The Stag Lord (24 page)

Shay sighed, eyes lingering on Bann's toolbox.
Am I the only woman in the world who thinks nothing is sexier than a man who is also a dad? Does that make me weird or something?
She smiled at the sound of Bann and Cor's laugh-ter-filled voices. “Yeah, I'll take weird.”

“Where in Danu's name did this windstorm come from?” Bann asked, crowding around Shay as he peered out the kitchen window. Weeds and twigs and the occasional piece of trash blew past, making brief appearances in the porch light before disappearing into the dusk. The wind's cry rose and fell like an infant wailing for its mother.

“Cold front moving in.” Shay shook the lettuce she had been rinsing, then dropped it in the salad bowl on the counter. “That's why it was so warm today—the cold front was pushing the warm front down from the mountains. We might even have snow by tomorrow morning.” She knew she was babbling, but the feel of Bann's hip against hers seemed to make her want to talk nonstop about atmospheric conditions.

All day, her senses had been tuned in to the man's presence like she was some kind of satellite. And every time she glanced his way, he was looking at her, both of them averting their eyes at the same time. Every hour, the feeling had grown, mimicking the approaching storm.

Now, having him right next to her in the small kitchen didn't help. He gave off a heat that curled her toes. She grabbed a radish and began chopping, hoping vegetable mutilation might calm her down.

The knife slipped. “Damn!” Hissing from the cut, she held her bleeding finger away from the food. She started to blot it with a paper towel when Bann took her hand.

“Let me see.”

“It's no big deal.”

“One cannot be too careful. Radishes are notorious buggers for causing many an accident.” His fingers, strong and blunt and, in the case of the littlest one on his left hand, slightly crooked from a poorly healed break, were gentle.
As if they would be anything else
. A line appeared between his brows as he examined the cut. Taking the paper towel from her, he wrapped it around her finger and held it in place, applying just the right amount of pressure with practiced ease.

“Really. I'm fine,” she protested. “The blade just nicked me.”

“A minute more,” he murmured, head bowed above her hand. A lock of hair flopped over his temple.

Without thinking, Shay reached out with her free hand and swept the lock back. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own as they smoothed the strands into place, lingering for a moment.

Bann looked up at her through lashes that were beginning to drive her crazy. Their eyes met with an almost audible
snick
, like the unlatching of a door. A door that swung wide in invitation.

You're acting like a teenager, you know
. One part of her, Shay o' Dignity, sneered at her.
Knock it off before you embarrass yourself
.

The other part of her, Shay o' Attracted to the Knight, wanted to press Bann against the counter and kiss him. Right there. Right now.
Because what the hell? The worst he could do is say he's not interested
.

No, the worst he could do is
act
like he's interested, then leave. So, I really should just—Oooh, what's he doing now?

Shay forgot to breathe when Bann tossed the paper towel on the counter, then took both of her hands in his. He pulled their clasped hands against his chest, drawing her closer. Hoping this was what he had in mind, she closed her eyes and lifted her chin.

His lips felt exactly the way she thought they would. Warm, firm, sure of what they wanted and wanted hers to do. And right now, they wanted hers to give over to being kissed. To being female to the male.

His hands let go and slid up her arms to hold her by the shoulders, their bodies scarcely touching. He increased the pressure on her mouth, tilting her head back even further. She shivered when his stubble lightly scraped her lips.

The kiss deepened. Bann wrapped his arms around her. Pressing against him was like pressing against one of the park's hoodoo rocks, all unyielding bumps and ridges. She reached up and coiled her arms around his neck, the front of her thighs sliding along his. She gasped faintly when he nudged her lips apart.

He tasted hot and salty, with a slight fizz from the beer he had been drinking while helping her prepare supper. Taking his time with a thoroughness that had her ready to scream, he explored her mouth.

She made an odd, small sound when his lips left hers and moved to the curve of her cheek, then jaw, then lower, his mouth and tongue mapping her throat, his fingers sliding through the hair she had left loose around her shoulders. Pulling the collar open on her shirt, Bann lowered his head and clamped his teeth lightly around her clavicle in a predatory nip. One hand traveled in slo-mo along her side toward her breast.

“Dad? What're you doing?”

Shay and Bann jumped apart. Cor was standing a few feet away.
How the hell did he sneak up on us like that
? Apprehension shot through her at Cor's expression.

“Your dad was just—”

“Shay cut her—”

Cor whirled around and bolted. The guest room door slammed a moment later. They could hear Max scratching to be let in, whining his case.

Straightening her shirt with one hand, Shay pushed Bann toward the hallway with the other. “Go.”

21

N
UDGING
M
AX ASIDE,
B
ANN
lingered in the hallway. He raked his fingers through his hair, willing his body to settle down, then squared his shoulders and eased into the room.
Gods, could I have mucked this up any worse?
The gods shook their heads no, snickering, and settled back for more of the show.

Closing the door behind him, he waited. Cor was kneeling on the far bed under the window, his face a pale smudge in the glass as he stared out at the front yard and the growing storm.

A growing storm in here as well
.

“Son, I—”

“She's not Mom, you know.” Cor said in a soft voice.

“I know.”
What was I doing, even
thinking
about kissing another woman with Cor nearby? We may have had our problems, Elizabeth and I, but I need to honor her memory. For Cor's sake
. He sank down on the empty bed as the boy continued.

“So, you're not supposed to…to…hold hands with her and kiss and stuff.”

Feeling so far in over his head, Bann was surprised he hadn't drowned in the depths of sheer ignorance. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to justify his actions to an eight-year-old, much less to himself. Cor's next words hit him between wind and water.

