The MacGregor Brides (32 page)

“What’s taking the pair of them so long?” Daniel demanded. “They’ve been in each other’s pockets for more than three months.”

“Well, Lord knows the pair of them are slower than limping turtles, but we’re coming down to the wire.” Fit as six fiddles, Michael switched arms to do another twenty reps. “My sources tell me she’s been cooking for him.”

“Julia? Cooking? God have mercy, Michael. Don’t tell me the boy’s been eating it.”

Barely winded, Michael laughed again. “Indeed he has been, and as I had a sample of a cake she baked for him, I can tell you any man who swallows more than a mouthful of what she makes in her kitchen is a man sunk to his ears in love.”

“Ah, what a pair they are. Made for each other, though they’d not thank either of us for pointing it out to them. We’ll give them a hell of a wedding, Michael.”

“That we will, Daniel, and it’ll be a great relief to me to have recovered my full health.”

“Just be sure you don’t recover it too soon. If the two of them balk, you may have to have a relapse. Julia will be here for Christmas. If she isn’t wearing his ring on her finger, I’ll give a wee bit of a nudge from this end.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on this end.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Michael.”

“A merry Christmas to you, Daniel.”

Michael bounced up lightly to the balls of his feet to disconnect. The grin that stretched over his face froze, the healthy flush that colored his face drained. His son stood in the doorway, his eyes dagger-bright, his mouth curled into a snarl.

“Cullum.” He all but squeaked it, and didn’t have to feign weak limbs. “I, ah, didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

“More than long enough.” Fury and humiliation tangled inside him until he couldn’t separate one from the other. “You weren’t sick a day.”

“Sick? Of course I was sick,” Michael said, desperately calculating. “Chest cold.” He managed a wheeze, sank down into the chair behind his desk. “I’m feeling considerably better. Considerably. The doctor said exercise was—”

“Just save it,” Cullum snapped, and walked slowly to the desk. “You’re as strong and healthy as a team of Clydesdales. You lied to me.” He slapped his palms on the desk and leaned in. “I was worried half to death about you. The men took up a collection to send you a fruit basket.”

“It was considerate of them. I was very grateful. Fruit—”

“I said save it!”

Now Michael’s eyes narrowed, and he rose to stick his face close to his son’s. “You’ll mind your tone with me, Cullum Murdoch. I’m still your father.”

“Which is all that’s saving you from having me haul you up bodily and throw you through the window. You and Daniel MacGregor cooked up this little plot to push me and Julia together. The two of
you figured if I was in charge of the rehab and we bumped up against each other often enough, we’d realize we were meant for each other and fall in line.”

Michael set his jaw. “That sums it up well enough. And it worked, didn’t it, so what’s the problem?”

“What’s the—” He had to step back, had to turn away. Never in his life had he considered punching his own father. “I’d like to knock your heads together.”

“You’ve had your eye on Julia MacGregor for years, Cullum, and don’t bother to deny it.”

“It was my choice and my eye,” Cullum muttered.

“And she’s had hers right back on you. All Daniel and I did was give you a push in the right direction.”

“Your direction. Do you think I’m going to thank you for it?”

“Well, and so you should.” Placating the boy would never work, Michael decided. Temper against temper would be cleaner. “A blind fool on a galloping horse could see the two of you are in love with each other. She makes you happy, and you do the same for her. And whether you know it or not—being as stubborn a man as I’ve known in my life—the pair of you have already built a home together.”

“It’s her house.”

“The hell it is. It’s yours just as much. Your heart’s in it.”

He couldn’t argue with that. But neither, he decided, was it the point. “Julia and I had an agreement before we started seeing each other.” It didn’t matter to Cullum that he hadn’t agreed to the terms she outlined, or that he’d considered them ridiculous. He was going to use them now. “The relationship isn’t permanent. It isn’t permanent,” he repeated through his clenched teeth when his father snorted. “And if you think I’m going to propose to her, think again.”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Cullum opened his mouth to deny it, jammed his hands into his pockets and simmered in silence.

