Animal Attraction: Buckhorn Ever AfterImagine Me and YouGimme ShelterPartner in Crime

by Lori Foster

  “And can you set Lola on the floor, please?” Erica added when he was on the way back. “She’ll want to follow us and will hurt herself if she tries to get down on her own.”

  Dean wasn’t entirely sure where they were going, but Erica seemed to have a clue, which was more than he could claim. And as long as she knew what to do with the half-drowned little kitt-lets he’d found tonight, he was willing to follow her just about anywhere.

  Reaching up, he scooped the tiny brown dog from the counter. The rhinestones on her collar sparkled in the light as her pink tongue swiped out to lick the side of his hand. With a smile, he patted the pup’s head, then lowered her to the floor. She immediately joined her much larger, furrier companion in prancing around Dean’s feet.

  “Sorry about that,” Erica apologized. “They get kind of excited about company.”

  “It’s all right with me,” he told her with a grin. “I’d much rather have them sniffing than biting.”

  Erica grinned back. “Oh, they won’t do that until you try to leave.”

  Then she tipped her head and moved farther into the house. “Come on, we need to grab some things.”

  Dean—along with his two new best friends—trailed along behind. Her town house had the same basic layout as his, so he was able to take in some of the photos and artwork on the walls, as well as the pet paraphernalia scattered here and there—a dog bed, a scratching post, a chew toy left on the stairs.

  More interesting, though, were the cartoon goldfish swimming around on her white cotton pajamas. They covered her from shoulder to wrist and waist to ankle, but didn’t do a damn thing to hide the shape of her ass or sway of her hips. That was something he actually had noticed from afar. But then, he was a man, and a shapely rear tended to trump eye color any day of the week.

  Completely oblivious to his inappropriate ogling, she led him to a hall closet and opened the door, still cradling the kittens to her chest. Removing a couple of towels, she handed them to him, then squatted down and pulled out a plastic container about the shape of an oversize shoe box.

  “Can you get that, too?” she asked.

  He leaned down to pluck it off the floor before following her back the way they’d come.

  This time, she led him into the living room, where a movie had been left on Pause. He didn’t recognize it, probably because the spot where it had stopped showed a current romantic comedy starlet snuggled up to an abnormally handsome guy, and Dean liked his movies more along the line of car chases and fiery explosions.

  Erica took a seat at one end of the sofa, the two dogs immediately flanking her. The big one sank to its haunches on the floor right beside her; the little one stretched to put its front paws on the cushion beside her leg, trying to get a look at what was inside the towel.

  Dean took the other end of the couch, placing the plastic container between them and snapping off the lid. “What is all this?”

  “Kind of a pet first-aid kit. Stuff that comes in handy when you find a stray or can’t get to the vet right away.”

  With her giving him occasional instructions, they managed to get a heating pad set up, a fresh, dry towel spread on top and pillows propped around. Even he could see that she was making a bit of a nest for the kittens before she opened up the cocoon they were already in and moved them to the warmer, drier bedding. They squirmed and cried when she did it, just about breaking Dean’s heart.

  “How old do you think they are?”

  “Two or three weeks. Their eyes are open, which is good, but they’re awfully skinny. Being out in the cold and rain didn’t do them any good, either. Come on.”

  Despite the late hour and already being tired from a full day’s work before he’d even found the kittens, Dean was fascinated by Erica’s knowledge and efficiency. She hadn’t panicked when he’d appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night, hadn’t gotten flustered when he’d shown her what he’d found and had begged for her help. She’d simply let him in and gone about doing what needed to be done.

  Now, she moved to the kitchen and started digging around in cupboards and drawers. He went along to see what she was doing, but kept glancing over his shoulder to be sure the tiny trio was okay. Thankfully, they were snuggled together again, and the dogs didn’t seem to be bothering them. Still, he didn’t want to let them out of his sight for too long, just in case.

  At the counter, Erica opened a can of moist cat food to scoop a spoonful into a separate bowl, then moved to the sink and added some water.

  “I don’t have kitten formula, but if I water this down enough, it should work. At least to get them through the night.”

  After fixing up the first bowl, she made another. Passing one to him, she led him back to the sofa, then spread out a clean hand towel, lifted one of the mewling kittens onto it and wrapped it up like a baby.

  “Here,” she said, moving up beside him.

  It was probably the totally wrong moment to notice, but she smelled like apples, especially when her ponytail whipped around and brushed his shoulder as she was situating the little gray kitten in his arms.

  “What are you doing?” he nearly croaked.

  “I told you, I’m going to need help.”

  He heard rather than saw the smile in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

  Reaching into her box of supplies, she removed an eye dropper smaller than his pinky finger, next dipped it into the bowl and sucked up a portion of the cat food mush. Positioning the kitten just so, she placed the tip of the eye dropper at its mouth and slowly squeezed. As soon as the kitten got a taste, its tongue darted out and it began to swallow.

  “They’re probably old enough to eat on their own, but depending on how weak they are and how long they’ve been without food, this is a faster way to get something into them.”

