Family of His Own

by Catherine Lanigan

  And, worse, she’d never visualized not living and working here, in this space. Their home. That rapping on the glass increased, the terrified tempo tripping through her. No, she wasn’t that forgotten little girl. She’d find her money and save everything.

  Stepping around a crate of dog treats in the storage room, she texted an SOS to Ruthie Cain, her best friend since freshman year in high school. They’d bonded while waiting to be picked joint last for the volleyball team in PE. She strode through the cramped kennel area and pulled up short to avoid slamming into the male back filling the doorway. The man’s broad shoulders looked as if he could hold the weight of the world without stumbling.

  But physical appearance wasn’t an indication of the size of one’s heart. She’d witnessed more strength of character in a thirty-pound toddler than in most grown men. That same toddler now stood just over four feet—a compact package of bravery, kindness and a pure heart who reminded Sophie every day that good still existed.

  Her cell phone vibrated and she opened a new text from Ruthie. Help was less than ten minutes away.

  “Excuse me.” Sophie stuffed her phone into her back pocket and squeezed around the man in the archway, but she didn’t manage to avoid contact. She popped out into the storefront and caught her running shoe on the wheel of the rolling cart. What was happening? She confronted the stranger, the rolling cart the only barrier between them. “This area has to remain clear.” And it wasn’t just for fire-code reasons.

  “I’m attempting to clear the area now.” The man grinned at Sophie.

  There was nothing symmetrical in the small smile that lifted only one side of his mouth, backed up into a sculpted cheekbone and sparked into his more green than brown eyes. She’d never quite understood that centuries-old fluttery feeling women described until now. She’d never liked being too warm or too queasy or too aware of those complicated emotional spots deep inside her. She blamed the single dimple denting his left cheek and wished he’d step behind the storage-room door. Instead, he studied Sophie as if she might be his next task on his own private to-do list. And made her wonder if she ranked first. Sophie told herself to focus and cleared her throat. “You need to move.”

  “If you step aside, the cart and I can clear the doorway.”

  Even his smooth voice appealed to her. But good-looking men were like designer shoes in the department store. She’d notice, acknowledge and keep moving. Designer shoes busted her budget; good-looking men busted more than her bank account, like her heart.

  April slid a dented, damp cardboard box across the counter where she perched. “He offered to shelve the dog food in exchange for these little guys.”

  Sophie held the man’s gaze and willed April not to open the box. Prayed April wouldn’t open the box. Sophie didn’t want to know what little helpless guys shivered inside. She couldn’t accept any more rescues. “Our kennels are full.”

  “But there’re five wet and dirty babies in here.” April spread a lavender Pampered Pooch towel across the counter. “Five teeny, tiny kittens that can’t be more than four weeks old.”

  Sophie gripped the metal handle on the rolling cart. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to look. It was a school day. She was losing her employee. And she had to find her father. Wasn’t that enough for a Friday?

  Mewling and scratching sounds drifted from inside the cardboard and stuttered against her heart. She didn’t have time to call Dr. Bradshaw to examine the kittens or search for the heat lamp in the basement or reorganize an already too-crowded kennel. She had to save her home, not add more dependents to it. “We don’t have room for your kittens.”

  “They aren’t my kittens.” He pointed over her shoulder. “I found them outside on your doorstep when I arrived.”

  “I’m sure your vet will take them in.” Sophie tore off a corner of the waterlogged box flap and crushed it in her fist. That was the closest she’d get without risking her resolve. Neglectful pet owners, even the good-looking ones, made her tired and angry. “And while you’re there, pay to have your adult cat spayed to prevent this from happening again.”

  “I’m not a cat person. I prefer dogs.” He shoved his fingers through his chestnut hair, creating spikes on top of his head. “Those baby kittens would be invisible next to the size of dog I prefer.”

