by Jillian Hart
U R still at work? Sara Beth wrote.
Yep. She turned off her computer and pushed away from the desk. The rolling wheels of her chair squeaked. I’m leaving now.
Great. I’ll keep UR supper warm.
Oops. Was it that late already? Sure enough, when she checked the time it was after six o’clock. Crazy, because she hadn’t even noticed time passing. Proof that she loved her job. It felt good to do what you were meant to. She grabbed her bag and keys, stuffed her iPad into her bag and burst into the hallway. The security lights made things shadowy and the big building seemed to echo around her. Was she the only one left? No, because a yellow bar of light shone under an office door. And not just any office door.
Michael was still here? And this was the bigger question, did she want to be alone with him? Uh, no. She had no idea why he stirred her up like a ladle in a soup kettle swirling everything around and around, a whirlpool of emotions. And after seeing him with that purple bunny meant for his frail little patient, well, maybe it would be best to skedaddle before he decided to come out of his office and catch her staring in his direction.
Men were trouble. That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. She slipped into the break room and freed her coat from its hanger. Not only were men trouble, they didn’t stop there. They messed up your life, they got in the way of your plans and they cost you your dreams. She knew from personal experience—not that she wanted to think about that.
After a fast swoop to recover the remains of her lunch from the fridge, she bolted toward the door. Whoops! She caught sight of a tall, dark figure in the dim hallway and screeched to a halt before she crashed into him. Good thing, or she would have landed against the muscled plane of his chest. And why did that thought make her face burn?
“Guess I should have made more noise,” he quipped. Was he blushing a little, too, or was that a trick of the shadowy light? “I thought I was the only one here. Usually I am.”
“I had a lot of paperwork.” She couldn’t exactly make eye contact, and maybe it was better not to. Keep it professional, keep it simple, leave her emotions out of it. “It was a busy clinic day. I saw little Kelsey leaving with her bunny. I lent a hand at the back door.”
“That was nice of you. Just so you know, the bunny was for medicinal purposes.”
“I didn’t doubt it for a minute.” Hard to ignore the warm pang in her chest remembering the girl hugging the stuffed rabbit as her mom rolled her down the walkway. Chelsea had hurried to help load the girl and the chair into the van. “Is it hard dealing with critically ill children all the time?”
“It isn’t easy.” He didn’t make eye contact either as he set the alarm. “You get used to it. Doctor objectivity and all that.”
“I see.” She didn’t want to argue, but his purple bunny had seemed the polar opposite of cold and impartial. Michael Kramer had a gentle heart, although he clearly did his best to hide it.
He held open the outside door for her as the alarm beeped, marking time. She swept past him into the cold night air, waiting as Michael locked the door behind them with a twist of his wrist and a jangle of his key chain. Maybe it was better if she didn’t break the silence. Keep it easy, keep it light, don’t let him know what she really thought.
“Have a nice weekend.” He nodded in her direction. A muscle tensed along his jawline and for a moment it looked as if he were going to say something more and changed his mind. He headed toward his shiny SUV, several empty parking rows away from her iced-over Toyota.
Wintry winds burned her face as she crunched toward her car. This polite professionalism was exactly the relationship she wanted with Dr. Michael Kramer. Yes, this was just the way it should be. She dug her keys out of her pocket, chipped ice out of the keyhole and started the engine, which coughed reluctantly to life. That couldn’t be a good sign, but it started, so she was calling it good.
An electronic chime sang across the lot. Michael’s cell. She trudged around to her trunk, wrenched it open and dug out her ice scraper, doing her best not to watch the man through her lashes. Correct that—she didn’t mean to watch, but her eyes naturally roved his way. Call her curious and, maybe, just a little bit nosy.
“Is everything okay?” She chiseled a peephole on the windshield. Shards of ice flew everywhere.
“It’s fine.” He looked relieved about that. “Just a text from my mother.”
“Is she watching Macie for you?” Not that it was her business, but again, curious.
