by Nina Lindsey
“I’ll ask around some more, see if any of my clients would be willing to take him.” Max carried the crate into the front room. “I’ll bring Porkchop back tomorrow.”
“I can pick him up, so you don’t have to make the trip.”
“I have some house-calls to make anyway, so it’s not a problem. Should be some time in the afternoon.”
“I’ll be here.” Aria closed the lounge door behind her. “Do you have time for a coffee and one of Mom’s cookies?”
“I wish I did.” Max pulled on his hoodie. “Unfortunately, I have a full schedule this morning.”
“Thank you so much for stopping by.” She stepped closer to embrace him. As she closed her arms around him, she saw a large male figure coming up the steps of the café.
Her heart crashed against her ribs. Over Max’s shoulder, Hunter’s gaze collided with hers. His expression darkened.
Shit.
She backed away from Max, all of her defenses slamming into place. His forehead creased quizzically at her sudden withdrawal. Hunter opened the door, his broad frame almost blocking the doorway.
Though just the sight of him shot heat down her spine, Aria forced a cold note into her voice. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you.” He glanced from her to Max, his jaw tight.
“Funny. I don’t want to talk to you.”
Hunter held up a folder. “Just some revised plans, that’s all.”
“Not interested.”
“I’ll leave them here.” He set the folder on the counter, moving almost deliberately closer to her.
Aria’s insides tightened. She could practically feel his body heat, even though a good three feet still separated them.
The cat began mewling in little bursts. Hunter’s gaze went to the enclosed crate. “Is that Porkchop?”
Max lifted his eyebrows. “You know him?”
“We met the other night.” Hunter bent to peer through the grated door. “Where’s he going?”
“He hurt his leg,” Aria admitted grudgingly. “Max is a vet, and he’s taking Porkchop to his clinic for an X-ray.” Aware of Max’s growing curiosity, she added, “Max, this is Hunter Armstrong of Imperial Properties. He helped me rescue Porkchop.”
The two men exchanged abrupt nods of acknowledgement.
Hunter straightened. “Did his injury happen the other night?”
“I think so,” Aria said. “He might have sprained his leg, but he didn’t start limping until yesterday.”
“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” Max added, “but I’ll give him a full exam at the clinic. Good of you to have helped Aria out.”
Hunter nodded. His phone buzzed. Pulling it from his pocket, he settled his gaze on Aria. “We’ll talk later.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Then I’ll talk. You can be quiet and listen.”
Before she could respond, he left the café. The door shut behind him.
“Damn.” Max whistled into the sudden silence. “Territorial bastard.”
Aria swung her gaze to him. “What?”
“The vibe he was throwing off.” Max picked up Porkchop’s crate and started toward the door. “Threatening and territorial. Staking his claim on you.”
“What the…I am not a parcel of land.”
He shrugged. “Men stake claims on women, whether they like it or not.”
“What are you talking about?” Aria followed him outside, her skin heating at the idea of Hunter claiming her. “The only claim he wants to stake is on Mariposa. Not me.”
“He wants both.” Max set the crate into the van and closed the door.
“And you know this how?” Aria stopped on the sidewalk, fisting her hands on her hips. “Through some macho male telepathy?”
“A guy acts like that around a girl, no telepathy needed. Situation understood.” Max walked to the driver’s side and pulled out his keys. “The problem is that women are never as transparent. That’s why you always keep us guessing.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She couldn’t help glancing in the direction Hunter had gone.
Territorial? No way.
“I’ll text you before I drop Porkchop off tomorrow.” Max climbed into the driver’s seat. “Good luck keeping that dude away from you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s NASA, and you’re the moon.”
He winked and drove off.
Chapter 11
For the rest of the week, Aria couldn’t get Max’s remarks out of her head, even as she realized that, of course, she wouldn’t be able to keep Hunter away from her. How else would he try and intimidate her, if not with his decidedly physical presence?
Not that she would be intimidated.
In-between running the café, she spent her time going door-to-door with her petition and donation requests. On Saturday morning, she woke early to get ready and load up the cats for their day at the Artichoke Festival. After showering and slipping into a cream-colored sundress and cardigan, she went into the tiny kitchen to have coffee and cereal.
As she rolled up the window shade, she caught sight of a man jogging toward Mariposa Street. Her breath caught.
Not a man. Big strong Hunter Armstrong who’d supposedly looked at her as if he intended to plant his flag right inside her.
On her. Right on her.
Heat prickled her skin. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. His performance T-shirt clung to his chest, and even from the distance, she saw the exertion lacing his body. He ran with an easy, masculine grace, thumping his feet hard on every cobblestone as if he were securing them in place.
Or claiming them.
As he passed her building, he glanced up at her in the window. A sharp current of electricity crackled between them. She ducked back against the wall, her heart pounding. Did he know she lived here? Had he jogged around the area before now?
Despite her attraction to him, Aria knew Hunter had tactics and strategies. He was a crazy successful developer who had all kinds of tricks up his sleeve. She couldn’t let his hotness or his territorialism or anything else get past her guard.
