The MacGregor Brides

  "He did, indeed," Michael told him. "I hacked a bit, held my nose when I called him." Michael did so now, making his voice stuffy and wheezy. "You'll have to see to Julia today, I told him. I'm feeling poorly. He didn't care for it," Michael continued, his voice clear as church bells on Sunday. "But he's a good boy and takes pride in the company."

  "He's a fine boy, your Cullum." Daniel grinned at the ceiling, shifted the telephone to his other ear. He'd known Michael Murdoch for fifteen years, respected him as a professional, liked him as a man. He'd grieved with him when Michael lost his wife a decade before. And plotted with him nearly as long.

  "So, it's a big job," Daniel continued. "It'll take a few months, more or less, and keep them rubbing up against each other."

  "I'll be sick for a week or two—gives me a chance to catch up on my reading. Then I'll be feeling a little off my feed for a week or two more. By that time, Cullum will be deep into the project. I'll be able to convince him he should follow it through. He'll want it by that point in any case."

  "Don't understand for a minute why the boy hasn't made a move toward the girl already. They've known each other for years. Two strong, healthy, attractive people." He shook his head sadly, stroking his soft white beard. "I tell you, Michael, children today have to be led along by the hand or they get nothing important done."

  "There's a spark between them, Daniel. You and I, we're just blowing on it a bit. It's time for my Cullum to settle down, find his happiness."

  "Agreed." For punctuation, Daniel thumped his fist on the desk. "And Julia needs to do the same. Why, the girl's twenty-five years old. What's she waiting for?" Then he smiled, settled back again. "They'll make beautiful babies together for us, Michael."

  Chapter 22

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  Blissfully unaware that her life was being arranged for her, Julia sat in the center of her bed, poring over books of samples. Wallpaper, paint, tile. She had mountains of catalogs listing hinges, doorknobs, bathroom and kitchen hardware. She scribbled down possibilities and recorded her final choices.

  It had taken two weeks of meetings, of negotiations, and of snarling arguments, for her and Cullum to finalize the projected work, the deadlines and the estimated costs.

  She'd had no choice but to accept him as head contractor on the job. When she slipped into the Murdoch offices and saw how tired and worn Michael Murdoch was, she'd stifled all complaints.

  Until he regained his strength, he'd be riding his desk. She didn't want to be responsible for making him feel he had to drag himself to the site and supervise.

  She shifted, sliding her legs from left to right for comfort. The morning had been spent at a settlement for a property she'd sold. She had yet to change out of the short summer-blue skirt and jacket she'd worn for the meeting.

  Absently she tapped her fingers on a swatch of floral wallpaper. She had a weakness for colored stones, and a trio of them winked on her hand. Others gleamed at her ears, her wrist.

  Because she'd pulled out the pins the minute she stepped into her room, her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders. She hummed to herself, enjoying the background noise of saws and hammers traveling up from the first floor. Men at work, she thought. Terrific music.

  Cullum could only be grateful she didn't look up when he stepped into the doorway. She would have seen his tongue slide out of his mouth and hit his shoes.

  My God, the woman had legs, yards of them, and that tiny little skirt wasn't covering up much. She didn't look the least bit like a businesswoman. More like a pagan goddess. It almost made a man forget she had a smart mouth and a snakebite temper. When she idly rubbed a hand high on her thigh, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, begging for mercy. He had to take two slow, steady breaths to pull himself in line.

  "Got a minute, MacGregor?"

  "Hmm?" The wild roses on dusky blue, or the sleek traditional stripes? Roses, she decided. Why be subtle?

  "MacGregor? Jules?" He moved over, snapped his fingers under her nose and had the pleasure of seeing her gaze shoot up in shock.

  "What?" Surprise was what had her heart jolting, she told herself.

  "Your wall's out. Thought you might want to see."

  "Oh. Sure. In a minute." She hated to be taken unawares, not given time to engage all controls. "I'll come right down." A man would be crazy to walk away from those legs when he could linger, Cullum decided. He sat on the bed, amused when her eyes narrowed. "Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

  "I was about to say the same," she said primly.

  "You won't be needing wall coverings for some time yet."

  "It pays to think ahead."

  He leaned forward, studied the stripes she'd just rejected. "Boring." His gaze traveled up those legs. "That's about the only thing you're not."

  "Let's see, compliment or insult?" She resisted tugging at her skirt. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Insult," she decided. "Get lost."

  "Why are you all dressed up?" He fingered her lapel, knowing she'd slap at his hand. She didn't disappoint him.

