It was his turn to look suspicious. “You seem to know an awful lot about planes.”

“My mother’s a scientist. She freelances for private space exploration companies.” Winter shrugged her shoulders under his hands. “I inherited some of her knowledge by osmosis. All us girls spent a lot of time in Mama’s computer lab while we were growing up. So you can’t tempt me with promises of flying at mach one in your little jet, Mr. Gregor, because I know it’s impossible.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true.”

“How?” Winter asked, lifting her brow just to bug him.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze and let go with a laugh. “That’s a company secret. Let’s just call it magic. Come with me today.”

Winter wondered what Matt would think if he knew what real magic could really do. “Thank you, but I can’t,” she said, shaking her head despite wanting to go with him. It would certainly be one way to learn more about the man behind the suit. She returned Matt’s smile with a sad grin of apology.

“Not unless you can fit my army of chaperones in your jet.”

He instantly turned serious, his eyes narrowed to golden slits as he studied her in silence. “You’

re using your family as an excuse,” he finally said. “What’s the real reason you won’t come with me?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not flying to New York City with a man I barely know.”

“You came damn close to knowing me quite well last night,” he whispered, taking a step closer.

Winter looked down and brushed a speck of lint off her sleeve. “That was different,” she whispered back, feeling the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. “Last night I could have disappeared into the woods anytime I wanted.” She looked up at him. “But in New York City, I’d be completely helpless.”

He folded his arms over his chest, his enigmatic golden eyes studying her for what seemed like forever. “Okay,” he softly conceded. “Point taken.” He stepped forward, took hold of her shoulders again, and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back by seven, and I’ll pick you up at your door at eight.”

“What about your sunset with Tom this afternoon?”

Matt stepped away and walked around the counter to the wall of paintings. “I was going to ask you to explain to Tom when he came in this morning that I had to leave unexpectedly,” he said, studying Moon Watchers. “We’ll reschedule.” He stepped closer to the painting, then suddenly turned to her with a grin. “A fairy isn’t all you’ve hidden in here,” he said, turning back to the large canvas and pointing at the top left corner. “I almost missed the wolf hidden in the shadows.”

Winter walked over and stood beside him to also look at Moon Watchers. “That’s my grandfather, old Duncan MacKeage.”

“Your grandfather was a wolf?”

She smiled. “My papa told me Duncan MacKeage had the heart of a wolf, so that’s how I portrayed him.”

Matt pivoted to face her. “You put dead people in your paintings?”

“Sometimes,” she said, nodding. “As a reminder that their spirits still walk with us,” she explained. “And to acknowledge that each generation stands on the shoulders of the previous generation, forming the foundation that helps us face the future.” She took hold of Matt’s hand and led him to the back wall of the gallery. “See that snowy owl?” she asked, pointing to the upper right-hand corner of another wintertime scene. “That’s my mama’s sister, Mary Sutter. She’s Robbie’s mother, but she died when he was born.” Winter glanced at the silent, contemplative man beside her as he looked at the drawing. “There really is a snowy that lives on TarStone. I like to think she’s my aunt Mary, watching over all of us.”

Matt looked at her. “So the painting you do for me, of my house…you could put a member of my family in it?”

“Yes, if you tell me about the person. I need to get a feel for who it is. Do you have someone in particular in mind? Male or female?”

“Female,” he said, folding his arms over his chest and resting his chin on one hand as he gazed at the snowy owl. “Her name’s Fiona, and she’d also be a bird, I think. A beautiful hawk, maybe.”

“Fiona,” Winter repeated, testing the name. “Is she your mother? Grandmother?”

“My sister.”

“Ah, my spirits are usually…they’re usually deceased, Matt,” Winter said softly.

“Fiona died in childbirth.”

“Okay,” Winter said even more softly, putting two and two together between Matt’s reaction to Megan yesterday and this revelation about his own sister. “Do you have a photograph of Fiona I could see?”

Matt glanced at her, and Winter nearly stepped back at the look of anguish in his eyes. “I don’t have anything of hers,” he said tightly. “Not even her locket.”

“Locket?”

“Fiona had a gold locket our mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday, which had belonged to our grandmother.” He looked back at the painting, though Winter doubted he was seeing anything other than his sister in his mind’s eye. “But I could never find out what became of it.”

“You mentioned having a brother the first day you were here. He doesn’t know where the locket is?” Winter asked gently.

Winter saw Matt stiffen. “No,” was all he said, that one word completely devoid of emotion.

“Then you’ll just have to tell me about Fiona,” Winter continued brightly, attempting to wash away the chill that had suddenly descended over her gallery. She took hold of Matt’s hand again, ignoring the fact that it was balled into a fist, and led him back down the side wall. “Over dinner tonight, if you want, you can tell me why you think Fiona’s spirit is a beautiful hawk. Here,” she said, stopping in front of a large watercolor of a moose. She pointed at the bushes, where she had hidden the nearly translucent image of a red fox. “This is my uncle Ian. He’s the one Megan told you about yesterday, who insisted we ride draft horses.”

Again, Matt studied the painting in silence.

Winter didn’t know what to think, much less what to say to him. She did decide that getting to know Matt Gregor was a lot like painting her pictures; the process was proving painstakingly complex, with only vague snippets being revealed the deeper she delved. He had a brother, apparently alive but obviously estranged, and a sister he’d loved who had died in childbirth. He built jets, seemed to go after what he wanted with the efficiency of a successful businessman, and he kissed like a prince.

Well, he had certainly awakened this sleeping princess, and she was just as determined to get to know her prince a whole lot better. “I’ll be ready at eight,” she said, turning to walk back to the counter.

He stopped her by reaching out and capturing her face between his broad hands, his fingers splaying through her hair at the back of her head, his palms lifting her chin to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said gutturally. “The subject of my brother is a sore one.” He took a deep breath that ended with a smile.

“I’m going to kiss you, Winter MacKeage, right here in front of your ancestors, so they’ll see exactly what my intentions are.”

Winter’s heart skipped several beats, then started thumping with the force of a sledge hammer.

“W-what are your intentions?” she whispered, unable to look away from his intense, mesmerizing, so deeply golden eyes.

His smile went from warm to heart-stopping handsome. “You’ll have to ask them,” he said, nodding toward her paintings, “or trust me enough to discover that for yourself.”

“I—I tru—”

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his before her declaration could even reach her ancestors. Winter rose on her toes and parted her lips, welcoming whatever his intentions might be as his tongue sought hers. The onslaught of energy that hummed through her body was as immediate and just as powerful as last night. Matt smelled of fine wool, the forest, and crisp autumn air. Winter could taste just a hint of coffee, and she reveled in the feel of his fingers curled into her hair as he carefully moved his mouth over hers. She wrapped her arms around his waist inside his jacket, snuggling closer as he lowered one hand between her shoulders and pulled her tightly against him.