Ian actually flinched.
“Dammit, Grey,” Callum interjected. “None of us would have allowed any harm to come to Mary.”
Grey looked at each of his men in turn, letting them see his anger. “Four years ago none of you would have given a thought to the woman, whoever she was. So tell me, what’s changed?”
“Dammit to hell, we have!” Ian shouted. “We’ve softened like porridge.”
“No,” Grey told him softly. “We haven’t softened. We’ve had our eyes opened. Society has changed in eight hundred years, and if we don’t adapt to it now, we will perish.”
“We have adapted,” Morgan said. “Hell, we fly in planes, drive automobiles, and are running a ski resort.”
Grey shook his head. “It’s not enough simply to embrace the material things. It’s here,” he said, thumping his chest, “that we have to change. And I intend to begin tonight, for Grace.”
The three men simply stared at him, unmoving, not believing what they were hearing.
“You’ll be helping MacBain,” Ian insisted. “You’re forgetting that he stole your woman and caused her death.”
“I’m not,” Grey growled with waning patience.
“Michael MacBain has nothing to do with this.” He ran his hands over his face, hoping to wipe away his frustration with his clansmen—and with himself. He hadn’t softened. He was simply looking at things through Grace’s eyes this once.
“I hate the bastard as much as any of you,” he assured them. “But are you willing to let that hatred stand in the way of saving your ski lift?”
“You said it yourself, man,” Ian said. “She’ll not let it come to that. Her heart’s too soft. She’ll help us.”
“And just where does that leave us with Grace, when this is over and MacBain’s future is ruined and ours is not?” Grey asked.
Three sets of frowns faced the floor as the men pictured that problem. “She’ll come around once she realizes what a bastard MacBain truly is,” Callum said. “She’ll eventually see things our way. If not, do ya truly want the woman if she’s determined to be nice to our enemies?”
“She’s mine,” Grey told them, a growl in his voice. “It’s already done,” he said, walking away, having decided he’d had enough of the company of his men.
He made his way up to his room on tired feet, thinking they could all give lessons in stubbornness to Grace. They’d been through a lot these last four years, and Grey admired his men’s stamina and their spirit to survive. But they still had some changing to do. Himself included.
He undressed slowly, thinking about Grace and the horrified look on her face when she had learned he had planned to marry a girl almost twelve years his junior. Or maybe it was the fact that the tug-of-war between him and MacBain, with her and Baby in the middle, had simply been too much.
Whatever had been in her head, he would have to fix it somehow—and quickly.
Naked now, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He stopped at the sight of himself in the mirror. His gaze was drawn to the blood on his thigh.
Grace’s blood. The gift of her virginity that she had been saving for her husband but had given to him instead.
Why? Why had she asked him to make love to her?
From the moment he saw her in the airport, Grey had known he would have Grace Sutter. He just hadn’t realized at the time exactly what having her meant.
He had thought it was lust; only it wasn’t, and it never had been. He thought he’d at least be dealing with an experienced woman, but Grace had been a virgin. And he had always thought he could take a wife to build back his clan yet not touch his heart when he did. He knew now that was impossible.
More than a simple mating had occurred on TarStone today.
Something. A feeling. An awareness had come to him when he had possessed Grace completely. The room had filled with a brightness so sharp the very air in the summit house had appeared white, like a new-fallen winter snow reflecting full sunshine.
This journey they were on, was somehow tied to Grace Sutter. Grey had felt her strength after the plane crash, when she had fought beside him to survive. He had felt it standing in the freezing rain outside her kitchen door, when she had stood there telling him not to return if he went to Michael MacBain. And this afternoon, in the summit house, the feeling of rightness had been nearly overwhelming.
The swirl of fog filled the bathroom, blocking out Grey’s view of himself in the mirror. He stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over his head and face and down his body. He was sorry to be washing away the essence of Grace, but he had to get changed for the night’s work ahead. He might find himself laying the pipe in the field by himself next to MacBain, but, by God, he intended to save the man’s crop of trees.
Then he would get the ice off his damn ski lift.
And then he would get down to the business of explaining to Grace Sutter that she was never returning to Virginia.
Chapter Fourteen
Her eyes burning with angry tears, Grace completely misjudged the curve in the road and drove straight into a snowbank. The force of the impact threw her against the seat belt, pushing an involuntary scream from her lungs. Ice chunks the size of dinner plates shot into the air and crashed over the hood and windshield of the truck, sending cracks spidering through the glass and making Grace instinctively raise her arms to cover her face.
The rear tires of the suddenly halted truck continued to spin on the slippery road, causing the entire vehicle to strain against the snowbank. Grace slowly lowered her arms and reached a shaking hand out to shut off the engine. The old pickup turned silent but for the angry hiss of steam from the hot engine now packed with snow.
Trembling from her nose to her knees, Grace brushed the hair from her face and took a calming breath while she assessed the damage. She seemed to be relatively intact; she wasn’t bleeding anywhere, and nothing felt broken. Her truck had not fared quite so well. It was wedged into the snowbank all the way past her door, the nose stuck up in the air and covered with debris.
Well, her body still worked. Would the truck?
Grace pushed on the brake and clutch peddles, restarted the engine, and wrestled the gear shift into reverse. She slowly let out the clutch and pushed on the gas. The rear tires spun; the truck bucked in place, then jerked sideways instead of backward. Grace crammed the clutch down, shifted into first, and gave the engine more gas. The engine revved, the tires spun, and the truck shot forward several inches.
She repeated the process, in reverse this time, but only felt the vehicle settle deeper into the snow just before it coughed and chugged to a stall.
Grace slapped the steering wheel with an angry curse, buried her face in her hands, and broke into tears.
Dammit. She should have stayed in bed this morning, watching Baby sleep. She sure as hell had no business trying to help her neighbors. All she’d received for her efforts was heartache.
Michael MacBain was mad at her for even suggesting the MacKeages could help save his trees. Morgan and Callum and Ian were beyond angry for the same reason. And Grey?
Well, on what should have been the most glorious day of her life, the day she had finally decided to make love with a man, she had made a monumental mess of the entire affair.
Grey was also mad at her, and Grace worried that his anger might be based on the fact that she had foolishly preceded their lovemaking with an ultimatum that he help Michael. Even from her own point of view, she looked like a woman willing to bargain with her body.
Hell. What a mess she’d made of this day, with her arrogant intentions and reckless actions. Every damn male she knew was mad at her.