by Sosie Frost
Pretty sure Gretchen chided her dog in English only for my benefit, especially as she’d trained her border collie to respond to a variety of clicks, whistles, glances, and seemingly telepathic demands. The dog whined, plunked in a pout at her feet, and studied each of the confused seniors, now migrating out of the meeting to wander aimlessly across the hall.
“Actually…” I kept my voice low, not exactly proud that I’d sic a dog on a group of the town’s respected elders. “Can he bring them back? They’re my only volunteers.”
Gretchen took her job—and her herding—seriously. She whistled two sharp yips and pointed. Ambrose needed no other instruction, seemingly practiced at stalking unsuspecting Korean War veterans.
“You’re better off without them.” Gretchen watched her dog in action as she slurped a noodle from her thermos, forgoing the usual early morning coffee for a hearty cup of chicken soup. According to her, life was too short to waste on breakfast, so she and Ambrose celebrated the crack of dawn with lunch. “You shouldn’t have promised pie and coffee for committee signups.”
“Better than your idea,” I said. “I wasn’t going door-to-door without a bra on.”
“Gotta learn what makes the town tick.”
“Unrepentant humiliation?”
“Sex appeal.”
Gretchen shimmied her hips. Slim, trim, and just as eager as her dog to live her life from run-to-run, she was one of Butterpond’s more beautiful residents. While the booty-shorts helped, especially as her toned, black legs stretched from the floor to her chin, the rest of her ensemble only benefited her on a dog walk, not the catwalk.
“Where does the florescent vest fit into this grand plan of seduction?” I asked.
Gretchen glanced down. Her self-appointed electric green uniform looked no worse on her than it did buckled on Ambrose. The patch on her uniform proudly proclaimed Geese Police…though the municipality preferred she use the official title of Animal Control Officer.
Of course, Gretchen had only earned the position after an unfortunate incident involving our last officer, a log mistaken for a rabid opossum in the bed of his truck, and a wayward M80. Gretchen, though only barely past twenty, came highly recommended from Butterpond’s only vet—her father. As a bonus, she provided a secondary, bewildering, expertise—herding nuisance geese away from public places. The geese patrol paid her more than the part-time work she did for the county.
The seniors shambled back into the meeting room, though Ambrose had rewarded himself for a job well done with an inexplicable tennis ball. Gretchen gasped, removed the ball from his mouth, and hurriedly replaced it on the bottom of Mr. Mitchell’s walker.
“So, no Julian Payne today?” Gretchen hid her smirk as she pretended to refasten Ambrose’s collar.
She knew damn well he wasn’t showing his face.
“We’re better off without him,” I said.
“Heard he’s giving you a hard time.”
“Something like that.”
“Is he giving you anything else?”
Nothing that I’d admit, even to her.
Gretchen grinned. “You know he’s the town’s most eligible…”
“Jackass?”
“So, you have gotten to know him.”
I busied myself with my phone. “We really need to start this meeting.”
Gretchen gave Ambrose a pat and laughed. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“Got what?”
“Julian got under your skin.”
Under my clothes. Under my skin.
Inside my uterus.
Did it matter?
“I will not let Julian Payne interfere with my work,” I said.
“Skip the work. Head straight to the bedroom.”
That I could answer truthfully. “He hasn’t been there.”
“Yet.”
“You’re here to talk feral cats,” I scolded her. “Don’t start trouble.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Gretchen cackled. “You’re already in trouble.”
She had no idea how much.
I greeted the committee members with a peppy hello. Ten senior citizens stared at me. Two already thumbed through a deck of cards. One wore an oxygen mask. The rest snuck away to steal more hard candy. Gretchen gave me a smile from the back of the room.
“Let’s get started,” I said.
Alice eagerly tapped her cane. “When do we play bridge?”
“We’re talking about the fair today,” I said.
“The what?”
Roy Jenkins shouted so he, Alice, and the entire municipal center could hear. “She said she’s having an affair!”