  "I had a settlement. The Court Street property."

  "Oh, yeah, nice place, but too downtown." He spread open her paint-sample booklet, considered the choices. "This is the kind of thing you want in this room. Deep green. It's rich and it's restful."

  She'd been thinking along those lines. "Going into interior decorating, Murdoch?"

  "You work on enough houses, you get ideas for what works." His eyes, as rich and deep and green as the paint he'd chosen, latched on to hers. "And when you put time and effort and creativity into rehabbing a house, then the owners screw it up with the colors and furnishings, it ticks you off."

  Damn it, she agreed again. This was getting dangerous. "How's your father?"

  "He's bouncing back." But a shadow of concern flickered in his eyes. "I've never seen him take so long to throw off a cold. He said he'd been to the doctor. He's got a prescription and orders to take it easy for another week or two."

  "That's sensible." Understanding nothing better than she understood family love and concern, Julia laid a hand on Cullum's knee. "Oh, he'll be fine. He's as tough as they come."

  "He keeps saying he's getting old. Damn it, he's only sixty."

  "He's just feeling sorry for himself. I'm the same way when I'm sick." She gave his knee a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry."

  "He asked about you, and the project." She was smiling at him, a rare event. Cullum discovered he wanted to draw it out a little longer.

  "He made noises about coming by, taking it off my hands, but he's just not up to it."

  "Let's not bother him with it. I'm sure we can get through one rehab together without one of us bricking the other up behind a wall in the basement."

  "We can try." He skimmed a finger up her calf, watched her eyes pop wide, and flashed a grin.

  "Keep your hands to yourself, buster."

  "You've got yours on my knee," he noted, patting it.

  She snatched it back, fuming. "It serves me right for trying to be friendly. Get out of my bed."

  "I'm not in it," he pointed out, "I'm on it. And to tell you the truth, up until now I hadn't thought about getting into it. You've presented me with a whole new world of possibilities."

  "Murdoch, the day you get in my bed is the day they're building snowmen in hell." He didn't know what pushed him to it, ego or desire. Perhaps a mixture of both. But he leaned toward her until their faces were close, their eyes locked, their mouths a breath apart. "Bet?"

  Her blood was an ocean roar in her head, and her pride shuddered at the fact that for even one tiny instant she'd been excited. Tempted.

  "Unlike you, I don't wager on sex. And unlike you, I won't consider getting horizontal with someone I can barely tolerate when we're vertical."

  Because he'd seen that quick flare of interest in her eyes, he was satisfied. With a shrug, he got off the bed. "I still like your legs, MacGregor. They're definitely top-of-the-line legs."

  He walk
ed out, leaving her vowing to cover up every inch of them anytime she was around him.

  "And then he tried to bet me that I'd sleep with him."

  Two days later, and Julia was still fuming over it. She paced her bedroom while her cousin Laura cuddled her three-month-old son on her shoulder.

  "He was just trying to annoy you." Satisfied young Daniel was fed, dry and sleeping, Laura settled him into the portable crib Julia had already set up near the window. "He knows how easy it is."

  "I'm not easily irritated," Julia corrected. "Except by Cullum Murdoch."

  "Exactly. Just ignore him, Julia. You've said yourself he does wonderful work. Take the ends, ignore the means."

  "You're right, you're right." Julia closed her eyes, ordered herself to settle. The sound of work in progress was muffled by the closed bedroom door. She kept it closed now, at all times. "He doesn't even exist. There." She opened her eyes again, and smiled. "Gone. I sent him on the plague train to limbo."

  "Good one." Then Laura bit her lip and looked down at her peacefully sleeping son. "Are you sure you can do this? I'll only be a couple hours. Three at the very most, but—"

  "Of course I can. I'm looking forward to having him all to myself." Julia brushed her fingers over Daniel's soft black hair. "He's so beautiful, Laura, and already growing so big."

  "I know. I hate missing even a minute with him. I know I have to settle the nanny business. It's just so hard. I didn't know it would be so hard."

  "You're a terrific mommy, and Royce's a terrific daddy."

  "Daniel makes it easy. He's the best baby." She sighed, shook herself. "Okay, okay, he'll be fine with his aunt Jules. I brought everything he'll need. He shouldn't be hungry, but there's breast milk in the bottle if he is. He'll probably sleep nearly as long as I'm gone. There's diapers, and his little bear, the number of the courthouse." It was an effort for Laura not to bite her nails. "Two changes of clothes, Royce's and my beeper numbers. You know how he likes to be rocked when—"

  "Laura." She had to laugh. "I promise you, I will not sell him to Gypsies while you're gone."