  The kitten was eating to beat the band now, although Dean could see that he probably wasn’t quite ready yet to eat dry or even straight-from-the-can moist food on his own. There was too much sucking motion going on, as though the poor thing had barely been weaned.

  “How do you know all of this?” he asked, newly—or maybe continually—impressed.

  “Experience,” she replied simply. “We get a lot of kittens at the shelter. Some of them are really young or sick or both. And I’ve had to nurse a few of my own from time to time.”

  After refilling the dropper and handing it to him, she straightened and waited to see how he did on his own.

  “Think you can handle it?” she asked, moving the bowl of food into a better position on his lap while the kitten remained tucked into the crook of his arm, practically upside down like a baby.

  “Yeah,” he said, surprised that he actually meant it. “I think I’ve got it.”

  “Good.” She returned to the other side of the couch, picked up a second kitten—the all-black one—and began its feeding. “Too bad there aren’t three of us. We could get them all done at once.”

  He’d been thinking exactly the same thing. He felt sorry for the last kitten, which was wiggling around, mewling slightly. Probably missing the warmth of his litter mates and wondering why his belly was still empty.

  Before he knew it, though, the kitten he was holding stopped lapping at the dropper and seemed to fall asleep. Eyes closed, breaths deep and even.

  “I think this one is done,” he told Erica.

  “Great. Put him back on the heating pad, and pick up the other one.”

  “You trust me to do that on my own?” he said, only half teasing as his gaze strayed to the black kitten snuggled up to her, right about at breast level. Lucky cat.

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure you can handle it,” she answered, offering an encouraging smile that lifted her lips and brightened her eyes. “After all, you’re the one who saved them in the first place.”r />
  Fifteen minutes later, all three were fed and snuggled back together in their makeshift bed. They looked warm and healthy and comfortable. A nice change from the drowned-rat appearance they’d had when he’d first discovered them.

  “So now what?” Dean asked, feeling like there should be more to do. How could they go from a near-emergency situation to perfectly calm and settled in under an hour?

  “Well,” she breathed, leaning back against the softness of the overstuffed striped sofa and letting out a long sigh. “It’s up to you. We can finish watching this movie or watch something else, if you prefer. Or we can try to get a couple hours of sleep before the little darlings have us up again.”

  “We?” he mimicked, eyes going wide. And then, “They’re going to be up again in only a couple of hours?”

  To his surprise, Erica chuckled. “Welcome to parenthood, Daddy. Since they were so cold and neglected, they may actually sleep most of the night. But chances are, they’ll be up soon enough, hungry or needing to use the potty. Speaking of which...”

  With a bit of a groan, she pushed herself up and wandered off again. Too curious to wait until she got back, he got up and followed.

  She was in the kitchen, kneeling in front of one of the cupboards and digging around inside.

  “What are you doing this time?” he asked aloud, standing back with his legs apart and his hands on his hips.

  “Baby-proofing,” she said, her voice echoing from inside the cupboard and the crack of her head resounding through the kitchen like a gunshot as she climbed out...but didn’t quite make it.

  * * *

  Ouch! Stars swam in front of Erica’s eyes as she dropped to her butt on the linoleum floor. It wasn’t the first time she’d banged her head on the edge of a cupboard or the counter, but it was definitely the most embarrassing.

  Bad enough Dean was seeing her in the middle of the night...with her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail...and her pale face clean of makeup...and in her goldfish pajamas. Now she had to fall into klutz mode and knock herself half-senseless while he was watching.

  Crap, crap, double crap. The words ran through her head in time with the throbbing at the back of her skull.

  “Are you okay?”

  His low voice came to her from entirely too nearby. She cracked open one eye—reluctantly—to find him crouched beside her, concern bracketing his emerald gaze.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she honestly didn’t know if it was due to the concussion or the fact that he smelled so darn good. This close, he smelled like a waterfall. Like the fresh rain he’d waded through to save a trio of abandoned kittens.

  Her heart gave a kick of desire, and she was pretty sure her uterus clenched. Was there anything sexier or more attractive in the world than a man who put himself out and went the extra mile to rescue an animal in need? Certainly not to her.

  Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Maybe I should think about baby-proofing the kitchen for myself,” she muttered.

  He chuckled at her self-deprecating comment before catching her under the elbows and lifting her to her feet. The motion trapped the air in her lungs, and it had nothing to do with her recent head injury. She exhaled a breath, waiting for the out-of-her-depth feeling to subside, only to realize that as long as this man was around, it probably never would.

  “You don’t want to know how many times I bang my head on the underside of the cars I work on. Or scrape my knuckles.”

  He held out a hand for her to see, and sure enough, three of the five knuckles held some sort of cut or scrape. And the ones that weren’t still red were crossed with tiny white scars. Strangely enough, even though his injuries were gained at work while she was simply accident-prone, his admission made her feel better.

  Leaving her propped against the countertop, he bent down to retrieve the items she’d been searching for—a plastic tablecloth and an aluminum brownie pan.

