Page 96 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Hudson touched the back of my hand with two fingers. I turned my hand and let my fingers turn into his.

“You’re not a problem to manage,” he said.

The room faded a little, though not completely. Artem remained behind the desk. Maeve watched everything with bright, careful eyes. Lincoln stood near the chair, mine in a way I wasn’t ready to really accept.

But Hudson’s fingers held mine, and I could breathe.

“I know,” I said. It wasn’t entirely true.

Artem leaned back in his chair. “You will stay here tonight.”

“Will I?”

“Yes.”

“And tomorrow?” Hudson asked.

Artem looked at him. “Tomorrow you may discuss logistics with Mary like adults, assuming everyone remembers she isn’t cargo.”

“I’m standing here,” I said.

“Yes,” Artem said. “That is why I said it.”

“We’ll look after you, Mary. Just give us a chance to prove it,” Lincoln said.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Maeve’s smile had turned suspiciously pleased. I ignored it, which was mature and showed growth. Probably.

The office door opened then, and Mac poked his head in. “Daddy Ivan said Fergus didn’t eat the sausage.”

Maeve closed her eyes. “Mac. Did he send you to tell me that Fergus didn’t eat the sausage?”

Mac considered the question then closed his eyes tight.

“What are you doing,” Maeve asked him.

“Using my superpowers.”

“To evade the question?”

“To ask Daddy I how I should answer.”

Gregor appeared behind him, holding Fergus under one arm. Fergus looked deeply satisfied and not at all repentant.

“He ate all the sausage,” Gregor said. “I’m going to make Ivan come for a long walk until Fergus has… How do I say it? Evacuated himself.”

Maeve sighed as she glanced at Mac. “And you can go too.”

Maybe my life was a disaster. It might always have been one. But at least I didn’t have to pick up after Fergus.

Chapter 17

Mary

Two days later, I’d built a nest. Officially, I’d arranged my bedding in a manner that maximized comfort, minimized nausea, and made excellent use of the throw pillows Hudson insisted were decorative.

Unofficially, I’d stolen one of Lincoln’s hoodies, Hudson’s scarf, two blankets from the linen closet, and a cashmere throw with a Harrods label and probably required its own insurance policy.