The Sweetheart Game

by Cheryl Ann Smith

The man was very warm, and he smelled good, like spicy body wash and male. “It is so.” Reaching down and rubbing her hand over the soft belly, the snore turned to a twitch and then a purr. “You might even shed a tear over the miracle of birth.”

  His answer was a deep, and all male, snort.

  * * *

  “Mrs. Kravitz has turned a one-eighty, don’t you think?” Summer said and turned the rub into a scratch. “She’s becoming attached to us.”

  “She worships you.” Her smile warmed him more than the beer. “She tolerates me because I feed her.”

  If there was ever a moment to kiss a women, it was now. Summer was soft-eyed over the cat, sitting close enough that he smelled vanilla, and her hand was on his thigh as she bent to pet the cat. He suspected that she didn’t realize the latter. Regardless of the reason, the contact was killing him.

  Yet, he couldn’t pull the trigger. Once he started kissing her, he was done. He wouldn’t want to stop at that. So, instead, he stared at the curve of her neck.

  He didn’t realize that he’d forgotten to breathe until she disentangled herself from him and the feline and stood. “It’s late. I should go. Be a good girl for Jason.”

  Summer let him lead her to the front door. She glanced up at him sidelong. “Good night.”

  He leaned against the door and wished he hadn’t let the kissing moment pass. He really, really wanted to see what she’d feel like in his arms.

  Tamping down his inner bad boy, he said, “Good night, Summer.” She turned and walked away.

  Jason liked the way she walked. There was enough hip-swing to draw his attention, but not enough to look like she was deliberately trying to entice him. There was a natural confidence in the way she carried herself that didn’t seem to extend to the rest of her.

  She always seemed slightly nervous when she spoke, and that wasn’t just because she thought he was a bad guy. No, she was a bit awkward around him in a way that he hadn’t seen with her friends.

  He liked the awkwardness. He liked the way she talked, with the hint of a twang. He liked the way her chest rose and fell when she breathed. There was way too much like for comfort.

  Something hit his leg and snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced down to see the cat dart out the door. “Shit!”

  “Jason, what’s wrong?” Summer called from her yard.

  He chased after the blur of cream fur. “Mrs. Kravitz is out!” The cat crossed the porch and ran down the steps as fast as her short legs over a porcine body could carry her. He was right behind her as she rounded the house and made a beeline under the back porch. Footsteps behind him brought Summer into the chase.

  “Where is she?” she asked, worried.

  “Under the deck.” He dropped to his knees. The space was overrun with leaves and grass out of range of his weed trimmer. The porch light filtered through wood slats but not enough to get a good look at the cat. She was much further back than the day he’d rescued her. There was no sign of life in the dim recesses. “I can’t see her.”

  Summer tapped his shoulder and handed him a small flashlight. “Here. I had this in my pocket for grave digging.”

  His eyes narrowed and he flicked on the light. She shrugged innocently and said, “Focus on the cat, please.”

  With a back and forth sweep, he saw a pair of glowing eyes staring back at him from the farthest corner under the porch. “She’s hunched down near the foundation. Damn.”

  “Which way?”

  Jason pointed. “I’ll never be able to get her.” He pushed up to sit on his heels. “The deck was built over the original porch base. My grandad was too cheap to have it torn down and carted away.”

  “Why is that an issue?”

  “Because that original porch floor makes a low ceiling and leaves very little space for me to crawl under. She couldn’t be in a worse spot for rescue.”

  Summer lowered to her knees. “Let me see.” She took the flashlight. “You’re right. She is wedged in.” She did an examination of the space. “I think I can get her.”

  “Not a good idea. Let’s try cat food before we do anything crazy.” He went inside, retrieved a fork, a pop-top can of cat food, and a bigger flashlight. When he returned, Summer was on her knees calling for the cat. He knelt beside her and tapped the lid with fork. “Kitty. Kitty.”

  “Come out, sweetie,” Summer begged. “It’s not safe under there.”

  Jason suspected that the idea of letting her go back to her previous home was just not happening. No one had called about her. She belonged to them.

