Highlander for the Holidays (37 page)

“He’s an old relative of Ian’s, actually.” Jessie waved toward the windows. “Ian told me he lives on some mountain on the other side of the lake, and that he likes to keep to himself for the most part.” She touched her mother’s arm. “Just to warn you, though; you’re liable to get something . . . well, funky from him for Christmas, okay? Roger’s into bartering wares, so whatever it is will probably be used.”

“He brought gifts for Jacob and me?” Maureen squeaked, clutching her throat. “But Jessie, we don’t have anything to give him in exchange. We didn’t know you were having anyone else over for Christmas dinner.”

Jessie patted her mom’s arm. “Don’t worry, I filled a stocking for Roger and put all our names on the gift I bought him in case he showed up.” She leaned closer. “But don’t be surprised if he tries bartering with you, okay? Oh, and he might want to have a word with you about not teaching me to cook,” she added with a smile when her mom went from worried to indignant. She shrugged. “Roger’s a bit old-fashioned, so don’t take it personally.”

“But I
tried
to teach you to cook,” Maureen said, apparently taking it personally. “But you were too busy being a social butterfly.” She waved at the roast sitting in the large cast-iron pot on the stove. “And you obviously can cook, so what’s his gripe?”

“That’s just it: Roger loves to gripe,” Jessie drawled, turning to grab her oven mitts. “Oh, and don’t be surprised when he hauls out a bottle of Scotch after dinner and pours you a glass,” she said, laughing when her mother went back to looking worried. “Apparently everyone in his family thinks Scotch is good for whatever ails a person.”

She walked to the peninsula to tell the men to take a seat so she could serve dinner, only to find Roger had lined up four of the wine glasses on the edge of the table and was pouring Scotch into them. “Too late,” she told her mother, turning with a lopsided smile. “I guess we’re having Scotch as an appetizer.”

“Or an appetite killer,” Maureen muttered, carrying the sliced homemade bread Jessie had bought at the bakery to the table.

“You men might as well take your seats,” Jessie said across the peninsula, “because dinner is served.”

“Let’s say we wait a little while before we eat,” her dad said, carrying his glass of Scotch over to her chair next to the woodstove, but at the last minute gesturing for Roger to sit in it. He looked at Jessie. “There’s still one more place set at the table, so that must mean everyone’s not here yet.”

“I . . . I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Oh, I don’t think it would hurt if we waited a few more minutes.”

Jessie caught her breath at the look in his eyes. “Oh, Daddy, what did you do?”

Jacob used his glass to gesture at Toby. “Well, when we got about three-quarters of a mile from the house on our walk, the big lug suddenly started dragging me down someone’s driveway, and wouldn’t stop no matter how much I tugged on his leash or pleaded with him. And Toby walked right up to an old cabin and started scratching on its door.”

“But nobody was home, right?
Right?
”

Jessie’s heart sank when she saw her dad’s eyes start to crinkle. “Well, the door opened and this tall, handsome, athletic man took one look at me and paled. But he invited us inside, and after making quite a fuss over Toby, he offered me a glass of Scotch.” He smiled, holding the glass toward Roger. “Which I must say I’m coming to like quite a bit more than bourbon.”

“You went inside and had a drink with Ian?” Jessie squeaked, holding the mitts to her mouth. “Why?”

“Well, for one thing, so I could thank him for saving your life four days ago. And then we just had ourselves a friendly little chat.” He glanced toward the door then back at her and shrugged. “Dinner will keep a few more minutes, won’t it, baby?”

“Oh, Daddy, what did you do?” she repeated. “What did you say to Ian?”

He looked down, swirling the Scotch in his glass.

“Jacob,” her mother growled, “answer your daughter. What in hell did you do?”

He finally looked at Jessie again, and the naked love in his deep hazel eyes made her chest start pounding. “You might be a grown woman, Jessica, but I will always be your father,” he said quietly. “And a father’s conversation with the man his daughter has fallen in love with is best kept between them,” he added, giving his wife a speaking glance, then looking back at Jessie and smiling sheepishly. “It’s Christmas, Jess; give the guy another ten minutes.”

