Gena Showalter Bundle. Gena Showalter

She was just about to change the subject when Frances did it for her.

      “I’ve got a joke for you. A husband looks at his wife and says, ‘I’m in the mood to try a new position tonight. Something I’ve never done before.’ The wife sends him a flirty eyelash flutter and says, ‘A new position sounds wonderful. You can stand by the ironing board and I’ll stretch out on the couch, drink beer and fart.’”

      Everyone chuckled except for Jorlan, which was to be expected. Yet somehow, the expression tightening his features didn’t fit with simple male irritation. This seemed altogether more serious. Frown sharpening, he whipped out one of his “weapons” and scanned the surrounding area.

      “I sense trouble,” he said.

      Katie lost her smile. Her gaze jerked around the porch. “What’s wrong?”

      With his palm gripping her forearm, he pulled her off to the side until they were alone, but his gaze never ceased its search. “A sorcerer is here.”

      “Are you sure?” Katie didn’t feel anything, didn’t feel the faint stirring inside of her that she’d felt this morning. But she had to ask. “Is it Mon Graig?”

      “Nay.”

      “How do you—”

      “’Tis a different kind of magic.” Jorlan drew in a long, deep breath. “I sense no immediate danger—but one must be careful when dealing with hidden powers.” With that, he deposited her back on the porch. Without another word, he slipped away and slowly circled the house.

      “Was that a spatula?” Frances asked, her face drawn together with curiosity.

      “Yes,” Katie answered as if it were perfectly normal for a giant of a man to wield a cooking utensil as though it was a lethal blade. “Yes, it was.”