I bend down and scratch behind his ears, taking care to avoid his squinty-eyed glare. “You’ll have to wait, pal, so chill.”
The girl on the stairs doesn’t bother to turn around, apparently disinterested in human-cat interactions.
I find Nick in his office, slumped over his desk in a pose not unlike the girl on his back stoop and plop down in a chair next to his desk. “There’s a Goth girl sitting on the steps. Know anything about her?”
He heaves a huge sigh. “Yeah, she’s my daughter and the reason I called you.”
I gasp in surprise. “You have a daughter?”
He rubs his bristly chin. “When she was four, her mom and I got divorced. My ex moved to Minneapolis, took the kid with her. I had visitation rights, twice a year. It worked for a while. When she got older, she didn’t want to come out here. I should have insisted, but I took the easy route and let it go. What did I know about raising a kid? Especially a girl. The pub was brand new then. I was spending hours here, trying to make a go of it.” He pauses and shakes his head. “Big mistake on my part.”
I take a moment to digest the information. “Looks like she changed her mind.”
“Her mother changed it for her.”
“Because…?”
Nick sighs again. “She got kicked out of school. Her mom said she can’t deal with her anymore, that it’s my turn to step up and be a father.”
I know Nick is guilt-ridden, but what the hell is wrong with the girl’s mother? She suddenly decides it’s too much trouble to be a parent, so she throws the kid under the bus and says, I’m all done. You fix her. “What do you want me to do?”
“Damn.” Nick lifts his hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re closer to her age than I am and, of course, you’re a girl, so I thought maybe you could hang out with her, maybe do some girl stuff. Aw, hell, I don’t know.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
“Have you enrolled her in school?”
“I tried, but it’s March and the middle of a semester. She’ll have to go to an alternative program until next fall. Then, if her attendance and grades are okay, she can go to a regular high school.” He pauses and rubs his temples. “From what of I’ve seen of her grades, that scenario doesn’t look promising.”
I feel a pang of empathy for the kid on the back steps. Sounds like she’s a complete disaster, not unlike myself at her age. I say softly. “Does she have a name?”
With a ghost of a smile, Nick stands and strides out of the office. I hear the back door open and a muttered exchange of words. He returns, herding the girl in front of him like she’s an errant sheep returning to the flock. Nick says, “This is my daughter, Ziggy.”
I rise and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ziggy. I’m Mel.”
She doesn’t grip my hand, just gives it a little swipe before jamming both hands into her pockets. “You his girlfriend or something?”
Nick is normally unflappable, but a flush rises in his cheeks.
I step in quickly. “No, I’m a waitress here. Your dad helped me when I first moved to 3 Peaks and didn’t have a job or a place to live.”
She leans against the wall and casts a sideways glance at Nick. “Goody for him.”
I try to keep my irritation from showing. “Actually, it was good of him. Otherwise, I’d have been homeless.”
She shrugs like she doesn’t care. I wait her out. Finally, she lifts her head and gazes into my eyes. Exactly what I hoped she would do. Her soul is a kaleidoscope of colors, indicating the emotional distress she’s experiencing. I see no sign of an evil nature. She’s just a mixed up teenage girl who doesn’t know which way to jump. After an uncomfortable silence, I say, “Ziggy is a very unusual name. Where did it come from?”
The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s trying to hold back a grin. “It’s actually Zelda Ignatius.” She points at Nick. “He can tell you all about it.”
Nick chuckles. “Finally, you’re asking me a question I can answer. My ex wife is Greek and a big time reader. She insisted on naming our daughter Zelda, because she liked the author F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ignatius is the Greek word for fiery one. Early on, we shortened it to Ziggy.” He pulls a wallet from his back pocket, opens it and withdraws a picture. He slides it across the desk. “Check it out. It explains the Ignatius part.’
The photo is tattered around the edges and the colors have faded. But, it’s obviously a younger Nick, smiling broadly and cradling an infant in the crook of his arm. An infant with fiery red hair.
