Chapter Ten

C amry didn’t even try hiding her smile as she approached Jack’s bandaged hand with the sewing shears. She was beginning to understand why Megan had fallen for the guy. He was sort of endearing, she decided, her smile widening when she took a large snip of the shower-soaked gauze and Jack flinched.

“I really can do this myself,” he said, trying to take the scissors from her with his good hand.

Camry firmed her grip on his wrist and took another snip. “I can see what a great job you’ve been doing. Those are some mean-looking scars on your hands and wrists. They look like burn marks.” She stopped snipping and arched an inquiring brow. “Are they reminders not to tug on the devil’s tail?”

Jack turned his uninjured palm up to look at it, then slowly closed his hand into a fist and dropped it to his lap under the table. “No, they’re to remind me why I became a pacifist.”

She snorted. “How’s that been working for you?” She loosened the wet bandage. “So tell me, Jack, are you really half Canadian Cree?”

Camry looked up again to meet Jack’s assessing gaze. She had to agree with Megan that his size did make him approachable. Not that he was wimpy by any means. Jack Stone was compact, sculpted with obvious strength, and had sharp, intelligent, compelling blue eyes. Maybe Robbie could give him a couple of lessons in basic self-defense.

“My mother was a woodland Cree from Medicine Lake, Alberta.”

“And your father?”

“He was American, from Montana. They met at a Greenpeace rally in Vancouver.” He held up his good hand when she started to ask him another question. “Mom was a conservation agent working to get large logging concerns to practice sustainable harvesting, and Dad was a biochemist who was fed up with chemical farming practices,” he continued. “It was love at first sight for my father, but it took him three years to convince my mother that she couldn’t live without him.”

“Do they still live in Medicine Lake?”

He shook his head. “They died in an auto accident when I was nine.”

“Oh. Sorry,” she muttered, turning her attention back to his hand. “So who raised you after that?”

“My maternal great-grandfather, for the most part. We lived just outside of Medicine Lake until he died when I was fifteen.”

Camry looked up. “Then where did you go?”

“I finished raising myself. When I was twenty I joined the Canadian Air Force, but after four years I decided I wasn’t warrior material,” he said, darting a glance toward the kitchen where Megan was putting the finishing touches on dinner. “I kicked around Ottawa, Toronto, and Montreal for another couple of years, working different jobs. Then one summer when I was visiting Medicine Lake, I found out that a friend’s sixteen-year-old daughter had run away from home, and I offered to find her.”

“Did you?”

Jack nodded, his eyes lighting with satisfaction. “Had her back home in less than three weeks.”

Intrigued, Camry also glanced toward the kitchen to see if her sister was listening—which she obviously was. Megan had her back to them, but she was perfectly still.

“Where’d you find the girl?” Cam asked.

“In Vancouver, living with a young man she’d run off with.”

“And you talked her into going home?”

“She had realized her mistake within days of landing in Vancouver; her boyfriend was a jerk and they were living in a crack house. She didn’t know how to call her parents and ask if she could come home.” He shot Camry a crooked grin. “Curiosity might get a person in trouble, but it’s usually pride that keeps them there.”

“So you found out you had a knack for tracking down runaways, and you turned it into a profession?”

“Something like that.”

“How do you go about finding those kids?”

“Personal experience,” he said evenly. “I ran away from half a dozen foster homes before I went to live with my great-grandfather.”

“When you were only nine?”

Jack finished unwrapping the bandage himself. “I was trying to get to Grand-père in Medicine Lake. I didn’t know he was fighting the courts for custody for me.”

“Why wouldn’t they give him custody? He was family.”

“He was also eighty years old at the time.”

“But he eventually won?”

“Only because after a year of arguing with the courts, he up and stole me from the foster home I was staying at. He took me to live deep in the forest until he died. When I came walking out of the woods alone, social services got their hands on me again and took me back to Edmonton. Not that I stayed long; I simply disappeared again.”

Camry gaped at him. He’d been running away since he was nine years old? She flinched when the oven door suddenly slammed shut. Jack grabbed his crutches, stood up and scooped the tape and gauze off the table, then hobbled into the downstairs bedroom without saying another word.

Camry turned in her seat to find her sister glaring at her. “What?” she asked quietly.

“Please tell me you don’t believe one word of that,” Megan hissed.

“Nobody could make something like that up, Meg. It’s too heart-wrenching.”

“You can’t honestly believe that a nine-year-old child would run off on his own like that.”

“But what if he did? Can you imagine what he went through, and how scared he was? And then his great-grandfather died. He must have had to bury him all by himself. And then he walked out of the woods, alone again.”

“He made it up, Cam. He’s trying to gain our sympathy.”

“What if it’s true?”

“Okay, what if it is?” Megan raised her chin defensively. “What does his childhood have to do with anything?”

Cam stood up and walked over to the counter in order to look her sister directly in the eye. “You and your baby are it, Meg. The two of you are the only family he’s got.”

Megan cringed away. “Whose side are you on?”

Cam took hold of her shoulders. “Yours. I’m on your side, sis. But can’t you see why he’s come here? He’s looking for a family of his own.”

