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Authors: Janet Chapman
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panther.
“Aye,” Kenzie said. “And they gave me their word they won’t spray anyone not directly threatening them.”
Trace closed his eyes on a silent groan. Great. Wonderful. How friggin’ fantastic nice of them.
“Ye needn’t worry; they’ll be taking their winter sleep soon, and Fiona offered to let them stay in the barn only until spring.”
Trace snapped his eyes open. “Can she talk to animals?”
Kenzie chuckled at his alarm. “Nay, but she does have a certain … empathy for creatures. Ye might remember she was a red-tailed hawk for several centuries.”
What he remembered was that he was dealing with a clan of magic makers .
One of whom could turn him into a toad.
Trace scowled out the window again when he saw Fionawrestling another board into place, two nails held between her pursed lips and a fine sheen of perspiration making her hair cling to her flushed cheeks. “One week,” he snapped, not caring if Matt turned him into a goddamned slug. “You get your sister and her zoo off my property by next Tuesday, or I swear, this place is going up like a rocket on the Fourth of July.”
A loud sigh came over the phone. “Can ye not give this arrangement more of a chance? It means a lot to me, Trace,” Kenzie said, his voice growing thick. “When I brought the mare to her, I saw a hint of the woman Fiona was becoming before that bastard assaulted her. Just give me enough time to explain to her that she can’t take over your home, and I’ll persuade her to turn her energies toward pleasing herself instead of you.”
Trace suddenly stiffened, not knowing which shocked him more, that Fiona was working her pretty little ass off making sure he liked her or that he hadn’t realized what she was doing. The eggs and fresh-baked bread he kept finding on his doorstep, the boughs she had tucked along the house before he could do it himself, the barn swept clean of every damn last cobweb, his tools organized, her living in virtual darkness every evening—she’d been building brownie points against his ever getting angry at her.
How in hell had he missed that?
For chrissakes, he was trained to read people.
Which was why, when he had seen it was taking every ounce of courage she possessed just to ask him if she could keep Misneach, he’d folded like a house of cards. And going against his own better judgment, he’d conned her into helping him bank the house, hoping she would see that he wasn’t anyone to be afraid of.
Only he’d nearly blown it when she’d dropped that pail of nails.
Christ, he’d wanted ten minutes alone with the bastard who had caused the terror he’d heard in her screams.
And when he’d continued having her help him as if nothing had happened, she’d become no better than her clueless puppy, eagerly pitching in and even appearing disappointed when he’d sent her inside. And then she’d worked nonstop for the next six days, turning his house into a goddamned home .
“Your sister’s demons are not my problem, Gregor. And if you can’t deal with them, then move her in with some little old lady who needs mothering.” Remembering the flood of inquiries he’d gotten down at the docks about his pretty new tenant, Trace snorted. “Just make sure you find one who owns a shotgun, because some of the idiots around here have the finesse of a bull moose when it comes to courting women.”
“This is why it’s important that Fiona live over you.”
“Dammit, Gregor, I am the last person you want around her.”
Trace immediately realized his mistake, and the prolonged silence on the other end of the phone told him that Kenzie hadn’t missed it, either.
“You’re attracted to her,” the highlander said quietly.
“Goddamn it!” Trace growled, kicking the wooden barrel he was standing beside as hard as he could. “I am—”
Trace snapped his mouth shut when the air compressor sitting on top of the barrel rolled off and slammed down onto his workbench.
Or more
“Aye,” Kenzie said. “And they gave me their word they won’t spray anyone not directly threatening them.”
Trace closed his eyes on a silent groan. Great. Wonderful. How friggin’ fantastic nice of them.
“Ye needn’t worry; they’ll be taking their winter sleep soon, and Fiona offered to let them stay in the barn only until spring.”
Trace snapped his eyes open. “Can she talk to animals?”
Kenzie chuckled at his alarm. “Nay, but she does have a certain … empathy for creatures. Ye might remember she was a red-tailed hawk for several centuries.”
What he remembered was that he was dealing with a clan of magic makers .
One of whom could turn him into a toad.
Trace scowled out the window again when he saw Fionawrestling another board into place, two nails held between her pursed lips and a fine sheen of perspiration making her hair cling to her flushed cheeks. “One week,” he snapped, not caring if Matt turned him into a goddamned slug. “You get your sister and her zoo off my property by next Tuesday, or I swear, this place is going up like a rocket on the Fourth of July.”
A loud sigh came over the phone. “Can ye not give this arrangement more of a chance? It means a lot to me, Trace,” Kenzie said, his voice growing thick. “When I brought the mare to her, I saw a hint of the woman Fiona was becoming before that bastard assaulted her. Just give me enough time to explain to her that she can’t take over your home, and I’ll persuade her to turn her energies toward pleasing herself instead of you.”
Trace suddenly stiffened, not knowing which shocked him more, that Fiona was working her pretty little ass off making sure he liked her or that he hadn’t realized what she was doing. The eggs and fresh-baked bread he kept finding on his doorstep, the boughs she had tucked along the house before he could do it himself, the barn swept clean of every damn last cobweb, his tools organized, her living in virtual darkness every evening—she’d been building brownie points against his ever getting angry at her.
How in hell had he missed that?
For chrissakes, he was trained to read people.
Which was why, when he had seen it was taking every ounce of courage she possessed just to ask him if she could keep Misneach, he’d folded like a house of cards. And going against his own better judgment, he’d conned her into helping him bank the house, hoping she would see that he wasn’t anyone to be afraid of.
Only he’d nearly blown it when she’d dropped that pail of nails.
Christ, he’d wanted ten minutes alone with the bastard who had caused the terror he’d heard in her screams.
And when he’d continued having her help him as if nothing had happened, she’d become no better than her clueless puppy, eagerly pitching in and even appearing disappointed when he’d sent her inside. And then she’d worked nonstop for the next six days, turning his house into a goddamned home .
“Your sister’s demons are not my problem, Gregor. And if you can’t deal with them, then move her in with some little old lady who needs mothering.” Remembering the flood of inquiries he’d gotten down at the docks about his pretty new tenant, Trace snorted. “Just make sure you find one who owns a shotgun, because some of the idiots around here have the finesse of a bull moose when it comes to courting women.”
“This is why it’s important that Fiona live over you.”
“Dammit, Gregor, I am the last person you want around her.”
Trace immediately realized his mistake, and the prolonged silence on the other end of the phone told him that Kenzie hadn’t missed it, either.
“You’re attracted to her,” the highlander said quietly.
“Goddamn it!” Trace growled, kicking the wooden barrel he was standing beside as hard as he could. “I am—”
Trace snapped his mouth shut when the air compressor sitting on top of the barrel rolled off and slammed down onto his workbench.
Or more
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