“And my daughter is about to step into the middle of the bastard’s anger and try to stop him?”
Daar nodded. “Aye. Winter was born with the ability to save us.”
“She was born a woman!”
Daar softly chuckled. “Aye. And that, MacKeage, is her greatest advantage. Being a woman gives Winter an inner strength no man can ever hope to match. Have ye not seen that same strength in yer own wife?”
Greylen found his first smile of the morning. “Aye. Grace has had me shaking in my boots more than once.” He quickly sobered, turned away, and strode down the porch to his waiting horse. After mounting up, he reined around to face the priest. “I must think on what ye’ve told me this morning.
Winter’s not going to like this any more than I do. She’s an artist, and all she wants to do is capture her beautiful animals and forest on canvas.”
“I am well aware of Winter’s wants,” Daar said, lifting his neatly barbered, white-bearded chin.
“Or are ye forgetting I’m the one who talked her into returning home from college?”
“I haven’t forgotten, priest,” Greylen growled. “Ye came close to getting your home burned down that day.”
“She was miserable, MacKeage. She didn’t belong in that world, and she knew it.” Daar pointed an age-bent finger at him. “And so did you. That’s why you and Grace drove all the way to Boston that very night, and packed up her belongings and moved her home.”
Grey shook his head. “Aye. I’ve never been able to deny Winter anything. Or any of my daughters, for that matter. But then, neither have ye,” he growled. “It was you who urged Megan to go to Canada with Wayne Ferris to study goose migration.”
Daar hunched his shoulders and lowered his gaze, brushing down the front of his black wool cassock. “I’m not a soothsayer,” he muttered. “I couldn’t foresee that the man was a blackguard.”
Grey urged his horse up to the porch rail, right up to the priest who had been interfering in his life for over thirty-eight years. “Then quit yer meddling,” he ground out. “Ye’ve done enough damage already. Ye stay up here in yer cabin and away from my family.”
Daar stepped back. “They’re all grown up and following their own paths,” he said, nodding furiously. “But I…I’m still invited to their birthday party, aren’t I? I’ve made a gift for each of them.”
“Ye may come to their birthday party,” he conceded. “I’ll let Robbie MacBain know when Grace and I decide to speak with Winter. Until then, ye tend yer tree and try to find out if it’s truly Cùram de Gairn we’re dealing with.”
Daar nodded furiously, his hands clasped together in front of him. Greylen gave him one last warning glare, then turned his horse and headed back down the mountain.
Damn it to hell. He dreaded his upcoming conversation with Grace.
Chapter Five
I nstead of stopping at the barnupon returning from her visit with Tom, Winter continued on through the thick stand of evergreens that separated her family home from the TarStone Ski Resort. As she guided Snowball across the nearly full parking lot and headed toward the hotel, she noticed that most of the license plates were from states south of New England.
“The leaf-peepers have arrived in full force,” she told Snowball, reining him around a car of tourists backing out of a parking slot. “I hope Megan got the gallery opened early.” As she rode under the stone and cedar canopy of the hotel entrance, she said, “Good morning, Paul. Only two more weeks of this craziness, then we’ll have a short break before the snows come and the skiers arrive.”
“I like it when it’s busy,” the porter said as he took hold of Snowball’s bridle and smiled up at her. “The tourists can be entertaining at times.”
Winter slid down off her horse and patted Paul’s arm as she headed inside. “No need to park him in the valet lot this morning,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“There’s a guy named Gregor waiting for you in the lobby,” Paul told her just as she slipped through the huge glass door.
Winter immediately spotted her target and came to an abrupt stop. Matt Gregor stood with his back to her, studying the large mural of TarStone she’d painted six years ago, which covered the lobby wall all the way up to the balcony connecting the east and west wings of the hotel. He was wearing a pewter gray suit today, equally as expensive and as perfectly tailored as the one he’d been wearing yesterday, and his hair was again pulled back at the nape of his neck.
Saints and curses, the man was even more imposing than she remembered. She could fit ten of her galleries in the three-story lobby, and Matt Gregor still seemed to take up the entire space. Yet the several dozen people milling about were acting as though the most gorgeous man to set foot in Pine Creek didn’t even exist. Were they all blind? Or was she the one blinded by that confounding chemistry her papa had been rumbling about this morning?
Matt Gregor suddenly turned to face her, his sharp golden eyes immediately locking on hers.
Winter stood rooted in place, the people having to step around her to exit, and tried to figure out how she was going to spend even one day with this man without making a complete fool of herself.
“You’re late,” he said from less than three paces away, his silent strides making short work of the large lobby. He stopped in front of her, also oblivious to the chaos around them as his deep, piercing gaze continued to hold her captive. “I’ve been waiting almost an hour.”
“I had to tend a sick pet this morning,” Winter said without apology, deciding that if she didn’t quickly get the upper hand with this man—or at least get on equal footing—she might as well just throw herself at him right here in the lobby, right in front of God and the tourists. “And I had to visit a friend I’ve been neglecting. But I’m here now, Mr. Gregor,” she continued when he started to say something. “To tell you that I’ll take your commission, but with a few stipulations.”
He folded his arms over his chest and lifted one dark brow. “And those would be?” he asked ever so softly.
She already knew quite a lot about Matheson Gregor, Winter realized. Such as his body language, which said he got a bit impatient—if not downright irritated—when things didn’t go his way or run on his schedule. Nor did he seem to care to have the conversation directed by someone else. Well, he was going to like her stipulations even less.
“We’ll explore your mountain together,” she told him, “but we’ll always have a third person along with us.”
Both of his brows dropped into a frown, his eyes narrowing at what she was implying.
“And,” she continued before he could comment, “I’ll pick three or maybe four sites for you to choose from, but my sister, Megan, can veto any or all sites if they’re unacceptable.”
His frown deepened. “Megan? Is she also an artist? I’m hiring you, Miss MacKeage, not a committee.”
Winter merely smiled. “You might want to rethink that, Matt,” she said, hoping that using his first name would help counter some of that imposing presence the man exuded like elixir. “Megan is a wildlife biologist, and it defeats the purpose of coming to the wilderness to build a beautiful home if you end up destroying that wilderness while you’re at it. I’ve heard there’s a deer yard someplace on Bear Mountain, and there are delicate habitats you need to work around. Megan can help you navigate the environmental regulations, and she can ensure that your house and the road to your house are both environmentally friendly and legal.”
As she suspected, Matt Gregor might fancy the notion of an artist choosing the location of his home, but he didn’t much care to have someone actually telling him what he could and could not do.