Bait N' Witch (Brimstone Inc. #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,21

room and listened to Rowan’s lilting cadence as she told his girls a fantastical tale of a girl who changed the world with her tears. She paused every so often to give them a chance to direct the story with her. He had no idea what the lights were but could hazard a guess. A simple spell that a witch of Rowan’s level could manage.

At first, he’d been tempted to go in and stop her. What kind of frivolous magical use was that teaching his daughters? But then he’d heard the eager fascination in their voices as they discussed the next lines to give Rowan, and he’d stopped himself.

They sound like themselves.

His heart turned inside out in that moment. For the first time in weeks he heard joy and interest in their voices. Not the pouty, grumbling, resentful version of preteens they’d turned into lately, but his bright, funny, eager daughters.

A series of giggles erupted from the room. He’d missed whatever happened in the story. But he didn’t care. The sound of happiness from his babies stole right into his heart. However Delilah had found Rowan, he’d thank her. Because, as unconventional as she seemed with her casual clothes and bare feet and midnight teas and the way she dealt with the girls, she’d somehow managed to do what no other nanny had yet.

She’d made them happy. Even if for a moment.

Hell, he was their father, and he hadn’t made them laugh like that in longer than he cared to admit. Rowan McAuliffe was worth her weight in gold.

Another reason to keep it professional. No way would he mess up how she worked with his kids. Not if this was the kind of results she got.

Another round of giggles had him smiling, but he could also tell Rowan was coming to the end of her story. With more reluctance than he cared to admit, quickly and quietly, avoiding the third step down that always squeaked, he snuck away. Rather than go to bed himself, he went to his office where he sat down in front of his computer only to stare at the black screen, unseeing.

Rowan McAuliffe, in a short period of time, seemed to be changing everything.

The trouble was there were things she didn’t know. One big thing he hadn’t shared with Rowan. Hadn’t shared with any of the nannies. The reason he’d been up last night for tea had more to do with the girls than he’d let on. No way was he trusting anyone other than himself to deal with it.

For now, he’d keep a close eye, but otherwise let her do her thing.

With a flick of his finger, he turned on his laptop. He’d been in the middle of reading a report when he’d heard Rowan go up and, for some inexplicable reason, decided to follow. But he had work to do. Even at a dead stop, like he was with the witch and werewolf case, he was still working with subordinate hunters on other cases. He had at least five more reports to read and give feedback on before he headed to bed.

He didn’t look up until the screen started to blur as his eyeballs protested overuse. Sitting back, he dragged a tired hand over his face, then shut down and went to his room. But the second his head hit the pillow, he knew sleep was going to be elusive again tonight.

Because, despite the heavy lids and sandpaper eyes, his mind would just not shut off. Among a case that had stalled like nothing he’d encountered before, his worries over his girls, trying to be the only parent, and now a red-haired witch whose image wouldn’t leave him alone, he was screwed.

A familiar whistling noise coming from the kitchen abruptly cut off. Rowan was in the kitchen making her middle of the night tea again. He frowned at the ceiling fan over his head. Greyson knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep but suddenly wondered why she couldn’t. What worries could a nanny with no family have?

None of your business.

He managed to force himself to lie in bed another five minutes, determined to ignore the fact that she was in his kitchen right now.

Then, somehow, he was up and down the hall, standing in the shadowed doorway taking in the loose pajama pants and a shirt with stars on it with the words, “night-night time.” As he watched, she rubbed at her left calf with her right foot. An easy, unconscious gesture that, for whatever