Libby waited until he climbed in. “Thank you, Ian, for the information and for bringing me the hens. What do I owe you for them?”

“Already been paid for,” he said with a wink. “Robbie hatched them and told me last week they were part of the rent.”

He shut the door, started the truck, and rolled down the window. “Stay outta the wind, lass, so we don’t have to chase ya clear into the next county,” he got off as a parting shot as he drove away, his laughter trailing in the dust of his wheels.

Libby waited until she was sure he was out of sight, then shot Ian MacKeage a very unladylike gesture.

“And I thought I was uncivilized,” a deep, laughing voice said from behind her.

Libby whirled in surprise, then gasped and took several steps back the moment she realized exactly what a warhorse was. It was a long-necked, hairy-tailed elephant minus the trunk.

And Michael MacBain was sitting on top of the monster.

He held out his hand.

Libby took another step back.

Michael’s smile widened. “Come on, Libby,” he beckoned. “Take a ride with me while I go check on an old man who lives on the mountain.”

Libby rubbed her hen-pecked palms on her thighs and stared at Michael’s outstretched hand. Damn him. He couldn’t say what he had said this morning and then come riding in here and expect her just to jump up and go with him.

“I… I don’t have a riding helmet,” she whispered, knowing he heard her. “And nobody should ride without one,” she added.

He said nothing to that but merely continued to hold out his hand.

“I have a hundred million things to do.”

He still had nothing to say.

“You… you don’t even have a saddle on that monster.”

Again, he said nothing, his hand as patiently steady as his penetrating gray gaze.

“Dammit, Michael, I can’t go with you yet. I mean now. I can’t go with you right now.”

With no signal from its rider that she could detect, the elephant walked forward and stopped beside her. Libby refused to lose any more ground and suddenly found Michael’s outstretched hand mere inches away.

“Come with me,” he whispered, the deep timbre of his voice raising the fine hairs on her neck. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Libby. Not today.”

Of its own volition, her left hand rose up and set itself in his. Michael repositioned her grip, firmly grasping her around the arm just above her elbow, and swung her onto the horse behind him so swiftly and smoothly Libby barely had time to squeak.

She closed her eyes the moment the monstrous beast started to move. Michael dug her nails out of his stomach and repositioned her hands around his waist.

Libby discovered that hugging him was like hugging a large tree. The man was definitely just as solid, only much warmer than a tree. He smelled nicer, too.

And so, with her eyes closed, her body crushed into Michael as if her life depended on it, and TarStone Mountain looming ahead, Libby prayed that she had just consigned her soul to an archangel—and not to the devil himself.

Chapter Seven

God save himfrom reckless women.

Michael couldn’t believe Libby had come with him. It was possible she hadn’t understood him this morning, but he didn’t think so. Which meant that either she was considering his offer, or the woman should be locked up for her own safety.

“So this is Stomper,” she said, removing one of her death-gripping hands from his waist and patting the horse’s side.

Stomper thought a fly was on him and gave a violent swish of his tail as he kicked up a hind leg to swat it. Libby gasped and dug her nails into Michael’s stomach again.

“Wh-who lives on the mountain?” she asked.

Michael heard the worry in her voice but didn’t know if it was the horse making Libby nervous or if she had finally realized the dangerous position she’d put herself in, now that they were quickly leaving civilization behind.

“He’s a priest who goes by the name of Daar,” he told her, prying her nails out of his belly again and patting her hands flat. “He has a cabin partway up TarStone.”

“He lives by himself? I thought priests lived in rectories or something.”

“He’s an old priest and has no church,” Michael explained, trying to ignore his passenger’s soft breasts pressing into his back. The woman was clinging to him so tightly it felt as if she were trying to melt into his skin.

Now, there was a maddening thought.

Dammit. What had Robbie gotten him into? Or, rather, what had he gotten himself into by agreeing to allow his son to rent Mary’s home?

He didn’t want to be attracted to Libby. She was too small. Too outspoken.

Too… dammit, she was too reckless.

Michael had known she would be trouble the moment she’d set her feet on his chest and pushed him into his pond.

And if that hadn’t been warning enough, she had threatened to call his bluff this morning when he’d gone to her house with every intention of scaring her off.

So what was he doing bringing her with him this afternoon?

Aw, hell. He had his own reckless streak, which was proving to be just as dangerous as Libby’s. Either that, or he had been too long without a woman.

Most likely, it was a combination of both.

But mostly, Michael had invited her along because he knew that sooner rather than later, the old priest would wander down off the mountain and into Libby’s yard. Daar was curious about Robbie’s new tenant and could be downright meddlesome at times, sticking his nose into places where it didn’t belong.

That was why Michael wanted to be there for their first meeting, so that he could control the conversation. He needed to make sure Libby understood that Daar was a bit touched in the head and that she shouldn’t believe anything he said.

“You all have Scottish accents,” the cause of his restless night’s sleep said into his back.

“I could barely understand a word Ian was saying. Even Robbie has a slight accent.

Have you all lived here very long?”

“I’ve lived here ten years,” he told her. “Ian and the other MacKeages have been here almost twelve years.”

“What happened to Robbie’s mother?”

“She had an automobile accident when she was eight months pregnant. My son was surgically taken from Mary, and she died the next day.”

“I’m sorry,” Libby said softly against his back. “So Robbie never knew his mother.”

“He knows her. Everyone’s seen to that.”

Michael faced forward again and decided it was time to redirect this inquisition. “So, what made you move from California to Maine?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before she spoke. “I was afraid of earthquakes,” she muttered into his back.

Michael turned his head, only to find her tiny little chin lifted in defiance, just daring him to comment.

Which, of course, he couldn’t help but do. “So ya’re preferring blizzards instead? No, I’

m thinking it’s a man you’re running from.”

“I am not,” she said, shoving at him to turn him around.

She nearly pushed herself off his horse instead. Libby let out a yelp and kicked her legs to catch her balance, and Stomper protested by bolting out from under both of them.

Michael had to choose between regaining control of his still powerful old warhorse or joining Libby for her journey to the ground. He twisted and wrapped his arms around the flailing, screaming woman and made sure that when they landed, Libby was on top.

The fact that he was laughing the whole way down was probably what enraged her the most. Michael captured her hands when she tried to shove away from him. And before her flailing knees unmanned him, he rolled them over and placed her safely beneath him.

“You idiot,” she hissed, squirming to get free. “That’s why you wear a helmet.”

“You don’t appear to have any broken bones,” he observed, pinning her shoving hands over her head.