Boone scrambles back to his feet, cradling the puppy against his chest. He uses his body to shield the animal from the wind.
“Let’s go,” he says, his teeth chattering. “He’s freezing.”
We turn back toward the house. The journey there feels twice as long as the journey out. The mud tries to suck our boots off. The rain feels heavier. But we have the prize.
Blue trots beside us, staying close to Boone’s legs, guarding his prize.
When we finally reach the porch, I am shivering violently. My jeans are soaked through, clinging to my legs. My hands are numb.
Boone kicks the door open, and we stumble into the entryway.
The living room is empty. The fire is burning low in the hearth.
Rhett and Saramaria are nowhere to be seen.
“Where are they?” I ask, slamming the door against the wind.
Boone doesn’t answer. He walks straight to the fireplace and crouches down. He unwraps his coat, revealing the shivering puppy tucked inside. He sets Wellsy down on the rug right in front of the flames.
Blue immediately bounds over, sniffing his friend. Wellsy yips, a weak sound, and collapses onto the rug, pressing his side against the stones. Blue curls up around him, sharing his body heat.
“He’s okay,” Boone says, rubbing the puppy’s ears with a large, gentle hand. “Just scared and cold.”
I strip off my wet coat, tossing it onto a chair. I stand near the fire, letting the heat seep into my frozen bones. The silence in the house is heavy, but it’s a peaceful silence compared to the storm outside.
Just then, the door to the hallway opens.
Rhett walks out first, holding a metal pot. Saramaria follows him.
She looks different.
She’s wearing the same oversized sweater and shorts, but her hair is damp and clean, tumbling over her shoulders in wet waves. Her face is flushed from the heat, and her skin looks scrubbed pink.
But the biggest change is the smell.
The room smells of wet dog and woodsmoke and the damp wool of our coats. But she... she smells of vanilla and something clean, like fresh rain. Soap. Shower gel.
It cuts through the other scents, hitting me with a force that makes my head spin. It’s the scent I’ve been catching whiffs of for days, but amplified now. Pure. Intoxicating.
She stops in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. They land on the rug.
“Wellsy!”
She cries out his name, a sound of pure relief. She runs across the room, her bare feet slapping against the wood floor.
She drops to her knees beside the puppy. Wellsy lifts his head, thumping his tail weakly against the floor. She scoops him up, burying her face in his wet fur.
“Oh, thank god,” she sobs. “Thank god. I thought I lost you.”
She rocks back and forth, holding him tight. Blue, seeing her distress, scoots closer. He rests his heavy head on her knee, whining softly. She reaches out with one hand, scratching behind his ears without looking.
We watch them. Boone is still crouched by the fire, dripping water onto the rug. Rhett is standing near the armchair, the empty pot in his hands.
None of us speak. We just watch her.
This woman who came here with a suitcase full of lawsuits and a heart full of ice, is currently a heap of emotions on the floor. She is fierce and terrified and compassionate all at once.
She looks up at us, her eyes swimming with tears. “You found him. You actually found him.”
