by Leah Atwood
Matt took the last sip of coffee to cover any mild embarrassment lingering in his expression. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Rayne.”
“I’m not offended, but, even though I enjoy writing fiction, I like to keep real life real. You delve a bit too deep into fictional flattery, Matt.”
A red flush crept up his neck, and he flicked the last drops from the thermos cap. “Thanks. That tasted wholly good—almost as good as Montana cowboy coffee. Thank you for sharing.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you have good luck with your business in Seattle—Oh look!” Rayne exclaimed. “Someone’s cat got out!” She pointed to a low bush where a marmalade cat pushed its way through the shrubbery. “Do you think he’s lost?”
“Maybe he’s got a collar with an ID tag.” He flashed her a wide grin. “Let me help you get him. Let’s move slow-like. We don’t want to spook him.” Matt cautiously parted the branches and peered inside. “He’s a she,” Matt murmured. “There’s kittens. Three of ’em.”
“Oh no! We can’t leave them out here. It’s supposed to freeze tonight.” Rayne said, reaching into the bush to pick up the mother cat. “Nice kitty!” She rubbed the mama cat’s ears and, even though the cat seemed nervous with strangers handling her kittens, Rayne heard her rumbling purr start up. “She has a collar but no owner’s tag. The kittens can’t be more than a day or two old, can they? Aren’t they cute? I guess I’ll need to keep them until I can find the owner.”
“Hmmm! Let me help you take ’em to your place.” He began putting the kittens, one by one, into the deep pockets of his duffle coat. “I’ll carry the kittens. You carry Mama.” Matt stood. “Lead on, Seattle Rayne!”
“Uh—nnno. I’m sorry, but I’m not ushering a guy I barely know to my apartment.”
Matt passed a rather callused thumb over his chin. “Yeah, I understand. But how, without me helpin’, do you expect to corral three kittens, Mama Cat, your thermos, your leftover breakfast, and still unlock the door of your apartment?”
“Good point.” Rayne said thoughtfully. “I appreciate your offer of help. But think I can manage.” She started picking up her things while holding Mama Cat with one hand.
“Here, just take my coat. The kittens are already settled into the pockets and Mama and your lunch might be manageable.” He carefully unzipped the front so as not to disturb the kittens.
“I can’t take your coat!”
“Sure you can.” He slipped one arm—an arm rippling with muscles, Rayne noticed—out of a sleeve. “The apartment I’m staying in is just over there.” He gestured across the street. “So I won’t get too cold.” He settled the sheepskin coat over her shoulders, still warm from his body.
“You’ll need your coat―” A faint whiff of aftershave rose from the collar.
“Of course. Listen, I usually have breakfast at Glorious Grounds, a coffee shop just over there.” He pointed in the direction of the coffee shop. “We could meet there for breakfast tomorrow so you could bring my coat. What do you say?”
“Are you always so helpful to mama cats in distress?”
“On my Montana ranch, cats belong in the barn. I’m not helping the cat. I’m helping the lady in distress.”
“To say I’m in distress would indicate more dire straights, but thanks for loaning me your coat.” She started to go, then paused and faced him. “I can put Mama’s picture on posters to display around the neighborhood. The owner should see one, don’t you think?”
“Mm. Likely.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow at Glorious Grounds. Is eight too early?”
“Eight it is.” He winked and Rayne’s heart did a summersault.
“Thanks for the loan of your coat.”
Matt touched two stiff fingers to his forehead in salute. “Glad to help. Until tomorrow morning, then.”
She headed for home. His owns a ranch, but he’s apartment-sitting in this modest neighborhood? It’s probably not a very big ranch. In her mind’s eye, the “rawhide” cabin-and-corral grew to a rustic cabin, a bit larger corral and a rough lean-to for the animals. She walked several blocks, opened the gate to her yard and climbed a set of stairs behind the garage. “Stop squirming, Mama,” she said as she put her key in the lock of her apartment door. “You’ll be settled with your kittens in a minute.”
