“Turn off the television, lad. It’s time for bed.”

Padraig groaned, prompting Patrick to grin. The six-year-old boy’s twin brother, Colm, had fallen asleep nearly an hour earlier, but Padraig was tireless.

“Just a little longer, Pop Pop. Please.”

“You asked for more time an hour ago. It’s already way past your bedtime, and your mother will have both our heads if you wake up grumpy from not enough sleep.”

“I’ll be good tomorrow. Honest.”

“Come on, Paddy. I’ll tell you a story.”

Padraig rolled his eyes. “Stories are dumb.” He pointed to the cartoon he was watching on TV. There were a bunch of babies getting up to mischief. Patrick simply couldn’t understand the appeal, but his grandchildren loved it.

“What’s that show called again?” Patrick asked.

“Rugrats.”

“Sounds about right. Come on, rugrat. I’m going to prove to you that stories aren’t dumb.”

Padraig begrudgingly turned off the television, and the two of them climbed the stairs to the room Padraig’s father, Tris, had shared with his brother Killian when they were growing up.

Padraig and Colm had begged their parents earlier to spend the night, something they’d been asking to do more and more lately. Patrick suspected it was because he was more lenient with bedtimes and tended to indulge their requests for junk food. However, as the grandfather, that was his God-given duty. It pleased him to be able to spoil his grandkids.

It didn’t hurt that these little sleepovers gave Tris and Lane a night off from their rambunctious, energetic twins. It allowed Patrick a chance to spoil them as well.

Padraig crawled into the twin bed, scooting over to allow him room to sit next to him. They both lowered their voices to almost whispers, as Colm was sleeping soundly in the other bed.

“This is a story about a boy named Padraig.”

“Like me?” Padraig asked. The small lad took great pride in his name, and Patrick hoped he always felt that way.

“Yes. A long time ago, Ireland was a magical place filled with fairies and unicorns. Padraig was there as well, and he played a flute.”

“Was it magic?” Padraig asked, his eyes wide.

“Not at the beginning, but…well, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll get to that. Padraig loved where he lived very much, but there was one problem. Snakes.”

While Padraig thought the magic was cool, his love for snakes was on an entirely different level.

“What kind of snakes? Rattlesnakes? Boa constrictors? Pythons?”

Patrick had to admit he was probably to blame for Padraig’s fascination with all things that slithered. He’d taken the twins to the Maryland Zoo a few months earlier, and they’d spent quite a bit of time studying the reptiles. Since then, Padraig had checked out every snake book in the library, much to his mother’s dismay, and never failed to find programs on the Discovery Channel about the creatures. Lately, he’d been begging for a pet snake for Christmas, but hell would freeze over before Lane allowed that.

“The snakes in Ireland were not so deadly. Let’s just say they were black snakes. The problem was there were just too darn many of them. They were everywhere. Slithering along the streets, in the crops, hiding in people’s beds.”

Padraig drew his feet up, tucking them under his butt with a grin.

Patrick laughed at his grandson’s animated look of horror. He ruffled Padraig’s hair.

“One day, the king had had enough, and he decided that the person who could get rid of all the snakes could marry his daughter.”

Padraig crinkled his nose. “That’s a dumb prize. I’d rather have a BB gun or a scooter.”

“Well now, I wouldn’t say it was such a bad reward. After all, the princess, Maureen, was very pretty, with long red hair and big green eyes. Everyone in Ireland loved her because she was sweet and kind and gentle. A lot like your mom. Padraig thought she was lovely and knew there was really nothing he wouldn’t do to claim her hand in marriage.”

“Did he get rid of the snakes?” Padraig was clearly unimpressed by the girl and ready to get back to the good stuff.

“He tried, along with a bunch of other men. They all wanted to earn Maureen’s love. But every single one of them failed. Then one afternoon, Padraig was sitting alone in a field, playing his flute when all of a sudden a leprechaun appeared, a lively little man named Seamus. He had a flute as well.”

“His was the magic one!” Padraig said, his voice loud in the quiet room.

Patrick nodded. “Shh,” he warned, lest they wake up Colm. He lowered his voice even more. “Padraig caught Seamus, which was a very hard thing to do because they’re so small and quick, you see. Anyway, once a leprechaun is caught, they must take you to their gold. Only Seamus didn’t have any gold, so he gave his magic flute to Padraig and told him to play a marching song. Padraig did, and when he turned around, do you know what he saw?”

“What?” Padraig was clearly enthralled by the story.

“Snakes. They were following him. So Padraig kept playing and marching, and as he went, more and more snakes joined the strange parade. Padraig marched all the way to the ocean, and when he got there, he borrowed a boat, hopped on and kept playing. Do you know what those snakes did?”

Padraig shook his head.

“They followed him straight into the ocean, where they were all washed away by the waves. No more snakes in Ireland. Padraig had driven them all out. And when the king heard what he’d done, he brought Maureen to Padraig and she took one look at him, saw that he was a good man with a big heart, and she fell in love with him right on the spot. They got married and lived happily ever after.”

Padraig yawned and slid down the bed, burrowing under the covers.

Patrick stood up to tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Do you still think stories are dumb?”

“That one was alright,” Padraig replied sleepily. “I like the part about the snakes and the leprechaun.”

“But not the girl?” Patrick teased.

Padraig revised his previous statement. “Girls are dumb.”

“I suspect you won’t always think so. And when you decide they aren’t dumb, you can drive away snakes to earn her love.”

Padraig closed his eyes as he twisted to his side, sleep coming fast to claim him. “I’d rather have a scooter,” he said through a large yawn.

“Good night.” Patrick tiptoed to the door, then turned around to look at his grandsons. While they were both rough-and-tumble boys—bulls in a china closet, he liked to say—they had big hearts.

“These two are going to be heartbreakers, sweetheart,” he murmured to Sunday, his beloved wife, certain his personal guardian angel was always listening from heaven. “Going to have to trust you’ll find women who are worthy of them. And patient,” he added with a chuckle. “They’ll definitely have to be patient women. Preferably ones who like snakes.”