  “I know you’ve got some brilliant plan in mind for these things, but I’m new to this, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to clue me in.”

  “Makeshift litter pan,” she told him, grabbing the square of aluminum and heading for the hall closet where she kept the cat litter. A minute later, brownie pan three-quarters full, she carried it and the tablecloth back to the living room.

  She draped the plastic tablecloth across the width of the sofa and slid it beneath the towel where the kittens were resting, doing her best not to disturb them. Then she rearranged the pillows, blocking them in until they and the homemade litter pan were surrounded.

  “I don’t know if they’ll figure out the litter pan right away, but if they’re strong enough to give it a try, they’ll be able to get in and out over the low sides. And if not...” She pulled a face. “Well, any accidents will hopefully stay on the towel and not soak through to the sofa because of the tablecloth.”

  “Aren’t you worried about that?” Dean asked.

  This was the part where people—and men in particular—tended to think she was crazy and started to distance themselves from her.

  “Sorry to break this to you after you’ve already sat down, again, but it wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s had an accident on this couch.”

  She held up one hand in a word-of-honor gesture. “It wasn’t me, I swear. But nothing stays nice forever when you have pets—or kids, for that matter. Eventually, it all gets peed on, pooped on, thrown up on, scratched or broken.”

  Rather than jump up from his end of the sofa the way she’d expected, the corners of his mouth curled up, and he stretched out even farther, resting his arm along the curve of the back.

  “That’s an interesting attitude. I suppose it keeps you from getting overly attached to things that, when you think about it, can always be replaced.”

  A spark of warmth ignited in her chest. Yes. It was almost as though he got it...and didn’t think she was strange for putting her pets first and material items—including the condition of her house and furniture—second.

  “That’s always been my feeling,” she said carefully.

  He didn’t respond to that, merely nodded.

  At least it wasn’t a flat-out rejection.

  Not that she was interested in him.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She’d been “interested” since the first time she’d spotted him strolling up the walk toward his town house, head down as he’d flipped through a pile of mail.

  Something about his rugged appearance had heated her blood. The casual jeans and jacket layered over a button-down over a T-shirt. His long loose-hipped stride. Every time she looked at him, her pulse jumped, and her temperature rose by at least fifteen degrees.

  Of course, that didn’t mean he had any interest in her. In fact, she’d be willing to bet he didn’t.

  Until tonight, until he’d needed her, he’d likely thought of her as just another neighbor. One who kept to herself and surrounded herself with pets rather than people, but not one worthy of pursuing in a passionate man-on-woman way.

  Too bad. Even if it was only a short, meaningless fling, she would have liked to have this man on her woman for a while.

  The images that filled her head at that thought nearly had her melting into the sofa cushions. Good thing she’d thrown down the plastic tablecloth.

  Dean cleared his throat, as though he sensed the direction of her errant thoughts. Erica licked her lips and struggled to get the pounding of her heart under control. And then he spoke again.

  “So...correct me if I’m wrong, because I don’t want to assume anything here, but...when you mentioned catching a few hours of sleep earlier, were you inviting me to spend the night?”

  Chapter Two

  Erica’s tongue felt like a wad of cotton inside her mouth. That’s exactly what she’d said, so technically he was right—she had invited hi
m to spend the night.

  But somehow, when he said it, it sounded so much...more. Teasing. Suggestive.

  Tempting.

  The thought of the two of them rolling around in bed together...or on the floor, or on the sofa once they moved the kittens, she wasn’t picky...caused heat to flare in her cheeks. She couldn’t let him know the effect he had on her, though, so she cleared her throat and shifted slightly, praying he wouldn’t notice the sudden flush of her skin.

  “Sure,” she murmured, hoping she sounded normal, confident, nonchalant. “I mean, if you want to go back to your place and get cleaned up or change clothes or something, that would be all right. I just...”

  When in doubt, fall back on the helpless feline excuse. “I just don’t want you dumping these guys on me, then going home and forgetting about them.”

  His brows squeezed together, and when he spoke, he sounded genuinely offended. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  She let out a breath, chest loosening as her opinion of him rose another couple of notches. Too many people had a “not my problem” mentality and wouldn’t have thought twice about doing just that. Dean doing what he’d already done and not walking away afterward made her fall a little bit in love with him.

  Which wasn’t good, since her hormones were already slamming against one another, and she’d just invited him to sleep over.

  “I still don’t know what the heck I’m going to do with them, but I wouldn’t just dump them on you,” he added.

  “I appreciate that. And, yes, you’re welcome to stay. You can even use my shower, if you’d like to get out of those damp clothes.” She frowned. “I’m just not sure what I can offer you to change into.”

  Dean shook he head. “That’s okay, I’m practically dry already. I wouldn’t mind kicking off my boots, though.”

  She waved a hand, silently inviting him to do just that.

  “And I thought I smelled popcorn when I first came in. Any chance I can get some of that to munch on while we watch the rest of your movie? I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”