Rick glared down Luis Rodriguez, the source of the wolf whistle. "No smoking in here," he growled, enforcing a rule that most of the guys ignored.
"Sure. Forgot about that." Luis grinned, stuck the cigarette between his teeth, and headed for the door. As he stepped past the staircase he glanced up and made a curvy shape with his hands. "Looking good, Rick."
"Outside."
"I'm going."
Jennifer obviously hadn't missed Luis's comment. She stopped about six feet up the iron staircase and snickered.
If she was trying to hold her mirth back, she failed miserably. Her chuckles deepened to a solid laughter. "I think maybe you're right," she gasped. "This is a classy place." She reached for another step but misjudged and tottered.
Without thinking, Rick reacted, leaping up four steps at once. He scooped Jennifer up before she could either fall or catch her balance.
She felt small and helpless to him as he cradled her in his arms. She hardly weighed anything and he felt as if he could carry her for hours. Hell, if he thought he could get away with it, he probably would have. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman this badly.
"I'm all right." Jennifer continued giggling. "I just lost my balance for a second."
So much for gratitude. Not that he was due any. His motives had been purely ulterior.
"The stairs are pretty steep and one of them is loose. Besides, this isn't any trouble." He was only partially lying. It wasn't particularly difficult to carry her up the stairs. Putting her down once he got to the top, now that would be hard.
***
In teenage dreams, Jennifer had imagined Rick carrying her across the threshold into his house. In those dreams, the house had been a mansion and the threshold act had been the logical conclusion to a beautiful wedding. This wasn't a mansion, of course, but her fantasy was flexible.
She let her eyes flutter closed. It was only a harmless fantasy, one that was in no danger of coming true. Rick couldn't afford to spend his time taking care of her even if she wanted that. Based on what she'd seen of his truck and where he lived, Rick should be at work right now, not carting her around like someone who had nothing else in the world to do.
Still, she savored the sensation of Rick's strong arms around her and let herself press her face against his hard chest.
He didn't even seem to notice her weight as he climbed the steep circular staircase, unlocked a door at the top of the stairs, and carried her inside.
Rick also didn't seem to notice the symbolic significance of his actions. "We're here," he announced.
She opened her eyes. "Oh. It's sort of nice." She didn't know what she'd imagined. Maybe black velvet paintings, bean-bag chairs, and a couple of cases worth of empty beer bottles scattered over the floor. Instead, she saw a perfectly functional and basically neat living room. And it was cool! The only thing that made it even a little tacky was a pair of tattoo.com posters on one wall.
What was his deal with tattoos? She wondered. He didn't even have one, not that she could see. She couldn't suppress the naughty notion of undressing him and making sure he didn't have a tattoo hidden somewhere behind the T-shirt, under the work boots, or maybe...
"Thanks for the backhanded compliment."
"I've just read about men's houses. About how--" she broke off. She'd assumed Rick was alone. What were the odds of that in man-hungry Dallas?
She looked around, wanting to explore, to learn what made this new Rick tick, and see if she could quash her sudden fear that any minute now, the little woman would appear around a corner.
At least there were no obvious female markings on Rick's home.
As far as she could tell, his apartment consisted of the entire upper half of the old fire station. He'd put some sort of a cover or trap door over the hole in the floor where a brass slide-pole led downstairs. The fantasy of sliding down that pole caught her mind and she tried to suppress it. She had a pretty good idea what her college psychology professor would make of that idea.
When it had been a fire house, a whole crew of firemen had spent their lives here. Why did it seem so crowded with just her and Rick?
Rick set her down on a couch and she sank into it savoring the butter-soft texture of the brown leather while missing the even warmer sensation of his arms around her. She set down her cat carrier. The two cats inside were asleep, seeming to sense they were safe.
"Do you want a soda or anything?" he asked.
"Once I get the rest of the cats, I've got to use the phone and figure out what to do next." She had to stay focused.
"Coming up. If you don't want soda, I'll get you some water. You might have gotten dehydrated out there in the sun."
She started struggling back to her feet but Rick stopped her. "Sit. I'll bring it to you."
That did it. He was treating her like she was a helpless invalid just because she'd lost her balance laughing at him. She got up, got her own drink of water, then snagged his phone from a small table in the dining room.
"You said I could use your phone, right?"
He waved her question away. "What's mine is yours."
"Thanks." She'd run out of likely places for both her and the cats, but if she could just find someone to watch over the animals for a few days, she could easily find a place for herself.
"How about if I--"
"Do you really want to help me?" Jennifer interrupted whatever he'd been about to offer next.
Rick looked at her like she'd broken out in green polka-dots. "Well, yeah."
"Help me bring up the rest of the cat crates. Even in the shade, it's too hot out there for them, and they've been cooped up long enough."
"You just make your calls. I'll get the cats." He gave her a funny look.
For an instant, she couldn't figure out why. Then she realized. "You don't like cats very much, do you? They're really easy to have around, they don't smell, and they take care of themselves."
Rick raised one eyebrow. "If they're so good at taking care of themselves, how come there's a Cat Rescue League?"
Before Jennifer could answer that question, he'd vanished down the stairs.
