by N. Raines
As they drove, Rick took the opportunity to subtly check her out. Last night he'd been too busy giving her a hard time to notice she was kind of cute. She had a decent shape. Why did she hide it under those baggy-ass clothes? Though he always thought long hair on women was hot, her short cut suited her. Her hair looked so soft too. He resisted a sudden urge to touch it.
Yeah, she'd love that, dumbass.
They came to a run-down part of town, an old industrial section that now lay dormant. The factories had closed or moved elsewhere. All that remained were these broken-down buildings with boarded-up windows. Even the graffiti emblazoned on them was worn and tired.
She pulled up to the curb, next to a squat concrete building with a faded sign that read Shankey's above the door. "Here we are."
Here was the middle of nowhere, as far as he could tell. He descended from the cab and, at her request, retrieved the cage, which turned out to be some kind of trap, and the bag of cat food.
He hefted the bag onto his shoulder as she led the way behind Shankey's, an old garage long out of business. "Around the back."
Scattered among the rusted oil drums and car parts was a colony of cats. Cats of every size and description. Kittens too.
Sam greeted them. "Morning, guys. Breakfast's here."
A few of the animals ran up as though they recognized her and curled around her legs with cries of welcome. Others hung back cautiously. She bent and stroked a few of the friendlier ones. A large gray-and-black tom hissed and batted her hand away when she tried to pet him.
"Okay, Big Boy. Sorry, I should know better than to touch you."
The cat flicked his tail. Damn straight, the movement said. He dismissed her and stared at the bag in Rick's arms.
"What's his story?" Rick asked.
"That's Big Boy. He's the boss cat. I think he's fathered half the litters here."
"Oh, he's a player." He and the cat engaged in a little game of Who'll Blink First.
"That's the problem. We keep trying to catch him to get him neutered, but he's just too tricky for us."
Animal population control notwithstanding, Rick could sympathize with Big Boy not wanting to get his balls whacked off.
At Sam's direction, he tore open the bag and began pouring piles of cat food around the yard. The sight of food brought some of the shy cats forward to join their braver comrades. A few wary ones kept their distance. Big Boy bulled his way through the throng and was one of the first to start chowing down. He wasn't about to let a newcomer slow his roll.
"Some of them won't come out till we leave," Sam told him. "We won't stay much longer."
Rick watched them. "How many are there?"
"It's hard to tell. They never stay in one place long enough to count. And of course some of them hide out."
"You do this every day?" he asked.
"They have to eat every day, right? Anyway, it's not only me. There's several Angels who come by."
"Angels?"
Her cheeks grew pink. "Never mind."
She was cute when she blushed. "No, really. Tell me."
"The Alley Cat Angels. We just call ourselves that. We feed them, try to get them inoculated, spayed, and neutered. Find homes for them when we can." She gestured to the trap, which she'd set on the ground along with some newspaper and a towel. "That's why I brought the Havahart. I'll bait it, and when a cat steps in to get the food, it'll spring shut without hurting him."
Sam avoided his gaze as she spoke. She must have thought he'd make fun of her, like he had last night. She didn't trust him, and he couldn't blame her. He'd been a prick.
Alley Cat Angels. It fit. She was an angel to these stray cats. Just as she'd been to him. "That's nice."
She eyed him as though doubting his sincerity, then pointed to the garage, where a door stood ajar. "A mama cat and her babies have been hiding out in there. I want to set this trap inside, see if I can catch them. We'll get Mom spayed and find homes for the babies. Kittens get adopted really fast."
Rick frowned. God knew what was in there besides stray cats. The door was sticky, so he gave it a shove with his shoulder before she went in. He followed.
There was a skittering sound, which might have been a cat—or a rat. The place was a wreck. It smelled of dust and cat piss. The floors were strewn with trash, the walls marked with graffiti—the work of human vandals.
He kept close as she moved forward. Too bad if she thought he was crowding her.
