by Tara Sheets
Kat’s admiration for Bobby Bankston jumped up a few more notches. A cute cowboy who also wanted to rescue an animal? That was solid gold in her book. “What kind of dog are you looking for?”
“I need a dog that can help with herding. Anything good for ranch life.”
Kat’s face lit up. “I just took in seven mixed Australian shepherd puppies. They’re born for that kind of life. Once they’ve had their routine medical check, they should be ready to go. Would you like to see them?”
Bobby hesitated. “A puppy is a different thing altogether. I was hoping for a dog I could use right away. To help with the sheep.”
“You’d be surprised how smart Australian shepherds are,” Kat said, standing. “They’re one of the smartest dog breeds I’ve ever worked with. I think you could be very happy with one if you gave it a chance.”
Bobby hesitated, but Smitty elbowed him in the ribs. “Just go take a look, Bobby.”
“All right. Show me your shepherd pups.”
Kat felt a wave of triumph as she led Smitty’s nephew to the back room where the puppies were frolicking. Another home for another puppy! Things were looking up.
By the time Bobby and Smitty left for lunch, Kat had a full set of paperwork filled out for a lively Australian shepherd puppy. She’d told him to call if he had any questions or concerns. She stapled the paperwork together, watching through the front window as Bobby opened the door of his truck for his aunt. Nice. Very gentlemanly.
She bent to pet Hank and whispered, “Who would’ve guessed someone like him would be related to Smitty? It’s nice to know chivalry isn’t dead.”
The door swung open. “Ms. Davenport.”
Jordan Prescott came through the front door looking tall, dark, and disgruntled—nothing new—and carrying a cylindrical green mesh container. He took a cursory glance at the small office and set the container on the reception desk. “From my grandmother.”
Kat peered into the mesh cage. There was a small box on the bottom with a disk inserted into it. On the disk appeared to be several dark blobs. “What is this?”
“Uh . . . orphans?”
Kat frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Even though he seemed tired, humor lit his face and he looked like he was trying not to smile. “My grandmother went to the community center today for her quilting club . . . Or was it crochet?” He shook his head. “I can’t keep it straight. Anyway, one of her friends was trying to give this away. It’s from a preschool class, and the teacher wasn’t able to continue the science lesson, or something.”
Kat tried to follow, but she still didn’t really understand why Jordan was bringing her what appeared to be cocoons. “So . . . your grandmother wanted me to have them?”
“No,” he said. “Not you, specifically. She just wanted me to drop this off at the animal shelter. These cocoons are supposed to turn into butterflies but they haven’t hatched, or whatever you call it.”
“But why bring them here?” Kat asked.
“You guys take unwanted creatures, don’t you?”
“Yes, but we—I can’t,” she sputtered, shaking her head. “We take animals. Like cats and dogs.”
“Ah,” Jordan said, and held up a finger. “And chickens, if I recall.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed the cage toward him. “Don’t give me butterflies. We can’t take them.”
“Sure you can.” He backpedaled toward the door and pointed at the cage. “You just did.”
Kat shot out of her chair, gripping the green handle. “What am I supposed to do with these? This is an animal shelter, not a bug shelter.”
Jordan was grinning now as he pushed open the door. “Don’t be so discriminatory. They’re poor, sad orphans, remember? I’m sure you can think of something.”
“We deal with animals,” she called out in frustration. “The furry kind.”
But he was already too far across the parking lot to hear her.
Kat blew out a breath and sat down hard in her chair. He was so . . . frustrating. Yeah. That was the word. And there was something about the way he walked that bugged her, too. All sexy and easy and confident, as if everything was going according to his grand plans.
She gritted her teeth in determination. Well, she had some plans of her own.
“Fine, Jordan Prescott,” she said as he drove away. “I see your cage full of butterflies, and I raise you one very pregnant cat and a soon-to-be litter of kittens.”
* * *
At six o’clock that evening, Kat carefully unloaded Clementine’s plastic cat carrier from her car. She’d borrowed the carrier from the shelter’s supply closet, promising Smitty to bring it back in the morning.
Clementine let out a long, low growl. She wasn’t happy with this new, unknown arrangement, but she would be. Kat would make sure of it. She ran up the steps to her apartment as quickly as she could. After the objections Jordan had made about Hank, she was certain he’d be against bringing a cat home. But that wasn’t his decision to make. It was his grandmother’s house too, and Opal was now an official rescue shelter volunteer. If Jordan had a problem with Clementine, too bad. For now, the poor feline just needed a safe, quiet place to rest, and Kat had found one.
While Kat was gathering the rest of the supplies from her car, Opal hobbled onto the porch with her cane. “I was wondering when you’d get home,” she called. “Did you get the butterflies?”
“I did,” Kat said.
“Oh, good. I knew it was the right thing to do. Jordan told me it was silly to drop off the cocoons at the shelter, but I knew you’d figure out what to do with them.”
