be thinking you’re our Jess’s mama, Maureen,” he said, only instead of taking the hand her mom was tentatively extending to him, Roger used it to pull Maureen into his arms with a laugh. “’Cause I swear only a woman as handsome as yourself could create such a beautiful daughter. Yes, well, good to meet ye, Missus Pringle,” he said gruffly, stepping away when he spotted Jessie’s father approaching somewhat aggressively. He extended his hand. “Roger AuClair de Keage, a good friend of your daughter’s.”

“Jacob Pringle,” her dad said, shaking Roger’s hand. “Maureen’s
husband
.”

“I guessed as much,” Roger said with a nod, turning to Jessie and opening his arms, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You figured out how to cook up a fine venison roast yet?” he asked as she walked into his embrace.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to settle for beef, as I forgot to go out and shoot me a deer this morning.”

He gave a snort as he squeezed her so tight she squeaked, then walked over to his bag and carried it to the tree. “Now ain’t this a fine-looking fir, if I do say so myself,” he said as he started pulling neatly wrapped packages out of the bag and carefully arranging them under the tree with the others. “Tell me, Jess,” he said when she walked over to stand beside her still-gaping mother and scowling father to watch right along with them. “Where exactly did ye get the poor little bugger?” He stopped and arched a brow at her. “I don’t recall Michael MacBain selling any uncultured trees. He expand’n his business?”

She was saved from answering when Toby trotted over to the tree, looking perkier than he had in days, and started nosing one of the packages.

“You let that alone, big fella,” Roger growled as he pushed Toby away. “I swear, you’re more impatient than a five-year-old on Christmas morning,” he said, laughing at his own joke. He grabbed Toby’s snout when the dog tried to reach the package again. “I’m gonna take your gift back if’n you don’t quit worrying it to death. Now you go over to that fancy bed of yours and wait until after dinner like the rest of us gotta.”

“There’d better not be a bone in there,” Jessie said, remembering the mess he’d made with the last bone as Toby walked back to his bed with his head hanging.

“You’re just gonna have to wait and see like everyone else, missy,” Roger chortled as he continued pulling packages out of the bag to set them under the tree.

Each gift was crisply wrapped in the same paper, a deep blue covered with gold suns and moons and stars that were so shiny, Jessie would swear they were real gold leaf, and each of the variously sized packages was tied with what appeared to be spun silver ribbon.

“Well, then,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “I guess we’d better eat so we can get to the gifts.”

Her mom rushed in behind her, and with her back to the living room she nudged Jessie’s hip. “Who is he?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder then giving Jessie a glare that was more amused than threatening. “And don’t you dare say Santa Claus.”