She waited to ensure he was gone before she went downstairs to corral the cats into their crates. By the time she got to Wildwood Park, the festival had already started. People wandered around the food booths, played games, and listened to the ten-piece band on the main stage. Along with the strains of “Love Me Do,” the smells of fried artichokes, burgers, and tacos drifted through the air.
Aria set up her booth and the cat enclosure before letting the cats out onto the grass. They quickly started prowling around, enjoying the sunshine and attention from all the passers-by.
She eased Jumbo out of his crate and fastened a little sign around his collar reading I’m Taken, Sorry! before setting him in the enclosure. He bumped his head against her hand, insisting on an ear-scratch before he went off to join the others.
After ensuring that the cats had enough food and water, she went to the folding table where she’d set up signs for both the cat adoptions and the petition against Imperial’s proposed development. She spent the next couple of hours chatting with people who stopped at her booth.
“Here you go.” Brooke bounded up, her camera slung over one shoulder. She extended a smoothie and paper-wrapped straw toward Aria. “Mango-peach.”
“Thanks so much.” Aria unwrapped the straw and stuck it in the cup.
Brooke pulled the lens cap off her camera and stepped back to take a photo of Aria’s booth. “Any adoptions yet?”
“One application, and several other interested parties. They liked the donation idea too.” Aria indicated the poster board advertising that fifty percent of the adoption fee would be donated to the Mariposa Renovation Fund.
“How’s the fundraising going so far?”
Aria peered into the jar where she was collecting donations. “Looks like a good fifty bucks. If I add that to the money I’ve already raised, I might be over four hundred.”
“Not bad consid
ering you just started this week.” Brooke scrolled on her phone. “When’s the Mariposa Business Association meeting? I convinced Gramps to let me cover it.”
“April thirtieth.”
“Will Hunter Armstrong be there?”
“That meeting is the only reason he’s in town. He probably has a whole speech planned.”
“But remember you have a personal stake in Mariposa, and you’re friends with the people who live there. No matter how much money Armstrong has, he can’t buy loyalty.”
Though Aria’s heart filled with gratitude toward her friend, Brooke’s pep talk wasn’t enough. Hunter didn’t need to buy loyalty. He just wanted to buy up the entire Mariposa district. For most people, all that might take was the right price.
“Is that Sam?” Brooke squinted at a tall, scruffy man wearing jeans and a T-shirt, who was ambling down the midway with a paper tray of fried artichokes. “I thought he turned to ash in direct sunlight.”
Aria chuckled and waved at the reclusive bookstore owner. “Hey, Sam! Interested in a feline companion? Half the adoption fee goes to the Mariposa Renovation Fund. Or you can just make a donation.”
Setting down his food, Sam dug into his pocket for his wallet. “How much do you need to raise?”
“A lot.” Aria twisted her mouth ruefully. “Bliss Cove used to have a Historical Preservation Society, but it was dismantled years back because of budget cuts. We can use all the support we can get.”
Sam emptied his wallet of bills and stuffed them into the donation jar, then scrawled his name on the petition. “I’ll take some flyers to put up at the bookstore.”
“Awesome, thanks.” Aria gathered a stack of flyers.
Tucking the papers under his arm, Sam glanced at Brooke. She arched an eyebrow at him and sipped her smoothie. He gave her a short nod before walking off toward another food booth. Aria nudged Brooke, who was watching him go.
“Enjoying the view?” she teased.
“Are you kidding me?” Color rose to Brooke’s cheeks. “Sam? I mean, I guess if I were forced to admit it, I’d say he would be kind of hot if he tried, but not only does he not try at all, he’s the most anti-social person I’ve ever met. Why did he open a bookstore? He doesn’t even keep regular hours there. And what does he do in his off-hours? He could be living a double life, like a vampire or a serial killer.”
Aria grinned. “Not that you’ve given him much thought.”
“Right.” Brooke adjusted her baseball cap and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve got far better things to do, like write an opinion piece about creamed versus steamed artichokes. You want me to bring you anything else?”
“No, I’m good. Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Sure. Text me.” With a wave, Brooke headed off, her camera at the ready.
Aria went to the cat enclosure, which was protected from the sun by a grove of leafy trees. She checked the food and water dishes, chatted with people who stopped by to play with the cats, and handed out adoption applications.
By the time the festival started winding down around five, she was tired and sunburned, but thrilled to have applications for five of her feline orphans. The crowd began drifting away from Wildwood Park as vendors dismantled their booths.
Aria boxed up the remaining flyers and the table signs. Her folding table was unfortunately old and warped, the metal underside coated with sticky rust. With a grunt, she shoved the whole table upside down and struggled to push the legs into the slots.
“You need help.”
The deep male voice skimmed over her arms, eliciting a little shiver. She’d expected Hunter to show up at the festival—he wouldn’t miss the chance to ingratiate himself with other residents—but she’d figured he would have left by now.
She straightened and turned to face him. Her insides fluttered and tensed. How did he manage to be so strikingly gorgeous every time she saw him, whether he was wearing an Armani suit or jeans? At the moment, he was in cargo shorts and a forest-green T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and made his thick-lashed eyes even more brilliant.