  The stubborn feline stayed put. “I think she’s snickering at us. She knows we can’t get to her,” he said.

  “Well, we can’t just leave her there.”

  Jason couldn’t argue with that. “She’s probably scared to be outside again. We can try to coax her out tomorrow after she’s calmed down.”

  Clearly, he’d said the exactly wrong thing. She was already shaking her head before he finished.

  “She and her babies might be in danger if we leave her out. What if a rabid raccoon comes by or a big snake tries to eat her?” Her eyes widened and her voice turned almost . . . shrill. “She needs us to protect her, Jason.”

  Jason wanted to remind her that there were no snakes big enough in the city—or the state of Michigan for that matter—that could eat a full-grown cat. This wasn’t the Everglades and garter snakes were not the size of pythons. However, it was the shimmer of tears on her lower lashes that were his undoing. There was no way in hell he could say no. “What if you get stuck?”

  She smiled wide. “Then call the fire department.” She put a hand on his arm and steeled herself. “We can do this.”

  Confidence of a swift rescue failed when put into practical use. The porch was a lot lower when she actually began the process of belly crawling under the dark and spooky space. If there was a time rethink the plan, it ended once her feet cleared the outer safety of the yard and she was fully committed.

  “There’d better not be a skunk under here.” She grumbled as dirt and dust coated her from chin to toes. Her small flashlight hadn’t picked one up, but there were a lot of hiding places.

  “If there is, I’ll bathe you in tomato juice. All over.”

  Strangely, the image of being naked while he rubbed the tomato product on her bare skin was kind of a turn on. Jason could rub lard all over her and she’d be turned on. That man was a female arousal magician.

  Lord, her grandmother must be rolling in her grave over such language, even if she hadn’t said it out loud.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  Maybe they should have left out the food and hoped for the best. No. She wasn’t about to leave Mrs. Kravitz to an uncertain fate. Who knew how long she’d been a stray before this? Obviously long enough to get pregnant, poor thing.

  Nope, as long as mama cat had her and Jason to protect and love her, she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

  “Summer, do you see her? Is she still there?” Jason’s voice had a far-off quality and jolted her out of her musing. He illuminated the space with half-dead batteries.

  He called again, “Summer?”

  “I see her.” Backed into a corner of old latticework trim, the kitty was not at all pleased that a human had invaded her hiding place. The dusty and very pregnant feline spun around as if looking unsuccessfully for an escape route, returned to position she started in, and bristled up her fur.

  Summer sent her a shaming stare. “Ten minutes ago you were on your back purring while I petted you, you ungrateful girl.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “I’m good.” As good as she could be, lying on her stomach a few feet from an unhappy cat that appeared minutes away from ejecting baby kittens from her uterus like bullets from a Gatling gun. Thankfully, the vet thought she had around another two weeks of gestation. Hopefully the vet was right.

  Two pressing matters awaited this kitty collector and Summer had to prioritize. She drew the back of h
er wrist back and forth across her forehead for a scratch; every part of her front side covered with prickly grime. Spider webs kept her from getting a clear view of the rotund beast, adding to a creepy haunted house feel of the space.

  Concentrate. “Okay girl, it’s just you and me.”

  Onward she slid. Jason had given her gardening gloves in case Mrs. Kravitz panicked and tried to bite. Summer was sure it wouldn’t come to that. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

  The cat blinked. Summer measured her options and set a course of action. She rejected images of a small set of kitty teeth munching on her face and her mind quickly ticked through all the reasons she should back out from under the porch and develop a plan B. Or C. She dismissed them all.

  “Keep going,” she said softly.

  Summer closed the last two feet between them. Mrs. Kravitz, though clearly nervous, settled down and purred. Summer reached out her hand. The cat stood and walked over as if this was any other visit. A tail sweep to the face assured her rescuer that all was well. Summer scooped the cat into one arm, clamped the flashlight between her teeth, and slid backward.

