Robbie looked at Michael. “You’ll compensate her, Papa?”

Michael nodded and pushed his son toward the door. “I will. Now, good night.”

Robbie finally stepped onto the porch but stopped again to look at Libby. “I’m making ya a surprise for Christmas,” he told her. “And even Papa doesn’t know what it is. So don’t bother trying to get him to tell.”

Robbie turned without waiting for a response, carrying his secret box to the waiting truck. Michael watched until their taillights disappeared down the driveway and then softly closed the door and turned to Libby.

She was rubbing her hands on her thighs and looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“You’ve had a couple of busy days,” he said as he approached her. “Ya look tired, lass.”

She started backing away. “I like being busy. And… and I’m not tired.”

Michael followed her retreat. “Then what seems to be bothering ya?”

“You,” she said, finally stopping against the wall, her large brown eyes rounded with the caution of a deer.

“You’re the one who was bothered tonight. By Mary’s gift and by Robbie’s talk of guardians.”

Michael pinned her in place with only his stare, not touching her, not moving any closer.

“They’re not bothering me now. But you are.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek, then leaned forward and lifted her chin to meet his lips. But he didn’t kiss her. He whispered mere inches from her mouth, “Ya bother me very much, lass.”

She ducked under his arm and scurried away and didn’t stop until she had put the table between them. “We have to talk,” she said, gripping the back of one of the chairs.

“About us.”

Michael leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He studied her pale complexion in silence.

“I had a visitor this morning,” she began. “Father Daar showed up here looking for breakfast.”

Michael was careful to keep his expression neutral. “I’m not surprised,” he told her.

“The old man makes a habit of inviting himself to meals all over Pine Creek. He probably had supper at Gu Bràth tonight.”

Libby let go of the chair and nervously rubbed her arms. “We had a very interesting talk.”

“Did ya? About what?” he asked conversationally, already knowing he wasn’t going to like her answer.

Libby wiped at a crumb on the table. “About… about magic,” she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes searching his, trying to gauge his response.

Again, Michael refused to betray his alarm. “I hope ya didn’t take what he had to say to heart. Daar’s quite old and prone to fanciful notions.”

“Have you ever touched his cane?” she asked, his negligent pose seeming to calm her enough that she lessened her grip on the chair.

“Aye. Many times,” he told her. He shrugged. “It’s so delicate it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap in half.”

“Have you ever seen him… do anything with his cane?”

Michael straightened away from the wall and walked to the table, keeping it between them. “What are ya getting at, Libby? What happened this morning?”

“Do you believe that Robbie’s pet is really his mother?”

Michael closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said softly, deciding this conversation was over. He walked around the table, swept Libby into his arms before she knew his intention, and carried her into the living room. He sat down on the couch and held her tightly on his lap.

She started toying with one of the buttons on his shirt, her troubled eyes reflecting the light from the fire in the hearth. Michael stilled her hand with his and waited until she looked up at him.

“Ya’re a doctor, Libby. A woman of science who needs for things to make sense,” he gently told her. “And Robbie’s pet doesn’t fit your concept of reality. But do ya need to question everything around ya? Can ya not simply take some things on faith?”

“That’s what Father Daar said,” she admitted, frowning.

“And I’m still trying to decide if I can or not. But that’s not what’s bothering me tonight.”

“It’s not?” Michael asked, surprised. “Then what is?”

“Us. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… to, well, to be together.”

Michael forced his hands not to tighten around her. “And why is that?”

She started toying with his button again, intensely studying it as she spoke. “I don’t want to get emotionally involved with you, Michael,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her. She finally looked up at him. “We… we can’t be together. I don’t know if I can need you for only a little.”

“Aye. Need can become a habit.”

“And I won’t do that to you, Michael. Or to myself. I don’t want to cling or for you to feel… clung to. And so I’ve decided we shouldn’t be together,” she finished, looking at his chest again.

What had happened this morning between Libby and Daar, Michael wondered?

And what in hell had happened to their affair?

Michael lifted her chin and smiled. He tightened his grip on her thigh. “I’ve never much cared to have someone else make my decisions for me,” he told her. He lifted his finger from her chin to her lips to stop her from speaking. “No matter how noble that person is trying to be, lass. Ya leave making up my mind to me.”

Michael decided this conversation was over as well. He turned Libby on his lap so that she straddled him, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her.

He was not letting the woman change her mind. He wanted her and knew damned well she wanted him. And a visit from a crazy old priest would not keep them apart.

Libby made a mewling sound not unlike that of her timid kitten, and Michael’s heart slammed against his chest. She was such a delicate thing. So tiny and precious and real.

Her hands pushed at his shoulders, desperately refusing his kiss. He felt her thighs squeeze his hips as he pulled her more intimately against him, welcomed her breasts pushing at his own pounding heart, tasted the sweetness of her passion quietly simmering just below the surface. Michael wanted to rip off all their clothes and make love right there on the couch.

He broke their kiss and started unbuttoning her shirt.

“N-no,” she shakily whispered, stopping him. “We can’t, Michael.”

He hesitated, suddenly uncertain about his own intentions.

Was it lust driving him now or something more?

She was just as inflamed as he was. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks were flushed with color, and her hands on his shoulders trembled with her own barely controlled passion.

“It’s going to happen, Libby,” he told her, keeping the urgency out of his voice. “If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. Our paths have crossed, and what’s happening between us can’t be ignored. It won’t go away, lass. It will only get more powerful.”

She cupped his face with her small, delicate hands, her eyes searching his, her whole body tense. And then she smiled and leaned forward and kissed him—so very sweetly.

He stopped breathing and again raised his hands to the buttons on her blouse.

And again, she stopped him.

“Not here,” she whispered.

He started breathing again. Not no—just not here. Okay, he decided, standing up before she could change her mind, holding her in his arms. The woman wanted a bed—he’d damned well find her one.

He carried her through the kitchen, his urgency compounded by her hands clinging to his shoulders and her mouth exploring his jaw. Michael captured her lips and kissed her again, keeping one eye on their path so he didn’t run them both into the table. He entered the bedroom and all but ran to the bed, set her down and stretched out half on top of her, and started unbuttoning her shirt again.

And again, she stopped him.

“Dammit,” he growled. “Now what’s the matter?”

“Not here,” she whispered. “N-not in Mary’s bed.”

He reared up in disbelief. “Dammit, woman. This is Mary’s house.”