As if his threats weren’t bad enough, he had to have a presence that made her body react in totally inappropriate ways.
“I do not need help.” Pulling her gaze from him, she shoved at the table leg again. It didn’t budge, which only intensified her bitchiness. “Are you talking about your grandiose Oceanview plans to anyone who will listen?”
“Actually, I came here to sample the artichoke ice cream, which I didn’t know was a thing until now.” His mouth twisted. “Can’t say I was happy to discover it.”
“Bet it wasn’t happy to discover you either.” Aria gave the table leg another futile push. “Who knew I had so much in common with artichoke ice cream?”
“If you keep trying to force that, you’re going to get hurt.” He stalked toward her and bent to push one of the steel rings farther away from the bracket. “You need to put pressure on the hinge first.”
“I know how to fold my own table, thank you.” Aria barely resisted the urge to shove him out of the way.
“Do you store this thing in the rain?” He pushed the table hinge and folded a leg into place with one tug. “Or is it rusty from age?”
“It’s perfectly serviceable.” She clenched her jaw, not wanting to tell him she’d bought the table at a thrift store. “It’s just a little temperamental.”
“Like its owner,” he muttered, moving to unlock and fold the other table leg.
“Oh, look who’s talking.” Aria attempted not to stare at the flex and pull of his muscular forearms. “In addition to bullying, you have a terrible tendency to railroad over people. I told you I didn’t need help.”
“Too bad.” He slammed the table shut and locked it. “You’ve got it.”
Grabbing the handle, he hefted the table with one hand. Before she could stop him, he strode to the van and pushed the table inside.
Aria huffed out a breath and rolled up the plastic sign advertising Meow and Then. Hunter returned and picked up the cardboard box filled with leftover flyers and the donation jar. Glancing at the sign on the jar, he raised an eyebrow.
“The Mariposa Renovation Fund?”
“Yes.” She tilted her chin defiantly, feeling like a kid selling candy bars for a school field trip. “I’m raising money for a fund to fix up the whole district.”
“This is your plan?”
“Well, making you disappear wouldn’t go over well with the town council, so I had to go with option two.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Aria ordered.
“I wasn’t going to.” He shrugged. “Plenty of towns raise money to save old buildings. It’s an admirable goal.”
She stared after him as he returned to the van. He was probably being decent about it because he knew she didn’t stand a chance against Imperial Properties’ millions. Or billions, as Callie had so helpfully reminded her.
Aria snapped a rubber band around the rolled-up sign. She could easily imagine what Hunter was thinking.
Sure, little girl, have fun with your homemade donation jar while I have a conference call with my property investors. No doubt he’d tell all his partners about the Crazy Cat Lady when he went back to New York.
She walked to the van, where he was fitting the box alongside the table. Aria reached around him to grab two empty crates.
“You bring the cats with you for adoption?” He picked up two more crates and followed her back to the enclosure.
“Yes.” Aria climbed over the plastic fence. Three of the cats swarmed around her feet, mewling. “I got five applications today. Sue has to process them and follow-up with a screening to make sure the cat and owner are a good match before they can be officially adopted. Then if the shelter is full, she brings me another one who doesn’t yet have a home. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get them back into the van.”
Aria knelt to coax Libby into the open crate and locked it shut. B
efore she could stop him, Hunter grabbed the crate by the handle and strode back to the van.
“Come on, Jumbo.” She cornered the tabby and guided him into the crate. The second she locked the door, Hunter appeared to take the crate to the van.
Maybe he thought being helpful would soften her up. Hah. Once upon a time, she’d have fallen for such a trick, but not anymore.
She reached for Fang. The cat bared his teeth at her, his eye glinting with suspicion. Aria backed away and corralled Porkchop and Buster before Hunter carried them back to the van.
“How’s Porkchop’s leg?” he asked.
“It’ll be fine. Thankfully it was just a mild sprain.” Aria extended a hand to the old one-eyed cat. “Come on, Fang.”
“Is he the last one?” Hunter set the crate next to her.
“Yes. He has a lot of anxiety, but Max suggested bringing him today to help with socialization.” Aria eased closer to the cat and gentled her tone. “Come on, sweetie.”
“You want me to try?”
“Fang doesn’t like nice people.” She threw him a derisive look. “He sure as heck isn’t going to like you.”
A smile twitched his mouth. “Well, I don’t like cats. So since old Fang and I share a mutual dislike, we already have something in common.”
He stepped forward and crouched on the balls of his heels beside Fang. The cat glowered at him. Aria bit back a laugh. Both the man and the cat also had the art form of glowering in common.
A deep rumble came from Hunter’s chest.
Aria almost gasped, swinging her gaze to him in shock. “That’s it.”
“What?”
“The purr. The noise you made when you caught Porkchop. The tiger rumble,” she added, when he continued to look bemused.
Too late, she realized she’d done the unforgiveable by mentioning that night. The one they weren’t supposed to talk about. The one that “had never happened.”
“You mean this?” He rumbled again.
The sound rolled through Aria in a hot, slow wave and settled right in her core. Pulsing.