He nodded toward the stick leaning against the wall. “You could have found a weapon, a chair even, and stopped it just as quickly.”

“If words wouldn’t have worked, I probably would have,” she said, finally giving in and rubbing her nose.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “I don’t doubt you would have. Because, just like me, you also find a way to get what you want.”

He lifted her trapped hand and opened his, brought her palm to his lips, and kissed it, then closed her fingers over his kiss and let go.

“So, Catherine,” he said with a sigh, relaxing back against the wall, canting his head to stare at the far end of the barn. “We’ve decided that we trust each other; we agree that you are just as strong as I am, only in a different way; and we have six young people in the house who need our combined strengths to see that they become fine adults.” He looked at her. “What say we expand our little conspiracy, join your children with my boys, and see what we can do about growing them up?”

“But that’s what we are doing.”

“Nay. Tonight, when I set my hand on Nathan’s shoulder, that was the first time I’ve touched your son. And other than Nora taking my hand at school, I haven’t gone near her.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Wh-What are you asking?”

He lifted her chin to look at him. “I’m asking for your permission to be part of their lives. To be an example of what a… a father should be. That a man is someone they should look to for shelter and security, not run from.”

“Don’t you already have enough on your plate with the boys, your family, and your… your… whatever you’re doing up on that mountain?” Catherine asked, waving toward TarStone.

“Nay. You can never overfill a plate when you’re sharing it with someone.”

“But why would you want to take on my children?”

“Because I want you.”

“No.”

“I’ve given you a stout stick.”

“I do not hit people!”

“But you will have to, little Cat,” he whispered, taking hold of her chin again and leaning close. “Because that’s the only way to get rid of me.”

“I’ll just leave,” she said, her words washing against him, only to echo back the regret in her voice.

“You’re done running, Catherine. You’ll take your stand here, with me, or you might as well dig a hole and crawl inside and pull it closed behind you.”

“You’re doing it again,” she said, scrambling around until she knelt facing him, determined to make him understand. “You’re seeing something that’s not there. I’m not the brave woman you keep saying I am. I have all I can do to get up every morning and face another uncertain day.”

“But ya still get up, lass.”

“I don’t want you to want me,” she whispered. “It will only hurt us both.”

“Too late,” he murmured, cupping her face. “When you found me on the mountain and chose to save my life rather than run, it was too late for both of us.”

Catherine thought about telling him that she hadn’t had any choice at all. She thought about going over and getting that stick and finally making him understand. And then she thought about how secure she had felt in his arms when he’d hugged her. How brave. And yeah, how strong.

So strong in fact, Catherine decided as she looked into his compelling gray eyes, that she could finally quit wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by Robbie MacBain and simply kiss him herself.

Mimicking his hold on her, she cupped the sides of his face and pulled his mouth down on hers. And it wasn’t a fleeting kiss she gave him, by God, but one that wouldn’t leave any doubt that it was happening.

Robbie made a noise—she couldn’t decide if he grunted or groaned—folded her into his arms, and leaned back against the wall. He canted his head and deepened the kiss—that she had started—by parting his lips over hers.

He tasted like very fine scotch, a perfect blend of heat and masculine appeal that set her mind spinning. There was nothing tentative about him this time, nothing fleeting or obscure.

Catherine opened her mouth, her growing urgency yearning for more, and melted against him, tasting, teasing his advancing tongue, welcoming the tremors racing through her. She also made a sound but recognized it as her own sense of wonder that she was not frightened but empowered by his response.

The muscles of his shoulders tightened under her hands, the tendons in his neck straining as he moved to taste her. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples quickening from the blasting heat of his chest against hers.

Catherine rose to meet each new sensation and decided her libido was far from dead.

This towering giant of a man, with his maddening choice of a stick or a hug, only mocked her fears with his mouth, his taste, his all-consuming presence.

He broke the kiss, his lips forging a trail of quivering pleasure along her jaw, up her cheek, and across her temple. And then he covered her head with his hand and tucked her under his chin with a sigh so fierce the air rushed from her lungs.

“I’m thinking we should stop now,” he whispered. “Before I forget my noble intentions.”

Catherine would have sighed herself if his impassioned embrace would have let her.

She’d somehow ended up straddling his lap, and the indecent position—and the blatant evidence of his not-so-noble desire pushing intimately against her—finally unnerved her.

She tested those very intentions by trying to wiggle free. He groaned quite loudly, picked her up, and stood her on the floor before she could gasp.

She faced him, clutching the front of her sweater in her fists, her forearms pressed against her sensitized breasts, her face feeling as if it was about to combust.

“No more choices, Cat. Just turn around and walk away.”

“I… this was… that kiss wasn’t… ”

“Go in the house, Catherine.”

She spun toward the door.

“And take the stick with you.”

Catherine turned back, shaking her head. “I don’t want it.”

He slid off his perch and walked to the stick, and picked it up, then came over, put it in her hand, and closed her fist around it. “But I do want ya to have it. Stand it next to the clock in the kitchen, and if another fight ever breaks out and I’m not home, use it.”

She tried to shove it back at him. “I won’t hit anyone.”

He continued to hold her fist closed over the stick. “If a stranger comes to the house and threatens your children, will you waggle your finger at him?”

“Of course not.”

“If Rick starts fighting with Peter and won’t stop, and there’s no one else around, what will you do?”

“I… I would… I’d… ”

He gently ran a finger down the side of her face. “It’s only a weapon, Cat. An equalizer that can multiply your strength times ten. A stout stick can make the difference between being completely defenseless against someone twice your size or being victorious.”

“It’s also a weapon that could be turned against me.”

“Aye. But tomorrow I’ll begin teaching you how to keep that from happening.”

“What?”

“Weapons are only as effective as the person using them, Catherine. But with the proper training, you could drop a bear in its tracks with only a stick.” He smiled and lightly tapped the end of her nose. “And I’m going to show you how to do that. You can always find something for a weapon, be it a baseball bat, a broom handle, or a tree branch.”

She pulled free, clutched the stick to her chest, and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she snapped it shut, spun around, and marched toward the end of the barn.

“Sleep well, little Cat,” he softly called after her.

Catherine stopped at the door and turned back to him, still clutching the stick to her chest. “I—I would like for you to set an example for Nathan and Nora,” she quietly told him. “And I do want to help with the boys.” She lifted her chin. “But I also want you to stop whatever you’re doing up on that mountain.”