That said, Katherine headed for the bathroom, the sheets trailing after her like a queen’s mantle.

“God’s teeth, women!” Ian shout from the kitchen. “The potatoes are boiling over out here!”

Libby ran into the kitchen to find a smoking, stinking mess covering the stove, the potatoes completely boiled dry, and the stainless steel pot so black it looked like cast iron. She waved the dishtowel through the smoke and opened the window over the sink to let in fresh air.

Michael quietly took the dishtowel from her, picked up the ruined pot, and carried it outside.

By the time Libby could see again, four sets of eyes were staring at her, all with varying degrees of accusation. Robbie, his arms full of kittens, looked crestfallen at the loss of half his dinner. Katherine appeared dismayed. Ian looked disgusted. And Michael?

Well, his eyes were crinkled, and his shoulders were shaking.

James walked into the house, waving his hand at the smoke while his other hand covered his nose in defense of the smell. “I found this gentleman in the driveway,” he said. “He claims he’s a priest and that he was invited to dinner.”

“I may have changed my mind,” Father Daar said as he brushed past James. “What in the name of God have ya done to our supper?” he asked, glaring at Libby as he wrinkled his nose. “How can ya claim to keep track of people’s innards when ya can’t even manage a pot of potatoes?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Father,” Libby drawled, turning and shutting off the heat beneath the carrots. “Mom, maybe it’s time you opened another bottle of wine.”

“Why is everyone wearing orange?” Katherine asked, looking around the room full of brightly clothed Scots.

“Are you trying to match the fall foliage?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Ian huffed in exasperation, wiping his face with a broad hand. “It’

s hunting season, woman, and we’re not caring to get shot.”

“Sh-shot?”

Ian went to the counter, found the opened bottle of wine, filled the empty glass on the counter, and carried it over to Katherine. “Would ya like to go hunting with me tomorrow morning?” he asked through his beard. “I have a nice little youth’s rifle ya can borrow.”

Instead of answering, Katherine lifted her glass and didn’t lower it until all the wine was gone. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, handing it back.

“I’ll pick ya up at four-thirty, then,” Ian said. “Dress warm, Kate.”

“But I didn’t mean… I can’t… ” She took a calming breath, straightened her shoulders, and glared at Ian.

“I have a previous obligation tomorrow morning, Mr. MacKeage. But thank you for your kind offer.”

“Then how about the next morning? It’s supposed to snow, but that will make tracking the sneaky critters that much easier.”

Katherine snatched her empty glass from him, went to the fridge, and took out the other bottle of wine. Libby decided it was time to rescue her mom.

“Robbie, why don’t you put the kittens in the bathroom and wash your hands? Michael, could you take the roast out for me?” she asked, draining the carrots into the sink. “Sit down, everyone,” she urged. Looking up at Michael she said, “Somebody should go get John. We can’t let him eat alone.”

“He’s visiting neighbors tonight,” Michael told her.

“Oh, that’s good, then.”

Michael remained unusually quiet throughout the meal, but then, Libby was quiet herself. She couldn’t decide if it was because she was overwhelmed by the chaos or amused. In all the hundreds of dinner parties she’d attended in her lifetime, not one had ever come close to providing the joy she was feeling right now.

Her kitchen was full. The food was good, the company was unique, and the setting couldn’t be more charming.

Oh, yeah. She was settling in faster than frost on a pumpkin.

Chapter Nineteen

Seeing the car pull upat the end of the field, Michael shut off his chain saw, set it beside the newly cut stump, and signaled his crew to continue working before heading down the row of felled Christmas trees. He pushed up the visor on his hard hat and pulled off his gloves. James Kessler got out of the car, leaned against the fender, and tucked his hands into his coat pockets.

Michael came to a halt three paces away. “I wondered when you’d show up,” he said, stuffing his gloves into his back pocket before crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re wasting your time, Kessler. Libby’s staying.”

Michael expected some sort of reaction for such a bold declaration, but Kessler’s indifference surprised him.

“If she stays, she’ll be ruined,” he simply said, without malice and with only a hint of concern. “She has a contract, and if she breaks it, she’ll never work as a surgeon again.”

“She’ll work if she wants to, if she’s as good as ya claim.”

“She’s not good, MacBain, she’s brilliant. Elizabeth is methodical, precise, and unbelievably controlled in the operating room. It’s only her personal life she’s determined to screw up.”

“It’s her life.”

“She won’t stay. She’ll eventually get over this temper tantrum and realize what she’s given up.”

“If ya knew Libby at all, you’d know this isn’t a tantrum she’s having. Tell me, if she did no harm to the woman she almost operated on, why do ya think she ran?”

Kessler took his time answering, giving Michael a long, calculated look. “I don’t know,”

he finally said. “There were rumors that something was strange about the case right from the start. Elizabeth’s team was the first to see the woman, and she needed immediate surgery. But she was perfectly healthy by the time she arrived in the operating room.”

“And how was this explained? Libby wasn’t the only person to see her.”

Kessler straightened away from the car. “It wasn’t explained. The surgeon of record couldn’t be found because she’d run away.”

“And you’re here to take her back and have her apologize. Exactly what is Libby sorry for?”

“For leaving.”

“Ah. So she did nothing ethically wrong, then.”

“It’s unethical to walk away from her obligation to the hospital. And she has a responsibility to find out what happened to her patient.”

“But she has more of an obligation to herself,” Michael softly contradicted. “Tell me why you’re really here, Kessler.”

“Elizabeth’s my friend. We grew up together, and since her father died four years ago, I’

ve been looking out for her.”

“She’s not capable of looking out for herself?”

“Apparently not.”

Michael shook his head. “It’s more than your concern for a friend that brought you clear across the country. And more than what happened in her operating room. Why are ya here, Kessler?”

The other man’s features darkened. “She did something to one of my patients,” he said tightly. “The kid was in a coma when Elizabeth went into his room. But when she walked out, he was sitting up and asking for his parents.” Kessler balled his hands into fists at his side, his stance defensive. “I want to know what she did to him.”

The fine hairs on the back of Michael’s neck stirred, and he uncrossed his arms. “What is it you think she did to him?” he asked softly.

Kessler suddenly blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re a farmer, MacBain,” he said, waving at the field of Christmas trees. “You know nothing about medicine or the politics that goes with it. Elizabeth treated the boy that morning, but once he became my patient, she shouldn’t have gone near him. And the kid sure as hell didn’t come out of that coma on his own.”

Michael thought about the knife tucked inside his boot and wondered what reaction he would get if he pulled it out and held it against Kessler’s throat.

“You came here because you’re pissed Libby visited your patient?” Michael asked. He shook his head again and crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately relaxing his stance and ignoring his urge to go for the man’s throat.