Highlander's Beloved 02 - A Highlander's Passion (3 page)

Bryce, still damp from his quick shower, tugged on a pair of clean jeans and reached fer a bottle of cologne. He wanted to make a good impression on Kenzie tonight. Driving her to her apartment to help her pack would be his pleasure, but he doubted she’d look on it in the same light. Not after he’d put the brakes on their budding romance fourteen months ago.

He braced his hands against the top of his chest of drawers and hung his head. Breaking things off with Kenzie had been the worst mistake he’d ever made. One he’d regretted every day since. He still hadna forgiven himself for thinking it his obligation to live emotionally in the past with his deceased wife. After all, hadna his mum lived without a man since his dad died when Bryce was only five? But then, she hadna fallen in love with anyone, the way he had with Kenzie.

Hell, he kent her better than anyone else. They’d played together every day as youngsters, shared secrets, sworn oaths to each other as teenagers. Then Miranda walked into his life and suddenly everything revolved around her. Losing his young bride so soon after their rushed marriage had flung him into a dark place.
ʼ
Twas Kenzie who had tugged him into the sunlight again, a few years later.

She’s ours.
His bear roared within Bryce’s chest.
And thanks to yer stupidity, it’s gonna take more than charm to woo our calico-eyed darling. Ye treated her like she had no worth.
Due to Bryce’s earlier waffling, not only did he have to listen to his inner bear’s harangues, he also had to convince Kenzie he was now ready to commit to a long-term relationship.

His ending things had left her bitter where he was concerned, and he couldna blame her one whit. He’d been a numpty-headed fool. If he hadna turned from her, she wouldna responded to the advances of Duncan and fallen victim to the fuker’s abuse. He’d always been a bully at school and a charmer in front of the teachers or the principal. Duncan knew how to pour the charisma on when it suited…the diabolical bastard.

The day after she’d miscarried, and he and his brothers had captured Duncan, Bryce hovered by her bedside in the hospital. Nothing or no one could keep him away, including his mum’s lecture about what was proper in everyone’s eyes. He carried a strong sense of responsibility fer Kenzie’s condition. If only he’d kept her near, loved her, cherished her, she’d have been safe with him and little Colleen, his daughter. But no, he’d been too attached to the memory of Miranda.

A man hated feeling useless, especially a Scot. As he’d held Kenzie’s hand while she slept, her face battered and bruised, he’d been emotionally gutted. He’d traced the blue veins on her limp hands, and his tears had plopped on them, for he’d have moved heaven and earth to protect her, to care fer her. But how did a man erase the pain of a woman who’d lost her bairn? What could he do to help her?

If he treated her with gentleness and showed her how precious she was to him, with luck, today might be the beginning of their coming together again. He’d take her someplace special, maybe the Crazy Horse, where they’d gone so often when they’d dated.

A heavy pounding sounded at his bedroom door. “Nobody’s here.”

His five-year-old daughter’s high-pitched giggling from the other side made him smile.

“Knock…knock.”

God, he hoped Colleen never outgrew her sweetness. He loved this game they played so often. “Who’s there?”

“Iva.”

“Iva who?” He sprayed the cologne on his neck and chest, rubbing it in.

“Iva sore hand from knocking.”

He sidestepped to the door and yanked it open, sweeping his little girl and her doll into his arms. Nuzzling Colleen’s neck, he snatched Bella from her grasp and tossed the doll onto his bed. His daughter’s delighted giggles bounced off the walls, alighting in his heart. “Ye old trickster. Yer da didna ken who was pounding at his door like a madman.”

One of her arms linked around his neck. “I’m not a madman, Da, I’m a madwoman.” She pointed to her chest. “One day I’ll have big breasts. If I were a man I’d have a tallywhacker.”

Bryce stilled. “What did ye just say?” She was growing up too fast. Who was the rapscallion she’d picked up such language from? “Where did ye hear the word ‘tallywhacker’?”

“I overheard Butler Bean tell Uncle Ronan his tallywhacker was sore.”

He’d kill them both. “Och, did ye, now?”