“Yes, and bless her for that.” He tucked his phone in his pocket and clicked open the back door. “No, it’s about Macie’s Christmas present.”
That sounded familiar, so she searched her memory banks. “Oh, right. The kitten.”
“I’ve said no for years, and kittens were everywhere we went.” He dug out his scraper and began shaving ice off the windows. “Mom’s friends had cats with kittens. They were advertised in the paper, given away in front of the grocery store but now when I’ve finally given in, not one anywhere.”
“Have you tried the animal shelter?”
“Mom’s last resort, after calling her friends and people they knew. Everyone is out of little kittens which Macie has her heart set on.” He jabbed a big shard of ice free from his windshield. “Hey, your dad’s a veterinarian.”
“And two of my sisters. I could ask them if they know of any available baby felines.” She dropped her scraper on the car’s hood and dug into her pocket. “I’ll do it right now before I forget.”
“Thanks, Chelsea.” Relief softened the hard angles of his face. He really was a handsome man.
“No problem.” She tapped a quick message to Johanna. Michael had turned his back to her, working his way around his vehicle. Don’t notice the striking line of his shoulders, she told herself. You’re in denial, remember? Maybe it would be better if you got in the car, stopped looking at him, and let the defrosters do all the work instead.
Her chiming phone stopped her. A quick look told her that it was from Johanna. Apparently a quick escape was not meant to be. She squinted at the screen, scanning the text. “Guess what? I’ve got good news.”
“That was fast.” His hint of a smile dazzled even from across the parking lot. Good thing her defenses were up. Way up. Fortress strong.
“My sisters are apparently hooked into the kitten market.” She held up her phone. “A cat named Mrs. Pickles had kittens four weeks ago and the owner is looking for good homes for them. I’ve got an address and a number.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.” His hint of a smile grew, promising dimples.
Since his dimples might knock down her defenses in one swift blow, she scrolled through her text messages for the one Steve had sent her a while back, with everyone’s numbers. She spotted Michael’s and tapped in the number. “I’ll just send you the info. Johanna says you have to go over right now if you’re serious.”
“As in this exact minute?”
“She says there are only two unclaimed kittens and they’re going fast. The cat owner’s had a lot of interest. Christmas kittens are in demand.” Chelsea hit Send. There. Her obligation was done. Michael could get a kitten and she could zip home, have dinner and hang with her sisters. Whatever energy she had left over, she’d use to keep him out of her thoughts.
“Okay, then I guess I’d better look at kittens.” He frowned at his phone, tapping in a message. “I’m sure my mother won’t mind keeping Macie a little longer. I’m going to need some advice on cats.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not a vet.” But she was hungry, her growling stomach reminded her. Just another reason to escape while she could. She yanked open her door and leaned in, flicking the defroster on high. “I’m not a cat expert.”
“Right. I’m sure I can figure it out.” He tucked his phone into his coat pocket. “How hard can it be?
I’ll just pick one.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And pray it’s the right one.”
“It will be.”
“I can do that, no problem.” He blew out a sigh. The wind gusted, tousling his short brown hair and for a moment he looked vulnerable. The cool doctor facade slid away and he was just a dad wanting to make his daughter happy. “Thanks for the help, Dr. McKaslin.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Kramer.” See how they were just two colleagues being friendly? Nothing to worry about. “Say hi to Macie for me.”
“Will do. Good night.” He straightened his spine, opened his door and angled in behind the wheel. She did the same, settling into the worn seat of her Toyota, ignoring the strange tug—on her conscience, she told herself firmly, and not on her heart.
As the defroster blasted a hole in the fog and ice on her windshield, she buckled in and flicked on her lights. A wise woman would have stopped the memory from rising to the surface, overtaking the moment and hurling her back in time, but did she stop it? No, she let her mother’s remembered voice guide her into the past. She was eight years old following her sisters into the laundry room of her aunt’s house.
“What sweet little things.” Mom knelt down in her graceful and elegant way, her dark blond hair silky against her shoulders, and rubbed the mother cat’s fluffy head. “You did a good job, Sunshine. You have beautiful babies.”