She mutely turned away, going back to the stove as she took in slow, gulping breaths, undecided which frightened her more; that Ian wouldn’t show up or what to say to him if he did. She really hadn’t wanted an audience around when she threw herself against his big, solid chest and apologized for being an idiot for thinking he might want to marry her without even knowing her a full month.

“Your father acts so old-fashioned sometimes,” her mom whispered, hugging Jessie from behind, “that I swear he’s reincarnated from the eighteenth century.” She turned Jessie around and brushed her hair back. “You’ll work things out with Ian, Jess, in your own time and on your own terms, not your father’s or anyone else’s.”

“But what am I supposed to do if he does show up today?” she whispered back, leaning her forehead on her mom’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. “I was such an idiot for jumping to the conclusion that just because he said he loved me, he was going to propose two minutes later.”

Maureen set her away in order to smile into her eyes. “Love turns us all into idiots at one time or another, and sometimes it turns us into forces to be reckoned with. I’m sorry, baby,” she said, giving Jessie’s shoulders a squeeze, “but I’m afraid this isn’t the last time you’re going to embarrass yourself, so try to remember that when Ian acts a little crazy sometimes, too, okay?” She snorted softly. “Trust me; your father and I had so many moments of idiocy in the first two years of our marriage that it’s a wonder you were born.” She laughed. “That’s why it’s called falling
madly
in love.”

Jessie gave her a hug, squeezing her tightly. “I love you, Mom. You always seem to know just the right thing to say.”

“I love you, too, baby. And I promise, you and Ian will be okay. And you know why? Because your father certainly wouldn’t be waiting dinner on a man he didn’t approve of.”

“It’s awful quiet in here,” Roger said, walking into the kitchen carrying two wineglasses filled three-quarters full with Scotch. “And that’s got me worrying that ye ruined Christmas dinner and are trying to figure out how to tell us.”

Maureen took the glass he held out to her and Jessie took hers and then walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the roast. “Does that look ruined to you?” she asked, smiling when he peered down inside the pot he’d left on her porch.

Roger reared up and then bent down to open the oven door and peer inside. He straightened to give Jessie a glare. “You think fun’n an old man by making him believe ye can’t cook might be entertaining, missy?”

“You think assuming I can’t cook just because I
don’t
might be entertaining, you old goat?”

“Jessica,” her mother said on a gasp, “that’s rude.”

“Aye, I was thinking that, too,” Roger said, turning to her. “Ye know, Maureen, I’m willing to admit I intended to give you a good scolding—after dinner, of course—but seeing your daughter comes by her sassiness honestly,” he said, his beard bristling with his grin, “I’m thinking maybe I should be singing ye praises instead for raising up such a spunky lass as our little missy here. Go on now, have yourself a good taste of that fine Scotch I brought. You, too, Jess,” he said, turning to her and giving a wink. “It’s guaranteed to cure what I do believe might be ailing you at the moment.”

Jessie raised her glass in salute to her mom, and they both took a sip only to both immediately start coughing. But to Jessie’s surprise, her mother caught her breath and immediately took another, much longer sip.

“I daresay that’s the finest Scotch I’ve ever tasted,” Maureen said on a winded whisper, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She took another gulp then nodded demurely to an obviously stunned Roger and turned and headed into the living room. “Jacob, you must find out from Roger what brand this is. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Realizing she rather liked the smooth burn that sent heat spreading throughout her, Jessie took another sip, only to end up gulping in a mouthful when she heard footsteps on the porch followed by a knock on the door. Roger patted her on the back, his laughter drowning out her sputtering gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

“Good enough, then; it looks like we’re finally going to get to eat,” he said, walking away. Only instead of going to the door, he waved at it on his way to the dining table. “You gonna answer that, Jess, or make the man stand outside the whole time we eat?”

Apparently Toby was the only one with enough manners to answer the door, except that he couldn’t actually open it. Jessie looked at her father, but he merely arched a brow as her mother just gave her a smile and took another sip of her drink.