  “Are you two planning to live under there indefinitely?” Jason called out again with good humor. A flashlight beam skipped over her and broke the shadows. “You have two minutes or I’m calling Search and Rescue.”

  “We’re coming!” she said around the flashlight.

  Flying, dried plant products covered her sweat-damp skin as she backward crawl-scraped across the loose soil. The process took a lot longer coming out than it did going in. Of course, she wasn’t dragging along a squirming cat on her first trip under the porch.

  When she came to the edge of the deck-porch, Jason hooked his hands around her ankles and pulled her out.

  He helped her to her feet, took the cat, and ran his eyes up and down her. Filth covered her skin and clothes. “Good God. Were you attacked by a garbage truck?”

  Chapter 11

  “That’s funny.” Summer handed the cat over to Jason, removed her gloves and rubbed her face. She was covered in grit. She abhorred grit. It itched.

  The cat purred while Summer gave her the evil eye. “You’re lucky that I like you, cat. There won’t be a next time.” Right. As if she wouldn’t crawl under there ten times if required, just to keep the kitty safe.

  “You did great,” Jason said and picked a leaf piece off her shirt. “Tough girl.”

  For some reason, she liked the nickname. It made her feel powerful. Maybe she should buy black leather pants?

  Feeling like mystery mites were burrowing into her skin, she sighed and vigorously ran her nails up and down one arm and then the other.

  Then her nails went to her neck. “Let’s get her settled so I can get cleaned up.”

  “I have a hose and a scrub brush if that helps?”

  “As a matter of fact, it doesn’t help. At all. Come near me with the hose and I’ll twist you into a pretzel.” She flicked off a tiny stick. “I’d rather have a shower and vanilla body wash if you don’t mind.” She suspected that she might have spiders nesting in her hair. Her mother would be horrified. Perfect Summer was not allowed to get dirty. Tammy had blanched in horror the one time Summer asked to play in the sandbox.

  What a deprived childhood. She wished Tammy could see her now. She whipped out her phone and took a selfie. It was dark but decent. Tammy would have a fit.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sending a selfie to my mother.” She scrolled through her contacts, tapped the number, and sent it. “There. Perfect.”

  Beside her, Jason adjusted the cat. “Do you have mommy issues or are you just hoping for a million hits?”

  “Definitely the first. Pageant girls do not get dirty.”

  He imagined her in a bathing suit, wobbling around a stage in high heels while judges judged her superficial qualities. It failed to reconcile with the shy and brainy Summer he knew. So he let the comment go. “I won’t ask you to explain. How about we go back to the ‘twisting me into a pretzel’ threat. That I can relate to.” Jason led her back into the house. “Are you some sort of martial arts expert . . . or maybe a dominatrix?” he asked hopefully.

  “Neither.” They clomped up the steps and she opened the door. “I’m a computer expert and private investigator.”

  He stopped. “You’re a PI?”

  “I’d have thought your grandfather told you.” She knew if she told him where she worked he’d have heard of Brash & Brazen, Inc. They were featured in several trade publications as an up-and-coming company in Washtenaw County. “Do you have a problem with my profession?”

  “Not at all.” His eyes wandered over her in the fading daylight. “You just don’t look like a PI.”

  “Really?” She probed the comment for an insult. His face gave nothing away. “And what does a PI look like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A PI should be kind of oily with a big belly and a nasty smokers’ cough. He also wears brown polyester suits and drives a beat-up Chevy from the seventies.”

  This time she laughed. “That is some picture. I’ll tell Taryn and Jess they need to take up smoking and eat more hoagies. Have you heard of Brash and Brazen?”

  Surprise crossed his face. He nudged the door closed and sat the cat on the floor. “I saw something about that company somewhere. Are you one of Irving’s girls?”

  “We don’t like to be called that, but yes, I am.”

  Irving had recently done an interview on a local cable channel and played up the all-female angle for his company. Probably only a handful of people saw the story aired at two a.m., but Irving had gotten a kick out of being on TV.

  It appeared that Jason was one of that handful of nocturnal viewers. Irving would like that.

