A weak man.
A man who probably shouldnotbe allowed to raise Madeline. A man unworthy of Leah’s regard.
Enough.
This had to cease. This cycle of drinking, pain, and recrimination.
Overcoming his addiction to laudanum had been the hardest thing he had ever done.
But standing in the middle of the torrential storm—cold, buffeted, alone—he faced another truth.
He had to conquer alcohol, too.
Hehadto change.
Determination lit a fire in his belly.
Hewouldbecome a better version of himself.
But first . . .
“MADELINE!” he bellowed again, the wind stealing his voice.
He squinted into the swirling sheets of driving rain.
A human shape separated from the formless pines and clusters of gorse, coming toward him.
A kelpie adrift in the water, elemental, rising from the very earth itself—strong, indomitable.
Breath left him.
Of course, she would come.
Of course, she would find him.
Leah had been saving him from the second he first clapped eyes on her.
Drenched to the bone, hair plastered to her head, cloak and bonnet dripping water, she was the fiercest sight he had ever beheld.
She had seen him at his worst. How many times had he vented his caustic temper at her?
And yet, she still came for him.
A tightness clutched his chest, the sort that preceded weeping.
He would not weep.
But the sense was there.
That perhaps, with Leah at his side, he could find the courage to piece himself together again.
She waved a hand and picked up the pace, racing to join him under the cover of the pines.
“You shouldn’t have come out in this, woman.” His words were a lash, masking his relief.
She ducked into the dryer comfort of the pine trees. Lightning flashed, thunder cracking behind. Leah recoiled, darting sideways but stopping short of touching him.
“Madeline is safe,” she panted. “She was in the back barn hayloft, playing with the litter of new kittens. At the moment, she is enjoying a long scold and an even longer bath in the nursery.”
