She did know the priest was part of whatever Robbie was doing up on the mountain, though she’d caught only enough of the conversation to realize that whatever it was, time was running out.Just as long as you make it happen soon, she’d heard Father Daar say in an angry whisper. But then he’d lowered his voice, and the conversation had been muted by the solid door of her bedroom—even pressing her ear to it hadn’t helped.

Makewhat happen?

And darn it, why did she even care! Just because Robbie MacBain appeared to be one of the good guys, and just because she was starting to trust him, wasn’t enough reason to get huffy over his refusal to confide in her.

She was his housekeeper. She cooked and cleaned for the man, and when he got beat up, she sewed him back together and fibbed to his father. Robbie was under no obligation to explain his nighttime adventures to his hired help, even if she could work up the nerve to ask him outright.

An air horn suddenly blasted behind her, and Catherine screamed and nearly fell into the ditch. She scrambled off the road and up the bank, turning to see a huge logging truck barreling down the hill. The driver kept his hand on the deafening horn and used his other hand to wave at her. He even shot her a wink before suddenly giving his attention back to the road when his front left tire hit the gravel of the opposite ditch. The ground under her feet actually shook as the man wrestled the overloaded truck back into his lane and disappeared around a curve, once again blasting his horn.

“You idiot!” she shouted after him, waving her fist through the dust billowing around her. “I hope you have six flat tires!”

Her only answer was the fading blast of his horn.

With a sigh to calm her racing heart, Catherine was about to jump the ditch when she spotted a silver pickup truck rounding the curve down the hill. It was traveling through the lingering dust at a much slower speed than the logging rig, and she could see only one occupant.

She spun around and ducked into the bushes, deciding she’d entertained enough idiots for one day. The pickup slowly made its way toward her, and Catherine squatted behind a tree, her eyes glued on the approaching truck as the silhouette of the driver sharpened.

He looked… familiar. Catherine scooted back and flattened herself to the ground, her heart beginning to pound in terror as the pickup neared.

No! It couldn’t be him. Ron couldn’t have found her!

She could finally see his features clearly through the dispersing dust—a man with thick brown hair, a darkly stubbled jaw, and tiny narrowed eyes fixed on the road ahead.

She went utterly still, oblivious to the mud seeping into her clothes, trying to convince herself that it was nothing more than her imagination running wild. It wasn’t Ron.

“You arenot Ron,” she said in a strained whisper.

The driver was too old. And definitely too weather-tanned for someone who had been in prison for three years. And his hair was peppered with gray, and there was a small white dog sitting on his lap, its nose pressed against the window. It wasn’t Ron. She couldsee it wasn’t Ron.

Now all she had to do was convince her pounding heart.

Catherine lay in the muddy grass for a good ten minutes, getting her breathing under control and trying to fight the terror freezing her in place.

The sound of another light truck came from the direction of home, and Catherine inched forward until she saw the dark Suburban coming down the hill. She scrambled to her feet with a cry of relief and ran into the road.

Robbie braked to a stop beside her, his smile vanishing the moment he saw her muddy clothes. Catherine opened the door and scooted into the seat, folded her hands on her lap, and took a shuddering breath.

“What happened?” he asked, scanning the road through the windshield before looking back at her. “Did you fall? Were you run off the road?”

“I… ah, I tripped when a logging truck went by.”

Taking hold of her chin and turning her to face him, he moved his dark pewter gaze over her body, then brought it back to settle on hers. “You’re as pale as a ghost, and you’re still trembling. Are you hurt?”

“No. Just shaken up,” she said, pulling away from his grasp and letting out another shuddering breath. “Can you take me home before you go to the logging yard?”

He hesitated, apparently undecided if he believed her or not. “Cat,” he said with a growl. “You’ve got to run on the tote roads from now on.”

She forced a smile. “What about the bears that might eat Ian?”

“I’ll get you a bear bell, so they’ll hear you coming and be gone long before you see them.” He started to reach for her chin again but stopped when she stiffened and simply lock his gaze on her.

A deep, almost electric silence filled the truck. She could see he was in his guardian angel mode, trying to convince himself that she was okay.

She was far from okay, but she wasn’t about to tell him why. Her terror was her business, not his. It hadn’t been Ron; she knew that with the same certainty that told her Robbie was about to touch her again—with or without her consent.

And she couldn’t handle that right now, no matter how sincere his concern. It had been all she could do not to run screaming from the truck when he’d taken her by the chin, and if he so much as tried to brush the mud off her knee, she would likely have a panic attack that rivaled a volcanic eruption.

“Are you going back up the mountain tonight to get beat up again?” she asked, breaking his stare by turning to look out the windshield.

“You’re worried about me?”

She looked back at him. “One of these days, you’re not going to come back. You were almost dead when I found you. And where would that leave the boys and your family, that you’re so determined to look after?”

“I’ll always come back, Catherine.”

“Are you going up there tonight or not?”

“Nay. I checked my calendar after you left, and your little fib to Daar wasn’t a fib after all. Marcus Saints is coming for a visit this afternoon, and so is Judge Bailey, but she won’t be staying for supper. Only Marcus.”

“Who are Marcus Saints and Judge Bailey?”

“Saints is a social worker who keeps tabs on the boys. And Martha Bailey is all that’s standing between them and the detention center.”

Catherine slapped her chest to catch her gasp. “They’re coming to the house today?” she squeaked, her previous terror turning to horror. “Darn it, you have to warn me about stuff like that! Turn around. I have to get home!”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, putting the truck in gear, checking for traffic, then making a three-point turn in the road. “They won’t arrive until after school.”

“But I need to start planning for supper now.”

“The way you cook?” he said as he headed back up the hill. “You could make stone soup, and Saints would be drooling all over himself. And the house is fine, Cat.” He snorted. “It’s a hell of a lot cleaner than the last time they visited. Marcus threatened to call the health department.”

Chapter Thirteen

The moment they got home,Catherine told Robbie to go to his logging yard, and she spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in near hysterics. She thawed enough beef to feed an army, scrubbed all three bathrooms until they sparkled, dusted, straightened the boys’ bedrooms and remade their beds, vacuumed upstairs and down, washed the kitchen floor, peeled ten pounds of potatoes and carrots, and threw together a double batch of yeast rolls.

In five hours, by the time the kids got home from school and Martha Bailey and Marcus Saints arrived, Catherine felt as if she had run a marathon—and had somehow managed to survive this one as well.

Not knowing what to expect but expecting the worst, Martha Bailey had surprised Catherine. She was a tiny woman, pretty in a haphazard sort of way, and genuinely warm. She had also become quite giddy and had burst into a huge smile when Robbie walked out of the barn to greet her and Marcus.