“It’s best for both of us if I do just that. She’s not one of us.”

“Liam, when you’re ready, you’ll look into her heart, and into your own. Trust what you find.” Then she sighed, knowing her son would follow his own path as always. “I’ll give your father your best.”

“Do. I love you.”

“I know it. Come home soon, Liam of Donovan. We’re missing you.”

As her image faded, lightning slashed out of the sky, driving down like a lance to stab the ground. It left no mark, no burn, even as thunder roared behind it; Liam understood it was his father’s way of echoing his wife’s words.

“All right, then. Bloody hell. I’ll have a look and see how well she’s riding out the storm.”

He turned, focused, then flicked a wrist, jabbing a finger at the cold hearth. The fire leaped, though there was no log, no kindling to burn.

“Lightning flares and thunder moans. How does the woman fare alone? Chill the fire to let me see. As I will, so mote it be.”

He dipped his hands into his pockets as the flames settled, steadied. In the cool gold light, shadows shifted, parted, then opened to him.

He saw her carrying a candle through the dark, her face pale in its flickering light, her eyes wide. She fumbled through drawers in her kitchen, talking to herself, as she was prone to. And jolted like a frightened deer when the next flash of lightning broke the night.

Well, he hadn’t thought of that, Liam admitted, and in a rare show of frustration dragged a hand through his hair. Her power was out, and she was alone in the dark, and scared half to death. Hadn’t Belinda told her how to work the little generator, or where the flashlight was? The emergency lanterns?

Apparently not.

He could hardly leave her there, could he? Shivering and stumbling around. Which, he supposed with a sour smile, was exactly what his clever, meddling cousin had known.

He’d make sure she had light and heat, but that would be the end of it. He wouldn’t linger.

While he was a witch, he was also a man. And both parts of him wanted her entirely too much for comfort.

*  *  *

“Just a storm, it’s just a storm. No big deal.” Rowan all but chanted the words as she lit more candles.

She wasn’t afraid of the dark, not really. But it was so damn dark, and the lightning had struck so close to the cabin. The thunder rattled the windows until she was certain they would just explode.

And if she hadn’t been sitting outside, daydreaming while the storm blew in, she’d have had a fire built. She’d have the warmth and light from that and the candlelight, and it would be sort of … cozy. If she really worked on believing it.