  "I'm obsessing." Laura managed a smile. "I'll stop. I do appreciate you taking care of him for me this morning."

  "My pleasure. I don't have any appointments, so Daniel and I will just admire each other until you get back." It took another ten minutes, but Julia finally managed to boot Laura out the door. Then, rubbing her hands together, she walked back to the crib. "Alone at last, angel. I sure hope you don't sleep the morning away." Two hours later, she bitterly regretted those words. The angel was screaming like a banshee. She'd tried the bottle, the bear, the rocking, the walking, the singing. Nothing worked. His adorable little face remained red and furious as he exercised his lungs at full volume.

  "What are you doing, beating him?"

  With Daniel hugged to her chest, she whirled when the door opened, and snarled at Cullum. "Yes, it's one of my favorite pastimes, especially when they are small, defenseless babies. Go away. Come on, sweetheart, hush now."

  "Is he wet?"

  "No, he's not wet. Do I look like an idiot?" With her free hand, she scooped the hair out of her eyes.

  "He didn't want the bottle, he doesn't want to be rocked, and I've walked from here to Oklahoma, but it doesn't help."

  "Let's see." He rolled his eyes when Julia held Daniel away from him defensively. "Come on, Jules, I haven't dropped a baby in at least two months. Here we go, big guy." He pried the screaming baby out of her exhausted arms. "What's the matter, little fella?" Julia blinked at the image. The lanky man, with tousled, gold-streaked hair, a tool belt slung at his narrow hips, a faded denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows of well-toned arms. And a baby cradled in them as naturally as air.

  "Probably teething."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I've got three nieces, thanks to my sister, and every one of them has teeth. Your cousin bring anything for him to chew on?"

  "She brought everything else. I'll look."

  While she did, Cullum offered Daniel his knuckle. The baby immediately began to gnaw. "If your gums were this swollen," he told her,

  "you'd be crying, too."

  "Here." Frazzled, Julia held out a blue teething ring. When Cullum slipped it into Daniel's mouth, the screaming stopped. Now there was just whimpering, and a tiny, tear-streaked face.

  "That's some better, isn't it?" Cullum murmured, and traced a fingertip over Daniel's cheek. His eyes were warm, deep green as he smiled down at the baby. "God, he's cute."

  "You like babies?"

  "What's not to like?" He swung the baby up, making Julia's heart stop and Daniel gurgle with the beginnings of a laugh. "You've just got to take his mind off his gums," Cullum told her, jiggling giggles out of Daniel as he held him high overhead. "Want to go down with the guys, champ?"

  "You can't take him downstairs. The dust, the noise."

  Still grinning into Daniel's face, Cullum shook his head. "Women. Always worrying about a little dust. He'll like it. Babies like motion and sound. It stimulates." He perched the now busily chewing baby on his hip. "And then we'll go in the kitchen for lunch. A beer and a meatball sandwich."

  She didn't mean to grin, it just happened. They were both watching her, the big-eyed baby, the cool-eyed man. "Well, maybe, just for a minute. But he can't run the power saw."

  "Bummer." He planted a kiss on top of Daniel's head. "You coming, or do you trust me with him?"

  "Surprisingly, I trust you with him, but I'm coming anyway." She snagged a burp cloth. "He spits up a lot," she explained.

  "What's a little spit between real men?"

  "Cullum, I…" She hesitated, didn't notice his amused surprise. She never called him by his first name. "I really appreciate it. I was about to tear out my hair."

  "Nice hair," he said as his gaze swept over it "It would have been a shame. Come on." He held out a hand. "Let's go see what the kid thinks of the job so far."

  Her hand was in his before she could think about it, and then it seemed rude to take it back. "You're making good progress. Do you think you'll be able to start on the master bedroom next week?"

  "That's the plan." The noise rose as they headed for the stairs.

  "I'll get the furniture out over the weekend, and move into the bedroom down the hall."

  "We'll do it. Tile guy's nearly finished with the powder room down here. I know it wasn't a priority, but he was available. You liked his work before, so I wanted to get him before he started another job."

  "Great. I'll be sure to take a look at it."

  "You decide yet on the color and material for your kitchen counters?"

  "Yes, just yesterday. I've got the tape upstairs."

  "I bet you do. What did you go with?"

  "Slate-blue ceramic, four-inch tiles, navy grout."

