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Mistress of the house

Hailey watched me, open-mouthed. I stroked Fleefoot’s fur and his face filled with longing. Remembering Jaxon’s words about her snapping, I decided not to let him touch her for now. Both needed to heal before they could really become friends.

Hailey fell into step beside me as I crossed the living room to the French doors. The cold November air wafted into my face. Staying inside, I set Fleefoot down on the terrace. For a moment, she didn’t move, only raised her nose and let the wind tug at her fur. Then she stormed off. My heart skipped a beat thinking she was trying to run away. Instead, she just ran, twisting and turning like a hare. She ran and ran and ran, as if she was delirious with her newfound freedom.

Hailey stood close to me, following everything with childish wonder.

I squatted beside her, even as the uncomfortable fabric of my pants made it difficult. “She’s happy, see?”

She nodded but didn’t take her eyes off Fleefoot. Hailey and I stayed like that for almost ten minutes
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