The Perfect Match

by Kimberly Cates

  “Not Elvis, Elvis. The parrot, Elvis. And let me tell you, it would be a load off my mind to get that bird settled someplace where his swearing wouldn’t singe the ears of small children.”

  “Whitewater’s notoriously proper Miss Marigold…and a swearing parrot? That seems like a match made in hell.”

  “Wrong again, Deputy Lawless. He’s charmed the bifocals off her.”

  Cash glanced over toward Elvis’s cage. “But aren’t those birds expensive? Like, close to two thousand dollars? How could she ever afford it?”

  “I’d give him to her. To make up for all the damage Destroyer did.”

  She meant it. Cash did a double-take. “You’re not going to make much money if you’re giving away fifteen hundred dollars in merchandise. And the cage—that has to cost more on top of it. Besides, you made her those tables out of the broken teapots. I’d say you squared up that debt already.”

  He’d settled the heavy suckers inside Miss Marigold’s fenced back garden himself. He knew just how fantastic they looked. The sun glinting off the colors, setting the porcelain shapes aglow.

  “She loves the tables, Cash,” Rowena said. “They made her so happy she cried. But they can’t talk to her at night. She’s still lonely. It would be so good to know she had company.”

  Cash shook his head. Vinny was right. Rowena might not be the best businesswoman in the county, but when it came to understanding how to get people through their pain, she had a gift. A real gift. He’d always be grateful that she’d weaseled Destroyer through his front door.

  “You’re good at this, you know?” he admitted. “Figuring out what people need. Dogs. Parrots. Colors.”

  A pretty flush spread across her cheeks at his praise. “Just think of the girls’ faces when they come home! Oh, Cash. Little girls don’t belong in gray houses. Those rooms feel so sad. Like they are. And you.”

  He straightened, defensive. As if she’d insulted him to the core. “I’m not sad. I’m mad as hell.”

  “And lonely for your girls.”

  Lonely.

  A marine wasn’t allowed to get lonely. He was trained to get angry, get tough, be strong. Channel his emotions into fuel to fight whatever life threw at him. A cop was supposed to do the same. And yet…

  Cash hated to think of the weekend stretching out before him, days of wondering what his girls were doing, if they were okay. He couldn’t stop feeling all messed up inside, knowing a better man would hope they’d have a great time. When the biggest part of him was afraid that maybe they would. If that happened, it would make things…different.

  At least if he were painting the house, he’d fall into bed at night and sleep like the dead. Or if he couldn’t sleep, he could just keep slapping up paint, keep his mind on something besides the fear he couldn’t admit to anyone. Not Rowena. Not even Vinny.

  That he could lose his daughters’ love. He’d seen it happen before, kids caught in some kind of wrestling match between their parents, their loyalties, their love the prize in broken homes.

  But he was the one who was broken. A selfish, sick sonofabitch wanting to keep them all to himself. And yet he didn’t know how to stop feeling the way he did. Lisa had hurt them so badly in the past. How else could he be sure Mac and Charlie were safe?

  If Rowena knew the truth, she wouldn’t look at him with those eyes of hers, filled with…

  Christ, Cash, don’t even think it! The words she’d said, so honest, so brave.

  I think I could fall in love with you if you let me.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  “Cash?”

  “Huh?” Cash let Rowena pull him up, out of the dark.

  “What colors?”

  “Colors?”

  “For the house. What are the girls’ favorite colors?”

  “Mac’s is pink. Charlie’s purple.”

  “What’s yours?” She smiled at him.

  “What does my favorite color have to do with anything?”

  “Your bedroom’s that awful gray, too.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “I only slept there one night and it gave me bad dreams.”

  Cash hadn’t dreamed at all there for a long time. Until Rowena. Maybe he needed to keep the room gray, to remind himself who he was. “There’s no point in painting mine,” he said sharply. “I’ll have enough to do without it.”

  “I wish you would…”

  “Leave it, Rowena. It’s like the tree house. Some things hurt too much to change.”

  She looked as if she wanted to argue with him, but she stopped herself. “Oh, well,” she said, lifting her delicate shoulders. “It’s your house. What about the living room?”

  “Green.” He surprised himself, saying it so fast.

  “See! You do have a favorite color after all,” she said, triumphant.

  Cash looked at her, wondering if she knew, if she’d guessed.

  Somehow, since he’d met her the boring blue that had been his color pick since he’d been a kid in grade school had changed for good.

  Into the spring-warmed green of Rowena’s eyes.

  “HEY, LAWLESS, there’s a rumor going around the squad room that you started painting your fingernails pink.” The dispatcher’s good-natured ribbing came through a brief burst of static in Cash’s earpiece as he cruised along in his squad. “Mayo here was wondering where you’re getting your manicures done.”

  Cash held his hand up to the glow from the nearest streetlight, noting that in spite of scrubbing up before work, his nail beds were indeed stained pink. “I just finished painting Mac’s room,” he explained.