Jennifer found a boarding house with an empty room on her first call. Unfortunately, they didn’t accept animals. Finding a friend that would take even one or two more cats wasn't so easy. She was feeling increasingly nervous when Rick stomped up the iron stairway carrying three wiggling boxes full of cat.
She almost squealed when she saw him lugging all of those heavy plastic carrying cases at once. Annie and Nick, having crawled out of cardboard box, clung to the front of his T-shirt. "Be careful. Cats are so easily traumatized."
Rick gave her a skeptical look, then set down the crates and opened the latches to give her cats the freedom they craved.
"I need a beer." He strode to the kitchen. When he returned, he pulled a comfortable looking chair toward the couch and sat.
He stared across the distance separating them, then took a long pull on his beer.
"Are you done with your calls? Do you want me to order a pizza?" he asked.
Jennifer's stomach gurgled just as she started to tell Rick that she wasn't hungry. She glanced at her watch only to discover that the day had gotten away. It was already evening.
"Pizza sounds nice. Oh, and by the way, do you have a newspaper?"
"You want to leave it out for your cats? That big yellow one is giving my cactus an evil look."
"I'm out of friends. I'm looking for cat sitters."
"What about the Internet?"
"The Internet?" she repeated. "Do you know how many con-men troll for victims on the web? I'm not leaving my babies with some guy who wants to eat them for dinner." She hated the Internet after what it had done to her father, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Rick gave her a strange look. "Can I order the pizza first?"
Her stomach gurgled again. "Maybe you'd better. Do you still like--"
"Sausage and mushroom," he interr
upted. "Deep dish. That okay with you?"
Her mouth watered, and she nodded.
An hour, eight calls, and three slices of pizza later, she decided to take another tack on her problems.
"There's a place near Schilling's where I could rent by the week," she told Rick.
"Hey, great. That's less than a mile from here--"
"Wait." She didn't want him to go on about how great it was before he heard the catch. "They don't allow pets."
Rick looked at her like she had gone insane. "No."
Hecate, her black Persian, strolled over and sniffed at Rick's boot-clad feet. Hecate had been abused before coming to Jennifer and had never willingly shared a room with a human other than Jennifer herself. Now she actually seemed to like Rick. Could this be a sign? Maybe Jennifer could help Rick learn how wonderful kitties can be. His apartment would make a perfect home for cats.
"It'll only be until I find someplace more permanent."
"No."
"I'll come over every day and take care of them."
Rick took another deep swallow from his beer bottle, then set it down on the coffee table. Hera, a gray tabby, rubbed up against his leg, then sharpened her claws on his jeans.
"Hera, stop that," Jennifer ordered.
The cat just glanced at her, then continued her business.
Rick shook his leg gingerly, trying to loosen the animal without hurting her.
Jennifer had to give him credit. She knew guys who would have kicked away the cat without worrying about what happened to it. Guys that should be put away for life.
"I know I'm asking a big favor," she started over.
Rick reached down and peeled claws out of his leg. "Can I say something without you laughing at me?"
Jennifer couldn't imagine laughing at Rick. "Of course."
"I learned how to swim when my mother shoved me off a boat and pointed me to the shore. I hated it. I don't think I want my first, uh, animal companion experience to be taking care of ten cats."
"But--"
"I already told you, I've got room. So stay here until you find a place for you and your cats? We might even have a little fun." He winked.
Was he serious? Or just trying to rattle her cage? If Jennifer hadn't been so desperate, she would have gathered up her cats and walked out. But she didn't want to spend the night on the street--and that was her only other choice.
"One night," she said succinctly. "And no fun."
Chapter Three
Jennifer awakened to the muffled sound of shouting. That it was muffled wasn't a surprise--Ios, her Siamese, was being a hat-cat again. She peeled Ios off her head and sat up, scattering cats everywhere.
Another shout. It was definitely Rick.
Despite the Texas summer heat, a chill ran down her back. Rick was in trouble. He'd said he trusted the men who worked in the garage, but could he really? The few she'd seen looked more like criminals than mechanics.
He’d let her, and her cats, stay in his place so she owed him. If Rick was in trouble, she had to help him.
She sprang out of her futon, glad she'd worn a T-shirt to bed.
She'd reached the door before a painful surge of reality hit her. Without a weapon, she would be about as useful to Rick as dentures to a cat.
Before she'd gone to bed the previous night she'd noticed the white metal box in the corner of Rick's office. With luck it would contain something useful like a hammer or a pipe wrench. She grasped the lid and raised it.
Wishful thinking again. Instead of a toolchest, the thing turned out to be a freezer.
Tough. She was in a hurry. She closed her eyes and reached in grasping a clublike object.
Another blood-curdling shout from below wrenched her into action. Her club smelled suspiciously like a frozen fish, but it would have to do.
The old fire pole looked like the fastest way down. Jennifer jerked up the trap door Rick had fashioned over the fire pole and wrapped her legs around the cool brass. Half a second toying with the idea of gripping the whole frozen fish in her teeth was way too much.
Just outside, she saw Rick and another man. The man swung a heavy looking stick at Rick's head.
