was grunting and groaning, but he managed to get the three tiny kittens out fairly easily; it was the mother cat who proved a problem. She had stirred slightly when Quinn extricated her babies, but when he tried to ease her out by her back legs she suddenly found a burst of strength and dug her claws into the side of a log. There followed a careful tug of war before she seemed to fall comatose again, and then, with a little delicate manoeuvring, she followed her kittens.
Candy raced round to the back of the shed, shining the torch on Quinn’s legs as he slowly, very slowly, edged backwards with the sack half cradled under his arms. The hawthorn bush didn’t want to let go of its prize gracefully and there were more growls of pain and irritation before he was finally sitting upright with the sack in front of him.
‘Oh, Quinn.’ She was mortified at the sight of him. His face and his hands were ripped and bleeding and the back of his jacket, which had taken the brunt of the hawthorn’s unrelenting attack, was in shreds. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘What?’ And then, as he realised what she had meant, ‘Don’t worry about a couple of scratches; let’s get this little lot inside and see what’s what. I put my case down in the potting shed; bring it in, would you?’
Once in the warm cottage, Quinn carefully put the rough sack down on the thick rug in front of the blazing fire and they gently opened it up to reveal the sorry little quartet.
Now, in the bright light, they could see the female cat was a pretty little tortoiseshell, but just skin and bones, and the only time she lifted her head to see what was going on was when Quinn removed the kittens one by one to examine them and they mewed a plaintive protest at being taken from the smell and warmth of their mother.
‘They’re only a few days old; their eyes aren’t open yet,’ Quinn muttered as he placed each of the tiny felines into the cardboard box Candy had brought her groceries home in. ‘But they all seem pretty healthy, although they’re alive with fleas. Let’s have a look at Mum.’
Candy sat back on her heels and watched Quinn as his big hands moved tenderly over the pathetic creature, his brow wrinkled as his battle-scarred bloody fingers carefully probed and prodded. The cat made no objection to his inspection, indeed it hardly seemed aware of its surroundings, apart from the several glances at the box where the kittens were still verbally making their displeasure known.
‘Well, it isn’t feline enteritis.’
His voice brought her back from her rapt contemplation of his big shoulders and broad chest under the black denim shirt he was wearing—his tattered coat having been discarded before he began his examination of the patients—and she had to blink rapidly before she could say, ‘Is feline enteritis bad?’ She had never really come into contact with many animals and didn’t have a clue as to their ailments.
‘The worst.’ Dark, glittering eyes looked up and into hers for a moment. ‘Even today, with the full range of modern antibiotics, we can do little to fight it once it’s got a hold, and if this cat is feral she could have well been suffering from it. As it is…’ He paused, then, leaning back from the limp animal, said, ‘She seems too docile to be feral. Of course she’s exhausted and starving and very young, little more than a kitten herself, but I’ve known feral cats who would fight with their last breath. It could be the confinement was hard for her and she was virtually starving before she gave birth, and once the kittens were born and she was feeding any nourishment would go to her milk, making her even weaker. I’ve got a feeling—’
He stopped abruptly, and Candy said, ‘What? What is it?’
He continued somewhat reluctantly, ‘I’ve got an idea she might have been a domestic pet who got thrown out when the owners realised she was going to have kittens.’
‘Oh, no, surely not?’ Candy was horrified. ‘People wouldn’t be so cruel.’
‘You would be surprised.’ It was very grim. ‘And, like I said, she really is very young.’
‘She’s not going to die?’ Candy asked urgently.
‘Not if I can help it.’ His eyes were narrowed as he glanced down at the supine animal. ‘No, not if I can help it.’
All his interest and energy was centred on the cat and her kittens, so how come she was vitally conscious of every movement, every muscle, every expression of his? Candy asked herself desperately. She didn’t want to be; in fact if she never felt a spark of interest for any man ever again it would suit her down to the ground, so how come Quinn Ellington had got under her skin as he had? Mind you, she had read somewhere ages ago that women were naturally drawn to doctors and consultants and veterinaries—men who were powerful in their own field, strong, decisive, but with the compassionate, protective side their vocations demanded—so it was probably just that. And with his striking good looks and physical build… Yes, it was that—it wasn’t Quinn as a man, a person.
‘…help me?’
‘Sorry?’ She flushed hotly as she realised Quinn had been speaking and she hadn’t heard a word.
‘I said I’m going to give her a couple of injections and then try getting some food down her. Normally I’d sedate her slightly and put her straight on a drip, but it might make her anxious and it’ll be difficult with the kittens. Once I’m satisfied she can travel I’ll take her back to the surgery and leave you in peace.’
‘Oh, no, no.’ And, at his raised eyebrows, ‘I mean, I can look after her here. If you think it’s possible, of course.’
‘I’m not sure. It depends how she responds in the next hour or so,’ Quinn said quietly. ‘And even if she responds well a cat and kittens is quite a commitment on time and energy. I don’t like to see kittens leave Mum until they are about eight weeks old, so you’re talking a couple of months of hard work, and then there’s the task of finding them all homes—including the female.’
‘I know, I know.’ She hadn’t, but somehow it was suddenly terribly important that she take care of the little family and help them. She couldn’t have explained it, even to herself, but she needed to do it. To bring good out of a bad situation. And added to that she had to admit that this solitude wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
She didn’t want human companionship—definitely not, she told herself vehemently—but animals were different.
The cat took no notice when the needle went in, and soon she was ensconced with the kittens in Essie’s oval wicker washing basket on top of Quinn’s big thick quilted coat—‘It’s only an old one I use for work, so they might as well have it,’ he’d offered. Quinn made up some of the highly nutritious cat food for feeding mothers and special powdered milk for kittens which he’d had the foresight to bring with him, and managed to get a few spoonfuls of food down her.
Candy fed the kittens, one by one, with the small feeding bottle Quinn had brought, and she had never enjoyed herself so much in all her life. Their tiny, ravishingly beautiful faces and tightly shut eyes were enthralling, and the way they slurped at the bottle was indicative of how hungry they were.
‘I think you found them just in time.’ Quinn had moved from the other side of the blanket to sit beside her on the rug as she fed the last of the three, his body inclined towards her—which forced Candy to acknowledge her own awareness of him.
She continued to concentrate very hard on the tiny mite in her hands, but he was bent close enough for her to scent his male warmth and it was difficult. Much more difficult
