“Wait,” he called, trotting back to them and dismounting with a laugh. “I forgot you can’t reach your stirrups.” He leaned over and laced his fingers into a step for Megan. “You two ride such massive animals. Why not normal horses?”

Megan stepped into his hands and Matt lifted her into the saddle. She gathered up her reins and smiled down at him. “We had a rather opinionated uncle who thought draft horses were the only safe pet for us girls. He said ponies were spoiled brats and regular horses were unpredictable.” She nodded toward Matt’s horse. “Goose Down is my second pet. The first horse Uncle Ian gave me, Lancelot, had to be put to sleep ten years ago when he broke his leg.”

“So Goose is really your horse?” he asked as he turned to help Winter mount, only to find her sitting in her saddle. Apparently, she was back to being mad at him.

“I’d like to meet your uncle Ian,” Matt said, remounting and reining Goose into step behind Winter as she headed out of the clearing.

“He…ah, died three years ago,” Megan said.

“I’m sorry,” Matt murmured, falling silent as they carefully made their way down the side of the mountain. They eventually came upon a shallow gorge, the granite and tumbled boulders worn smooth by cascading water as it swirled down the mountain with seemingly endless energy. “Bear Brook, I take it?”

Matt asked loudly, to be heard above the noise. He moved between Winter and Megan as they stood with their horse’s hooves just touching the water so they could drink. He gave Goose his head, so he could also drink.

Winter looked over at Matt, her expression aloof. “There’s a clearing downstream that might make a good building site.”

“Is there a view of the lake?”

“You can see the lake from anywhere on this mountain, if you don’t mind chopping down acres of trees.”

Matt leaned over to Megan. “Is your sister always this pleasant with her patrons?”

“She’s just worried about Tom,” Megan told him, also leaning close so Winter wouldn’t hear.

“Otherwise, she usually has a great sense of humor. And she’s still a little touchy about leaving college after only one semester.”

Matt gave Megan a nod, backed Goose out from between them, and turned to start down the mountain along the stream. They rode for several minutes, winding their way through the thick forest, and Matt let Goose pick the easiest route. The stream eventually broke through to a natural meadow, and part of Pine Lake came into view again.

“We can cross here,” Winter called out.

Matt turned Goose into the stream, and the horse stepped through the knee-deep, babbling water with sure-footed care. Once he was on the other side, Matt looked around the meadow as Winter and Megan moved up beside him.

“I like it here,” he said. “Where would I place the house?” he asked, looking over at Winter.

She pointed toward the high side of the meadow. “Up there, maybe. That would be the best view.”

Matt looked at Megan. “Can I build here without disturbing too much of the wildlife?”

Megan shrugged. “Probably. I know there’s a deer yard up here somewhere. Tom might know where it is.”

“What about building a road? We’ve come, what…three or four miles from the main road?”

“It can be done,” Megan assured him. “If you have deep pockets. Roads and bridges aren’t cheap.”

“But the logging companies build hundreds of miles of forest roads all the time,” Matt pointed out. “They must have a system that doesn’t break the bank.”

“You could hire men from their crews,” Winter suggested. “To build it on weekends.”

“That would take forever to finish four miles of road.” He shook his head. He looked at the lengthening shadows creeping across the meadow and urged Goose forward. “Let’s go get your jacket,”

he said. “And you can introduce me to my tenant.”

They rode three abreast through the meadow until Megan suddenly stopped. “Look,” she said, pointing at the ground. “See the disturbed grass?” She looked around the clearing, then over at Matt, and smiled. “I bet there was a big battle up here last night. Have you ever seen two bull moose fighting, Matt?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as he visually examined the broken shrub and matted grass. “Is it rutting season?”

“It’s just starting,” Megan clarified, walking her horse in a circle as she studied the ground. She looked at Matt. “This is moose country. I hope you don’t mind sharing your home with huge animals that think landscaping shrubs are candy. In the language of the Micmac Indians, moose means ‘twig eater.’ ”

“What about bear?” Matt asked, scanning the edge of the clearing. “I’m assuming they named it Bear Mountain because bear live up here.”

“The mountain was named for what it looks like rather than what lives on it,” Winter interjected.

“If you see this mountain from the lake, you can just make out the image of a sleeping bear.” She pointed to an area just below the summit. “From a distance, that dropped ridge would be his head, stretched out over his front paws. The brook cuts a winding path that makes the outline of a rear leg tucked against his body, and the long, narrow peak,” she said, pointing first to the south end of the knife-edge peak, then to the north, “is his back, finishing the illusion.”

Matt just stared at Winter in silence, watching her hand stroke out a drawing only her mind’s eyes could see. This was it; he was witnessing firsthand the magic he’d felt in her paintings. Winter’s eyes sparked with passion, her whole body moving into each gesture as her hand gracefully stroked out the lines of her vision. She had forgotten he and Megan were even there, Matt suddenly realized. Winter was completely immersed in a painting only her imagination could see.

Dancing to a magic only she could feel.

If he had any doubts before, they were vanished at the sight of Winter MacKeage the artist.

And one way or another, Matt decided, he would find a way to capture some of that magic for himself.

Chapter Seven

W inter hadn’t been bluffing up on the mountain: if Matt told Tom he had to move out of his cabin, she wasn’t taking his commission. She’d be danged if she would work for a man who didn’t have a heart.

Winter led the silent procession along the shoreline to the tiny clearing and stopped in front of Tom’s cabin. She quickly slid down off Snowball and headed out back to the workshop.

“Tom,” she called as she rounded the side of the cabin. “I forgot my jacket this morning.”

Tom emerged from the workshop, once again taking the time to wrestle the rickety door shut before he turned and greeted her with a crooked grin. “I’m glad your head is attached to your shoulders, or you probably would have forgotten that, too.”

“Tom,” Winter said softly, rushing up to him. “The guy who bought Bear Mountain is here.”

“Good. I’ve been looking forward to meeting your Mr. Gregor ever since you told me about him this morning,” Tom said calmly, using his finger under her chin to close her gaping mouth.

Winter spun around and followed Tom as he headed to the front of the cabin. Tom reached Megan just as Matt had finished helping her down off her horse. Turning Winter’s sister around to face him, Tom folded her into a warm, grandfatherly embrace.

“It’s good to see you out and about, Meg,” he said, kissing her forehead, then leaning back with a tender smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to come visit me.” He brushed Megan’s hair back into place. “I have something for you.”

Megan shook her head with a laugh. “No more chocolates, Tom. I’m getting fat.”

“No chocolates,” he said, stepping away. “It’s something I made just for you.” Tom turned to face Matt and held out his hand. “Name’s Tom, Mr. Gregor. Welcome to Bear Mountain. You own a very special piece of land.”

Winter held her breath as the two men faced each other.