Page 45 of The Great and Terrible

That made two of us. But he wasn’t wrong about the rabdog. Nugget was indeed cozy. And hewasmy pet, wasn’t he? Somehow, I would find a way to bring him home with me. He’d have plenty of room to run and play on the farm, without fear of being spotted.

“Thank you, Jasher. For everything.”

“You are welcome.” His gruff tone did strange, wonderful things to my insides.

I rose and padded to the bed to curl up beside Nugget. The furball awoke briefly, licked my neck, yawned, and snuggled into my warmth. Almost content for the first time since my impromptu trip, I whispered, “Goodnight.”

A pause. Then, “Goodnight. Princess.”

Something warm and wet brushed my cheek, luring me from a dead sleep. I blinked open my eyes to find Nugget sittingup, grinning down at me. Happiness radiated from his perfect face. Aw.

Reaching out, I scratched him behind his ears. Whoa! He’d gotten bigger. I jolted upright and looked him over. He’d doubled in size. At least! No doubt he weighed over twenty pounds now. Goodness. Carry him for miles? Not without wanting to cut off my arms.

“You must be hungry.” I certainly was.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and padded to the couch. Hmm. No sign of Jasher. His bag was gone, too. Frowning, I searched for any indication of his presence. If he’d ditched me…

A note! I rushed to the dresser and swiped up the piece of paper.

Food for you and the mutt waits in the cabinet. Eat and join me downstairs. J

His penmanship surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. It was exactly like him. No nonsense, bold, and sharp.

All but drooling, I opened the cabinet door and discovered what might be biscuits and sausage gravy, plus another bowl of meat and a pitcher of milk. I fed Nugget before relocating to the table, pleased to find Jasher had cleared away last night’s dishes. How domesticated of the forever bachelor.

As I ate, my mind drifted to my mother. A topic I’d struggled to hold at bay throughout the night. Though the rawness hadn’t dulled, I was going to have to untangle a few details if I hoped to experience peace. I wouldn’t do a deep dive, setting myself up for another onslaught of confusion and frustration. I’d just take a small dip into the shallow end.

Here goes.Sandra—or rather, Queen Sandrine—had once ruled this awful kingdom alongside a man named King Ahav. Maybe she’d loved him, maybe she hadn’t. If history wasn’t skewed, he’d been a man despised by his own people. She’d been pregnant when she fled, but to my knowledge, mymother had given birth to no other children, which ensured one of three scenarios:

She lost the baby. She gave up the baby. I was the baby.

If option three proved the winner, my sweet daddy wasn’t my father.

My next bite settled like a ball of lead. Unless someone came forward with new information, there was no way to glean the truth about my parentage. Here, now, I preferred not to know. No one mattered more to me than my dad. Or my mom, if she lived. Did she?

I glanced at the shadow ring decorating my finger and wondered if she had returned to this world when she vanished from mine. Someone could’ve dragged her back.

Hope lived and died in a single heartbeat. If she were here, someone would have recognized her, and word would’ve spread. Jasher would’ve picked up whispers.

Sadness settled on my shoulders as I returned my dishes to the cabinet. Enough swimming in suppositions. I had a journey to complete.

I used the toilet, cleaned up, and anchored my hair in a ponytail. Though I was tempted to leave the mass hanging free, if only to garner another dazed look from Jasher. Pulling on my boots, I debated what to do about Nugget. Lock him in the room or bring him with me and risk another pistol?

Probably best to bring him. If someone came into the room with the weapon… Yeah, best to bring him. “Come on, Nugget.”

Eager to please, he followed me out the door.

I descended the steps and glided into the lobby, instantly engulfed by the scent of coffee. Rowdy piano music played at greater volume. Women filled the area, sitting at tables and chatting, but they weren’t laughing and making merry. Today, they scowled and snapped their words.

“You’ve won Drogan three times, Leona.” Natalie, thespeaker, pointed a finger in the mayor’s face. “A statistical impossibility.”

A chorus of “yeah” rang out.

“Are you fraternizing with him?” someone else demanded.

“Never!” Leona puffed up, clearly going on the defensive. “The first and second wins didn’t happen concurrently, which greatly increases the odds of a third. Now, enough of this. Conversation over.”

Someone bellowed, “You’re cheating, we just don’t know how.”

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