The Highlander Next Door (17 page)

Birch trudged across the yard just as the sun broke over the opposite shore of Bottomless, thinking that of all the crazy, impetuous things she could have done, having sex with Niall MacKeage might very well top the list. The wall-crumbling, cliff-dangling Scot had positively—and probably irrevocably—ruined her for ever enjoying sex with another man again. But even crazier, Birch decided as she climbed the porch steps, was that she couldn’t stop thinking about when they could have sex again.

Well, damn, the stupid door was locked. And her key was on the ring in her car, which was . . . somewhere besides here. She moved along the porch and tried each of the kitchen windows, figuring the way her luck had been running lately, the stupid car had fallen off the helicopter winch and was sitting at the bottom of the sea. For crying out loud, who closed windows in the middle of June?

Granted, the sea breeze could get chilly at night, but Noreen was a freaking
Mainer
; nighttime temperatures in the forties should feel balmy to her. You’d think the woman was paying the utility bills the way she guarded the thermostat and ran around shutting off lights and closing windows. She’d also taken over the kitchen—although considering the meals they’d been eating the last two weeks, no one was complaining. And Noreen did vacuum and dust and do the laundry. Heck, she even did bathrooms.

Birch rounded the corner of the wraparound porch and started checking the parlor-turned-into-her-office windows, remembering that she
had
planned to divide up the housekeeping chores to give the residents a sense of pride in their temporary home and feel like valued, contributing members of their temporary family. But Noreen didn’t like the way Cassandra packed the dishwasher; Macie apparently didn’t know how to fold a fitted sheet; and Hazel did have a bad habit of vacuuming only the traffic areas. Again, not that anyone was complaining. In fact, there was a good chance Cassandra kept placing bowls and cups faceup in the dishwasher on purpose.

Heck, Birch had sabotaged some of her own chores to get out of them.

But then, who was she to squelch a confused woman’s need to feel needed? And since only two of the five pies had sold at the bake sale—to tourists, apparently—Noreen had gone to bed early rather than hear the watered-down version of Birch’s accident. After, that is, the humiliated woman had let everyone know it was her husband’s fault the pies hadn’t sold, claiming she wouldn’t put it past Logan to have run around town warning everyone they would be spending the next five days staring out their bathroom windows.

Wait;
her
bathroom window was open, wasn’t it? Hugging herself against the chill beginning to penetrate her robe, Birch headed back down the stairs with a muttered curse. She had to get inside before anyone discovered she hadn’t slept in her bed, because the last thing she needed was for anyone—especially motormouth Noreen—to suspect she was having an affair with her neighbor.

Well,
maybe
they were having an affair, seeing how neither of them had talked about when they might get together again. Niall had merely kissed her on the forehead and given her ass a pat on her way out the door instead of walking her home like the gentleman he obviously wasn’t. The sex machine was probably right now back in his big warm bed, completely oblivious to the fact she was out here freezing her
patted
backside off.

Birch stopped at the side of the house and looked up at her bathroom window to see it was open a few inches, only to sigh in defeat when she realized even a giant would have trouble reaching it. She scanned the yard for something to stand on, but didn’t see a ladder, a handy tree like the one growing beside Cassandra’s window, or even a freaking lawn chair. So she trudged back to the stairs, sat down on the bottom step and propped her elbows on her knees, and dropped her chin in her hands with another sigh. Man oh man, she was in trouble. Wanting to have an affair with Niall was one thing, but falling
in like
with him could be a problem.

Okay, it already was a problem, because last night she’d caught herself liking his
mind
even more than his amazing muscles. Who knew the towering mountain could be so tender? He was a cop. A trained killer. Men who made their livings running around with guns strapped to their chests were supposed to be emotionally aloof, not
playful
. They certainly weren’t supposed to make a woman feel pretty and feminine and over-the-moon special by making love to her three—or had it been four?—freaking times in one night.

For crying out loud, she hadn’t made love four times in the last
two years
.

Wait; hadn’t she gone over there to
sleep
in his arms? Yes, she’d intended to have mindless sex and then go to sleep, not spend the night going at it like two horny teenagers. Niall had actually laughed out loud every time he’d had to catch her before she landed on her ass on the floor. (Note to self: Do not slather every inch of your body with lotion just before engaging in hot, sweaty sex.)
Mon Dieu
; she’d laughed out loud, too, picturing him as one of those kids at local fairs trying to hold on to a greased pig!

And speaking of asses, what was so fascinating about hers, anyway? She’d better not look in the mirror this morning and see—

Birch straightened at the realization that instead of staring out at Bottomless, she’d just spent the last five minutes staring at three strange vehicles parked in the driveway. Well, one huge vehicle and two of those little golf cart thingies like Rana Oceanus used for traveling the camp road on rainy days.

Birch shot to her feet and ran down the walkway, only to slip to a halt on the dew-covered grass when she saw the small lettering on the rear side window of the SUV that said
Spellbound Falls Crisis Center
. She turned to the carts, which looked to be brand-spanking-new, and saw the same discreet lettering on the side panels.

Oh God, all three were candy-apple red.

But where had they come from? When had they been delivered?

“Oh God,” she repeated out loud, covering her mouth in horror. Had whoever delivered them knocked on the door last night only to
not
find the center director home because she’d been next door having sex with her neighbor?

So why hadn’t Shep barked? Even if the vehicles had been delivered after she’d snuck the poor dog back inside at two in the morning, his canine ears should have heard
something
. “The shelter’s first line of defense, my ass,” Birch muttered, unable to resist running a finger along the beautiful red paint as she walked around the SUV. She opened the driver’s door, stepped up on the running board to slide in behind the wheel, and sucked in the new vehicle smell—stopping in mid-suck when she noticed the linen card sticking out of a cubbyhole on the dash.

