"You can't make discoveries without some risks." It should have shocked her, a comment like that coming out of her mouth, such an obvious invitation to continue, to finish. But it seemed natural, and right. "In this case it's best you know all the elements you're dealing with. How much are you willing to find out, I wonder?"

"I came here to find out all sorts of things." She let out a quiet breath. "I didn't expect to find you."

"No. You're looking for Rowan first." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. "If I took you inside, took you here for that matter, you'd find a part of her quickly enough. Is that what you want?"

"No." It was another surprise to hear the denial when every nerve in her body was sizzling. "Because then it would be as you said before. Simple. I'm not looking for simple."

"Still, I'll kiss you again, when I've a mind to."

She angled her head, ignored the quick flutter in her belly. "I'll let you kiss me again, when I've a mind to."

He flashed a grin full of power and appreciation. "You've some of that Irishwoman in you, Rowan of the O'Mearas."

"Maybe I do." It pleased her enormously just then to think so. "Maybe I'll have to find more."

"That you will." His grin faded. "When you do, I hope you know what to do about it. Pick a day next week and come over. Bring your sketchbook."

"What for?"

"An idea I have brewing. We'll see if it suits both of us."

It couldn't hurt, she mused. And it would give her some time to think about everything that had happened that morning. "All right, but one day's the same as the next to me. My schedule's open these days."

"You'll know which day when it comes." He reached out to toy with the ends of her hair. "So will I."

"And that, I suppose, is some kind of Irish mysticism."

"You don't know the half of it," he murmured. "A good day to you, Cousin Rowan."

He gave her hair an absent tug, then turned and walked away.

Well, she thought, as days went, it hadn't been half-bad so far.

And when he came to her again in dreams, she welcomed him. When his mind touched hers, seduced it, aroused it, she sighed, yielded, offered.

She shivered in pleasure, breathed his name and sensed somehow that he was as vulnerable as she. For just that moment, just that misty space of time he was tangled with her, helpless not to give what she asked.

If only she knew the question.

Even when her body glowed, her mind soared, part of her fretted.

What should she ask him? What did she need to know?

In the dark, with the half-moon spilling delicate light through her open windows, she woke alone. She burrowed into the pillows and listened with her heart aching at the sound of the wolf calling to the night.

CHAPTER 6

Rowan watched spring burst into life. And watching, it seemed something burst into life inside her as well. Daffodils and windflowers shimmered into bloom. The little pear tree outside the kitchen window opened its delicate white blossoms and danced in the wind.

Deep in the forest, the wild azaleas began to show hints of pink and white, and the foxglove grew fat buds. There were others, so many others; she promised herself a book on local wildflowers on her next trip into town. She wanted to know them, learn their habits and their names.

All the while she felt herself begin to bloom. Was there more color in her face? she wondered, more light in her eyes? She knew she smiled more often, enjoyed the sensation of feeling her own lips curve up for no particular reason as she walked or sketched or simply sat on the porch in the warming air to read for hours.

Nights no longer seemed lonely. When the wolf came, she talked to him about whatever was on her mind. When he didn't, she was content to spend her evening alone.

She wasn't entirely sure what was different, only that something was. And that there were other, bigger changes yet to come.

Maybe it was the decision she'd made not to go back to San Francisco, or to teaching, or the practical apartment minutes from her parents' home.

She'd been cautious with money, she reminded herself. She'd never felt any particular urge to collect things or fill her closet with clothes or take elaborate vacations. Added to that was the small inheritance that had come down to her through her mother's family. One she had cautiously invested and watched grow neatly over the last few years.

There was enough to draw on for a down payment for a little house somewhere.

Somewhere quiet and beautiful, she thought now as she stood on the front porch with a cup of steaming coffee to welcome another morning. It had to be a house, she knew. No more apartment living. And somewhere in the country. She wasn't going to be happy in the bustle and rush of the city ever again. She'd have a garden she planted herself-once she learned how-and maybe a little creek or pond.

It had to be close enough to the sea that she could walk to it, hear its song at night as she drifted toward sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, on that next trip to town she'd visit a realtor. Just to see what was available.

It was such a big step-choosing a spot, buying a house-furnishing it, maintaining it. She caught herself winding the tip of her braid around her finger and deliberately dropped her hand. She was ready to make that step. She would make it.

And she'd find work, the kind that satisfied her. She didn't need a great deal of money. She'd be blissfully content puttering around some little cottage of her own, doing the painting, the repairs, watching her garden grow.

If she found something nearby, she wouldn't have to leave the wolf. Or Liam.

With that thought, she shook her head. No, she couldn't add Liam into the equation, or make him part of the reason she was considering settling in the area. He was his own man, and would come and go when and where he pleased.

Just like the wolf, she realized and sighed. Neither one of them were hers, after all. They were both loners, both beautiful creatures who belonged to no one. And who'd come into her life-helped change it in some ways, she supposed. Though the biggest changes were up to her.

It seemed that after three weeks in the little cabin in the clearing, she was ready to make them. Not just drifting anymore, she thought. Not just wondering. Time to take definite steps.

The subtle tug at her mind had her eyes narrowing, her head angling as if to hear something soft whispered in the distance. It was almost as if she could hear her name, quietly called.