Highlander for the Holidays (3 page)

“Pine Creek isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis,” Duncan said, looking at Jessie. “Have you come here for a job? I can’t think of any local business other than the resort with the clout to lure a city girl into the wilds of Maine, unless you’re an artist or craftsman and plan to open a gallery.”

“I’m neither. I was in advertising down in Atlanta, but I’m taking a hiatus from work,” Jessie said. She felt her cheeks heat up, realizing her reason for moving here might sound silly to them. “But when I happened across a brochure for TarStone Mountain Ski Resort while researching ad campaigns for northern resorts and spas, I thought Pine Creek looked like a wonderful place to live.”

Duncan gave a soft snort. “It is if ye like snow that’s measured in feet instead of inches and windchills that reach forty below.”

“Or if you don’t mind winters that last six or seven months,” Ian added. “So, are you planning on buying a place or renting?”

“I hope to buy a small house, maybe on the lake.”

“We have a cousin who’s a real estate agent,” Duncan said, filching a cheese stick off their platter. “We could hook you up with her tomorrow if you’d like. Tell me what room you’re in, and I’ll have Katy come see you in the morning.”

Jessie shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling claustrophobic between the wall and Ian’s large body.

“Duncan knows better than to ask for your room number,” Ian said when she hesitated, shifting slightly away from her. “Katy can have the front desk call your room. That is, assuming you’re ready to start house hunting.”

“Ah . . . yes, I’d like that,” Jessie said before quickly taking a sip of her ale.

Paula showed up with their drinks. “Mike’s backed up in the kitchen, so it’ll be a few minutes before that platter comes out. I’d say you’ve got enough time for a dance,” she added, shooting Merissa a conspirator’s smile when another slow tune started.

Confirming Paula’s claim that the MacKeages had brains as well as brawn, Duncan stood up and held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

Merissa shot out of the booth before he’d even finished asking.

“How about you, Jessie?” Ian asked, although he didn’t move.

Oh God, was she really ready for dancing? She desperately wanted to feel a man’s arms around her again—even, or maybe especially, a stranger’s—but then, she wasn’t in any hurry to embarrass herself, either. Jessie adjusted the scarf on her neck and smoothed it down over her breasts, unable to look at him. “Um . . . I haven’t . . . I’m not all that steady on my legs sometimes.”

Ian lowered his head level to hers. “I won’t let ye stumble, lass.”

God help her, the gentle timbre of his faint brogue already had her feeling weak in the knees. Still unable to look at him, Jessie leaned back to glance under the table. “I don’t know what to do with Toby.”

Ian chuckled and stood up. “I’m afraid he’ll have to find his own dance partner.”

Jessie took a fortifying breath, scooted across the seat, and stood up. “No, stay,” she told Toby when he tried to follow. “You can watch me from right here.”

Ian took two steps and stopped well short of the dance floor, then turned. Jessie hesitated only a second before stepping into his arms, which he gently closed around her in a loose embrace. Ian slowly began swaying them to the music, and she lifted her hands to his broad shoulders and closed her eyes on a silent sigh. Oh yeah, she was ready for this; unable to remember the last time she’d been this close to a man who wasn’t only interested in poking and prodding her. And suddenly Jessie knew she’d made the right decision to stop physical therapy and simply get on with her life.

Ian was a good head taller than her own five-ten, which meant he had to be well over six feet tall. Large men usually made her uncomfortable—an affliction she hadn’t had until four years ago—but Ian had a way about him that seemed to put her at ease. Maybe it was the fact that Toby had accepted him after only one sniff. Then again, maybe it was because she also thought Ian MacKeage smelled nice. Sort of outdoorsy, like fresh air and the woods. And . . . well, male.

He certainly was solid. She might imagine his shoulders were made of granite if they weren’t so warm, and his hair—a dark, sun-streaked blond—was tied back in a short tail low on his neck. He was also apparently good for his word about not letting her stumble, and Jessie soon found herself dancing as naturally as if she hadn’t nearly lost the ability to walk four years ago. She could stay in his embrace all night, she decided with another sigh, resting her head against the crux of his shoulder. Oh yeah, coming to Pine Creek had to be one of her wiser decisions.

Jessie could have wept when she heard the song wind down, but instead lifted her head with a smile, which froze half-formed when Ian gently eased her back to his shoulder. “There’ll be another song,” he said softly. Only the next song had a fast beat—not that he seemed to notice, swaying her gently. “Unless you’re tiring?”

“No, I’m good,” Jessie murmured, relaxing into him to let her smile finish forming against his soft flannel shirt. “Can you see Toby?”

“He really is rather protective, isn’t he?” Ian said, his voice filled with amusement. “He’s sitting just under the table, his eyes trained on you like lasers.”

She leaned back to look up. “Toby’s one of those males that insist a girl leaves with the one who brought her.”

Ian hesitated a heartbeat and said, “Then I would say you have a very wise pet.”

Jessie dropped her head back to his shoulder to hide her chagrin, wondering what had possessed her to say something so suggestive. God, she hoped he didn’t think she was considering going home with
him
.

Okay, maybe even baby steps were too much of a leap and she should try crawling first—preferably into a crack in the floor before she turned into Merissa.

IAN COULDN’T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE’D BEEN SO instantly attracted to a woman; likely because even though Jessie Pringle appeared to be a paradox of fragile beauty and poise, he had quickly recognized her potential for recklessness. She was also one hell of a straight-faced liar, he decided, sipping his Scotch to hide his smile as he remembered her telling the guy who’d nearly knocked her down that Toby had been coughing up a hairball.