Inside, she set Mama on the floor and found an old towel to line the laundry basket. “A tortoiseshell, a gray tabby and a marmalade tabby—just like its mama,” she counted as she took each kitten from a separate huge pocket of the coat. Mama jumped into the basket with her kittens.
“There,” Rayne said as she removed the coat and hung it behind the door. He’s a thoughtful guy! She started to stroke the coat’s sheepskin lapel, but yanked her hand to her side just in time. However, she couldn’t stop a little smile.
“Now for a trip to the grocery for cat food and kitty litter.”
“What’s with you, man?” Matt muttered to himself. He threw himself down on the easy chair in his friend’s apartment. “What’s wrong with just coming out with it? You won’t be here for long, and if you want to connect with her, you need to do it fast.” He threw his hat toward a straight chair and, unerringly, it hooked over the post. “There’s no shame in telling her you’ve met her before. And there’s nothing wrong with writing to her parents in Malawi to keep up an acquaintance started a few years ago. She may not remember you, but then again she might if you’d just speak up.”
He grabbed the TV remote, flicked on a newscast and stared at the screen. Ten minutes later he realized he hadn’t heard a word of the newscaster’s latest reports of tragic events in the world, so he clicked the off button in disgust.
“She’s even prettier now than when I knew her in Malawi.” He felt a smile slowly tug at his mouth.
The next morning, Rayne fondled the kittens and ruffled Mama’s fur as the longhaired orange-yellow cat stropped her ankle. “Be good to your babies, now. I’ll be gone for a bit.” She picked up Matt’s jacket, a roll of tape and a folder of “Found Cat” flyers she’d made the night before, giving a new e-mail address for this purpose, so she wouldn’t have to share either her phone number or her personal e-mail address on the flyers. She slipped through the door before Mama could get out and headed toward Glorious Grounds.
As she walked along, she posted flyers at several corners. Juggling flyers, tape and the coat, she turned from a telephone pole, stepped around a hedge and nearly ran into a burly man. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she gasped, reversing quickly.
“Mm! Don’t be sorry,” the man replied. “I’m glad to run into you, literally, Seattle Rayne.”
Rayne stared. “Matt!”
“Hey!” Matt said with a lazy smile. “Going my way, are you?”
Rayne waved the folder of flyers. “I’m posting some ‘Found Cat’ flyers in the neighborhood on my way to Glorious Grounds.” She held out his jacket and displayed one of the flyers. A warm flush rose in her cheeks. What’s with the blushing, Rayne? You just met this guy a couple of days ago! The mental shake did her good.
As Matt threaded his arms into his jacket sleeves, Rayne couldn’t help but notice again the generous curves of his biceps and see the ridges of muscles on his torso flexing under the Mariners T-shirt he must have bought since he’d arrived in Seattle. She gripped the flyers with both hands so they wouldn’t betray her trembling fingers. “And what brings you lurking behind me?”
“Lurking? Not me! I’m just heading for breakfast—like you are.”
The warm flush in Rayne’s cheeks became a burning flame. She examined the cracks in the pavement willing her hands to not fan her face.
“You haven’t already eaten breakfast, have you?”
“I really don’t need a full breakfast,” Rayne said, looking at him. “I had a cup of yogurt at 5:30 after Mama jumped on my middle and woke me. So just coffee will be enough for me.” Her breath blew out in a miniature cloud.
“Mama?” His breath-cloud mingled with hers. “Oh yes
. The cat.”
“MmHm. You named her yourself just yesterday.”
“Right, I guess I did.” Matt cleared his throat. “But our date at Glorious Grounds is still on, right? That would be a great place to post one of your flyers―on their advertisement display table—and I’m sure a cup of coffee and a sweet roll would augment the yogurt nicely.” He fiddled with the tag on his coat zipper.
“Thanks. Sounds good, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a date.”
“Well, date or no date, let’s go. Since I haven’t had a yogurt cup or anything else yet, I’m starved.”
They walked to the corner and started down a street with a wide median separating the lanes.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Remember you?”
“Yeah, we’ve met before.”
“Well, a day or two ago, of course.”
