Swordfights & Lullabies by Debora Geary Page B

hair, and his woolgathering wasn’t improving matters any.  Ah, well.  At least they weren’t on the bus.  Cleaning Morgan up in the minute cubicle that passed for the bus’s shower had made him yearn more than once for the clanky old bathtub of their Nova Scotia cottage.  Marcus reached for a washcloth, fairly certain he was only going to make things worse.
    His daughter grinned up at him, well aware she was the center of his world.
    Of their world.
    Cass reached for the washcloth.  “I think you’d better get a second one.”  She tickled Morgan’s cheek.  “Someone’s got cheese sauce on her toes, too.”
    Ye gods and little fishes.  Marcus unstrapped his girl from the booster seat, already resigned to cheese sauce on his last pair of clean pants.
    “I’ve got her.”  Cass winked and scooped up the wiggly toddler.  “I have at least one more pair of jeans around here somewhere.”
    Marcus gripped the back of the chair.  It was the random moments that got him hardest.  The ones where love snuck in and flattened him and he never even got a chance to breathe.
    He wasn’t alone now.  In the small, daily things that mattered so very much, he wasn’t alone.
    His green-eyed witch watched him, love shining in her eyes.  She always knew.
    “Eww,” said Lizzie, thoroughly disgusted.  “I think they’re gonna kiss.”
    -o0o-
    Marcus’s red face amused Moira—but the lovely peck he dropped on Cass’s cheek brought the house down.  Modest, by Irish standards, but for Marcus Buchanan, that was as big an announcement as a Las Vegas billboard.
    Nan, in from Ireland for her own helping of broccoli, chuckled as Morgan planted a messy hand on Marcus’s shirt.  “The little one wants a kiss too.”
    Her father only looked down at the cheesy fingerprints and sighed.
    Cass turned and eyed Moira, mischief in her eyes.  “I do believe Gran hasn’t held her yet.”
    They day would come when they were no longer young and silly and bothered by a little cheese sauce.  Moira held out her arms.  “It takes more than a little broccoli to scare me off.”  She held the squirming wee girl in her arms and soaked in the truth of what had transpired in this little house on a strange beach in a strange land.
    Family had bloomed here.
    The core of three.  And a riotous garden was growing up around them, delighted in the new patterns of beauty.
    She smiled over at Nan.  Old Irish grannies knew that not all families were good ones.  To see another one planted in sturdy soil was a blessing.
    Lizzie, who had appointed herself Morgan’s big sister long ago, hopped down off her chair and popped a chunk of sweet potato into the squirmy babe’s mouth.  “Orange stuff is way better than green stuff, kiddo—I promise.”
    Kevin just shook his head and quietly speared some of Lizzie’s broccoli.
    Marcus watched it all and wisely kept his mouth shut.  A smart witch didn’t intervene when little ones were consuming vegetables, even if they were mostly eating someone else’s.
    Cassidy scooped Morgan out of Moira’s lap, the washing done, and returned her to her booster seat.  “If you behave yourself, a leanbh mo chroí , I have fresh blueberries for dessert.”  She eyed the child and spoke firmly.  “Make a mess with your dinner again and I’ll feed your berries to the fishies.”
    Moira didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would take a much sterner face than that to sway a child used to Marcus’s glowers.  It mattered not—Morgan would eat, and she would likely behave.  Most children eventually did, either from hunger or from love.
    And grannies would sneak them a berry or two if they didn’t.  It was the way of things.
    “Ah, and it’s the wee hours already for me.”  Their Irish guest hid a yawn.  “I believe I’ll need you to take me back home now, young man.”
    Moira smiled.  Kevin had taken to escorting Nan through Realm transport personally.  A small gift that helped the old