She laughed, and the sound of it filled the room. “David, be serious. It’s late and she’s probably getting ready for bed. Let’s fix up something to eat, have our first meal together in ages, and catch up. Then tomorrow morning, first thing, we will pick up our little girl.”

“And the dog?”

Cara laughed again, and patted his chest with affection. “That’s a long story.”

DAVID LOADED THE last of Hope’s belongings into the back of his Range Rover. All with the notable exception of the puppy. A spring storm was rolling in, kicking sand into the air and sending their hair fluttering about their heads.

Cara said, “I’m sorry to leave you with the dog.”

“Not at all! I’m thrilled to keep her. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out for Hope. And you. You fell in love with her too,” Linnea said.

“I’m so happy to have my daughter back, and David well again.” Cara glanced over to where her husband was buckling Hope into her car seat. “Nothing else matters. Besides, I can always try another breed, one that is hypoallergenic.” She paused and said wryly, “Someday. At the moment, Hope doesn’t seem very upset to be leaving Luna behind.”

“She never really bonded. The dog kept jumping up on her, licking her face. She didn’t like that.”

“Perhaps”—Cara wiggled her brows in amusement—“you were right. She was too young for a pet.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Linnea’s smile was wistful. “I don’t think I could give Luna back if she stays.”

“She’s all yours.”

“Really?” Linnea was taken aback. The pricy, pedigreed dog was an extravagant gift. “I was hoping for maybe a discounted price. That I could pay off in time.”

“Don’t be silly.” Cara put up her hand. “And if you try to thank me, I’ll change my mind.”

Linnea put her hands to her cheeks. “Sorry. I have to. Thank you!”

“I’ll have the papers signed over to you. Sometimes life has a way of sorting things out for the best. I was trying to think of a gift to give you for all your care of Hope, and one materialized all on its own.”

“I confess, I’ve grown quite attached to Luna.”

They smiled at each other, aunt and niece, but more, two friends who could count on one another when the chips were down. That, Linnea knew, was the true gift.

Linnea looked at Cara in her cherry-red wind jacket, her dark, glossy hair held back by a navy and white scarf, her freshly scrubbed, smashing face. So strong. Vital. Another gust of wind sent Cara hurrying around to the passenger door.

“Take care, Sweet-tea!” she called, then climbed in.

A moment later the great engine sparked to life, and Linnea stepped forward to tap on the car’s back window. She gave a final wave at Hope. The girl sat beaming in the backseat, thrilled to be going home. She returned a quick wave before turning her head to look up one last time at John’s second-floor window. Just in case.