She eyed him over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"It's dark in here. Just want to make sure it's safe." Just wanted to make sure she didn't trip over all the crap on the floor and break her neck, or run across a junkie looking for a place to nod out.
"I've done this before, you know."
"Yeah, well, that's real smart," he cracked.
She glared but didn't waste breath arguing. Instead she scanned the area, searching for the cats, most likely. "Hard to see. I should've brought my flashlight. Oh well."
Instead of setting down the trap like anyone with a lick of sense would have done, she crept forward into the darkness. "I think they're in that corner. Want to make sure it's close enough."
He was on her like a tick. No way was he letting her out of his sight. He wanted to tell her she'd gone far enough, but she wouldn't take kindly to any commands on his part. Maybe a little psychology would work. "They're feral. If you get too close, you'll scare them away."
"Right." She placed a folded newspaper on the ground and set the trap on top of it. After baiting it with a small can of cat food, she laid a towel over the trap. "The towel helps hide it, and once the cat's inside, the cover makes him feel safer. Okay, all set. Let's go."
He assisted her through the door. When they emerged, Big Boy sat with his tail curled around his legs. He stared at them unblinkingly, the picture of condescension. Why are you still here?
"One of these days, Big Boy, I'll outsmart you," Sam promised. The tip of the cat's tail twitched in answer.
She turned to Rick. "I've got some errands to take care of, but I'll swing back in a few hours to check the trap. And I'll call another friend to check tonight."
"Let me get this straight." He carried the half-empty bag of food as they walked back to the truck. "You come here every day for these animals. By yourself."
"I told you that."
"Have you ever stopped to think you're in the middle of East Butthole here? What would happen if you got hurt?" Rick tossed the bag into the truck bed and faced her. "Or if you got jumped by some freaks who figured you for fair game?"
Her mouth flattened into a thin, stubborn line. "I have my phone. And my big flashlight. I could use that as a weapon."
He folded his arms across his chest while she thrust her fists into her jacket pockets. "Uh-huh. You mean the flashlight you left in your truck? Yeah, it'll do you a hell of a lot of good there." So she didn't like him telling her the score? Tough. It was plain stupid for her to be out here alone.
"Look, I've been doing this a while. Nothing bad's ever happened."
"That doesn't mean it can't," he grumbled, opening the truck door. He'd seen too many shitty things occur to people who'd innocently believed "nothing bad's ever happened." Nobody ever thinks it'll happen to them—until it does.
Her expression was mulish as she climbed into the driver's seat.
After a few minutes of her giving him the silent treatment, he spoke again. "I've got no problem with what you're doing. I'm just saying, the way you're going about it's not safe."
She was quiet a bit longer before her features softened. "I appreciate your concern. But I'm careful."
He frowned and shifted, shaking his head. Yeah, real careful. "You haven't heard a word I've said."
She stiffened and that was it. The temperature inside the cab turned so cold he was surprised the windshield didn't frost over.
Oh, what the hell. It was none of his business anyway. Why was he giving her such a hard time? He wasn't responsible f
or her. And it wasn't like she was his girlfriend or something. He'd probably never see her after today.
For some reason, that thought made him even grumpier.
The uneasy silence got on his nerves. "What do you do, anyway? I mean, do you work, or—"
Her response was clipped. "I'm a vet tech at Willowvale Veterinary Clinic."
"Huh. I know Britt was a big animal lover. She always had a bunch of pets. Was it the same for you?" She glanced at him sharply when he mentioned Britt. He'd been kind of a dick last night; maybe she was still pissed.
"When I was real little, we had a dog. Girl, her name was. She was my father's; he'd had her since before I was born. When she died, my mom was already sick and we couldn't manage another pet. I loved going over to Britt's 'cause she'd always let me play with her animals when I was there."
This was better. At least they were talking now. "Yeah, I remember that. You being there."
Her cheeks flushed. "You remember…me?"
He huffed a laugh. "Yeah. You were always hanging around when I wanted to get with Britt. A regular little cock-blocker."
Her lips tightened and she grew even redder. "Sorry."
