She craned her neck down, grasping the white cotton with trembling fingers, gathering her courage. What if that face leered back at her when she peered down, its empty eyes piercing hers as a bony claw shot forward to seize her throat?
Oh, God. Biting back the scream rising in anticipation, she yanked the bed skirt up and dropped her head far enough to scan beneath the box spring. Just bare floorboards, unless you counted a trio of ancient dust bunnies hiding in the shadows. Exhaling, she let the material drop as she hauled herself up.
One more bed to check. And the closet. Steeling herself, she repeated the process, feeling slightly ridiculous by the time she wrenched open the closet door with a simultaneous jump backwards. Only a few empty hangers, a faded ironing board, and cardboard boxes too small to conceal an intruder.
With a sharp nod of her head, she turned and hurried out of the chilly room, scowling at the quaking tremors in her legs. Everything’s fine. But she shut the door to the front bedroom firmly behind her before she made her way back downstairs.
2
She awoke to a strange sound, the muffled thumps pulling her from restless dreams. Blinking in the darkness, she stilled beneath the covers. The cat? It must be Preston, engaging in some nocturnal exploration of his new digs. He sure wasn’t doing much during the daytime. In fact, once he had finally ventured out of his carrier, he’d holed up beneath her bed, and he’d barely seemed to move from his new spot in the three days they’d been here, at least as far as she’d noticed. By the end of the second day, she’d moved his litter box and food and water into the upstairs bathroom, but it didn’t seem like he was taking advantage of the proximity of either one. His food appeared untouched, the litter box clean. He must be going somewhere else in the house…that was going to be a fun clean-up job when she discovered where. But concern for him outweighed any tinges of annoyance. The back-to-back moves—first to her friend Madison’s apartment, then here—had really shaken her sweet boy up, and she felt terrible.
At least it sounded like he was up and about now. She strained her ears, listening for his movements as she shifted on the lumpy mattress. The house was quiet now; even the soft hum of insects drifting through the open windows seemed to have ceased. Something about the sudden hush felt threatening, as though a storm just over the horizon was about to unleash its fury. Pulling in a shallow breath, she gripped the edge of the sheet as a thread of unease snaked along her spine.
A soft moan rippled through the silence, and she froze, fear surging through her in sharp, sickening waves. She lay motionless, her lungs trembling, her mind reeling. What the hell was that? Whatever it was did not sound feline. Or human. The rush of her heartbeat filled her ears as she slowly craned her neck, raising her head a few inches from the pillow. She swept her gaze around the room, searching the melting shadows and murky corners. Acid burned the back of her throat as she waited helplessly for a figure to break away from the layers of darkness.
Nothing materialized, and she forced her arm to reach for the lamp on the nightstand. Light. She needed light. Her shaking fingers finally found the tiny plastic knob, and she turned it, offering a silent prayer. It had worked earlier. Please, God…let it work now.
With a faint click, a cone of light illuminated the corner of the room, and she let out a slow breath. Okay. Swallowing hard, she eased up against the headboard, keeping her body still while continuing to scan the room for movement. Pieces of furniture came into focus, the reassuring shapes remaining stationary. Aside from the rasp of her shallow breaths, the house was quiet. Had she conjured the thudding noises on the edge of a dream? It was a comforting thought, but she was certain she’d been awake when she’d heard that moan. Just like the first night, in the other bedroom, her inner voice reminded her with unnecessary harshness. She fought back a shudder as her eyes darted among the trio of doors leading to the closet, the study, and the hallway. There was no avoiding it. She was going to have to investigate if she planned on getting any more sleep tonight.
Gritting her teeth, she threw off the covers and summoned her courage. First up, more light. With a bit of awkward gymnastics, she launched herself away from the bed and anything that might be lurking underneath, then raced toward the light switch on the wall.
