Jonathan reached across the table and took his Aunt Rowan’s hand. “There’s a reason for everything,” Jonathan said. “Grandma Nan always told me, Daniel, and Bébhinn that when we were little. It makes sense, right? You ended up marrying Grandpa, and Dagr’s dad was adopted by parents who loved him.”
Mom tapped Jonathan’s hand softly as she pulled her hand free. “You’re right, Jon. It’s a good thing to remember. This will be just one more interesting twist and turn in our family history if it turns out to be true.”
Her mom grinned, actually grinned at the family seated around the table. Bébhinn’s dad would be so relieved to see that the woman he loved above all others was trying to smile again.
“You’re thirty-nine, right, Dagr?” River asked.
Bébhinn witnessed the telltale heat race across Dagr’s fair skin at her aunt’s question. She leaned into his side and kissed the underside of his jaw to show her love, which seemed to go a fair way toward alleviating his discomfort.
“Yes,” Dagr confirmed.
“So how old is your father? Ulf, right?” Raven asked.
“Ulf," he confirmed. “Dad’s fifty-eight.”
She saw her family’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “How old was Ulf when he and your mom had you?”
“Nineteen,” Dagr shrugged and chuckled. “Dad said he knew at sixteen that Mom was the love of his life. My grandparents wished he might have waited until he finished university to have me, but Dad and Mom made it work.”
“What happened to your mother? If you don’t mind me asking,” her mom asked. The death of a spouse was not something she took lightly for obvious reasons.
“Cancer. I was twelve. Mom told Dad near the end that he would find another woman to love someday. He bellowed at the home nurse to up her meds because she was clearly delirious. If Mom’s words were prophetic, they haven’t come true yet. He’s never so much as looked at another woman twice for twenty-seven years.”
When her mother dabbed the tears from her eyes, the family turned their attention to the bottle of Three Wolves sitting in the center of the table.
Daniel gripped the bottle and poured a round of shots before holding his portion high. “To family, the possibility of gaining new members, and Dagr and Bébhinn,” he toasted.
Daniel toasting her relationship. Would wonders never cease?
“To the idea of another nephew.” Bran brought his glass high.
“To making our complicated family lines even more tangled.” Patrick raised his glass.
“To another cousin. Maybe.” Jonathan winked at Dagr before raising his whiskey.
“To family,” her mom added.
“Family above anything,” Raven chimed.
River raised her glass. “To Dagr and Bébhinn waiting longer to have children than both Helen and Ulf!” Her toast caused snorts and shouts of laughter, even from Dagr.
“To my man. I don’t give a shit if I have to call you boyfriend, nephew, or cousin as long as I get to call you mine,” Bébhinn added her toast to the group.
“Christ have mercy,” Dagr murmured, his glass raising last. “To the O’Faolains.”
“And the Griffiths,” Bran added, looking directly at Dagr and nodding his head.
The chances of them being related surely had to be low even if the woman in question sported natural white hair, was named Helen, and lived in Massachusetts.Okay, maybe not that low.
Everyone tossed back their shots and set down the crystal glasses in one.
Bran’s phone began to ring, and after looking at the screen, he immediately picked up his phone and answered, “MacGregor.”
“That’s Gray’s father,” she whispered to Dagr.
Bébhinn knew that her brothers spoke to her friends’ fathers on the regular, so she wasn’t surprised by the call until she saw her oldest brother’s face turn white. When he stood and knocked over his chair and then grabbed Patrick’s arm, a sickening premonition coursed through her veins.
When the call had come informing them of her father’s accident, the room had felt similar. One by one, every person at that table stood and waited for Bran to drop another bomb on their heads.