I look over at Ziggy. “So, you’re a red head. Cool.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Ya think so? How about when you get called Agent Orange, Trusty Rusty, Bushfire or Chucky? Is that cool?”
I ignore the attitude. “Actually, I dyed my hair red when I was about your age. Guess we’re never happy with what we’re born with.”
“Whatever.”
I give up on trying to bond with the sullen teen and turn to Nick. “So, is Ziggy all settled in your place? What’s next?”
Nick pushes his chair back and stands. “Um, I need to talk to you about that. In private.”
Ziggy rolls her eyes again. “Okay, I get it. You want me outta here so you can talk like grownups, even though this Mel person looks like she’s about my age.”
“For your information, I’m twenty-three years old which, in case you’re not good at math, is seven years older than you.”
She mumbles, “Whatever,” again, pushes off the wall and leaves the office.
I’m feeling a little guilty for my hostility. Also worried. “Shall I follow her? Maybe she’ll run.”
Nick pulls a battered suitcase out from under his desk. “She won’t leave without her stuff. Cell phone. Purse. Laptop. Clothes.”
“What do you want to ask me?”
“Well, um, since you’re moving out of Number Ten, shall I move her in?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing and catapult to my feet. “A motel room? Are you crazy? She’s sixteen years old! Doesn’t your place have two bedrooms?”
He avoids my gaze. “Well, yeah, but I thought maybe she needed her own space, being a girl and all.”
I blow out an exasperated sigh. “Nick, stop with the girl thing. She’s just a mixed up kid who needs parental guidance.” The minute I utter the phrase parental guidance, I’m horrified. As a teen, whenever I was invited to a party, my mother, Sandra’s default question was, “Will there be parental guidance?’
When did I turn into my mother?
Chapter Three
After Ziggy is settled in Nick’s apartment above the pub, I enlist her, along with Kendra, to participate in cat removal. Nobody on my team is enthusiastic. Because of Nick’s negativity, I make him promise to provide Thunder Paws with a cathouse in case the move doesn’t work out. He reluctantly agrees.
Ziggy is sitting on the front stoop of Number Ten looking sulky as I launch my plan. The pet carrier is on the pavement next to Kendra’s minivan, loaded with an open can of tuna. Albacore, not the cheap stuff. Kendra and I stand nearby, trying to act casual, even though we’re ready to spring into action. Thunder Paws is tempted, but wary. He sneaks up on the carrier, his body slinking low.
“Get ready,” I whisper.
The cat places a tentative paw inside the carrier, then stops and glances over his shoulder at us, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Nice kitty,” I murmur.
He bares his teeth in a snarl and backs away from the carrier.
Ziggy says, “That cat hates you. Why are you trying to move him?”
“He doesn’t hate me,” I say indignantly. “He’s just not very affectionate. All I want to do is give him a good home.”
Kendra says, “He’s an alley cat. He recognizes a trap when he sees one. Otherwise he wouldn’t have survived all these years. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should just let him be.”
I recognize the truth of her statement, but once I embark on a plan,
I have to carry it through. “New plan,” I say. “Billy offered to help me move. Shall I call him?”
Kendra gives an evil chuckle. “Yes, I like this idea. If anyone is going to get scratched, it should be Billy.”
Ever since Billy and I broke up last fall, Kendra has been ticked off at him. Long story. Ancient history.
“Who’s Billy?” Ziggy says. She plunges a hand into the pocket of her hoodie, extracts a cigarette and lighter. She fires it up and inhales deeply.
Kendra and I exchange a glance. I’d like nothing more than to slap the cigarette out of her mouth, but decide the issue can wait until another time. Like when we bond and she learns to love me. Like when hell freezes over and pigs dance the polka.
Kendra, however, chimes in. “My car is a smoke-free zone, so you’d best smoke it down fast.”
Ziggy gestures at the cat. He’s stalking away from the trap. “Looks like I’ve got plenty of time unless you think that guy can catch him. Whoever Billy is.”
I pull out my cell phone.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey, Minnie, what can I do for you?”
I don’t mention Thunder Paws. “Guess I need a little help after all.”