Her auburn curls bounced when she nodded. “Uncle Ronan told him to stop whacking it so much.” Her wee forehead crinkled as if she were in thought. “Does it hurt to whack yer tally, I wonder?”

Och yeah, he’d bloody well kill both men for talking that way around his sweet darling. He kissed her nose and tumbled her onto his bed, allowing her to bounce the way she liked. “Let’s not worry about that now. I need yer help. I have a date tonight and dinna ken which shirt to wear.”

Colleen scrambled to sit straight, acting like a forty-year-old spinster. “Who will ye be escorting, then?” Her hands were at her waist. Och, what a delight she was.

“ ‘Escorting,’ is it?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m taking Kenzie Denune out for dinner and then helping her move some things into Miss Effie’s house.”

Colleen’s head tilted to the side. “Does she still look sad? I haven’t seen Kenzie since Uncle Creigh’s wedding. I sat next to her fer a while at the repeption—”

“ ‘Reception,’ me sweet one.” There were still some sounds she struggled with, no matter how many times he went over them with her.

“Reception. I brought her me big box of crayons and art paper to cheer her up, because I ken she’s an artist. She showed me how to draw flowers and animals. And…and she made a big fuss over everything I drew. Told me I was a born artist, she did. She treats me so nice, Da. I really, really like her.”

“I really like her, too, me sweet one.”

“I think she was sad at the re…reception because ye were flirting with Aggie with the big chest.” His daughter made the appropriate size indication with her hands.

“I was not flirting. I was…just being friendly with the lassie.” Bloody hell, when had he started justifying his behavior to his little girl? “What makes ye think Kenzie was upset over me being friendly with Aggie?”

She picked up her doll and ran her fingers over its mussed hair. “Well, she kept scowling at ye every so often and mumbling. It was odd, though, she was unkennin’ of yer name. She was confused until I straightened her out.”

“What do ye mean?” How could Kenzie forget his name? They’d been best friends since they were Colleen’s age and through most of school. They’d also been lovers before her marriage to Duncan.

Colleen scratched at a couple of mosquito bites on her leg. “She kept calling ye Randy Asa Goat. I told her she was being silly. Billy McDuff’s middle name is Asa, but yer name is Bryce Ewan Matheson.”

Randy as a goat, was it? She’d married another man in pretty short order after Bryce had ended their relationship, and yet he was a randy goat fer moving on with his life?
Och, we need to have a long talk, so we do. Why should she care who I flirt with when she willna give me the time of day?

“Da? Why is Kenzie moving in with Miss Effie?”

“She’s to be Miss Effie’s personal assistant.” He opened the door to his closet and glanced over his shoulder. “What do ye think?”

Colleen slid off his bed to stand by his side. “What’s a percibal assiphisant?”

“No, me sweet one. A personal assistant.” He ran his hand over her curls and spoke more slowly, dragging out the words so she could capture all the sounds. “Do ye think ye can say it properly?”

“Personal assiphikant…no.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to work on that one.” Standing on her tiptoes, she fingered a variety of shirts. “If ye’ll be helping Kenzie move, ye dinna want to be fancy. Will ye be proposing tonight, then?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Propose? What had put that idea into her wee head? “No. Why do ye ask?”

Her sneakered foot wiggled back and forth. “Because she’s nice and gives warm hugs. Plus, I need a mum like all the other girls and I’d rather it be her than anyone else.” A frown marred her angelic face. “Some of the girls call me ‘half-orphan.’ ” Her pointy chin jutted. “And I dinna like it.” Her brown eyes glanced at his. “But I ken if I smack one of them, I’ll be the one to get in trouble.”

He squatted and folded her into his arms. Damn them all for hurting his little girl. “Yes, me sweet one, that’s usually how it works. I remember getting in trouble a lot fer hitting others when I was your age. I had a bad temper, so I did.” He lifted her chin with two fingers. “Best ye come to yer da and we’ll talk about it, just ye and me.”

They linked their pinky fingers. “Pinky secret. Pinky swear,” they repeated together.

“Well, if ye aren’t proposing, wear the shirt I made ye. She’ll be impressed.”