Gretchen giggled, nearly toppling from her chair, but Ambrose covered his eyes and whined. At least I had some camaraderie.
“The county fair.” I spoke a little louder, cringing as my voice carried. “We’re discussing the county fair.”
“When do we play cards?” Alice asked.
Roy patted her hand. “After the affair! Looks like it’s a hell of a story.”
I never thought I’d miss Julian. “Oh God.”
“Miss Robinson?” A man no more than fifty years old—a variable toddler in the room—raised his hand. He stood, patting the dust from his flannel shirt and kicking the low hanging hem of his sweat pants from under his tennis shoes. “My name is Dan Granwala. I…heard you have an issue with some feral cats.”
I nodded. “More than an issue, really. We’re overrun.”
“Well…” He rubbed a hand through sandy hair that should have been blonde. “I think I might be able to help. See, I run a company that specializes in pest removal.”
“In what?” Alice asked.
Roy leaned over. “Breast approval!”
Alice nudged Agatha Barlow. “Don’t all men?”
Agatha pointed at me with her cane. “Don’t you change a thing, missy. You’re beautiful!”
Gretchen cackled, but I gestured for Dan to continue. “You can help remove the cats?”
“Oh yeah. Cats. Rats. Termites. Even cleared a stubborn mule out of a shed in Ironfield.”
“That’s…perfect.”
“Yeah, it’s a real shame what happens with these cats,” he said. “Get some folks who want to help ‘em, but they’re feral. Can’t get close. Can’t tame em. They breed out of control. Suddenly, you got yourself a dangerous area—cats doing their business, defending their territories.”
“Yes!” Finally, progress. “We need to move them from the fairgrounds before they get the kittens hooked on catnip.”
“Not a problem. I can set up the traps overnight. Can get probably five or ten cats a night, if we’re lucky.”
Prayers answered. I would have hugged him if he wasn’t coated in dirt. “Thank you! I’ll call the council this afternoon!”
“You tell your board members that I’m a professional. It’s all humane. I’ll trap them, I’ll load them in the truck, and then the gas I use is real gentle.”
I tilted my head. “…What?”
“I throw a tarp over the back of the truck, and then I get a hose?” Dan mimed the action, solemn and serious. “Tuck it up under the tarp, run the truck, and it only takes a couple minutes.”
Gretchen stood. She had no real authority, but someone had given her a whistle. The harsh trill echoed over the meeting room.
Gretchen pointed at him. “What the hell did he just say?”
Dan winced. “I know it’s not pretty. But you have a problem. I have the solution.”
“Yeah, the final solution!” Gretchen raced to confront Dan, hopping a line of chairs. At least she hadn’t grabbed one as a weapon. “What are you? Some sort of…of…Cat Hitler?”
Alice tugged on Roy’s sleeve. “What’d she say?”
Roy leaned over. “Asked if he liked Bette Midler.”
“Oh, who doesn’t? I loved her in that…” She wagged a finger. “That Moon movie.”
Roy clapped a hand on his thigh. “Apollo Thirteen.”
; Gretchen tore at her pig tails. “You can’t just kill the cats.”
Dan shrugged. “What else are you going to do with them? Cooking them seems even crueler.”
“Bette Midler wasn’t in Apollo Thirteen.” Agatha Barlow swore at Roy. “You’re thinking Moonstruck.”
Gretchen raged. “Why would you eat a cat?”
Dan huffed. “Maybe if someone ate yours, you wouldn’t need a goddamned whistle.”
Oh God. I attempted to separate Dan and Gretchen as the movie trivia now agitated the seniors too.
Roy swore. “Nah, Bette wasn’t in that. It was that ugly fellow—Rick Cage or something. Him and that singer were in Moonstruck.”
Agatha racked her brain. “Streisand.”
“No, no. The other one with the honking nose.”
“Cher?”
“Share?” Alice offered her bag of candy. “Help yourself.”
