“Somebody has to,” he grunts.
“I was going to get the ornament,” I snap, my anger sparking. “But she’s too proud to let me just get it for her, so I asked Mal to go back for it. You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”
The fire in his eyes flickers, easing a fraction.
That’s when I glance down and notice the sand pile. Maybelle’s buried her mess, but she’s vanished.
“Where the hell’s Maybelle?”
He scans the garage. “She’s somewhere unfamiliar so she’s probably hiding.”
We start searching, and I finally spot her perched on Dad’s workbench, crouched behind a toolbox like a white ball of judgment.
“Come here, Maybelle,” I coax, stretching a hand toward her. “Let’s get you back in your carrier.”
She hisses and swats, leaving a deep scratch across my knuckles. Then she launches at me, claws sinking into my chest.
I yelp but, thank God, I have the sense to grab her body instead of swatting her away. Holding her at arm’s length with my hands tightly around her chest, I hurry to the carrier. She’s screeching like a banshee, back claws raking my arms.
To his credit, Tyler grabs the carrier and holds it open. I shove Maybelle inside, earning a few more scratches before Tyler slams the door shut. He gives me an appraising look, some of his animosity easing.
“You’ve got a few war wounds, dude.”
They sting like hell, but I grit my teeth. “I couldn’t lose her cat too.”
He nods, and we head back into the house.
Finley’s in the entryway with her suitcase and wearing the heavy sweater she had on when she first arrived.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me. “Alex!”
“Maybelle’s done her business and all in one piece,” I say, pretending blood’s not running down my arm.
“Same can’t be said for you,” Grant says under his breath.
Finley takes the carrier with one hand, her suitcase in the other, and looks me over. “You didn’t try to pick her up, did you?” she asks, alarm flashing in her eyes.
I shrug, not wanting to talk about my war wounds. Because right now, all I can think about is the fact that she’s about to walk away from me—maybe forever—and the thought rips through me harder than Maybelle’s claws ever could.
“Thanks for everything,” she says hesitantly. “Despite it all, I’m still glad I came.”
That damn lump’s back in my throat. I try to clear it, failing miserably. Instead, I shake my head.
She gives me one last glance before turning and walking out the door. Mirna and Barb follow, but at the threshold, Barb looks back, disappointment etched in her eyes.
“You’re a disappointment, young man. I was sure this was going to turn out just like the couple in Holiday Fake Out.” She shakes her head and marches out the door.
And Finley takes my heart with her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Finley
“What are you two doing here?” I ask, walking down the sidewalk toward a car I don’t recognize parked at the end of the driveway.
“Wait until we’re in the rental car, dear,” Mirna says, circling to the trunk.
I set the pet carrier on the ground and heft my suitcase in, but it takes a bit of maneuvering to fit it in with their two giant bags. “Why did you pack so much?”
