Page 16 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
We got in the truck, and Rhett glanced at the back seat. The cat was curled on himself, but he cracked one eye open and lifted his head when he saw Rhett’s face.
“You stay there and don’t make me cause an accident on the way back,” he ordered. “You hear me?”
The cat put his head down and closed his eyes.
Rhett grumbled as he started the vehicle, but I noticed that he drove a touch slower than he had on the way out. And he might have glanced in the rearview mirror a few more times than strictly necessary.
I stayed silent, wondering what I’d gotten myself into with this new job—and who, exactly, I was working for.
FIVE
RHETT
The cat was fine.It made me carry it from the truck to the vet’s table and then showed off a completely uninjured paw before turning to head-butt me in the stomach. I could’ve sworn it looked smug when the veterinarian proclaimed it hale and hearty.
“He’s not microchipped,” Erin, the vet, told me, “so you’re free to take him home.”
“I’m not taking him home,” I replied, emphatic.
Erin stared at me with big brown eyes. Her thick brows arched in concern. “You’re not?”
“Put him up for adoption.”
She blinked at me, then at the cat. “But…”
“I don’t want a cat,” I insisted. “I’m not a cat guy.”
The last thing I needed was a pet who thought he knew better than I did. I scowled at the cat, who stretched out on the stainless steel table and yawned so big I could count all histeeth. Thought I wasn’t a good hunter, did he? Thought I couldn’t feed myself? The cat was a little know-it-all.
Erin swallowed, nodding. “Right. But can I just show you something real quick?”
“I really have to get back to work,” I said. “Can’t you just put him up on social media and let someone else adopt him?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. But look.” She picked the cat up and scratched the back of his neck. The cat stayed in her arms, tilting its head toward her.
“You’re petting the cat,” I noted, mentally checking out. I had to get back to work. Had to get back to the office and tell Piper that this whole rigamarole had been a big waste of time. The cat was a con artist.
“Right,” Erin replied. “Here.”
She dumped the cat against my chest, and I barely had time to lift my arms to catch the animal. Instead of sitting quietly the way he’d done in the vet’s arms, the cat flopped across my forearms and started rumbling. His pale belly rolled up toward me as he went fully limp in my arms.
I frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”
Erin smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with him,” she said. “He loves you, is all.”
I jerked back, angling my body to dump the cat back on the table. But he lifted his head and batted at me slightly, green eyes blinking before he flopped back to present his belly. “He doesn’t love me. He’s a cat.”
“He’s chosen you.” Erin beamed at me. “It’s a compliment.”
“He leaves dead roaches and mice all over the place.”
“Aww,” she said, smile widening. “That’s sweet.”
I felt like my head was about to explode. Erin reached over and gave him another scratch, then bustled over to the side of the room. “We’ve got a brochure with a list of basics you’ll need for your house. I can get you started with a small bag of cat food, and I’ll give Jed at the pet store a call to let him know you’re on the way.”
“What?”
“I know you’re busy,” Erin explained. “Jed will put everything together and you’ll just have to go pick it up.”