  “Likely story.” Darrell chuckled, not sounding the least bit tired, while Cash felt the way he had his first week of basic training. Beat to hell, but still enjoying it somehow. He’d blasted through Charlie’s room, the kitchen and the wall that faced the street on the exterior. A warm yellow that reminded him of sunshine. He’d even started on the living room before he’d left for work, figuring he could finish the other three sides of the exterior later. He was going for high impact here, his goal to knock the girls’ socks off, not attack the job in his usual logical way.

  “Well, the consensus around here is that pink’s your color, buddy,” Darrell joked. “We’re thinking of petitioning the county to see if you can wear a necktie to match.”

  “And the county lets you yahoos carry guns.”

  “Somebody’s got to keep the citizens of Whitewater safe. Vinny watching the kids while you’re painting?”

  “No. They’re with Lisa this weekend.”

  A beat of silence. Cash knew Darrell was kicking himself. In spite of the dispatcher’s crusty exterior and endless teasing, the guy had a notoriously soft heart.

  “No wonder you’re painting.”

  “Yeah, well. They’ll be back Monday night.”

  He just wished he knew what kind of shape his kids would be in when they walked through the door.

  Cash didn’t even want to think what his instincts were telling him. That gut-level cop sense had been buzzing inside him all night. His nerves twitchy, as if he could feel a storm coming.

  Or was the tension knotting him up inside just knowing that one word from him would bring Rowena over to his house. To his bed.

  And that a night making love with her really might drive back the vise of dread clamped around him.

  The dispatcher buzzed back on. “Got a little action for you. Bev Keller just called in a 10-14 at the boathouse near Jubilee Point.”

  Prowlers? Cash thumbed his speaker on to say he was on his way, then turned his car around and headed in the direction of the river, glad of a little action to help take his mind off things.

  He passed a car full of kids in a blue Mustang as he turned down the lane to the abandoned boathouse, and figured either the party was over or Bev had warned them she was calling in a complaint. He considered stopping them, just to make sure whoever was driving hadn’t been chugging beer. But at that moment he glimpsed something orange flickering aga
inst the night sky.

  Fire.

  He called in for the fire crew as he sped down the dead end lane. “I’ll secure the area,” he said. “Make sure they didn’t leave anybody behind.”

  He pulled to a stop, climbed out of his car. Looked as if a bonfire had gone out of control. A scattering of beer cans and a bottle of cheap wine littered the ground near some lawn chairs the partiers hadn’t taken the time to stow in their trunk.

  The kids had probably seen the fire, been scared shitless, and gotten the hell out of Dodge, Cash figured.

  Even so, he’d better check, make sure nobody was inside. He knew for a fact the town drunk, Les Dickers, sometimes brought his mangy old Lab here to sleep off his latest bender so he could stay clear of his wife. The woman had a left hook that would do Evander Holyfield proud.

  Cash started toward the building, the heat hitting him like a wall. It was already almost unbearable, the old place ready to go up like tinder. At least there was no sign of Les’s rusted-out dump truck.

  Cash started to circle around the building when he froze, paralyzed for a moment by a chilling sound.

  Shrieking? Crying? Some creature terrified. In pain.

  Something streaked past Cash, low to the ground. A cat. But it wasn’t running out of the building. It was running in.

  What the hell? Seconds later, the creature rushed back out, fur smoldering, a tiny mewling kitten in its mouth.

  Sonofabitch! Cash saw the cat drop its burden with three other crying babies and turn back to the blazing structure. The damn crazy animal. She was going to be burned alive!

  He should have snatched the cat up, shoved her and the kittens in the car to keep them safe, but something in the mother’s desperation as she fought to save her babies hooked Cash right in the chest.

  This was crazy…the voice of reason warned him. It was just a stray cat. And the firefighters were already coming with their air packs and their gear. He could hear the sirens in the distance on Jubilee road.

  And yet…by the time they got here it would be too late.

  Cash glimpsed a flash of tail as the mother cat raced back into the fire.

  He covered his mouth with his jacket and plunged in behind her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SOMEONE WAS KNOCKING.

  Rowena heard the pugs let out a snuffly chorus of barks from their crate in her small kitchen. She struggled upright in bed and shoved the hair out of her eyes. Who in the world would be knocking at her door at this hour?

  Her heart leaped underneath the thin layer of her nightgown. There was only one person in town that might seek her out at this time of night. Cash.

  Another knock sent the pugs into a cacophony of barking, determined to sound the alarm. Rowena’s bare feet hit the floor and she hurried down the stairs, barely taking time to flick on the porch light.

  When she did, her pulse raced at the sight of broad shoulders she’d stroked in her dreams. Cash’s face was turned away from her, but she knew there could only be one reason why he’d come to her now.

  And her whole body burned with the need to feel his hands on her, his mouth on her, loving her in the only way he knew how. The mere fact that he’d allowed himself that much seemed like richness beyond Rowena’s imagining.

