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His non-committal grunt seemed to be all the encouragement Hunter needed to continue.

“Our uncle has quite a few friends who are the same way. We meet yearly for Hogmanay—we call them uncles and aunts and cousins, since we all grew up together—and we’ve become quite used to clearing our throats loudly before we enter any rooms as a protective measure.

” His guffaw seemed too loud, too forced, as he slapped Cassian on the shoulder again.

“We got an education at a young age, I’ll tell ye! ”

What in the hell was going on?

This man was acting as if he were Cassian’s friend . As if they were the type to share confidences and memories!

Perhaps he’s just gregarious, along with being no’ a particularly good veterinarian .

But all of Cassian’s instincts told him Doctor Hunter Butcombe was trying a little too hard.

And he’d learned not to ignore his instincts. So although he didn’t know why Hunter wanted to appear to be his friend, he needed to remove himself from this situation .

With an abrupt nod, he stopped before they reached the front door. “I will see ye later in the day, I am sure.”

Without waiting for an answer, Cassian turned and marched—slowly, deliberately, watching his fooking steps—down the corridor toward the back of the large house. He’d slip out the doors in the salon. Fresh air. That’s what a healing man needed.

There was still dew on the back patio, and he deliberately avoided looking at the place where Gabby had first tripped and landed in his arms. There was enough of a difference in the stones that he didn’t think it had been contrived, and he knew enough about people to know her response to him definitely hadn’t been.

Unlike her brother, her responses to him had always been natural.

Except…yesterday she’d asked him questions. Probing questions.

Normal questions, if she’s interested in ye. The way ye’re interested in her .

Except she’d asked…

What happened to your leg?

He couldn’t tell her what happened to his leg. He couldn’t tell her about his last mission, and it was strange as hell that she’d brought it up. Was it not?

The elephant—convalescing in its stable—was well-guarded, and the men said they hadn’t seen Gus, so he ducked into the other animal barn…and heard voices.

“This is Jerry the llama. Uncle Dickie has had him for ages.”

That was Gus’s voice. And the laughter that followed caused Cassian to stumble—because his son was talking to Gabby.

“Well, hello there, Jerry. You are looking fine. What a smart tie you are wearing.”

“Uncle Dickie says the stable master makes him wear it so he can tell the difference between Jerry and Suzanne. Uncle Dickie got Suzanne so we could have some baby llamas, but it didn’t work.”

“Oh?” Another low chuckle from Gabby.

“They don’t seem to like each other.”

“No baby llamas from you, eh, Jerald?”

Cassian picked up his pace, legs quivering as he hurried toward the opposite end of the building and heard Gus’s reply. “But once Uncle Dickie got it into his head to have baby llamas, Aunt Zilphia talked him into getting Steve.”

“I love how good you are with the animals,” Gabby complimented, and Cassian found himself slowing.

His son was good with Sir Richard’s menagerie, wasn’t he?

“You can keep them all straight, and you know exactly what they like. It is very important to treat them as individuals when they are cherished family pets like these.”

Gus mumbled something, and Cassian heard Gabby’s low, throaty laughter.

Laughter shouldn’t be arousing. So why was hers?

“Well, you learned it well, lad. Did you have many pets growing up?”

“My father brought me a dog once. ”

The announcement—and the realization that his son remembered the old mutt, caused Cassian to stumble to a stop, groping for the edge of a barrel to hold himself upright.

“Tell me about your pup,” prompted Gabby, and he could imagine her attention switching between the sedate llama and the child.

“I was little…” Gus’s voice took on a far-away note, as if he was remembering across the years.

“And I’m not exactly sure he brought it for me .

Mama named him Lefty, he lived in our kitchen.

He was old and his coat was dull and scraggly, and he only had three legs.

My father found him at the train station half-starved, Mama said, and brought him home to be her problem. ”

Cassian’s fingers curled around the head of the barrel. He remembered that visit vividly, because it was one of the few times his young son had been genuinely interested in spending time with him as they got the dog settled.

As he recalled, he’d been gone again within the month, not stopping to consider the hardship he was placing on Artemesia by leaving her with the untrained mutt. The story of my life .

He’d spent years dropping problems on his wife’s lap, then disappearing. Marriage. A child. A scrounged mutt.

“It does not sound as if your mother was fond of the dog,” Gabby was musing.