Hell, he was only joking, but he'd clearly hurt her feelings. "Take it easy. I'm just messing with you."
"Right." She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. "Messing with Britt's skinny, funny-looking cousin."
"What?" She really thought she was funny looking? "No. You had that geek girl thing going on. You were cute." And she'd grown up since then. She was a lot cuter now. More than cute.
"Yeah?" She sounded hesitant, as if she wanted to believe him but didn't dare. Then she shook her head. "Forget I said anything."
Rick didn't like her being so down on herself. How could he get her smiling? "Hey, remember that big old rabbit Britt had? Bugs. He wasn't some cute little bunny. He was this big floppy-eared monster and I swear, every time I got near him, he tried to bite me."
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched, as though she was trying to hold back a smile. "Bugs. I remember him. He never went after me, though. You must have been mean to poor old Bugsy."
"I never did a thing to that rabbit, swear to God!"
Her unexpected laughter hit his brain and his gut like a shot of Everclear. He wanted to hear it again. "Once I tried to pet him and he almost tore my finger off. I thought rabbits were vegetarian, but not that guy. He was a cannibal."
Sam's continued laughter fizzed through him, egging him on. She was really pretty when she smiled. "Britt had him out of the cage one time and he started hopping toward me. Every time I moved, he moved. He was chasing me around the yard! The little bastard hated my guts."
"Maybe he was jealous," Sam offered. "He saw you as a rival for Britt's affection."
"Never thought of that."
"I've been lucky. I've dealt with pissed-off dogs and cats at the clinic, but so far no cannibal rabbits." She glanced his way. "What do you do? Are you a student?"
He snorted. "I'm twenty-three. That's a little old to be a student, doncha think?"
"Not if you're in grad school."
"I'm not." Suddenly he wasn't so eager to talk.
"So you're working?"
"Yeah. But, uh, I'm taking some time off now." He tensed, expecting her to ask more questions he wasn't in the mood to answer. He wasn't trying to be mysterious. He just didn't fucking feel like going over all that shit.
When she didn't push, he relaxed.
His cell phone suddenly rang. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at it. Cristobal. Rick turned off the ringer.
"You can get that if you want. I don't care," Sam said.
"Nah, it can wait." Indefinitely. You'd think after all the calls and texts left unanswered, Cris would catch on to the fact he didn't want to talk. That didn't stop the dude from calling, though. Knowing Cris, it only made him more determined.
His phone binged, signaling a text. He glanced at it.
answer ur phone, jerkoff
Cris was a persistent bastard.
Another bing. Y u bein a dick?
Rick stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
At last they reached Britt's place. His Jeep Renegade was at the curb where he'd left it.
He descended from the cab and turned to her. Time to show he wasn't a complete ass. "Thanks for helping me out last night. I appreciate it."
She nodded once but wouldn't look at him. "You're welcome. Thanks for your help this morning."
You didn't give me much of a choice, he could have said. But he didn't go there. Yesterday he'd enjoyed pushing her buttons, but today it held no appeal.
Sam shifted behind the wheel. "Well, good-bye."
For some reason, he didn't want to say good-bye. It was too final. "See you, Sam."
She frowned at him in confusion before pulling away.
He watched her drive off, then groaned when his cell binged again. Shit.
Cris wouldn't give up. pick up, asswipe!!!
He exhaled a long breath of surrender. Bite the bullet and get it over with, wuss. Grow a pair and be a man.
He texted one word. Hey.
A few moments later his phone rang. He lifted it to his ear. "Hey, Cris."
"Hey, dumbass. So you finally decided to answer your phone. Took you long enough."
Rick's chest tightened at the familiar sound of his friend and coworker's voice. In spite of the way they ragged on each other, called each dickhead and dumbass, they always had each other's backs.
"I knew if I didn't, you'd keep being a royal pain in my ass."
"Damn straight." A pause. "So what you doin'? How you doin'?"
