“Then how are we going to cure him?” Megan asked, looking as if she already knew the answer and didn’t like it.
“We clean out his innards.”
She backed away, shaking her head. “Oh, no. We are not giving him an…”
Jack burst out laughing. He walked to the fire, grabbed a stick, and lifted the pot of boiling water out of the flames. “No, I think we can avoid that particular procedure. We’ll just steep some herbal tea, get it down his throat, and wait for nature to run its course.” He laughed at her horrified expression. “Hey, that sort of thing doesn’t make you queasy, does it? Because in about three months, you’re going to be experiencing it firsthand—although on a decidedly smaller scale.”
She lifted her chin. “I’ve been babysitting little Angus for Robbie and Catherine all fall, and I’ve changed dozens of diapers.” She got a sudden gleam in her eyes and stepped toward him, lowering her voice. “But let’s not tell Camry exactly what we’re doing, okay? Let’s just surprise her.”
Jack grinned broadly. “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t tell Camry. Or Kenzie.”
Chapter Twenty-five
I t was late the next afternoon before a very silent Camry stopped the snowcat in front of Megan’s home, and an equally silent Jack and Megan climbed out. But just as soon as Camry drove off—speeding straight down the camp road toward Main Street—they both burst out laughing.
“When I’m ninety years old,” Megan chortled, “I’ll still remember the look on Cam’s face when she finally realized what was happening.”
“She sure can move fast when she needs to,” Jack said, his arm coming around Megan’s shoulders as he guided her up the porch stairs.
“We are sooo going to pay for this,” she said, turning the doorknob, only just now realizing that she hadn’t locked up when she’d left in such a hurry yesterday. Was it really less than twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime, she was so tired. “Do you think they’ll be able to get the smell out of the snowcat?” she asked with a giggle.
Jack pulled her to a halt just as she started to open the door. “Whoa. You won’t get the smell out of your house if you go in there with your clothes on.”
“You want to undress out here?” she squeaked, looking around.
Jack started peeling off her jacket. “The only other person living out on this point is the chief of police,” he drawled, tossing her jacket in the porch corner, then grabbing the hem of her sweater. “And I’m pretty sure it’s his sworn duty to protect your modesty,” he continued as he pulled her stinky sweater over her head.
Megan shuddered when the foul smell brushed over her nose. Since he was doing such a fine job of undressing her, she decided to do the same for him. But he captured her hands when she tried to unzip his jacket, and held them to his chest.
“If I go in with you, I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning,” he told her, his steel blue eyes locked on hers.
She wiggled free and unzipped his jacket. “I imagine your house is quite cold by now,” she said, slipping the jacket off his shoulders. She let it fall to the porch and immediately started undoing the buttons on his shirt. “And I have this really big hot water heater, so we can scrub each other silly without worrying about running out of hot water.” She sent his shirt after his jacket. “And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sleep in a real bed with you.”
He swiftly pulled her undershirt off over her head. “Okay, get ready. We’ll strip down to our underwear, then get in the house before our skin figures out it’s suppose to goose-bump.”
She had to giggle at that. “How come you’re not yawning every five minutes? You’ve been up as long as I have, and did most of the work.”
He tapped the tip of her nose, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. “Because I’m not growing a baby.” He stopped to pat her stomach. “How is he, anyway?”
Megan slipped out of her boots. “Shhh. He’s having a nap.”
“Oh,” he said, bending down to unlace his own boots. “We’ll probably have to burn our clothes and use a whole bottle of shampoo to get the smell out of our hair. Slip off your pants and run inside.”
“Okay, on the count of three, we run,” Megan said without bothering with her pants. “Okay…three!” she shouted, giving Jack a nudge and bolting into the house.
He was one step behind her, when Megan suddenly skidded to a stop. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here!”
Could it possibly get any worse?
Jack gathered his clothes, boots, pack, and rifle in his arms, and walked home barefoot. Yes, Laird, I was trying to strip your daughter down to her birthday suit on the front porch so I could have my wicked way with her—first in the shower and then in an honest-to-God real bed for a change.
Jack took his own porch stairs in two strides, dropped his boots, and discovered his main door was locked when he ran into it trying to rush inside. He tossed the rest of his clothes in the snowbank, including his pants this time, then blatantly mooned God and Frog Point when he bent down to retrieve his key from under the mat.
Dammit to hell. He couldn’t lose the image of Grace MacKeage staring at him and Megan in shocked surprise, and the stove poker falling out of Greylen’s hand with a clang.
Instead of turning toward his bathroom, Jack went to the cupboard, pulled down the scotch, and drank straight from the bottle.
There hadn’t been any vehicles parked in the driveway, so how had they gotten here? Jack took another swig of the scotch, relishing the burn sliding down his throat as he walked to an east window. He looked outside and spotted a snowmobile parked on the lake in front of Megan’s house. Well, that explained that. He wrenched open the woodstove door and set a match to the waiting kindling.
Taking another swig, he walked back out onto his porch, grabbed his rifle and pack, and set them inside. No need leaving a weapon available, in case the laird decided to come over for a little fatherly chat. Jack went back to the woodstove and added some logs, then stood naked in front of its stingy heat. How was he going to marry Megan without ever having to face Grace MacKeage again?
The whiskey finally reached his tired muscles, and Jack knew he’d better get in the shower while he still had the strength. Dammit to hell, Megan was supposed to scrub his back—and he had intended to thoroughly scrub her front.
He turned on the shower, waited until the water ran hot, and stepped under the spray. Maybe he could sneak over later tonight, after her parents went home.
He snorted, dumping half the bottle of shampoo down over his head. The way his luck was running, he’d probably crawl into bed with Camry.
Despite his total exhaustion, Jack came fully awake when his blankets moved and a slightly chilled but sweet-smelling body slid into bed beside him. He smiled into the darkness. “Have you no shame, woman, sneaking over here after what just happened at your house?”
She snuggled against him with a shiver. “You seem to have more than enough shame for both of us,” she said with a giggle. “I didn’t know a person could turn that red. Or that every inch of skin blushes,” she finished, her cold hand sliding down his torso and finding a particularly sensitive area.
Jack sucked in a gasp and quickly chased after her wayward hand. “How come you’re so cold?” he asked, pulling her hand up and holding it against his chest.
Her toes started a slow, sensuous journey up his leg. “I just threw on my boots and bathrobe to run over here.”
Jack rolled to face her, tossing his leg over hers while still holding on to her hand. “What time is it?” he asked, gasping again when her lips brushed his collarbone.
“It’s three hours past our shower date,” she said between kisses, her lips traveling up his clean-shaven jaw to his mouth. “You have a very comfortable bed, Jack,” she whispered, continuing her journey to his cheekbone and then his ear. “Let’s see if our magical place is just as beautiful on a real mattress. Will you take me there?” she whispered directly in his ear.