“Nay, Scots,” she said in an exaggerated brogue. She nodded toward the information card pinned next to the drawing and held out her hand. “Winter MacKeage.”

His own hand swallowed hers up, his grip warm and firm but not overpowering. “My pleasure, Miss MacKeage.” He lifted one brow again. “Or is it Mrs.?”

“Miss. But it’s Winter to my patrons.”

His grip tightened. “I’m not a patron yet, Miss MacKeage. We haven’t concluded our negotiations.”

Winter forced herself to leave her hand in his. “Full price for Moon Watchers, and you can have By a Hare’s Breadth for half price,” she offered, nodding toward the lynx drawing.

Matt Gregor, still holding her hand, let out a soft sigh. “Nothing I offer you will get me that panther, will it?”

Winter finally slipped her hand free, tucked it behind her back, and rubbed her fingers together as she slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry, but he’s not for sale. Do we have a deal?”

He moved his gaze from hers to the lynx drawing, studying it for several seconds before looking back at her. “Deal,” he softly said with a nod. He pulled the tag from the wall, then moved over to Moon Watchers and pulled its tag. He walked back to the counter and set both tags down next to the sales slip she had started to fill out, while Winter walked behind the counter and picked up her pen.

“About that commission,” he said as she started to write.

She stopped and looked up. “What is it you want? I must warn you, I don’t do paintings of mechanical things.”

He folded his arms back over his chest. “It’s not a painting I want from you, Winter MacKeage, but your vision.”

Winter set down her pen. “Excuse me?”

“Your artist’s eye,” he said just as cryptically. “I want to commission you to pick the spot where I should build my home.”

Winter could only stare at him.

“And then I want you to do a watercolor of what that home should look like,” he added.

She was thoroughly confused now. “What it should look like?” she repeated. “You mean, from the architectural plans? But they usually give you a model to look at.”

He shook his head. “There are no plans as of yet. I intend to take your watercolor to the architects and have them design the house you envision, sitting on the spot you choose.”

More than being confused, Winter was utterly speechless.

Matt Gregor let out another soft sigh, set both hands on the counter, and leaned toward her. “It

’s a simple request, Winter. I purchased Bear Mountain two years ago, and now I’m ready to build on it…just as soon as you pick the best spot and the best type of home for the land.”

“But why me?”

He leaned even closer. “Because I’ve decided I like what you see and feel for the forest.”

“But a home is a very personal thing.”

“Yes,” he readily agreed, straightening up and crossing his arms again. “But after spending a few days with me hiking my land, you’ll get to know me well enough to come up with something I’ll like.”

Winter was no longer confused, she was back to being alarmed. A sudden thought struck her.

“Shouldn’t your wife have some say in what you build for a house?”

“I’m not married.”

“Oh. Ah…well…I’ll have to think about your request. I’m an artist, Mr. Gregor, not an architect.”

“It’s Matt,” he said softly, reaching inside his suit jacket and pulling out a slim, black leather wallet. “And I’ve explained that I’m not asking you to design my home, but to simply envision it and choose where it should sit.” He pulled out a credit card and set it down on the counter next to the still-incomplete sales slip. “I’ve taken a suite at the TarStone Ski Resort,” he continued, pulling out a business card and setting it beside the credit card. “You can call my cell phone tomorrow morning at ten and give me your answer.”

He then picked up the pen she’d been using, wrote SOLD in bold black letters on the back of the tag, and walked over and pinned it beside Moon Watchers on the wall. He came back, did the same to By a Hare’s Breadth, walking over and pinning it beside the drawing.

Winter finally finished writing out the sales slip, ran his card through her authorization machine, tore off the credit slip printout, and handed it to him to sign.

He scrawled his signature in bold letters, then took the credit card and receipt and slipped them in his wallet. “You have no problem with my leaving my paintings here?” he asked.

“No problem,” she agreed. “So you own Bear Mountain? Are ye moving to Pine Creek, or just building a vacation retreat?”

“I’m building a home, but I haven’t decided yet when I’ll be moving here,” he told her, tucking his wallet back inside his suit jacket. “That depends on my brother.”

“Your brother?”

Matt Gregor smiled benignly, nodded, and headed toward the door. He stopped and looked back. “I’ll expect you to meet me in the lobby of TarStone at ten in the morning, to tell me you’ve accepted the commission. Don’t disappoint me, Winter. I don’t take rejection well.” That said, he opened the door, walked out to the tinkle of the overhead bell, and disappeared down the street as quickly and mysteriously as he’d appeared.

Winter picked up the business card he’d set on the counter. Matheson Gregor, it read in solid green letters, with a New York City address but no mention of what type of business he was in. She looked over at Moon Watchers.

He had a fondness for bears, he’d told her.

And he owned Bear Mountain.

Another shiver ran down Winter’s spine, but this time there was nothing warm and fuzzy about it. It hadn’t been a tiger’s eyes that had captured her attention this afternoon, but those of an equally impressive creature.

Matheson was Gaelic for “son of the bear.”

Chapter Two

“C urses on you, you stubborn old beast,” Winter growled as she tugged on the saddle cinch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

A soft chuckle came from her left, and Winter looked over to see her papa striding along the row of stalls. “Cursing poor old Snowball hasn’t worked once for ye in twenty years,” Greylen MacKeage said as he crowded Winter out of the way, then patiently waited until the aging draft horse grew tired of his game and finally released his breath. Greylen quickly tightened the cinch, then lowered the stirrup into place. “And just where are ye sneaking off to so early this morning?” he asked, turning to face her. “It’s still an hour to sunrise.”

Winter shot him a sheepish grin. “What gave me away? Was it that floorboard you refuse to fix? I was sure I missed it this morning.”

Her papa gave an affectionate tug on a loose lock of hair that had escaped from the single thick braid hanging down her back. “I’m not needing a creaky floorboard to know when one of my daughters is sneaking around. My ears haven’t slept since Heather was born.” He turned serious. “You’re heading to Bear Mountain, aren’t you? I thought we decided at dinner last night that you won’t be taking Gregor’

s commission.”

“I didn’t decide anything. It was you and Mama who decided, and you based that decision on Megan’s say-so alone.”

“Your sister told us Matt Gregor is a dangerous-looking man,” he softly countered, his rich, spruce green eyes darkened with fatherly concern. “And she also mentioned that he’s as big as Robbie. I don’t care for the idea of you roaming the woods with him.”

Winter rolled her eyes. “Megan thinks every man is big and dangerous looking. She’s five-foot-three; I’m large to her.”

“We know nothing about Gregor,” Greylen countered, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet in his “I’m your father and you’ll do as I say” stance. “Only that he checked into our hotel yesterday and told the clerk he’d be staying at least a month.”