Ian had thought he might actually have to fight Duncan for her, as his cousin had also started toward the dance floor when they had seen the small disaster forming—only to both be upstaged by her dog. So they’d sat back on their stools and watched the two women for a few minutes while Ian had remembered out loud that Duncan really wasn’t into willowy brunettes. To which Duncan had felt compelled to point out what happened the last time Ian had been stricken with hero syndrome.

But Jessie didn’t appear to be the least bit helpless, much less in need of rescuing. Hell, the woman had a hundred pounds of lethal canine running interference for her, which had him wondering if Toby’s role wasn’t that of protector rather than helper. Because despite Jessie’s claim that she was unsteady on her feet, she’d spent the better part of the evening in his arms on the dance floor and hadn’t stumbled once.

Damn, he had a thing for intriguing women, especially when they came packaged with large hazel eyes, light brown hair that softly curled down past her shoulders, and a decidedly feminine figure—which also had him wondering if the men in Atlanta weren’t idiots for letting her leave. Then again, maybe she was running from one man in particular, and had gone as far north as she could without actually leaving the country.

Oh yeah, he was definitely attracted to Jessie Pringle.

“No, seriously,” Merissa said, pointing her bottle at Jessie even though she was talking to Duncan. “When she first told me she was moving to New England, I thought she meant Boston. I mean, really,” she said, looking directly at Jessie, “the last decent shopping mall we saw was in Portland. No offense, guys, but would you mind telling me why anyone would
choose
to live hundreds of miles north of nowhere?”

“So they can get away from city girls who can’t handle their beer,” Jessie drawled before either of them could answer.

Merissa stopped her bottle halfway to her mouth. “I told you beer makes me crazy,” she muttered, darting a quick glance at Duncan. “Except I’m beginning to think testosterone is the real culprit.”

Jessie groaned, and Duncan stood up with a laugh. “I believe I have a cure for what ails ye, lass,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s dance.”

Ian decided Jessie had probably had enough dancing for one night, as he’d noticed a slight tension creeping into her face that made him worry her legs might be paining her. Then again, it might have something to do with the text message she’d received a few minutes ago that she’d read but hadn’t answered. He suspected Toby was also attuned to the subtle vibe she was giving off, as the dog had sat up and was resting his head on her thigh again.

Ian slid an arm on the seat behind her to lean close so she could hear him. “I won’t consider it rude if you want to respond to your text,” he offered.

She gave him an appreciative smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, but I’d rather not.” Her smile turned derisive. “Responding to Brad’s constant requests for updates of my ‘harebrained notion to move to Maine’ sort of defeats the purpose of
leaving
Atlanta, wouldn’t you say?”

“Brad?”

She gestured dismissively. “An overly protective brother-in-law.”

Okay, then. Apparently her tension was from the text—or, more precisely, from Brad, who as far as Ian was concerned was an overly
interested
brother-in-law. “How long have you had Toby?” he asked, reading her desire to change the subject.

“Almost three years,” she said, her smile turning genuine.

“And was he trained professionally?”

She fingered Toby’s ear. “He had two years of service dog school, with six months of it concentrated on his specialty.” She snorted. “And then his handler spent a couple of months training
me
.”

“Training the two of you to do what, exactly?”

She gave a negligent shrug. “Sometimes my legs just . . . get lazy, and Toby helps out by fetching things for me and stuff like that.” She gave him another smile, only this one appeared to be forced. “I’ve tried to teach him to cook, but he insists on tasting everything first.”

Knowing damn well she was lying about Toby’s full role in her life—this time by omission—Ian nevertheless gave an appropriate chuckle. “I imagine the big man has quite an appetite, yet he hasn’t once begged for a handout.”

“Probably the hardest part for me was learning not to spoil him rotten by giving him treats. But he’s been trained not to be distracted by food. Would you mind very much if we danced again?” she asked when a soft ballad started on the jukebox.

Speaking of distractions, Ian supposed that one worked—although he didn’t care that she made it sound like an imposition for him. “Anytime, Jessie,” he said, sliding out of the booth and holding out his hand.

She pushed Toby’s head off her leg, but the dog shot out from under the table and blocked her from getting up. “No, Toby,” she said, nudging him to the side. “You stay right here like before and watch. I’m not going far.”

Toby reluctantly sat down, only to give a protesting whine when Jessie stood up. But when he still didn’t get the response he wanted, the rottweiler actually turned his large brown eyes on Ian, apparently looking for support.

“It’s okay, big man,” Ian said, settling Jessie into his embrace without bothering to head toward the dance floor. “I’ll take good care of your lady.”

Not that he was sure what taking care of her actually involved, since instead of relaxing into him like she had all evening, Jessie seemed to grow even more tense as he gently swayed her to the music. Toby suddenly appeared at their side, but it wasn’t until the dog started tugging on Jessie’s pant leg that she finally bent down to her pet.

“Now?” she whispered tightly. She gave Ian an uncertain glance as she took hold of Toby’s face, but it was long enough for him to see her anxiety. “Are you
sure
?” he heard her ask the dog.

Toby gave an equally anxious whine, and Jessie straightened and stepped over to their table and grabbed her coat. “I’m sorry, but I have to take him out. I’ll be back in . . . in about twenty minutes or so.” She shot him another forced smile. “Sometimes he takes even longer. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No!” She sucked in a deep breath, although he could see it did little to quell her growing urgency as she started backing toward the crowded dance floor. “I mean, thank you, but I don’t . . . Toby won’t . . . He’s shy, okay? We need to be alone.”

Her lying straight face was starting to falter. “Do you want me to get Merissa?”

“No! No, please don’t tell her I’m gone.”

And then she
was
gone, disappearing into the din behind her dog, which was effectively clearing the dancers out of their way. Ian stood staring after them, an uneasy feeling tightening his gut. He turned back to their table with a muttered curse and saw that she’d forgotten her purse and cane.