Oh, no. The meeting would end with the carpets stained by blood and butterscotch. I eased Gretchen back to a seat and faced Dan.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We can’t kill the cats. It’s out of the question.”
“It’s humane.”
“You’re gassing them!” Gretchen yelled.
“Only for a couple minutes,” he said. “It’s over real quick. Not like they’re horses—that takes all afternoon.”
We couldn’t have PETA picketing the offices again. I had to get this guy out of the building and quick. “No. No people or animals will be harmed in the planning of the fair. Does anyone have any idea how to remove the cats from the fairground that doesn’t involve a pipe hooked into a truck’s exhaust system?”
And, of course, he answered.
That rumbling voice, the sensual boom of confidence, might have coiled inside my tummy had his last conquest not taken root there.
Julian Payne volunteered with a casual smirk. “I can take care of a pussy…cat.”
Hell no. I wasn’t in the mood. Not to laugh. Not to joke.
And not to kick his ass out of my damn meeting.
“Take five, everyone,” I said.
Alice didn’t need to ask. Roy leaned in. “She said, survive everyone.”
Alice agreed. “Everyday’s a blessing, thank you Lord.”
Gretchen poked Dan’s chest. Ambrose gave a growl. “You better watch yourself.”
“No bloodshed.” I sent her toward the cookies I’d set out for the meeting. “And don’t let the rest of the committee leave…or fall asleep…or worse.”
Julian waited for me, though I was not having this conversation in the middle of the meeting room. He followed me to the hall, but I couldn’t castrate him there either.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”
“You did. But then I realized you’re pregnant.”
“Took you long enough.” I shushed him with a fierce growl. “I don’t need special treatment.”
“No, you probably need to be institutionalized.”
“Go home, Julian.”
“You need help, princess.”
I grimaced. “I don’t.”
“You expect the Geese Police and half of Sunny Acres to get this fair up and running?”
He’d seen me nearly naked and had knocked me up. No sense in lying. “A girl can dream.”
“I’ll help.”
“Why the hell would you want to help me?”
He pointed at my stomach. “Because you had to make it complicated.”
“Me?” I gritted my teeth. “This isn’t complicated, cowboy. This is very easy. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“I know you’re attracted to me—”
“You are such an arrogant—”
“—But that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And I will, if only to make sure you’re not stressed.”
I huffed. “Stressed? You raise my blood pressure.”
“But I also drop your panties. It balances out.”
His stupid sexy grin jumbled me even more than before—the sudden influx of hormones terrible for a girl’s concentration. I breathed deep, regretting the sun-kissed scent of him.
“I’m in enough trouble already because of you,” I said. “Don’t ruin this for me. You’ve already compromised my job. I won’t have you ruin this fair or blab about the baby or break anyone’s heart…”
Shoot.
Wrong words.
Wrong wrong wrong.
Julian laughed. “So, I’m a heart-breaker now?”
“More like a uterus-stuffer.”
“I’m still amazed a tease like you let me get that far.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“Then stop being a brat and let me help,” he said. “I’ll be at the fairgrounds tomorrow morning. You can either bring me a cup of coffee or an approved building permit application.”
“You got lucky once—don’t push it.”
But he would.
He’d push, prod, and fuck me over just to watch me squirm.
“See you tomorrow, princess.”
Damn it.
Why was he so irritating? So crass?
So unbelievably sexy?
Julian might have been the cockiest son of a bitch in the world, but he was also the smoothest. That made him entirely too dangerous for a girl like me and exceptionally destructive to the life plan I’d meticulously maintained for the past ten years.
I was already pregnant. Fumbling through the remnants of my organized plan. Attempting to revise and re-order the next twenty years of my life. The last thing I needed was some schoolgirl crush on the bully who pulled my pigtails and rutted me against the wall.
I would not get charmed by Julian Payne. I’d cross my arms tighter than I’d squeeze my legs just to protect my heart.
