Chapter 4

Itook back every kind, loving, adoring word I'd ever said about Smoosh. I took it all back. She wasn't a sweet, perfect cat. She was the fucking devil.

My yellow rubber kitchen gloves were shredded into ribbons, the tattered pieces hanging down my forearms in ruins. I suppose it was my fault. I should have known the material wouldn't hold up against her claws, but I hadn't expected her to lose her ever-loving mind and turn into a psychopath at the sight of her kitty carrier.

Until a handful of minutes ago, I had no idea that cats could actually scream. Now I did, and it was a sound that would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.

My arms stung, the ribbons of razor-thin claw marks stretching up from wrist to elbow, beading with ruby-colored blood as I slowly crept around the back of my couch on my tiptoes. I did my best to keep my voice low and calm, crooning gently in an effort to calm her down. "It's okay, Smooshy. It's okay."

The low, menacing rumble she made caused the tiny hairs on my arms and legs to stand up.

"It's not the end of the world. It's a checkup."

She hissed, sending a shiver down my back as I imagined the evil cat from Pet Sematary. I'd been way too damn young to watch that movie, but when my mom had warned me against it—rightfully so, since I was a gigantic baby when it came to scary movies—my rebellious streak had kicked into overdrive, like it always did. Of course I'd snuck to watch it, and of course, it had given me nightmares for weeks. And thanks to my once-beloved cat giving me that creepy reminder, it was pretty much guaranteed I'd be sleeping with the lights on tonight.

I slowly lowered myself onto all fours, my heart beating like crazy as I sank down to peek under the couch, silently praying that Smoosh wouldn't lunge from underneath and claw my face off. Her big yellow eyes blinked at me from the shadows. Yep, just like the scary movie.

This was my nightmare.

"The carrier isn't going to hurt you," I insisted, reasoning with the unreasonable. "It's to keep you safe. And the vet is super nice." She made that terrifying rumble again. I tried smiling, not that it would do any damn good. "If you're a good girl and stop hurting Mommy, I'll give you a treat. How does that sound?"

Apparently, it sounded like bullshit to her, because when I tentatively reached out, she batted at my hand, wolverine claws engaged. The furry little asshole.

"Ooh! You little—" I cut myself off, reining in my temper before I could say something I wouldn't be able to take back. Part of me was convinced that Smoosh could understand most of what I was saying, and in spite of the physical pain she'd exacted, I didn't want to hurt her little feline feelings.

God, I was ridiculous.

"That's it. No treats for a week. And you only have yourself to blame, missy. This behavior is totally uncalled for."

Just then, a brisk knock sounded on my front door. I knew who it was without having to look, and as the knob turned, I could see everything happening in slow motion in my head, like a flip book telling me what was about to happen, but there wasn't enough time to stop it.

The door opened on the sound of Tarryn's voice. "Hey, lady. I got your text. You need help with the little furball?"

I shot up from my place on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, my hair whipping above me. "Close the door!" I shouted, but it was too late.

As if sensing her freedom from the cat carrier, Smoosh ran so fast she was little more than a streak of gray and white lightning on her way out the front door.

"What the—?" Tarryn stumbled back at the scream my cat emitted on her way to freedom. It was the same scream she'd used when she'd clawed my arms and gloves to shit when I tried to shove her ass into the carrier.

"Catch her!" I nearly collided with my friend on my way out of the house, panic gripping my chest in a tight fist. There was no way in hell I was going to catch Smoosh with how fast she was running... straight toward the road... that cars were actively driving down.

"Smooshface Prescott," I called out as sternly as I could, using her full name the very way my own mother used mine whenever I screwed up royally. "You get your fluffy ass back here right this instant!"

Any hope I had of that working went right out the window as she darted across the front lawn, getting closer to the street just as a big, black, Mercedes G-Wagon came around the corner, the shiny, impeccably clean paint job shimmering under the sun.

"Shit," I breathed as my heart dropped right into my butt. "Shit, shit, shit!" I waved my arms frantically, praying to catch the driver's attention, but they didn't appear to be slowing down at all. In fact, I was pretty sure they were going faster than the speed limit as it was.

"Hey! Slow the hell down!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, the air sawing in and out of my chest almost painfully as I imagined the very worst. "Smoosh, get out of the road!"

I let out a started yelp as my cat darted right into the middle of the blacktop and froze like a deer in the freaking headlights in front of the massive car. The sound of brakes squealing filled the air as my heels dug into the ground, stopping me short as I slapped my hands over my eyes. I couldn't watch my poor little baby get flattened like a pancake.

A tiny scream erupted from my throat as everything went silent. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to hear, but the only sound was my own heart whomping in my ears for what felt like an eternity before I heard a deep, bewildered, pissed-off voice barking, "What the fuck?"

My hands fell from my face, and the first emotion to run through me was relief that my cat wasn't lying dead in the middle of the road. Instead, it looked like she'd climbed the man from the G-Wagon like he was a tree and was currently clinging to his shoulders like a koala.

The second thing that struck me was: hot dayum, but that's one sexy hunk of man.

Vaughn

In what had beena series of shitty days since my relocation to Pembrooke, Wyoming, this one was turning out to be at the very top of that shitty heap. You know those days where you wake up and nothing seems to go right? That was the day I was having, and it all started when I woke up at five o'clock this morning, thirty minutes after I was supposed to be out of bed.

Waking up every morning at four thirty was the only way I could guarantee I'd have time to get in a workout before my day officially started. If I wasn't up before the sun, I was already late. However, the storm that went through some time in the night while I was sleeping had apparently knocked out the power, knocking out my alarm clock.