She heaved a sigh of relief as the bulbs of the ceiling fixture blinked to life. Okay. The door to the hallway was already partially open, to allow Preston access to his food and litter box. And what she had heard—the thumps, anyway—had certainly been the cat. As for the eerie moan that seemed to come from the air beside her ear, well…that was probably Preston too. The acoustics of the house had just distorted the sound, changed it into something mournful and otherworldly.
As she opened the door further, the bedroom light spilled out into the hallway, and she followed it, hugging her arms across her chest. “Pres?” she called out, her voice a dry croak.
Only silence answered her at first, until a plaintive mewl from behind her chilled her blood. That was Preston, no question. But…where was he? She spun on her heel, racing back into the master bedroom. Dropping to the floor with enough force to send a jolt of pain through her knees, she yanked up the comforter and peered under the bed.
Preston’s familiar form sprawled beneath the box spring, but the position of his body told her something wasn’t right. Dread poured into her belly, thick and viscous. She reached for him, whispering his name as she stretched her arm beneath the bed frame. When her fingers closed on the scruff of his neck, she pulled him toward her, and his failure to fight sent a fresh bolt of alarm through her veins. He slid across the wood floor like a sack of stones, putting up no resistance as she freed him from under the bed.
He remained on his side, eyes half-closed, pink tongue hanging out. When she ran a hand over his body, he emitted another guttural moan, and she snatched her fingers away and clapped them over her mouth. Oh, God.
She needed to get him to a vet. Right away. But this wasn’t the city…was there even a vet in this little town? One that was open in the middle of the night? Why hadn’t she thought to check on that before they arrived? Her mind reeled as she scrambled sideways to grab her phone from the nightstand.
“Hang on, Pres,” she murmured, her thumbs flying over the screen. Please. Holding her breath, she scrolled through the results of her search. There. One vet office in this town: Truro Veterinary Clinic. She glanced at the time as she hit the call button. The chances of it being open at 1:20 a.m. were slim, but she crossed her fingers anyway as she gently stroked them over Preston’s head.
Dismay filled her chest when a recorded message picked up, but then the miracle she’d prayed for arrived—a number to call in case of emergency. Dr. Holt. Jumping to her feet, she sprinted into the office and scribbled the number on an envelope before she could forget it. Then she quickly ended the first call and made the second, squeezing her eyes shut as rings pealed on the other end of the line.
“Holt.”
She slumped with relief, leaning against the desk for support. “Dr. Holt? Oh, thank God. I’m new in town, and my cat is really sick. He didn’t take the move very well, and he hasn’t really been eating. And now he’s not moving. I can tell he’s in pain, he’s making horrible noises.” The words tumbled out in a hectic rush, her voice rising in pitch with each rapid sentence. She paused for a breath, pacing back into the bedroom to stand over Preston’s limp body.
“Okay. How old is the cat?” the doctor asked, his deep voice rough with sleep, but calm.
“Um…he’s a rescue, so I can’t say for sure.” She squatted down to make sure Preston was still breathing. His belly appeared rigid, but his side rose and fell in labored gasps. “He’s about five or six now—not that old.”
“Any previous issues?” In the background, drawers opened and closed.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Does he go outdoors?”
She shook her head again, aware on some level he couldn’t see her gestures, but unable to control the instin
cts. “He’s an indoor-only cat, at least as long as I’ve had him, which is about three years.”
“Okay, do you know where the office is?”
“I can find it.”
“I can be there in about ten minutes. I’ll see you there.”
Oh, thank God. Tears pressed against her eyes as her throat swelled, and she barely managed to choke out a raspy “thank you” before a sob broke free. She ended the call quickly, hoping he hadn’t heard it. Then she pulled the vet office address back up and loaded directions. Ten minutes…the same amount of time as it would take him. She needed to get her poor cat into the carrier and leave immediately.
As she flew down the stairs to grab the carrier, she suddenly realized she was only wearing a worn T-shirt and boy-short underwear. No time to change. Panting with effort and fear, she raced back into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of cut-off jean shorts from the laundry basket. Once she’d yanked them on, she wrapped Preston in a towel and gently slid him into the carrier, grimacing as he let out a weak yowl.
