“Hair can grow.”

“And she’s not very curvy,” Michael continued, still looking up. “In fact, I’m not sure she has any curves at all.”

“She’s got perky breasts.”

Michael snapped his head down. “Excuse me?”

“Aren’t Libby’s breasts perky?”

Michael squeezed his son a little harder this time.

“Where have you heard that term?”

“At school. Frankie Boggs says men like perky breasts.”

“Gentlemen do not discuss women’s anatomy.”

“I’m going to be a warrior, not a gentleman.”

“You can be both.”

“Are you a gentleman?”

“Nay. Aye.” Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “I try, Robbie. And I don’t discuss women’s anatomy with other men.”

“You only discuss it with women?”

Michael let out a sigh that moved Robbie’s hair. “Son, a woman’s body should not be discussed. Ever.”

“Can it be looked at?”

Michael tore his gaze away and looked at the hearth. It was getting damned hot in there.

He looked back at Robbie. “It can be appreciated,” he carefully said, realizing he’d started this discussion by listing Libby’s lack of curves. “Men can’t help but look. Even gentlemen,” he quickly added before Robbie could speak. “But they keep their thoughts to themselves.”

“Do ya think Libby can cook?”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief finally to be on safer ground. “If she can boil water, she’

s doing better than we are.”

“Do… do ya think she’ll stay, Papa?”

Michael stood up, set his son on his feet, and headed them both to the hall and up the stairs. “She might,” he told him truthfully. “But ya shouldn’t expect it. Things change in people’s lives, Robbie. And if Libby must leave, then accept her decision and be glad she came into your life, even for a little while.”

“You want her to stay, don’t ya?”

Michael stood Robbie in front of the bathroom sink and handed him his toothbrush.

“Aye. I won’t mind if Libby decides to stay.”

Robbie grinned up at him. “That’s good, then,” he said, nodding. “’Cause she’s going to.”

“And why are you so sure?”

“Mary told me.”

Michael stilled in the act of squeezing the toothpaste onto Robbie’s toothbrush. “When?”

“This afternoon, when I got home from school. Mary was waiting when I got off the bus.

She also told me where to find you and Libby and that I should probably go fetch you.”

Michael sat down at the edge of the tub. “Explain how your pet told you such a thing.

The owl can’t talk, son.”

Robbie shrugged. “She just told me. She was looking at me, and suddenly I just knew.”

His uncertain young eyes blinked up at Michael. “I… we talk all the time,” he confessed.

Michael placed the tube of toothpaste on the counter, then rubbed his hands over his tired face in an attempt to clear the fog from his brain.

He was going up the mountain again tomorrow and having a talk with thedrùidh . Daar had hinted more than once over the last eight years that Robbie was special. The old priest had not been specific, although Michael had heard him mutter the wordguardian once or twice. But when pressed, Daar had refused to elaborate. He’d only said that time would tell.

Well, it was time.

“Are ya mad ’cause I talk to Mary?” Robbie asked, looking at Michael with the fragile eyes of a boy mightily in need of his mother.

“Nay,” Michael assured him. “I’m glad you have a good friendship with Mary. And now Libby does as well. Mary landed on her arm today.”

Robbie gasped. “She did? Truly?” he asked in surprise. “Mary won’t even come to you.”

He suddenly shot Michael a smug grin. “That must mean she likes Libby.”

“And that she doesn’t like me?”

“Nay, Papa,” Robbie said, smacking him in the shoulder with his toothbrush. “Mary’s afraid to get close to you because you might try to keep her forever.”

Well, hell. From the mouth of a babe. For more than a week, Michael had been bothered that the snowy would not come to him. That the pet his son called Mary virtually ignored him.

And now he realized why.

She was forcing Michael to let go. She was keeping her distance in order to free him.

And today, on TarStone, she had accepted Libby Hart into her son’s life.

But had she accepted Libby into his?

Mary had appeared on purpose, most likely because Michael had been with Libby. She had wanted him to witness their interaction and to know that the woman renting her family home had her approval.

He understood this, because in the twelve years since being hurtled through time, Michael had made it his business to understand all sides—visible and invisible—of the world around him. He had learned to open his mind, as well as his heart, to the existence of magic.

Which is why nothing surprised him anymore.

Not even a son who said he talked to an owl.

Michael gave Robbie a fierce hug. “Brush your teeth and go to bed, young man. I’m waking you at five to go work on your surprise. And Grampy John still will likely be in the shed before you are.”

“He cut his thumb yesterday,” Robbie confessed, as if it were somehow his fault. “I bandaged it for him,” he added in his defense.

Michael pushed the toothbrush toward Robbie’s mouth. “It’s probably time for John to have his glasses strengthened. And it’s good you were there to bandage him up.”

Satisfied that what he’d hoped to accomplish tonight had been taken care of—

persuading Michael to take his box over to Libby and getting the fact that he talked to an owl off his young chest—Robbie was more than ready for bed. He brushed his teeth, stripped himself naked as he ran into his room, and climbed under the covers.

“Aunt Grace bought me another pair of pajamas,” the boy said, distaste dripping off the last word. “She’s bound I’m going to be civilized, Papa. Can ya make her stop?”

Michael leaned over and kissed him good night. “It would take an act of God to make her stop.”

“Then that’s what I’m praying for tonight. That Aunt Grace stops buying me pajamas.”

Michael walked to the door and turned out the bedroom light but stopped in the hall and nodded. “Aye. Include me, then. I have six pairs in my closet.”

Michael left the hall light on, went back down the stairs, and returned to the library. He didn’t sit in his chair but stood in the center of the room and stared at the box with the note lying on top.

He walked over and picked up the envelope, only to realize it had been sealed. Not wishing to spoil Robbie’s surprise, and hoping that Libby would feel the same way, Michael picked up the box, held it, and stood there and stared.

He threw the box and the letter back onto the stool and sat down in the chair. He found his book, opened it to the bookmark, and took two minutes to realize the damned thing was upside down. He tossed the book onto the floor and stared at the box.

“Aw, hell,” Michael growled to the empty room. He swept up the box and the letter and strode to the kitchen.

“I’m going out for a while,” he told John, who was poking his head into the fridge, most likely hoping something edible had appeared there magically since supper. “Robbie’s in bed.”

John straightened, looked at Michael’s face and then at the box in his hand, and smiled.

“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll sleep with my door open, in case Robbie needs me.”

Michael nodded but didn’t move.

John went back to exploring the contents of the fridge. “It’s a good night for a walk,” he said into the empty cavern. “Maybe Robbie’s new tenant would like to join you and have a look at our stars.” He lifted his head above the fridge door and shot Michael another grin. “And don’t feel you have to hurry back here. I got things under control.”

Michael fought for some control of his own but lost the battle. He grabbed his jacket and headed outside, then stood on the porch and took several gulps of crisp night air. He finally shrugged into his coat and set out on the same path he’d taken during last night’s storm.