More than a simple mating had occurred on TarStone today.

Something. A feeling. An awareness had come to him when he had possessed Grace completely. The room had filled with a brightness so sharp the very air in the summit house had appeared white, like a new-fallen winter snow reflecting full sunshine.

This journey they were on, was somehow tied to Grace Sutter. Grey had felt her strength after the plane crash, when she had fought beside him to survive. He had felt it standing in the freezing rain outside her kitchen door, when she had stood there telling him not to return if he went to Michael MacBain. And this afternoon, in the summit house, the feeling of rightness had been nearly overwhelming.

The swirl of fog filled the bathroom, blocking out Grey’s view of himself in the mirror. He stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over his head and face and down his body. He was sorry to be washing away the essence of Grace, but he had to get changed for the night’s work ahead. He might find himself laying the pipe in the field by himself next to MacBain, but, by God, he intended to save the man’s crop of trees.

Then he would get the ice off his damn ski lift.

And then he would get down to the business of explaining to Grace Sutter that she was never returning to Virginia.

Chapter Fourteen

Her eyes burning with angry tears, Grace completely misjudged the curve in the road and drove straight into a snowbank. The force of the impact threw her against the seat belt, pushing an involuntary scream from her lungs. Ice chunks the size of dinner plates shot into the air and crashed over the hood and windshield of the truck, sending cracks spidering through the glass and making Grace instinctively raise her arms to cover her face.

The rear tires of the suddenly halted truck continued to spin on the slippery road, causing the entire vehicle to strain against the snowbank. Grace slowly lowered her arms and reached a shaking hand out to shut off the engine. The old pickup turned silent but for the angry hiss of steam from the hot engine now packed with snow.

Trembling from her nose to her knees, Grace brushed the hair from her face and took a calming breath while she assessed the damage. She seemed to be relatively intact; she wasn’t bleeding anywhere, and nothing felt broken. Her truck had not fared quite so well. It was wedged into the snowbank all the way past her door, the nose stuck up in the air and covered with debris.

Well, her body still worked. Would the truck?

Grace pushed on the brake and clutch peddles, restarted the engine, and wrestled the gear shift into reverse. She slowly let out the clutch and pushed on the gas. The rear tires spun; the truck bucked in place, then jerked sideways instead of backward. Grace crammed the clutch down, shifted into first, and gave the engine more gas. The engine revved, the tires spun, and the truck shot forward several inches.

She repeated the process, in reverse this time, but only felt the vehicle settle deeper into the snow just before it coughed and chugged to a stall.

Grace slapped the steering wheel with an angry curse, buried her face in her hands, and broke into tears.

Dammit. She should have stayed in bed this morning, watching Baby sleep. She sure as hell had no business trying to help her neighbors. All she’d received for her efforts was heartache.

Michael MacBain was mad at her for even suggesting the MacKeages could help save his trees. Morgan and Callum and Ian were beyond angry for the same reason. And Grey?

Well, on what should have been the most glorious day of her life, the day she had finally decided to make love with a man, she had made a monumental mess of the entire affair.

Grey was also mad at her, and Grace worried that his anger might be based on the fact that she had foolishly preceded their lovemaking with an ultimatum that he help Michael. Even from her own point of view, she looked like a woman willing to bargain with her body.

Hell. What a mess she’d made of this day, with her arrogant intentions and reckless actions. Every damn male she knew was mad at her.

Except Baby.

Grace angrily wiped away her tears, unfastened her seat belt, and started to get out of the truck. Only the door wouldn’t budge. She peered out the window to find that the snowbank had trapped her inside, so she rolled down the window, crawled out of the truck, and waded onto the road.

She bent at the waist and looked under the bumper. The frame of the truck was perched high and dry on the snowbank, the front tires suspended in the air and the back tires sunk in a hole the spinning tires had burned in the ice.

Grace straightened and looked in both directions. She had just turned down the road to the Christmas tree farm, but she was still closer to the ski resort than to the Bigelows’. But was she willing to hike back to the resort and ask for the MacKeages’s help?

Grace snorted to herself. Not after storming out and slamming the door on their collective rage. She pivoted on her heel and started walking to the Bigelow Christmas farm.

She fell twice and nearly pulled a back muscle trying to stay upright on the slippery road. It took her nearly an hour to travel about two miles, and in that time Grace wondered what she could do to get her life back under control. How could she have gone from an intelligent, dedicated scientist with a sharply focused future to a love-sick, addlebrained puddle of mush in only four days?

When she walked into the Bigelows’ yard, Grace was able to answer her own question. She stopped in the middle of the driveway and stared at Michael MacBain chopping wood as if the demons of hell possessed his body.

Michael. Baby. And Mary.

Grace’s heart dropped to her knees. Michael’s pain, his anger, his very obvious hurt, emanated toward her in nearly palpable waves. She had lost her sister and been given a nephew to love; Michael had nothing but emptiness.

He turned suddenly to face her, the axe hanging loosely in his large hand at his side. Grace continued into the yard, and Michael walked up to meet her.

His eyes roamed over her body, his expression concerned. “Where’s your truck?” he asked, darting a look behind her as if he expected it to be following her. He reached out and took hold of her arm. “Were you in an accident? Are ya hurt?”

Grace shrugged. “I just slid off the road,” she told him, and smiled to assure him that she was okay. “But the truck is stuck in a snowbank. I need help to pull it out.”

Michael let the axe fall to the ground and put both hands on her shoulders, giving her another, more critical inspection, as if he didn’t believe she was okay. He turned, took her by the hand, and began leading her toward the house.

“Come inside and get warm,” he said before she could protest. “Tell me where the truck is, and I’ll go get it.”

Grace planted her feet to stop them both but skidded a good three yards on the ice before Michael realized she wasn’t following meekly. He turned and frowned at her.

Grace smiled back. “I want to go with you,” she told him. “It’s a two-person job, and I don’t want John to know about the accident. He’ll feel obliged to help, and he might fall and break a hip or something.”

“I’ll just tow the truck back,” Michael countered, tugging on her sleeve to urge her toward the house.

Grace wiggled her arm free of his grasp and shook her head. “No. I want to go with you.”

Michael gave her a good glare before he blew out a resigned sigh. “Okay. But you’re sitting in the truck and staying out of my way,” he said, leading her toward the barn where she could see his truck was parked.

As concessions went, he could have been more gracious, but Grace decided to believe his dictate was from concern for her welfare, not from condescension. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten stubborn himself and that she was able to go with him.