Page 85 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

Mary laughed. “We’re going to see the baby.”

“At an island?” Mac replied.

Mary thought for a moment. I was sure she wanted to say something funny back to Mac but decided on honesty. “At a clinic. It’s where we’ll see it for the first time.”

Mac sat down on the step with a disheartened thud. “No sand.”

“Sorry, not today.”

“After you’ve got the pictures of the babies.”

Mary’s face changed. The word babies still startled her, and the way her hand pressed more firmly over her stomach before she relaxed it.

“One baby,” she said gently.

Mac frowned. “Two.”

Mary stared at him as Maeve kissed the top of his head. “He’s normally right about weird things.”

“You should discourage your children from prophecy,” Mary said.

“I like his weird thoughts,” I said.

“You know he’s only three years old. He is not Nostradamus.” Mary’s gaze flicked back to me, and for one brief moment we shared the smile.

“Let’s go and meet our children,” Lincoln added as he opened the car door.

“Don’t!” Mary said but laughed as she got into the car. Lincoln sat beside her.

I drove through the gates and onto the Surrey road. The estate disappeared behind us, tucked away beneath trees and security and the life Maeve had built with her pack.

Mary sat with her hands folded over her bag, with no phone and no sharp comment ready. Just quiet.

Lincoln glanced at her. “Sick?”

“Not yet. Just petrified.”

“I’m sure your nephew does not have any superpowers.”

She looked at him, and the smallest smile tugged at her mouth. “It would be my luck that I am having twins.”

I watched them in the mirror and kept my hands steady on the wheel.

For ten minutes, the car held the soft sounds of the road. Tires over wet asphalt. The turn signal clicking at a roundabout. Lincoln opened a bottle of water and offered it without comment.

Mary took it. It was stupid, really, but the quiet sight of her accepting care without making a battle of it first was a step in the right direction.

“I need to tell you something,” I said.

Mary’s eyes found mine in the mirror.

I kept my gaze on the road. “About Damien.”

Mary’s fingers tightened around the bottle. “Is he all right?”

The question was immediate and kind. That was Mary when she forgot to protect herself. She was still hurt and still angry, but still checked whether the person who’d wounded her was okay.

“He’s not hurt,” I said.