Libby leaned back. “I… I’m through with doctoring.”

Grace gave Libby a wink as she pulled away. “I wasn’t talking about your talent with a scalpel,” she said softly.

Robbie came through the door with his arms loaded with paper sacks. Libby rushed to help the boy, wondering what her new friend meant by her comment,

“You shouldn’t have done this for me, Grace,” Libby scolded. “It’s a tiring chore for someone in your condition.”

Grace snorted. “It’s less tiring than keeping six girls entertained. I’ll have to go rescue my husband from them soon, but I have time for tea,” she said, reaching into one of the sacks and pulling out a box of tea.

“Did you buy any water?” Libby asked, looking through the other bags.

Grace laughed. Robbie gave Libby a quizzical look. “You don’t buy water at the store,”

he told her. “You turn on the faucet.”

“It’s well water,” Grace clarified. “And the sweetest in the country.”

Libby felt a blush creep into her cheeks. “I’m not such a city girl that I’m unredeemable,”

she said lamely. “I just had a momentary brain cramp.”

Grace patted Libby’s arm as she walked past her with the teakettle. “It took me months to reacclimate,” Grace assured her. She put the kettle on the range to boil and then walked over to the table and picked up Libby’s soggy computer. “This doesn’t look good.” She turned to Libby. “What happened?”

“She decided to give her car a bath in our pond,” Robbie answered before she could, laughing at his own joke.

“Remember? I told you Papa had to fish her out.” He shot a devilish look at Libby. “We thought about throwing her back, though, so she could grow some more.”

Grace messed the boy’s hair. “Your father’s sense of humor is not something to emulate, Robbie,” she chided. “Go look it up in the dictionary in the living room,” she added at his questioning frown.

Grace turned her attention to Libby’s own questioning look the moment Robbie ran into the living room. “When he’s not acting like the eight-year-old he really is, he can be quite brilliant. And often quite scary.”

“He must be in, what, second grade?” Libby asked.

Grace nodded. “He reads at an eighth-grade level, thanks to Michael. And his grasp of mathematics is well beyond that, compliments of his Sutter genes,” Grace said with a proud smile.

“He looks much older than eight,” Libby said, still skeptical.

“That’s thanks to Michael, too. But then, you’ve met his father,” Grace added, a twinkle brightening her eyes. “I heard you were about to take a swing at him.”

“I only managed to make him laugh.”

Grace patted Libby’s arm and then opened a cupboard and took down two mugs. “And that, Libby Hart, is a miracle,” she said. She nodded her smile of approval. “I’ve probably seen Michael laugh only twice since I’ve known him. And both times were at another person’s expense. Once at my own.”

“The man sounds wonderful,” Libby said.

Grace MacKeage suddenly turned serious. “He is wonderful,” she declared with all the loyalty of a sister-in-law.

“They don’t make men like Michael MacBain anymore.”

“You mean big and ferocious-looking?” Libby asked, deciding to lighten the mood.

But Grace nodded agreement. “Yes, Michael can be intimidating, if you let him.” She looked up and down Libby’s small body, and Grace’s smile suddenly returned. “You might have to stand on a chair, but I think you can give back just as good as you get.”

Libby didn’t disagree. She did decide that she was supposed to be the hostess here, even though it was Grace’s family home. She took over the chore of making the tea and waved Grace back to her seat.

“But I’m supposed to emulate my papa,” Robbie said as he walked back into the kitchen. “It means to try to be equal to, if not better than, a person. I want to be just like Papa.”

Libby carried the mugs of tea to the table and sat down, amused by her new landlord.

“You can grow big like your papa,” Grace agreed, pulling Robbie up against her belly to hug him. “And you can even emulate Michael’s manly swagger.” She took hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. “But you will be more civilized, Robert MacBain, when it comes to women.”

“Papa can be civilized,” he countered, grinning up at his aunt. “He buttoned Libby’s shirt up so I wouldn’t see her breasts. That was civilized, don’t you think?”

Libby had just taken a sip of her tea, but instead of swallowing, she spit it all over the table. She slapped her hands to her flaming cheeks and stared in horror at Grace.

Grace lifted a brow and smiled at Libby, then looked back at Robbie and nodded. “That was a very civilized thing for Michael to do,” she agreed. She set the boy away and gave him a pat on his backside. “Why don’t you go arrange some paper and kindling in the hearth? I’m sure Libby would like to light a fire this evening to stare at while she contemplates just what she’s gotten herself into here.”

Robbie ran back into the living room, eager to do his important chore, and Grace turned laughing eyes on Libby.

Libby continued to stare in horrified silence.

“I’m scared to death to tell you how similar our arrivals to Pine Creek are,” Grace said, shaking her head. “For fear you’ll turn around and run back to California.”

That cryptic remark brought Libby out of her stupor. “How similar?” she asked, blinking at Grace’s very pregnant belly, wondering just how similar their lives would continue to be.

Grace nodded toward the kitchen door at Libby’s ruined suitcase. “I also had an accident arriving here, and everything I brought with me was ruined.”

She smiled as she said this, and Libby became intrigued. “What sort of accident?”

“My plane crashed,” Grace said, waving it away as if it were unimportant. She nodded at Libby’s computer. “Even my laptop was ruined, like yours. But that’s not the point of this story. I was also unconscious in the arms of a very large, very intimidating man.”

She patted her belly. “That was eight years and almost seven babies ago.”

Libby was back to being horrified.

Grace laughed and awkwardly stood up. “You’ve come to a good place, Elizabeth Hart.

This house will keep you warm and cozy, the land will recharge your batteries, and the people will welcome you.” She walked to the living room door to watch Robbie lay up the fire, then turned to Libby again, an impish smile lighting her eyes. “And Michael MacBain is going to drive you crazy, but that won’t stop you from falling in love with him anyway.”

Chapter Five

Libby spent the first night in her new hometossing and twisting in her bed as unsettling dreams ran through her mind. In her mind’s eye, she could see a huge white bird fluttering against the ceiling over her head, its beating wings charging the air with a pulsing blue light; a large, snorting, out-of-control horse galloping through the woods with her clinging to its back, screaming in terror for someone to help her; and a giant, with hands like forged steel and eyes as deep and dark as the granite of the mountains, shouting over the howl of the wind.

Libby opened her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs.

A large hand covered her mouth. “My God, woman, but you do love to holler,” Michael MacBain whispered, his face mere inches from hers.

The heat of his hand, the feel of his warm breath brushing her cheeks, and the weight of his large, very male body pushing against her sent prickles of awareness through every nerve in Libby’s body. The howl of the wind from her dream continued, the rain driving against the bedroom windows only adding to the chaos of her reeling emotions.

“I’m going to remove my hand,” Michael said, his eyes reflecting off what appeared to be the beam of a flashlight lying on the bed beside them. “And if you scream again,” he continued softly, “I just might shut you up with a kiss this time. Do you understand, Libby?”