number and they’ve got mine.”
“You’re mad because I didn’t give you my phone number?”
“I realize you don’t want anything to do with us,” she said, lifting her chin and fixing him with a steady glare.
He backed up and leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as she went on. “True,” he said.
“But since we’re each other’s only neighbors—only us and the Bartletts out here on this dead-end road—we have to keep each other’s best interests in mind.”
“And you think having my phone number would be in your best interest?” he asked, studying the intensity in her face.
“It would also be in your best interest,” she continued. “What if I saw that your cattle got out on the road next time and went clear out to the highway? I could call you and tell you before they caused an accident, and...”
“It’s nearly a mile out to the highway and I guarantee you my cows are too lazy to walk that far.” It occurred to him that this was the most ridiculous argument he’d ever been involved in. “That was only an example of why it’s important to be able to keep in touch.” She clammed up, obviously preparing more arguments. He couldn’t wait to hear what they were.
“I see,” he responded. “You may be right and— Aaagh!” He scooted past her and made for the hose attached to a water pipe at the front of the house.
“What are you doing?” She followed him down the steps.
Caleb picked up the hose, turned the faucet on full-blast and aimed it across the yard. “I’m trying to keep a worthless tomcat away from my barn cats. The mama has had two litters since I’ve been here.”
“You mean she hasn’t been spayed?”
“No. Apparently, along with being a lousy cattleman, I’m a lousy cat owner.”
“Yes, you are. That’s completely irresponsible. The feral cat population in this county is already out of control. If she’s had two litters and each of them is responsible for a litter, that could end up being hundreds more cats. Why haven’t you taken care of this?”
His lips tightened and his eyebrows pulled together in a ferocious frown. The argument became too personal. “Don Parkey took the kittens to his clinic, spayed and neutered them, brought two back to me and put the rest up for adoption, but he couldn’t catch the mother because, first of all, she is feral, and second, she and the other two know there’s a pack of coyotes roaming the area, so they all pretty much stay up in the rafters. And, no, I don’t know how the tomcat has stayed alive to keep coming to pay her conjugal visits.” He stopped and pointed to his bad leg. “And, obviously, I can’t catch her, either.”
In a flash Laney’s expression went from annoyance to embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
When he saw pity drench her eyes, he looked away. That was what he hated—someone feeling sorry for him. And worse, someone wanting to do things for him that he used to be able to do without a second thought.
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