33

BANN MADE IT AS far as the Kansas border, three hours of silent driving along a mostly empty state road, before he gave up and pulled into a deserted rest stop. Ignoring Cor’s questioning look, he turned off the motor and climbed out, wincing slightly from wounds and bruises determined to remind him that one does not go hand-to-horn with a shapeshifter and stagger away unscathed.

He walked to the edge of the parking lot and stared westward across the plains. The mountains were long gone. A breeze pushed his hair off his forehead like a caress. Overhead, the sky mimicked the blue of Shay’s eyes. And his son’s eyes. The two people, he suddenly discovered, that he loved most in the world. “A rare one, ye are, Shay Doyle,” he whispered to the far horizon. “Friend and lover and warrior and healer.”

The sound of the truck door creaking open made him sigh. Can he not give me a bleedin’ moment to lament in peace? Guilt immediately slapped him upside the head. Gravel crunched underfoot. Cor appeared, still holding Max’s toy.

Standing side by side, they looked down the highway toward the west. The wind tugged at a tuft of prairie grass poking through a crack in the asphalt. It seemed to dance in celebration of overcoming the odds; Nature giving the finger to man.

“Dad?”

“Cor.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He’ll be asking for a dog, I’ll warrant. Well, we might look into getting one when we return to Pennsylvania. The thought of the long drive back across the country made his entire being feel ancient. “To be sure.”

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bann sighed. “What is it?” He waited while Cor shuffled from one foot to another, fiddled with the toy, dropping it once, then finally rubbed his hand over his head, making his hair look like it just went ten rounds with a blow-dryer.

Classic Cor stalling.

“Well?”

“I…um… You know how I said I wanted to go back to our home?”

“Aye. And if your question is about getting a dog when we return—”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

“Get a dog?”

“Go back home.”

A long silence.

“Wait. What?” they said at the same time.

“We can get a dog?” Cor’s face lit up.

“You don’t wish to return to Pennsylvania?”

“We can get a dog? Really? Like, not just saying that, but really? Oooh, a puppy! Shay could help me train it. No, wait. He. I want to get a boy dog.” He glanced down at the toy in his hand. “I wonder if Max would want me to share this.”

Bann squatted down. Ignoring his stomach muscles’ protest at the position, he held his son between his hands. “What about your mother? Do you think she would want to share us with Shay?”

“Yeah. I-I think so.”

That will come in time. “And what about sharing me with Shay?” A part of him realized he was putting the proverbial cart before the horse, but he had to know. Before he could allow himself to hope for happiness. His and Cor’s.

Cor blinked as the new thought entered his head. “What do you mean?” Confusion clouded his voice. “Aren’t you going to marry her?”

Bann’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Marry. Her.”

“Yeah. I mean, you like her and she likes you. And I like her. So, you could marry her and we can live in her house. And she would be like my…” Cor couldn’t finish the statement.

Bann knew why. He does not want to betray his mother by loving another woman as a mother. Nor should he. A voice whispered in his head. Are you? Betraying Elizabeth’s memory? In spite of your rock-strewn marriage, she was your wife and the mother of your child. He couldn’t answer truthfully. Not now. Perhaps later. One step at a time.

“Shay would be your friend. A grown-up friend who will force you to eat your vegetables, go to bed. And”—he poked Cor in the tummy—“who scolds you when your puppy messes in the house.”

“I think I want an Irish wolfhound.” Cor swung from Bann’s hand as they hurried to the truck.

“No. Every Celtic hero nowadays has an Irish wolfhound for a sidekick. Try again.”

“Poodle?”

“You’re joking.”

They climbed back into the truck. Turning the rig around, Bann bounced back on the highway and pointed the truck westward. Homeward. We should make High Springs in time to take Shay out to dinner. The thought made him press harder on the gas pedal.

Cor tried again. “Saint Bernard?”

“Too slobbery.”

“Greyhound?”

“Too skinny.”

“Pug?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you two apart.”

“Hey!”