He held out the T-shirt Colleen had so painstakingly decorated—with her handprints, among other things. Buzzards and bats, how he hated to put the thing on fer a date. He’d taken to wearing it around the lodge to please her, fer he’d never hurt his wee sweet bairn by telling her how butt ugly it was. Or that a man just didna feel comfortable wearing such a thing out in public. He cut his gaze to his daughter. “Are ye sure?”

Her auburn curls did their bouncy dance again. “Yup. Trust me on this. It makes ye look handsome, Da. She willna believe her eyes when she sees ye in this shirt.”

Kenzie couldna believe her eyes. What the hell kind of shirt did Bryce have on? It looked like he’d walked through a cheap jewelry store while wearing a magnet on his verra fine chest.

His truck’s loud muffler had pulled her attention from her conversation with Effie in the front parlor and drawn her to the large bay window. Unwanted excitement at seeing him again had her heart beating erratically in her ears, pounding a rhythm of secret desires through her system. She battled those unspoken longings and won. A scowl of victory narrowed her eyes.

“What has your attention, Sparrow?” Effie drew near.

The two of them had worked hard to make Kenzie presentable fer her dinner out with Bryce. While she’d showered, Effie had mended the shoulder seam and then hand-scrubbed the clod’s muddy handprints from her blouse before tossing it into the dryer. She’d also set about sewing the tear in Kenzie’s favorite skirt. They’d worked together as an efficient, nearly silent team on her appearance.

And what had
he
done? He’d shown up in a bright pink T-shirt nearly covered with doodads that sparkled in the late-afternoon sun.

Honestly, the fool looked like a walking neon sign for a cut-rate whorehouse.

“Oh look, he’s wearing the shirt Colleen made him for his birthday.” Effie’s hand drifted to her heart. “The child was so excited over her gift, she couldn’t wait for her dad to open it at his party. The little sprite crawled on Bryce’s lap and opened the package for him.” Effie’s laughter was like wind chimes: tinkling, soothing. “I’m betting she told him to wear it tonight. There’s something special about a man who loves a little girl so much he’d make a bit of a fool of himself to please her.”

Kenzie wouldna know. Her da had died shortly after she’d turned four and she barely remembered him. What would it be like to be cherished by a man so much, he’d wear such an outlandish garment and no doubt damn anyone to hell who commented on it?

She tilted her head to the side and allowed her artist’s eye to evaluate the creation as his long steps brought him closer to the house. Colleen showed a strong artistic flair. With some positive instruction, who knew how her talent might develop? If Kenzie ever got the chance she’d show Colleen how to use various mediums.

Colleen’s small handprints were outlined in silver and filled with little silver mirrors. Jewels and beads had been glued in a haphazard pattern over the pink T-shirt. Black beaded fringe edged the sleeves. With an unsteady hand, the child had painted “Me Da Is the Best” in bright purple.

Kenzie shook her head. “Yes, one might say he draws the eye in that shirt.” Still, what man ambled the way he did? Or filled out a pair of Levi’s like that? The denim lovingly cupped his manhood as if it were precious cargo.

Effie elbowed her. “Oh, the man saunters like walking sin, doesn’t he? I wonder who the flowers are for?”

“They’re pink. They must be fer ye.” The American often exhibited childlike exuberance, and Kenzie was beginning to enjoy it.

Bryce rang the doorbell and Effie hurried to answer it. As soon as the old woman opened the door, Bryce’s low voice and deep laughter skittered across Kenzie’s nerve endings, kissing them as they raced by. She was overcome with the strangest urge to run and hide—not out of fear of him, but of her own desires. His spurning of her feelings over a year ago had left scars she didna want to revisit. She curled her fingers into tight fists. Determination steeled her heart.

I willna let him hurt me again.

Effie had Bryce engaged in a spirited conversation from the moment he stepped into the house. She asked him questions about Colleen and, like a proud da, he regaled her with little stories.

Rumors abounded over Mathe Bay of how the three Matheson brothers had an exceptional fondness fer the pink-haired American. Gossipy old womenfolk blamed it on Effie’s flirtatious nature. A few claimed Effie used a Yankee curse on every man she came in contact with. Even aged Earnan Matheson, the clan’s veterinarian, walked sprightlier around the playful, talkative woman.

