Again, Matt studied the painting in silence.
Winter didn’t know what to think, much less what to say to him. She did decide that getting to know Matt Gregor was a lot like painting her pictures; the process was proving painstakingly complex, with only vague snippets being revealed the deeper she delved. He had a brother, apparently alive but obviously estranged, and a sister he’d loved who had died in childbirth. He built jets, seemed to go after what he wanted with the efficiency of a successful businessman, and he kissed like a prince.
Well, he had certainly awakened this sleeping princess, and she was just as determined to get to know her prince a whole lot better. “I’ll be ready at eight,” she said, turning to walk back to the counter.
He stopped her by reaching out and capturing her face between his broad hands, his fingers splaying through her hair at the back of her head, his palms lifting her chin to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said gutturally. “The subject of my brother is a sore one.” He took a deep breath that ended with a smile.
“I’m going to kiss you, Winter MacKeage, right here in front of your ancestors, so they’ll see exactly what my intentions are.”
Winter’s heart skipped several beats, then started thumping with the force of a sledge hammer.
“W-what are your intentions?” she whispered, unable to look away from his intense, mesmerizing, so deeply golden eyes.
His smile went from warm to heart-stopping handsome. “You’ll have to ask them,”he said, nodding toward her paintings, “or trust me enough to discover that for yourself.”
“I—I tru—”
He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his before her declaration could even reach her ancestors. Winter rose on her toes and parted her lips, welcoming whatever his intentions might be as his tongue sought hers. The onslaught of energy that hummed through her body was as immediate and just as powerful as last night. Matt smelled of fine wool, the forest, and crisp autumn air. Winter could taste just a hint of coffee, and she reveled in the feel of his fingers curled into her hair as he carefully moved his mouth over hers. She wrapped her arms around his waist inside his jacket, snuggling closer as he lowered one hand between her shoulders and pulled her tightly against him.
Tiny bells started tinkling in her head.
Matt suddenly broke the kiss, held her shoulders to steady her, and turned with a harsh glare aimed at the door. Winter quickly stepped back at the realization they were no longer alone, spun on her heel, and ran behind the counter.
“Good morning,” Tom said. “That was quite a wild storm we had last night, wasn’t it?”
Not nearly as wild as the one raging inside her right now, Winter decided. “Ah, good morning, Tom. You’re out early.”
Tom didn’t answer her, his attention focused on Matt. The old hermit tucked a package under his left arm and extended his right hand. “Morning, Gregor,” he said, shaking the hand Matt extended in return. “You don’t look like you’re ready to hike the woods this afternoon.”
“I’m afraid I have to take a rain check on our sunset,” Matt said. “I need to go to my office and take care of a small matter. I’ll be back this evening, though. Maybe tomorrow?”
Tom nodded. “I believe I might be free tomorrow. That your jet I was looking at this morning up at the airport?”
“It’s mine.”
“Will she really do mach one?”
Winter could only gape at Tom. How could he possibly know Matt’s jet went that fast?
Matt apparently wondered the same thing. He folded his arms over his chest and lifted one brow. “What makes you think she goes mach one?”
Tom shrugged. “I’m a bit of an aviation junkie,” he said in way of explanation. “Seems I remember reading an article about a company in Utah trying to adapt military jet engines to corporate jets a couple of years back.” He grinned. “I also remember, now that I think about it, that the owner of the company was someone named Gregor.”
Matt inclined his head, a slight smile lifting one side of his mouth. “She goes mach one,” he confirmed. He nodded toward Winter. “Though our little friend here doesn’t believe me.”
Tom laughed. “Winter’s more likely to believe fairies fly at mach one,” he said, lifting the package from under his arm and unwrapping it. “I have something for you, Gregor, for your new house.”
Curiosity propelled Winter around the counter to see what Tom had brought.
“It’s just one part of a prototype, as they say in your business,” Tom said, finally revealing his surprise. “The scale is eight to one, and the final piece should probably be made of granite rather than wood.”
Winter leaned closer and frowned.
Tom held the foot-tall statue toward her, angling it to show her the front. “Have I got the wording right?” he asked. “The book I looked it up in wasn’t that clear.”
Winter read the words to herself: Saobhaidh a’ Mhathain. She nudged Tom to give the statue to Matt. “It’s right,” she said. “You pronounce it Seu-vee uh Va-han.”
“And it means?” Matt asked, taking the wooden piece and holding it up to examine, even turning it upside down before he looked at Winter for his answer.
“The bear’s den,” she told him. “It’s Gaelic, and that’s the perfect name for your new home.”
Matt looked sharply at Tom. “What made you choose a bear’s den for me?”
Tom shrugged. “You own Bear Mountain, so I thought that if you’re building your home there, it was only appropriate.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Why Gaelic?”
“Why not?” Tom returned. “Gregor is Scots, isn’t it?”
“But where’s the bear, Tom?” Winter asked before Matt could respond, taking the wooden figure from Matt to examine.
Tom had carved a miniature bear’s den in a wooden likeness of a granite cliff surrounded by trees and boulders. The bottom of the cliff had been hollowed into a cave, the interior floor lined with straw and fir branches. Over the top of the den was a board with the Gaelic name carved into it. But the den was empty.
“I haven’t carved the bear yet,” Tom said.
Winter narrowed her eyes at him. “You couldn’t have done this in one day,” she said. She shook her head, looking at the delicately carved trees, granite, and boulders. Even the fur bows and cut grass inside the cave were perfectly detailed from the single piece of wood. “This would have taken you weeks.”
Tom shrugged. “It took me nearly a month. I started it quite a while ago, then shelved it.” He looked at Matt. “But when I learned you were building a house on Bear Mountain, I dug around until I found it again, and thought you might like to have a full-scale statue for your new home.”
Matt took the statue from Winter, gave it another careful inspection, then turned a calculating look on Tom. “How much?”
Tom grinned. “About two and a half years of rent for a run-down cabin out on a point of land you own. Oh, and a ride in that jet of yours,” he tacked on.
Matt gave a bark of laughter and handed the statue back to Tom. “Then you should probably hold on to this, if it’s your working model. Can you have the full-scale project finished by the time my house is done?”
Winter wanted to shout with joy, but instead she reached over, grabbed Matt by the sleeve, and pulled him down to give him a big kiss on the cheek. “You have an artist in residence, Mr. Gregor,”
she said, smiling broadly at his stunned look. She turned to Tom, her smile turning smug. “And you, Mr.
Tom, are brilliant.”
She spun back to Matt. “You need to get out of here if you want to be back by dinner, mach one or not.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I might even wear a dress this evening.”