Twelve minutes later, she was there. The vet office looked more like a large house, sitting back from the road with a parking lot in front, but the front light was on, and a motorcycle stood in a spot by the door. Seemed a strange choice of transportation for a veterinarian, but the sign told her she was in the right place.
She wrapped her arms around the carrier in an awkward embrace to avoid jostling Preston, slamming the car door with her foot and hurrying toward the building. A tall form opened the door for her, and a fresh wave of relief swam through her. He would help them.
As she climbed the two steps, she looked up to thank him, but the words caught in her throat as she stared at his face. My God, he was handsome. And young. Maybe her age, or a few years older. Certainly not what she’d been expecting a small-town vet to look like. Suddenly the bike out front made a little more sense, and an uninvited image of this hot man riding it flashed through her mind.
“I’m Dr. Holt,” he said as he lifted the carrier out of her arms.
His introduction broke into her dazed stupor, and shame flooded her veins as she yanked her attention back to her suffering cat. Jesus. What was wrong with her? How could her mind go there at a time like this? How could her mind go there at all, after everything that had happened in New York?
She dragged her fingers through her hair in an effort to push the intruding thoughts away, ignoring the primal part of her brain reminding her she hadn’t even brushed her teeth before she jumped in the car, much less the mass of tangles falling around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she managed, before realizing that wasn’t the correct response. “I mean…I’m Lark Cavanaugh. Thank you for seeing us so late.”
He nodded. “I’m going to take him back, Ms. Cavanaugh. Go ahead and have a seat.”
“Lark. I mean, please call me Lark. You’ll let me know?”
“As soon as I can.” He disappeared through a door behind the front desk, and she was left standing there, twisting her hands.
She paced the floor for a few minutes, wishing for a mirror, or maybe a mint at least. God, what was the matter with her? Who cared? Hopefully, Dr. Holt would fix her cat, and then she’d never see the guy again.
He emerged from the back room, and she spun around, her heart skipping out an erratic beat. Please, please let him be okay.
“Your cat…” he paused, a crease forming between his clear blue eyes. “What’s his name?”
“Preston.”
“Preston. He has a urethral obstruction. His urinary tract is blocked, which is a life-threatening condition.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Will he…” She swallowed hard, tried again. “Can you save him?”
“I need to sedate him and catheterize him. Hopefully that will work. If not, surgery is required. Either way, he’ll be here for a few days while we monitor him. It’s not going to be inexpensive.”
Closing her eyes, she blew out a breath. Every cell in her body was screaming that it didn’t matter, but she needed to know. “How much?”
“It will depend how things go, but you’ll be looking at $1,000 minimum.” He ran a hand over his jaw, shadowed with the night’s stubble.
A thousand minimum probably meant a lot more, but what choice did she have? None. “I’ll find the money. Whatever it takes,” she added, her voice warbling. “He’s all I have.”
Something flashed across his face, and she realized she probably sounded pathetic, sharing the fact that a cat was literally the most important presence in her life. Then again, this man had dedicated his life to saving animals, so maybe he understood. Her gaze dropped inadvertently to his ring finger. Bare. But she’d pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night.
“Okay,” he said gently, taking her elbow and steering her toward the desk. “We can always set up a payment plan too. But right now, I need you to fill out a few forms while I get some things ready.”
She fought to ignore the warm tingle the touch of his hand left behind. Apparently, her body was dealing with the stress in some very inappropriate ways. Biting down on her lip, she accepted the clipboard and took a seat in the waiting area.
He returned in a few minutes, and she jumped up and crossed the room to meet him halfway. He was now wearing dark blue scrubs in place of the jeans and T-shirt he’d arrived in. His dark brown hair had been pushed back off his forehead, but the thick waves remained tousled from sleep and a motorcycle ride. A suntan set off his strong, chiseled features and full lips. He gave her a tight smile as she handed him the forms.
