And how could she give Baby up now, after what Michael had told her today? Although Grace was starting to suspect that a lightning strike was more the culprit than insanity. Michael seemed perfectly normal to her in every other way, if she overlooked this little war he was waging with the MacKeages.
Grace stopped what she was doing and stared at the inside of the fridge. There was something nagging at her. Something she should realize. Something about the story Callum had told her concerning Maura.
Grace sat down on the floor with a large plate of brownies in her lap. That was it. The story. His engagement to Maura had taken place when Grey was only twenty-eight years old. That had to be at least six or seven years ago. And Michael claimed he had been living in this time only four years.
Which meant the MacKeages had known Michael before his supposed journey.
And that meant that the key to this whole problem lay with them. They could tell her about Michael’s past and would know if he was sane or not. If Michael had been fine seven years ago, the MacKeages would be able to tell her that.
Did she want to know? If there was a perfectly logical explanation for why Michael thought he had traveled through time, a near-death experience or something, did she really want to know he was sane?
Because then she would have to keep her promise to Mary.
She would have to give up Baby.
Grace unwrapped the brownies and stuffed one into her mouth. Her damn principles suddenly reared their ugly heads again. She would have to ask the MacKeages. Or the priest. Father Daar wouldn’t dare lie to her about something so important. And because he was a priest, if she told him Baby belonged to Michael MacBain, he’d have to keep her confidence, wouldn’t he? If it turned out there had never been a terrible storm, Father Daar still couldn’t tell her secret.
Grace stuffed the second brownie into her mouth and took another one before she stood and set the plate on the table. It was decided, then. She would speak to Father Daar the first chance she got him alone.
“Grace,” Jonathan said, walking through the door with an armful of wood.
“What?” she asked around a mouth full of brownie.
He frowned at her. She wiped her mouth, realized she was covered in crumbs, and wiped the front of her sweatshirt. “What?” she repeated.
“Someone’s here.” He walked to the porch door and looked out. “There are lights coming up your driveway.”
She looked out the window over the sink and groaned. Speak of the devil. The snowcat was slowly growling its way over the ice, grinding it up like Parmesan cheese. It stopped right behind her truck, and Grey and Morgan climbed out.
Jonathan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, hell. That’s a snowcat. That can easily take us into the mountains.”
“Now, Jonathan,” she said, walking over to him.
She didn’t get a chance to finish. Firewood still in his arms, he was out the door and standing on the porch. And before she could warn him not to even try, he had stuck out his hand to introduce himself.
“Jonathan Stanhope,” he said. “That your snowcat?”
“It is,” Grey answered, looking first at Jonathan’s outstretched hand and then over to her.
Grace decided to use Grey’s trick and attempted to give him an unreadable look. He merely lifted a brow at her, took Jonathan’s hand, and shook it.
“Greylen MacKeage,” he said.
“MacKeage.” Jonathan shifted the wood in his arms. “I want to rent you and your snowcat for a job I need done.”
“It’s not for hire. And neither am I,” Grey said, dismissing the request. He walked past Jonathan and into the house. Grace stepped out of the way so she wouldn’t be run over. She moved again when Morgan followed. She looked back out to the porch and saw Jonathan just standing there, stunned into stillness.
She moved once more when Jonathan suddenly dropped the wood on the porch and went running past her after Grey.
“I don’t think you understand,” Jonathan said. “I’m willing to pay you whatever you want. I need that machine.”
“Who the hell are you?” Grey asked.
Jonathan stopped his approach and straightened himself to his full height. “I’m Jonathan Stanhope,” he repeated. He nodded at Grace. “I’m Grace’s boss.”
Grey looked at her. And damn, he was playing that trick with his eyes again. For the life of her, she could not tell what he was thinking.
Morgan struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp on the table, flooding the room with soft yellow light.
He stole a brownie off the plate and leaned against the table, crossed his legs at the ankles, and stared at Jonathan as he chewed.
“I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars for the use of that machine for one day. That should put a good chunk of its cost back in your pocket,” her boss said.
Grace wanted to shake her head in dismay. Jonathan had no idea what he was doing.
Grey never even looked at him. He just kept staring at her.
“Thirty thousand,” Jonathan said then.
“It’s not for hire,” Grey repeated, still not looking at him. “Pack some things, Grace. You’re coming to Gu Bràth until the power comes back on.”
“She can’t,” Jonathan said. He moved to stand between them so that Grey would have to look at him. “I need her for work.” He waved his hand to encompass the house. “And she seems quite comfortable here.”
“What work would that be?” Grey asked, finally giving the man his attention.
Jonathan squared his shoulders. She couldn’t see his face because his back was to her, but Grace would bet a penny he was trying to use his winning, businessman-to-businessman smile on Grey. She darted a peek at Morgan. He was eating another brownie, amusement lighting his face. He stopped chewing, looked over, and winked at her.
Grace blinked. Wasn’t he supposed to be mad at her?
“It seems Grace was in a plane crash a few days ago, up in the mountains,” Jonathan told Grey. “There’s important equipment still up there, and I need to get it back as soon as possible. I’ll give you forty thousand dollars to help me find it.”
“We gathered everything we saw, lass,” Morgan said around a mouthful of brownie, frowning. “What is it you’re missing?”
“A small black case containing computer disks,” she told Morgan. “I remember taking a blank disk out of it to pack in my bag, but I must have set the case on the snow instead of back in the suitcase. It might have slipped under the fuselage.”
Apparently not caring one whit about her disks, Grey turned and walked into the living room. Stunned yet again, Jonathan pivoted and looked at her. Grace shrugged her shoulders. Morgan grabbed another brownie and followed Grey.
“Dammit, Grace. Do something,” Jonathan hissed. “We need that snowcat.”
Grey returned from the living room with Baby in his arms. Morgan was carrying Baby’s cradle. Grace moved around Jonathan to intercept them.
“I’m not going to Gu Bràth,” she told Grey in a whisper, standing on her toes and grabbing his arm. “I don’t want to.”
“Ah, lass,” Morgan said from right behind her. “We’re sorry we frightened you earlier. We promise to be civil this time.”
“You can’t stay here,” Grey said, reaching out and running a finger over her cheek, the act so privately familiar to her yet so outwardly possessive—for Jonathan’s sake, she supposed. “You don’t have water without electricity to run the well pump,” he continued, his eyes flaring with awareness. “And the hearth isn’t big enough to heat the downstairs.”
“You don’t have water, either.”
“We do. We have generators enough to run the entire resort if need be,” he told her. He shifted Baby in his arms, tucking the sleeping child’s head under his chin. “And you have a ski lift to save.”
She let go of his arm, walked to the sink, and turned to face him. By God, she would stand her ground on this issue. “No, I don’t. Not unless you set up your snow-making equipment in Michael’s field.”