interest, since her brothers and cousins usually scared them off—usually before she even knew the obvious cowards were interested.
Now, though, she was officially all grown-up and lived a hundred crooked miles away from her watchdogs. Well, except for Duncan and Niall and Alec. But she figured they were too preoccupied with their own lives to be interfering in hers. When Duncan wasn’t chasing after his youngest twin boys, who’d just started walking, he was busy keeping his and Peg’s other five children in line while also running a construction business. And when Alec wasn’t putting the finishing touches on the monster of a house he and Carolina were building at the far end of the fjord, he was racing after Lachlan whenever the magical little toddler decided it would be fun to jump in the Bottomless Sea and go for a swim with his orca buddies.
And Niall? Katy smiled again. Even though he’d been born in the twelfth century, Niall was actually the most modern-minded of the three. But then, his understanding of how important it was for a woman to be independent probably had a lot to do with the love of his life, Birch, who happened to run the local women’s crisis center. Still, Katy was worried Niall’s ancient Highlander genes were about to make an appearance, seeing how last week Birch had finally admitted she was three months pregnant. Openly living with a woman was definitely a modern thing to do, but having a baby without their being married would likely prove more than Niall’s big old Highlander heart could handle.
Come to think of it, maybe she should ask Birch how to discourage Jake, since both Birch and her mom, Hazel, had had plenty of practice discouraging men when they’d lived in Canada—even if the con artists had been more interested in their trust funds than in them.
Too lazy to lift a hand to cover her yawn, Katy finally felt it was safe to close her eyes now that she’d replaced the looming nightmares with dreams of getting up close and personal with her handsome new boss. Which better happen soon, she decided, because she didn’t know if she’d survive three whole months waiting for a permanent chief to be hired. In fact, if she couldn’t find a way to get Gunnar to kiss her within the next week, there was a good chance she truly would embarrass herself by kissing him first.
So, it was settled then. Exactly forty-eight hours from 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning, she was officially starting her completely in control but subtle pursuit of Mr. Wolfe. And on that note, and with images of the sexy mythical warrior kissing her in the moonlight reflecting off the magical Bottomless Sea, Katy fell into the first truly refreshing sleep she’d had in three weeks.
Chapter Seven
Feeling much like the proverbial moth being drawn to a flame, Gunnar followed his nose toward the open bay doors of the station, willing to bet the only restaurant in town serving breakfast had fan-powered vents running from its ovens directly out to the street. Because every day from 6:00 a.m. to noon, hapless tourists and locals alike inevitably found themselves following the unmistakable aroma of cinnamon-laced buns straight to the Drunken Moose.
Having learned his lesson yesterday morning, Gunnar stopped short of stepping outside and slowly leaned forward enough to see the bench, only to straighten back up with a silent curse. Was there a reason Miss MacBain was still here? Hell, he’d waited in his private quarters a whole thirty minutes past shift change to avoid running into her.
He peeked again, this time straightening with a frown. Aside from the matter of why the woman was still here, why was she wearing skintight britches and riding boots?
Gunnar knew Katy was an accomplished equestrian, having found several old articles online accompanied by photos of her and a delicate-featured, long-legged horse—Quantum Leap, he thought the mare’s name was. Her older half-brother, Robert MacBain—who for some insane reason went by Robbie, even though the man towered over just about everyone on the planet—had been in several of the photos, most of which had been taken at various equestrian events throughout New England. But the articles, each fueling speculation the teenage girl from Maine was Olympic-bound, had suddenly stopped around eleven years ago. And if he recalled correctly, the last article had included a photo of Michael MacBain—who no one called Mike, apparently—proudly posing with his youngest daughter and her horse after they’d just placed