  “You’re doing the right thing,” she said. He was more appealing with his disheveled hair and earnest tone and tense dark eyebrows over his hazel eyes. He didn’t like to be doubted. Sophie didn’t like mistreated animals. Even more, she didn’t like that this stranger made her want to check her teeth for spinach from last night’s salad, pinch her cheeks for color and take off her baseball cap to fix her hair. Notice, acknowledge and move on. She’d noticed his charm. She’d acknowledged his good looks. Now she needed to move on. “I’m not accusing you of neglect or being a bad pet owner.”

  “Suggesting is almost the same.” He rubbed his cheek, erasing his dimple. “In fact, suggestion is often confused with accusation.”

  Tension sharpened his voice and narrowed his eyes. Being accused of lying did not sit well with him. Sophie didn’t care about preserving his pride. She was the voice for the abandoned and mistreated and neglected. “And we’re thankful you’re willing to surrender this litter.”

  Her placating tone hit another mark. He thrust his arm out and pointed at the corner behind the counter. “If your security camera was installed and not lying on the floor like a forgotten doorstop, you’d have the footage to show that I picked up the box outside your door.” He leaned across the rolling cart toward her. “You’d also have the footage of the actual cat owner and you could harass that individual, instead.”

  Sophie leaned toward him, dropping her voice to a low menace. “I haven’t even begun to harass you.” That might be laying it on a bit thick, but she wanted him as unsettled as he made her.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider it harassment.” His voice softened, the edge receding from his words. “You’re the self-appointed guardian of helpless animals.”

  Sophie stretched into every inch of her five-foot-five-inch frame. “Seven years ago, I opened the doors to this pet store and doggy day care to give working pet owners affordable and safe options for their apartment pets. I offer training and socialization classes. I foster and meticulously match every pet to each family. I’ve never denied a return or surrender. If there’s a rescue organization in northern California, I’ve partnered with them. There’s no ‘self-appointed’ about any of it. This is my business. My life.”

  “And my life is not animal neglect.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head, his gaze fastened on Sophie.

  “There’s an all-white one in here.” April interrupted their stand-off.

  Sophie held her breath. Don’t let it have blue eyes. Please, no blue eyes. Sophie needed the cart moved. Needed this man and his kittens gone. She couldn’t afford another rescue. She held the man’s gaze, refusing to even peek in April’s direction.

  A squeak, and then April’s words, softer than a sigh. “Both eyes are blue.”

  “Are blue eyes bad?” Concern filtered through her cat rescuer’s voice.

  “Over seventy-five percent of pure white cats born with blue eyes are deaf.” She rambled off feline statistics as if it mattered. The kitten’s second fragile mewl splintered through Sophie, mocking her resolve to ignore it. Sophie took the white kitten from April and wrapped it in the lavender towel.

  Sophie hadn’t really stood a chance. She couldn’t have denied shelter to this abandoned litter, deaf kitten or not. Apparently, she hadn’t yet reached her maximum capacity for helping those in need.

  “Someone just abandoned a litter of kittens, and one or more might be deaf?” Outrage and confusion collided, deepening her cat rescuer’s voice like a slow roll of thunder before the lightning strike. He glanced between the
kitten in Sophie’s arms and the one climbing over April. Finally, he looked at April, as if he didn’t believe Sophie. When April nodded, he cursed under his breath.

  Whether it was his outrage on the kittens’ behalf, or that she’d insulted him and he’d refused to back down, Sophie believed him. He’d found the box outside. He wasn’t the cat’s owner.

  “It happens more than we’d like.” April kissed her gray kitten on its head and returned it to its siblings. “Sophie rescues anything in need. She’ll fatten these little guys up and care for them like she cares for everything—the right way. Her DNA won’t let her turn anyone away. Ever.”

  “Speaking of taking care, April, you need to get your feet up.” Sophie placed the white kitten in the box with the others. None of them looked similar. It was as if each had been picked from assorted purebred litters, then tumbled together like mismatched socks. But they curled up as one, paws and tails entwined for warmth, security and survival, like a family. And now they’d be part of her family. “We can’t ignore your doctor’s orders. It sets a bad precedent.”

