Darcy immediately shifted to block his way, even though he made no move to leave. “Nuh uh,” she said, jabbing a finger against his chest. “I’m not done with you.” She studied him, brows drawn down, looking rather fierce when compared to his appearance of a kicked puppy.

“I’m afraid ‘I can’t answer’ isn’t good enough. You are not leaving here until you explain yourself.” She spoke rapidly, unwilling to let her mind catch up lest it insist that this was a terrible idea. “We took you in. We trusted you. We shared our home with you. You don’t get to make half-assed excuses and walk away like nothing ever happened.”

The thought of Darcy being able to physically bar Leita from leaving was laughable, yet she still crossed her arms, lifting her chin, as if daring him to defy her. Oh, she was angry, far, far more angry than frightened or concerned for her own well-being.

More telling, she was also hurt.

She liked Leita. Perhaps she’d been growing more fond of him than was wise, but there it was all the same. She’d grown attached only to have the rug pulled out from beneath her. Again. Would she ever learn? Life was not a fairy tale and it never would be. There was no prince charming or happily ever after. Just Darcy.

She took a shuddering breath, squaring her shoulders. Speaking more gently this time, she said, “You’re going to sit down and talk to me. Got it?”