She stopped disappearing, only a faint image of her radiant beauty remaining. “You can’t miss what you’ve never lost, Coyote. Every breath you take is my breath; every beat of your heart is my heartbeat; every time you hear the wind in the trees, I am singing to you. I walk inside you, my son.”
“Stay, Mama.”
“I’ll be back again soon, but I must go find your father and brother now. Heed your grand-père’s words, Coyote, for with the gift he brings you, he also brings wisdom.”
“Mama!”
“Coyote! Quit your hollering,” Forest Dreamwalker commanded as he appeared out of the ether, the epitome of shamanistic lore from his flowing gray hair down to the wrinkles on his aged face. “You’re too old to be crying after your mama.”
“I will never outgrow my need for her, old man.”
“A father must be strong. Do you wish your son to think you weak?”
“What I wish is for you to stop plaguing my dreams,” Jack growled. “My brother was to be your heir, not me. Wait—you said my son. Megan’s having a boy?”
“Piqued your interest, have I? So now you’ll listen to me?”
“What is that under your robe?”
“This?” Forest Dreamwalker lowered the edge of the thick wool robe he wore. “Why, it’s an infant!”
“My son?” Jack asked, sitting up.
“According to what I saw when your mama changed his diaper,” the old shaman said with a chuckle.
Jack stretched out his hands. “Let me hold him.”
“In three and a half months, Coyote. Until then, he’s ours to play with.”
“Jack. My name is Jack now.”
“Only because some fool social worker didn’t know the difference between a coyote and a jackal. She had no right changing the name your mother and father gave you.”
Jack dropped his outstretched hands with a sigh. This had been a bone of contention with his great-grandfather for nearly twenty-six years. “She changed it because no one would have adopted a kid named Coyote,” Jack told him for the thousandth time. “And I’ve kept it because it suits me. Move your robe so I can see my son.”
The old man peeled back the wool a bit more. “You’ll have to trust me that he’s got your eyes,” he said. “I’m not about to wake him, as he has the scream of a warrior. Which gives me hope that he’ll inherit his mother’s highlander spirit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to travel a peaceful path.” Jack reached out again. “Let me hold him.”
“If I do, will you agree to listen to me?”
Jack stilled. “You would use an innocent child to bargain?”
“Only because you force me to such extremes.”
He really, really wanted to hold his son. “Okay.”
The old man hesitated. “Promise me you won’t wake him.”
“I just want to hold him,” Jack said, reaching out again. He took the child, surprised by how little he weighed. “He’s not very big,” he said, setting his son on his lap so he could study him.
“He will be when he’s born,” Forest said with a chuckle. “As I’m sure his mama will discover. No, don’t unbundle him,” he admonished, reaching out and tucking the blanket back around him. “He likes the security of being tightly swaddled.”
But the child—his son!—started wiggling, then gave a yawn and stretched his little legs, pushing his feet against Jack’s belly with surprising strength. His tiny arms started fighting the blanket, and he suddenly cracked open his eyes.
“Now you’ve done it,” Forest growled.
Jack opened the blanket. The baby went perfectly still, staring up at Jack with dark, solid navy eyes. Then his little cherub face scrunched up, his arms and legs started to windmill, and he let out a bellow that rocked Jack right down to his soul.
“Soothe him,” Forest said frantically. “Hold him up to your chest so he can hear your heartbeat.”
Jack pulled his shirttail from his pants high enough to expose his chest and carefully lifted his son, cradling the infant’s face against his bare skin. He shuddered at the contact, and closed his eyes on a sigh when the boy started rooting against his skin.
He was holding his son!
Forest Dreamwalker sat beside Jack and shook his head. “Even this young, they know what they want. Give him your little finger to suckle.”
Jack did, eyeing his great-grandfather suspiciously. “When did you learn what babies want? You had one son, and I doubt you spent much time with him until he was five or six.”
“Ah, but I spent a great deal of time with Sarah from the moment she was born. Your mother was always wanting to be walked, and my son had no patience for pacing in circles to soothe her. That precious chore was mine.”
Jack knew his family history by rote, since he’d spent five years alone in the woods with Forest Dreamwalker. Forest’s son had found himself the sole parent of a three-month-old daughter when his wife had suddenly decided to move to Vancouver—with no husband or baby to cramp her new lifestyle. Sarah had been raised by her father and grandfather, and to this day Jack wondered how the two men had managed to keep a baby alive, much less raise her to become such an amazing woman.
“Listen up, Coyote,” Forest said. “This puzzle you’re grappling with is even more dangerous than you think.”
“Which one?” Jack asked, looking down at his son.
“Aye, you’re right. There are two distinct problems, with two very real dangers. You must tread carefully, Coyote, if you wish to keep your family safe.”
“Aye?” Jack repeated, looking at Forest in surprise.
The old shaman smiled proudly. “I’ve added a new word to my vocabulary in honor of your son’s Scottish heritage. The child has grown used to Laird MacKeage’s voice, and responds favorably when I also say aye to him.”
Good Lord, his kid was going to have some interesting dreams, with shamans and Highland warriors for ancestors. “He’s my son,” Jack said. “And I’m going to teach him to solve his problems with cunning, not might.”
Forest gave a pained sigh. “Thank the moon Greylen will be around to teach him the ways of a warrior.” He glared at Jack. “Are you going to listen to what I have to say or not?”
“I’m listening,” Jack said, though he dropped his gaze again, rubbing his thumb over his son’s soft cheek.
“Your woman has something Mark Collins wants.”
“What is it?” Jack asked, looking up.
“I’m not all-knowing. But I can tell you it’s something Megan isn’t even aware of.”
“Do you at least know what Collins is up to? What sort of business he was conducting out on the tundra?”
“It has to do with energy,” Forest said. “Oil or some other sort of fuel.”
Jack canted his head in thought. “Maybe she brought back samples or data that would prove there’s shale oil under that part of Canada. Collins might be trying to hide that fact from the government, and that’s why that man was killed.”
“Maybe. But Collins is the least of your worries right now. You need to keep a close eye on that Kenzie Gregor fellow.”
Jack looked up sharply. “So he is interested in Megan.”
“No,” Forest said with a shake of his head. “It’s not her heart he’s wanting.”
“Then what?”
“Her knowledge. But that’s not what you should be worried about. It’s Gregor’s connection to your break-ins that you must pay careful attention to.”
“So what’s the connection?”
Forest leaned closer. “Magic,” he whispered. “Ancient Celtic magic, Coyote. A very powerful kind.”
Jack gaped at his great-grandfather. “There’s more than one kind of magic?”
The old shaman nodded. “The drùidhs have been charged with protecting the trees of life, whereas people and animals are my thing. My duty is to a person’s more immediate well-being, so I was given the gift of helping individuals deal with daily life.”