“There, you’ve just told me you are, even if you can’t get your tongue around it yet. Lamebrain.” Sighing, Michael sat again. “She’s a bright and lovely woman, a match for you in strength and will. She has brains and humor and the foundation of a fine family.”

“Then you marry her.”

Michael only smiled. “If I were twenty years younger, boy, I’d have snapped her up from under your nose long before this. And if you don’t get your feet moving, someone else might just do it.”

“She’s not seeing anyone else.”

“Of course not,” Michael said mildly. “Why would she, when she’s in love with you?”

Defeated, Cullum pulled his hands free so that he could press his fingers to his eyes. “This is getting me nowhere. You and MacGregor decide to be a couple of puppet masters, and Jules and I are supposed to dance. Let me tell you something,” he continued, dropping his hands. “If she found out what the two of you have done, she’d boot me out of her life to spite you.”

“But you’re not going to tell her, are you?” Michael asked with a winning smile.

“No, I’m not going to tell her. But from this point on, the two of you stay out of it.” He jabbed a finger at his father. “Completely out of it. Julia and I will fumble around on our own. If and when we decide to get married, it’ll be because we decided, not because my father and her grandfather think it’s the thing to do.”

“Of course it’ll be your decision.” Michael’s smile never wavered. Oh, the boy was on the ropes, he thought, and didn’t even know it. “It’s the biggest decision a man makes in his life. Your happiness is what matters to me more than anything in the world, Cullum.”

Cullum felt himself weakening. “Look, I know you meant well, but—”

“Meant the very best,” Michael said, and opened the middle drawer of his desk. “I’d like you to take this. If you decide Julia’s the woman you want to build your home and family with, I hope you’ll give this to her.” He opened the small white satin box. “It was your mother’s.” Sentiment and memories swamped him as he offered Cullum the box. “I couldn’t afford a diamond when I asked her to spend her life with me. It’s a topaz. She always said it was like a little piece of sunlight, and wouldn’t have it replaced later on, when the money was there.”

“Dad—”

“I’m not pushing you. I always meant you to have it when it was time. Your mother wanted it passed on. She’d have loved your Julia, Cullum.”

“Yeah.” Helpless, Cullum took the box, slipped it into his pocket. “She would have.”

* * *

What had gotten into him? Julia dragged out her suitcase. She needed to pack for the trip to Hyannis. And she needed something to take her mind off Cullum and his odd behavior.

He’d insisted on taking her out every night for a week. Dinner, dancing, theaters, parties. She knew very well he preferred quiet evenings at home, but suddenly he was a social animal. It was driving her crazy trying to gauge his changing moods and adjust hers to them.

With a little sigh, she folded sweaters into her bag. She didn’t know how long she could keep up this agreeable-woman routine. The only real benefit so far was that she’d been able to unchain herself from the kitchen. Cooking was definitely not her forte. It was just her bad luck that Cullum loved her cooking.

Obviously the man had a cast-iron stomach, she thought. She could barely force her own preparations through her lips, but Cullum always cleared his plate.

That had been a bad miscalculation on her part. Now he was going to expect her to cook with some regularity. She hated fighting her way through a recipe almost as much as she loved Cullum.

Love, she realized, was making a fool of her.

And he was being so gentle, so tender. This new tone to their lovemaking weakened her limbs and turned her mind to mush. It made her ache for the words. Every time he took her into his arms, she was sure this would be the moment. Now he would tell her he loved her.

But he never did.

She wasn’t going to say it first, she thought, and tossed clothes into her bag. She couldn’t. She had already made dozens of compromises, given him so much control. She needed to stand firm on this one point.

And where the hell was he? She scowled at the clock, tossed in more clothes. He knew she was leaving today, that this was their last chance to see each other until after Christmas. She had to be on her way within the hour if she was going to make it to her grandparents’ before dark.

What was she doing? she asked herself. She was dawdling like a lovesick idiot, bending her own plans to suit his. One more time.

It was going to stop. With a decisive nod, she fastened her suitcase. Being in love did not mean being a doormat. She was leaving, on schedule, and she was sticking to her plans. And if Cullum Murdoch didn’t like it, he could lump it.