  She flung open the door, intending to throw herself into his arms and kiss away any lingering doubts he might have. But when Cash turned toward her, her stomach dropped to the floor.

  “Oh, my God, what happened?” she gasped, staring at his soot-blackened face, his uniform filthy with ash, stinking of smoke.

  “There was a fire at the old boathouse.”

  He looked so haunted, every nerve stripped raw. The whites of his eyes shone stark, only accenting his torment.

  “You mean the one where Les and his dog hide out?”

  Her question seemed to puzzle him, finally penetrate the haze clouding his usually laserlike gaze. “How do you know that?”

  “He comes into the shop. I save dog food for him—Oh, God, Cash, tell me he’s all right.”

  “He’s fine as far as I know. Wasn’t there tonight. But these were.”

  He thrust a bundle toward her, his uniform jacket. She hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it, bunched up in his arms.

  Heedless of her nightgown, Rowena took it from his hands. Her heart twisted as she heard a weak meow. She folded the material back to find a mass of tiny kittens and what looked to be their badly scorched mother.

  The stench of burned fur assailed her nostrils, but Rowena only turned and rushed up the stairs to her kitchen, Cash right behind her.

  The light stung her eyes, the harsh glow driving the last vestiges of sleep away as she went to her kitchen table. One sweep of her hand knocked whatever was atop it away—unopened mail, an empty pizza container and a bag of stuff from the drugstore she hadn’t had a chance to unpack.

  She laid his jacket right on top of the cheery orange tablecloth and unwrapped the bundle Cash had brought her. The kittens struggled pathetically to get as close to their mama as they could, but the mother cat was fighting a battle of her own. One ear singed off, patches of fur burned away. Rowena scanned the cat’s skinny body with the eyes of the vet she’d almost become.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Cash said. “We’ve got to do something for her.”

  Rowena ran to the sink, got a bowl she filled with cool water. “There’s still some of my medical stuff in my bathroom,” Rowena told him. “Grab it while I try to find out how bad this is.”

  Cash stared at her, confused. He’d never once been in her apartment. “That way,” Rowena directed him with a wave of her hand. She heard him rush through her bedroom. He was back before she could even take a breath.

  “How bad is she?”

  Even in spite of the adrenaline rushing into Rowena’s veins she was struck by the fierce emotion in Cash’s voice. Surprised by it.

  “These burns are pretty bad. She’s going to have some nasty scars. And I can’t tell how much smoke she inhaled. It’s hard to tell.”

  A black kitten with white paws tried to climb up on its mom. The mother cat let out a yelp of pain, but instead of pulling away she bent over and licked her baby’s muzzle, nudging it toward one swollen teat.

  “Will she make it?”

  “Four of the kittens look good, but the other two and the mother—I don’t know, Cash. They need IVs, to get them stabilized. We need a vet.”

  “I tried Dr. Wilcox on my cell. He wasn’t there. You’ve got to help them.” His voice was hoarse with smoke, ragged. “Jesus Christ, Rowena. She went after them into the fire. Six times. Trying to save her babies. We’ve got to help her.”

  He turned his eyes to hers, and it was as if she could see into his very soul. To the darkest places, where his agony lived in secret. Cash’s cell phone rang, piercing the sound of the kittens’ frightened yowling. He flipped it open, all cop again, efficient, ready to handle the crisis as he saw the caller ID. “It’s the vet,” he said, sounding relieved.

  Rowena didn’t hear anything more. She ran into her bedroom and yanked on the first clothes she could put her hands on. Yesterday’s jeans and a T-shirt so baggy it would hide the fact she didn’t have time to bother with a bra. She jammed her feet into her sneakers, meaning to head back to the kitchen. At the last second, she glimpsed her blue plastic laundry basket where she’d left it earlier, half filled with clean clothes she hadn’t gotten around to putting away.

  She grabbed the basket up, carrying it out with her. Cash had already gathered the animals up in his ruined jacket.

  “They’ll be more comfortable in this,” she said, rumpling the clothes with one hand to make them softer, then scooping the kittens and their mother into the makeshift nest.

  “Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed her keys off the hook near the door and ran after Cash as he carried the basket to his squad car.

  She climbed into the passenger seat and held the basket full of traumatized cats on
her lap while Cash drove like the cop he was—skillfully, fast, every cell of his body seeming focused on getting them help as soon as possible.

  The whole interior of the car stank of smoke and burnt hair, and Rowena noticed Cash’s jacket had blackened patches in spots. She searched his face, saw soot marks and sweat running down his throat. His shirt, torn, his elbow stained where he’d cut himself. Rowena stared at Cash’s hands on the wheel, the light dusting of hair burned off them, his knuckles red, one split.

  “You went in after her,” Rowena breathed, knowing it was true. Cash turned back to her, his soul laid bare.