“Wouldn't it hurt Mom's feelings if you did that?”

Fisting his hands so tightly that he would have sworn the skin on his knuckles had popped open, it took Bann three tries to get the words out. “I don't know, Cor. What do you think?”

“I don't know, either.” The boy turned around, his shoes messing up the neatly made bed. They sat in silence until Cor's stomach let out a growl.

“Wash up for supper.” Bann waited until Cor left the room before burying his face in his hands.
Damn me to Hell
. Self-loathing burned his throat.

“Hey.” Shay appeared in the doorway. “You okay?”

“Stellar.” He dropped his hands and examined them. Silence thundered.

“All right. I'll, um, just go finish…”

Shay left before Bann could explain. Or justify. Or whatever the hell he was supposed to do. Lowering his head again, he massaged his temples. For a moment, he resented having to be a parent.
The
parent. All. The. Bleedin'. Time. Guilt over
that
emotion made his growing headache spike.

After an awkward mealtime that was spent pushing food around plates, Bann ordered the boy to bed an hour and a half early. He surprised Bann by actually going instead of protesting. As he started to close their bedroom door, Cor spoke.

“Dad? Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not.”
Well, yes, a bit. Although not as angry as I am with myself
. He turned off the light. “
Codladh sumh
.”

He left the door ajar just enough to keep the monsters at bay.
I'm surprised he is not more frightened of the dark. Most mortal children would be a gibbering bag of piss and tears if they'd gone through what Cor has this past year. Hell, this past month
. Marveling again at the sheer toughness of his son—
where he comes by it, the gods only know
—he headed to the living room.

Light flickered around the great room from the fire he had built prior to ushering the boy to bed. Each gust of wind caused it to bow and dance from side to side. The only other illumination came from the light over the stove Shay had left on after insisting she would do the dishes. Bann hesitated when he noticed the Healer sitting on one end of the sofa, gazing into the flames, legs curled beneath her in the way he had always secretly admired in women. Max lay at her feet, a wolfish Sphinx-shape in the fire-lit room.

She spoke without turning her head. “We need to talk.”

“I know.” Bann took a seat in a nearby chair. “But let me first start by apologizing. I should never have kissed you.”

“Oh.” Shay toyed with the throw pillow she held on her lap like a shield. “And why is that?”

“By doing so, I've managed to dishonor my wife's memory in front of my son, mislead
you
, and I've added yet another emotional burden to Cor. It's too soon for him.”
And perhaps for me, as well
.

“And maybe for you as well.”

Bann just shook his head, no longer surprised she could read his thoughts.

“Look, Bann, I get it. I really do. You both are still in mourning for Elizabeth. You've got Fir Bolgs and a lunatic god after you. Right now, the last thing you need is any kind of…” She waved her hand around aimlessly.

Bann rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that knotted the muscles into a hangman's noose. “Truthfully, I don't know what I need.”
Outside of a strong-arse drink
.

Shay muttered something.

“Sorry?”

“I
said
, you need a
friend
, Bannerman Boru.” She stared into the fire as if remembering something, then glanced sideways at him. “I'm applying for the job if there's an opening.” A half-humorous, half-
something else
expression colored her face.

“Shay Doyle,” he said softly after a minute. “Ye've a heart as big and grand as the Rockies. Are ye sure ye want to deal with the likes of us? We're a troubled pair, Cor and I. We seem to be flailing through life.”

“Aye, to be sure.”

He smiled at her imitation of his brogue. “Why, then, I accept—”

An odd scraping, followed by a thumping, echoed from outside. The house shuddered as the wind picked up, shrieking its frustration at having to go
around
the building instead of
through
it. Before the man and woman could move, Max rose with a growl, hackles raised. His eyes were pinned on the back door.

Leaping to his feet, Bann yanked his knife free and started for the kitchen, Shay beside him, matching him stride for stride. They spun around when Cor came stumbling from the hallway, dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers. He clutched his closed switchblade in a fist.

“There's something outside my window.” He grabbed at his father.

“Stay with Shay.” Bann pushed past them and headed for the front door. He turned the knob, then gave a sharp whistle. “Max. To me.”

“Bann…” Shay began.

“It'll be all right. Probably just a tree limb.” He hoped Cor wouldn't remember there were no trees on that side of the house. He tightened his hold on the hilt, the heavy knife reassuring in his hand as he eased the door open. “Heel.” A corner of his mind wished his son was as obedient as the dog now glued to his left side.

Man and hound slipped outside. Dusk was two shades of gray away from becoming night, while the storm continued to fling debris from west to east, with an occasional detour from the north. The scent of snow, which always reminded Bann of stale ice cubes one would find in the freezer of an elderly person's home, filled his nostrils. Eyes tearing from the wind, he surveyed the front yard.

His rig sat in its spot on the east side of the lot, shielded somewhat by the house. The door of the camper rattled madly with each gust, as if something was clawing at it, trying to get out. Bann eased further into the yard. Remembering Shay's earlier demonstration, he tapped the dog's back. “Max, guard.
Guard
.”

Max crept down the empty driveway. Shay had parked her SUV in the garage earlier in the afternoon after declaring the standard Colorado native's response to the weather—wait ten minutes and it will change. As if to prove her right, snow began pelting Bann's face.

Squinting, he scanned the area again, checking for movement in the shadows. Nothing. He was starting to relax when the dog tensed and jerked his muzzle toward the side of the house. A low growl, scarcely heard over the wind, rumbled from his chest. Cold fingers played a tune along Bann's spine. “What is it, boy?” he asked, slipping unconsciously into Gaelic.