“You can build more bedrooms,” Martha said, waving that away. “And besides, everyone knows kids are cheaper by the dozen.” She batted her eyelashes at Robbie. “I have two boys in juvenile right now who are due to be released in July. You should be able to have the addition finished by then.”

“I’ll be in your office Monday morning to sign a new license,” Robbie told her. “And when Gunter gets an apartment, we’ll continue this discussion,” he finished with a nod, leading Catherine away.

Marcus Saints stepped into their path, rolling down his shirt sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. He spotted his dirty hands and wiped them on his pants with a laugh. “I’ll be a millionaire,” he told them. “Cody and I are going into business manufacturing potato guns to sell on the Internet.”

Nathan came running over, his own shirt covered with potato pulp. “Did you see me, Mom? I splattered the rock three times.” He looked up at Marcus. “I heard what you said to Cody. Can I be in your business? I can test each gun before you sell it.”

Marcus ruffled Nathan’s hair, realized he had only smeared potato pulp through it, and tried to wipe it down with his sleeve. “Sure, Nathan. You can be our quality control manager.”

“In ten years,” Robbie clarified, again dragging Catherine away with a wave to Marcus.

Father Daar rushed over, a can of soda in one hand, a bowl of dip in the other, and several carrots and celery stalks sticking out of his chest pocket. “I’m wanting a word with you, Robbie,” he said, just before he lifted the bowl and licked dip off the edge.

“Tomorrow,” Robbie told him, turning Catherine away again.

She was starting to feel like a horse being dragged around by the cart. She planted her feet and pulled her husband to a stop. “What’s your problem, Father?” she asked.

Daar shook his head. “It ain’t exactly a problem I got,” he said. “It’s more like a mystery.”

Robbie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what would that be?” he whispered.

“It’s the root,” Daar whispered, looking around and taking a step closer. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

Robbie glared at the priest. “What do you mean, not what you expected? It’s from Cùram’s tree. I know it is.”

“Aye, aye,” Daar said, bobbing his head. “And it’s growing just fine, but it’s not an oak.

The tree is a white pine sapling.”

Robbie shook his head. “Nay. That root came from an oak.”

Daar took a sip of his soda and then canted his head. “Are ya sure? Could ya have taken a root from a nearby pine by mistake? Was there one growing near Cùram’s oak?”

“Nay. It stood alone in the cave. Are you saying the root is worthless? That you won’t be able to reverse your spell?”

“Nay,” Daar said. “It has the energy of a tree of wisdom. I can feel it. I just don’t know what it means, is all, that ya brought me an oak root and it grows into a pine tree.” The old priest suddenly gasped, spilling dip on his hand. “Cùram!” he whispered. “That blackheart is up to something.”

“He can be up to whatever he wants,” Robbie growled, “as long as you can still reverse the spell.”

Daar absently nodded. “Aye. That’s not a problem, MacBain. Yar papa and the others will be staying here.” He looked at Robbie for several seconds, then turned and walked away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Do you believe your father and uncles are safe?” Catherine asked, looking up at her scowling husband.

“Aye. Daar knows better than to lie to me.” Robbie forcibly shook off his black mood and suddenly smiled. “Come to the hayloft, wife. My toes are wanting to be curled again.”

“We can’t just sneak off. There’s too many people here.”

As if on cue, they spotted Libby and Michael approaching. Michael was holding his granddaughter, smiling with the pride of a grandfather who thought he’d had something to do with her creation.

“Go wait for me in the hayloft,” Robbie whispered, placing his hand on Catherine’s backside and giving her a push. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

Catherine pretended she didn’t see her new in-laws and quickly ran toward the barn.

She stopped just inside the door to let her eyes adjust to the dimness and then walked down to Sprocket’s stall and pulled a carrot out of her pocket. “Here, big boy,” she said, letting him bite off a large piece. “I stole this for you before it made it to the platter.”

“Whose wedding are you celebrating, Cathy?”

Catherine spun around with a gasp and found herself facing Ron, who was standing in the doorway of the tack room. “What are you doing here?”

“Word on the street is you invited me here,” he said, stepping into the aisle, placing himself between her and the barn door. “But I don’t think it’s because you missed me. If you did, you would have been waiting at home when I got out.”

Catherine tucked her hands behind her back and touched her thumb to her wedding band. “The celebration outside is for me. I was married yesterday.”

Ron’s face darkened, and his fists clenched at his sides as he took a step forward. “Then why did you put the word out you wanted to see me?”

She untucked her hands and crossed her arms under her breasts, inconspicuously looking around the barn for a rake or shovel or anything else that would work as a weapon. “I thought you might like to see your children,” she said, walking to the center of the aisle while keeping her distance from him. “One last time before getting out of our lives for good.”

He matched her move with one of his own. “How kind of you,” he sneered, stepping between her and the shovel leaning against the wall. “Do you have any idea what prison is like for a cop?” he asked, his voice pitched low in a tone Catherine recognized as the first stage of the coming tantrum. “I had to fight for my life.”

Unable to stop herself, she smiled at him. “Welcome to my world, Ron. I spent six years fighting for my life.”

Catherine watched his rage kick up another notch, and her smile widened. She relaxed her arms at her sides. “Do you want to see your kids or not? Because I need to get back to my husband.”

He lunged probably before he even realized he was going to. But Catherine was ready and feinted to the right, toward freedom, but then darted to the left and grabbed the shovel. By the time Ron had twisted toward her, she had her grip balanced and the shovel handle moving toward his shoulder.

She pushed her right hand forward with all her might, using her body as a pivot point.

Ron reacted just as Robbie had said he would, and Catherine used the momentum of his defensive block to follow through with an upper cut to his jaw.

Ron dropped like a stone, his wide, surprised eyes turning glassy, then dazed, and then closing completely as his body hit the concrete floor with such a painful-sounding thud that Catherine couldn’t stop herself from wincing.

Her sympathy, however, lasted less than a second.

Laughing chatter came from the rafters of the barn, and Catherine looked up and saw Mary.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” she snapped. “Violence is not supposed to feel good.”

Mary glided down and landed on Ron’s chest. She gave him a nasty peck on his cheek, drawing blood, and then hopped off and walked down the aisle toward the barn door.

Catherine threw down the shovel and rubbed her forehead. “Okay,” she muttered to the retreating bird. “Maybe Robbie’s plan did have some merit. But only because Ron’s a guy, and violence is the only thing he’d understand. Go on,” she said, waving Mary away. “Go get my husband. We’ll let him clean up this mess, since this whole thing was his idea.”

“But you know what?” she said softly, stopping Mary. “It was almost anticlimactic, for all the worrying I did. I thought there would at least be some sort of emotion, but I don’t feel anything. Not anger or relief or even pity. Just… nothing,” she finished with a shrug.