“Michael? Do you remember how you were dressed when you woke up from this storm? What you looked like?”

“I was wearing the same clothing I’d had on the day of the battle: my hunting plaid, which is a darker, more muted version of the MacBain tartan.”

“Anything else? Were you wearing pants that had a zipper, boots with a buckle, a knit jersey? Or a watch, maybe?”

He frowned at her question. “I wore leggings, a shirt, and my sporran. And we knew nothing of watches back then.”

“Did the shirt have buttons?”

His frown turned into a scowl. “Nay. It pulled over my head and tied at the neck.”

Grace sighed. “Everyone was dressed the same, I take it.”

“Nay,” Michael said again, one corner of his mouth suddenly lifting into a half grin. “Two of my men were naked.”

“Naked?”

“It wasn’t uncommon for warriors to fight naked,” he elaborated. “So there was nothing for an enemy to grab onto.”

Grace snapped her mouth shut. Warriors? Having a battle in the middle of a storm, then waking up in modern time?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

But the sad part was, it was obvious Michael believed—he sincerely believed—it had really happened to him.

“What year were you born?” she asked.

“It was the year 1171, if you go by the calendar ya use today.”

Good Lord. His delusion was based in fact. Michael even knew that today’s calendar was not the one in use eight hundred years ago.

But what he believed was impossible.

Which meant that Michael really wasn’t of sound mind.

There was no way she could turn Baby over to him. Not her precious, innocent nephew. Who knew where Michael’s delusions might lead him—looking for another thunderstorm to take him back home?

With Baby?

“Were ya telling me the truth, Grace?” Michael asked, taking her by the shoulders, making her face him squarely as he peered down into her eyes. “Was Mary really coming back to me, to get married?”

Tears suddenly mingled with the rain washing down her face. “Yes, Michael. She was coming home to marry you,” Grace said hoarsely, barely getting the words past the lump in her throat.

She was suddenly pulled forward into a fierce embrace. Grace buried her face in the opening of Michael’

s jacket, feeling his pounding heart beneath her cheek, and she burst into uncontrollable sobs.

The arms holding her tightened. “I’m sorry ya lost your sister,” Michael whispered into her hair, the warmth of his breath sending confusing emotions through her saddened heart.

Grace wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him. “I’m sorry for both of us, Michael. You have no idea how sorry I am,” she whispered. “So very, very sorry.”

God might consider the two miracles he’d given her today insignificant, but Grace thought they were wonderful. The first miracle was that the socks Baby had worn to Ellen Bigelow’s were the same socks on his feet now. Ellen hadn’t changed them, and she hadn’t discovered Baby’s twelve toes.

The second miracle was the smile Baby had given Grace when she returned to pick him up. He had not only recognized her but had been happy to see her.

Grace took her attention away from her slow, careful drive down the icy road long enough to peek at Baby. He was awake, very busy waving his arms wildly in front of his face, blowing bubbles out of his mouth. And he was smiling again.

Her spirits had lifted the moment she had taken him into her arms after returning to the Bigelows’ with her rescued truck. She had kissed Baby all over his face, only to be stunned speechless when he had looked up at her with wide gray-blue eyes and smiled.

“We’re going home to stay,” she told him, reaching over and pulling the left side of his cap back over his ear. “No more running around in this weather to any of our neighbors. I’m finishing that book I started reading you this morning, and we’ll find another good one to follow it with.”

She grinned sadly at the road ahead of her. “It’s you and me now, kid. Just the two of us. We’ll give you another month of growing and time for us to be alone together, then I’m taking you home to Virginia.”

She looked at Baby to make sure he was listening, then turned her attention back to the road. “We don’t need anyone, especially not any man. Not Grey, or Michael, or even Jonathan.”

Grace carefully slowed the truck to make the turn into her driveway, remembering from her trip out that there was a large branch that had fallen halfway across it.

“And I’m making you this promise now, sweetie. You’re going to make some woman a perfect husband, and she’ll have me to thank for that.”

She stopped talking when she realized the branch was no longer there. Someone had cut it up into short sections and had stacked it on the side of the driveway in a neat little pile.

Remembering Mavis and Peter’s visit yesterday, Grace didn’t wonder who had done the chore for her.

There was probably more food in her fridge, and her animals had been looked after as well. This is what had happened nine years ago, during the days after her mother and father’s accident. Enough food had arrived at the house to feed eight grieving children who might not otherwise have eaten.

Grace suddenly pushed on the brakes a little harder than she intended when her now wet, blurry eyes discovered a car parked next to the back porch, blocking her way into the garage.

She wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks and shut off the engine. The sound of sleet pelting the wind-shield drummed through the cab of the truck as she stared in dismay at the dark windows of her house. She distinctly remembered leaving the lights on, both on the porch and over the kitchen table.

The power must have gone out. Ellen had said it had been flickering all afternoon. The lines had finally lost their valiant battle with the ice.

It would probably be days, if not weeks, before the electricity returned. Pine Creek would not be at the top of the power company’s priority list. The town had no hospitals, no nursing homes, not even anything that would pass as a real firehouse. At best they had two stores, one gas station, a church, and a grange hall.

Grace unfastened the blissfully unaware Baby from his car seat. “My God, sweetie, you’ve had the worst kind of luck dogging you since birth, and you don’t even know it. It’s back to sleeping in the living room for us, next to the fire. And it will be lukewarm formula and sponge baths for another few days.”

If the smile he gave her was any indication, he didn’t seem to mind one bit. He was proud of his new trick and the response it got him, and he was playing it up for all it was worth.

She kissed his cheek to reward him for being such a steadfast little trooper, then tucked him under her jacket for the walk to the house.

She went in through the garage doors she had left open earlier but stopped before entering the house. A stack of wood, nearly half a cord’s worth, was neatly piled next to the entrance. She sent up a prayer of thanks to whichever thoughtful person had done this for her. She needed it now more than ever.

The house was unusually quiet, no sounds of fridge or furnace working. There was no sign of the owner of the car parked outside. The person was probably in the upper barn, tending the animals. Grace hoped he knew his way around goats.

She walked straight through the kitchen to the downstairs bedroom. Without putting Baby down, she grabbed the cradle and dragged it into the living room. She set Baby in it, stuck his pacifier in his mouth, took off her jacket, and threw it on the couch.

Grace was on her knees building the fire back up in the hearth when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. She spun around just as Jonathan took the last step into the living room.

“Grace.”