Birch grabbed it and started reading.
It has come to my attention that both the Crisis Center and Birthing Clinic are in need of safe and reliable transportation.

She knew Dr. Bentley drove a compact . . . rust-bucket, and remembered wondering how the tall, lanky man folded himself into it, even as she’d pictured him wading through five-foot snowdrifts next winter trying to find the poor thing.

So please accept this truck, Miss Callahan,
she continued reading,
to help you serve the good citizens of Spellbound Falls and Turtleback Station. The carts should make it easier for your mother to get to her new job, as well as give your residents a sense of self-reliance. They are electric, so please remember to plug them in each night. It was signed, The Special Delivery Fairy.

P.S. I hope you like the color.

As in little Charlie MacKeage’s special delivery fairy? Birch wondered with a smile as she tucked the card back in the cubbyhole. The safe and reliable transportation had to be Peg’s idea. It was just like her to worry about Hazel having to walk to work every day, too. All five committee women were thoughtful and generous, but Peg seemed particularly sensitive to the plight of struggling women, making Birch wonder about her life before she’d married Duncan.

Well, Vanetta Thurber was also especially fond of the Center, having confided to Birch that she’d been married to a violent—and thankfully now dead—bastard ten years ago when she’d lived in Alabama. In fact, Vanetta had donated her freaking
house
to be used as a shelter, even though she could have gotten a small fortune for shorefront property this close to town. And Peg had told Hazel it had been Vanetta’s idea to have Niall live in the converted bunkhouse rent-free in exchange for keeping an eye on the shelter residents.

Birch wondered if keeping his
hands
on the shelter
director
had been part of the deal. She sucked in a final whiff of new-truck smell, then got out and softly closed the door. With one final scowl at the still-quiet house, she hugged herself against the penetrating chill and started back across the yard, an added spring in her step at the thought of dragging Niall out of his nice warm bed to rescue her again.

He opened the door before she’d even finished knocking, wearing jeans and boots but no shirt, his hair damp from the shower and an errant dab of shaving cream near his sideburn. “Back already?” His gorgeous green eyes ran over her like a molten caress as Birch tried to remember why she was there. “Well, if ye insist,” he said on a heavy sigh, sweeping her off her feet. “But I can’t promise I’ll be at the top of my game.”

Birch hoped to God he was teasing.

Or maybe not.

“Wait. I’m not here to— Niall, stop!” she said on a laugh. “I’m locked out of the house.” He halted in the bedroom doorway, looking so disappointed that she kissed his clean-shaven cheek. “I just need help climbing in my bathroom window.” She toyed with a lock of damp hair at the nape of his neck, liking how the length made him appear roguish. “Do you happen to know anyone who’s good at rescuing damsels in distress?”

“Not particularly,” he said, opening his arms and making her yelp of surprise end in a
whoosh
when she landed on the unmade bed. “Why don’t ye ask your new best buddy to fly in the window and unlock the door for you?” he said, walking away.

Birch gaped at his retreating back; the guy was jealous of a
bird
? “Or I can ask my newest best buddy, the Special Delivery Fairy,” she said, scrambling off the bed in pursuit, only to bump into him when he stopped and turned to her.

He caught hold of her shoulders when she bounced off him. “When did ye meet the Special Delivery Fairy?” He turned away again, grabbed a shirt thrown over one of the stools at the counter peninsula, and continued into the small living area that was all of three steps away from the kitchen.

“I didn’t actually meet her in person.”

“Obviously,” he said, shaking his head as he buttoned his shirt. “Because everyone knows Special Delivery Fairies are
hims
. So what did he bring you?”

“
She
brought me a brand-new truck,” Birch said, going to the open door and gesturing outside with a smug smile. “A candy-apple red SUV just like the ones most of the committee women drive, with enough cargo space to move a mom and several children to safety.” Birch turned her smile sinister. “And it’s big enough that if anyone tries running me off the road again, they’ll be the one floating down a—what?” she asked when Niall’s entire countenance suddenly changed.

“One,” he said ever so softly, “either I or one of my officers will accompany you whenever you go check on a woman who might need help.”

“Now wait a minute.”

“And two,” he added more forcefully as he took a step closer, “you’re not to leave the town proper until we find out who ran you off the road.”

“You’re actually telling me what I can and can’t do?” She closed the distance between them. “Don’t even
think
last night gave you any rights over me.”

He bent until their noses were nearly touching. “You leave town, you’d best head straight for the border and hope I don’t catch ye before you cross.” He straightened, grabbing his jacket on his way outside, but stopped and turned to her. “And for the record, I’d made my decision
before
you knocked on my door last night. And Birch?”

“What?” she snapped.

“Something else ye might want to know about me is that I never bluff. You leave town alone, and I will come after you,” he said, turning and striding to his truck just as Shep came racing inside. The dog grabbed his Kevlar vest off the floor, gave Birch what appeared to be an equally quelling look, then raced back outside.

Birch stood listening to Niall’s pickup start up then slowly idle out the driveway, and tried to decide what had just happened. How had the man gone from teasing lover to bossy brute in the blink of an eye?

She also tried to recall the last time anyone had dared to tell her that she couldn’t do something. About a month after her seventh birthday, if she remembered correctly, when
Grand-père
St. Germaine had suddenly decided she couldn’t go to her new best friend’s house after school anymore. Something about the girl being too uppity, he’d said, or some similar nonsense.