Jan Delima - Celtic Moon

It had been built on an angle, facing the mountain. The afternoon sun cast a deceivingly warm glow across Fiddlehead Lake just a few yards away. Smoke rose from the chimney, letting her know he was in there, waiting .

Sophie had the distinct urge to vomit. Intense anxiety had that effect on her.

“This is so cool,” Joshua exclaimed beside her, eyes wide, taking it all in. “That’s Fiddlehead Lake, then?” He leaned his head toward the large body of water, judging the angle of the afternoon sun. He’d been forced to study maps of the area, to learn every escape route, just in case.

Sophie nodded. “We’re at the southern part of the lake.”

He pointed toward a grove of white birch trees in the distance. “That’s where the lake feeds into Wajo Stream, which leads to the Penobscot River.”

“Yes,” she said with approval. “Rhuddin Village is just the entrance of your father’s territory. There’s a clinic five miles north if you continue along the road we entered on, then your father’s house, and another building for guards. They all circle along the outskirts of the wilderness reserve. And everything connects to the mountain—”

“—and the best way out is through the waterways,” he finished. “Don’t worry, Mom. I remember everything you’ve told me.”

Sophie ran her hand down his arm, needing to touch him, fighting every urge to throw him back in that car and drive away before she lost him to this other world forever. But another fear, a greater fear, kept her grounded. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She had professed those words so many times over the years that his response was automatic. She didn’t care. She had needed to hear it.

The front door opened and Dylan walked out. She straightened, letting her hand drop away from Joshua’s arm.

Dylan remained silent, an announcement unnecessary. His mere presence demanded attention. He wore jeans and a black flannel shirt that hugged his massive frame. His once shoulder-length golden waves had been cut business short, only to make him look harder, more severe.

Dark eyes landed on her, black as sin, absent of light and utterly compelling, as if all the mysteries of the universe waited in their depths for someone strong enough to handle the darkness.

Or so she had thought, once , when she was young and stupid and still believed in romance and happy endings. She wasn’t so young anymore, and far less stupid, and she knew way too much about the darkness to hope for a happy ending.

And yet, those eyes continued to hold her captive with unspoken emotion. It was Dylan who broke the contact first— not her. His expression, however, changed upon seeing his son for the first time; it softened into something almost . . . vulnerable ?

Joshua remained frozen to her side, not touching but not parting either. Sophie took a step forward to lead her son, knowing this awkward silence was her fault and her challenge to fix.

“Joshua,” she said, “this is your father.” She climbed the steps until she stood on the cedar planks of the porch. “Dylan, your son.”

Dylan closed the distance, offering a hand. “There has not been a day I haven’t thought of you.”

Joshua extended his hand, only to be pulled into a fierce hug. At six foot three, he was only a few inches shorter than his father, and not quite as massive, but the resemblance was undeniable.

Dylan held on to his son with his eyes closed and his nostrils flared as if learning a precious new scent. Joshua didn’t move, and his discomfort became obvious as the embrace prolonged into another awkward silence.

Dylan stepped back and gave a sad, knowing smile. “You’re tall for your age.” He gave Joshua a playful squeeze on his shoulder as if he couldn’t stop touching him, not yet. “And strong.”

Joshua grinned under the compliments. “I work out every day. And Mom makes me drink protein shakes.”

Sophie felt a gentle hand on her arm as her own mother came up beside her. Some of her tension eased with the unspoken support. You are loved, that gesture said, no matter what.

Sophie squeezed her mother’s hand, so very thankful to have her there at that moment. It made her wonder whether things might have been different back then if only one person had been on her side.

The seclusion might have been tolerable.

Francine cleared her throat, her sharp brown eyes assessing Dylan with haughty disdain. She was just as protective of her child as Sophie was of Joshua. “The amount of food my grandson puts away could feed a small army.”

Sophie cleared her throat. “Mom, this is Dylan. Dylan, my mother.”

“You may call me Francine.” Her chin rose in challenge, although her voice remained polite.

“Francine.” He gave her a brief nod. If he was displeased with her presence it didn’t show. “Please call me Dylan.”

“Can I look around?” Joshua interrupted, too overwhelmed to stay put for long.

“Help me unload first,” Sophie reminded him. “Then maybe your father will give you a tour.”

Dylan pinned her with those black eyes, his expression unreadable. “I would like nothing more, Joshua, but your aunt Elen is anxious to meet you. She’s waiting for us at the clinic. I don’t know how long her patience will last.”

“Okay.” Joshua’s expression turned thoughtful. “Can we eat first?”

A slight smile tugged at Dylan’s lips. “I believe a small feast is being prepared for you at this very moment.”

“Cool. Can Mom come too?”

“Of course. Enid, my cook ,” Dylan explained, “is making your mother’s favorite. Your grandmother is welcome as well.”

“I’ll pass,” Francine interjected. “But I appreciate the offer. I’ll stay behind and unpack.”

“Are you sure, Mum?” Sophie asked. “We can just put the food in the fridge and I’ll unpack our clothes later.”

“It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” Francine pinned her daughter with a meaningful gaze. “But you need to do this.”

“Did you hear that, Mom?” Joshua’s dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “Enid, the cook , is making your favorite.”

“I heard.” Her stomach gave a small heave of protest.

DYLAN DROVE IN SILENCE, A FEELING OF COMPLETE fulfillment spreading out form his limbs. Sophie had cared well for their son. Joshua was strong and healthy. And here —where he belonged.

Unable to stop himself, Dylan took another sidelong glance. It was odd and more than a little overwhelming to see one’s own features on another being. Joshua sat with his legs spread wide, taking up the whole passenger seat, his hands drumming softly against the dashboard.

Dylan had not felt such peace in a very long time.

A turn in the road came into view. On impulse, he veered his truck to the left, choosing the long way to the clinic. He heard Sophie shift in the backseat as she became aware of the detour.

Dylan watched her in the rearview mirror. Her profile was clean of paint, her complexion drawn by winter, or strain. Or both. Her jaw clenched as she stared out of the window, trying hard to ignore his presence. Her light brown hair cascaded down her back in thick waves. He’d always known her to keep it short.

She wore jeans and a navy sweatshirt and looked very much like the college intern he’d met sixteen years ago. She had not aged. He wondered if she realized that.

“What has your mother told you of me?”

Joshua straightened, his hands dropping to his lap, looking over his shoulder to the backseat. It angered Dylan that he looked to her first for approval.