Page 72 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
Not in their bedroom, not in the bathroom, not in my bedroom.
It’s very rare that she wanders outside the house these days. When she was younger she and Louise would play all around the sanctuary. They weren’t afraid of the donkeys and in fact played a game with one of them—a gorgeous brown one named Harold—who would gleefully chase after them. It was the most adorable thing.
But since she got old and grouchy, Thelma pretty much only goes outside to go to the bathroom, then runs right back in.
Huh.
I shove my feet into my boots and grab my coat to go look for her.
When she’s nowhere within ten feet of the house, acold panic rises in my chest—the kind you get in that fraction of a second when you think you’ve lost your purse or your phone.
Grandpa would be devastated if anything happened to her. He was distraught when Louise passed away. Since he and Grandma raised them from abandoned kittens, feeding them with bottles, I think maybe he sees the cat as one of the last links to her.
But there’s literally no sign of Thelma.
Hmm. I wonder if Miller has seen her.
And this is definitely not an excuse to talk to him. This is purely out of a need to secure the safety of my grandpa’s beloved pet.
I check both the donkey enclosures and stables, then the feed shed. No sign of him.
I’ll try the barn.
“Miller?” I call after I’ve slid the door open.
“Up here.” His voice comes from his sleeping loft.
I skip up the stairs. “Have you seen Thel?—”
I’m stunned into silence by the sight before me.
Miller is sitting on an ancient chair, at the old table he’s set up under the window where he’s working on his computer.
And in his lap…
Thelma.
Curled up in a tight little ball.
I can hear her purring from here. “God, she really does like you.”
He holds his arms wide. “Nothing to do with me. She just appeared and hopped up. I tried to get her off, but she dug her claws into my pants. So I figured I’d let her be.”
“Wow.” She must have got in through the racoons’ hole. “She clearly thinksyou’re a catch.”
I cast my gaze around the room. “You’ve done quite the cleanup job. Made this place a cozy little home.”
That’s an understatement.
The floor has been swept as clean as you could possibly get it without a vacuum and a mop. The old cabinets that were lying around have all been arranged against the walls and look thoroughly wiped down and dust free. There’s no sign of any of Miller’s belongings, so I imagine he must have scrubbed the insides too so he could put his stuff away.
The cot is on the back wall, at a right angle to the desk.
“I just moved everything around, really,” he says. “Oh, and I found this old chair in a corner of the shed when I was looking for tools and wood to replace the missing panel.”
“Are you comfy enough up here?” I move slowly toward him across the creaking floor. “I get the impression you’re not really one for camping.”
“Never camped in my life,” he says. “And never intend to.”
