No Promises

by N. Raines

  Sam rolled her eyes. "It's not that big a deal. Just throw a bunch of stuff in a pot and voilà, soup." Still, the compliment pleased her.

  "It didn't taste thrown together." Rick took another bite of his cookie.

  Sam's mood had mellowed out, maybe because her stomach was full or because it had been nice having a guest for supper. Maybe she and Pop had gotten too used to each other's company.

  She couldn't deny having Rick around was good for her father. It had to be kind of dull for Pop. Sure, he had the guys at the garage and his twice-weekly poker game. But other than that, he had this house and the cat. He had her too, when she wasn't working or volunteering with the Alley Cat Angels. But perhaps he needed more.

  After her mother died, Sam had tried to fill the gap as best she could. She'd wanted to be her father's sidekick, his best buddy. But Rick might be able to give Pop something she couldn't.

  Pop cleared his throat with a harrumph. "So, Rick, you think any more about that suggestion of mine?"

  Sam's puzzled glance flew from one man to the other. "What suggestion?"

  "Well, Sammy, it's like this. Rick here needs a place to stay, and you know we've got that room over the garage that's just sitting empty…"

  She blinked in confusion. "But there's all that junk you've been storing up there—"

  "We've started clearing it out. Well, Rick did."

  "You've already put him to work?" What was going on? She looked at Rick for further explanation.

  "It's no problem," Rick put in smoothly. "Happy to help out. Got plenty of time on my hands."

  And why was that, anyway? Who took time off in mid-May? There had to be more to the story—much more—than Rick was letting on.

  Pop was on a roll, enumerating all the reasons this was a great idea. "You've been saying we should get rid of some of that stuff for a long time. And there's all the junk in the old shed too. I hardly get started on a job before you're yelling at me to take it easy, don't overdo it."

  Sam's face went hot. He made her sound like the world's biggest nag. "I don't yell."

  "And then you tell me you'll take care of it. But it's not fair for you to get stuck with those chores. So this is the ideal solution." He leaned back in his chair with a grin. "Yes, sir, Rick could be a big help around here."

  "He's not a handyman. We can't ask him to do our chores—"

  Rick spoke up. "I don't mind. I'm good with it."

  "But what about your job?"

  "Like I said, I got time off. It's not an issue."

  "You hear that, Sammy?"

  "Anyway," Rick went on, "what am I gonna do? Sit in my crummy room over the Suds-Zee Laundry and stare at the four walls?"

  God, talk about beyond depressing. Sam couldn't blame him for not wanting to hang around there.

  "Ugh," Pop remarked. "I know where that is. It's a dump."

  "Pop." Even though she'd had the same thought, she cast an apologetic look Rick's way.

  Pop waved the exclamation away. "Hey, I'm not saying anything he doesn't already know."

  "True that." Rick shrugged, then turned to Sam. "But look, it's your house too. If you don't like the idea, then we'll just forget it."

  Right; then she'd be the bad guy for putting the kibosh on this little scheme. "It's full of junk and cobwebs and all kinds of crap."

  "It's not like my current place is the Ritz. More like the pits. The room over the garage could be pretty decent once it got cleared out. And I'd be helping your father. But like I said, if you're not on board…"

  If she nixed it, she'd be depriving her father of a companion and Rick of a decent place to stay. Maybe it wasn't a terrible idea.

  She had to admit she hated that crappy room of his and worried about him staying there. What if the thieves or druggies who'd tossed it came back? If he moved in over the garage, at least he'd be safe.

  But what about her? Would she be safe from the attraction she felt toward him? She'd played it off in the morning at Shankey's, pretending not to admire how his biceps flexed as he hefted heavy bags of cat food. Acting like she didn't notice his tight ass when he bent to pour out piles of kibble. But how would she manage to play it cool when he was in her space and in her face every day?

  She looked at her father, and he gazed back with an angelic smile. What was his part in this? Was it possible he was orchestrating this whole thing to bring her and Rick together?

  God, how humiliating. Did he think she couldn't get a guy on her own?

  It's not like you've done such a hot job of it up to now, Sam.

