Almost before he knew what had happened, he found himself doing just that.
She pulled away and laughed. And that was when he felt himself falling. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh, and he’d been the one to bring in out in her. He was so taken aback by it, he couldn’t stop smiling.
She was smiling back at him.
Gideon realized then that there was much more to it than just a smile. For the first time in his thirty-two years, he found the thought of standing right where he was and staring into green eyes to be the most important thing he could possibly do with his time.
Alarms went off in his head.
Gideon ignored them.
They sounded again, but with words this time. Just what the devil are you thinking to stare at a woman’s knees, then watch her destroy dinner, then want to kiss her?
Gideon blinked.
Good heavens, he was losing it. He was supposed to be taking her in hand and repairing her life. He was not supposed to be feeling his knees grow unsteady beneath him. He was not supposed to be gaping at a woman he hardly knew and finding himself so charmed by her that he had to remind himself to breathe. It was all he could do not to haul her up into his arms and stalk off with her like one of those blasted barbarians from one of Stephen’s medieval texts.
But the stalking sounded so appealing if it meant having Megan McKinnon in his arms.
He looked down at her again, considered his alternatives, then gave his common sense the old heave-ho. He took her face in his hands, stared down into her fiery green eyes, smiled at the silky touch of her riotous hair flowing over his fingers, then lowered his mouth and covered hers.
And for a blissful moment, the earth moved.
And then, just as quickly, Megan had moved—but not too far away because somehow his watch had gotten caught in her hair.
“Ow, ow, ow,” she said, grabbing her hair with her hand.
“Wait,” he said, following her with his arm.
She gingerly pulled strands of hair from his watchband. “I don’t kiss on the first date,” she said, staring intently at her hair.
“This isn’t a first date.”
“Then I really don’t kiss, especially on the first non-date.”
Half a dozen pot lids suddenly crashed to the floor. Megan screeched, a sound reminiscent of the recently departed Mrs. Pruitt, and threw herself into his arms. Gideon contemplated the positive aspects of this turn of events. He put his free arm around her and pulled her close. She clutched his shirt.
“Do you think . . .” she began, “I mean, do you think we might have a few—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Mrs. Pruitt said the inn had them.”
“Mrs. Pruitt left her sacred post at the stove without a backward glance. Her character and stamina speak for themselves.”
“Maybe it’s just the wind,” Megan said, pulling out of his arms and working more frantically at her hair. “After all, there aren’t any such things as gho—”
The lights went out in the kitchen and several more lids crashed to the floor.
Gideon found himself again with an armful of Megan McKinnon.
“I don’t hug on the first non-date either,” she squeaked.
“You might make an exception for this,” Gideon offered. “The storm seems to have picked up again.”
It was dark as pitch inside the kitchen, so he wasn’t sure what her expression was, but he could tell she was mulling it over. She relaxed a bit in his arms.
“It is a pretty bad storm,” she agreed. “What with all the wind howling and everything.”
“Yes, indeed. Dreadful.”
She released her death grip on him, but not by much. Gideon reached around her head, released his watchband and gingerly eased it from her hair.
Megan didn’t move a muscle. “Should we find a candle or something? Or light a fire?”
“Smashing thought,” he agreed. He released her, only after promising himself he’d find a way to have her back in his arms as soon as possible.
It took some doing, but after rummaging about for several minutes, he and Megan both were proud owners of lit candles.
Now it was time to get down to business. Perhaps he could find a way to put his arm back around her while distracting her with chatter about her choice of occupations.
“Shall we go talk about your career possibilities?” he asked brightly.
She looked at him and blinked. “My career possibilities?”
Damn. The proverbial cat was out of the bag now. Though he’d intended it to be a pleasant surprise, there was no sense in hiding his agenda now. They could fix her career, then move on to other things, such as getting the first date over with so the second could occur and she could see her way clear to kissing him again.
“I’d wanted to broach the subject more gently, of course,” he began, steering her toward the door.
“Career possibilities?” she repeated.
“I’m the perfect one to help you, don’t you think?” he asked. “After all, my resume is quite impressive. I have hundreds of contacts and could likely find you any sort of employment you want.”
“You want to talk to me about my career possibilities?” she demanded.
“Well, of course,” he said.
She looked like she was going to hit him. Indeed, it was only by sheer instinct that he managed to duck in time to avoid her swing.
“You jerk!” she exclaimed.
He straightened and looked at her with wide eyes. “Me?”
She swung again.
Gideon jerked back. “Good heavens, Megan, have you lost your mind? I’m helping you!”
“I don’t want your help, you big idiot!”
“But why ever not—”
She advanced and he retreated. Amazing how one could still see murder in another’s eyes by candlelight.
“I can’t believe you!” she exclaimed. “What in the world makes you think I need to be fixed?”
“Fixed? How did you—”
He ducked instinctively, prepared for another blow, but this one came at him from a different angle. Her foot connected solidly with his shin.