“No, I meant before.”
“I’ve never been to Montana.” Rayne carefully tore off a piece of tape and fastened a “Found Cat” flyer to a telephone pole.
“Maybe not, but I’ve been to Malawi.”
Rayne jerked to a stop. “What? That can’t be. I’d have remembered you if we’d ever met.”
“You would? Well, it’s nice of you to think so.” He glanced away and a shy smile tilted his lips. “But I’ve been there. Remember the youth missions group from Missoula?”
Rayne nodded her head slowly, frantically trying to remember anyone named Matt in the group.
“A couple of kids from our small-town church joined with the Missoula group. I was one of ’em.”
“Oh, I do vaguely remember a kid named Matt.”
“‘Vaguely remember a kid’, huh?” Matt plucked a maple leaf overhanging the sidewalk. His neck reddened and he began to rip the leaf apart, dropping pieces bit by bit as they walked.
“Sorry. You, huh?” She brushed at her hair as if to eradicate a stressful time from her memory. “But I never knew your last name. A couple dozen kids were in the group, plus counselors. I couldn’t remember everyone, could I, and you were only there for five days before you went to Blantyre. It seemed like Mom and I spent that whole week cooking and baking cookies.”
Matt glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “We ate most of our meals at our hotel.”
“True. But cooking even a meal or two and baking cookies for so many people took a tremendous amount of work. Dad had his medical practice, so Mom and I and our house worker had to do it all.”
“I never forgot you, Rayne.” Matt lifted his cowboy hat, ran his fingers through his hair and put the hat on again. “I hoped I’d been memorable, too.”
“Wait!” She pointed a rosy-tipped finger at him. “You’re the kid who ate so many cookies, right?”
He scrubbed at his eyebrows. “Yep, that would be me.”
“I remember now. I teased you about it, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Unmercifully.”
Now he wasn’t the only one with a red face. Change the subject, Rayne!
“I suppose you call your topper a ten-gallon-hat, right?” She nodded toward his headgear.
“In the movies, maybe. We just call ’em ‘hat’ in Montana and use ’em to shade our eyes from the sun.”
Rayne chuckled. “Well, we don’t get much sun in Seattle. With so many overcast days, we don’t need much eye protection until summer.”
Fifteen minutes later, Matt paused outside the coffee shop. “Here we are. Ready for breakfast?”
“I’m finding the yogurt has given out,” Rayne said, stepping inside as Matt held the door. Polite guy! She pointed to the line of people at the counter, “As you can see, Glorious Grounds is a very popular shop.”
As they took their places at the end of the line, a woman in a fluffy white jacket stepped in front of them. She faced them and smiled benevolently as though they’d given her permission to cut in.
“How’s Mama?” Matt asked, removing his gloves and loosening his plaid neck-scarf.
The woman glanced from one to the other of them with an assessing expression.
She probably thinks he’s my brother! Rayne gave herself a rueful mental shake.
So why are you irritated, Rayne, that someone would think he’s your brother? She felt her cheeks heat up. Again. “Mama is fine,” she said, a bit too loudly. “She wants to escape, but I won’t let her.”
The woman in the white fluffy jacket twisted very slowly. Her mouth dropped open and her horror-filled stare bounced between Rayne and Matt.
Matt turned toward Rayne and raised an eyebrow of wry amusement making her giggle. “Well,” he said a bit louder than necessary, “you need to be sure to keep the door locked. She has to stay inside.”
Rayne’s pent-up amusement made her shake inside. She felt like she could burst out laughing any minute. Taking a deep breath, she ran fingers of one hand from temple to cheek to kill giggles bubbling up inside.
Matt gazed at her, then whispered under his breath. “Pretty pink cheeks, lovely eyes, winsome smile.”
Rayne pretended not to hear.
As the line moved forward the woman ahead of them sidled toward the counter and gave her order.
“How is your business going?” Rayne asked.
Matt seemed to drag himself from reverie to their conversation and she saw his smile fade. “Not well so far, but I have plenty of time. I have another appointment at 11:30.” Matt removed his jacket and pointed to the case of sweet rolls. “Please choose what you like. It’s my treat.”