“But how can I trust him?” Megan whispered. “He’s done nothing but lie to me since we met.”

“You do what any smart woman does,” Cam said. “You have him investigated. And if Jack’s story doesn’t check out, then you get Winter to turn him into a toad.”

“And if it does check out?”

Camry sighed. “That’s your call. But you heard the man; our pride is what usually keeps us in trouble. You and the baby are the ones who will have to live with your decision.”

Jack was unsure whether he was helping his cause or hurting it. The abbreviated version of his childhood had bothered Megan for some reason, yet it may have nudged her sister closer to his camp.

He pushed his empty plate away and leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. Who knew Megan could cook? The university funding the tundra study had provided a meal tent, and it had never occurred to him that she might have a domestic side. Not that he’d been thinking of hearth and home when he’d met her; he had been focused only on experiencing that passion she exuded like an elixir.

Thank God she’d been thinking along those same lines, albeit light-years ahead of him. Now, though, she was acting as if she wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. She had spoken maybe three sentences toward him during the entire meal, delivered with an aloof politeness.

He did learn that she was conducting an environmental study for a man named Mark Collins, whom neither woman appeared to know much about. The majority of the conversation had been about Camry’s work. Ion propulsion was going to put Earth on the cosmic map, apparently, once Camry figured out how to stabilize the stuff.

What must the MacKeage household be like when all seven daughters and their scientist mother got together? Jack was gaining a whole new respect for Greylen MacKeage, considering his own head was still spinning from a conversation that had quite literally been out of this world.

“We should hurry up, Meg. I’ll clear the table and pack the dishwasher,” Camry offered, gathering up the plates. “You go to the baby’s room and decide how you want to arrange it before everyone gets here.”

“You have company coming?” Jack asked, also getting to his feet.

“Just Mom and Elizabeth and Chelsea,” Camry told him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And Daddy.”

Jack froze as he was reached for his crutches.

“Actually, it’s good that you’re here,” she continued, rinsing the plates in the sink. “You can entertain Daddy while we work on the baby’s room.”

Holy hell! “Maybe I should head over to my house. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Camry straightened from putting the plates in the dishwasher. “You won’t be in the way, Jack. Besides, when I ran over to get you some clean clothes, your house was cold. It can’t be more than fifty degrees in there.”

The perfect excuse! “Then I should go start a fire so the pipes don’t freeze.” At the sound of a giggle, Jack turned and found Megan with her hand over her mouth, her eyes shining with amusement. “What?” he snapped, forgetting he was trying to get back in her good graces.

“Nothing,” she said, making a futile attempt to stifle her smile. “I’m just remembering a conversation my family had over Christmas vacation. Your great-grandfather didn’t happen to be a Cree chief, did he?”

“Because our father is probably going to call you Chief,” Camry stated, also laughing at their little joke, which he seemed to be the brunt of. “To show his respect.”

“Grand-père wasn’t a chief,” he growled. “He was a shaman.”

Jack wanted to kick himself the moment he saw Megan’s reaction. She went perfectly still, her face blanching to the color of new snow.

Hell. What woman wouldn’t love hearing the child she was carrying descended from shamans?

“He—he practiced the magic?” Camry squeaked.

Jack turned toward the kitchen and saw that Camry was as pale as her sister. Wonderful. Now they both thought he was weird.

“He was a medicine man,” he growled. “He used herbs and prayers to heal people.”

“Did you, ah…inherit his gift?” Megan asked.

“No.”

“How do you know for sure?” Camry asked.

Jack held his crutches away from his body. “I’m thirty-four years old. Don’t you think I’d know something like that by now, and would heal myself if I could?”

“That’s not how the magic works,” Megan blurted out, then looked just as surprised at what she’d said as he was.

The magic? What was going on here? These two woman—scientists, for Pete’s sake—appeared both fascinated and horrified that his great-grandfather had been a shaman.

“Exactly how does the magic work, then?” he asked. “And what good would it do me, if I can’t heal myself?”

Megan narrowed her eyes, and there went her hands to her hips again. “Could your grandfather heal himself?”

“Great-grandfather,” he reminded her. “He used his medicinal herbs and sweat lodge whenever he was ill. You didn’t answer my question. How does the magic work?”

“How should I know? I’m a biologist, not a wizard.”

Wizard? Where had that come from?

“They’re here!” Camry said, rushing to the door and opening it to look outside.

Jack didn’t hear any vehicle driving in, no car doors shutting, nobody talking.

“Oh, I thought I heard something,” Camry said, closing the door. She then rushed across the room to the stairs. “I’ll be back in a minute. Let them in when they get here, will you, Jack?” she called out.

Jack turned to Megan, but she had disappeared, too. “Guess that ended that conversation,” he muttered to the empty room, only to realize this was his own chance to escape. He tucked his crutches under one arm and limped out onto the porch, then carefully made his way down the shadowed driveway.

A dark Suburban rounded the corner and pulled into the driveway, bathing Jack in blinding light just as he hit a patch of ice and his feet headed in two different directions. He fought to keep his balance for several seconds, realized it wasn’t going to happen, and threw himself toward the nearest snowbank.

