Highlander for the Holidays (29 page)

Ian gave a start when the inside pocket of his jacket started vibrating and pulled out his cell phone to look at the caller ID, giving a sigh as he flipped it open. Tell her, the text read. Tell the lass how she’s brought a powerful warrior to his knees with nothing more than her smile. Hell, boy, even your papa eventually got it right, and he was a bigger stubborn ass than you are. Or do ye want to spend the rest of your life walking your mountain alone? Jessie made her choice; ye saw yourself that Dixon drove off without her this morning. So quit acting like some snotty-nosed little heathen, and walk in there like the true highlander ye are and tell her. And Ian, you’d best be telling her everything.

He shut the phone and started to slip it back in his pocket when it rang. “God dammit,” he growled in way of answering, “if I ever get my hands on you, de Keage, I swear I’m burying you in that snowcat so far under a mound of posies, it’ll take you over a century to see the light of day again.”

“Now is that any way to talk to your favorite long-lost ancestor?” Roger asked quietly, although Ian could hear the amusement in his voice. “So, do ye want my sage advice or not, you hardheaded bastard?”

“Not.”

Roger snorted. “You do know that if she finds out ye spent the day spying on her—all the way to Greenville, I might add—she’ll have you sleeping out by the hearth and Toby will be in that bed of yours. After, that is, she takes her staff to you.”

“Then I guess she’d better not find out, had she?”

“Our lass is doing a fine job of accepting the magic, wouldn’t you say?” Roger said, his voice deepened with self-importance. Ian heard him suddenly sigh. “Although I’m afraid she’s not taking it as seriously as she needs to. Not if ye hope to get her through the coming maelstrom.”

Ian jumped to his feet. “What maelstrom?” he growled. “What’s happening?”

“The past is what’s happening. Tomorrow night Jessie’s past is going to catch up with her, and you and the dog are all that’s standing between her and certain death this time. But where Tobias is quite capable of fighting an enemy he can actually sink his teeth into, you’re the only one who can save Jessie from this particular demon. And you know why, MacKeage?” Roger asked roughly. “Because deny it or not, you have a gift.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Sorry, big fella,” the old hermit growled, “but I really don’t have the time to knock any more sense into you. And ye can blame that on Jessie, since it took her so damn long to get herself here. So ye only have until tomorrow night to decide if you want to take on Jessie’s demon.”

“What’s happening, de Keage?”

“What’s it matter to you, if you’re not willing to accept your calling?”

“You know damn well it matters.”

“Do ye recall any of the tale I told you last summer?”

“I remember ye rambling on about some fairy-tale maiden trapped in a gilded cage,” Ian said impatiently, “and two masked monsters battling each other for her affect—” He stiffened. “Jessie referred to herself as a fairy-tale wife. Dammit, de Keage, why didn’t you just tell me you were speaking about a real person
last summer
?”

A heavy sigh came over the phone. “Because even then I was already interfering more than I was supposed to. I can’t force ye to accept your destiny, Ian, any more than I could have forced Jessie to choose you. It’s this accursed free will thing that’s tying my hands. But I can,” he growled when Ian started to interrupt, “give ye fair warning. Ye have all day tomorrow to prepare, so I suggest you skip the birthday party for Greylen’s daughters tomorrow night and decide if denying your gift means more to you than Jessie does. And Ian?”

“What?”

“It’s an all-or-nothing thing; once you own the power there’s no going back. And just so ye know, it never did have anything to do with animals. Ye chose to believe—and let your family believe—in something innocuous rather than face the truth.”

“And that would be?”

There was a pause, then a snort. “Ye spent four years in college and five in the military trying to outrun your destiny, yet when you finally did come home ye spent damn near every night on the very seat of your power. You
are
TarStone, Ian; you and the mountain share the same heartbeat. And God willing, tomorrow night you will finally learn what that means. So I bid you Godspeed, you big bastard.”

Ian mutely lowered the phone and started to close it.

“Wait, there’s one more thing,” Roger called out.

“God dammit,
what
?”

A chuckle came over the phone. “Ye might find a sense of humor will go a lot further tonight than compassion will.” He sighed. “Although I’m thinking ye might also need a healthy dose of patience.”

