10

THE NEXT MORNING, SHAY yawned as she peered out the kitchen window. The October sky was washed a faded denim blue and all cleaned up from yesterday’s storm. Next to her on the counter, the coffeemaker sighed and moaned as it brewed. She was tempted to tell it to suffer in silence. On the stove, steam began curling from the teakettle.

Turning around, she dug a tie out of her jean pocket and began smoothing her hair back into its usual ponytail. For a split second, the image of Laney’s flowing locks whisked through her head. She snorted to herself. Not me. Not my style, she thought, finishing up. Leaning against the counter, she massaged her temples. “Never again will I switch between beer and whiskey.”

Sitting with his elbows on the table, Bann held his head in hands still swollen from last night. He looked up at her comment. A lock of hair flopped over one eye. He pushed it back. “A bold lie. What time did everyone leave?”

Grimacing at the growing shriek of the kettle, Shay reached over and clicked off the burner. She poured the boiling water over a sachet of sláinte nettle leaves sitting in her favorite teapot, a squat, brown affair that was more English than Irish. “I have no idea. Late. Hugh figured we were safe enough with my wards.” She shook her head, wincing at the movement. “I think he just wanted an excuse for a party.” Picking up the pot, she swirled it around a few times. “Okay, one Fey hangover cure coming up in five minutes. Want some coffee while you wait?”

“Aye, thank you.” Bann looked up with a frown. “Where was I when everyone was leaving?”

“Checking on Cor. By the way, were you okay with Max sleeping in your room last night? I didn’t realize your son was going to take his dog duties so seriously.”

As if hearing his name, Max came trotting into the room. The sound of a toilet flushing followed. Cor appeared a few moments later, dressed with shoes on and his hair somewhat tamed.

“What do I do first?” he asked in a loud voice that made his father cringe. “Feed him or let him out?”

“Good morning, Shay,” Bann said pointedly. “And a fine morning to ye as well, father o’ mine.” Sarcasm thickened his brogue. He quirked an eyebrow at the boy and waited.

Mouth hanging open in bewilderment, Cor stared at Bann while Shay stifled a laugh with another wince. Rescuing the boy, she gestured toward the backyard. “Let him out first.”

Cor followed the dog over to the door. “Hey. Watch it,” he complained when Max shoved past him and disappeared outside, the boy at his tail. Morning air drifted in.

Trying to remember how Bann took his coffee, Shay took two mugs from the cupboard. “Cream, right?”

“Please.”

They sat at the table in silence, sipping the brew. The earthy aroma of coffee mingled with the rain-scented breeze wafting through the half-opened door. From the backyard came Cor’s voice, ordering Max to pee faster, boyo.

Shay chuckled. “Where did he get that from, I wonder?”

“Clearly, you have not driven across the country with an eight-year-old.”

She leaned forward to peer out the door. “He’s so much like you, Bann.”

“Aye, he is. Although there a great deal of his mother in him as well.”

“Like what?”

“Well…” He paused.

Smooth move. Shay reached over and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have asked.” He doesn’t want to talk about his dead wife with someone he only met two days ago.

Bann’s hand covered hers. “It’s all right.” He squeezed before letting go. “Like Elizabeth, he loves animals. You probably already guessed that.”

Shay nodded. “What else?”

“He can be stubborn—a trait he inherited from me, but Elizabeth had her share as well. We butted heads on many occasions. About many things.” An odd expression flickered across his face. “But he’s a good lad. A better son than I am a father.”

“Most parents think that.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Bann leaned back and stretched out his legs. His bare feet brushed against Shay’s naked toes.

“Sorry,” they said, pulling away at the same time.

Jumping up, Shay grabbed her mug. “Want some more coffee, or should I start breakfast?” She gestured at the skillet already setting on top of the stove. “I can fix eggs again or—”

“Shay.” Bann rose more slowly. “You do not have to cook for us all the time. While I appreciate that we’re your guests, I am capable of pulling my weight around here. As is Cor. Until we find a place of our own, consider us your willing servants.” He spread his arms wide.

She tried not to stare at the swell of chest and shoulder muscles under the cheap T-shirt. Keeping her tone light, she said, “Make it willing slaves and we’ve got a deal.”

“Done. What is your first command, m’lady?”

For some reason, the image of Bann shirtless, carrying his son in his arms, flashed through her mind. Don’t go there, she warned herself. She pointed to the backyard. “Fetch the minions. And make sure they don’t track in muddy prints. In fact”—she snagged a couple of rags from under the sink and handed them to him—“here.” She gave an imperious wave. “Now, away with you.”

She laughed when he bowed his head, then left, sliding the patio door closed behind him. After checking on the sláinte nettle brew, she fished out the sachet and dropped it on a saucer to use again later, then poured herself a mug. She drank as fast as the heat would allow. Within just a few moments, the pounding in her head began to ease. Humans would give a fortune for this stuff. Too bad it doesn’t work on them.

A shout drew her attention to the yard. She moved over to the window and cranked it open.

Flailing a rag, Cor was chasing Bann around the patio in a game of locker room towel-snapping. The man wielded another rag. Moving with grace even on bare feet, the father dodged and twisted, making his son work for every hit.

As Shay watched, she saw the training behind the game. The way the Knight would push the boy to stretch every muscle. To perfect hand-eye coordination. To think strategically while attacking or defending.