The mama cat answered with a proud, rusty purr. Her green eyes closed in contentment as she lay curled up on a soft blanket in her basket with newborn kittens sleeping against her.
“Girls, come close and see but don’t touch yet. Just one at a time,” Mom instructed in her kind way. “Chelsea, you first.”
Mom’s touch was warm and comforting, guiding Chelsea down beside her onto the warm tile floor. Currents from the furnace ruffled the edge of the blanket and puffed warm air across her face as she knelt, forefinger out, simply aching to touch those wee, fragile little beings. She’d never felt anything as soft as she stroked a white paw. Her whole heart melted like butter on a stack of hot pancakes.
“What do you think, baby?” Mom asked. “Which one do you like?”
“I dunno. I like ’em all.” She touched a little black paw and then an orange striped one. The newborns didn’t stir, sound asleep, tucked safely against their mama’s tummy. She loved every one of them so much.
“Too bad you can’t have ’em all.” Dad chuckled, with toddler Johanna on his hip, all dark curls and big, curious brown eyes. “Can you imagine? A house full of girls and kittens?”
“No, don’t even put the idea in their heads, Grant. Honestly.” Mom’s lilting chuckle made everyone smile, even four-year-old Meg clinging to Dad’s pant leg. “We’ll start with two. Two Christmas kittens. You get to pick one, Chelsea. Sara Beth, your turn. Gently now, with just your finger.”
“Yes, Mommy.” Sweet Sara Beth knelt beside Chelsea, her cute face serious as she traced a kitten’s tiny foot. “I pick the snowy one. She’s just like Christmas.”
“I like the orange one,” Chelsea decided, gazing at the itty-bitty feline face scrunched up in sleep. “She’s like my Christmas stocking. Striped.”
Mom and Dad’s laughter evaporated as the memory faded. Chelsea blinked, finding herself seated in her car, the past long gone, and the defroster blowing. Her chest ached with a mix of love and loss for what once was. Mom felt so far away, wherever heaven was, and she swiped at her eyes, surprised to find them damp.
Michael’s snazzy SUV rolled by in the dark evening, the dash lights illuminating his perfect profile. Don’t do it, she told herself. You don’t have to help him. It isn’t your business. He was smart enough to make it through medical school, he’s smart enough to pick out a kitten.
But what did she do when she put her car in gear? Did she head left out of the lot to go home? No, she went right, following the flash of Michael’s taillights on the shadowed side street. Helping him was the right thing to do. He did so much for sick and defenseless children. He shouldn’t have to pick out his daughter’s Christmas gift alone.
* * *
Michael spotted the sedan in his rearview. What was Chelsea—Dr. McKaslin—doing? His forehead drew tight with the force of his frown. He called her, keeping his attention on the icy road. His vehicle did a slow-motion halt at the intersection. He listened on speaker to her phone ring and watched her in the rearview mirror, able to see the soft shine of her hair and the heart-shape of her face through the glass.
“Hello, Michael.” Her alto held a businesslike tone.
Businesslike, he could do. “Hey, you’re following me.”
“It’s a total coincidence.”
“Is that so?” He checked the light—still red—and focused on his mirror again. “You just happen to be going my way?”
“Something like that. I haven’t seen Mrs. Collins in some time. Thought I should drop by.”
“Mrs. Collins? Oh, right. The lady with the kittens.” He glanced up to see the green light shining at him. Not sure how long it had been that color, he checked the intersection before creeping ahead. It wasn’t proof Chelsea—Dr. McKaslin—distracted him. He was just...what was the word? Grateful. That was it. Grateful she wanted to help out. “It’s nice of you to take time out of your evening.”
“I told you. I wanted to check in on Mrs. Collins anyway. She’s a longtime client of my family’s vet clinic. It seemed like a good idea.”