“Is there anything else—Christ! She’s set the house on fire!” Ian shouted, slamming the phone shut on Roger’s laughter as he bolted across the road and up the driveway, keeping his eyes trained on the smoke billowing out the kitchen window. He scaled the steps three at a time and burst through the door, causing Jessie to drop the smoking pan in the sink with a shriek as she spun toward him. Ian pulled the towel out of her hand and picked up the pan and headed for the door.

“No!” she yelped, grabbing his arm. “They’re not ruined.”

He looked down, trying to see through the smoke at what was still sizzling in the pan. “What in hell is it?”

Jessie turned him toward the range. “I’m caramelizing onions,” she muttered, pushing on his arm to make him set the pan on the burner. “And they’re not ruined, only a little . . . scorched. I can still salvage them,” she ended in a shout when the smoke detector in the hallway suddenly started blaring. She began pushing him toward the hall. “Please stop that noise and then go take your shower,” she continued loudly as she kept pushing him. “You’re early, and dinner isn’t ready yet.”

But she grabbed his arm again the moment he yanked the detector off the ceiling and pulled out the battery, and Ian saw her cheeks flush with color. “I . . . There’s something for you on the bed that I . . .” She pushed him toward the bedroom. “I decided to give you my Christmas present early, so you can put it on after your shower.”

Ian stared at the box sitting on the bed, wrapped in deep green foil paper and a large golden bow. “What’s in it?” he asked, only to turn and discover he was alone. Toby walked into the bedroom, reared up to set his front paws on the mattress, and grabbed the box. Ian snatched it away. “That’s mine,” he growled.

But then he set the gift on the bed and squatted down to take hold of Toby’s cheeks. “Hey, we’re on the same side here. Jessie’s got enough heart for us both, big man, so what say we call a truce? Because there’s a maelstrom coming here tomorrow, and it’s going to take the both of us to keep her safe.” Ian gave a chuckle, rubbing Toby’s ears between his thumbs and fingers. “I saw ye put Dixon in his place this morning, and you were instrumental in sending the bastard scurrying back to Atlanta alone. Thanks for pretending you didn’t see me.” He gave the dog’s ears one last rub, then let go and held out his hand. “So we’re good? You’ll share your lady with me?”

Toby stared at him in silence, his big dark eyes searching Ian’s, then lifted his paw with a grumbling snarl. Ian closed his fingers around the massive paw with a chuckle. “I know, buddy; she makes my chest hurt, too.”

He gave Toby another pat and stood up, then slowly pulled loose the bow on the box. He carefully peeled back the wrapping, lifted the lid, and stared down at . . . sweet Lord, was that a bathrobe? Ian lifted the material and shook it out, and then shook his head. A bathrobe. And matching pajama pants, he noticed, glancing in the bottom of the box even as he rubbed the smooth material between his fingers. He looked back at the bathrobe, which he suspected was silk; the color the deep green of winter spruce with thin gold piping along the collar and down the lapels and on the belt.

He’d never owned a bathrobe, not even as a kid, as they were a bit too civilized for highland warriors according to his father. Ian recalled his dad also telling him on that long-ago trip—or rather, warning him—that women had a tendency to want to smooth out a man’s rougher edges, even if that roughness was the very thing that had attracted them in the first place.

Jessie expected him to spend this evening wearing pajamas and a bathrobe?

“Do you like it?”

He turned to find her standing in the doorway, her cheeks the same soft pink as her sweater, her eyes searching his. “Aye, Jess,” he heard himself say thickly. “I’ve always wanted a robe.”

“I . . . It reminded me of the color your eyes get when . . . whenever . . .” Her blushed kicked up several notches. “Whenever you kiss me,” she whispered. She gestured toward the box. “And you don’t have to sleep in the bottoms. They’re just if you want to lounge around on Sunday mornings with me doing crossword puzzles or . . . or something.” She took a deep breath, gave him a brilliant smile, and spun on her heel. “Go take your shower. The roast is coming out of the oven in a few minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into the living room again.

Okay. It would appear lounging around the coffeepot first thing in the morning in his boxers might be one of those rough edges. Toby ambled out of the bedroom in the direction of the living room, and Ian would swear the dog snickered on his way by.