"Nothing much and okay." They used to talk every day when they worked the streets, side by side. Shoot the shit about every topic under the sun. Now Rick couldn't think of a thing to say. "What's up with you?"
"Same old, same old, cuz." They were both silent a moment. "So how long you plan on being a lazy ass? When you coming back to work?"
He snorted. "Who says they want me back?"
"Shit, are you kidding me? That complaint against you was bullshit, and everyone on the job knew it." When he spoke again, Cris's voice had lost all its jokey sarcasm. "Listen, dude. You did everything you could. We both did. You gotta stop beating yourself up."
But he couldn't get it out of his head, couldn't stop thinking about the kid. Dylan. Couldn't stop remembering the mother screaming in his face. Walloping him with the teddy bear.
Cris kept talking, but Rick couldn't make out the words. He could only hear himself promising Dylan, as they hustled him into the ambulance, "Keep breathing, buddy. Keep breathing. You're going to be all right."
A promise he couldn't keep.
Chapter Four
As she descended the stairs the next morning, dressed in her regular schlumpy cat-wrangling outfit of jeans and sweatshirt, Sam heard her father's voice coming from the kitchen. That wasn't unusual. If talk radio was on, he'd often add his own two cents to the pundit's commentary. If the radio was off, sometimes he'd talk to the cat.
But the cat never answered back.
Sam's stomach dropped when she recognized the second voice. She entered the kitchen to find Rick Russo seated at the table while Pop washed up the breakfast dishes.
"Oh, here she is." Her father gestured Rick's way with a soapy hand. "You got a visitor, Sammy."
She blinked at Rick. What was he doing here? It took a moment to find her voice. "Hi."
"Hey there." He stroked Blackberry, who lay curled on his lap. He tapped the cat's stump of a tail. "What happened to this little guy?"
Disoriented by his unexpected presence, she answered as though it was perfectly normal to find him at the breakfast table. "Don't know. She was either born with a bobtail or had an injury. She was sick and scrawny when I found her, getting picked on by the other cats."
"Ah. So you found her over at Shankey's. And brought her back here."
Pop rinsed the last dish and placed
it in the drainer. "Yep. 'Just for a little while, Pop, till we find her a good home'." He slanted Sam a look. "Remember that?"
"Uh-huh. And do you remember who said, 'Hey, you can't take my little pal away' when someone offered to adopt her?"
Pop's face pinkened as he shuffled his feet. "Well, she grew on me."
Sam poured herself another cup of coffee from the remains in the pot. She'd had two cups before getting dressed, but she needed to do something to avoid Rick's intense gaze. Why's he here?
He gently set the cat down on the floor and answered her unasked question. "Thought I'd help you with the cats at Shankey's."
She gaped in surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah." Rick stroked Blackberry, who butted against his leg for more petting. "Got plenty of time on my hands, so I figure, why not?"
Her father glanced her way again. What's his story? the look asked.
Good question.
She fumbled with the bread bag's twist tie. "Are you hungry?"
Rick shook his head. "Coffee's plenty."
"You're gonna need more than that, son, with Sammy putting you to work. She's a taskmaster." Pop grinned at the frown Sam sent his way. "Toss a couple slices in that toaster and you can make a sandwich with some of this leftover bacon." Pop grimaced. "Turkey bacon. It's the only kind my daughter lets me eat. But better than nothing, I guess."
"Better for you with your high cholesterol. A lot less fat," Sam answered primly.
"Turkey bacon, huh? Well, in spite of that, maybe I will have myself a sandwich." When Rick took the bread bag from her, their fingers brushed. Sam wished she could prolong that touch even as she scooted to take a chair at the table and put some distance between them.
And she wasn't fooled. She didn't for one moment believe he was here because he loved cats. What had he said yesterday? "What you're doing's not safe."
So was that the reason? Was he trying to play her protector?
She ought to be pissed. She didn't need a babysitter, for God's sake.
But it wasn't anger she felt. A different emotion shimmered through her. Nobody—well, nobody but her father—had ever wanted to look out for her.
****