  "Sounds like a done deal. Far be it from me to stand in the way." Pride wouldn't let her blow a gasket. "Just what is he going to sleep on, if I may ask?"

  She wanted to bite her tongue as soon as the question left her mouth, because it sent all kinds of racy images spinning in her brain. Images of him lying in bed, his beautiful body clothed only in his briefs. Or maybe he slept in nothing at all?

  Luckily, no one could read her triple X-rated thoughts.

  "We found an old rollaway bed up there. Got it set up just fine," Pop crowed. "Lucky, huh?"

  "Real lucky." She hoped the mattress was lumpy and moth-eaten and gave Rick a backache. It was only fair, since she'd be getting no sleep, thinking about him over the garage. Fantasizing about him.

  Why was he doing this? Did he want free room and board that badly? No. Though she didn't know much about him, Sam was sure he wasn't a moocher. Besides, she had no doubt it was her father who proposed the deal.

  But why would Rick agree?

  She stood and began collecting empty plates and cups. "Fine, then. Sounds like you two boys have all the details worked out." She couldn't resist emphasizing the word boys.

  Later, when Rick went back to the dump over the Laundromat to collect his things, she cornered Pop. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

  "About Rick? Take it easy. I checked him out with your Aunt Madelyn." Her aunt, Britt's mom, who still kept in touch with the Russos. "He's employed, dependable, and has no criminal record."

  "I know that. That's not what I mean. Why the sudden interest in cleaning out the junk room?"

  "Well, why not? That stuff's been sitting up there long enough, gathering dust. And there's someone young and strong who's willing to help out…"

  She pinned him with a narrowed gaze. "Is that really what it's about?"

  Pop's eyes were round and innocent. "What else would it be?"

  Sam ground her teeth in frustration. Well, she might as well get used to it. Frustration would be her constant companion, with Rick Russo living only twenty feet away. No point kidding herself. Her little high school crush on him had bloomed into full-blown lust. When she had once dreamed of holding his hand or an innocent kiss, now she imagined a whole lot more. Just thinking of how she'd touched him this morning, how much she'd wanted to kiss him, had her entire body tingling.

  He was the whole candy store. And she was the kid with no pennies in her pocket, her nose pressed to window, hungry for all the treats she couldn't have.

  ****

  The next morning, Monday, the aroma of bacon again greeted Sam as she entered the kitchen.

  Rick was at the stove.

  She raised her eyebrows as she addressed her father. "You've even got him cooking?"

  Pop rustled his morning paper. "Hey, he volunteered."

  She noticed a shopping bag on one of the chairs. "What's this?"

  Rick turned from the stove. "Just a few things. If I'm going to be here a while, I want to contribute."

  "Oh. Thanks." A twinge of guilt pinched her, punishment for her less than charitable thoughts the night before. Why'd he have to be so thoughtful? It would make keeping her distance that much harder.

  "I put the eggs and other cold stuff in the fridge, but wasn't sure where you keep the rest of it."

  "I'll put it away." She placed the coffee in the cupboard above the sink and glanced Rick's way. One lonely bacon strip sizzled in the pan. "Smells good, b
ut bacon's a treat we save for weekends."

  "Yeah." Pop frowned. "Weekdays Sammy usually makes me eat some of that healthy cereal that tastes like twigs."

  "Well, break out the twigs." Rick laid the bacon on a folded paper towel, carefully patted it free of grease. "This bacon's not for us."

  "What?" Pop looked crestfallen. "For who, then?"

  Rick waggled his eyebrows. "Someone I know who likes bacon even more than you do."

  ****

  Rick had learned his lesson. Today at Shankey's he didn't wave the bacon at Big Boy or tease him. When the boss cat approached, lured by the delicious scent, Rick set the bacon on the ground and waited. Big Boy paused, flicking his tail, as though making sure he wasn't walking into a trap.

  Rick took a step back, held up his open palms to show there were no tricks up his sleeve. "Go on, buddy. It's all yours. I swear."

  Big Boy didn't move. Only the tip of his tail quivered. But when another cat crept forward to investigate, he slashed out his paw and sent the interloper scrambling.