  “Back on the stool now.” April frowned. “Resting.”

  “And you’re swelling.” Sophie pointed at April’s ankles, which were swollen above her slip-on canvas shoes.

  The man cleared his throat and pointed to the cart. “I’ll just shelve all this and get that dog food I came in for.”

  Sophie dropped her hand on the cart and stopped the man from rolling it away.

  “I ordered most of the dog food we carry and can tell you the best kind for your particular dog’s needs,” April offered in her excellent customer-service voice.

  Of course, April had chosen today to contend for employee of the month, when unfortunately, these moments had become more and more rare. Still, Sophie frowned at the hope April injected into her voice. “You’ll help by going home to bed.”

  “But we have customers, and you have meetings later this morning and only Troy here until this afternoon. And now kittens to clean up and create space for.” April never budged from the stool. “Besides, I’m better here.”

  Sophie wrapped an arm around April’s shoulders, nudging her off the stool. “I’ll bring the laptop over this afternoon, and we can go over the table arrangements for the gala. While you wait, you can catch up on some daytime talk shows.”

  “I don’t like those shows. They’re always about bad relationships or weight loss.” April yanked her sweatshirt down.

  “Then watch reruns or read that mom-to-be book I gave you.” Sophie grabbed April’s purse from under the counter. “Just get into bed. The store will be fine today.”

  “What about tomorrow?” April refused to take her purse.

  “One day at a time.” Or, Sophie corrected, one crisis at a time. The cart rolled forward—or one customer at a time. She tossed April’s purse on the counter and spun, gripping the cart handle and stopping the cart from moving another inch. “I won’t let you shelve this dog food.”

  “You can’t exactly stop me.” He tipped his head toward April. The woman scooted her pregnant belly back behind the counter like the good employee she wanted to be.

  Sophie frowned.

  “She can’t do any heavy lifting,” her helpful customer continued, his voice all patient logic and reason. “And you obviously have a busy morning.”

  She’d already had too much busy in her morning. She wanted her normal routine. The one where everyone listened to her and followed her rules. “If you fracture your back on my property, you can sue for damages,” she said. “I can’t have a lawsuit.” She most definitely couldn’t have a lawsuit, not with everything else.

  “I’m well trained in heavy lifting.” He pushed on the cart.

  Sophie shoved back, stalling the cart in the doorway and her customer, with his warm smile and easy banter, in the storage room. But she’d never trusted charm and understood all too well the power of false advertising. She’d purchased those trendy boots that had guaranteed flexibility and pillow-like cushioning and all-day comfort and only ended up with raw, open blisters on both heels after one day. Shoes and men were not mistakes she intended to repeat.

  The sleigh-style bells chimed on the front door. April stashed her purse, settled on the stool and slid the kitten box closer.

  Sophie never loosened her grip as she twisted around and exhaled. Everything was about to return to normal. She gave a quick prayer of thanks for the arrival of her practical, steady and composed best friend.

  Ruthie stepped inside, threw her hands wide and grinned at Sophie. “Okay. Duke and Lady are out back running with their doggy friends. I’ve rescheduled my morning conference to this afternoon. I’m all yours until one o’clock.”

  The bells chimed again. Matt, Ruthie’s fiancé since their Thanksgiving engagement, strode in. “Sophie, please tell me that Ruthie won’t have to work the cash register.”

  “April is still here to train me.” Ruthie waved at April before jamming her elbow into Matt’s side. “Besides, I can run that little credit-card machine without crashing it.”

  “Sophie, maybe I should stay here.” Matt dropped his arm around Ruthie’s waist and tugged her into his side.

  There was nothing possessive or overpowering about Matt’s embrace. It was as if he simply needed Ruthie closer to him in order to breathe. A sigh shifted through Sophie. Love suited her friends.

