Storm Warrior

impossible to do when she was pushing him away. Or perhaps not…“It’s always those little things, the little attentions that count the most.” According to Leo’s words, maybe there was a way to win Morgan’s approval without actually being present.

It was worth a try.

Despite sleeping poorly all week, Morgan was up and ready for work early. She told herself that she had paperwork to do and supply orders to place and correspondence to attend to at the clinic before the new vet arrived that day…anything but the real reason she’d left so soon the last few mornings.

She still wasn’t ready to face Rhys, not after the night they’d kissed. Her body and her heart definitely wanted a repeat of that evening. Her mind, however, was more troubled than ever.

The front door locked neatly behind her, and she was both relieved and disappointed to see that the porch was bare. Rhys did a huge volume of work around the farm—and really, how had she managed without him? She hadn’t even realized how much there was to do. Yet, he’d found time lately to leave small delights on her doorstep for her. A few stems of late flowers from the nearby woods, a handful of wild strawberries that should have been out of season, a spray of leaves that had changed color early. Even a pair of bright feathers that a blue jay had left behind. It was like finding treasure every day.

Unused to such attention, she had wondered if he was just sucking up to her—after all, he had room and board here, even if it was humble—but was immediately ashamed of the cynical notion. Jay repeatedly told her to trust her instincts, and all her instincts said that Rhys’s offerings were genuine. Of course he had a motive. He obviously cared for her and was trying to show it.

Her attraction to him was genuine too. That had simply increased since the evening that Jay and his friends had held practice. She’d studied Rhys’s every move that night, done everything but drool over him, for heaven’s sake—and she might have done that as well. Small wonder that her system all but hummed with arousal in his presence. Small wonder that she had sought expression the other night in his arms. And her heart had urged her on.

Which led to her current dilemma. Go forward or back? Allow the relationship to progress or run for her life? She felt she didn’t know enough about him—and yet he insisted she knew everything that was important.

Stalemate. A lover’s limbo if ever there was one.

Grabbing her bag, she hurried out to the driveway. Just as she put the key in the door handle, she saw something on the hood of her car—and froze. Omigod. Morgan put a hand to her throat and took an unsteady breath, then another, moving closer until she could touch what was definitely the most beautiful carving she’d ever seen, and assure herself it was real.

A mastiff, just like Rhyswr.

At about a foot and a half high, it was large yet exquisitely detailed, right down to the dog’s expression. The canine figure was seated but not stiffly so. Instead its position was relaxed, one hind leg tucked sideways—and she couldn’t help but smile because Rhyswr had often sat just like that. The grain of the wood was dark. A little mottled too, almost as if the dog was brindle. Reverently, she stroked her hands over the carving and finally picked it up, marveling at the weight of it as she cradled the wooden dog close to her.

Morgan didn’t realize a tear was on her cheek until a large thumb gently wiped it away.

“I’ve been working at this for a long while,” said Rhys, nodding at the carving. “I know you’ve been missing your dog, so I thought to make you one like him. I wasn’t after making you sad again.”

She laughed a little and swiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m not sad, not at all. It’s just that this is so incredible and so perfect and so—omigod, I can’t believe you made this. It’s beyond beautiful. I don’t even know how to thank you properly for such an amazing gift.”

“I can help you with that,” he murmured, and before she could move, he brushed his lips over hers. Light. Heat. Unseen sparks flared to life between them, as surely as if a blade had caressed flint, and every cell in her body leapt with sudden arousal. If she hadn’t been holding the wooden dog, she might have thrown her arms around Rhys’s neck and—

He stepped back and grinned. “A perfect thanks and plenty. I’ll be seeing you tonight.”

Both breathless and speechless, she simply hugged the dog to her as he walked away—and was it her imagination or was there a slight swagger in his step? All she knew for certain was that if the kiss had lasted any longer, she’d have made the evening news: “Spontaneous human combustion occurs in Spokane Valley! Story after this commercial break.”

Rhys mounted the last of the nest boxes on the inside wall of the old granary. The tiny building had been empty for years, from the looks of it, but the roof was sound. It would make a fine chicken coop. It was late in the year to find chicks, but perhaps someone would give up a few hens rather than overwinter them. He wondered what breeds there might be in this country. And ducks, he reminded himself. There should be a few ducks here as well to eat the garden slugs in the spring. Some waterfowl would look fine on the pond across from the house. Morgan would like it, he was sure.

He stood back to admire his work and nodded approvingly. He’d always been good with his hands, and Leo had been tutoring him on modern building methods. He didn’t agree with all of them of course—after all, a Celtic roundhouse was of sturdy construction, perhaps stronger than Morgan’s own house. And some of the materials used in this time seemed flimsy. Yet he enjoyed the learning, and Leo kept him supplied with books on building. Rhys read them religiously, determined to learn everything he could, not only to fit into this world but to thrive in it. Accordingly, he’d insulated the walls of the coop against the coming cold weather and installed a small window he’d chosen from a stack in the barn.

Now he was contemplating ducks, of all things, and it felt completely natural.

Rhys considered what a surprise and a relief that was. After years of battle, some men found that they could only be warriors, that they were no longer at home in the world they had fought to protect. He’d thought that might happen to him. As the Bringer of Death, his world had been awash in blood and carnage—first fighting the Romans, then fighting for his life in the arena. After all that, how would he ever be able to return to who he was? Or be anything else but a destroyer?

Yet here he was. Surrounded by fertile land that called to him and work that was satisfying. It was the way of his people to grow crops and tend cattle—and in this short time, he’d come to know that he could live that life again. Perhaps all the centuries of watching humanity had eased some of the lust for battle in him. And like water over rock, the countless years seemed to have worn down the worst of his memories, so he wasn’t as haunted as some. He had good friends, and best of all, he had a woman who stirred his heart.

By all the gods, he’d relived those recent kisses countless times. He was restless, left wanting so much more than Morgan was prepared to give. She’d pulled back after he’d kissed her under the stars, and he didn’t know if she was afraid of him or of herself. Probably both. His strange story troubled her deeply, yet she was undeniably attracted. A quandary to be sure, and one she refused to share. Ha. As if he wasn’t sharing in the hell of it just the same.

He was startled out of his reverie by the barely audible sound of a footstep outside. Hammer in hand, Rhys sprang from the newly refurbished coop in a heartbeat only to discover Jay Browning trying to take a step back, tripping, and falling on his backside.

“Easy boy,” said Jay, his voice a bit shaky and his eyes wide. “It’s just me.”

“Aye, I remember you just fine.” Rhys lowered the hammer, tossing it to one side and offering the younger man a hand up. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“I walked in from the road.” Jay dusted himself off, still eyeing Rhys with apprehension. “Starr’s picking some of Morgan’s crab apples there. I’m damn glad she didn’t come up here with me. You’d have scared her with that hammer.”

So much for thinking that he was no longer a warrior or that he could blithely be a simple farmer. Habits died hard—even after centuries, his reflexes were battle sharp. Rhys sighed inwardly. “I apologize for that. ’Twas only instinct.”

“Yeah, well, that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about. Your instincts are out of this world. You’ve