He’d already gotten inside me once.
No sense letting him stay.
8
Julian
For a man to earn the right to become a father, he had to endure two cat bites to the ankles, a chest full of scratches, and an indeterminate amount of bruises and puncture wounds.
God only knew what it’d take for a man to earn the right to build a damned barn.
“You are such an idiot,” Micah said for the tenth time. She had a tender touch—I’d felt it before. Just chose not to wield it now. “Look at your back!”
I sat cross-legged, Neosporin at the ready. “Want me to flex?”
“You’re mincemeat.”
“At least I look good.” I winced as she dunked me in rubbing alcohol.
“Great,” she sighed. “The infection’s spread. You’re delirious already.”
Delirious…or insane?
What the fuck had made me think wrangling cats was the appropriate way to apologize to the woman carrying my child—a woman I simultaneously hated and desired. Hallmark didn’t make cards for that. Nothing said You’re the sexiest woman on earth, and I’d be trying my damnedest to get in your pants if you didn’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.
“This was the stupidest thing you could’ve done,” Micah said.
I clenched my fists as she dug into the jagged wounds with a harsh scrub. “Go on and bitch. It’ll make you feel better.”
“You tried to catch cats in a net.”
“I did it for you.”
“Don’t you dare blame me for this, Julian Payne. I didn’t tell you to play rabies roulette with the local wildlife.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t believe me. “Where were you going to put the cats once you caught them?”
I smirked. “Well, I don’t know. If I had a barn, maybe I could keep them there.”
“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“You’re never gonna give me the barn, are you?”
I peeked over my shoulder, catching sight of the most beautiful woman in the world framed in the setting afternoon sun. Hues of pink and purple cascaded through the sky behind her like a damn halo.
&n
bsp; Too bad it couldn’t hide her horns and pitchfork.
Micah grabbed a fresh towel but poured too much alcohol over the cloth. She squeezed it in her hand, but she’d hate that in a second. One sniff, and her nose crinkled. She flung the paper towel into the grass and struggled to take a clean breath.
Wasn’t the first time I’d feared she’d throw up on me.
Maybe that would get me the barn.
Every smell seemed to bother her—food, flowers, the fairgrounds. Surprised the scratches didn’t fuck with her, but she probably enjoyed that, sadist that she was. Micah was good at causing me pain.
She’d also offered me the pleasure of a lifetime.
But it wasn’t worth dipping my dick in that crazy. Especially now that I understood just what a little brat she was. Pregnant or not—woman of my dreams or not—Micah wasn’t a lady, she was a viper.
“Why don’t you let Gretchen handle the rest of the cats?” Micah asked. “You know, while you catch up on ten years of vaccinations.”
“Laugh it up.”
“Certainly hope that’s not how you handle every pussy…” Her voice dropped. “cat.”
“You tell me, princess. Did I make you purr?”
“Yowl maybe.” She washed the rest of my back, her fingertips tracing the line of surgical scars along my spine. She didn’t ask. I didn’t explain. “Now, of course, I’ll need a box in the closet to have my litter.”
“Our litter.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said.
“Should talk about it now.”
“Here?”
Why not? The field was empty—of people and most of the cats. Gretchen had taken the feral monsters to the shelter. The rest of the fair committee was lucky to have a pulse and luckier to make it to the field. They huddled in the parking lot discussing grandkids and aching joints.
My participation wasn’t just voluntary now. Micah couldn’t do this alone. The stress wasn’t good for the baby. My baby.
I’d been blindsided by linebackers and defensive ends, but the kid was the one blow that kicked me in my ass.
Micah sighed. “I’ve scheduled some time to discuss the baby after the fair.”
“You scheduled it?” I’d knocked up a fruitcake. “Micah, be real here.”
“I am,” she said. Her touch softened as she patched my shoulder with some gauze. The cuts hurt a hell of a lot less when she touched them. “We’re both still shocked. Let’s worry about the fair first.”