  "Not bad." It would be stunning.

  "Yo, Cullum." One of the carpenters came out of the expanded parlor. "You want to take a look at this before we nail?"

  "Yeah, be right there."

  "Here, let me take him." Their arms brushed as the baby passed between them. "Go ahead, we'll watch at a safe distance." He gave Daniel a flick on the nose. "Don't forget the brew and meatballs, pal," he said, and headed off.

  "Well, that was unexpected, wasn't it?" she murmured, shifting Daniel to rest him against her shoulder. "Who'd have thought such an annoying man could be so sweet with a baby?"

  Patting Daniel's back, she moved to the doorway. The wall was gone, the room wide and full of light. And full of men, noise and tools. Nothing pleased her more than watching the stages of a job. Walking into a perfect home just wasn't enough. It was so much more satisfying to see a space and calculate the changes that could be made to enhance, to take action and to see, step by step, those changes taking place.

  Drop cloths covered the floor, sawhorses held boards ready to be cut to size. The mason knelt at the hearth, perfecting the repointing of stone.

  In the new opening, Cullu
m stood with two men. He had his hands tucked in his back pockets as they discussed the trim for the archway that joined the rooms.

  He laughed, and the sound was all male.

  All male, Julia thought with a quick thrill. That was the way to describe him. His hand had been hard and rough with calluses when it took hers. He'd smelled of sawdust and sweat. The muscles in his arms were lean and hard from use. And the way the denim fit over his hips was… delicious.

  "Oh, my." She hissed out a breath. What was she doing noticing how his jeans fit? And what did she care if there was a thin gold ring around his pupils before the dark and misty green took over? She wasn't the least bit interested in him as a man. He was simply a paid laborer.

  Then he turned around, grinned that crooked grin at her, winked at the baby.

  Her heart bumped hard once, then twice, against her ribs.

  She was suddenly very grateful she hadn't taken him up on that bet.

  Chapter 23

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  Julia's day had started with a breakfast speech for the Boston Businesswomen's Association. At one she'd been guest lecturer at a political science forum at Harvard. That evening she would be the dinner speaker at a real estate convention. She didn't mind giving speeches. It was just talking, after all, and giving opinions. She'd always considered herself good at both. The eight years she spent as First Daughter had given her intense on-the-job training in how to handle people, crowds, media. She agreed to such events several times a year, and tried to group them into one or two days. Her schedule was tight, but by late afternoon she was combing the antique stores hunting for doorknobs. She hadn't been satisfied with the available hardware. Her new plan was to go for variety. Every door in the house would have a different and unique look by the time she was finished.

  She bagged oval brass, faceted glass, smooth wood, glossy enamel. There were hooks and knobs and wonderful shapes and textures. By the time she was finished, she had more than three dozen different door-closing implements in her box, and some were already labeled for location.

  On her way home, she detoured by Murdoch and Sons. She knew how Michael Murdoch enjoyed talking salvage. She could entertain him, see for herself how he was feeling and dump the hardware, all in one short visit

  She drove through the industrial center, as at home there amid the low buildings and huge trucks as she was in Beacon Hill's tony neighborhood. She beeped her horn, sent out a friendly wave, when she passed people she knew. She pulled into Murdoch's, pleased to see that Michael's battered Chevy pickup was in the small lot.

  She hefted her box, grunting only a little under its weight. She was still wearing her public-appearance suit, giving the men in the area the opportunity to send out the obligatory whistles.

  She took it all with a careless grin and a wave. She knew most of the guys by name, had worked with many of them. The outer office was small and comfortably untidy. Manning the ancient metal desk was a woman who wore a trio of pencils in her hair, a Murdoch and Sons T-shirt and a slightly harassed smile.

  "Julia. Don't you look fresh and sunny."

  "Hi, Meg. Busy day?"

  Rolling her eyes, Meg answered the shrilling phone. "Murdoch and Sons, please hold." She let out a little sigh as she punched the hold button. "Business is good, which means I hear phones ringing in my sleep. What can we do for you?"

  "I've got some things I want to show the boss." Julia jiggled the box. "Is he free?"

  "For you? Are you kidding? Go right on back."

  "Thanks. How's he doing?"

  "Moving a little slow yet, but he'll get back on track. Seeing you will perk him up. I'll buzz him, tell him you're on your way."

  "Great. I won't tire him out," Julia promised and, shifting the box again, started toward the short hallway that led to the offices. It surprised her to find Michael's door closed. Open doors were part of the Murdoch style. Concerned,