Free The Stag Lord by Darby Kaye Page B

already there, loosening the safety chain. The dog hovered nearby. Bann noticed the dog’s head was up, nose sniffing the air and ears swiveling around. On guard. Joining his son, he paused to pat the damp fur. “ Gle mhaith , Max.”
    The rest of the morning was spent repairing the broken windows, after the two obligatory trips to the hardware store. “Once to get what you think you need, and the second to get what you really need,” he explained to Cor. With his son’s help, he finished replacing the panes, the shared labor helping ease their earlier spat. Shay had left to run an errand after extracting a promise from Bann that he wouldn’t leave until she returned. He grinned when he recalled her forcing her cell phone number on him. Just in case. “Call me if you decide to leave early,” she had said. “Or call me if you think of something I could pick up for you while I’m out.” He had handed the folded piece of paper to Cor, who had shoved in his back pocket.
    Windows finished, Bann handed Cor a pair of leather work gloves. “Climb inside and sweep up the broken glass. Wear these so you don’t cut your hands picking up the larger pieces.”
    While Cor swept, using a whisk broom and dustpan they’d borrowed from Shay, Bann tackled the door. He hammered out the dents, then filled the holes with liquid silicone followed by duct tape.
    As they worked, Bann noticed Max sitting just inside the garage, gazing out at the falling rain. Once in a while, he would patrol, making a loop around the outside of the house, each time coming back wetter and muddier than before. The region’s red soil looked like dried blood on the dog’s legs.
    â€œOkay, all done.” Cor’s voice called from inside the camper. “Can I open the door now?”
    â€œNo. I’ve decided to just leave you in there the rest of your life.”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œI’ll toss in a few sandwiches now and again.” Bann squatted down next to his tool box. The clang of tools hitting the metal crate drowned out Cor’s protests. He shut the lid, slid it to one side so it wouldn’t trip anyone, then rose.
    â€œWhat if I need to pee?”
    â€œUse the window.”
    â€œDaaad!” The boyish giggle was a balm to the father’s soul.
    â€œNo? Well, all right, then. Come along.”
    Pushing the door open, Cor jumped out and made a beeline for Max. The dog leaped up in greeting. Discovering a rope chew toy in the corner, boy and dog began a tug-of-war game. Bann chuckled when a violent jerk of the dog’s head almost pulled Cor off his feet.
    You could settle here in High Springs. Make a new life for yourselves .
    Bann blinked as Shay’s earlier comment wafted through his head. Where the hell did that come from ? An odd tingling tightened his scalp. Maybe it was seeing Cor playing with the dog. Or the steady drizzle, which reminded him of back East. Or not having to be on his guard every bleedin’ second of every bleedin’ day for the first time in a year.
    Whatever it was, Bann felt as if a scab that had covered his entire body, his entire soul , had cracked, leaving him raw underneath.
    At that moment, a late-model truck, tricked out with a duke’s ransom in chrome, rumbled into the driveway and parked at the bottom of it. A man, about the same height as Bann but heavier and with a barrel-chested build, climbed out. He strolled toward them, heedless of the rain dampening his mane of red hair and beard. Bann vaguely recalled seeing him in one of Shay’s photos.
    â€œGood morning,” the man called. “A fine bit of weather we’re having, eh?”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œHugh Doyle,” declared the man, stepping out of the rain. “One of Shay’s uncles.” He held out a hand. “She called me and asked if I would come by and help with your rig.”
    â€œBannerman Boru.” His eyes