“At your new place?”
“Number Ten.”
“Be right there.”
I don’t mention Kendra or Ziggy because I know the words Number Ten evoke a certain response in Billy the Kid. It’s no different for me. Billy was my first love and, within the walls of Number Ten, we explored each other’s bodies with the heated passion of a brand-new relationship. Until it wasn’t new anymore and, like Snow White, Billy drifted. But the memories linger on.
He drives up in an unmarked city car. The driver side door opens. Billy steps out and removes his jacket, revealing a department-issued gun in a shoulder holster. He’s looking studly in pressed blue jeans that cling to his lean, muscular body and black dress shirt with a couple of the buttons undone. His badge is fastened to his belt. The sunlight catches the auburn glints in his hair. His hazel eyes gleam with anticipation.
Ziggy’s eyes widen. She drops her cigarette and mashes it out with a boot. “He’s a cop? You called a cop to help move the stupid cat?”
Billy grins at me. “Do I need my gun?”
Ziggy nods.
Kendra says firmly, “No guns required.”
Billy unbuckles the shoulder holster and places it on top of his jacket. He steps around the car, grabs me with his left hand, Kendra with his right and wraps us up in a big hug. He lowers his head and nuzzles my ear, whispering, “Who’s the kid?”
I step away from his embrace, trying to ignore my body’s response to his touch. I nod toward Ziggy and make the introduction. Billy looks surprised to hear Nick has a daughter but murmurs, “Nice to meet you, Ziggy. Spending some time with your dad, huh?”
Ziggy grunts, “Whatever.”
Billy ignores her snarkiness and turns to me. He bows from the waist. “How may I be of service?”
Kendra smothers a giggle. “Go ahead and tell him, Mel.”
I explain the situation using all of my limited charms. A dimpled smile. A friendly punch to his shoulder and then the biggy. “Do this for me and I’ll owe you.”
Never one to turn down a challenge and/or a promise, Billy says, “Okay.” He crouches low and calls, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Yeah, like that will work. I’m about to inform him of his wrong-headed thinking when Thunder Paws bounds across the parking lot and flops down in front of Billy. He rolls over on his back, exposing his manly tomcat parts. Billy rubs his tummy. Thunder Paws waves his paws in ecstasy, purring loudly. Billy scoops him up, tosses him into the pet carrier and closes the latch. He loads the carrier into the back of Kendra’s van and brushes the cat hair off his black shirt.
“There you go, Minnie. Anything else, or are we done?”
My mouth drops open in amazement. Kendra’s expression is the same as mine. We’re speechless, an uncommon state of existence for us both.
Ziggy’s face lights up in a genuine smile. It totally changes her appearance. The tough-down-to-the-toenails juvenile delinquent vanishes. A light-hearted, carefree teenage girl appears. It doesn’t last long, but gives me hope for the future.
She says, “You should see your faces. Hilarious.”
“What the hell, Billy,” Kendra says. “Are you some kind of a cat whisperer?”
Billy ducks his head modestly and lifts his hands. “Just one of many talents. Actually, it’s a man thing. The cat knows I’m male, so he automatically bonds with me.”
Kendra says, “You are so full of shit.”
He turns to me with a mischievous grin. “I seem to remember you said something like I’ll owe you.”
“That’s when I thought the task was going to be a bit more challenging.”
He puts his hands on his hips and fake frowns. “You’re going back on your word?”
I flap a hand at him. “Of course not. I’m working tomorrow night. Stop by and I’ll buy you a beer. Not the cheap stuff. A good one from a local brewery.”
He covers the distance between us in two long strides. “I’ve got something else in mind and it won’t cost you a penny.”
Before I can react, he sweeps me into his arms and strides to his car.
“Hey,” I protest.
He sets me on the hood of the car and slides his hands up my arms until he’s cupping my face. “Just one little kiss for your ex-boyfriend and we’ll call it even. Sound good, Minnie?”
I’m incapable of speech. How do I get myself in these situations? Finally I murmur, “As long as it’s just a friendly kiss, not, um, you know, the other kind.”