“Okay.” He heard what she didn’t say. Maybe what she couldn’t. Behind the cold wall around his heart, he felt a pinch of gratitude. It was nice she wanted to help him, but why did it have to be her?
“Turn left at the next intersection,” she advised.
“Got it.” His jaw clamped tight as he slowed and signaled. When he flicked his eyes up to the mirror, there she was, signaling in the lane behind him.
She really was very beautiful. Why couldn’t he stop noticing?
Eyes ahead, pay attention to the road, don’t look back, he told himself, crossing the lane of traffic and rambling down the snowy residential street. He spotted the house on the corner a block in, swathed in multicolored lights. He parked at the curb.
“I got some more info from Johanna.” Once she’d parked, Chelsea picked her way toward him, her keys in hand, elegant as poetry in the faint shine of the overhead streetlight. Surrounded by white, wrapped up in navy wool and a red scarf, she made a breathtaking picture. “The kittens will be ready to leave their mama in two weeks, on Christmas Eve day. Is that perfect timing or what?”
“Perfect,” he muttered, thinking of her.
“Why, hello there, little Chelsea McKaslin all grown up.” A woman opened the front door, her oval face friendly, her hair a bob of silver. “I haven’t seen you since your college days.”
“I haven’t been around much since then. It’s good to see you.” Chelsea led the way up the steps and into the light. “I’ve been a tad busy in the meantime.”
“Becoming a doctor, yes, I’ve heard all about it. Your dad does nothing but boast about his girls every time I’m in the clinic.” Kindly, Mrs. Collins stepped back, holding the door for them. “Brr, it’s cold out there. Come in where it’s warm. You must be Dr. Kramer.”
“It’s good to meet you, ma’am.” He stripped off his gloves in the heat of the house. The Craftsman-style home boasted impressive woodwork and a Christmas tree lit up in front of a bay window. More colorful lights flashed and glowed. “I guess you know why I’m here.”
“Your little girl wants a kitten for Christmas.” Mrs. Collins’ brown eyes glimmered with approval. “And what fine kittens they are, just like their mama. I’ve got two kittens left, just adorable as can be. Follow me into the laundry room. I have to keep them contained so they don’t get into trouble and hurt themselves, the dear things.”
; A few steps through the kitchen, where the scent of bread baking filled the air, and the older lady opened a door. Inside was a very large laundry room and a comfy basket with a calico cat curled up in it, presumably Mrs. Pickles. Six-week-old kittens in various colors sped across the tile floor after a rolling toy ball with a bell in it. All five of them looked up at the newcomers, abandoned their game and romped over with friendly curiosity. They were so little. What kind of care would a kitten need?
“Oh, what sweeties.” Beside him, Chelsea settled on the floor. Kittens tumbled into her lap, reached their paws up her sweater and tried to climb onto her shoulders. “Hello, there. How could anyone choose just one of you?”
Their tiny answering mews drowned out her low, musical laughter. She scooped up a calico and cradled it against her cheek, her gentleness so beautiful he couldn’t find the words to describe it.
“Everyone has a home except for the little calico you’re holding, Chelsea, and this little guy.” Mrs. Collins pointed out a black kitten with a patch of white on his belly. “He’s a love. The tip of his ear is missing. He was born that way, but with extra heart.”
“Poor little guy.” Chelsea scooped the black one up with her other hand. He snuggled her cheek, eyes full of love. “You’re so cute.”
What should he do? Michael frowned. Macie distinctly wanted a white kitty, or, more recently, a gray striped one like the McKaslin’s cat, Burt.
These two were neither.
“How can anyone frown when they’re standing in a room of kittens?” Chelsea shook her head, scattering her thick silken hair.
“Call me gifted,” he quipped. “I don’t know which one to pick. She wanted a striped one.”
“It’s a dilemma.” She set the little ones down and gave a nearby cat toy a toss. The little blue ball rolled, the bell inside jingled and all five baby felines bounced after it, tails up, ears perked, eyes bright. Five sets of wee paws pounced. “The black kitten is a love, the calico is sweet.”
