Charmed by His Love (9 page)

“Is there a reason I left a nice warm bed at two a.m.—which happened to be occupied by an even warmer woman, I might point out—to spend three hours running a gauntlet of road-stupid moose to get here before the sun comes up, only to find you still in bed … Boss?”

“Ye nudge me again, and you’re going to wish you’d hit one of those moose instead of my fist,” Duncan growled without opening his eyes—partly because one of them was swollen shut, but mostly because he didn’t want his nephew’s face to be the first thing he saw this morning.

“I figure we have about an hour before it gets above freezing and the road postings go back into effect,” Alec said, his voice wisely moving away. “Or is it your intention to be on a first-name basis with the local deputy sheriff before we’ve even hauled our first load?”

Duncan opened the one eye he could and immediately closed it again when Inglenook’s otherwise empty dorm suddenly flooded with light. He then tried to push back the blanket only to discover his arms didn’t want to move—along with every other muscle in his body except his mouth. “What time is it?”

“Half an hour before sunrise,” Alec said, his voice moving closer. “What in hell happened to you? Christ, ye look like you tangled with a bear.”

Duncan snorted, then immediately groaned in pain, but he did manage to open both eyes. “I tangled with our new resident theurgist.”

“Why?” Alec asked, looking around as if he expected Mac to materialize. “What in hell did ye do to piss him off?”

“He wasn’t pissed off; he merely wanted some sport.” Duncan snorted again, this time using the pain to lever himself into a sitting position, then immediately hung his head in his hands with a curse. “Only problem is, Mac’s idea of sport involves swords. And not the dull ones we use at the summer games, either, but real weapons designed to draw blood. Some of it mine,” he muttered, straightening enough to run a hand over his torso. “Christ, I think one of my ribs is cracked.” He waved at the bed beside him. “Look under my pants.”

Alec lifted the pants but dropped them on the floor in surprise, then reached down and slid the sword halfway out of its
sheath. “This isn’t your sword. It looks authentic, like … like Dad’s.”

“It’s my father’s,” Duncan whispered. “Mac gave it to me.”

“But I thought Callum and old Uncle Ian’s swords were sold at auction forty years ago, along with several daggers.”

“They were bought by an anonymous bidder named Maximilian Oceanus.”

Alec squinted down at it. “That’s definitely fresh blood.” He straightened, arching a brow as he slid it back into its sheath and set it on the bed. “Mac’s?”

Duncan swung his legs off the side of the bed, then hung his throbbing head in his hands again. “I might have lost the battle, but I did manage to spill a few drops of imperial blood, and the bastard’s also going to be a little slow getting out of bed this morning.” He lifted his head and grinned. “So I guess we’re building timber bridges, since that was our wager.”

“And for the buckets of your blood that he spilled, what did Mac get?”

Duncan lost his grin. “He gets me keeping an eye on a widow and her four little heathens for the next two months.”

“Then you got the best of him after all. You actually like little heathens, and I’ve yet to meet a woman who didn’t fall all over herself trying to get your attention.”

“Oh, Peg Thompson got my attention, all right.” Duncan ran a finger over the claw marks on his neck. “These are from her, not Mac. And yesterday, after nearly running me down with her minivan, I went to her house and thought she was shooting at me only to walk up on a deer that she’d nailed right between the eyes.”

Alec folded his arms with a grin. “Does that mean my summer job comes with hazard pay?” His expression suddenly perked up. “No, never mind; I’ll settle for fringe benefits. How about if I keep an eye on the obviously discerning widow, since she doesn’t seem all that enamored with you? Is she as pretty as she is lethal?”

Duncan sprang to his feet before he remembered it was going to hurt, his snarl all the more threatening for his pain. “I even catch you talking to Peg and you’re going to find yourself limping all the way back to TarStone Mountain.”

Alec lifted his hands in supplication—although he was still
grinning. “A tad protective, aren’t you, considering ye don’t seem all that enamored with the widow Thompson yourself.”

“And pass the word along to the crew; the woman is off-limits.”

“Including you?”