Okay, she would answer the door. Yeah, she could do this. She’d just pretend that Ian was merely another guest, just like Roger. Yup, someone her dad had invited. Not someone who made her heart pound and her belly flip-flop and her insides clench. She could
do this
.

Jessie walked over and, using her knee to push Toby out of the way, she opened the door with the biggest, brightest smile in her arsenal, only to have it falter when she saw Ian MacKeage’s head sitting on top of a dress shirt and tie and suit jacket, her gaze falling down to his slacks and leather dress shoes before snapping back up to his face.

She opened her mouth with every intention of saying hello like a civilized hostess, only to gasp when she was lifted off her feet and pulled outside, a vague sense of the door shutting as she was swept sideways and pressed up against the house. But even before her head could stop spinning, his mouth captured her second gasp and started kissing her senseless.

This was Ian, right? Her mountain man? The guy who hadn’t called or texted or come to see her in four days? This wasn’t a twin brother, was it, who wore dress clothes like a born businessman? Did twins
taste
alike?

A tie; was he really wearing a
tie
?

“Don’t ever walk away from me again,” he growled, resting his forehead on hers.

“You’re
scolding
me?” she said into his deep green eyes burning into hers.

“We agreed there would never be anything you could do or say to embarrass yourself with me.”

“You’re honestly scolding me?” She shoved at his chest but couldn’t budge him. “You don’t come by or call for four days, and
you’re
scolding
me
?”

He captured her righteous anger in his mouth again and slid his hands up under her sweater to cup her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples even as he spread her legs to press one of his thighs intimately against her. Jessie found her head swimming again, only this time at the memory of the unimaginable passion she’d found in his arms in bed, both of them naked as he’d taken her out to the sun and moon and stars and back time after time after time.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she cried the moment he stopped kissing her to lean his forehead on hers again, except this time he was breathing as heavily as she was.

“No, you’re not,” he rasped, his hands now spanning her ribs to hold her upright on his thigh because her legs had turned to jelly. “I’m not looking for an apology, Jess; I’m looking for your promise to never walk away from me again.”

“You didn’t call.”

“
You
walked away.”

She hid her face in his chest. “I thought you were mad at me for ruining your life.”

“I am. Because you did.
When you walked away.
”

“I’m
sorry
.”

“I told ye I don’t—hey! Did you just wipe your nose on my tie?” he growled, rearing back and pulling the tie out of her hands.

“No. No, I’m pretty sure that damp spot is snow or something,” she said, pulling it out of his hand and smoothing it down over his chest to cover a dark spot on his shirt.

He sighed hard enough to move her hair, slid his hand out from under her sweater, and gently pulled the hem of it down over her waist. Then he slowly eased his thigh from between her legs, his hands hovering in case she collapsed—which was a real possibility. And then he reached up and palmed her face and kissed her softly on the lips as he brushed his thumbs over her damp cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. “Forever.”

He had to use his thumbs like windshield wipers again because her eyes started really leaking at his declaration. “I love you so much,” she whispered against his lips. “And I promise I won’t ever walk away again.” She tilted her head back to grin up at him. “Well, not from embarrassment. I might walk away pissed, but only so I don’t do something foolish like thump that big hard head of yours with your walking . . . staff.”

He slowly shook his big hard head, his eyes not quite managing to crinkle at the corners. “It’s a moot point anyway, as I decided on my way here that I’m not
letting
you walk away from me again.” Finally, he smiled; except it wasn’t a very nice smile as he used his body to press her up against the house again. “You think you can handle dealing with a real mountain man, Jess, and all that that entails?” he asked quietly.

She gave him an equally not-nice smile. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already proven that I can. Maybe the question is, can you handle dealing with a modern city girl?”

She nearly fell when he suddenly stepped away just one second before the door opened. “Are we eating today or not, people?” Roger asked. “’Cause Toby here is having a fit trying to get at his present, and I’m worrying the potatoes are going to be so dry, they’re gonna taste like moose pellets if’n they ain’t out of that oven in two minutes.”