Kate laughed and also stood, settling Timid comfortably into the crook of her arm. “You might as well give up,” she said with a lingering chuckle. “They’ve formed a conspiracy, and when males decide to bond, dynamite won’t budge them.”

“But what’s the great secret? Whoever made the bed should be proud of his work.”

“Maybe he’s shy,” Kate offered. “You know, the humble craftsman who does it for the love of the art, not the glory.”

“I can keep his secret, if that’s what he wants. I just need some displays.”

“Why don’t you tell Michael what you need, and he’ll tell whoever made your bed?”

Kate suggested, heading upstairs to her own bed.

Oh, yes, Libby thought. She wanted to tell Michael what she needed, all right, and it had nothing to do with displays. She needed him.

Michael seemed quite content with the way things were now—a little foreplay stolen at odd times, dinner together almost every evening, going to their separate work every day and their separate beds every night.

Libby had caught him staring at her on occasion, with a speculative, calculated look in his gray eyes. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking; he’d been a closed book ever since James had visited him.

And that worried her. What had they talked about?

James hadn’t said. He’d come back, said good-bye to her and Kate, wished them well, and left in a cloud of dusty snow.

So, Libby had asked Michael what had happened between him and James. She had gotten only a smile for an answer and a kiss that had not only shut her up but made her forget her question.

Libby poked at the fire in the hearth, pushing the dying embers to the back, banking them for the night. John rose from his chair, folded his paper, and set it over Guardian like a tent.

“We’re calling it a night, I’m guessing,” he said, coming over and kissing Libby on the cheek. “I just heard Michael’s truck start. Thanks for the delicious supper, Libby. It’s been a far sight easier going to work every day knowing I’ll be getting a decent meal at night. You’re a good cook.”

With a wave, he walked to the truck, where Robbie waited inside.

Robbie gave her a huge good-bye wave through the windshield, opened the door for John, and scooted to the middle of the seat. Libby noticed that the driver’s seat was empty.

Michael walked out of the kitchen, brushing sawdust off his jacket. “I’ve refilled the woodbox,” he told her, reaching out and pulling her into a warm embrace. “Supper was good tonight, lass. Thank you.”

“And now that you’ve eaten all my food, you’re leaving.”

“I have two trucks headed to New York tomorrow morning, and they’re not loaded yet.

The crew’s arriving at dawn.”

Libby sighed and leaned her head on his chest, wrapping her arms under his jacket and around his waist. He pulled the edges closed over her back and hugged her tightly.

“Ya seemed mighty determined to get rid of your mother tonight, lass. Any reason in particular?”

She pinched his side and smiled into his chest when he flinched. “You know why. You’

re killing me, Michael. I’m in danger of exploding.”

His chest under her ear rumbled with gentle laughter. “Aye. And I’m anxious to see that.” His arms tightened around her, all but lifting her off her feet. “Soon, Libby,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers down her back, “we’ll get to try out your new bed.”

“Why won’t you tell me who made it?”

“Because he asked me not to.”

She looked up and smiled. “Was it Santa Claus? Are you really one of his elves, sworn to secrecy?”

He kissed her on the nose. “If I say yes, then I’ve blown my cover, now, haven’t I? Just enjoy the bed, lass, instead of turning it into a puzzle ya need to solve.”

“I’d enjoy it better if I didn’t have to sleep in it all by myself,” she whispered, running her socked foot up the back of his leg.

“Be good,” he growled. “We have an audience.”

“We always have an audi—”

He kissed her soundly on the mouth despite their audience. Libby clung to him, kissed him back, and ran her foot up his leg again. His kiss turned into a growl, and she smiled into his mouth.

He might think he knew how to shut her up, but she knew how to beat him at his own game. By the time he walked to his truck, Libby was sure that steam was coming out of his ears. And his walk was a bit stiff, his fists were clenched, and whatever he’d whispered as he stepped off the porch was most definitely not something Robbie should hear.

Chapter Twenty

It took another two daysfor Kate finally to leave for California. Michael had offered to drive her to the airport in Bangor, but Libby had taken her so she could do some shopping in a town that had more than two stores. She spent the entire day in Bangor after seeing her mother off, and the back of her truck was now filled to the roof with shopping bags.

Libby decided it was time she turned her house into a home. She’d already talked with her young landlord and gotten his permission to move some of the old furnishings up to the attic. Libby respected Mary Sutter, and all the Sutters who had come before her, but it was important that she put her own signature on the house.

And she was starting with the bedroom.

Her beautiful new bed was her inspiration. Moose were such ugly creatures they were actually quite endearing, with their massive antlers and dangling goatees, their long, powerful legs and oversized heads. And the fir trees on the bed, painted such a rich, vibrant green, had made Libby decide on a woodsy, outdoor theme.

Somewhere in the back of her truck was a shopping bag containing flannel sheets that had pine tassels and pinecones printed on them. She’d even found a new quilt made of appliquéd blocks of loons, moose, black bears, and chickadees—which Libby had learned were Maine’s state bird. She’d bought a checkered dust ruffle, pillow shams, and several matching towel sets.

She’d also bought two new lamps for the sides of the bed, both made from birch tree with carved chickadees perched on the branches. There was a wool rug someplace back there, a framed print of a moose feeding in a bog in the morning mist, and new curtains that matched the dust ruffle.

But her most exciting purchases, and ironically the least expensive, were the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d found at a neat little shop in downtown Bangor. She couldn’

t wait to get home, stick them up on the bedroom ceiling, turn out the lights, and fall asleep under the stars.

Libby focused past the wiper blades as they tried to keep up with the driving rain that had been pelting the truck for the last twenty miles. It was starting to sound more like sleet than rain, and she was glad she’d made it through Pine Creek before the roads glazed over to ice. Only three miles to go. The whole ride home, the radio had said that a nor’easter was coming up the coast and that the rain would turn to snow in the mountains first, probably by nightfall. It was night now, and the weatherman was being proved right.

Michael had given her his cell phone before she’d left, and he had called her three times already today. The last time, he had been rather blunt about getting her butt in the truck and getting home before the storm hit.

But she hadn’t minded his macho attitude, simply because she couldn’t seem to get enough of the guy.

Maybe they could go out on an actual date tomorrow night. She’d spend tomorrow rearranging her room, making it pretty and romantic. She’d take a nice, long bubble bath, paint her toenails, and even dig out some of her makeup.

She was a modern woman; she would ask Michael out. She would pick him up, pay for dinner, and bring him back to her bachelorette pad so he could thank her properly for the nice evening.

She might even buy him a whopping bouquet of flowers.

Libby sighed with relief when she finally pulled into the garage. She jumped out and ran to the open garage door, looking through the wind-driven mix of snow and sleet toward the chicken coop. Damn. There was no help for it, the chickens needed tending.