He took hold of her chin and made her look directly into his glare. “Let it go, Libby,” he whispered. “We will not sit on the porch and watch life go by without participating.”

Libby glared back at him and tried to pull her chin free. But apparently, he wasn’t done talking.

“Concede this round, woman. Any consequence is mine to live with.”

That was the trouble with philosophers; they spent too much time thinking and not enough time seeing the results of an often foolish world.

“Then don’t you dare come to me when something happens. I’m not patching your consequences back together.”

He let go of her chin, straightened, and gave her a strange look. “Why would I think to come to you?” he asked. “If something happens, I’ll go to a doctor.”

Realizing her mistake, Libby shrugged and turned and hugged Robbie around the waist. “I’m just giving you a warning of my own. Of course, you’ll go to a doctor if something happens. Come on, Robbie. I need to put some ice on my knee.”

“Go on, son,” Michael said, waving Robbie forward while he continued to keep his thoughtful gaze on Libby.

“Go slow. It’s likely her first time on a four-wheeler.”

But Libby soon decided she didn’t want it to be her last. The smart little machine gave a surprisingly smooth ride. The engine puttered along quietly, and Robbie seemed to control it with ease.

Libby decided she was starting a list of all the things she had to do, had to buy, and had to accomplish to start her new life the moment she got home. And the first thing on the list was going to be an ATV.

The second thing would be a helmet.

No, two helmets. She would concede nothing to Michael. Not when it was this important. She was buying Robbie a helmet, and she would bribe him to wear it if she had to, because she had made a promise to a snowy owl that she intended to keep.

That night, Michael sat in his favorite chair in the one room in the house where he spent most of his time. He had a book on his lap but hadn’t been able to concentrate on what he’d been trying to read for the last hour.

A brown-eyed, opinionated, and passionate faerie kept interfering with his concentration. Remembering the feel of Libby beneath him kept stirring his blood. Her taste, her smell, her courage and fear; she swam through his senses, creating an urgency of need.

And that was exactly why he was sitting there instead of where he would rather be.

There was no place for need in their bargain. No place for it in his own life. It was okay for him to want a woman, but he could never allow himself to need just one in particular.

Not after loving two others and losing them both.

“Papa, can you take this box over to Libby tomorrow?” Robbie asked, walking into the library with a small wooden box in his arms.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“It’s a secret,” Robbie explained, setting the box on the stool beside Michael’s feet. “And I want your promise not to look in it. I just need you to take this to Libby so she can do me a favor.”

Michael lifted an inquiring brow. “And she’s volunteered to do this favor?”

“Nay, Papa,” Robbie admitted. “But I’ll write her a note and ask. It isn’t a big favor, just something I need help with.” He gave Michael a speculating smile. “Libby must be good with her hands if she makes jewelry.”

Michael closed his eyes on the thought of Libby being good with her hands.

“Please, Papa? Can’t you take it to her?”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’ve got play practice after school tomorrow. I won’t be home till supper.” He suddenly brightened with a new thought. “Maybe we should invite Libby over for supper. That would be a neighborly thing to do.”

Michael laughed out loud. “Do ya want to befriend the woman or kill her?” he asked.

“Or did ya like what we ate tonight?”

Robbie involuntarily shuddered, and Michael nearly did the same. Burnt chicken had a lingering taste and, sadly, one he was getting used to.

Robbie walked to the large desk near the far wall. “I’ll write Libby a note, and I think I’ll offer to pay her. That way, she won’t feel I’m taking advantage, and she can earn money while she starts her new studio.”

It was a good plan, from an eight-year-old’s perspective, and Michael didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that Libby was not lacking for money.

Michael had had a talk with Grace when he’d learned a new tenant had been found for Mary’s home. But Grace had been tight-lipped over what she had discovered about Libby Hart. All she had told Michael was not to worry about Libby’s finances. The woman was not there to find herself a rich husband.

No. She’d come to plague him instead, to stir his blood, and to awaken feelings better left dead.

“Spellcompensate for me, Papa,” Robbie demanded, looking up from the computer screen.

“You’ll write your note long-hand,” Michael said. “You don’t ask a favor by e-mail.”

“I’m not. I’m going to write it on the computer but print it out so you can take it with you.”

“Nay. You’ll ask in your own hand, Robbie, or you’ll not ask at all. When you have a request, you do it personally. And a computer is not personal.”

Robbie rolled his eyes but shut off the screen and picked up a pencil. He was quiet for several minutes, concentrating on forming letters that came so much easier on the keyboard.

Robbie might read at a much higher level, but he didn’t much care for writing. Michael knew Robbie was big for his age; he’d been to school often enough and seen his son’s classmates. Aye, the boy was strong, intelligent, capable, and far too astute for one so young.

Most of the time. But every now and then—more often lately—Robbie would do something to remind Michael that he was still only a bairn. A bad dream, an insecurity, self-doubt over a decision, when he would need the comfort of a good cuddle, a hug, or sometimes only a wink of understanding.

“I’m back tocompensate, Papa.”

“C-O-M-P-E-N-S-A-T-E.”

Robbie went back to work, the only sound in the room that of his impatient sighs and the scratch of the pencil.

Michael studied the box at his feet. He could take it over to Libby tonight, after Robbie was safely tucked into bed. John was there to watch over things.

No. He’d better not. She may have said yes this afternoon, but her answer had been filled with doubt. Libby probably didn’t even realize it, but Michael knew she wasn’t ready.

She would be, though. He would see to it.

“I’m done,” Robbie said, coming around the desk as he folded his note. He set it on the box and looked up at Michael and grinned. “I have your word ya won’t peek?”

“Aye.”

“Then I’m going to bed now,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms to get the kinks out of his growing muscles. “I want to get up early and work on the rest of my surprise before school.” He gave Michael a stern look. “You haven’t been in Grampy’s workshop, have you?”

“I’ve not,” Michael assured him. “I’m letting the suspense drive me nuts.”

Robbie pushed the book off Michael’s lap and scrambled up to replace it. He turned and snuggled against Michael’s chest and pulled his father’s arms around him.

“Tell me what ya think of her, Papa,” he demanded.

Michael gave Robbie a bear hug. “I think we’re going to have to mount a flag on the woman, so we can find her in the snow this winter.”

“Aunt Grace says good things come in small packages.”

“Aye. And some packages are smaller than others. What do you think of her?” Michael asked, turning Robbie’s question back on him.

Robbie tilted his head to smile at his father. “I think you think she’s pretty.”

“I don’t know,” Michael murmured, looking up at the ceiling while he tried to decide.

“She’s got short hair. I don’t particularly care for short hair on a woman.”