Alec nuzzled her head even as his fingertips lightly touched her ears. Then he whispered something in her small ear, and everyone would swear that she was listening to him. He kissed the top of her head. She forgot her snit and purred madly.

Mr. Grimsby saw this, and nodded wisely. "A cat whisperer," he said to his wife, who looked profoundly awed. "Yes, Alec is a budding cat whisperer."

There was one more race that afternoon, this one just for the three-year-olds, no others, as this age was the most aggressive, the most untrainable. There always seemed to be cat free-for-alls, fur flying all over the track from yowling cat fights. Many times not a single racer crossed the finish line, and today was no exception.

"Kitters will be kitters," Ozzie Harker said, shaking his head as he carried off Monroe, a wicked three-year-old tabby with a mangled ear.

Meggie patted both Mr. Cork and Cleo, kissing their faces until they both drew back from her, wondering where the food was.

"An excellent day," Meggie said, and hugged her father. "Now that Alec is focusing on Cleo, I would wager she'll begin beating Mr. Cork."

"The boy is amazing, isn't he, Meggie?"

His daughter heard the love in her father's voice for his son, and hugged him. "Both he and Rory are wonderful. You and Mary Rose have done very well." She grinned. "And just as I promised, I have taught them what's what."

Tysen laughed, just couldn't help himself as he remembered that long-ago sermon that had ended in not only a good deal of laughter but profound acceptance.

Meggie said, "I wish Susannah and Rohan Carrington could have been here. I'm just glad they let the Harker brothers attend to scout out the competition. It's always more exciting when the Mountvale mews are represented."

Tysen said, "They'll be here in May. They're in Paris, Rohan wrote me, looking at all the new crop of beautiful gardens. You know Rohan and his gardens-he will return with a dozen new designs."