“
Especially
me,” Duncan hissed as he bent down to swipe his pants off the floor. “Unhook the bulldozer you brought and hook your wheeler up to the excavator,” he said, carefully slipping into his pants. Christ, he hurt. And the worst part was that he’d agreed to meet Mac up on the mountain for another round tomorrow. “Did you happen to notice any lights on in the dining hall?” he asked as Alec headed for the door. “It’s the building behind this one.”

“Sorry, all its windows are dark.”

Duncan slid on his shirt, gritting his teeth against the pain. Damn, either he’d gotten out of shape over the winter or skiing required completely different muscles than sword fighting. “Wait. You got any coffee left in your thermos?”

“Not enough to cure what’s ailing you this morning. I do believe I packed a fifth of liquid gold in my duffel bag, though.”

Duncan waved him away with a snort. “Sure, why not? A shot of Scotch sure as hell can’t hurt. Warm my truck up while you’re at it, would you?”

“Anything else? Ye want me to crush some aspirin to put in the Scotch, or dab ointment on your boo-boos, or give you a massage … Boss?”

Duncan stopped looking for his boots and picked up the sword, then took a threatening step toward him. “It’s not getting any colder outside, and I’m not so sore that I can’t still outrun you.”

“Hell, if I’d wanted this kind of abuse I’d have stayed in my nice, warm, occupied bed,” Alec said with a chuckle, heading outside.

Duncan closed his eyes on a curse, feeling a really long day coming on.

And if he’d had any idea how true that was going to be he would have crawled right back in bed, because damn if they didn’t pass Peg’s tired old minivan half an hour later sitting on the side of the road with its hood up about two miles from her house.

“Keep going,” Duncan said into his radio mike when the trailer brake lights came on ahead of him. “But keep an eye out for a woman and four kids walking.”

“Our merry widow?” Alec responded way too cheerily.

“If they haven’t made it home yet, I’m putting her in the excavator and the little heathens in the truck with you.”

“Since when are you afraid of women?” Alec returned, the radio doing nothing to disguise his laughter.

“Since I saw this particular woman shoot a deer right between its eyes,” Duncan said, a bit startled to hear the laughter in his own voice. Although it might only be the three aspirin and healthy swig of Scotch making him smile. Damn, he had a thing for stubborn, too-proud women—which usually meant trouble for any stubborn, too-proud man foolish enough to find himself attracted to one of them.

“There they are,” Alec said, just as the trailer brake lights came on again.

Duncan keyed the mike. “Swing past them and stop. But stay in the lane,” he added. “The road shoulders are still soft.”

“Whoa, maybe I will risk limping back to TarStone.”

“Alec,” Duncan hissed in warning as the excavator slid into the oncoming lane, allowing his own headlights to land on Peg and her four children standing out of the way clear across the ditch.

“I’m just saying,” Alec continued as he pulled back into his lane and came to a stop. “I don’t have a problem with deer-shooting women.”

Duncan tossed down his mike and got out of his truck, watching Peg help one of the twins back across the ditch before gathering all four children around her.

“Do you know what’s wrong with the van?” he asked, stopping two paces away when one of the boys scooted behind her.

“It might be the alternator.” She lifted a hand to her eyes against the glare of his headlights and he heard her sigh. “Or it could only be out of gas, because I think the fuel gauge might have quit working last week.”

“Peg, this is my nephew, Alec MacKeage,” he said when Alec walked back to them. “He’s going to be helping me build Mac’s road this summer.”

“My pleasure, Peg,” Alec said with a smile. He squatted
down. “And who are you?” he asked, extending his hand to the twin Duncan assumed was
not
Jacob, since he wasn’t the one hiding behind his mother.

“I’m Pete,” the boy said, lisping through a missing front tooth as he shook Alec’s hand. He gestured over his shoulder. “And that’s my brother, Repeat, and Charlotte and Isabel. Will you give me a ride in your evascator?”

“Well, Pete, I do believe the boss won’t let anyone near the equipment unless they’re at least twenty-five years old,” Alec said, standing up and ruffling Pete’s hair. “Heck, he only let me start driving it last year, and I’m thirty!”

Pete shot Duncan the evil eye, then looked up at his mom. “We could ride the school bus to town and still go to the Drunken Moose for cimminin buns. And we’ll bring a jug with us for some gas. Repeat and I can take turns carrying it back to the van.”

