by Unknown
“No way,” she whispered, taking in the beautiful arched cast-iron fence that bordered the entire perimeter of the space. “It’s beautiful.”
She couldn’t believe it. Unlike the Paws and Claws Day Spa, and many of the other shops on Main Street, this shop had a yard. Not large by any standard, but cozy and peaceful, completely draped in pink and orange bougainvillea and what appeared to be a million twinkle lights. It was as though she was walking into the pages of Pride and Prejudice.
“I don’t want to touch it!”
At Mr. Russell’s bark, Shay walked farther onto the patio, shocked to find a table covered in enough silk and lace to pass for the biggest panty raid in Napa County, and four guests already gathered around. Well, three guests digging through neon-rainbow G-strings, a duck with a bone in its beak, and one reluctant host sitting at the head of the table.
“Mr. Russell,” Shay said, going over to check his wrists for restraints, only to find a box of battery-operated equipment in his lap. “Are you okay?”
“Of course he’s okay,” Ida said, picking up the teensiest pair of panties Shay had ever seen and rolling them into a ball. A quick flick of the wrist later and it looked like a rose.
“I most certainly am not,” Mr. Russell said, taking the box off his lap and slamming it on the table. A muffled hum echoed off the wood surface. “They told me that I couldn’t leave until I priced each and every item in there.”
“If he thinks he can help himself to my electricity,” Clovis spat, “then he can help with the merchandising as well.”
Mr. Russell was squat, with owl-like eyes and more hair on his face than his head. He was also looking at the latched gate in the back, as though judging the most direct path between him, the panty raiders, and freedom.
Norton flew up on the table and waddled right up to him and flapped his wings as if to say Go ahead and try it.
“Thank God, you’re here,” Peggy whispered, clutching a pair of vinyl panties to her chest so tightly that the fabric looked ready to burst at the seams and send the little metal studs scattering. Peggy looked ready to come apart too. She obviously wasn’t big on kidnapping and blackmailing.
“Without the restraints I didn’t think we’d keep him here much longer. Then he started hollering for the sheriff.” Peggy leaned in and lowered her voice. “I was afraid Ida was going to tie him up with some unmentionables and then gag him with one of those balls Clovis sells in her shop.”
This was not good. There was no way a man who’d been tortured with unmentionables for the past hour was going to cut Shay any kind of deal. And she felt that familiar panic, the one that always came when everything was about to change, well up inside of her and take hold.
It was silly. An hour ago Shay wasn’t even sure she wanted to open a shop, but suddenly she wanted this shop with all of her heart.
Wanted to try on St. Helena and see if she fit.
Wanted to see if maybe she could find what she’d been searching for here—maybe even with Jonah. Mostly, though, she wanted to see her animals find good homes. In order to do that she had to take the plunge.
Only she didn’t think Mr. Russell wanted to plunge into anything. Not with Shay. Not today. Maybe not ever.
“Mr. Russell. I am so sorry about this.” Shay took his arm and Norton started acting cagy, pacing back and forth, not sure if he should attack or retreat. “If you’d like me to walk you back inside, maybe we could talk about the lease sign hanging in the window.”
“The man isn’t going anywhere,” Clovis said, resting a hand on his shoulder and shoving him back in the chair. “Tomorrow I’m having my Toys of the World half-yearly blowout. I’ve already priced those ones over there, so that means he’s got one box left.”
Meaning Shay had about five minutes to explain her situation, get him on board, and negotiate terms that would have to be well under the asking price, all while the man was putting stickers on—she looked at the box—Down Under vibrators.
“Or you can just let the girl have the space and we’ll call it even,” Clovis said, pulling out a Wom-Batter and setting it on the table directly in front of Mr. Russell. She activated the On switch and it vibrated toward Mr. Russell, sending pink and purple strobe lights flickering off the fence and leaves.
Quark!
Norton, feathers in flight position, took off chasing the lights. Every time it buzzed, Norton responded.
Buzz. Buzz.
