Chapter 18

ChapterEighteen

Sadie

It turns out the little guy was registered to a phone number that is no longer in service. The vet clinic he’d gotten the tattoo at is no longer in business. Therefore, all records for the poor kitty, including his name and medical history, are gone.

His owners also cannot be found. Most likely, the reality is that they don’t want to be found. Which is sad, because that means they weren’t very nice people. So, the little guy is homeless.

It took one look from me to have Nick cursing his mother’s name under his breath, making my heart flutter and my lips curl into a smile before he said, in a rough and grumbly tone, “I hope you know what you’re doing, and what this cat needs. Because I don’t.”

“I’ve had cats,” I told him in answer. Then we paid for the little guy’s appointment and returned to the truck.

Because we couldn’t possibly leave the little guy alone in the truck while we purchased everything that he needed, I’d handed him to Nick and told him to pet him, love him, and talk nicely to him. I accentuated the word nicely, to which Nick gave me a glare. Then I slid down from the truck and pranced into the pet store.

I bought everything a cat could possibly need. Because he’s over 10 years old, I bought senior kitty food, a travel kennel, water bowls in rustic plaid print that totally matched Nick’s rustic mountain house, kitty toys, and a litter box, litter, and scoop. I also bought catnip and treats because, um—fun—as well as a plush kitty bed also in plaid, and a scratching post with the most adorable little kitty hammock. It cost me a whack, and I totally couldn’t afford it, but with no one I needed to purchase gifts for this year, I’d decided to splurge on the kitty.

One of the teen boys working in the store followed me out to the truck where Nick and our new kitty friend waited, because the load was too much for me to lug alone, what with the cat tree and awkward litter box. At seeing the boy, Nick’s eyes widened, and he’d muttered, “Think he needs all that?”

To which I’d replied with utter confidence, “Absolutely.”

The teen laughed, received a glare from Nick that would have frightened even the Devil, and hightailed it back into the safety of the store.

Now we’re home, and the little guy is terrified. He’s been hiding behind the chair that sits closest to the wood burning stove, and although I’ve gone to him twice in the last hour we’ve been home trying gently to coax him out, he’s stayed put, trembling in fear. I don’t blame him, his entire life sounds like it’s been shaken up and quite literally tossed away.

I finish setting up kitties’ station of food and water, laying a few treats on the floor next to the ball of catnip, before I look over to where Nick rises from where he’d been planted on the floor, building the cat tree. The litter is through the hall off the side of the house in the room I’ve discovered is the laundry, mudroom, and laundry room all rolled into one. There is a door that connects the house to a triple car garage, so it’s a perfect, out of the way place for the cat box.

I follow Nick into the kitchen, leaning into the island counter as I watch him beeline for the fridge, pulling out a beer. He cracks the top, and with his eyes on me, brings the bottle to his lips, tips his head back, and swigs hard.

Okay, so I’m thinking the man is overwhelmed.

“He needs a name,” I inform casually.

He nods and takes another swig. The entire time, his eyes are on me.

I press on as though I’m unfazed by the dark eyes pinning me to the spot. “Any suggestions?”

“He’s your cat.”

“Our cat,” I correct.

He raises a brow, but mutters, “Name him whatever you want.”

“You don’t care?”

“Baby, just give the cat a name, yeah?”

I can’t help but laugh. Yes, he’s definitely overwhelmed. I wonder what the tipping point was—the cat, the cat tree, or clearing a space in his cool as hell laundry/mudroom for the litter box.

“I’m thinking Claus.”

“Why?” he growls. “You think he’s going to claw up all my furniture?”

“No! Silly.” I roll my eyes as he narrows his. “I mean Claus. Like Santa Claus. You know, because he’s our Christmas present and all.”

He eyes me seriously, then mutters darkly, “Thought you were my present.”

My breath hitches and my heart skips a beat. Miraculously, I manage a casual reply as I tease, “I’m the gift that keeps on giving.”

He takes another long pull, heat filling his dark gaze as he rakes his eyes over me. “I’m looking forward to the next part of this gift that keeps on giving, Sunshine.”

Oh my. I think we’re talking about more than me and a cat making ourselves at home in his house.

I think we’ve moved into more sensual territory. Territory I’ve currently not explored—but I so want to explore with him.

I clear my throat and just refrain from fanning my face. “Well,” I clap my hands together. “Claus it is. I love it.”

He chuckles darkly, like he knows exactly where he’s put my mind, the dirty man.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy, baby.”

Damn, I love when he calls me baby.“Then I’m happy!” I tell him chirpily. “Now, since Claus put a kink in my plans for picking up pizza in town, and Trevor and his wife will be here for dinner in two hours, I have no idea what we’re going to serve them.” I ask him hopefully, “Any ideas?”

“I’ll give Trevor a call. Tell him to grab a couple of pizzas on the way out.”

He takes another pull on his beer as I shift hesitantly in place. Then, quietly, I tell him, “I know this is a lot, Nick.”

“What?” I’m not sure if I’m seeing things, but I think maybe I see his shoulders tense.

“Me showing up here when you didn’t invite me.” I shrug, feeling suddenly embarrassed and shy. “Now me bringing a cat into your home. I know it’s a lot, so if you don’t want to keep him when this is over—I’ll find a way to bring him home with me.”

His dark eyes flash and he sets his bottle to the counter, the clang of glass connecting with granite is loud in the silent space between us. “When this is over?”

I nod, but my stomach feels heavy, and my throat is suddenly dry. “Yes, Nick.”

“I never said I didn’t want him.”

“Oh—okay.”

“Also told you I want you.”

“It’s been four days,” I protest reasonably.

The dark in his eyes turns to pitch black, and a muscle in his cheek jumps. There’s something he wants to say to me, something he wants to tell me, but he’s not saying it.

My heart is racing fast—too fast—and I feel hot all over as I try to contain the rush of my breaths, because my mind is still going back to what happened in the vet clinic. I still don’t know what to make of that. The possessive way he kissed me, the possessive words he said. Even now, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. Even though I know the dynamics between us have changed, he laid his cards on the table—and even though I don’t know what those cards mean—they mean something to him. That’s unquestionable.

I want to question him. I don’t know how, though.

When he doesn’t reply, but also doesn’t stop looking at me like he’s trying to burn his thoughts into my mind, I mutter, “I’ll make a salad to go with the pizza. If you want to call Trevor?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’m going to go change—I’m kind of covered in cat hair and I smell like the vet clinic.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, again taking another pull from his beer. Again, never tearing his eyes from me.

I say nothing more as I turn and nearly run to the safety of my room.