His crutches landed on top of him, driving his face into the snow. Jack gave a pained sigh of defeat. He might as well stay here until he froze to death, rather than continue to be beaten up by everyone—including himself.

He could swear he heard Grand-père laughing his head off. For five years, Forest Dreamwalker had tried to persuade Jack that his brother’s gift had passed down to him, always ending each lecture with a warning that the longer Jack continued to deny his calling, the louder it would become.

Apparently destiny had resorted to shouting.

“Are you all right?” came a male voice. “You needn’t have jumped out of the way. I wouldn’t have hit ye.”

Wonderful. Jack couldn’t think of a better first meeting with his future father-in-law. He spit out a mouthful of snow. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help ye up.”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll stay right here for a while.”

“Jack?” Camry said, rushing off the porch and over to them. When she tried to stop, she also slipped on the ice, and skidded into Jack with enough force to make him grunt. She would have landed on top of him if her father hadn’t caught her. “Jack, what are you doing out here?”

“Taking a snow bath.”

“This is Jack Stone?” Greylen MacKeage said in surprise. He reached down, grabbed Jack by the shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Chief Stone,” the towering Scot said, grabbing Jack’s right hand and giving it a firm shake. The man looked like he was pushing seventy judging by his graying hair, but he had the grip of a bear. “I am Laird Greylen MacKeage, Megan’s father.”

Laird? Did that title even exist anymore?

“And I’m Grace MacKeage,” a petite, beautiful woman said as she appeared beside her husband. Her eyes shone a startling blue in the porch light. “You gave us a fright, Mr. Stone. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m fine,” he said, taking the hand she extended. “I just slipped on the ice.”

“Are these yours?” another woman said, bending to pick up his crutches. She held them out with a smile, and Jack found himself staring into Megan’s eyes but not Megan’s face. “I’m Chelsea,” she said. “Megan’s twin sister.”

“The lawyer from Bangor,” Jack acknowledged with a nod, taking the crutches from her. “Megan’s told me about you.”

Another woman crowded Chelsea out of the way. “I’m Elizabeth Sprague, Megan’s younger sister. I teach third grade here in town.”

Jack nodded. “I’ve met your husband. Walter, isn’t it? He’s the high school principal?”

“Yes. He mentioned you stopped by his school a few days ago, to speak to him about our pranksters.”

Pranksters was a cute name for the little bastards, Jack supposed. But then, Elizabeth Sprague was a teacher, and no teacher wanted to believe any child was a criminal.

“It’s freezing out here,” Megan called from the door. “What are you all doing standing outside?”

“We’re coming in,” Greylen MacKeage said, herding the women toward the house. He turned back to Jack. “Need any help getting in? I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you, Chief Stone. I have some ideas on how ye might capture your young hoodlums.”

“I was just headed home.”

“Then I’ll walk with ye, to make sure you don’t fall again. You don’t happen to have any cold ale at your house, do you, Chief?”

Chief? Did that mean he supposed to call the man laird? “I have some Canadian lager,” he offered, tucking his crutches under his armpits and carefully making his way out the driveway.

“Wayne? Where are you going?” Megan called from the porch.

Jack kept walking.

“I mean Jack . Jack, you can’t fend for yourself yet.”

He finally stopped and turned to her, acutely aware that the man standing beside him had gone perfectly still, and that his hands were balled into fists at his sides. “I’ll be okay,” Jack assured her. “Your father can build me a fire.” He looked at Greylen and shrugged. “She calls me Wayne sometimes.”

“I’d give my right arm for five minutes alone with Wayne Ferris,” Greylen growled. “He’s the bastard who got her with child and then discarded her like trash.”

Jack started for home again. O-kay, then. When they reached the driveway, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to prefer something a bit stronger than beer, would you, laird?”

“I never turn down scotch, Chief.”

“Then what say we build a nice crackling fire, I’ll dig out my good scotch, and then I’ll tell you an interesting story?”

Greylen shot him a curious look, then nodded curtly, going up Jack’s porch stairs ahead of him.

“The key’s under the mat,” Jack told him, following at a more labored pace.

Greylen peeled back the mat and picked up the key. “Ye haven’t much sense for security, for a policeman.”

Jack merely shrugged. Greylen opened the door and snapped on the light. “What is your story about, Chief?” he asked, walking to the woodstove in the middle of the back wall.

“Oh, it has a little of everything,” Jack told him, limping to the cupboard that held the scotch. He took down the unopened bottle and two tumblers, then filled both glasses three-quarters full. “There’s a mystery, a murder, and even some romance.”

Greylen placed paper and kindling in the firebox. “And I will be interested because?”

Jack carried both drinks over, handed one to Greylen, then touched their glasses together. He took a long gulp, letting the liquid fire slide down his throat as he hobbled back to the counter to put some distance between them. “I believe you’ll be interested because it’s about me and Megan and our child, and the fact that the mystery and murder I was trying to protect her from may have followed her home.”