Quark! Quark!
“You people are insane.” Mr. Russell stood right before the Wom-Batter would have jiggled itself into his lap. “Fine, she can have the space. Two-year lease, no more, no less. If it works out, we can renegotiate the terms then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Russell,” Shay said, afraid to ask what that two-year lease would go for. Even though the place was perfect in theory, getting it to work as a functioning shelter would take time and money. She was pathetically short on both. “What kind of terms were you thinking?”
He threw out a number that was on the high end of what she was hoping, but she had enough to last her three months. Making rent after that would be a stretch, but if she got creative and started selling Cuties with Booties merchandise, it was a number she could work with.
“You’re responsible for all utilities, tenant improvements, and you can move in as soon as you get me the security deposit, which is equivalent to two months’ rent—ow!” He looked at Clovis, who was holding her cane and smiling angelically.
Mr. Russell rubbed his shin, then continued, one eye on Clovis, the other on her cane. “No security deposit.” The cane lowered. “But first and last months’ rent, plus the utilities and all tenant improvements are her responsibility.”
The three panty raiders looked at Shay expectantly—although Clovis was swinging her cane like a billy club. It was clear; they were there for her, willing to do whatever it took to help her make this a reality. And that alone made Shay’s heart roll over.
“Then we have a deal.”
At the time Jonah’s alarm clock was supposed to be going off, he found himself standing at the foot of his bed in full gear, tired and pissed off. Tired because A) it was dawn and B) he’d had one hell of a week. The pissed off part was because all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for the next twelve hours, but he only had six before his next shift started—and he’d just come off a double.
There were barely enough guys to cover the required shifts, so when someone took a personal day it meant someone else had to step up. Last night, that someone had been Jonah. So instead of his normal ten-hour haul, he’d pulled two tens, back-to-back. If he planned on being any kind of useful, he needed sleep.
Too bad his bed was currently occupied by a two-pound fleabag and every pair of dirty socks he owned. The socks were now snagged and punctured like dead carcasses, and the cat, he was on Jonah’s favorite pillow, faking sleep.
“We talked about this yesterday, the bed is off-limits.” They’d talked about it again last night when he’d swung by to give the shit his meds and found him burrowed at the bottom of the bed, Jonah’s sheets a tangled, lumpy mess.
Jonah had called Shay. She’d sent him to voice mail. So he’d made it more than clear that he needed to know when she was going to pick up her cat. She’d texted back, “Soon.” That was two days ago.
Obviously no one took him seriously.
Jonah grabbed the squirt bottle and aimed. “I mean it. I used to be SWAT. Still hold a few records for accuracy and distance.” Kitty Fantastic opened one eye, then closed it. “Fair enough. One. Two.” Squirt. “Fuck!”
Even though Jonah was rated out to a thousand yards, the cat outmaneuvered him, moving at the last second to God knew where. All Jonah had accomplished was getting his pillow soaked. But at least the cat was off his bed.
So spent that standing was too much, he hung his utility belt on the hook by his nightstand, his uniform went on the floor, and he fell into bed. He didn’t bother to pull the sheets back or remove the forest
of mangled socks. He just flipped his pillow over to the dry side and closed his eyes, groaning at the sensation of not being in motion.
The next time he opened his eyes, his room was light, his body felt like he’d been hit by a semi, and something was sticking him in the leg. Sitting up, he found a shredded frond from his potted palm resting against his thigh, little soil paw prints marking the entire perimeter of his comforter—and pillow—and Kitty Fantastic curled up asleep in his gun holster.
How he’d managed to get up the utility belt and wedge himself in there was beyond Jonah, but he was pretty sure the little fucker had used his claws—with glee.
Knowing it was still early, but not caring, Jonah threw on jeans and a T-shirt and marched across the street. He rapped on Shay’s door, surprised when she answered so quickly.
