Chapter Nineteen

Casey's blood thrummed all the way back to Harrison House. I'm spending the night with Dev! He hadn't dared dream their date might go this far. Okay, so he'd dreamed, but he hadn't been confident enough to hope for it or arrogant enough to plan for it.

Granted, Dev seemed a little distracted as they drove. Every time Casey shot a glance at him, that tiny frown was pleating Dev's forehead between his eyebrows. As much as Casey would have liked to believe it was because he was concentrating on the road, he couldn't really chalk it up to that. Yes, the two-lane road was winding, but traffic was nonexistent.

By the time Dev pulled up in front of Harrison House, Casey's excitement had dimmed but hadn't vanished entirely. Although, if Dev was sincere about extending their date, wouldn't they have gone straight back to his cottage?

Dev turned to him, his face serious in the twilight. "I need to follow up on something quickly before we go, so if you'd like to grab a quick shower?" He grinned, and it was almost as bright as normal. "I don't imagine those wet wipes did an impeccable job. I know I'll be showering myself once we get to my place, so we can start with a clean slate, so to speak."

"Works for me." Casey scrambled out of the car and waited for Dev to join him by the steps. He laced their fingers together and counted it as a good sign when Dev didn't pull away.

Inside the vestibule, Dev gestured toward the stairs. "Grab whatever you need for tonight and tomorrow morning." He bent and kissed Casey softly. "I'll meet you here in fifteen?"

Casey caught him behind the neck and pulled him into a second kiss. "Make it ten."

Laughing, Dev squeezed his hand once, and then strode off in the direction of his office.

He really wants me.Maybe not as much as Casey wanted him, but heck, that was impossible. Casey took a moment to enjoy the view before Dev vanished around the corner and released his excitement from its self-doubt straitjacket.

Randolph Scott leaped from the top of the grandfather clock in the curve of the stairwell and gazed up at Casey, his ears flattened. Casey planted his hands on his hips and glared back.

"Don't judge. You've got to admit that Dev from the rear is a truly inspiring sight." He sighed. "Although from the front he's pretty damn inspiring, too."

Casey left Randolph Scott nosing the picnic basket and raced up the stairs. Ten minutes. He could get ready in ten minutes. Hell, if more sex with Dev was at the finish line, he could make it in five. He bounded into his room and stripped off his T-shirt. But as he was about to launch it onto the bed, he froze.

The clothes he'd discarded after dressing for the picnic were still scattered across the foot of the bed.

However, they weren't alone.

Shirt clutched in his hand, he crept closer, belly jittering like his failed crème patissière, and stopped well short of his pillows.

Because there, set precisely in the middle of each one, was a dead mouse.

"Randolph Scott," Casey bellowed. "What the actual fuck?"

"Casey?"

Casey turned with a squeak, clutching his shirt to his bare chest, which was… way too princessy for his own self-respect. "Oh. Kenny. Hi. Didn't, um… Was I expecting you?"

Kenny shook his head. "Not really. I spotted a Shaker-style end table at an estate sale that I thought would work in the living room, so I brought it by. I didn't realize you'd be here." He smirked, his glasses glinting orange in the last sunlight slanting in through the window. "Kat said you and Dev would be out tonight."

"Yeah, well, that's a work in progress." He pointed to his pillows and their unwelcome occupants. "But in the meantime, Randolph Scott is punking me."

Kenny moved closer, shoving his glasses up with one knuckle. "That's not punking, Casey. It's a statement of affection."

"Affection?" Casey's voice may have risen an octave or two on the word. "How are deceased rodents statements of affection?"

"He's sharing resources with you. He had two dead mice—" Kenny leaned closer and peered at something Casey had taken for a dark thread. "Make that three."

Casey pressed his fist to his mouth, willing his stomach contents to stay put. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I will not throw up. I will not. "Please," he said faintly, eyes still shut, "please don't tell me that's a mouse tail."

"You want me to lie to you?"

Casey started to sink down on the desk chair but then bolted upright, eyes flying open. He squinted at the seat to make sure it didn't contain any other mouse parts, and then plopped down with a sigh as Randolph Scott trotted into the room and jumped onto the bed. He patted one of the mice with a big front paw, and then minced across Casey's scattered clothes—god, I'm going to have to wash all of them!—to sit, tail curled around his paws, regarding Casey with a distinctly smug expression.

"If you're waiting for a thank you," Casey said with a scowl, "you'll keep waiting."

"Aw, Casey. He only did it because he loves you." Kenny gestured to the pillows and the—eww!—tail. "It's all about the math. He's saying, Look, I had three dead mice, and I gave two of them to you. You got the lion's share."

"Yeah, well, I don't think much of his luxury turndown service," Casey grumbled. "Now I need to get new pillows." He glanced at Randolph Scott, who was calmly washing the same paw he'd tapped the mouse with. "And possibly a new wardrobe."

"Don't be such a spoilsport. Just keep your door closed from now on."

"I do keep it closed!" Casey pointed at Randolph Scott. "But he can open those paddle door handles. I've watched him do it."