Part of me wonders what Kendra and Ziggy are thinking. I haven’t heard a peep from either of them, and Billy’s gaze is drawing me in. His soul looks pretty darn spiffy compared to earlier, when he was suffering the ravages of PTSD from his multiple deployments in the Middle East.
He lowers his head until his lips are just a few inches from mine. “I promise it will be super-friendly.”
He tilts my head back and brushes his lips across mine. He draws back and looks into my eyes. “That was just a warm-up.”
My breath hitches in my lungs. “Billy,” I warn. “Dangerous territory.”
“Shhh,” he says.
I open my mouth to protest further, to say something like, “Remember my boyfriend? Remember Mick?”
I don’t get a chance, because his mouth is on mine, demanding, tempting. My body remembers his in so many ways. His hands go to the back of my head and he deepens the kiss. His assault on my senses suspends my ability to think straight and I lean into him, totally enjoying the moment.
Finally, my brain catches up. I push him away and slide off the hood of the car. “I think you went slightly beyond friendly.”
He looks smug. “You always said I was a good kisser.”
I brush imaginary car dust from the back of my jeans. “Are we even now?”
“Sure, unless you have another task for me. Something a little more challenging.”
I totally get what he’s saying and, from his knowing look, he knows I get it. Something more challenging would involve another payment and it would likely require more than a kiss. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. He winks at me.
“No.” I make an effort to get my overactive imagination under control. “We can handle it from here.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
I turn and look at Kendra and Ziggy. “We can handle it. Right, girls?”
Ziggy is staring at me, wide-eyed, mouth agape.
Kendra beams a delighted smile. “I had no idea Billy could be so helpful. Maybe he should follow us over to your new place and unload the cat.”
I know her game. She’d like nothing better than for Billy and me to get back together.
“No,” I repeat again, firmly. “I’m sure Billy has to get back to work.”
Billy looks disappoi
nted, but gives in gracefully and heads for his car. Dazed, I watch him pull out of the parking lot. What just happened here? I’m at a loss for words.
Ziggy is not. “I can’t believe it. You were totally making out on the hood of his car. Is he your boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I mumble.
“No way! I thought you were going to do it right here in the parking lot.”
I rake her with an offended look. “It was just a friendly kiss. For old times’ sake.”
Kendra snickers. “Wait until she meets Mick.”
“Who’s Mick?” Ziggy says.
“Never mind,” I say. “Let’s go. We have a cat to move.”
We pile into the van and Kendra fires it up. Thunder Paws is making ominous sounds, ranging from deep, throaty growls to high-pitched yowls.
Ziggy claps her hands over her ears. “Jesus, that cat is really pissed.”
I assure her it will be a fast trip, a scant half-mile from the pub. Before we pull out of the parking lot, a one-ton pickup with the Rockin’ R symbol drives in. Rick Rathjen is behind the wheel, his son Riley riding shotgun.
Riley spots me in the van and hops out. He opens the minivan door and gives me a big hug. “Hey, girl, I’ve missed you. We need to talk.”
A little voice from the back seat whispers, “Oh. My. God. How many hot guys does she know?”
Chapter Four
Since we’re clogging up Nick’s parking lot, I ask Riley to follow us. Thunder Paws grows increasingly angry, his decibels increasing to a painful level as we inch through slow traffic. Ziggy, in the back seat, bears the brunt of it. She zips the window down and pokes her head through the opening.
Kendra, ever safety conscious, snaps, “What’s wrong with you, girl? Do you want to get beheaded? Roll up the window immediately or I’ll pull over to the curb.”
Ziggy pouts, but complies.
When we arrive at our destination, we all burst out of the car like it’s about to erupt in flames. The Rathjens pull in. I make the introductions and notice Ziggy is checking Riley out. Hmmm. Food for thought.
We sweet-talk the Rathjens into unloading the pet carrier. They place it in the middle of the living room. I make sure the front door is shut and fill his feeding bowl with yesterday’s special at Nick’s, tuna casserole.
Hope and Honor Page 2