She wasn’t in her pajamas, looking like he’d just awoken her from the best sleep of her life. Nope, Dr. Dolittle was in another one of those skirts she was so fond of, this one white with a little drawstring, and a bright yellow top that tied behind her neck and did incredible things to her cleavage. Hair pulled up into a ponytail, lips glossy, no shoes.
“I got it,” she said, bouncing on her toes and twirling in place. Her skirt didn’t have enough give to fly up, but it caught enough wind to make him forget why he was angry. “Mr. Russell sent over the lease and keys last night. Keys,” she said, her face lighting up, “for my own place.”
She closed her eyes and paused as if letting that statement settle, and he felt something else entirely settle in his chest. Something warm and heavy that scared the shit out of him.
“I am meeting with the contractor in thirty minutes to see what needs to be done.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.” Jonah didn’t know what shocked him more, that Mr. Russell had agreed to finally lease out his shop or that Shay was taking a bold step that would keep her here, in St. Helena. He wasn’t sure how long she’d stick, or how he felt about that.
Her smile faded. “Wow, you look awful. Like you should go back to bed.”
“That’s why I’m here. I seem to have a bit of a problem in the bedroom.”
Shay choked back a laugh and it came out sounding like a snort.
“Jesus.” He ran a hand down his face. “I meant that Kitty Fantastic isn’t so fantastic. In fact, I haven’t slept in three days.” Okay, part of that was the job and part of it was thinking about Shay, but the cat wasn’t helping matters. “I woke up to half of my palm tree in my bed.”
The other half he’d spotted on his recliner.
“That is so sweet,” she cooed, her hand on her heart.
“Sweet? The damn thing tracked soil all over my bed.”
“It was a gift, his way of saying he accepts you as part of his family.”
Jonah had enough family, and spent a good deal of his time avoiding them. He didn’t need to add one more to the mix. “I need to sleep, Shay.”
“Of course you do.” With a serene smile, she clasped her hands in front of her and pitched her voice as though talking to a six-year-old. “But keep in mind, palm tree branches are like a toy to your cat.”
“You mean your cat.”
There went that smile again. “I can’t have any more cats, remember, Sheriff? At least not until I get St. Paws opened.”
“It’s not Sheriff or Detective, it’s Deputy. And how long will that be?” She opened her mouth to respond and he added, “And don’t say soon.”
She closed it.
“I need a time frame, Shay.”
She considered him and the situation for a moment. “Well, I need a full month to get the shop up and running, but unfortunately I only have twenty-three days left to find homes for my current fosters. That’s the downside of being a repeat offender over the legal limit.” She looked him in the eye and he felt the warm morning air press in around him. “So my final answer is twenty-three days.”
Hell no. He stepped back. “I can’t do this for twenty-three more days.” He couldn’t do this for twenty-three more minutes. The only quiet place in Jonah’s world was his house. And that cat was the antithesis of quiet. As far as Jonah was concerned, Kitty Fantastic was the Antichrist cloaked in fur.
Shay stepped out onto the porch and rested a hand on his chest, and he admitted, silently to himself, that she was also his quiet place. She was also staying, apparently, which added a whole new level of complication to their already complicated situation.
Knowing she was a tumbleweed at heart, who would eventually roll herself right out of town, made it easier to maintain his distance. Knowing she was staying? Well, that changed everything.
“Of course you can’t,” she said, sympathetically. “Nobody could.”
He was pretty sure Shay could. The woman shied away from nothing—except him. Which was why he’d come over here thinking that this was going to be a battle. Relieved to see that it wasn’t, he stepped back and was about to offer to go and get the cat when she said, “Hang on,” and shut the door in his face.
He waited a good long minute. When she still didn’t come back, he knew he’d been played. She was probably running out the back door, bolting for freedom as he stood there on her porch in bedhead and potting soil. Then the door swung open and Shay stuck a stick in his hand. It was about a foot long and had a couple of colored feathers attached to an elastic string.
“What’s this?” He shook it and it jingled. From inside the house a dog barked.
“A bonding toy. It will make him feel as though he belongs in the space.”
“He doesn’t belong. It’s my space.”
