like the playboys who frequented the bar. He never hit on women. Heck, he barely even seemed to notice them. Difference was, Jude had only ever insulted Ryanne while Earl had only ever supported her. But then, Earl had loved her unconditionally, valued her and built her up, never tearing her down. He’d taught her that family didn’t have to be flesh and blood, or have legal ties.
Rubbing her burning eyes, she stood. Wobbly legs managed to get her into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, showered while sitting on a special bench she’d had made for times just like this, when she was too lazy—uh, tired, she meant tired—to stand. She applied lotion and dressed in a tank, a pair of faded jeans and flip-flops. She opted not to spend time drying her hair or applying makeup. Mornings sucked. No reason to dress up for one, even to attract a man.
If Jude didn’t like the look of her when she dressed-down, well, he wasn’t the one for her, after all. No matter how much she wanted him. Better to find out sooner rather than later.
After eating her favorite breakfast—Chips Ahoy! dipped in coffee—she tidied up her apartment, then slung a bag of trash over her shoulder. She made her way outside. Ugh. The sun! Too bright!
Eyes watering, she quickened her pace. As she turned to head back inside, a bottle rattled behind the Dumpster, and she paused, her brow furrowed. “Hello?”
As usual, the homeless were gone. Mornings and afternoons were often too hot here, despite the shade. Loner and friends would return in the evening, after the sun had set and the bar had opened.
Ryanne padded forward, searching...there! A morbidly obese cat was curled into a ball. He was black with white markings, his fur matted and dirty. Spotting her, he lumbered to his feet. Then he whimpered and sat back down, because “he” was actually a “she,” and very pregnant, her nipples distended.
Mierda! The little darling looked ready to pop.
“Something wrong?”
Though she’d detected no footsteps, the masculine voice came from directly behind Ryanne, and she yelped, her hand fluttering over her hammering heart. Jude.
She spun. When her gaze landed on him, her breath snagged in her throat. Okay, so, the sun wasn’t the enemy today but a welcome companion. Light illuminated him, painting him in shades of amber, gold and bronze. He looked like a fantasy come to startling life, a punk rock Prince Charming who’d stepped from the pages of an erotic fairy tale. His pale hair possessed a hint of wave this morning, and his jaw had the shadow of a beard.
Once again he wore a black T-shirt, plain and simple, dark jeans and combat boots. Those boots had a slight bulge on each side, a bulge she recognized. Holsters for guns.
A leather band circled each of his wrists. One hand held a duffel bag while the other held a briefcase. He was both street hardened and business savvy, the sexiest combination on earth.
“I don’t mean to stare,” she said, “but my hormones are busy giving you a standing ovation. Gold star for today’s wardrobe selection, Mr. Laurent.”
He shook his head, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “Excuse me?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want me to excuse you?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Were you thinking inappropriate thoughts about me...the way I was thinking inappropriate thoughts about you?”
His frown contained notes of confusion and uncertainty. “Let’s go inside. We have a lot to discuss.”
Any other time, she might have pressed. Ignore me? Get asked more invasive questions. This morning, seduction had to wait. “Do me a favor and use your big, strong man-muscles to bring this cat inside.” She motioned to the feline even as she planned her next move. Call Brett Vandercamp, the only vet in Strawberry Valley, and convince him to give the cat a home. Call Lyndie. She’s a schoolteacher, and today is Sunday; she’ll be home. Request any supplies she’ll need before Dr. Vandercamp is able to take the cat.
Food...but what else? A litter box? Ryanne had never had a cat. Or a pet of any kind. Not even a goldfish.
Jude approached her, his limp less pronounced than it had been last night. After taking in the situation, he foisted off his bag and case on Ryanne and carefully gathered the cat close to his chest. “Only you would have a bar named the Scratching Post and a pregnant cat hiding in your alley.”
Okay, this was the sexiest combination on earth. A surly man with a soft heart for animals. Her ovaries joined her hormones, clapping and cheering.
With a gulp, Ryanne led Jude upstairs and into her apartment. Along the way, she phoned Brett. He promised to swing by on his lunch break but, to her dismay, he turned down her plea to keep the cat. His facilities were overcrowded.
“You can take her to a shelter in Oklahoma City,” he added. “It’s only a two-hour drive.”
Force the cat to have her babies in a cage? “No way.”
“There’s nothing either of us can do to help her, anyway,” Brett replied. “Nature will take over, the cat will have her babies and no human intervention will be necessary. You’ll see.”
So she should just twiddle her thumbs? “Tonto del culo,” she spat, and hung up.
“Fluent in Spanish,” Jude muttered. “Good to know.”
“Do you know what I said?” Translated literally, the words meant an idiot of the ass. It was her mother’s favorite curse.
“Don’t care. Tell me about the vet.”
Through clenched teeth, she relayed Brett’s cruel shelter idea, then set Jude’s stuff on the couch. Nervousness set in, and she chewed on her bottom lip. What next?
Ugh. She knew how to take care of herself. Broken down car? No problem. Leaky pipes? She’d grab a wrench. She’d always rolled with the punches life delivered. But this? Caring for a pregnant cat? Shudder.
“Make a pallet on the floor,” Jude said. “Use blankets or towels, whatever you have available and don’t mind ruining.”
A bed. Duh! She hurried to obey, selecting blankets—they were softer. When she finished, he settled the cat in the center.
“I grew up on a farm.” Jude rubbed his temples, lines of tension branching from his eyes and mouth. “I can ensure this beautiful little girl has a safe delivery here in your apartment.”
Oh, thank the good Lord! And oh, wow, it was difficult to imagine rough, tough city-boy Jude as a farmer. “Thank you.”
“She’s got a few days to go. Maybe even a week.” Jude gave the living room a single visual sweep.
She suspected he’d taken in everything at once, noting any changes since his last visit, when he’d helped her take care of a drunken Brock. What did Jude think of her furnishings and embellishments? She’d picked pieces to represent different cultures throughout the world. A throw from India draped a Victorian settee. A French side table displayed a Moroccan vase, an Egyptian bowl filled with blown glass fruit and an elephant figurine hand-carved in Africa. A landscape of the Scottish Highlands hung on the wall.
Nothing