Rick ducked, then pulled back. He had obviously been awakened from his sleep because he wore nothing but a pair of white canvas pants. His upper body gleamed with sweat and, although he'd slipped that last stroke, an angry red inflammation marked one of his upper arms and proved he hadn't always been so lucky.
Her heart went into her throat. My man in trouble.
The thought was absurd, of course. She had no claim on him. Still, she felt like a mother cat called on to defend her family.
The stranger attacked again, barely missing Rick with a thrust with one end of the stick toward Rick's head, then connecting with a follow-up kick to his abdomen.
Rick grunted and pulled away.
The two men breathed heavily and made feinting motions. All of their concentration was on one another.
Jennifer wouldn't have a better opportunity. Gathering all of her strength, she rushed at the assailant, hoping Rick would distract him long enough for her to get in one solid blow.
She closed the distance quickly, holding the fish-club with both hands at one hip like a tennis player's two-handed backhand. She was already swinging, the full hundred and fifteen pounds of angry woman behind that five pounds of frozen fish, when Rick's attacker finally noticed her.
At the last possible instant, the stranger twisted out of the way and shifted that big stick he'd been using faster than she would have dreamed possible. It caught the fish, yanked it from her hands, and catapulted it directly into Rick's head.
Rick fell like a condemned building being dynamited from within.
"Lady, are you nuts?" Looking horrified, the stranger grasped Jennifer's arm, swung her around, then thrust her to the ground. "Stay there."
If it had just been her and the stranger, Jennifer would have been terrified enough to do exactly what the man ordered. But it wasn't just her. When Rick's assailant strode over and knelt down next to Rick, Jennifer forgot her fears.
The man had dropped his stick when he'd shoved her down. Jennifer silently picked it up and held it in front of her so he couldn't reach her.
The attacker looked up from Rick's body and glared at her. "I thought I told you to sit still." He grasped the other end of his club and yanked on it.
Hanging on seemed like a good idea and she did, grimly.
It turned out that wasn't the smartest plan after all. The stranger swung her around like a yo-yo and deposited her on the ground once again, legs sprawling into the air. A clammy cold penetrated her T-shirt. She'd landed directly on the fish.
"Don't get me wrong," Rick's voice was so soft she had to lean toward him to hear. "I like it a lot. But next time you want to meet one of my friends, maybe you'd better wear panties."
***
Rick's head throbbed, but that wasn't all that made him a little uneasy. Perhaps that blow to the head had been more serious than he'd imagined. For some reason, Jennifer's obvious concern, not to mention a rather refreshing look at the rest of Jennifer, made the pain bearable.
"You know this woman, Sensei?" Eric demanded.
"I'm afraid so, Yudangi."
"I'm Jennifer Hollman," Jennifer told Eric. "If you're such good friends, how come you were trying to kill him?"
Eric looked confused. "Kill him? He's my best friend."
Rick broke in before things really went downhill. "I should have told you, Jennifer but you just grumbled when I knocked on your door this morning. We practice our Tae Kwon Do first thing every Saturday." He paused for a moment then decided he'd better continue. "I assume you were trying to rescue me rather than participate in our work-out."
Jennifer looked at him like he'd gone crazy.
"If you're staying with Rick for a while, you might want to join us," Eric added. "It's a great workout and a lot of fun. Plus good bonding for couples if you know what I mean."
/> Rick wondered if he should correct Eric's obvious misunderstanding of their relationship. Since he couldn't figure out a way to say anything without getting Jennifer mad at him, he kept his mouth shut.
Jennifer shook her head slightly as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Let me see if I understand this. You hit each other with sticks and you think it's fun. Then you wonder if I'd like to join you? Have I got it right?"
Eric grinned. "It's been sticks up to now but you may be on to something. Sensei, you never told me about frozen-fish-fu."
"Sensei?" Jennifer asked.
"Teacher," Rick explained.
"Oh."
It had been like Jennifer to come to the rescue again, Rick realized. He figured her frozen fish attack hadn't done any permanent damage, although his record bass would never be the same.
Of course his head still ached like a son of a gun, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would continue to ache as long as Jennifer hung around. The pathetic thing, he decided, was that he didn't really mind.
Rick stood without using his hands, wobbled, then sat back down, hard. "Maybe we'd better call it a day, Yudanji."
Jennifer took a deep breath and moved toward him.
Rick realized he'd just made a big mistake. When Jennifer was in a rescue mood, any sign of weakness was blood in the water for a shark feeding frenzy.
"Rick?" She held a cool hand to his forehead like she was afraid he might have a fever.
Well, in a way, he supposed he did. Jennifer had always hotted him up.
"I'm all right," he insisted. "I just stood up too fast and the blood went into my legs." He was babbling, but out of a sense of self-preservation.
"Let me have a look." Jennifer peered into his face. "Open your eyes wider."
"They're green. Surely you remember that."
Her own blue eyes looked warm, inviting. He could fall into eyes like that.
"I'm trying to see if your pupils are dilated."
He signed. "I told you, I'm all right."
"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Eric offered. Rick's friend was backing away fast. Probably afraid, Rick realized, that he would be next.
Truth about Cats Page 3