  Matt grinned at Sophie. “We can send Ruthie to my job site. She’d be safer using power tools.”

  “I lecture to halls with over four hundred college freshmen.” Ruthie pushed on Matt’s chest, but he never loosened his hold. “I can handle this.”

  Sophie discovered her first smile of the morning. Her grip on the cart eased. She’d needed her friends. The ones that understood why doggy day care clients dropped their dogs off in the back, but entered the store from the front. The ones that followed the protocol and never wavered. Never altered Sophie’s rules. Never commandeered rolling carts. If it had simply been important to Sophie, they’d have done it to appease her. But Sophie’s priority was Ella’s safety and her friends recognized that, too.

  She spun around and faced her kitten rescuer. “You can get your dog food now. I’ve got this.”

  “Sophie, let Matt deal with that loaded cart,” Ruthie said.

  “Out of the way.” Matt’s strong hands landed on Sophie’s shoulders and stilled. “Brad?”

  Sophie’s customer leaned across the cart and reached for Matt’s hand. “I didn’t want to interrupt. This must be Dr. Ruthie Cain, the fiancée you can’t stop bragging about?”

  Ruthie’s voice echoed the happiness in her wide smile. “Still getting used to that.”

  “Ladies, this is Brad Harrington,” Matt said. “I’ve been a consultant for Brad going back several years now.”

  Matt wore stained jeans, a plaid button-down shirt and steel-toed boots for his part-time job renovating historic buildings in the city. He also spoke more than half-a-dozen languages fluently and primarily worked as a translator contracted to the United States government for secret missions that Sophie believed saved the world, but Matt never confirmed nor denied. He was quite simply a brilliant mind wrapped in a handsome package. Sophie shifted her attention to Brad in his jeans, pullover and dimpled smile.

  He was Matt’s friend. But she didn’t trust him and definitely didn’t want to know anything more about him. She was better off cataloguing Brad as that random kitten finder. “Do you work with Matt on his renovations or on his translation jobs?”

  “Matt has the gift with languages. I’m in security.” Brad edged around the cart, stepped behind the counter and picked up the security camera from the floor. “I make these work correctly.”

  Matt frowned at her. “Sophie, I could’ve introduced you to Brad a while ago. I thought you got that taken care of.”

&nbs
p; “The manual to install it made it sound easier than it is.” Sophie took the camera from Brad and set it on the counter. “I’ll get to it.”

  “I bet you haven’t fixed that front lower window yet, either.” Ruthie eyed the kitten box.

  “Some things came up.” Like the trip to Chicago for a second opinion on Ella’s eye surgery. There weren’t any extra funds for window repair. And now she was out of funds, thanks to her father. “It’s fine. The glass is taped and I added a piece of plywood on the inside.”

  “Anyone can kick that in,” Brad said.

  “That’s what I told her when she did it,” April added. The extra tablespoon of gracious, obliging customer service saturated any condescending dips in her tone.

  “Anyone can bust through the glass door if they really wanted to steal catnip.” Sophie scowled at Brad and willed him to be stiff and cold and abrasive like those expensive red heels she’d seen in the window display on Union Street. An alarm was quite low on her list of things to deal with. If she didn’t have a store, she wouldn’t need an alarm. She wanted to pull out her phone and see if her dad had replied. Or, better yet, keep calling him until he answered.

  “That’s why you need that installed.” Brad gripped the cart handle and pulled, rolling past her. His tone patient, his voice calm, his words all too reasonable.

  Sophie crammed her hands into the wide front pocket of her sweatshirt and tipped her chin up, defiance tumbling through her words. “Show me someone who will install it for free and I’ll get it done today.”

  “I’ll do it.” Brad smiled at her, distracting her with his dimple.

  Sophie paused. Hadn’t he heard her? “I can’t pay you.”

  “We’ll work out a trade.”

  “Other than dog food, I don’t have much to bargain with,” Sophie told him.