“We have a mutual friend. Callum MacKeage has been spending a wee bit of time with your Charlotte, I believe.”

Yes, she knew that. As a matter of fact, Callum was all her mother had been able to talk about since Sadie had returned to Pine Creek. Charlotte had met Callum at a grange supper last winter, and the two had been dating ever since.

They climbed the stairs together, her hand still in the priest’s possession, and stopped at the door. Ping rubbed up against Sadie’s leg. Sadie pulled free and scooped up the cat, looking back over her shoulder at the forest.

“We should probably move inside, Father,” she said, pushing open the door. “A large dog followed me back to the cabin, and I don’t want him to catch sight of Ping.”

“Ping, is it?” the priest asked, not stepping inside. He scratched Ping under the chin again, then looked out at the woods and grinned. “No worry, lass. Dun… er, I mean Faol has always had a soft spot for cats. The wolf will not hurt your friend.”

“Wolf? You’ve seen him, then?” Sadie asked. Realizing he’d called the animal by name, she added, “Is he yours?”

The priest lifted his bushy eyebrows into his shaggy white hairline. “Wolves know no owners, girl. They’re independent beasts.”

The beast in question stepped out of the woods just then and sat down at the edge of the clearing, facing the cabin. The hackles on Ping’s back rose in alarm, and four sets of claws dug deeply into Sadie’s arms. Sadie all but ran into the cabin and pushed her frightened pet under the bed. She ran back, took Father Daar by the arm, and pulled him inside the cabin and closed the door.

“Ah… I just thought we’d be more comfortable sitting inside, out of the sun,” she said lamely, peeking out through the broken shutter. “Have a seat, Father,” she instructed.

He didn’t sit down but walked over to the corner and stood studying the large four-by-eight-foot model of the valley.

“What would this be?” he asked, running his finger along the tops of the mountains.

“That’s a model of this valley,” Sadie explained, moving to stand beside him. “This is where we are,” she said, pointing to a black dot near the center. “And this is Fraser Mountain, Pitts Mountain, Yawning Ridge, and Sunrise Peak,” she added, moving her finger along the tops of the eastern range. “This side of the valley is nicknamed Thoreau’

s Range, made up of these six mountains,” she said, pointing to the other side of the model. “And in the middle is Prospect River, running the length of the valley.”

“Where’s TarStone Mountain?” he asked, leaning closer and scanning the names taped onto the mountains.

“TarStone would be here,” she told him, placing her hands just off the southeastern edge of the board. “It’s not on the model because it won’t be part of the park.”

Still bent over the makeshift table, he turned his head to her and waved his hand over the valley. “This is all supposed to be a park?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m here. I’m mapping landmarks and cataloging the various ecosystems, so that I can help put together a proposal for a nature preserve.”

He straightened and turned fully toward her. “A proposal? So it’s not really a park yet?”

Sadie shook her head, absently running her finger along the edge of the model. “No, not yet. I was hired by a group of people who are working up a feasibility plan to present to our state legislature. It’s still in the early stages. Surveys have been done only on paper, not in the field yet. It’s my job to propose a basic layout for the park, with suggestions on where to put the trails and campsites and roads, locate the best place for a visitor center, and highlight prominent landmarks.”

“All by yourself?” the priest asked, looking back at the model. “It’s a mighty large task for one person alone.”

“I’m only the beginning of what will take years to develop,” Sadie explained, walking toward the window.

She looked outside, and, sure enough, the wolf was still there, lying down now, grooming himself again.

“I’d be liking a cup of tea, Mercedes, if you have some,” Father Daar said, heading back over to the door and opening it. “You got anything sweet to go with it?”

Sadie smiled as she moved to put the kettle to boil on the gas range in the kitchen area.

“I have some brownies that my mother made,” she told him, getting two cups down from the shelf and quickly rinsing the dust off them.

“Would you be having something Faol could eat?” he asked.

Sadie looked past Father Daar at the napping wolf. “I don’t think we should feed him, Father. He might hang around if we give him free handouts.”

He turned and smiled at her. “You would not care for a wolf as a pet?” he asked, lifting one brow. “You don’t think a great beast like Faol would be handy to have around on occasion?”

“If he really is a wolf, then he’s wild. And it’s dangerous to endow him with human emotions.”

Father Daar left the door open, returned to the table, and sat down. “You haven’t much magic in your soul, have you, girl?” he said, taking a sip of his tea and setting the mug back on the table. His eyes suddenly lit with speculation. “How about this? What if I tend to those cuts on your feet and promise they’ll be completely healed by tomorrow?

Would that not seem magical to you?”

Sadie was dumbfounded. “But how did you know?” she asked, looking down at her boots.

“You’re limping. And I see the glass on the floor,” he said, using his cane to point at the broken window littering the floor. “And I see tracks of blood,” he added, now pointing at the obvious path leading from the table to the counter and back.

Sadie sat down so she could untie her boots, thankful for the opportunity to straighten her bandages at last. They did hurt, but she had thought it would be rude to undress her feet in front of a guest.

“Thank you for the offer, Father, but I can tend myself. You sit back and enjoy your tea.”

She used the table to conceal the mess of her feet and slid out of her boots. The socks did not come off quite so easily. They were stuck to the bottoms of her feet.

“Here, child. Let me do that,” Father Daar said, slowly getting down on his knees in front of her.

Sadie was horrified. She hid her feet under the chair.

He looked up at her and grinned. “You’re a mite shy when it comes to your perceived flaws, aren’t you, Mercedes? I promise not to laugh if you have six toes.”

“You’re not tending my feet, Father. You’re a guest in my house.”

“The Son of God was not above washing a man’s feet,” he said, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her foot out to inspect. “Besides, how can I make you believe in the magic if you don’t let me do my work?”

Her face flooded with heat. Lord help her, she would either have to kick the man or let him clean and bandage her feet.

“Where’s the salve?” he asked once he had the bandages off. “Ah, here it is,” he said, seeing the first aid kit on the table. “And now for the magic,” he whispered, opening the salve and ceremoniously dipping the head of his cane into the jar.

Sadie was fascinated as well as entertained. He was a funny old priest, making a production of magically healing her feet.

Well, if he’d wanted to put her at ease for his doctoring, it was working. She didn’t mind so much anymore that he was doing this humble chore for her.

“Mercedes is a beautiful name,” he said as he fingered the salve from his cane and worked it into the cuts. “Is it a family name? From a grandmother or great-aunt, maybe?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sadie said, tucking her crossed fingers under her thighs.

She wasn’t about to tell this man she was named after a car. Especially not the car she had been conceived in.

Frank Quill had had a warped sense of humor.

“There. How does that feel?” he asked, patting the last bandage into place and straightening up, giving her an expectant look.