Meanwhile, Max darted about them, almost tripping Bann a few times, but surprisingly, never Cor. In fact, the more Shay observed, the more she noticed that Cor and Max seemed to dance together to team up on the man. She laughed when the boy scored a direct hit on his father’s butt. Bann gave an un-Knightly yelp. Panting, he stopped and held up a hand.

“Wimp,” Cor gasped. He sucked on the back of his hand where Bann had stung him a few minutes earlier.

“I am not. I, um, simply didn’t want us to be late for breakfast.” He rubbed his backside, then tugged down the waist of his jeans a few inches to check his battle wound. Shay caught a glimpse of the top of a rounded buttock. “Oh, well struck, lad. You’ve left a welt.”

“Maybe you need some sláinte brew.” Cor pointed to his dad’s behind, face alight with mischief. “I bet Shay could help you wipe some on your butt.” He wiggled his bottom in case his dad didn’t get it.

Shay stifled another laugh. Her amusement faded when Bann stiffened.

“What did ye just say?”

Cor froze in a perfect deer-in-the-headlight stance. “Nothing.”

Bann stabbed his finger at the ground in front of him. “Come here.”

“I was just kidding around—” Cor kept a safe distance, twisting the rag into knots.

“Now!” Bann barked.

Shay wanted to call out to the Knight to let it go. Cor was just being a boy, she thought. With a sinking heart and sadness for the end of the play, she watched as Cor shuffled over. Thinking about yesterday, she held her breath. He’s not going to hit him, is he?

Tossing the rag aside, Bann grabbed Cor by the arm. “That was inappropriate.”

“Sorry,” Cor whispered, eyes wide.

“Ye mind yer tongue. I’ll not have me son making cheeky remarks toward a lady who has shown us nothing but the highest of courtesy. Ye ken?”

Cor nodded.

“I dinna hear ye.”

“I-I understand.”

Bann let go. Cor stepped back, white-faced. Even from a distance, Shay could see him fighting tears. Swiping one away that tried to make a run for it, he sniffed and whispered something too low for Shay to catch. The man’s features softened.

“No tears, now.” He dropped to one knee and gathered Cor in his arms. The boy buried his face in his father’s shoulder.

It was the look on Bann’s face that made Shay step away from the window, her eyes stinging. A better son than I am a father. She blew out a shaky breath, then picked up the mug of sláinte nettle brew and drained it. After pouring another mug for Bann, she began pulling together breakfast.

A few minutes later, man, boy, and dog entered the kitchen. Shay noticed Cor clinging to Bann’s hand as they stepped through the door. Shay wondered at what age children stopped holding hands with their dads. Too soon, she thought, grateful for her own father’s strong and tender relationship with her and her brother. The old sorrow made her sigh. She mentally counted how many years it had been since her father had died under the paws of goblins during a solitary hunt in the foothills, leaving the family reeling with grief.

“And just what are you doing?” Bann walked over, took the carton of eggs from Shay, and shooed her toward the table. “You. Take a seat while we prepare the meal. You”—he pointed at Cor—“fetch butter and milk.”

“Fine by me.” After topping off her mug, Shay sat down and stretched out her legs, resting her feet on an empty chair as she cradled the drink in her hands. “There’s a cup of potion on the counter for you, by the way.” With a sigh of contentment, she settled back at the table.

After downing the brew, Bann began directing Cor on the fine art of making scrambled eggs; as they bustled about, he teased the boy to soothe the sting of the scolding.

Standing guard at the toaster on bread duty, Cor began flipping the butter knife, trying to catch it by the handle.

Bann glanced over. “Hold it by the point. And you’re throwing it too hard. Here, watch.” Abandoning the eggs sizzling in the skillet, he took the knife and gave a flick of his wrist. The knife flipped end over end in a languid motion before the handle slapped down on his palm. He passed it back to Cor. “Try again, but mind the toast or you’ll be eating the burnt ones.”

Five minutes later, all three gathered for a breakfast of overcooked eggs and undercooked toast. While they ate, Shay noticed Bann staring ahead as he chewed, a faint line between his brows.

“Dad?”

“Cor.”

“Since we’re going to stay here, are you going to start training me again? Like, with weapons and stuff?” He smashed his eggs with the fork’s tines and licked them off as he waited for the answer.

“Can’t wait to learn how to hunt goblins?” Shay grinned at the boy. “And earn your torc?”

Cor beamed back. “Hey, Dad. You should start wearing a torc, too, since you’re a Knight again. We can get you a new one, can’t we?”

“Your father has always been a Knight, Cor.” The words tumbled out of Shay’s mouth before she could stop them. “It’s a person’s actions that make him or her a Knight, not what they wear. At least, that’s what my dad used to tell me.”

“A wise man,” Bann said. “What else did he tell you?”

Aware of Cor listening to their conversation, Shay tried to put into words the lessons her dad had taught her, so that the boy would understand. “Well, that there is nobility in an honest day’s labor. That our elders are to be respected and our children, cherished. That this round world and all Her inhabitants are worthy of our devotion. And it’s love as much as blood that binds us together.” Shay blushed at her words. Where the hell did that come from? I sound like a frikkin’ Hallmark commercial. She looked down at her plate and began peeling the crust off her toast.

“As I said earlier.” Bann’s quiet voice pulled her head up. Their gazes snapped together. “A wise man, your father.”