“Ouch, damn it,” he said, jerking his candle. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse, her shoe in his shin or the hot wax on his fingers. “Megan, I don’t think you realize what you’re turning down.”
“I realize exactly what I’m turning down,” she said, poking him in the chest. “You’re just like the rest of them. I don’t need to be worked on, I don’t need to be a project and I don’t need any damned career advice! If I want to keep getting fired from now until doomsday, that’s my business!”
“But—”
“But nothing! Good night!”
And with that, she slammed out of the kitchen. Gideon heard her stomp across the dining room, then heard the far door slam.
Well, that hadn’t gone off well at all. Gideon stood there with the wind making an enormous racket as it came through the cracks under the door and shutters, and wondered why he felt so flat. He’d only been trying to help. And who better to fix her career than him? The countless people he knew, the businesses he owned—why he was a veritable gold mine of corporate acumen and resources! Her reaction to his generous offer was insulting, to say the very least.
He studiously ignored the thought that he’d just made an ass of himself and bruised Megan’s feelings in the process.
Well, it was a sure sign that he’d put his foot to the wrong path. It was time he took hold of his priorities and wrested his destiny back onto its original course.
“I don’t have time to worry about this,” he announced to the kitchen. “I have work to do. I don’t need any of these feminine distractions. My life is full of important tasks.”
The wind continued to howl.
What about love?
Gideon turned a jaundiced look on the door. “I’m certain,” he said crisply, “when the wind starts blathering on about love that it’s far past the t
ime when I should be back at work.”
He turned to the dining room door and held this candle aloft purposefully.
“Tomorrow,” he said, taking a smart step forward, “I’ll be on my way tomorrow!”
His candle flame went out. Another collection of pots crashed to the floor behind him.
“How many bloody pots does this inn have?” he demanded of the darkness.
The wind only growled an answer.
Gideon left the kitchen with all due haste.
“Holidays are useless wastes of time,” he said as he made his way up the stairs. “I’ll find myself a proper set of clothes in the village, then search for another laptop. I’ve already lost a day.”
He paused on the landing as a most unsettling thought struck him. He tried to push it aside, but it came back to him, as if someone had whispered it to him.
I think, my lad, that you stand to lose much more than just a day.
Gideon felt chills go down his spine. He peered back down the stairs into the darkened entryway. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least to have seen someone standing there.
But the entryway was empty.
Gideon straightened. He was hearing things. He nodded to himself and opened the door to his room. He’d had a very long day and the wind was playing tricks on him. Either that or he’d spent far too much time looking at Megan McKinnon. She unsettled him more than the wind.
Freckles, he decided as he closed his bedroom door behind him, were hazardous to a man’s good sense.
Chapter Five
“NAY, YOU’LL NOT do it!”
“Out of me way, ye bloody Brit, and leave me to me work!”
“‘Tis a brand new Sterling! This horseless cart cost me nevvy a bleedin’ fortune!”
Ambrose put his head beneath the bonnet of Gideon’s car and glared at his companions.
“Will you two cease with this confounded bickering!” he snapped. “We’re here to pull the spark plug wires, not argue over who’ll do it!”
Fulbert leaned heavily against the fender. “I don’t think I can lend my aid. That pot banging last eve took all my strength.”
“Ha,” said Hugh, casting him a derisive sneer. “I flung a far sight more than ye, and look at me in the bloom o’health this morn.”
“We’re all under a great amount of physical strain,” Ambrose said sternly, “but we’ll have time enough to rest once the deed is done. Now, we’ve eight of these slim little cords to pull and precious little time to argue over the pulling of them.”
“Eight’s too many,” Fulbert groused.
“I want no chance that the automobile will spring to life,” Ambrose countered. “I’ve done a goodly amount of reading on the subject and know of what I speak. Now, we’ll start from this end.”
It took a great amount of effort, and there was much grunting and swearing given forth, as well as several bouts of condemning modern man for his ridiculous inventions that required more than oats and a good rubdown, but finally the deed was done. Ambrose stood back from the car and admired their handiwork.
“There,” he said, with satisfaction. “Gideon will not be off today. As the rain seems eager to aid us in our task of keeping him here, I daresay he won’t be venturing out on foot any time soon, either.” He reached up to close the bonnet.
“I’ll see to it,” Fulbert said, suddenly. He did a little leap in the air. “I feel quite the thing suddenly.”
Ambrose was quite frankly surprised at Fulbert’s change of heart, but wasn’t about to challenge him on it. Lifting things from the physical world was, as always, exhausting. There were but few hours before dawn. He would do well to rest before Gideon rose and gave them any more trouble.
“As you will, Fulbert. Come, Hugh. Let us seek our rest while we may.”
Ambrose took a final look at the engine, then, satisfied his work was done properly, entered the house and sought his bed for a well-deserved nap.
FULBERT WAITED UNTIL Hugh and Ambrose passed through the door before he peered back down into the engine.
“They plucked too bleedin’ many of these things,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll just put a few back. The saints only know what kind of damage could be done to the beast otherwise.”