He tossed the robe on the bed and sat down in the chair and took off his boots, stood up and stripped off—making sure he placed his clothes in the hamper—and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. But instead of enjoying the fact that Jessie hadn’t kicked him out on his ass now that Dixon was gone, Ian started getting a tight feeling in his gut as he recalled Roger’s warning that he had to make his decision by tomorrow night—which happened to be the winter solstice. It was actually thirty minutes after midnight this year, if he remembered correctly. And knowing a little more than he cared to know about the magic, instead of attending the MacKeage girls’ birthday party, he would have to be on top of TarStone finally coming face-to-face with his destiny—or risk taking on Jessie’s demon without it. And Ian didn’t know which scared him more, embracing the magic or revealing it to her—because if he was standing on the mountain tomorrow night, then by God, Jessie would be standing right beside him.

 

 

IAN STRAIGHTENED FROM CLOSING THE DAMPER ON THE stove to see Jessie turn away from the sink and cover her mouth with a loud yawn. “Boy, I seem to be really tired tonight. I’m gonna leave the rest for the morning,” she said, walking toward him as she stretched her arms out with another yawn. “I think I’ll just go to bed.” She stopped beside him and smiled—although he could see it didn’t quite outshine the hint of terror in her eyes. “I know you said everything was delicious, but you could at least have disguised your surprise.”

“I was surprised that ye tried, not that ye succeeded.”

“Yeah, well, cooking’s not exactly rocket science,” she said with a shrug as she headed into the hallway. “And caramelized onions can make even overcooked beef taste like filet mignon.” She stopped to wave dismissively. “No hurry if you’re not tired. Stay up and watch television awhile or use the hot tub if you want. I had a soak this afternoon just as it started snowing. It was so quiet and beautiful.” She shot him a smile—again one that contained more anxiety than humor. “And I slid a stool under my side of the bed so you don’t have to come in and boost me up. Good night.”

“Night, Jess,” he said as he heard the bedroom door close softly—and then lock. With Toby on the wrong side of it, apparently, as the dog padded back into the living room with his head hanging and plopped down on his bed with a heavy groan. “Sorry, big man, but at least she’s not dressing you in silk,” Ian muttered, looking down at himself. Who in hell ever heard of eating dinner in a bathrobe and pajama bottoms?

He collapsed onto the couch and stared out the window at the snowflakes drifting through the beam of the floodlight Jessie had turned on just before dinner. Why had she locked the door? When he’d told Toby they were on the same side, he sure as hell hadn’t meant the wrong side of the bedroom door. Ian looked right and left, eyeing the couch to see if it would fit him, then stared out at the tracks in the snow on the deck Jessie had made getting in the hot tub, and wondered if she’d worn a swimsuit.

What in hell had her so uptight tonight, anyway? Other than the onions being a bit scorched, dinner couldn’t have been tastier; the potatoes had been roasted to perfection, the beef had been tender and juicy, the corn had been . . . well, it’s hard to mess up a bag of frozen corn. And he’d recognized the pie as being from the Pine Lake Bakery and Bistro. All of which meant Jessie could cook if she set her mind to it, so what was the big deal tonight? Why had she finally made the effort and then just run off to bed without basking in her success with him, looking scared to death?

Ian sprang to his feet with a muttered curse, making Toby lift his head in alarm, and turned toward the dining table tucked in the corner beside the Christmas tree. She’d put tall, tapered candles in sterling holders on the table, served some pretty expensive wine in some pretty fancy crystal, and set out cloth napkins and fine china. Hell, there was even a bouquet of flowers sitting between the candles.

Ian dropped his chin to his robe-clad chest, not knowing if he wanted to laugh or roar. Jessie’s hair swept up in a twist with escaping tendrils framing her delicate face, the baby-soft pink sweater molding her curves, the hint of expensive perfume that still lingered in the air, her hand shaking slightly when she’d poured his wine; Jessica Pringle had spent the day orchestrating a seduction—with
him
being her target.

Then why in hell had she locked the bedroom door?

Ian stilled when he heard the soft but distinct sound of the door unlocking, followed almost immediately by the sound of his bed squeaking as she climbed up on it. And then he smiled, willing to bet his snowmobile that she was right now as naked as the day she’d been born. But then his heart started pounding so hard, he had to reach inside his robe to rub his chest. This was it; he was going to go in there and finally make Jessie his—or completely blow it by saying or doing something wrong.