For it was here, she had learned long ago, that she would find love, share love, and bear her children. With a sigh, Morgana closed her eyes. Those days could wait, she mused. She was content with her life precisely as it was. When the time came for it to change, she intended to remain fully in charge.

When the dog sprang to his feet, a warning growl humming in his throat, Morgana didn't bother to look around. She'd known he'd come. She hadn't needed the crystal or the black mirror to tell her. Nor could she claim it was clairvoyance—that was more her cousin Sebastian's territory. She'd needed only to be a woman to know.

She sat, smiling, while the dog sent out a series of rapid, unfriendly barks. She would see just how Nash Kirkland handled the situation.

How was a man supposed to react when the woman he'd come to see was being guarded by a… he was sure it couldn't really be a wolf, but it sure as hell looked like one. He was doubly sure that if she gave the word the sleek silver beast would take one long leap and go for his throat.

Nash cleared that throat, then jolted when something brushed his leg. Glancing down, he noted that Luna, at least, had decided to be friendly. "Nice dog you got there," he said cautiously. "Nice, big dog."

Morgana deigned to glance over her shoulder. "Out for a Sunday drive?"

"More or less."

The dog had subsided into those low, dangerous growls again. Nash felt a bead of sweat slide down his back as the mass of muscle and teeth stalked toward him to sniff at his shoes. "I, ah…" Then the dog looked up, and Nash was struck by the gleam of deep blue eyes against that silver fur. "God, you're a beauty, aren't you?" He held out a hand, sincerely hoping the dog would let him keep it. It was sniffed thoroughly, then rewarded with a lick.

Lips pursed, Morgana studied them. Pan had never so much as nipped anyone's ankle, but neither was he given to making friends so quickly. "You have a way with animals."

Nash was already crouched down to give the dog a brisk scratching. All throughout his childhood he'd yearned for a dog. It surprised him to realize that his boyhood desire had never quite faded. "They know I'm just a kid at heart. What breed is he?"

"Pan?" Her smile was slow and secret. "We'll just say he's a Donovan. What can I do for you, Nash?"

He looked over. She was in the sunlight, her hair bundled under a wide-brimmed straw hat. Her jeans were too tight, and her T-shirt was too baggy. Because she hadn't used gardening gloves, her hands were smeared with rich, dark earth. Her feet were bare. It hadn't occurred to him that bare feet could be sexy. Until now.

"Besides that," she said, with such an easy ripple of amusement in her voice that he had to grin.

"Sorry. My mind was wandering."

It didn't offend her to be found desirable. "Why don't you start with telling me how you found me?"

"Come on, honey, you know you've got a reputation." He rose to walk over and sit on the grass beside her. "I had dinner in the place beside your shop, struck up a conversation with my waitress."

"I'll bet you did."

He reached over to toy with the amulet she wore. An interesting piece, he thought, shaped like a half-moon and inscribed in—Greek? Arabic? He was no scholar. "Anyway, she was a fount of information. Fascinated and spooked. Do you affect a lot of people that way?"

"Legions." And she'd learned to enjoy it. "Did she tell you that I ride over the bay on my broomstick every full moon?"

"Close enough." He let the amulet drop. "It interests me how ordinarily intelligent people allow themselves to get caught up in the supernatural."

"Isn't that how you make your living?"

"Exactly. And, speaking of my living, I figure you and I started off wrong. How about a clean slate?"

It was hard to be annoyed with an attractive man on a beautiful day. "How about it?"

He thought it might be wise to take the conversation where he wanted by way of the back door. "You know a lot about flowers and stuff?"

"A few things." She shifted to finish planting a fresh pot of lemon balm.

"Maybe you can tell me what I've got in my yard, and what I should do about it?"

"Hire a gardening service," she said. Then she relented and smiled. "I suppose I might find time to take a look."

"I'd really appreciate it." He brushed at a smear of dirt on her chin. "You really could help me with the script, Morgana. It's no problem getting things out of books—anyone can do that.

What I'm looking for is a different slant, something more personal. And I—"

"What is it?"

"You have stars in your eyes," he murmured. "Little gold stars… like sunlight on a midnight sea. But you can't have the sun at midnight."

"You can have anything if you know how to get it." Those fabulous eyes held his. He couldn't have looked away to save his soul. "Tell me what you want, Nash."

"To give people a couple of enjoyable hours. To know they'll forget problems, reality, everything, when they step into my world. A good story's like a door, and you can go through it whenever you need to. After you've read it or seen it or heard it, you can still go back through it. Once it's yours, it's always yours."

He broke off, startled and embarrassed. This kind of philosophizing didn't fit in with his carefree image. He'd had expert interviewers dig at him for hours without unearthing a statement as simple and genuine as that. And all she'd done was ask.

"And, of course, I want to make pots of money," he added, trying to grin. His head felt light, his skin too warm.

"I don't see that one desire has to be exclusive of the other. There have been storytellers in my family from the fairy days down to my mother. We understand the value of stories."

Perhaps that was why she hadn't dismissed him from the outset. She respected what he did. That, too, was in her blood.

"Consider this." She leaned forward, and he felt the punch of something in his gut, something that went beyond her beauty. "If I agree to help you, I refuse to let you fall back on the least common denominator. The old crone, cackling as she mixes henbane in the cauldron.''

He smiled. "Convince me."

"Be careful what you dare, Nash," she murmured, rising. "Come inside. I'm thirsty."