She carried her suitcase out to the car, then began the laborious task of hauling shopping bags
loaded with gifts. Her mood wasn’t filled with holiday cheer when Cullum pulled his truck in behind her car.

Neither was his. A problem on a job downtown had taken most of his morning. And he would have to go back and finish it up himself tonight, regardless of the fact that it was Christmas Eve.

The traffic had been insane, even for Boston, and he’d gotten a ticket for running a red—though the damn thing had been yellow—because he was in such a hurry to get to Julia’s.

And here she was leaving.

He did his best to rein in his temper, reminding himself that it was Christmas, that this was the woman he loved—that he would tell her so as soon as she had the good sense to tell him.

“I’m running behind,” he told her, taking one of the bags from her to stuff it in with the others crowding her back seat.

“So am I.”

“Traffic’s a mess. You might make better time if you wait another hour.”

“Thanks for the bulletin,” she said sweetly. “But I’ll manage. Of course, if you’d gotten here on time, I’d already be on my way.”

“I got hung up.” He struggled to keep his voice mild, but couldn’t bank the temper simmering in his eyes. “Do you have any more bags?”

“Yes.” She turned, walked back into the house, seething. And, seething, he followed her. “These are the last three.”

“Overdid it a little, don’t you think?”

“I enjoy giving gifts.” She snatched the lone box from under the tree and slapped it into his hand. “Here’s yours.”

Watching her, he slipped it into his pocket so that he could take the bags. “What’s your problem, MacGregor?”

“If you don’t know, I’m certainly not going to tell you.” She turned and sailed out of the house in front of him.

“Look, I didn’t drive across town in miserable traffic and get a ticket just to come here and get frosted.”

“It’s certainly not my fault if you drove irresponsibly and got a ticket, but that explains your bad mood.”

“My bad mood? You were snarling at me before I got out of the truck.”

Her chin shot out. “I don’t have time to argue with you. You’ve already made me late.”

“Fine. Dandy.” He dragged a long, slim box with a crushed bow out of his coat pocket. “Here’s your present. See you later.”

He strode back to the truck, cursed, then strode back, gave her a hard yank into his arms and crushed his mouth violently to hers. “Merry Christmas!” he snarled, and turned away.

“Same to you!” she shouted, then slammed into her car. She waited for him to drive off before she indulged in a storm of angry tears.

She was done with him. Finished. Her mistake, Julia decided, had been in deluding herself that she’d fallen in love with him, and that love meant she could adjust herself to his needs and wants.

Because of that, she’d spent the past couple of weeks tiptoeing on eggshells and collecting recipes.

It was mortifying.

Thank God she’d come to her senses. She was an independent woman, one who made her own decisions, lived her own life and outlined her own goals. When she spoke with Cullum again, she would calmly and clearly explain that their relationship no longer suited her, and that would be that.

She’d never been more miserable in her life.

She’d done her best to put on a cheerful face for her family. If it had cracked from time to time, she’d had plenty of excuses handy. She had a little headache, she’d been wool-gathering, she had a new deal on her mind.

Not that she believed she’d fooled anyone for a moment. But she’d gotten through it, and now she was home again, alone in her house. The lights on her Christmas tree were too bright, too colorful, and hurt her eyes. Still, she refused to turn them off. Cullum Murdoch was not going to spoil her holidays.

She had the final details of her party to keep her occupied. The minute she had everything under control, she would contact him. Certainly she would do so before the end of the year.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, she told herself, and looked at the phone yet again.

Why hadn’t he called her?

Without realizing it, she lifted a hand to touch the antique necklace she wore. Cullum’s Christmas gift to her was a lovely lariat-style necklace fashioned of tiny pearls and garnets and citrines. It had given her a jolt to see it, to remember that she’d seen it before, in one of the shops she patronized.

If she hadn’t been in Christmas-gift-buying mode, she would have snatched it up for herself. Still, she hadn’t given it more than a brief, avaricious glance. But he’d noticed, and remembered, and bought it for her.

It made her want to weep again.

Pushing away the creeping depression, she sat down at her rolltop desk to go over her list for the party. The caterer was hired, the menu approved. The flowers and music had been chosen.