  Rick stepped back once more. A few moments later, Big Boy moved forward in a measured, confident fashion—no belly crawling, no cringing or flattened ears—and delicately took the bacon strip between his teeth. Then he streaked away.

  "What was that about?" Sam asked.

  "See, I got it figured," Rick explained with a bit of a swagger. "He'll get used to the bacon, and then we can use it to lure him into one of those Havaharts."

  She shrugged. "Well, it's worth a try. If it works."

  "Why wouldn't it work?"

  "He's pretty smart. He might not fall for it."

  "Won't fall for it. Huh." Rick smirked. "He's a cat."

  They completed their morning rounds. While Rick returned the bag of cat food to the truck bed, she went to the garage to check the trap.

  The mama cat and all the kittens but one had been safely captured. Mo, a fellow Alley Cat Angel, had set the trap last night, knowing Sam would be by to check it this morning.

  A small, frightened squeak greeted her as she entered the dark garage. Once again she'd forgotten her flashlight, but Sam followed the pitiful mewling sound to the Havahart. A tiny black-and-white kitten huddled inside the trap. It scrambled to the back of the cage and hunkered down when Sam bent to look at it.

  "Take it easy," she murmured. "It's okay. We'll have you back with Mom and the rest of your family real soon."

  Heavy footsteps neared her, then stopped. Rick gave a disgruntled huff. "Thought I told you to wait for me."

  "I'm fine." She lifted the cage. "And looks like we got our last little guy here."

  Rick peered at the kitten, who flattened its ears and hissed. Tiny though it was, it had a mighty heart.

  Rick laughed. "Hey there, buddy. Chill out."

  "Let's get him back to the truck."

  Rick took the cage. "I'll carry him."

  Sam led the way. She unlocked both doors and slid into the driver's seat. Rick opened the passenger door and deposited the Havahart onto the jump seat behind the front seats. But the cage was empty.

  Sam's mouth fell open in dismay. "What happened? You didn't let him go!"

  Rick climbed into the cab. "Nah." He gave her a sheepish grin. "I just borrowed him." A lump wiggled in the front pouch of his hoodie. A furry little head emerged from the opening.

  Rick cradled the kitten in the crook of his arm, and surprisingly, it didn't put up a fight. "Poor little guy. Got no mom, no friends. The last lonely one of the litter."

  Sam started the truck. "He'll see them soon enough. We'll get him all fixed up."

  She hesitated as she watched the kitten snuggle against Rick. Such a contrast, the tiny ball of fluff and the large, muscular man. But Rick was gentle as could be, stroking the kitten's tiny head with one finger.

  Aww. So cute. Sam put the truck in park, grabbed her phone, and took a picture.

  "Hey!" He scowled.

  "Oh, come on. It's nice." She showed him the shot she'd taken of the kitten snuggled in his arms.

  His expression didn't change. "That's not going up on Instagram or something, is it?"

  "Why, are you embarrassed?" She relented when she saw he wasn't amused. "No. I just thought…it was sweet."

  "Sweet." He rolled his eyes.

  When they'd been driving a few minutes, he asked, "Can we stop somewhere for a while? Get coffee or something?"

  "We should get our friend to the vet," Sam answered, indicating the kitten.

  "Just for a little while. Hit the drive-through at the doughnut place."

  That was strange. He'd never asked to stop before. Then it hit her: he wanted to hold on to the kitten a little while longer.

  "Sure. I guess we can spare the time."

  ****

  They visited the drive-through and parked in the Daybreak Donuts lot to drink their coffee. The kitten was curled into a ball in the crook of Rick's arm and purred softly.

  Rick took a sip from his cup. "So how long you been working at the clinic?"

  "Couple of years. I worked while I was completing my degree."

  "You have to go to school for that?"

  "Yeah. It's a two-year program. I went away to school, but when Pop had his first heart attack my freshman year, I came back home to take care of him. I transferred to the state college so I could commute."

  "What about your brothers? They couldn't have stepped in to help?" Rick couldn't keep the sharpness out of his voice.

