Page 35 of Whiskey & Witches

“You should get sleep, too, Ro,” Carrick said in a low voice.

“I can’t stop watching him,” she whispered. “He’s grown a foot, at least.”

Her husband chuckled. “Only about two inches. But he goes through pants faster than I can replace them.”

They shared a smile.

“I missed this,” she said as she lightly drew a heart on Aeden’s pajama-clad chest.

He shifted and struck out with his foot.

Carrick winced and captured both spindly legs within the circle of his arms. “You missed having your spleen relocated by his hard little heel then?”

She laughed. “Not that, to be sure. But this—the three of us, spending lazy days with each other and enough apple tart to make us sick.”

Carrick’s expression was sad and guilt-ridden.

She could hear his throat work as he swallowed. “Please don’t, Carrick. Don’t shoulder the blame for what you thought best.”

“Last night, you weren’t so forgiving.”

“I was tired and angryandhurt,” she confessed. “It felt like you’d once again decided what was right for us without asking.” She entwined her fingers with his. “Here, yeah, you have to stop doing that, Carrick. I’ve a mind of my own.”

“It’s sorry I am for it, Ro.” He raised their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll not do it again.”

“Pfft. You say that now, but I’ll give it a week.”

He chuckled, and she felt the rumbling sound to her womb. The man could win over the Devil if he’d a mind to.

Carrick’s attention shifted to Aeden. “Do you think the elixir you made will help his throat?”

“I’m hopeful, but I’m also not opposed to speaking with a witch who knows more about healing than I do.”

In the farthest recesses of her mind, a memory was trying to surface. Something having to do with the back of the O’Malley grimoire. She shrugged it off because she couldn’t recall what it was she was supposed to remember. And yes, she was praying the elixir would work, but the Goddess might have something else planned for their son’s future.

“Did you know Anu speaks through him, Carrick?” she asked in a whisper. Why, she wasn’t certain. Perhaps she feared mischievous deities or spirits might overhear and interfere.

Carrick looked up in surprise. “Still?”

“That’s what he indicated last night. Said she directed him to the cottage.”

“Sure, it explains a lot,” he murmured.

“Is he psychic, then?” She didn’t want him to be. Therein lies the path to madness for a witch. But maybe Aeden would be lucky because the O’Malleys had no true power. She felt a piercing pain in her frontal lobe and sucked in a breath as she grabbed her head.

“Ro!” Carrick moved Aeden’s legs, then hurried around to her side of the bed. Leaning over her, one knee on the mattress, he gently touched her cheek. “What is it?”

The discomfort receded, and as she looked into Carrick’s caring eyes, she had the burning desire to kiss him. The only thing stopping her was Aeden’s presence in their bed. Well, that and the fact she wasn’t convinced she was the model bedmate with her spastic back and ruined face. How anyone could be attracted to her scarred body was a mystery.

But an answering fire started and burned boldly in his gaze. A small, sexy smile tugged at his lips, as if he understood exactly where her mind had gone. Her body hummed as he lowered his head toward hers, and as she lifted her chin to meet his lips, she eagerly embraced the anticipation, almost laughing at the butterflies dancing in her belly. After all these years, Carrick still made her feel like a girl in the first bloom of love.

Aeden moaned and rolled in his sleep, his arm reaching out to punch Roisin in the side. Agitation was clear on his scrunched-up face, and sweat beaded his brow.

“Carrick,” she said in a low, warning tone.

But he’d already noticed the beginning of Aeden’s nightmare and swore under his breath. “Ro, could you…?” He nodded toward the living room, and she felt her heart drop into her toes.

It didn’t take a genius IQ to know he was worried her face would terrorize their son should he wake and see her. But if she walked away—hidaway—she’d be falling back into the vicious cycle of letting Carrick decide what was best for them all. Especially when her instinct was to remain and comfort her son.

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