It was an intense struggle and he had to admit he couldn’t quite remember how the rubber cords had been attached at the start, but he plugged five of them back in, crossing the cords here and there and stretching them when they didn’t wish to go where he decided they should.
Calling upon the very last reserves of his considerable strength, he pulled the bonnet down home.
He made his way slowly inside and took up his post at the end of the upstairs passageway. It didn’t take long before he’d sat, then stretched his legs out, then fallen asleep.
It had been a most tiring night’s work.
THE HOUSE WAS silent as Gideon trudged down the stairs, elf shoes well apart to avoid toe tangleage, dragging his heavy suitcase with him. It contained, of course nothing useful. He’d decided, though, that he just couldn’t leave his ruined computer and the ashes of his clothes lying about in the bedroom. The least he could do was find a rubbish bin somewhere and add to it.
He set his burden down and walked back to the kitchen. There were pots strewn all over the floor and the remains of last night’s meal still on the table. Gideon looked down at Megan’s fork still standing in her now congealed vegetables. The sight of that brought other, disturbingly distracting memories to mind: Megan in his arms; Megan’s lips under his.
Megan mad as hell over him wanting to fix her.
He’d given her response to his innocent suggestion quite a bit of thought over the past sleepless night. He’d given even more thought to her successful family, and he could see where she might feel as if she didn’t quite fit in. He wondered if they made it a point to point out her failures to her. The thought of that set his blood to boiling.
Actually, just the thought of Megan set his blood to boiling. He felt himself becoming distracted all over again.
“Work, work, work,” he said, chanting his favorite mantra.
Damn. All he could think about was freckles.
“Price/earning ratios,” he said, letting the seductive words roll off his tongue with a silky purr.
Freckled knees.
No, no, this just wouldn’t do. Gideon planted his feet well apart, put his hands on his hips and smiled his favorite pirate’s smile.
“Corporate takeovers!” he said, trying to infuse the term with its customary gleeful overtones.
Freckled nose. Flaming red hair. Sweet, kissable lips.
“Spreadsheets, annual reports, chats with my broker!” he cried out in desperation.
Megan.
Gideon clapped his hands over his ears, spun around and bolted from the kitchen. Maybe Megan’s vegetables were starting to put thoughts in his head. It was best he escaped the whole place before he lost his mind.
He grabbed his suitcase on his way to the door. Perhaps if he got some distance from the inn, his sanity would return. Yes, a little jaunt to Edinburgh would be just the thing. His first stop, however, would have to be to a tailor’s shop. No one would take him seriously in his current dress.
He threw his suitcase into the boot, then got into the car. His footwear didn’t fit all that well under the wheel, but he made do. He pumped the gas pedal once and turned the key. The car made a hideous, thunderous bang, then smoke began to pour forth from the engine.
Gideon could hardly believe his eyes. “Not again!” he exclaimed. He released the latch, bolted from the car and jerked open the bonnet.
His engine was on fire.
Why he was surprised, he didn’t know.
The rain started up again with renewed vigor. Gideon looked up into the heavens with narrowed eyes. There was something afoot in the world and it seemed either bent on burning up everything he owned or soaking him to the skin.
The front door wrenched open and Megan appeared. Gi
deon looked at her helplessly. Her eyes bulged, then she disappeared. Gideon looked back up into the sky and wished for a stronger downpour than the one that drenched him at present. But no matter how large a downpour, it likely wouldn’t put out the inferno beneath the bonnet of his brand-new Sterling.
The next thing he knew, Megan was wielding a fire extinguisher. When the dust settled, there were no flames, and hardly any smoke. And no serviceable motor.
“Hell,” Gideon said.
Megan looked up at him. “Do these kinds of things happen to you normally, or are you just having an off week?”
“The elements are combining against me.”
“Maybe somebody’s trying to tell you something.”
“Go on holiday?”
“That’d be my guess.”
Gideon looked at her and considered. His car was ruined. He’d already tried the inn phone that morning and found it unresponsive. There he was, loitering in backwoods Scotland with no computer, no modem, and no cell phone.
And Megan McKinnon.
“Ah ha,” he said, feeling the force of the moment reverberate through him.
What could it hurt to take a day or two and put work aside? It wasn’t as if he could do much about it anyway, short of walking to the village and hiring a car. It would just be time wasted. Stephen might not be interested in the company, but Adam MacClure was. He could hold down the fort for a day or so.
Besides, Christmas was right around the corner. People all over the world were contemplating holidays with their families. There was food to be prepared, gifts to be wrapped, carols to be sung. He hadn’t done any of that in years. Christmas had always seemed a perfect time to catch up on things at the office. Stephen had always thrown a lord-of-the-manor type of affair, doing his damndest to revive old customs. Gideon had thought it politic to just stay in London and not spoil Stephen’s party.
But now he was, for all intents and purposes, prisoner on the Scottish border with only time on his hands and Megan McKinnon to admire.
Damn, but the holidays were shaping up brilliantly.