“Mmm,” Kat said. “We’ll take good care of them.” How, she had no clue. What did an animal shelter do with cocoons? It wasn’t exactly something you could take to the next adoption event. Kitten: Three months old, loves to cuddle. Puppy: Four months, likes to play fetch. Butterfly cocoons: Age unknown, low-maintenance, possibly dying or dead. Yeah. It just didn’t have that “adopt me” vibe.
“I’ve brought the mama cat we talked about,” Kat said.
Opal made a sound of delight. “Bring her over right now.”
Kat went to get Clementine, and soon the cat supplies were tucked away in the downstairs bathroom of the farmhouse, and Clementine was tucked away underneath the couch. Hiding. Kat had tried to coax her out to meet Opal, but Clementine was having none of it.
“She’s just a little nervous,” Kat said, sitting up from her crouching position on the living room floor. “But she’ll come around once she figures out it’s safe.”
“Of course she will,” Opal said. “She’s a female, and therefore, brilliant. She can take all the time she needs.”
Kat stood and slapped dust from her hands. The living room was small, with an overstuffed couch and two mismatched reading chairs. There was a steamer trunk in one corner and an outdated ottoman in front of the fireplace. Aside from the weak hall light, there were no other lamps in the living room. It should’ve been a cozy room, but there was an aura of neglect that seemed to permeate everything.
“Now,” Opal announced. “These old bones are off to bed. I’ve got to be at my community center in the morning, bright and early.”
“What do you have planned there?” Kat asked. She imagined Opal with her friends at the community center playing bridge, or painting with watercolors.
“Dance class.”
“Dance?” Kat tried not to let the surprise show on her face.
“Sam Norton’s going to lead tomorrow,” Opal continued. “He’s a great teacher. Much better than that granddaughter of Betty Lou’s. Last week she tried to teach us hip-hop, and it was a disaster.”
“I can just imagine,” Kat managed. “Do you . . . do you dance often?”
Opal patted her hip. “On days when my leg acts up, I just help run the music. But on a good day?” She lifted her arms with a flourish. “Watch out, Ginger Rogers.”
Kat laughed. She had a feeling Opal was just stubborn enough to do anything she set her mind to. “Thanks again for helping with Clementine.”
“We have lots of space here. If there’s any other special cases, bring them to me.” With a wave, Opal made her way down a short hallway to her bedroom on the first floor.
Later that night, Kat sat wearily at the kitchen table eating a sandwich. It had been a long day. After work, she’d managed to buy a few necessary groceries to last until her first paycheck, but beyond that she still had no furniture. She bit into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, trying to look on the bright side. No furniture? No big deal. The overstuffed recliner chair wasn’t the worst place she’d ever slept. At least it was soft and squishy. It was probably even more comfortable than some beds. Everything would work out. In just a few more weeks, she’d have everything she needed.
The front door opened, then closed. A few moments later, Jordan breezed into the kitchen, heading for the fridge.
Kat blinked. He looked so . . . different. Before, he’d always been wearing jeans and old flannels. Casual clothes. But tonight he was wearing slacks and a dress shirt. His hair wasn’t as windblown as it usually was, either, and the faint scent of aftershave hung in the air. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked like he just came home from a meeting or dinner date.
He paused when he saw her. He seemed almost surprised, as if he’d forgotten that she would show up from time to time.
Get used to it, Mr. Mysterious. I live here now, too.
“How are the orphans?” he asked casually, opening the fridge.
She set her sandwich down and picked up her tea. “You mean the cocoons you forced on me?”
“Oh, come on, Ms. Davenport,” he said, searching inside the fridge. “They’re soon to be butterflies. Where’s your sense of optimism?”
He selected a beer and a leftover deli sandwich.
“I’m plenty optimistic,” Kat said, lifting her chin. “But I told you, the Daisy Meadows Pet Rescue doesn’t take insects.”
“What do you have against butterflies?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She actually loved butterflies. They were especially important to the environment. In fact, she was already sort of enamored with her cocoons, and felt responsible for their well-being. What she didn’t like was the way he’d breezed into her place of business, dumped them on her, and left without so much as a backward glance. Jordan Prescott was too arrogant for his own good.
“Wait, let me guess.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “You hate color, and butterflies are too colorful for you.”
Kat frowned. “I don’t hate color.”
His gaze traveled over her black shirt. He even tipped his head sideways so he could see her black skirt and boots under the table. Then he gave her a look that drove his point home.
“I like colors just fine,” Kat said, yanking on the hem of her shirt. She crossed her feet under the table and sat up straighter. Leave it to him to point out that all she ever wore was black.
He opened his beer. “If you say so.”
She shook her head and took a sip of tea. Part of her wanted to explain why her entire wardrobe was black, but then he might wonder why she hadn’t bought anything new. And if he came to the conclusion that she was broke, he might feel sorry for her. That was the worst. Kat would rather eat glass than have someone like Jordan Prescott pity her. She didn’t need anyone’s pity, least of all his.
Jordan took a bite of his sandwich and relaxed back into his chair. He seemed completely at ease in the quiet kitchen, which was the exact opposite of how Kat felt at the moment.
She glanced into her teacup. It was just easier not to look at him. A breeze swirled in through the open kitchen window, and the faint sound of crickets could be heard outside. She searched for something to fill the silence. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“Dinner date,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich.
