Robbie gently tapped the tip of her nose. “Daar’s always upsetting Greylen, baby girl. Your papa probably just wants your mama to himself for a while.” He took hold of Kate’s arm again. “Come on, Gram, let’s get ye home.” He looked at Megan. “Ye might as well come with me now. Cat set a place for ye at our supper table. But as soon as ye sit down, Cat and I are off to our own dinner reservations at the Crooked Antler in Greenville.” He stopped when he stepped past the patiently waiting horses and looked back at Winter. “Ye can lead old Butterball home okay?”

Winter waved him away. “Sure, assuming I can wake him up.”

Robbie looked at Matt. “When I bring Megan home, I’ll probably visit with Winter a bit. I expect that will be around eleven o’clock.”

Matt, apparently receiving Robbie’s message loud and clear, simply nodded.

Winter held in a groan. Robbie was acting like she was sixteen years old, warning Matt that he would be checking up on her! Oh, for the love of—

She was almost prepared this time, when Matt’s hands came around her waist and lifted her onto Snowball’s back. Winter gathered up her reins and turned Snowball toward Megan’s sleeping horse, but Matt quickly mounted up himself and took Butterball’s reins before she could.

She still didn’t look at him; she was too darn embarrassed. Or maybe she was just plain mad enough to curse for real. The men in her life were starting to get on her nerves, not the least of which was Matheson Gregor himself, who had to trot to catch up with her.

“I noticed there’s both a lounge and restaurant at the resort,” Matt said. “You want formal dining or comfortable eats tonight?”

She had a good mind not to go at all.

Matt reached over and took hold of Snowball’s reins. “Don’t even think of refusing, Winter,”

he said softly. “It’s going to take someone bigger than your cousin to scare me off.”

Winter smiled at him even as a shiver of awareness tightened her stomach. “How about an entire family of large men?” she asked. “I have a whole army of uncles and male cousins, and not one of them is under six feet tall.”

Matt let go of Snowball’s reins and started Goose walking again, towing Butterball in his wake.

“They wouldn’t be the first army I’ve taken on, nor likely my last.”

“What exactly is it you do for a living?” Winter asked, urging Snowball to catch up.

Matt looked over once she was beside him again. “Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll tell you,” he said, his challenging gaze reflecting the colors of the deepening autumn twilight.

Winter turned off Main Street and took the forest shortcut to TarStone, which caused the world around them to darken to almost night. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll meet you at the lounge at eight.”

“No,” Matt countered with soft authority from behind her. “I’ll come to your house at eight, and we’ll walk over together.”

Winter sighed and rode the rest of the way home in silence as she kept a close watch on the woods, knowing darn well that Gesader was lurking in the shadows, just like he’d been for their entire trip to Bear Mountain and back.

Just what she needed—one more overly protective male making sure she died a virgin.

Chapter Eight

M att stood on the drawbridge of Gù Brath and listened to the rushing water below as he contemplated the large, solid oak, windowless door in front of him. Damn if his little artist didn’t live in a castle. He felt like a knight trying to court a princess; he had the wealth and social standing, all he lacked was a suit of armor.

That, and a kingdom to carry her off to.

But then, Bear Mountain might fill that requirement, though he wished it wasn’t located quite so close to Winter’s army of tall uncles and male cousins. Robbie MacBain looked more like a warrior than a husband and father of four young children, and carried himself in a way that said he was prepared to back up his not-so-subtle warning this afternoon.

But then, Matt never could resist a challenge.

And Winter MacKeage was definitely a challenge. When he’d first seen Winter in her gallery, he couldn’t believe some starry-eyed young man hadn’t already snatched her up. But having spent the afternoon with her, Matt was beginning to think that a suit of armor might really be necessary to get within kissing distance of the aloof little wood sprite.

Winter was an exciting paradox of beauty, intelligence, and prickly independence. And like her cousin MacBain, she also had a protective streak a mile wide. She was determined to protect the old hermit and was also quite protective of her sister. All in all, Matt suspected Winter could be just as formidable as her warrior cousin, albeit employing different means to back up her bluster.

With a smile of anticipation for the evening to come, Matt finally reached out and firmly pounded the iron knocker on the door. His smile went even broader when the door suddenly swung open before he could even pull his hand away.

He lifted one brow. “You’re punctual as well,” he drawled.

“You said eight.”

“But it’s been my experience that women like being late, so they don’t appear too eager.”

She simply stared at him, nonplussed. “I’m hungry,” she finally said.

Matt gave a slight bow and held out his hand to her, just to see if she would take it. “Then I guess I better feed you.” He patted his lapel with his other hand. “I brought my platinum card to pay the enormous bill you’re going to run up.”

Just as he suspected, his goading lifted her chin and she all but slapped her hand in his. Matt folded his fingers around her delicate hand, reached in and pulled the door closed, and led her across the drawbridge. And he didn’t let go of her once they were on firm ground, despite her subtle attempts to wiggle free.

“You surprise me,” he said the moment she settled down to walk beside him, apparently resigned to her hand-holding fate.

“Surprise you how?”

“You don’t dress like the artist who painted those pictures.” Matt kept his grin to himself as he became aware of her frowning at the moonlit path ahead of them. “Except for your hair,” he clarified, lifting his hand holding hers just enough to touch the waterfall of loose curls draping down to her waist.

“As opposed to what?” she asked guilelessly. “How would the artist who painted my pictures dress?”

Matt waved his free hand at the air. “Like a drama queen trying to personify her paintings—

colorful, mysterious, otherworldly. You look lovely tonight, Winter. I especially like that you’re not wearing four-inch heels in an attempt to level the playing field. That tells me you’re very comfortable not only with yourself, but with me. And you’re wearing pants, not a skirt, which also says you’re secure in your femininity.”

Matt saw her look down at herself, and then she suddenly stopped walking and looked up at him, her moon-bathed expression once again nonplussed. “Do you always analyze your dates?”

“Only when I’m trying to distract them.”

“You’re trying to distract me? From what?”

He smiled. “From realizing that I have every intention of kissing you tonight. Want to get it over with now, or would you like to spend the evening savoring the prospect?”

Her mouth opened and closed, but not a sound emerged as she blinked up at him. Though Matt was quite pleased to see two flags of color darkening her cheeks.

He’d intended to wait, and he would have followed through with his plan, but the tiny wood sprite nervously licked her lips. Matt let go of her hand and carefully cupped her exquisitely fine face.

“Now, I think,” he whispered, bending down and gently pressing his lips to hers.

Small, strong hands immediately wrapped around his wrists, but they didn’t push him away or pull back; Winter instead went utterly still, as if testing his—or her own—intentions.