After spending a few hours with Effie, Kenzie would have classified her Wiccan sister as being cheerful and animated with most everyone she met. Would any of the old lady’s optimism rub off on her? Kenzie could certainly have used a morsel of it, fer when had she last had anything to look forward to?

The days her pregnancy tests had been positive.

She spun toward the window to wipe at the tears suddenly blurring her vision. How long would she grieve the loss of her bairns? The first and the one that would’ve been growing big within her now. She’d be waddling in that awkward way of women getting ready to deliver. Instead…she pressed spread fingers to her flat abdomen and released a long exhale of regret.

When her gaze rose, it made contact with the blue eyes of her lynx as he nested amid the shrubbery on the other side of the glass.
Stop agonizing. There will be more bairns. They will be sired by a Highlander with more passion than ye have ever known.

“But the doctor said there’d be no more.” Kenzie had grieved every moment since her loss. She walked through every day with an emptiness in her soul and in her womb.

The lynx raised his hind leg and licked his nether regions.
ʼ
Tis what I think of the doctor’s foolish predictions.

“Kenzie?” She whirled toward Bryce’s voice. He stood at the entrance to the parlor, his wide shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Some unseen force sucked all the oxygen from the large room, and Kenzie struggled to catch her next breath.

Evidently he felt it too. He stood there, his gaze locked on hers, a silent statement of longing in his eyes, an inaudible declaration that practically chanted her name.

Her hormones, lonely heathens that they were, whispered a come-hither response she hoped he couldna hear. She glanced over her shoulder to beg the lynx that this man with the fickle heart not be the one to give her the bairns she desired with every Scottish breath in her body. Surely her advisor didna mean to imply the man with all this passion would be Bryce “randy as a goat” Matheson. To her disappointment, the shrubbery lay flat—the lynx had vanished.

Bryce stepped to the side to allow Effie to peek her head into the room. “You were right, Sparrow, the pink flowers were for me.” Effie held them to her nose and inhaled. “Aren’t they beautiful? I’m off to find a vase to put them in.” She stood on tiptoe in her pelican baffies and patted Bryce’s closely cropped beard. “If I had heels on instead of my bedroom slippers, I could reach your handsome cheek better.” The older woman winked and somehow managed to bring forth a blush on his freshly shaven face. “Oh, I do love a thoughtful man.” She bustled in the direction of the kitchen.

He stepped through the doorway. “ ‘Sparrow’?” His eyebrows rose and the corners of his full lips quirked.

“Aye. Fer some strange reason, the American feels I need a nickname and, fer a motive known only to her, has titled me with Sparrow. Nothing fancy or pretty like the name of a flower or butterfly.” She lifted open hands and let them drop in resignation. “Just a small, plain bird.”
So typical fer me
.

“Nay, me luv.” He approached, holding a planter in his hands. The jewels glued to his pink T-shirt sparkled in the setting sunlight beaming through the window. “Havna ye heard how the ancient Greeks associated sparrows with Aphrodite, the goddess of love?”

She laughed in spite of her disheartened mood. “I’ve never met anyone who can make up stories the way ye do.” Or pretend to have emotion where none truly exists.

“Och,
ʼ
tis no story.
ʼ
Tis the truth I give: When sparrows mated, it was due to their abandoned nature.” His head inclined so he could whisper a kiss to her neck, sending shivers from her shoulders to the soles of her feet. “Even Chaucer and Shakespeare wrote about the sparrow’s lustful conduct.”

“Ye lie.” But he hadna. She’d read her fair share of the two English authors and, now that Bryce had alluded to it, she did recall their mention of the sparrow.

“Nay. I speak only the truth.” He stepped closer to murmur in her ear. “I have memories I cherish of the abandon ye exhibited when I made sweet love to ye. Yes, me calico-eyed
leannan,
the name Sparrow suits.”

