Page 20 of Head Over Feels
Wesettled onMondayevening for the first session, and he said he’d text me his address.Ihung up the phone in a daze.
“Whatthe hello kitten was that?”Stevedemanded. “Itsounded like you got a new client, but you look weird.”
“Um, yeah.”Igrabbed my hair with both hands and looked at them with wide eyes. “Igot a client.Andyou won’t believe who referred me.”ItoldSteveandCalwhatMalcolmhad said.
“See!”Stevecrowed. “GregoryShawdoesn’t hate you.”
“Seemslike.”
Orhe did hate me, and he’d set me up to get my ass kicked.
* * *
MondayIspent most of the day at the ranch massaging some sheep who’d recently been rescued from the tiny pen they’d been kept in their entire lives.ButIcouldn’t escapeCole’squestions about how many people were responding to my brochures.Apparentlyif he couldn’t manage my love life, he’d try to manage my career.
Istopped at home for a quick shower and a clean set of scrubs, thenIheaded toMalcolmFaulk’shouse.
Itwasn’t whatI’dpictured.Okay, part of me was expecting to pull up to a dark alley where a group of masked men with baseball bats would be waiting.Andat leastthatdidn’t happen.
TurnedoutIhad a real client after all.
Basedsolely onMalcolmFaulk’svoice and his fairly abrupt manner of speaking,I’dkind of expected aHarleyin the driveway and very little in the way of lawn maintenance.Instead,Iwas facing a cute yellow one-story fronted by flowerpots filled with impatiens and pentas.NoHarleyin sight, but under the carportIspied the tail end of some sort of white land yacht like my grandma used to drive.Maybethis guy was older than his voice had sounded.
AsIapproached the house, my cat client was waiting for me in the front window.Shewas a hugeMaineCoon, twenty or more pounds, with gorgeous, long chocolate fur.Shereminded me a little of my old cat,BonJovi.Hehadn’t been nearly as pretty, but his fur had been just as long.He’dbeen my best friend, and even five years laterIstill wasn’t ready to get a new cat.
Istepped onto the front porch and instead of knocking on the doorIwalked to the window and put my hand up to the glass.Thecat touched her nose to it on the other side.Adorableand friendly, which would make my job easier.Iloved cats in all their varied personalities, but the frightened or angry ones didn’t want to be massaged by a stranger.
WhileIwas still communing with the cat through the window, the front door jerked open.Istartled, jumping back and landing badly.Itried to recover butItripped over the low hedge that lined the porch.Imanaged to pull my messenger bag out of the way before my butt hit the grass.
Abig guy carrying a stick—no, it was a cane, whew—came limping outside. “Dammit,Ididn’t mean to scare you.Sorry.Areyou okay?”
Longused to situations like this,Iquickly took stock and nodded. “Noworries.Ithappens all the time.Nothinghurt but my pride and my professionalism.”
Chuckling, he planted the cane and stuck out a hand to help me up.Iwas leery of pulling him over, butIdecided if he offered it’d be rude to avoid taking his help.
Iput my hand in his larger one.Wow, he had to be over six feet tall, with dark hair going gray on the sides.Moresilver in his beard.Hazeleyes.Hisarms were toned, and leaning on his cane highlighted the musculature in his right forearm.Yum.Hislooks definitely matched hisDaddyvoice.Myspank bank was disappointed he wasn’t wearing leather pants, though the jeans and t-shirt didn’t hurt.
Ittook way too long to dawn on me thatIwas sitting on the grass in front of this guy’s house, holding his hand like a dork.Whatif he ended up being a homophobe?Iscrambled to get my feet under me, and he pulled me upright.Caneor not, he was strong.
Client!Ireminded myself.Crap.Okay, time to be a professional.
“Thankyou, sorry about that.”There, see, smooth.Ibrushed grass off the seat of my pants.
“I’mthe one who’s sorry for startling you.”Hestood there awkwardly.
“SoI’mFelix.”Igave a little awkward wave. “Shallwe go meet your kitty cat?”
“Oh, sure.Comeon in.”Heled me through the doorway and into his living room. “CallmeMalcolm,” he said over his shoulder.
WhatIcould see of the house appeared lived-in but clutter-free.Anoverstuffed couch sat against one wall facing aTV, with two armchairs at either end.Severalinteresting black and white landscape photographs graced the walls.
Basedon the wayMalcolmleaned on his cane,I’dbet he needed it all the time.Ibriefly wondered how he’d been injured butIdecided it’d be super rude to ask.
“That’sMariposa.”Hepointed at the cat who’d been in the window, now winding her way across the living room toward us.Aww, it was adorable how hotDaddybiker-type guy named his gigantic kitty cat something so precious asButterfly.
AsIset my bag down and took my jacket off,IwatchedMariposa’sgait.Shedid have a little stiffness in her hips and shoulders. “Yousaid she’s fourteen?”
“Right.”
