Highland Shifter (MacCoinnich Time Travel) by Catherine Bybee Page B

Dawson finally turned toward Helen. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave a thing out.”
    “You believe in magic?” Helen asked.
    “There’s a lot about me you don’t yet know. Now from the beginning.”
    Helen blew out a sigh and started to talk.
    Simon relaxed into the sofa after swiping two cookies from the plate.
    * * * *
    The events of the past two days rolled off Helen’s tongue in a steady stream of words. Mrs. Dawson kindly folded her hands in her lap and listened. Not once did she scoff or raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
    Simon devoured the plate of cookies and didn ’t offer one syllable while Helen told her tale.
    “I still have a hard time believing magic is real. But you can ’t argue with living proof.” Helen pointed at Simon.
    He awarded her with a wink and heat surged to her face. They really didn ’t have room in all this for flirtation. So what if he wasn’t married. He still lived in a completely different time. A time he wanted to return to. Not that he didn’t appear completely comfortable sprawled on Mrs. Dawson’s sofa sipping coffee as if he had nothing better to do. There was nothing about his demeanor screaming anxiety. He didn’t even seem prepared to defend what Helen was telling Mrs. Dawson.
    “I think Mrs. Dawson believes in magic, lass.”
    After a half an hour he finally spoke. His tone was a little condescending, and his assumption of Mrs. Dawson’s beliefs niggled at Helen’s nerves.
    Simon didn ’t know Mrs. Dawson. Did he?
    “We ’ve been here for less than an hour and suddenly you’re the authority on Mrs. Dawson’s emotions?”
    Simon sat forward. “Aye.”
    Talk about arrogant. Before Helen could protest, Simon directed his next words to Mrs. Dawson. “This lovely woman believes in magic because she’s experienced it herself. Haven’t you?”
    “There have been a few things Mr. Dawson and I have seen.”
    “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I didn ’t want to scare you, dear. When an old woman starts talking about magic, men in white coats tend to arrive late at night and take her away.”
    “I would never have done that.”
    “Maybe not you, but others.” Mrs. Dawson leaned forward and patted Helen’s hand. Her weathered, old hand held on as she continued. “The night we found the book, don’t you remember the wind kicking up inside the house?”
    “A window blew open.”
    Mrs. Dawson actually rolled her eyes and patted Helen’s hand again. “Go look at my windows.”
    Helen ’s gaze shifted to the wall of windows lining the room.
    “Go.”
    At the window, Helen touched the modern locks on the double paned glass. “Are the windows in the study the same?”
    “Mr. Dawson insisted on replacing everyone in the house to cut our electric bill.”
    “Then one must have been opened that night.”
    “Helen, I ’m an old woman. I wear sweaters when it’s 90 degrees. Do you really think I’d leave a window open?”
    Helen glanced beyond the glass to the beautiful garden outside. Mrs. Dawson ’s long-stemmed variegated roses were starting to bloom and a deep orange hummingbird stopped at her feeder for a snack. “So what caused the window to open?”
    “I ’m not certain. My guess is Simon could answer that question.”
    Turning on her heel, Helen met Simon ’s gaze. He smiled with one corner of his mouth.
    “Well?”
    “Magic, lass. There are forces at work here driving the events of the past days. Our lives are intertwined, somehow, and it will be up to us to determine why.”
    “I thought we were just trying to figure out how to get you home.”
    “That, too. There is a reason I’m here. A reason you were looking for me to begin with.”
    “I was curious about how a child could disappear without a trace.”
    “’Tis more than that.”
    “Nope, that was it,” she lied. She didn ’t care for how Simon assumed he knew everything going on inside her head. Didn’t want him thinking he could get inside her head.
    “Are you