Aye, he was creating a monster, all right. But at least she would be a prepared monster from now on. “How do you feel about knives?” he asked.
Her smile left as quickly as it had come. “You have to get close to someone to use a knife.”
He dismissed her concern with a shake of his head and leaned over and pulled his small dagger from his boot. “But it’s still better than a stick,” he said, holding out the dagger for her to take. “And can be handy for other things as well.”
She examined the sharp, tiny knife. “This looks old.”
“Aye. It’s about the same age as my sword.”
She canted her head at him. “Where is your sword, by the way?” she asked, lifting a brow. “And the two plaids I washed and mended and put in your closet?”
“Stashed on the mountain.”
She stared at him, obviously weighing her chances of getting him to elaborate. She must have decided he wouldn’t, because she dropped her gaze to the two weapons in her hands.
She gave the dagger back to him. “I think I’ll learn how to use the stick first,” she said, placing her hands where he’d positioned them before. “It’s much more scary-looking and will be more intimidating.”
Robbie slid the dagger in his boot with a chuckle, then planted his feet and crouched, holding his arms out and waggling his fingers at her. “Come on, then, little Cat. Let’s see if you can’t take my breath away.”
She eyed him, eyed her stick, then looked back up, her fierce expression broken only by her determined smile. But she didn’t go for his shoulder first and then his jugular as he had showed her. No, the little monster feigned the expected attack, then aimed her first strike at his knees—just as a green Suburban pulled into the driveway.
Distracted by both the arrival of company and her deception, Robbie misjudged Cat’s swing, and the solid maple stick connected with his left knee. He was only able to keep his head from being cracked open as she followed through by speeding up his unexpected journey to the ground.
He heard Cat’s gasp at about the same time he hit the dirt. Aye, Dr. Frankenstein had nothing on him when it came to creating monsters.
“Ohmygod! You let me hit you!” She grabbed his shoulder and tried to lift him up.
“You’re supposed to pay attention!”
He let her roll him over and lay with his eyes closed, hiding his smile as she continued to scold.
“This is why you come home all beat up,” she muttered, brushing the dirt off his cheek.
“You allow yourself to get distracted.”
Robbie heard four truck doors slam, quickly followed by approaching male laughter he would recognize from his grave, and femaletsk-tsk -ing.
He finally released his smile and opened his eyes. “My papa’s about to praise you for your trick and probably give you a hug for bringing me to my knees.”
“Th-That’s your father?” she groaned, looking toward the driveway, her face turning a lovely shade of red. “Ohmygod,” she whispered, glaring at Robbie just before closing her eyes. “He’s going to think I’m more crazy in person than on the phone.”
Robbie sat up and brought his nose inches from hers. “I’m impressed, little Cat.”
“For hitting you?”
“Nay, for deciding I wouldn’t retaliate. I saw it,” he whispered. “In your eyes, right when you hit me. I saw your horror, and then I saw the moment you realized you had nothing to fear from me.”
“All that while planting your face in the dirt?” she asked. She reached over and tapped the end of his nose. “Amazing, considering you couldn’t see my swing coming.”
Robbie touched his nose and hid his smile by standing up and taking the time to rub his knee.
“Now I’m understanding how ya’ve been able to keep this one longer than the others,”
his papa said as he brushed past Robbie and over to Cat. “She’s the one terrorizingyou.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Michael. We met on the phone yesterday.”
“It—it’s nice to meet you, Mr. MacBain.”
“And I’m his mum,” Libby said, taking Cat’s hand from his father to hold in hers.
“Please, call me Libby. I’ve been hearing some wonderful things about you. Not from Robbie,” she added, turning to frown at him before looking back at Cat. “Rick and Peter stopped by two days ago for a short visit.”
“And this is Gram Katie,” Robbie added, putting his arm around Libby’s mother and bringing her over. “And you’ve already met Ian.”
His poor housekeeper tried to tuck her hair into place, and then she brushed down the front of her grass-stained sweatshirt. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she told them, giving each a nod as she slowly inched her way toward the house. “I’ll just go put on the kettle for tea. I have a pan of blueberry cobbler cooling on the counter.”
“We can’t stay, I’m afraid,” Michael said. “We’re on our way to Bangor to shop. We’re just dropping off Ian.”
Robbie looked at his uncle.
Ian lifted his chin. “I hate to shop. And I feel like a walk in the woods, with you along to protect me from the bears.”
“He’ll walk with you, Ian,” Libby said, staring at Robbie. “Just as soon as I get a hug.
You live two miles away, and I haven’t seen you in nearly two weeks.”
“You’ve been at Maggie’s when I’ve tried to visit,” Robbie said in his defense, reaching out and giving her a hug.
He suspended his breath and waited, but Libby only patted his back, gave him a squeeze, and stepped away with a nod.
“There. I feel better now.” She turned to Cat, who had managed to inch her way a good ten feet closer to the front porch. “You’ll have Robbie bring you to dinner this Sunday,”
she told his housekeeper. “And please, bring your children. I’m anxious to meet your family.”
Cat looked from Robbie to Libby and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I’ll bring dessert.”
“I believe you have my lasagna pan,” Kate said, taking Cat by the arm and heading toward the house, Libby falling into step on the other side of her mother. Ian muttered something about this taking a while—and something about blueberry cobbler—and tagged along behind them.
Robbie turned to his father, who was eyeing the stick lying on the ground. Michael picked it up, hefted its weight, and looked at Robbie with one eyebrow raised.
“It’s a long story,” Robbie said, leaning over to rub his knee again.
“I imagine I have time to hear it, considering the women are in the kitchen. They’ll likely be there an hour talking about recipes.”
Robbie sighed, sat down on the ground, and wrapped his arms around his bent knees.
He stared at Pine Lake, waiting until his father was settled beside him.
“She and her children were camping out in that old cabin up on TarStone, on the land I bought from Greylen two years ago.” He looked at his father. “She’s running from an abusive ex-husband who just got paroled from prison three months ago.”
“Aye. I guessed it was something like that from what Peter and Rick said.” Michael rolled the heavy maple stick in his hand. “And so you’ve taken in another stray—three, actually—and you’re teaching Catherine how to deal with her ex-husband?”
Robbie shook his head. “Nay. I will take care of Daniels personally, if I’m lucky enough for him to show up here.” He gestured toward the stick. “My lessons are only to help Cat feel less like a victim and more like the brave woman she really is.”
Michael raised his brow again. “You sound as if you have a vested interest in the woman.”
Robbie gazed out over Pine Lake. “I do. If I have any say about it, Cat won’t ever be leaving here.” He looked back at his father. “She’s the one, Papa. I felt it the moment we finally came face-to-face.” He turned more fully to Michael. “I want her. But I’m not sure how to handle both my need for Catherine and my calling. You and I have talked about my gift since I was a child, but we never discussed how I would balance it with a wife.