“I have a name. I insist ye use it. Dinna insult me with endearments.” The heat of a blush raced up her neck and across her cheeks. How dare he mention those moments that occurred over a year ago, when he was the one who’d tossed her aside? She’d tried her best to forget how, in his arms, her skin had nearly scorched at his touch and at the devilish things he could do with his mouth that would have sent any woman to heaven and back. They certainly had her. Until guilt fer forgetting his dead wife started eating at his soul, and he’d told her he couldna continue seeing her.

I canna allow him to charm me into his arms again.

“We canna talk about what meant so little to ye, Bryce Matheson. As a widow, it is improper fer me to discuss what or who came before me dead husband.”
Even if Duncan did beat me fer everything that went wrong in his life.

“Ye know I dinna give a bloody hell about what is and what isn’t proper, especially where yer concerned. Who was it who sat with ye in the hospital after ye lost the bairn? Who held yer hand throughout the night?”

The intense agony that clutched her heart and forced her lungs to wheeze in misery nearly robbed her of all strength.
Och God, I canna take any more of this today.

She pivoted away from him and blotted the tears from her cheeks. Why was it always him who touched her soul? Why?

Bryce whispered her name and she gathered the courage to stand in front of him. His gaze dropped to the green plant in his hand and a slow, unsure smile creased the corners of his brown eyes. “When I stopped at the florist, I kent any flower for Effie would be fine, as long as it was pink. But I’d decided yer present had to be special. I was hoping for something ye could put in yer new room here at the estate house. I wanted ye to think of me every time ye looked at it, and making a choice took me a while.” He extended the lynx-shaped container, ivy growing in profusion from the top. “Although I was looking for something more romantic, this called out to me.”

Kenzie’s fingers prickled when they wrapped around the coarse ceramic planter. Vibrant blue glass eyes in its head stared at her, vigilant and protective. An emotion between shock and dread commanded her attention. Surely the lynx outside the window hadna implied that this macho blackheart standing in front of her would be the sire for her future bairns. Not after all that had happened in their past. Still, what were the chances of this man choosing a lynx flowerpot? “It…it called to ye?” What could he mean by that?

A blush mottled his thick neck as his fingers slipped into the back pockets of the worn jeans that hugged his muscular thighs like a pair of lover’s hands. “Actually, it called to me bear. Together they said it was perfect for ye. I was admiring a miniature yellow rose plant. Its pot set in an upturned broad-brimmed straw hat, decorated with ribbons and doodads.” He motioned to some of the decorations on his shirt.

Effie breezed into the parlor, her smile wide as she picked at the blooms and leaves in the crystal vase. “Don’t they look gorgeous? I think I’ll set them on my little writing desk, out of direct sunlight so they last longer. Sparrow, did I see a planter of ivy?”

“Aye, ye did.” She extended the container, turning it for Effie to see the face of the magical cat and its iridescent blue eyes.

Effie’s gaze shot from the planter to Kenzie’s face. “Oh my.”

“
ʼ
Tis sorry I am if yer not pleased with it. I should have gotten ye the yellow miniature roses, or maybe a vase of wildflowers.”

Before she realized what she was about, Kenzie kissed his neck. “Nay, this is more perfect fer me than I can say.”

His palm settled at the small of her back. “I shoulda had Colleen with me to help choose. She picked the shirt I’m wearing tonight.”

The warmth of his hand seeped into Kenzie’s skin through her blouse and both aroused and comforted her—emotions that bristled her nerves. Of all the men in Mathe Bay, he should be the last one to generate the zinging and pinging along her nerve endings. Too bad he was the only one who could, for he was the only man she’d ever wrapped her heart around, its clasp refusing to let him completely go.

Effie took the planter from Kenzie’s grasp. “Where would you like me to put this, Sparrow? In your sitting room or the bedroom?”

Bryce escorted Kenzie toward the front door. “Put it in her bedroom, Miz Effie. On her nightstand, so it’s the last thing she sees before she falls asleep.” He winked at the older woman, and she giggled.

“Yer a bossy man, ye are. And where are ye taking me to dinner?” Kenzie stepped outside and blinked at the sun slowly sinking over the Highlands.

“I was thinking we’d pack the things ye’ll need here at Effie’s first. Then when we go to the Crazy Horse, we can relax and talk. We had some good times there in the past. Do ye remember?”

