“And if I ever again catch you standing in the middle of a fight between anyone bigger than your children, I will not be your guardian angel, Catherine, but your worse nightmare.”

He leaned closer, lowering his head so that his face was only inches from hers. “Do you understand what I’m saying, little Cat? You will not put yourself in that position again.”

She would have nodded, if her nose wouldn’t have bumped into his. “Wh-what’s the stick for?” she whispered, turning her head to look past his hand, deciding it was safer than looking into his fiercely disturbing eyes.

He straightened without stepping back, took his hands off the wall, and held them out from his sides, palms toward her. “Ya told me up at the cabin, when I woke up and found myself tied to the bed, that ya didn’t care to feel defenseless,” he said, his brogue thick with… with… Catherine couldn’t decide if it was anger weighing his words or some other emotion.

“So I’ve brought ya a stout stick,” he said, standing there with his arms open. “And giving ya the choice of how ya wish to end this conversation.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

He spread his hands wider. “You can either walk into my arms, Catherine, with your promise never to do anything like that again, or ya can take that stick and finish bringing me to my knees.”

She was finally scared to the point that she started to tremble. “I’m not going to hit you.”

“Then walk into my arms. Prove your words to your children that ya trust I’ll not hurt ya.”

“I-I don’t want to do that, either. I just want to walk away.”

“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not one of the choices I’ve given you.”

“But why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because I need to hold ya,” he whispered. “And feel for myself that you’re okay.”

“But I am okay. Gunter didn’t hurt me.”

“Walk into my arms, Catherine,” he softly repeated. “Give me the same trust ya gave Gunter.”

She dropped her gaze to his shirt. “I can’t. It’s not the same thing. Hugging leads to… it leads to other things.”

“Aye. It quite often does.”

“I can’t do it.” She looked up at him, her eyes entreating. “Don’t you understand? I can’t ever trust my… my… another man that way.”

“Then pick up the stick.”

“No!” she snapped, feeling provoked. She crossed her arms under her breasts, refusing to touch that darn stick. “I am walking out of here, Robert MacBain, without hittingor hugging you!”

“And just how are you going to do that?” he asked, crossing his own arms over his chest. “I seem to be standing between you and the door.”

She stamped her foot. “This is silly. You can see I’m okay.”

“But can’t ya see that I’m not?” he whispered, holding out one of his hands.

She glared at him. “That’s the liquor making you shake.”

“Nay, little Cat. It’s you.” He spread both hands again. “Walk into my arms, Catherine.”

She stared up at him, into his unfathomably deep, pewter gray eyes. What did he want from her? More than trust, she’d wager. But what?

“J-just a hug?”

“Aye. Just for you to allow me to hold you in my arms.”

Catherine leaned away from the wall, hesitated, inched closer, took a deep breath, and slowly reached around his waist.

Ever so gently, and somewhat tentatively himself, he closed his arms around her and cupped her head to his chest.

“Ah, Catherine,” he whispered with a sigh. “Ya’re the bravest person I’ve ever been privileged to meet.”

She stood there, stiff in his arms, and waited for the panic to overwhelm her. But all she felt was his powerful heat and the steady, strong beat of his heart. The taut muscles of his back slowly relaxed as he tenderly engulfed her, one of his hands lightly caressing her spine.

Catherine released her own sigh and melted against him.

His chest rumbled softly. “Aye, Cat, ya feel just fine.” He touched his lips to her hair.

“And so delicate for one so strong.”

A lump rose in her throat, making it impossible to respond other than by digging her fingers into his back. It had been a hundred thousand years since she’d been hugged.

“I can die happy now,” he whispered, responding to her touch by tightening his arms.

“It’s only a hug,” she was finally able to say, although it came out muffled against his chest.

“Aye, but I understand how special it is. Providence is smiling on us both tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, looking up.

He allowed only her head to move, not her body, and smiled down into her eyes. “Do you believe in magic, Catherine?”

“Of course I do,” she said, smiling up at his shining eyes. “Magic is what makes the sun rise every morning.”

“Nay,” he whispered, slowly shaking his head without taking his eyes off hers. “That would be physics. Magic is what brings a woman to my mountain, when she had a million other mountains to choose from, and then lets her pull me back from the brink of death. And magic moves her into my house and then gives her the courage to walk into my arms.”

He feathered one large, callused finger over her brow and down her cheek, ending at her chin and lifting her face to his. “It’s two people, Catherine,” he whispered, his mouth only inches from hers, “discovering a mutual and sacred trust.”

He finished his definition with the merest hint of his lips on hers, a kiss so tender and fleeting Catherine felt herself leaning up, yearning for more.

But it was over before she could decide if it had happened at all. She could only gasp when she was suddenly whisked off her feet, carried over to the stack of hay bales in the corner, and set down on the top bale with a lighthearted chuckle.

Robbie hopped up beside her, reached over and took her hand in his open palm, and used his thumb to caress her fingers.

“It never ceases to amaze me how such delicate hands can be so strong,” he said. “I’ve never fully appreciated how a woman’s lack of physical strength actually enhances her ability to thrive.”

Catherine also stared down at their hands, trying very hard not to let his simple touch make her heart race. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“When I want something to happen, I have a tendency just to demand results,” he explained, using his thumb to draw a lazy circle on her palm. “And when that doesn’t work, I rely on my size and strength to get what I want. But you, Catherine,” he said, closing his fingers over hers. “You approach a problem quite differently.”

“H-how?”

He shifted his shoulders to face her more fully, still keeping her hand gently trapped in his. “Take tonight for instance. I would have taken Gunter by the scruff of his neck and given him a good taste of his own medicine.”

“You wouldn’t have hit him.”

“Nay,” he agreed, shaking his head. “But he sure as hell would have walked away with something to think about.” He lifted their hands and touched her knuckles to his lips.

“Yet you accomplished the same thing without violence. Instead of trying to pound some sense into the boy, you showed Gunter what aggressive behavior looks like from the other side. Same results but much more resounding.”

“I was just trying to stop him from hitting Cody again.”

“Aye. But where I would have used my strength to stop him, you used shame.”

“I don’t want to shame anyone,” she whispered.

“But is that not a stronger emotion, Catherine? Which lesson will stay with Gunter?

Seeing his action for what it is and being ashamed of himself, or merely being defeated by someone bigger than him? And that, little Cat,” he said, using his free hand to tap her nose, “is why women are stronger than men.”

Catherine balled her own free hand into a fist and fought the urge to rub her nose. “You’

re making me out to be something I’m not. I wasn’t being brave or smart or trying to teach Gunter a lesson. I just wanted to stop the fight.”