Kat suddenly thought of the pretty woman named Layla she’d met the first day. The one with the tailored dresses and sleek stilettos. “And yet, here you sit. Eating dinner,” she pointed out.
He shrugged. “Second dinner.”
Kat studied him from beneath her lashes. “Must’ve been quite the date.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Either it went very badly, or very well.” She turned her attention back to her sandwich.
“And you think this because . . . ?”
“Because you either had such a terrible time that you left before dinner arrived, or . . .” She paused and searched for a delicate way to say what she was thinking. “Or you skipped dinner altogether and went straight to . . . dessert.”
“Dessert?” His face lit with amusement, and something darker. Sexier.
Kat felt her cheeks grow hot.
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he murmured.
She ate another bite of her sandwich, ignoring him.
“You have quite the imagination, Ms. Davenport.”
“Will you please stop calling me that?” she asked irritably.
“Sure, Kat.” He gave her that sensual half smile. The one that made the Queen of Impulsive Decisions grab a couple of butterflies and start doing a fan dance.
Kat concentrated on stirring her tea.
“Why did you move here?” he asked suddenly.
Kat gripped her teacup and took a slow breath. She hated personal questions like this. They always led to the inevitable questions about family. Usually she made up something vague and acceptable, but for some reason she didn’t feel up to it. “My job ended, and I thought this seemed like a nice place.”
“Really? This island?”
“Of course,” Kat said, glad to speak the simple truth. “The moment I saw it, I fell in love. What’s not to like? It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful. Life just seems quieter here. Less hectic than L.A., that’s for sure.”
“So you’re from California?”
“Yup.” She needed to think fast. In her experience, it was easy to deflect personal questions by asking her own. “Did you grow up here?”
“Yes.” Jordan set his sandwich down and picked up his drink. “But I left as soon as I finished high school.”
“Why?”
He stared at the far wall, his expression hard to read. Kat had the sudden feeling that he was a million miles away. “Why not?” he said, before taking a drink.
Okay, fine. They both had stories neither of them wanted to share. Even though she was genuinely curious, it was better this way. Keep things nice and light. She finished her sandwich and rose from her chair.
“There’s no cable in your room,” he said.
She paused, her plate in one hand. “What?”
“For television.” He was looking at one of the condiment jars, not making eye contact.
“Oh. It’s all right,” Kat said. “I don’t have a TV, anyway.” She walked to the sink and began washing her dishes. After drying them and putting them away, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms. The silence stretched out between them.
“You can use the TV in the living room,” he said. “If you want.”
That was unexpected. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to be nice. “Thanks.” Kat shifted on her feet, then gave up with the awkward silence. “Good night.”
“You sure you don’t want dessert before you go?” he asked.
She glanced sharply at him.
He pointed to the fridge, his expression carefully neutral. “The ice cream is in the freezer. Or maybe you don’t like dessert?”
She almost missed the flash of laughter in his eyes. He was teasing her again.
Two could play at that game. “Oh, I love dessert. Lots and lots. Especially ice cream. I just lap it right up.” She walked to the kitchen door and opened it. “But I like to save dessert for special occasions, and since there’s nothing here worth celebrating . . .” She gave a little wave an
d stepped out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.
A deep, masculine laugh floated through the kitchen window, following her across the lawn. It was such a warm, pleasing sound that Kat slowed her steps to listen further. Later, after she’d stretched out on the recliner chair, she could still hear the warm echo of it in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Eight
Kat slouched in the lumpy recliner chair in her room on Wednesday night, staring glumly at the green mesh cage sitting on the foldout table. Smitty had tried to toss the thing in the dumpster out behind the shelter, but Kat had intercepted and decided to take it home. Whether or not the cocoons were going to morph into butterflies remained to be seen. If Kat concentrated very hard, she could sense life stirring in there, but that didn’t mean the metamorphosis would be successful. She’d just have to keep a close eye on them and make sure they stayed safe.
As for her own place . . . Kat glanced around at the plain walls and empty room. “Just another week, Hank,” she said to the little dog in her lap. “Payday is next Friday. And then we’ll brighten this place up and make it feel like home.”
Kat’s phone rang and she dug for it in the recliner cushions. “Hello?”
“You’re coming on Friday night, right?” Juliette’s voice piped up on the other end. “Emma and Hunter are back from Hawaii, and we’re going to celebrate with our official movie night.”
“Of course I’ll come,” Kat said. She liked Emma as much as Juliette, and even though she knew very little of Hunter, she liked him just on principle because he made Emma so happy. “Do you want me to bring anything?” She had to ask, but secretly hoped Juliette would say no. Money was going to be tight until payday, and even after that, she’d have to be extremely careful until she could replenish her savings account.
“Don’t bring a thing. There’s going to be enough food to feed an army. Logan’s making my favorite vegetarian lasagna.”
Kat didn’t miss the note of happiness in Juliette’s voice when she mentioned her fiancé. Juliette and her childhood crush, Logan O’Connor, had recently become engaged. And he was as smitten with Juliette as she was with him.