“How about if Alec and I take you home,” Duncan offered, giving the kid a warm smile, “and once we get the van running, your mom can take you to the Drunken Moose for cinnamon buns? How does that sound, Pete?”

All he got for answer was another evil eye—which ended abruptly when Peg gave the boy a nudge. “Um … if you’re headed our way, we’d appreciate that ride,” she told Duncan. “But you don’t have to deal with my van. I have gas at home.”

“And if it’s the alternator?”

“I can have my brother-in-law, Galen, tow it home.”

“He owns a tow truck?”

She blinked at him, then began herding her children toward his pickup. “No, he owns a rope,” she said over her shoulder way too cheerily.

Alec gave a quiet chuckle, slapping Duncan on the back. “Oh man, are you in dark blue–eyed, sassy-mouthed trouble.”

“Turn right about a mile and a half up the road,” Duncan told him as he limped toward his pickup, only to break into a painful jog when he remembered there was a sword lying on the backseat. “Wait up,” he said across the hood on his way by. “I need to make room for everyone.”

Peg left her girls and one of the boys standing on the passenger side and walked around the front with the other boy in tow. Duncan opened the rear door and grabbed the sword, and
had started to slide it behind the backseat when the opposite door opened and the older girl stumbled back with a gasp just as a shout of excitement came from beside her.

“That’s a sword!” the boy—he was pretty sure it was Pete—cried. “Is it real? How come you got it?”

Duncan closed his eyes on a silent curse and backed out of the truck holding the sword, causing the twin holding Peg’s hand to scurry behind her again. Oh yeah, it was already a long day, and the sun was only just now peeking over the horizon.

“I have it because every summer my family goes to something called the highland games down on the coast and we …” He smiled through the truck at the boy, feeling the back of his neck heat up. “Well, we all spend the weekend pretending we’re highlanders living centuries ago.” He slid the sword behind the seat, then grabbed his duffel bag and straightened. Smiling again to cover his grimace when his muscles protested, he tossed the bag in the cargo bed—only to jump back when he turned and nearly bumped into Peg, who was gaping at him in the rising sun.

“What?” he asked, looking down at himself. He touched his cheekbone when he remembered his bruise. “This? Oh, I … um, I fell when I was hiking the mountain with Mac yesterday.”

“Peter, get out of the truck,” Peg said, backing away. She gestured for her daughters to do the same. “Charlotte, take Peter’s hand and start walking home,” she instructed. “Here, Isabel, you take Jacob.”

“Wait,” Duncan said, grabbing her sleeve. “I’m going to give you a ride.”

She checked to make sure her children were out of earshot, then turned on him, her nose wrinkling as she pulled out of his grip. “Thank you, but I have no intention of putting my children in a truck being driven by someone who smells like a distillery.”

“What? Hey, I’m not drunk.”

“No, you’re obviously hungover.”

“I
fell
.”

“Because you were
drunk
.”

“No, I wasn’t. I just … fell.” He blew out a sigh—which
made her wrinkle her nose again and start walking backward. “Okay, look, I’ll admit that I had a small swig of Scotch this morning, but only one sip just to make my muscles stop screaming.” Too bad it wasn’t doing a damn thing for his pounding head at the moment. Duncan looked up the road to see Alec’s taillights disappearing around a curve, then looked back at Peg, who was halfway to her children. “Dammit, quit walking away from me.” He opened his driver’s door. “Okay, then,
you
drive.”

She stopped and turned to him. “Only if you ride in the cargo bed.”

“What!”

“That’s the only way I’m putting my kids in your truck.”

Christ, she was contrary. “God dammit,” he growled under his breath, turning and limping to the rear of the truck. “I didn’t do one damn thing to deserve this. Not one goddamned thing,” he muttered, hoisting himself onto the bumper and practically falling over the tailgate into the cargo bed.

“Come on, guys, we’re riding,” Peg called out, running to the driver’s door with her children scrambling after her.

Duncan settled against his duffel bag and turned up the collar on his jacket, grinning tightly at the little heathen kneeling on the backseat giving him the evil eye. Forget the long day; it was going to be a damn long two months.