Page 23 of Home Town

“Shake the food,” Corey ordered.

“I don’t know why you can’t shake the food,” Josie mumbled, mostly under her breath.

Apparently she hadn’t complained softly enough, judging by Corey’s raised-brow as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Because I’m holding the flashlight so they can find their way. Besides the fact you’re holding the box of cat food.”

“Fine.” She scowled and began shaking the food, hard. Like it was a maraca she was angry at.

“Hey, little one.” The sound of Corey’s voice, soft and cajoling, stopped Josie’s maniacal shaking.

“You can see them?” she asked, taking a quick step forward.

“Yes. But let’s not make any sudden movements or speak too loudly so we don’t scare them, okay?” he told her in the same soft, even, almost musical tone.

She’d never imagined this kind of conversation happening between this big brute of an emotionless, hard-shelled man and two tiny kittens.

Her scowl deepened at being reprimanded by Corey, the kitten whisperer, for moving too fast and talking too loudly. As if she didn’t know how to not scare them.

She was a good five feet away from him. And besides, they were her kittens. Or at least they had been since she’d arrived home a few days ago.

There weren’t any cats in his house, so what made him such an expert?

“Come on out. Don’t be afraid,” he continued in that same inhuman, Disney-fide tone of voice.

But damned if it didn’t work. She saw first a tiny white and orange paw and then a little pink nose appear between the wooden beams.

Corey was tall enough he easily reached up and grabbed the little villain with one big hand, plucking it out from where the ceiling met the wall.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the squirming lump of fur at her.

Taken by surprise, she had to juggle the box of food from her hand to under her arm to be able to grab hold of the kitten.

Meanwhile, Corey had reached up and was gently trying to extricate Peanut Butter’s partner in crime, Jelly, from the wall.

The kitten had other ideas and held on to the wood with its tiny needle-like claws.

Corey, admittedly more patient than she would have been, took the time to lift each little claw out of the wood, freeing its hold all while lecturing the kitten gently about the dangers of roaming in the walls. As if the animal would actually understand.

Cuddling the little marmalade cat, Corey walked toward her, frowning. “You don’t hold a kitten like that.”

“Like what?” she protested as he reached out and plucked the kitten she had clamped between her two hands and held as far away from her body as she could get it without dropping the food clutched beneath her arm.

“Like it’s a dirty diaper or a venomous snake or something.” His voice remained soft even as he scolded her, most likely in deference to the two kittens he now had cradled against his chest.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the sight before her. The unlikely threesome had her complete attention.

Both little demons, usually balls of energy in constant motion, had nestled in against the hard planes of his pectorals and fallen asleep. Or were close to sleep as they purred loudly enough for her to hear while squeezing their eyes tightly shut.

She was still staring at the phenomenon—a Kitten-mas miracle—when he asked, “Where’s their bed?”

The question brought her gaze back to Corey’s face. “I don’t think they have their own bed. They’re just fosters. We’re not keeping them.” Under what she deemed a judgmental stare from Corey, she rushed to add, “They’ve been sleeping on my parents’ bed during the day and with me at night.”

“They’d probably like something smaller. Have you got a cardboard box laying around we could put a towel inside? Or we could even drape something over an end table?—”

“Like a blanket fort?” She snorted. “For the cats?”

“Yes, for the cats. They might like someplace to sleep that felt protected. Hidden. They like tiny spaces. Obviously. They crawled through a hole and into the wall under the sink,” he mansplained.

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