It was my internal alarm that had me shooting up from a deep sleep at five, but without time to hit my home gym, I already felt like I was starting the day off on the wrong foot, which set the tone for the hours to come.

I had a day full of conference calls and Zoom meetings, so after a scalding shower to wash the cobwebs left from a jarring wake-up, I moved to the closet and donned one of my suits. At thirty-eight, I should have been sick and tired of the routine of twisting a tie into a perfect Windsor knot and slipping monogrammed cufflinks into my cuffs morning after morning, but dressing for business every single day was something I was used to.

My mother liked to tote me around from time to time when she felt the need to play the strong, successful single mother, and during those times, a suit and tie were a requirement. Just as they were with the private schools I'd been forced to attend since leaving Pembrooke. At thirteen—hell, even at fourteen and fifteen, those suits had been my goddamn nightmare, but I eventually became accustomed, and now they were like a second skin.

I donned the expensive Italian fabrics that had been tailored to my body's specifications like armor. Each business day was like a battle, and I went in prepared.

However, when I headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, I discovered not only did the expensive-as-hell coffee maker get knocked out with the power, but a surge had seemed to fry it, because the son of a bitch refused to turn on.

A man could go into battle with his armor on, but if he didn't have a necessary weapon, it was useless. I somehow managed to slug my way through my first call without the aid of caffeine, but that was the extent of my brain function.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I called my assistant, who was still back in Denver, and had her push my next video conference by an hour so I could run to town for a cup of coffee. As I guided my car through the sloping backroads that led from my house to the town below, I questioned my need for solitude for the very first time.

At least in my penthouse I could have used an app to get something delivered, but, even though Pembrooke was caught up on recent technology enough to offer DoorDash and Postmates, I lived too far out for anyone to make the drive.

I'd hired a service to come in and stock my fridge and pantry with food and paid a chef to meal prep every Sunday, so as I drove down the main drag of downtown Pembrooke, I was seeing it all for the first time in more than two decades. What struck me hardest was just how familiar it still felt. Memories started flooding my brain like a dam had just busted.

The corner store and barber shop directly across the street from the salon were just as they'd been when I was a boy.

The Drunken Moose was right where it had been when I was a kid and my dad would take me there once a week to eat wings and watch whatever game they had playing on the television. He called those evenings our guy time, and kept them up even after he remarried and my stepmother had my half-sister.

Until I saw that familiar sign, I'd forgotten all about those evenings.

Guilt shot straight through my chest like a bullet piercing my skin.

How could I have forgotten about them?

I shook off the shame that coated my skin like a clammy sweat and guided my car through the streets that'd been locked in time, preserved for the past twenty-five years. This wasn't the type of town to have a Starbucks on every corner or a big-box store where you could stop to get anything from groceries to clothes to a new set of tire chains. The people here liked things at a much slower pace. It was one of the reasons my mother hated it.

Sinful Sweets had been one of my favorite places back in the day, having served the best cupcakes and sweets a kid could want, and I recalled every time my father brought me in for a treat, he'd get himself a cup of coffee.

The bakery was still there, only now it was even bigger and had been retitled to Sinful Sweets Café. As soon as I pushed through the heavy glass doors, I recognized the old mixed in with some new. The shop hadn't been redone so much as expanded. On one side was the familiar bakery and coffee shop, while the other side had the café with a kitchen and seating for eat-in dining.

It was barely seven in the morning, and already, both sides were quickly filling to the point discomfort had my skin tightening over my bones and muscles. I needed to get my coffee and get the hell out of there, so I moved toward the bakery side and joined the line that had already formed.

Just then, the door behind the front counter swung open and the redheaded woman who moved through was one I would have recognized anywhere—mainly because I'd had a crush on her from the time I was old enough to appreciate women until the day I was forced to leave. Chloe Delaney had run this place for as long as I could remember, and if I liked people, I might have said it was nice to see she was still at it.

I moved to the counter when it was my turn, ordering a large black coffee from the woman I used to have a crush on, and noticed her smile was still as bright; she was still a knockout, even all these years later.

My muscles tightened as recognition sparked in her eyes. Her gaze narrowed on me as she slid my coffee across the counter. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?" she asked, clearly trying to place me.

If I'd been a nice person, I would have reminded her of who I was. Instead, I dropped my change in the tip jar and took a step back. "Don't think so," I lied, holding up my cup. "Thanks for the coffee." I turned on the heel of my leather Ferragamos and headed out the way I came, ignoring the curious looks from the people around me. It had been a while, but I knew all too well that nosiness was a small-town thing. I was the mysterious new guy they'd never seen, and I was sure it was only a matter of time before tongues started wagging.

I climbed into my car without sparing a look to a single person and started back toward my house with barely a free minute to spare before my next meeting.

I'd brought the cup to my lips, taking the first sip of coffee that was a hundred times better than I'd expected it to be, when all of a sudden, something darted out into the road.

I slammed on my brakes with a curse, sending the coffee flying, the scalding hot liquid spilling down the front of my crisp white shirt and into my lap, the heat of it peeling layers of skin off with it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I shouted, gripping the wheel with both hands as I whipped the car to a stop and threw it into park before shoving the door open, all while trying to pull the fabric of my shirt away from my skin to keep it from causing any more damage.

I made the mistake of climbing out, and shit went from bad to worse.

"What the fuck?" I managed to shout just before I was attacked.