“Before you go to sleep, wiggle this around on the bed for about ten minutes,” she said, undeterred. “Kitty Fantastic will be so tired he’ll curl right up and pass out.” She leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the lips, nothing big but it still left him rocked, which was how she was able to say, “Gotta go. Call if you have any questions, and good luck,” before closing the door in his face again.
This time she didn’t come back. Even when he rang the bell three times and knocked twice, sending the dogs into a barking contest. On the last rap, Ms. Pricket poked her head out the upper window. Even though she was in a bathrobe with curlers in her hair and toilet paper wrapped around her head, she sent him a scowl as though he was the one violating the morning.
He looked at Shay’s front door one last time and sighed.
“Rookie mistake,” he mumbled, walking back across the street, the feathers dragging on the asphalt, a jingle sounding with each step he took.
He should have brought the cat with him.
Later that night, Shay sat in the barber chair and stared down at the plaster and dust covering her skirt—her favorite white eyelet skirt. It was less depressing than looking at the contractor’s estimate Peggy had brought over. There was no way she could get all of this done with her limited funds.
“I’ve got a few bucks saved for a rainy day,” Peggy offered, placing a gentle hand on Shay’s.
“I can’t take anything else from you,” Shay said. The older woman hadn’t even batted an eye when Shay explained that she might need to break her lease and move out of Peggy’s rental if this was going to work. She gave Shay a hug, then offered to lower the rent until Shay got the rescue up and running. “Maybe it’s not too late to call Mr. Russell and tell him I changed my mind.”
“It can’t be that bad.” Harper set down her gyro—compliments of Emerson and the Pita Peddler—and picked up the estimate. Her only response was a low whistle.
“Not helping,” Shay said.
“Right, sorry.” Harper put on her best let’s get down to business face and really looked at the numbers. “Okay, well, if we do all of the demo and painting ourselves, it would save us,” she closed her eyes and mumbled, “nine, carry the one, add the six.” She handed Shay the paper back. “Just over two grand.”
“And I bet with your girls’ help, we could get it done in three or four days,” Peggy said, looking around
the room, assessing it with the eyes of someone who had done a remodel or two in her lifetime.
“When did St. Paws become a ‘we’ and an ‘us’?” Shay asked.
Emerson snorted. “For Harper, it was the second she said hi and you said hi back. One semismile and she becomes a barnacle of friendship and rainbows. You collect strays, she collects people. You’ll get used to it, cat lady.” She shrugged.
“I can never say no to a worthy cause,” Peggy said and Shay wasn’t sure if it was because, like her, Peggy couldn’t say no to an animal in need, or if she meant that Shay was the worthy cause. Either way it warmed her heart.
“As for the demo,” Emerson said, double-fisting a crowbar and a baseball bat she’d dug out of her truck. She gave the frame a little whack, then kicked it with her boot. Hard. The old wood was no match for her steeled toes and came loose at the bottom. “I bet we can get it done by the end of the weekend.”
Harper clapped her hands once, then looked around the room. She located a piece of cardboard in the far corner and, with markers that materialized out of thin air, got busy. Two seconds later she held up a stellar drawing of a giant thermometer with twelve lines—the first two already colored in.
“See, two grand closer to the goal. And to be clear, I only attach myself to awesome people.” Harper leaned into Shay and gave her a big hug. Then she moved on to Emerson, who just accepted it with her hands at her sides.
Not sure about the awesome part, Shay busied herself looking at Harper’s handiwork. It was like one of those fund-raising growth charts that would hang in a third grade classroom and had a cartoon trench coat with a scarf and dancing limbs.
“Well, when I add the cages, pet supplies, and carry the nine,” Shay said, adding another two lines to the thermometer, “it seems that we have to find another ten grand before we reach the big smiley trench coat at the top.”
“Oh, we’re going to reach the Coat Crusader,” Harper said, totally convinced.
“Coat Crusader?” Shay asked.
“Oh yeah.” Harper nodded.