“I didn’t intend―”
“I know you didn’t, but I’d like to buy your breakfast. Please.”
“How nice of you.” Rayne ordered and while Matt waited at the counter for their mochas she found two empty chairs at a table by the window, placed their Danish rolls on it and brought forks and napkins from the condiment table. She glanced around at the Christmas decorations. Each table had a red-and-green plaid fabric square topped with holly and candles. Red bows and bells hung in each window and a bunch of mistletoe dangled over the front door.
“So.” Matt set two chunky mugs of steaming brew on the table. “Are mochas your go-to coffee?”
Rayne made a little face. “I like a mocha, especially in the morning. Never outgrew the hot-cocoa-on-a-Stateside-winter-morning thing. In Malawi, I have mochas in July, when it’s really cold. However, when I want a real pick-me-up I order a macchiato. I put in just a little sugar to cut the bite. How about you?”
“Cowboy coffee boiled in a pot over an open fire. Gets the scent of smoke into it, you know? Settle the grounds with a few drops of cold creek water. That’s my brew.”
“I should have known, Cowboy Matt.”
“Shall we pray over our breakfast? We always did in my family. You pray.” He quickly bowed his head.
“Thank you, Father, for Your many blessings and for new friends. Amen.” Rayne smiled and sipped from her cup.
“I’m afraid I’ve kinda let prayin’ over meals slip—especially over somethin’ as simple as this.” Matt cleared his throat and waved his hand around their table. “We always prayed over meals at home. I like the tradition of bein’ grateful for God’s provisions.”
“Well, with me, it isn’t just a tradition or a habit. Since I’m completely on my own, and don’t have a nine-to-five job, I’m truly grateful for every meal God provides. Now tell me about this hot job you want so badly.”
“Actually, it’s not a job hunt. I’m hopin’ to sell some cattle from my ranch to an eager-beaver buyer at a packin’ plant.”
Rayne’s mental vision of his ranch enlarged a bit. Maybe two horses and twenty cows. “I’m sure there are packing plants in Montana.”
“Sure, but I’m hopin’ for a really big contract. We’ve had a hard winter,” Matt went on. “One bad winter can halve a herd. I’ve left my ranch in the hands of my foreman for a few weeks. If I can find a good buyer, I’d like to sell all my stock except yearlin’s and bred cows. The income from
so large a sale would allow me to buy a purebred Black Angus bull and a few cows to give my ranch a fresh start.”
The scene in Rayne’s mind—the one of a cabin and a small outfit with a couple of horses and a few cattle—grew somewhat larger. Perhaps he had ten horses and two hundred cows tended by an ancient cowboy friend of his. She brought her thoughts to what Matt’s dialogue.
“—Montana air is fresh. Can’t wait to get home again–where there isn’t a stink all the time.”
“Stink? Here? The Pacific Northwest is known for its fresh air!”
“Really? To me, Seattle smells like exhaust and seaweed and wet geese.”
Rayne tipped her head and laughed. “And what yummy smells do you have in Montana? Sweating horses, campfire smoke and manure?”
“Sounds about right.” Under a shock of hair hanging over his forehead, one eyebrow cocked up again.
Rayne’s heart skipped a beat. Skipped several. She brushed Danish crumbs into a pile with shaky fingers. “Well, I need to put up these posters and then get home.” She stood and, popping the last bite of her roll into her mouth, pushed her chair under the table. She took the last swallow of her mocha at a gulp. “Mama’s locked up, you remember.”
A couple at the next table twisted around on their chairs, mouths open and eyes brimming with a this-can’t-be-happening look. Matt snickered, squinched up his face in a ludicrous grin, and whispered in her ear, “Their eyes are buggin’ out so far you could knock ’em off with a stick.”
Rayne grabbed her posters and rushed for the door. But Matt reached it before her, reaching for the door handle and then gazing speculatively at the mistletoe above it. Rayne plunked one of her posters down on the display table near the door, yanked it fully open and dashed outside.