one of those pet carriers or a box to transport the cat. If the beast clawed its way out of his arms, chances were the scared feline would bolt away and be tough as hell to catch again. Apparently he wasn’t adept at animal rescue.
That was Megan’s expertise.
The thought of seeing her again sent anticipation coursing through him as each step brought him closer to the single-story brick structure. Heaven knew he could use a distraction from life right now. For six weeks, ever since they’d shared that kiss after the tornado, he’d been looking for an excuse to see her, but the town had been in chaos clearing the debris. Some of his properties had been damaged as well. He owned multiple apartment buildings and rental homes all over town. And while he might have a lighthearted approach to his social life, he was serious when it came to business and was always damn sure going to be there for his tenants when they needed him.
He’d thrown himself into the work to distract himself from the biggest loss of all—the death of his good friend Craig Richardson in the storm. It had sent him into shock for the first couple of weeks, as he grieved for Craig and tried to find ways to help his pal’s widow. God, they were all still in a tailspin and he didn’t know if he would be in any better shape by the memorial service that was scheduled for after Thanksgiving.
So he focused on restoring order to the town, the only place he’d ever called home after a rootless childhood being evicted from place after place. And with each clean-up operation, he thought back to the day of the storm, to clearing aside the rubble in the day care.
To Megan’s kiss afterward.
Sure the kiss had been impulsive and motivated by gratitude, and she’d meant to land it on his cheek. But he would bet good money that she’d been every bit as affected by the spontaneous kiss as he was.
Granted, he’d always been attracted to her in spite of their sparring. But he’d managed to keep a tight rein on those feelings for the three and a half years he’d known her because she’d made it clear she found him barely one step above pond scum. Now, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that the chemistry was mutual. So finally, here he was. He had the perfect excuse, even if it wasn’t the perfect time.
And Megan wouldn’t be able to avoid him as she’d been doing since their clash over the site where she’d wanted the new shelter built. A battle he’d won. Although from the sleek look of the Safe Haven facility, she’d landed on her feet and done well for the homeless four-legged residents of Royal, Texas.
Tucking the cat into his suit coat and securing her with a firm grip, he stepped into the welcoming reception area, its tiled surfaces giving off a freshly washed bleach smell. The waiting area was spacious, but today, there were wire crates lining two walls, one with cats, the other with small dogs. They were clean and neat, but the shelter was packed to capacity. He’d heard the shelter had taken in a large number of strays displaced during the storm, but he hadn’t fully grasped the implications until now.
The shelter had a reputation for its innovative billboards, slogans and holiday-themed decor, but right now, every ounce of energy here seemed to be focused on keeping the animals fed and the place sparkling clean.
He closed the door, sealing himself inside.
The cat sunk her claws in deeper. Whit hissed almost as loudly as the feline and searched the space for help. Framed posters featured everything from collages of adopters to advice on flea prevention. Painted red-and-black paw prints marked the walls with directions he already knew in theory since he’d reviewed the plans during his land dispute with Megan.
A grandmotherly woman sat behind the counter labeled “volunteer receptionist.” He recognized the retired legal secretary from past business ventures. She was texting on her phone, and waved for him to wait an instant before she glanced up.
He swept his hat off and set it on the counter. “Morning, Miss Abigail—”
“Good mornin’, Whit,” the lady interrupted with a particularly thick Southern accent, her eyes widening with surprise. The whole town knew he and Megan avoided each other like the plague. “What a pleasant surprise you’ve decided to adopt from us. Our doggies are housed to your right in kennel runs. But be sure to peek at the large fenced-in area outside. Volunteers take them there to exercise in the grassy area.”
She paused for air, but not long enough for him to get in a word. “Although now I see you’re a cat person. Never would have guessed that.” She grinned as the calico peeked out of his suit jacket, purring as if the ferocious feline hadn’t drawn blood seconds earlier. “Kitties are kept in our free roam area. If you find one you would like to adopt, we have meet-and-greet rooms for your sweetheart there to meet with your new feline friend—”
“I’m actually here to make a donation.” He hadn’t planned on that, but given all the extra crates, he could see the shelter needed help. So much of the post-tornado assistance had been focused on helping people and cleaning up the damaged buildings. But he should have realized the repercussions of the storm would have a wider ripple effect.
“A donation?” Miss Abigail set aside her phone. “Let me call our director right away—oh, here she is now.”
He pivoted to find Megan walking down the dog corridor, toward the lobby, a beagle on a loose leash at her side. He could see the instant she registered his presence. She blinked fast, nibbling her lip as she paused midstep for an instant before forging ahead, the sweet curves of her hips sending a rush of want through him.
Her bright red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He ached to sweep away that gold clasp and thread his fingers through the fiery strands, to find out if her hair was as silky as it looked. He wanted her, had since the first time he’d seen her when they crossed paths in the lawyer’s office during the dispute over a patch of property. He’d expected to smooth things over regarding finding an alternate location for the new shelter. He usually had no trouble charming people, but she’d taken to disliking him right away. Apparently her negative impression had only increased every time she perceived one of his projects as “damaging” to nature when he purchased a piece of wetlands.
He’d given up trying to figure out why she couldn’t see her way clear to making nice. Because she had a reputation for being everyone’s pal, a caring and kindhearted woman who took in strays of all kinds, ready to pitch in to help anyone. Except for him.
“Megan,” the receptionist cleared her throat, “Mr. Daltry here has brought us a donation.”
“Another cat. Just what we were lacking.” Megan’s smile went tight.
He juggled his hold on the fractious fur ball. “I do plan to write a check to cover the expense of taking in another animal, but yes, I need to drop off the stray. She’s been wandering around in the woods near my house. She doesn’t have a collar and clearly hasn’t been eating well.”
“Could have been displaced because of the storm and has been surviving on her own in the wild ever since, poor girl. Animals have a knack for ditching their collars. Did you take her to a vet to check for a microchip?”
“I figured you could help me with that. Or maybe someone has come by here looking for her.”
“So you’re sure it’s a girl?”
“I think so.”
“Let’s just pray she’s not in heat or about to have kittens.”
Oh, crap. He hadn’t thought about that.
Megan
