She moved around in front of him and knelt down, wanting him to look at her. “She told me your story, Michael, and said that she didn’t care. She was coming home when she had the accident. She was coming to marry you and love you for the rest of your lives.”
His eyes widened suddenly, and his face paled even more. He pulled himself upright, leaning against the back of the chair and away from her. “She told you about me?” he whispered.
“On her deathbed, Michael,” she hurried to assure him, standing up and going to shut off the whistling kettle. “The whole time she was with me, she never said a thing. But when she was dying, she wanted me to know. She asked me to come tell you that she loved you and to…to help you through this time.”
“You said six weeks ago. What took you so long?”
She waved a spoon at the living room. “I was a bit tied up with my son.”
He followed her gaze to the living room, then looked back at her with narrowed eyes. “Where’s your man?” he asked.
“My man?”
“Your son’s father.”
“Oh. I…I don’t have a man.”
He stood up so suddenly that Grace poured boiling water all over the counter. He walked into the living room and returned with Baby.
Grace nearly fell to her knees. Michael MacBain was cradling his son in his arms as if he were the most precious jewel on Earth.
“He’s acting hungry,” he said. “He’s chewing his fist.” He looked at her strangely. “You didn’t hear him fussing?”
Grace tapped the side of her head with the palm of her hand, as if something was bothering her. “My ears seem to be plugged,” she quickly prevaricated. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”
She turned back to the cupboard and took down a bottle of baby formula before he could see the lie in her eyes. But when she turned to take Baby and feed him, Michael was sitting with Baby on his lap and his hand held out for the bottle.
Damn. She didn’t want him feeding his son. Or holding him. She especially didn’t want him unwrapping Baby and discovering the child had twelve toes. The man might look a bit primitive, but there was intelligence written all over his face. He would know immediately that Baby was his.
“Sit,” he said, indicating the chair across from him. “I’ll feed him.” He looked at her, waiting for the bottle. One corner of his mouth rose, not in a smile but in understanding. “I know new mothers can be protective, but you have nothing to fear from me, Grace,” he said, using her name for the first time. “I had six younger brothers and sisters. I can feed your son.”
She reluctantly handed him the bottle. If she made a scene, he would get suspicious. She sat down and wondered if those six brothers and sisters were eight hundred years dead.
“What’s his name?” he asked, watching Baby eagerly latch onto the nipple.
“Ah…it’s Baby, for now. I haven’t decided on a permanent name yet,” she told him, carefully moving the cookie tin to the side of the table so that it wasn’t between them. She turned it until the front of the tin was facing Michael MacBain, foolishly thinking her sister would like to see her lover feeding their son.
He looked up from his task. “He’s a month old and you haven’t named him?” he asked, sounding appalled.
Grace wanted to close her eyes and shake her head at the thought of repeating this particular lie yet again. She did neither. She simply spoke from rote.
“A name is very important. He’s going to have to live with it the rest of his life. I’m waiting for the perfect one to come to mind.”
“Why is he in clothes that still have the price tag on them?” he asked, lifting the tag on the sleeve with his fingers.
Grace did close her eyes then and covered her face with her hands. She was so tired. After returning from the store, she’d thrown herself on the couch and managed to get only four hours of sleep before this man had broken into her house. She pushed the hair away from her face and looked at him.
“It’s the only thing he has to wear,” she explained with tired patience. “All of his clothes, and mine, are up on North Finger Ridge getting covered with ice. Our plane crashed there yesterday.” She looked at the clock on the wall. It was just past midnight. “Make that two days ago now. We just got here this afternoon. Yesterday afternoon,” she amended. “They only had two outfits at the store that fit him. I wasn’t thinking about tags when I dressed him.”
He looked from her to Baby, clearly surprised. “You survived a plane crash? Both of you?”
“Greylen MacKeage was with us. He saved our lives.”
His face immediately hardened. “MacKeage was with you?”
Grace didn’t know what to make of the sudden change in him. She recalled that Mary had said there was no love lost between her neighbors and Michael, but looking at him now, Mary’s account of the animosity had been understated. Michael MacBain looked like Grey had when he had wanted to kill the pilot all over again.
“We wouldn’t be here, either one of us, if it weren’t for him,” she said, lifting her chin and looking Michael right in the eye so that he would understand that she would defend Greylen MacKeage to him or to anyone else. “He carried Baby down the mountain and then returned for me. He saved our lives,” she repeated, just in case he hadn’t caught that little fact the first time.
He grinned at her anger. “I’m glad for you,” he said. He suddenly sobered, taking a deep breath. “Tell me more about Mary. Where is she buried? And why didn’t you bring her home to lie beside her father and mother?”
“I did bring her home,” Grace said. “Only not to be buried. Mary wants her ashes spread over TarStone Mountain. But not until Summer Solstice.”
Michael MacBain sat up straighter. “Her ashes? You’ve turned her to ash?”
She could already see the horror building in his expression. He was going to have the same reaction as the MacKeages. Only Michael had been in love with Mary. He would likely want to break something.
Grace looked at the wall where the bat was leaning.
“Yes,” she told him.
“Where is she?” he asked, craning his head to look toward the living room.
Grace stood and took Baby out of Michael’s arms, laying the child on her shoulder. “He needs to be burped,” she told him by way of explanation as she inched her way toward the broken kitchen door, appearing to soothe Baby as she looked out through the still intact storm door. “And Mary’s…well, she’
s sitting on the table beside you, in the cookie tin.”
She closed her eyes and waited for the explosion.
It didn’t come. The only sound in the room was the gentle crack of the house settling under the weight of the ice building on its roof.
Grace opened her eyes to see Michael MacBain carefully pick up the cookie tin and hold it, painful sorrow drawing his features into taut, harsh planes of despair. He tried to pry off the cover, but it wouldn
’t budge.
“I—I sealed it with glue,” she said softly.
As if he didn’t hear her, he pushed his thumb against the cover, holding pressure until it gave. He took the cover off and dipped his hand inside, lifting out some of the ash and letting it sift through his fingers back into the tin.
Grace wiped at the tears streaming down both of her cheeks. This man was looking at all his hopes and dreams for the future having been turned into ash.
Except for the child she now held in her arms and her heart.
Michael’s anguish appeared so raw, so heartbreakingly painful, that Grace very nearly blurted out her secret right then and there. She held the power to take away part of Michael’s pain by giving him a son.
Which would keep her promise to Mary.
But break her own heart for the second time this month.
Grace quietly walked out of the kitchen and into the downstairs bedroom, softly closing the door behind her. She lay down on the bed with Baby in her arms and let her tears flow freely. Michael MacBain could say his goodbyes to Mary in peace. He deserved this time.