It was a sorry state of affairs when affection from a miscreant cat sent her awaygreiting, but there it was.
Leah so desperately needed comfort, she was willing to accept it from the most unlikely source.
But cuddling the feline . . . it was . . . nice.
She abruptly had more empathy for Madeline and her maddening attachment to the mercurial beastie.
And as Leah pressed her face to Mr. Dandy’s fur, she realized another truth—
She would be all right.
Shewould.
Even if she and Fox had to surrender Madeline to the Westhampton’s care, they would get through the loss together.
Even if she lost Fox as Malcolm lost Aileen, life would continue. Leah would grieve—deeply and thoroughly—and then reassemble the pieces of her life.
It was what she did.
She persevered. She overcame.
But—heavens!—it was so glorious to have people.
Herpeople.
Her husband. Her child. Her brothers.
Even thissleekitcat.
If only there were a way to keep them all together?
Leah wiped her damp cheeks once more.
Mr. Dandy relaxed into her, curling into a ball.
Leah sat for a good long while, stroking Mr. Dandy’s silken fur. Until the cat fell asleep and her own legs went numb, her bones feeling the chill of the mountain air.
Abruptly, Mr. Dandy sat up in her lap, ears upright, head alert, as if hearing a noise on the wind. He sprang from her lap, leaping over rocks, heading back toward the castle.
Slowly, Leah rose, too.
And there, coming over the rise, was Fox.
He looked . . .
Oh, well, he looked much like herself, she supposed—hatless, gloveless, rumpled, exhausted.
His head raised, and their eyes locked.
And despite thepainsorrowdespairof their life at this moment, her heart lifted.
Because he was here—grizzled, rugged, battle-worn, but still so agonizingly attractive. And not just for his handsome face, but for the loyal, loving heart she knew beat within him. For the strength of character he possessed to overcome the cruelest blows life could deliver.
He kept walking toward her, closer and closer, until she was in his arms.
Leah collapsed into him, forehead resting against his shoulder, her hands burrowing into his coat for warmth. He held her for a long moment, letting his heat soothe her shivering.
“Is Madeline . . . is she . . .?” Leah’s voice trailed off—she couldn’t bring herself to say the wordgone.