“All set,” she said, resisting the urge to run past him to check on Preston.
“He’s hanging in there.”
She flushed, twisting the pen in her fingers. Obviously she was easy to read.
“One of my vet techs should be here any minute. We’ll get him sedated and on pain meds, then go from there to clear the obstruction.” He gestured with the clipboard. “One of us will contact you at the number you gave us.”
“Oh.” The thought of leaving hadn’t even occurred to her. She gripped the pen so hard her nails dug into her palm. “Um…I was thinking I would stay?”
He tilted his head, his brows knitting together. “That’s not necessary.”
“No, I realize that,” she said hurriedly, hoping he didn’t think she was suggesting he was incompetent. Her presence in the waiting room certainly wouldn’t make a difference in the outcome of the procedure, and yet, she felt she needed to be there. The idea of going back to that spooky house by herself held less appeal than curling up on the stiff couch here, where Preston was. And a nagging voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her that something had made those noises that had awoken her in the first place—and it probably hadn’t been her sick, incapacitated cat. “Still, I’d like to stay, if that’s okay.” She flicked her gaze over to the waiting area.
The door swung open, and a woman with wild hair and paw-print scrubs rushed inside. “Got here as fast as I could,” she announced between rapid breaths.
“Thanks, Diane.” Dr. Holt set the clipboard down on the front desk and tipped his chin toward the back. “Let’s get started.” Casting a glance back to Lark, he lifted a shoulder. “You can stay if you like. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll come let you know how it goes.” He followed Diane through the door in the back and disappeared.
There was nothing she could do now but wait. Exhaustion swept over her in a sudden, fierce tidal wave, and she staggered over to the couch, her body collapsing onto the rigid foam cushions. She bent forward, dropping her head into her hands, wishing she had someone to talk to. Someone she was close enough to call in the middle of the night; someone who wouldn’t mind being woken up to listen to her fears and share her worry. But there was no one left who fit in that category. Certainly not Brittney or Nathan. Her stomach turned just thinking of them. Madison had already done enough for her, putting her up in her tiny studio apartment for over a week. And her parents… She shuddered, swallo
wing back a sob. Her father had taught her to be strong. Self-reliant. All she could do now was sit here and hope that Dr. Holt could save her sweet cat.
With a sigh, she straightened up, realizing she didn’t even have her phone with her if she were going to make a call. It was still sitting on the passenger seat of her borrowed car. She debated going outside to get it, then shrugged and sank back into the corner of the couch. Closing her eyes, she sent up a silent prayer to anyone who was listening.
3
“Lark?”
A warm hand touched her arm, and she surfaced from sleep, momentarily confused as to where she was and why she was jammed into an uncomfortable ball on a small couch. The vet’s office! She lurched up into a sitting position, barely noticing the fiery spasms of pain radiating from her cramped muscles and stiff joints.
Blinking, she brought the doctor’s impossibly handsome face into focus. The soft glow of natural light filled the waiting room. How long had she been asleep? What did that mean in terms of her cat? “Preston?” was all she managed to croak out.
“He’s doing great,” Dr. Holt said reassuringly. Crouching down to her level, he handed her a bottle of water. “You seemed…well, like you really needed some sleep. So I decided to let you have a few hours even though the procedure was over a while ago.”
Blood heated her cheeks as she pictured herself conked out on a waiting room couch, knees pinned to her chest, face slack with apparently obvious exhaustion. God, what if she was snoring? She scrubbed at her greasy face, reminding herself it didn’t matter. What mattered was Preston was okay.
“We sedated him, gave him pain meds, and catheterized him. I was able to clear the blockage, so now we just have to monitor him for a bit.”
She nodded, suddenly processing the water bottle in her hand. A warm rush of gratitude filled her chest as she twisted the cap open. This man had saved her cat, let her sleep in his waiting room, and then thought to bring her water. “Oh, thank you so much, Doctor. That’s great news. When can I bring him home?”
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 2