"Well, don't worry about it tonight." Kenny grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the bedside table. "I'll take care of these for you. I expect Dev has some extra pillows somewhere, although"—Kenny waggled his eyebrows—"if you were to sleep elsewhere tonight, I can have Pete bring in some new ones from Merrilton tomorrow."

The excitement that had waned in the face of multiple mouse carcasses returned. Except…

"I don't want Dev to think I'm only going with him because my pillows were defiled."

Kenny picked up the mice with the tissues, much to Randolph Scott's wide-eyed alarm. "I'm pretty sure Dev knows you're not only after him for his bedding." He smiled as Randolph Scott jumped off the bed and danced around his feet, mewing in distress. "He knows you're a good guy. All of us do." He saluted with the mouse-filled tissues. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." He left, Randolph Scott at his heels.

Casey stood and pivoted slowly. Could there be other surprises lurking elsewhere? He shuddered. Note to self: leave nothing open. Luckily, his Dopp kit was in the bathroom, safely shut inside the old-fashioned vanity cabinet above the toilet. The linen closet had Shaker knob handles, as did his bedside table and armoire. Those, at least, were safe from feline incursions.

He hoped.

But Randolph Scott was a very resourceful cat. Maybe Casey could talk Dev into installing childproof latches, at least in his room? That was a conversation for later, though. Tonight, he didn't even have to mention the mice because he and Dev were already planning to spend the night elsewhere. Dead mice, childproof locks, and pillow replacement could wait until tomorrow.

He glanced at the retro brass alarm clock on his nightstand. Shit! He'd already been up here for more than ten minutes.

Casey grabbed clean shorts, T-shirt, and briefs from the armoire drawers—making doubly sure to close everything up tightly—and raced for the bathroom. A glance over the banister assured him that Dev wasn't already in the vestibule, tapping his foot with impatience.

He'd never do that, anyway. Dev wasn't Donald, or Bradley, or any of the guys Casey had almost dated. He'd wait. But that didn't mean he should have to. Casey refused to be one more person whose needs Dev had to cater to at the expense of his own. So, although he was thorough with his shower, he was also quick.

Since his scruff hadn't reached Neanderthal chic levels yet, he didn't bother to trim it. His hair could air dry on the way, and if it was still damp when his head hit Dev's mercifully mouse-free pillows and Casey looked like a clown college drop-out in the morning? That was a tomorrow-Casey problem, along with childproof locks, et cetera.

Only two minutes past the initial fifteen target, Casey trotted downstairs, smoothing his Hunter's Moon T-shirt, and hoped his smile wasn't too lascivious. "Sorry I took longer than I…" His steps slowed as he peered around the empty vestibule. "Dev?"

He peeked into the living room. Also empty, as was the dining room, the butler's pantry, and the kitchen. The picnic basket was still by the front door, its gingham covering slightly askew from Randolph Scott's inspection. Casey shuddered. As long as he was taking something out and not putting something in.

Clearly, Dev had gotten caught up with something in the office, and Casey couldn't get bent out of shape about that. He'd known going into this that Dev was an important guy, but there should be limits for Dev's own sake, dammit.

As he headed down the hallway toward where the glow of the office light spilled out onto the gleaming wood floor, Casey couldn't hear Dev's voice, so maybe he wouldn't have to give some thoughtless Home resident a piece of his mind about Dev deserving a little time off from being everybody's go-to guy.

He pressed a hand to his middle to calm the butterflies doing loop-the-loops there. Soon. This is happening soon.

When he stepped inside, though, Dev wasn't on the phone or busy on the computer or rifling through the neat stack of financial statements Casey had left for him. Instead, he was simply sitting in the chair, staring at nothing, his jaw tight.

"Dev?" Casey moved farther into the office so he could see over the monitors. Dev's hands were clenched on his chair's arms. "What is it?" Casey's belly dropped. "Oh god. It's not Ty, is it? Sylvia? Kat?"

He knew nothing had happened to Kenny, but Dev's notion of family didn't stop with his inner circle of friends. Casey hurried around the desk and crouched next to the chair, laying a hand on Dev's forearm. Jeez, he might have been carved from quarry marble. "What can I do to help?"

Dev shook his head, muscles bunching in his jaw, but didn't speak.

"You're scaring me, sweetheart." Casey ran his hand up Dev's arm to rest on his shoulder. "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's over." Dev's voice was barely audible.

Casey sucked in a sharp breath, fingers going numb. Over? It never started. "I understand. I'll go—"

"No!" Dev grabbed Casey's hand, his grip nearly painful, his eyes wide and horror-stricken. "Not us. I don't mean us. Never us."

Relief washed through Casey so fast his knees wobbled. "Okay. Good. In that case, tell me about it. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

"Casey. This isn't your problem."

Casey rose, wrapped an arm across Dev's shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "That's where you're wrong. If it's your problem, then it's mine. And one thing I've discovered about myself is that while I'm not great at long and involved processes, if I've got a goal in my sights, I can totally get results. Now." He nudged Dev's knees apart enough that he could sit on one muscled thigh—not to start anything, but so they could share the single chair. "Tell me all about it."