  “That’s very cool. Taryn and Jess, too?”

  “Them, too.”

  She ran a hand over her hair. Cobwebs clung to her fingers. She shook her hand but they stayed put. “I must be a mess.”

  They both looked down at her black jeans and long-sleeved black tee. Dried plants, dirt, and mystery bits clung to her clothes. Jason smiled. “You’re a botanist’s wet dream,” he said.

  “Great.” She swore she felt something move in her hair. “Then I’d better get home before Leonardo shows up.”

  At his confusion, she smiled. “Leonardo da Vinci was a botanist. I wouldn’t want him to look at me and get dirty thoughts.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Jason chuckled. “Looks, brains, humor, and a kick-ass PI, too. You are something else.”

  She smiled sideways at him. “Thanks.” Before things got awkward, she turned away and scratched the cat under her chin. “I still like you even if you are a stinker. See ya tomorrow.”

  “Wait. Before you go I have a question,” he said. “What do you think of spiders?”

  Good grief. A hot shower called to her. “There is one in my hair, isn’t there?” She leaned over and shook her head. Nothing fell off. A hair ruffle had the same result.

  “One?” He shook his head. “Nope. I see three from here.”

  “Excellent.” More head shaking. The spiders clung on. “Good thing I’m not afraid of creepy-crawly things.”

  Growing up in Texas made her immune to most critters. “Show me a spider or a lizard and I’m cool. Rattlesnakes freak me out. Big fangs.”

  Nodding, he brushed his hand over the cat. She was smudged but otherwise spider free. “If I see a rattler in your hair, we’ll both be running.”

  Summer tried to picture Jason fleeing from a snake. It didn’t fit. He’d more likely grab the nearest rake or club, or stuffed porcupine and fend it off. With his big manly arms.

  He led her into the kitchen and sat Mrs. Kravitz down. “I thought women didn’t like spiders as a rule.”

  “That’s a chauvinistic stereotype.” She took the stool he indicated at the island and carefully pulled the band from her ponytail. She shook her hair out.

  He walked over and poked around in a cabinet.

>   “For your information,” she said, “my sister had a tarantula named Fritz who liked to travel. He’d get out of his terrarium and walk all over us while we were sleeping. A few little porch spiders don’t freak me out.”

  Jason tried, and failed, to hide a shudder. Smiling, she wondered if he’d scream like a baby if he’d have found Fritz walking on him at two a.m. Tarantulas could be scary.

  Probably not. A man who’d sat for hours while a tattoo artist pierced his skin with needles full of ink, was pretty tough. Still, having fuzzy legs walk over your face in the middle of the night wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  He went to a cabinet and walked back with a Mason jar and lid. Taking up a position behind her, he handed her the jar. “Let’s see what we have.”

  Over the next few minutes he carefully removed three tiny spiders from her head while Summer manned the jar. Every time he reached out to drop an arachnid into the jar, he brushed against her back and shoulders with various body parts. The warm contact sent all sorts of tingles through her.

  “I think there’s one more.” He dropped number four into the jar and ran his hand over her head. “Wait, there’s another.”

  “Did I take out a nest?”

  He leaned close to her ear and his breath tickled her neck. “I think so.” Another spider and an old spider egg went into the jar. “Thankfully, spider reproducing isn’t in full swing yet.”

  “Yes, thankfully.” Summer cleared her throat. “Are we done?” Her voice trembled. She had to get it together.

  There was a chance his mouth had skimmed her ear as he pulled back. She was too distracted by his hand on her neck to know for sure. He was dangerously close enough for kissing.

  “Did you know that house spiders and outside spiders are two different types of spiders? You should never put a house spider outside. They could die. Especially in winter.” She went on to ramble for two minutes about spider hibernation.

  She was nervous. The sensations he was invoking in her body made her very, very, nervous.

  When she paused for breath, he said, “You know a lot about spiders.”

  A burn flooded her cheeks. He probably thought she was a dope, or the queen of random facts. She had to get out of here fast. “Did you get them all?”