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if your mother or father have brothers or sisters, and they have children, those children are your cousins.”
    Jessie digested this information with a frown of concentration. “Which are you?”
    “It’s complicated,” Morgana said with a laugh, opting to rest against her car for a moment before getting in. “Ana’s and Sebastian’s and my father are all brothers. And our mothers are sisters. So we’re kind of double cousins.”
    “That’s neat. If I can’t have cousins, maybe I can have a brother or sister. But my daddy says I’m a handful all by myself.”
    “I’m sure he’s right,” Morgana agreed as Ana chuckled. Brushing her hair back, Morgana glanced up. There, framed in one of the wide windows on the second floor of the house next door, was a man. Undoubtedly Jessie’s father.
    Ana had described him well enough, Morgana mused. Though he was more attractive, and certainly sexier, than her cousin had let on. That very simple omission made her smile. Morgana lifted a hand in a friendly wave. After a moment’s hesitation, Boone returned the salute.
    “That’s my daddy.” Jessie pinwheeled her arms in greeting. “He works up there, but we haven’t unpacked all the boxes yet.
    “What does he do?” Morgana asked, since it was clear Ana wasn’t going to.
    “Oh, he tells stories. Really good stories, about witches and fairy princesses and dragons and magic fountains. I get to help sometimes. I have to go because tomorrow’s my first day of school and he said I wasn’t supposed to stay too long. Did I?”
    “No.” Ana bent down to kiss her cheek. “You can come back anytime.”
    “Bye!” And she was off, gamboling across the lawn, with the dog racing behind her.
    “I’ve never been more charmed, or more worn out,” Morgana said as she climbed into her car. “The girl’s a delightful whirlwind.” Smiling out at Ana, she jiggled her keys. “And the father is certainly no slouch.”
    “I imagine it’s difficult, a man raising a little girl alone.”
    “From the one glimpse I had, he looked up to it.” She gunned the engine. “Interesting that he writes stories. About witches and dragons and such. Sawyer, you said?”
    “Yes.” Ana blew tousled hair out of her eyes. “I guess he must be Boone Sawyer.”
    “It might intrigue him to know you’re Bryna Donovan’s niece—seeing as they’re in the same line of work. That is, if you wanted to intrigue him.”
    “I don’t,” Ana said firmly.
    “Ah, well, perhaps you already have.” Morgana put the car in reverse. “Blessed be, cousin.”
    Ana struggled with a frown as Morgana backed out of the drive.
    *  *  *
    After driving to Sebastian’s to give his horses their morning feeding and grooming, Ana spent most of the next morning delivering her potpourris, her scented oils, her medicinal herbs and potions. Others were boxed and packaged for shipping. Though she had several local customers for her wares, including Morgana’s shop, Wicca, a great portion of her clientele was outside the area.
    Anastasia’s was successful enough to suit her. The business she’d started six years before satisfied her needs and ambitions and allowed her the luxury of working at home. It wasn’t for money. The Donovan fortune, and the Donovan legacy, kept both her and her family comfortably off. But, like Morgana with her shop and Sebastian with his many businesses, Ana needed to be productive.
    She was a healer. But it was impossible to heal everyone. Long ago she had learned it was destructive toattempt to take on the ills and pains of the world. Part of the price of her power was knowing there was pain she could not alleviate. She did not reject her gift. She used it as she thought best.
    Herbalism had always fascinated her, and she accepted the fact that she had the touch. Centuries before, she might have been the village wisewoman—and that never failed to amuse her. In today’s world, she was a businesswoman who could mix a bath oil or an