Page 77 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

I turned in my seat. “Don’t hide that from us.”

Her gaze lifted. “What?”

“Touching your stomach.”

She looked startled. Then defensive. “It’s my stomach. And that was bossy.”

“I am bossy.”

“I remember.” Her eyes met mine as she fought a smile and lost a little of it.

Progress. Tiny, ridiculous progress.

By the time we reached the long drive to Maeve’s house, the sky had settled into evening. The gates opened before Hudson pressed the intercom, which meant someone had been expecting the car or watching us arrive.

“That’s ominous,” I said.

Mary sighed. “That’s Gregor.”

“Does Gregor usually open the gates to strange cars?”

“Gregor is perceptive, especially when one of the children tries to hand him something sticky.”

Hudson drove slowly up the gravel drive.

The house appeared through trees and mist, warm lights glowing in the windows. Big without being showy. Old brick, ivy, security tucked into the shadows. The house was safe.

We stopped near the front steps and none of us moved. We were delivering her back to a house that wasn’t ours, to a life she might decide to build without us.

Mary unbuckled her seat belt. “Thank you for lunch,” she said.

“You barely ate it,” Hudson said, handing her the slice of cake he bought her.

“Thank you.” She reached for the door.

Hudson turned in his seat. “Mary.”

She paused with her palm on the handle.

“May I touch your stomach?” His voice changed, softer now, without the careful edge that made him sound like a man arranging a crisis into manageable columns.

Mary stared at him. Then she laughed. “There’s only fat to touch.”

The words hit me in the chest.

Hudson stopped breathing for a beat. “And I already told you not to say that,” he said.

Mary’s laughter died.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t move closer. He simply held her gaze across the quiet car. “Don’t speak about yourself like that.”

Her fingers tightened on the door handle. “It’s true.”

“No,” he said. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You’re—“

The air changed. Mary didn’t move a muscle. “Don’t,” she whispered.

She looked from him to me, and the blue of her eyes had gone bright in the dim car.