“The past is long gone and best forgotten.” How was she going to keep him out of the small and sparse apartment she’d shared with Duncan? It was clean, of course; what Scottish woman didna take pride in keeping her quarters neat? But she had little furniture left after her husband’s beating rages, and the income from her job at the wool mill barely paid her rent and utilities. So she’d made do with what little furniture she had and a car that was almost as moody as Duncan had been. Too bad, as a witch, she couldna put a spell on it to run until its bald tires fell off.

Bryce kept the conversation going as he drove them to the apartment complex where she lived. He was full of stories of little Colleen. While she enjoyed the tales of his delightful child, she felt a bittersweetness in hearing them as well. If only he’d acted the man he’d pretended to be, with the feelings he claimed to have, Colleen would no doubt have a brother or sister by now.

Before Kenzie could point out her apartment, he eased his truck into the empty parking space in front of it. “How did ye ken which place is mine?”

“On the many nights I’d be drinking too much tipple, I’d drive over here and sit, wishing to God I’d been a smarter man and kept our relationship going. If it’s okay with ye, I’ll come over tomorrow to take a look at yer car and get it running.”

This was her chance. “Why not take a peek now?” She slipped her car key off the key ring and handed it to him. “I’ll go on inside and pack what few things I’m taking while ye look under the hood. If it’s nothing major, I can drive it to Effie’s tonight, which would be a huge worry off me mind.”

“The sun’s setting—’tis turning dusk. Besides, Colleen would cry something fierce if I got grease on this shirt she made me.” He pocketed the key. “Tomorrow ’twill be soon enough. With me help, we’ll pack what things ye want to take.” His dark eyes narrowed and his eyebrows lowered. “Is there something in there ye dinna want me to see, Kenzie?”

She shrugged and glanced at her clasped hands. “There’s not much to look at after Duncan’s tempers—he broke up most of our furniture.
ʼ
Tis embarrassed I would be fer ye to see how I’ve had to live. And ye will never know how much it costs me to admit that. Please honor me wishes.” She gazed at him out of the corner of her eye.

The muscle in his jaw bunched. “How much stuff do ye have?” He jerked his head toward the back of his truck. “Can we pack it all in one load? I want ye away from the memories of living here with him and his furies and the fear and sadness that put into yer soul. And I want ye gone tonight.”

Great, his stubborn streak was showing. “There’s no need. I’ll only be a few minutes. All I’m taking is me clothes and a few personal things he didna destroy. The furniture can stay or be put out with a ‘Free’ sign on it. I dinna need yer help. Truly.” She opened the door and jumped down from his vehicle.

Shortly, Bryce’s door slamming echoed hers.

I might as well talk to the blowing winds fer all the more attention he pays me. Typical man.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and turned on the ceiling light. Her lamps and end tables had long ago been smashed to kingdom come. Shadows from the light bounced off a used sofa she’d been given by neighbors when they moved out of the upstairs apartment. Although it had only three legs, its upholstery hadna been slashed by Duncan’s knife-wielding hand, so its presence improved matters, and three hardback books were a suitable substitution for a leg. A rocking chair, given to her by Aunt Una to rock her bairn in, sat in a corner with its back broken off.

Even so, shame prickled at her pride when Bryce’s attention zeroed in on the makeshift leg of the sofa. Maybe if the earth just opened up and swallowed her, she’d escape some of the humiliation of his reaction. His gaze quickly found three of her paintings. He pointed to their odd positioning around the room. “Are ye still working on your art?”

“Yes.” She clasped and unclasped her hands.

“I’m glad. Ye were always so good. What do ye want to wrap them in? Towels, maybe?” Before she could stop him, he removed the first one from the wall, and stilled. His hand slowly rose to cover the fist-sized hole. His voice lowered and a string of profanity competed with the growling of a bear. In quick succession, he removed the other two pictures, which also hid holes Duncan had made the times she’d ducked fast enough to avoid his fist.

“If the bloody bastard werena already dead I’d kill him again!” Bryce stormed over to a large painting she’d done of the Highlands in the mist. No doubt the height and placement of it caught his eye and aroused his suspicions. He reached to remove it.