  She blinked as though surprised he'd even asked the question. "They've got—"

  "They've got their own lives, yeah. You mentioned that. What about you? Aren't you entitled to a life too?" The unfairness of it rankled him. Sam had to change her plans, move back home to take care of her ailing father while her brothers, two grown-ass men, couldn't be bothered to lend a hand.

  Her gaze slid away and she became fascinated with the lid of her disposable cup. "I have a life."

  "How come yours is the only one that gets rearranged when things go wrong?"

  Her chin firmed. "Pop didn't ask me to come back. It was my choice."

  Rick scowled. Yeah, Jay's pride wouldn't have let him ask his daughter to leave school to care for him. Sam must have volunteered, making the decision without even consulting her father. But how much choice did she really have, when both her lazy-ass brothers let her do all the heavy lifting? And how much choice did she give herself?

  "You don't get it." Her face took on a stubborn cast. "How close Pop and I really are. When my mom died, both Joe and Nicky were already out of the house. Pop and I only had each other."

  For a second, Rick was almost jealous. Had he ever been that close to anyone? No. He thought of the people he loved most: his mother, his kid brother AJ. Even with Cris, who knew him like a brother, there was a distance. And Rick knew that was his own doing, no one else's.

  He didn't want to dwell on that. "You said his first heart attack. When did he have the second?"

  "Later that same year. That was a bad one. He had to have surgery."

  And of course Sam would have been at Jay's side afterward, helping him recover. And how did her big brothers help out that time—send a couple of get-well cards and some flowers? Shit.

  She lifted her head and unexpectedly shot the conversational puck at him. "What about your family?"

  He shot it right back. "What about them?" Oh, he was a clever one, wasn't he?

  Sam side-eyed him. "They're still in town, right?"

  "Oh, yeah. Same address, same house I grew up in. Nothing ever changes." His mouth twisted sourly. Especially with the old man around.

  "You couldn't have gone to your parents', then? I mean, once your roomie decided to move in his girlfriend?"

  Rick barked a laugh. "Uh, no. No way."

  Sam's eyes widened, and she gave him a longer look. "They wouldn't take you in? Not even for a little while?" She spoke as though she couldn't imagine any family being so cold.

  She didn't get that not all families
were as tight as her and her dad. "Sure they would. The old man would love it, in fact. Having me under his roof and under his thumb? Hey, it would make his year." And Rick couldn't imagine a worse hell.

  Frown lines furrowed her brow. "You don't get along with your father?"

  Rick shifted in the seat and stared out the windshield at a young mother pushing a stroller on the sidewalk. It would take too long to explain. "He's a my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy. Let's just say we've never seen eye to eye on things." Understatement of the decade.

  With that topic exhausted, Sam tried another one. "Britt told me you're a paramedic."

  He paused a moment, then gave a short nod. "Yeah." Technically, it was true. But he didn't want to get into that either.

  She caught his hesitation. "You're not happy?"

  He snorted. "Who says a job is supposed to make you happy?" Man, was he being a royal asshole today or what? The girl was just trying to make conversation.

  "My job makes me happy." A note of pride rang in her voice. "I love what I do."

  "Well, that's not hard to understand. I wouldn't mind dealing with guys like this one." He twiddled his fingers at the kitten, and smiled when it tried to snag them with its tiny paw. "Animals don't give you all the shit that humans do."

  The corner of Sam's mouth hitched up. "We have to deal with people too, you know. The pets don't exactly bring themselves to the clinic."

  "I hope that place is paying you what you're worth." Rick knew, without ever seeing her in action, that Sam was good at her job. She was a softy—hauling her ass halfway across town at the crack of dawn to feed stray cats. She'd treat all her animal patients with compassion and care. But she could be tough, too, the way she made sure her dad ate right and took care of himself. She probably had that clinic's office running like clockwork.

  He continued playing with the kitten. It was a feisty little thing. Too bad it had to go into some cold, lonely cage somewhere. "What's gonna happen to this little guy?"

  "He'll get checked out by the doctor, inoculated, dewormed, whatever. Then put up for adoption."

  "How long does all that take?"

  "A week or so, maybe." She looked at him hopefully. "Are you thinking of…?"