Robbie settled back in his seat with a smile. “I was the first American born. My mother, Mary, and Grace MacKeage were sisters. Mary died when I was born and Libby is my stepmother. As for my role here, I suppose you could call me a sort of guardian of the families.”
“Why do they need you to look out for them?”
“That’s the way clans work. Four MacKeage men and my father settled here thirty-nine years ago, and though they readily adapted, they’ve come to rely on me in most matters because I grew up here. The old priest who lives on TarStone, Father Daar, came with them. He’s a strange fellow who usually keeps to himself. If you happen to meet him, don’t take too seriously what he might say. He’s getting on in years and becomes confused sometimes.”
“And the Gregors?”
“Matt owns a jet engine company in Utah. He arrived in Pine Creek last September, and owns Bear Mountain. Winter, Grey’s youngest daughter, married Matt at Christmas. His brother Kenzie has been here since the wedding.”
“And Kenzie Gregor lives with the priest.”
Robbie nodded. “He looks out for the old man. Why are you interested in Kenzie?”
“Because he’s interested in Megan.”
Robbie shook his head. “Not in that way.”
“And I believe he’s the man who attacked me two nights ago.”
“What makes you think that?”
Jack shrugged. “Where did the tracks lead?”
“I followed them to a bog about three miles up the east side of the lake, at the base of Bear Mountain. Then they simply vanished into thin air.”
“Tracks don’t just vanish.”
“Bear Creek enters the lake through that bog, and the flow has covered nearly thirty acres in glaze ice.” Robbie also shrugged. “That’s where I lost him. The man may have had a snowmobile parked on one of the nearby trails, and could have gone in any direction after that. Have you considered that maybe the connection to Collins is with you, not Megan?”
“I’ve considered it, but why go to the trouble of hiring Megan if it’s me he’s after?”
“To use her to get to you? After all, you’re the one who directly interfered in whatever he was doing in Canada, according to what Greylen told me.”
“I see your point,” Jack said, shuffling through his pads until he found the one marked MARK COLLINS. “But the thread I’m seeing is linking Megan to him, not me.”
“Thread?” Robbie repeated, peering down at the pad.
Jack wrote his own name on the page, followed by a question mark. “Covert intelligence, remember?” He looked up. “I was good at my job because I could see threads linking what appeared to be unconnected information together.” He shrugged. “You would likely call them gut instincts. I call them threads.” He stood up, walked to his office door, and opened it. “Thanks for following those tracks the other night. I appreciate your effort.”
Robbie stepped into the hallway. “I hope you’re able to keep your promise to protect Megan.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be watching my back.”
The tall Scot smiled tightly. “Aye, Stone, I will.” He started walking away, but stopped at the end of the hall and looked back. “Good luck tomorrow, my friend. Mind that my cousin doesn’t run you in circles and leave you in the woods. She can get creative when she’s wanting to prove a point.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Jack said, stepping back into his office and softly closing the door. O-kay. Another thread had just connected; MacBain knew Jack’s attacker and was covering for the bastard. Obviously guardian wasn’t a hollow title.
Nor was laird, apparently.
Megan’s family was nearly as weird as his own.
Chapter Twelve
J ack sat on his snowmobile on the lake in front of Megan’s house, sipping coffee from his Thermos as he watched the MacKeage family in action. Greylen had arrived on a snowmobile laden with equipment about twenty minutes ago, and Grace MacKeage had pulled into the driveway in their SUV shortly after. Camry, in a coat thrown over her pajamas and unlaced boots on her feet, was battling the cold by dancing in place as she added her own two cents to the send-off.
When Grace wasn’t playing the buffer between Megan and Grey, she was eyeing Jack, apparently trying to assimilate what she knew about Wayne Ferris with the man her daughter was heading into the woods with this morning.
Jack shot her a wink.
Grace immediately left the group and walked over to him. “May I offer you a word of advice, Mr. Stone?” she asked, her expression congenial.
“I only take advice from people who call me Jack.” He pulled out a cup and large Thermos from his saddlebag, poured out some hot cocoa, and handed it to her.
“Thank you, Jack,” she said, taking the steaming cup. She looked back at the scene near shore and shook her head. “My husband raised our girls to be very comfortable in the woods, yet every time one of them heads out, he feels compelled to remind them of everything he taught them.”
“It’s a father-daughter thing. He wouldn’t be lecturing a grown son, would he?”
Grace blew on her cocoa. “No, he wouldn’t. That’s why you only got a nod from him this morning.”
Jack chuckled softly. “A man can say a lot with a nod. This morning, it said that if I don’t bring his daughter back safe and sound, not to bother coming back myself.”
Grace gave a soft laugh. “Are you a patient man, Jack?”
“It so happens my patience is legendary. Why, am I going to need it?”
“Oh, yes.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Camry said you don’t have any family. Is that true?”
“It’s been just me and my shadow for the last twenty years.”
“Then promise me you won’t let the size of our family scare you off.”
“Exactly which size would that be? The height, or your sheer numbers?”
Megan’s beautiful mother laughed. “Both, I suppose.” She grew serious again. “At times you might feel like you’re running a gauntlet, I’m afraid. They’re going to test you repeatedly, and I suspect Megan will be leading the pack.”
“My great-grandfather used to call me Coyote,” Jack told her. “And coyotes are very resilient animals, Mrs. MacKeage.”
“Call me Grace, Jack. And please, stop calling Grey laird,” she asked, rolling her eyes. She turned thoughtful. “If I remember correctly, isn’t having a coyote for a totem a good thing? Aren’t they considered uncommonly cunning?”
“A rocket scientist who knows Native American lore?”
“You’d be surprised how open-minded scientists are about the unexplainable. You might want to remember that when you’re dealing with Megan. Camry said your great-grandfather was a shaman.”
Jack sighed. “Forest Dreamwalker was the last of a dying breed, which lost its appeal with modern medicine.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. Your grandchild will have ten fingers and toes and won’t be born with a feather in its hair.”
She gave him a sharp look. “We will love that baby if it has twelve toes and two heads. We are not prejudiced people, Mr. Stone.”
“I’m sorry. I had no call to imply that you are,” he said, feeling his face flush. “It’s just that when most people hear the word shaman, they start thinking of campfire rituals and mystical trances.”
She remained silent, and Jack wanted to kick himself. “At the risk of shooting myself in the foot, Megan and Camry seemed alarmed when they learned about my great-grandfather.”
Grace looked down at her cocoa. “They’ve been fascinated with the magic since they were little girls.” She looked up. “So, Jack. Can you explain to me why you couldn’t have kept my daughter safe without completely devastating her?”
“When Megan told me she was pregnant, I simply panicked. I didn’t know what in heck was going on, other than that a man had been murdered. I just wanted her off that tundra so I could concentrate on getting Billy Wellington out of harm’s way.”