“She said he was too old to be trained, and would be a burden. But he wasn’t. He was a good dog, loyal and friendly. ”

Another thoughtful hum from Gabby. “And your father saw that. He must have seen it, yes, in order to bring Lefty home for you. Perhaps you got your love of animals from him .”

Cassian’s silent snort was matched by Gus’s loud one. “I’ve never seen him with another pet. But I suppose…” When he trailed off, Gabby made a noise, and the lad sighed and continued. “He does like to fuss.”

This time, Cassian’s offended bristling was overrun by Gabby’s throaty laughter. “ Fuss ? Cassian Grey? Perhaps we are not speaking of the same man. He is not exactly the type to fuss over you or anyone, is he?”

“He’s a protector, Aunt Zilphia says.” Was…was it Cassian’s imagination, or was his son defending him? “He likes to make sure everyone is cared for.”

Why in the hell were they spending so much time talking about him ?

Gabby hummed again. “Yes, I suppose I can see that. Your father is an interesting person. I wonder what he would do if we were to introduce him to Jerry here.”

“Probably wrinkle his nose.” Gus’s tone was light. “Llamas smell.”

“Llamas smell exactly the way they are supposed to. Does Steve stink as well?”

“I suppose he must not stink to Jerry. Steve hasn’t had the chance to make babies with Suzanne yet, because Jerry won’t leave him alone,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “Paul the stable master says Jerry fancies Steve. ”

“Well, I am certain he’s a fine-looking llama,” announced Gabby, as Cassian inched forward, pleased with the turn of conversation away from himself. “I can imagine you would fancy him, Jerry, is that not right?”

Cassian heard his son’s irritated huff. “But Jerry is a boy .”

“Oh, that does not matter. Within a llama herd it is common to see males mounting other males. It is thought to be a show of dominance, rather than—like among humans—something born of affection.”

The pair of them came into view and Cassian halted, intrigued by her lesson and studiously ignoring the pain in his leg which wasn’t there. The leg, that was. Not the pain.

Gabby was leaning against a stall, cooing at a regal-looking mop of hair with teeth and an attitude, with Gus standing on the lowest rail, his elbows resting on the top one.

He was the one who hummed thoughtfully now. “I know some fish, like clownfish, change sexes. If the dominant female dies, the biggest male can become a lassie and lay eggs.”

“That is correct!” Cassian saw Gabby shoot the lad a proud grin. “It is a biological imperative, usually only seen in times of duress. Slipper limpets do something similar, although it is more difficult to tell with them.”

Gus chuckled along with her, evidence of shared knowledge Cassian had never heard before.

“Uncle Dickie has a book in his library about this.” Gus shifted his weight so he was facing Gabby.

“It said that sometimes a hen can become confused, if her…her lady bits are damaged or underformed, and she starts acting like a rooster. I don’t think she can have babies though.

It’s no t herm… hermaphrodism though, just a functional sex change. ”

Stunned, Cassian pressed himself against the wall, hoping to hear more. The fact his son knew that was remarkable, and he couldn’t help but be impressed.

When had his wee laddie grown so much?

“You are entirely correct, young sir, and I love to hear that you have been reading your Messerschmitt—he is an expert in the field.” He could see her switch her strokes to the back of the animal’s head.

“Oh, you like to be scratched there?” She tipped her head to one side to include the lad.

“You see, Gus, very few animals will resist a scratch behind the ears.”

“My father calls me Gus.”

Cassian watched Gabby freeze for a moment, then begin her llama-scratching again. “I heard him call you that. Do you mind if I do as well?”

The lad shrugged. “I guess not.”

And that was when Cassian realized his heart had hiccupped.

He shifted forward silently, knowing damn well he was eavesdropping, but this was a conversation between two people he very much wanted to know more about.

“Is your father the only one who calls you Gus?” Gabby asked, too mildly.

Cassian realized he was holding his breath, waiting for his son to answer .

“My mother called me Augustus,” the lad finally said. “She died when I was six, so I don’t remember her well. Uncle Dickie is her uncle, really, and he calls me Augustus too.”

Gabby hummed thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes it is important for the ones we love most to have special nicknames for us.”

Gus’s snort was immediate. “My father doesn’t love me. I’m just an obligation to him.”

Cassian had already straightened and was reaching forward to approach his son when Gabby swung on the lad, surprise on her face. “What makes you say that?”

The lad had shrugged mulishly, frowning at the animal who now nudged Gabby’s hand, demanding more pets, but she ignored the llama.