was pouring two glasses of wine.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he told her, ignoring the wine and pulling her close.
“Really?” She snuggled against his chest, and Shaman closed his eyes, loving the feel of her in his arms.
“Yes. I miss you.” He kissed her hair, breathing the scent of her in. “You know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Tempest ground his foot under hers, which didn’t do any damage because of the steel-toed work boots he wore, but he got the message. “So back to this baby talk you and Cat had.”
“It was Cat’s idea,” Tempest said, and he said, “Oh, come now, Cupertino, teenagers don’t think that kind of stuff up. Don’t blame my precocious niece.” He scooped her into his arms. “You carry the wine, and we’ll go talk some more about how babies are made. I want to see where you’re going with this.”
“Soldier, I think you know just fine.” Tempest grabbed the glasses and let him carry her down the hall.
Chapter Three
The funny thing was that once Tempest had mentioned “baby” to him, Shaman found himself actually thinking about it. A lot. Wasn’t a man supposed to run at the thought of a woman who wanted to get pregnant with his child?
He didn’t.
It had been a week since she’d been by with her picnic basket, and he was still mulling over her offhand comment. Maybe she’d been playing around. Maybe the baby suggestion had been her opening line, like sex talk. Sure, that was probably it.
It had worked. He’d made love to her all night.
A spray of water caught him in the face as he wandered around the barn, making him blink with surprise. “Cat! You little devil!”
He ran after his niece, dedicated to the idea of tossing her in the creek for her just deserts. She eluded him, jumping into the creek herself, fully dressed, and just as he began tugging off his boots to land the cannonball of all cannonballs on his niece, he realized they weren’t alone.
Fiona Callahan stood a hundred yards off, grinning at Cat’s square hit on her uncle. He’d bet Fiona had bought the water blaster for Cat. Seemed like something a woman who’d raised six Callahan boys would think was a necessary ingredient to childhood.
“Hi, Fiona,” Shaman said. “Good to see you again.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she called. “I distinctly thought you were about to cannonball your niece.”
The thought was so tempting. “Best to do that when she doesn’t suspect,” he said, wiping his face, smiling at Cat splashing gleefully in the creek. “I’m sorry she’s not a happy kid.”
Fiona smiled. “Yeah. Miserable.”
“So, are you out here doing Jonas’s bidding?”
“Pretty much.” Fiona seated herself in one of the wrought-iron chairs permanently ensconced in the mushy dirt surrounding the creek. “Actually, Cat pleaded with her dad to let her come out here and see her uncle, and Tempest. I said I’d run her over here. Gage wanted to take Chelsea to the ob-gyn.” Fiona pulled out a wad of knitting from the bright pink plastic bag she carried. “Don’t let us keep you.”
Cat had grabbed a raft and was floating on her back, gazing up at the sky, a kid with no worry that winter was on its way.
“So what does Jonas want you to tell me?” Shaman asked.
Fiona didn’t look up from her knitting, studying it with a furrowed brow. One thing Shaman knew was how to knit, and he could tell she’d dropped a whole ton of stitches from her looped needles. Beginner’s mistake.
“He wants the barn up before the snows come. Probably late October. He wants to bring out more horses by then.” Fiona gave Shaman a kindly smile. “I thought I’d let you know, since you’re probably not aware of the weather in New Mexico.”
“Jonas hasn’t even chosen an architect or a plan.”
“You and Gage are responsible for that.” She shook her head at her knitting, perplexed.
“Jonas didn’t like the first set of plans. He wanted a different architect.”
“You’ll get it figured out.” Fiona sighed at the hot-pink ball of wool. It was a good quality yarn, but if she didn’t quit ratting at it, it wasn’t going to be fit for anything except lining bird nests.
“Here,” Shaman said, “let me see if I can help this along for you.” He sat in the wrought-iron chair next to hers and began unraveling stitches until he got to the place where she’d dropped a few. Then he reknit it. “Is this your first project?”
“It is, and I don’t think I’m much of a knitter.” Fiona looked depressed about that. “I was going to make my friends scarves this year, but it’s not quite as easy as I hoped it would be. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“From my mother. And believe it or not, there are times when knitting soothes the savage beast.” Knowing she was carefully studying his method, Shaman knitted a few more rows for good measure, then handed it back to her. “Okay, Fiona, you know as well as I do that a state-of-the-art barn can’t be ready in a couple of months. Jonas needs to select the architect and the plan. I only oversee the project. Why is he handing this off to me?”
“Because your brother Gage owns a small part of the property now. It was in their agreement. Gage would work here, and in lieu of a paycheck, he’d get some acreage. So Jonas knows Gage has skin in the game. And,” Fiona continued, “Jonas is busy. He’s a father, you know, and we’ve stuck the mayor’s hat on him, too, in Diablo.” She proceeded with the knitting, moving the needles more confidently now that she’d had some tutoring. “Once it starts snowing around here, it can snow for days. Jonas wants everything ready.”
“All right. I’ll talk it over with Gage.” Shaman would do whatever he needed to do to keep the boss man happy. “Have you already been by to see Tempest?”
Fiona nodded. “Cat says you’re thinking about marrying her.”
Shaman blinked. “Uh, that’s news to me.” He wondered if Cat had said the same to Tempest. If she had, he figured he’d never see Tempest again.
“Well, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. That’s what we say around here,” Fiona said cheerfully. “Thanks for saving the scarf. If I get good at this, I’ll make you one for Christmas. Come on, Cat, honey. We’ve got to drive back to Rancho Diablo. I still have to whip up dinner.”
His niece slogged out of the creek joyfully. “This is the most beautiful place on earth,” she said, “besides Rancho Diablo. I guess you float in the creek all the time, Uncle Shaman.”
He hadn’t, not once. “Maybe I should.”
She nodded at him solemnly. “You should.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m glad you came by to see me, honey.” He kissed her
