A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,43

of the moon, a small head peeking over his shoulders.

"Letting me sleep. Adam's pretty nocturnal."

Cass scooted one block on top of the other for the watching baby. "He's got beautiful eyes."

"Thank you." Sophie reached out and added a third block to the tower. "Sometimes I get so caught up in what might be wrong that I forget all the wonderful things."

The pieces came together for Cass. "You're a healer. That must be hard."

No words. Just a head tipped down.

Oh, man. Healing hearts was Nan's work, not hers. "He's lucky, you know." She'd seen other things at the dinner table and in the dark of night. "He's very well loved, no matter what his struggles are."

Sophie's breath was shaky. "Yes. As are we. I can't imagine this journey without the people around us."

It was the kind of tight-knit, loving community Cass had run from. The kind that gave and took and didn't leave enough energy for the all-consuming music. "You must have lived here a long time."

"Feels that way." The smile moved all the way to Sophie's eyes this time. "It will be two years come spring."

Cass felt her laughter bubbling up. "Wow. You grow roots fast."

Friendship reached across the few feet of empty space. "It's a good place to bloom."

The unspoken wish tore at Cass's heart. They would welcome her here, her and her fiddle that calmed troubled babies. But travelers didn't grow roots.

Naked toes knocked over the tower of blocks. Adam's laugh came all the way from his belly, and Cass chuckled at his infectious happiness. Such a normal sound.

And then she saw the hesitant joy on Sophie's face and realized it wasn't normal at all.

It was the kind of sunny day that had the people of Fisher's Cove wandering all over tarnation.

Marcus waved at Sophie as she headed down the road with Adam, and ratcheted Morgan up his hip for the billionth time. If he didn't get to the inn soon, she'd want some more of her infernal flowers. And hungry as he was, they'd probably come up shriveled and brown.

They'd spent far too long on the beach, come home ravenous, and then he'd burnt the last egg, landed the toast on the floor, and tried to feed his daughter a bowl of overly soggy oatmeal.

She had not been impressed.

Granted, it hadn't looked very appetizing. He grunted and slid Morgan up yet again. Damn winter jacket was too slippery for child hoisting. "Let's go see if Uncle Aaron will take pity on us, munchkin."

Anyone in the village would happily feed Morgan, but Aaron would have a few scraps for her father as well. Arm ready to fall off, Marcus stomped up the porch stairs and deposited his daughter inside the door. He took one last glance at the sun - odds are it would be gone by the time they came back out.

In his life, sunshine had always been ephemeral.

Morgan sat on the floor inside, frantically waving her boots in the air.

"In a hurry, are you?" Marcus bent down and slid them off her wiggling legs, and then watched in astonishment as she scurried toward the parlor. Aaron was almost certainly in the kitchen.

It wasn't until he pulled off his wool hat that he knew where she'd gone. Bright, Irish-hued laughter spilled from the parlor as a small girl found her target.

Marcus closed his eyes just for a moment. He wasn't ready for Cassidy Farrell again today. Touching her mind once had been more than enough - and an hour of storm-making on the beach had done little to erase it.

She was only here for a few days. A week at most. As ephemeral as the winter sun.

He would fetch Morgan, beg some food in the kitchen, and leave. There was no other sane answer.

Which might have worked - if Cass hadn't begun to play.

Moira tipped up her face to the bright afternoon. A smart witch always said hello to the sky, even when she was outside for only a moment. Sophie had stuck her head in the cottage with a message - Cass was playing.

And Sophie's eyes had said what her words couldn't.

A mother's wish.

So Moira had grabbed her cloak and left her tea, because she loved both the babe and the woman who wished on his behalf.

And if she caught a wee fiddling song or two while she was about her mission, so much the better. There had always been music growing up - and until Cassidy Farrell arrived, Moira hadn't been aware how much she