Page 29 of Desperately Seeking Kitty

“How then do you have access to Clint’s phone?”

“He gave it to me. He’s sleeping. He performed surgery last night.” I enunciated each word carefully, hoping she understood the gravity of this situation.

“Oh. Okay. Well, I can call back in a half hour—”

“No! The man needs his rest, for pity’s sake. Give him a break. Do you understand the word surgery? He gave life! I mean, saved a life.”

The woman let out an exasperated breath. “Who exactly are you? Is this Emma?”

Who the hell was Emma?

“Absolutely not. I’m Katherine,” I snapped. “Last night was our first meeting. He wouldn’t even sleep with me.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my mouth was running faster than my brain could process. That was typically a no-win situation.

Not that I’d ever been in a situation quite like this before.

Maybe he didn’t want to sleep with me because of this Emma. Was she petite and sweet and blond? Maybe she was his ex-girlfriend. Perhaps even his ex-wife.

She had to be an ex unless she was a secret. He’d said he’d been alone for a while, hadn’t he?

But men lied. I knew that all too well.

Leaning against the wall, I rubbed my head to try to dispel the cobwebs growing by the minute. I needed sleep. Lots of sleep.

The woman on the other end of the line let out a long sigh. “Okay, look, I don’t know who you are, but this is Clint’s number so I have to assume—”

“You know what they say about assuming. It makes an ass out of you and me.”

“Give me that, Kitty.”

I startled and jerked away from the wall to peer up at Clint, looming over me looking deliciously sleep-rumpled and gorgeous. His scruff had thickened too, unless I was imagining things.

At this point, I wasn’t even sure.

How had I had the bad luck of finding a super-hot dude with a cat? I would’ve preferred just an ordinary, average sort who didn’t make me tongue-tied with a glance.

Wordlessly, I handed him his phone and clutched my Bible to my chest as I went to see if our cats were still alive.

He found me sometime later trying to dispense cat food to both cats without them attacking each other.

“Jackson Galaxy said to keep it a positive experience. Feed them close but not too close. But he probably wasn’t drunk—whoa,” I muttered as Clint grabbed my shoulders and nuzzled the side of my neck.

“You’re doing just fine. Other than almost getting me written up.”

“What? Huh?” How could he sound so calm when he said stuff like that? “It’s because I told her I only met you last night, isn’t it? I thought she’d be impressed you had honor enough not to fuck and duck.”

His chuckle was deep and rough and stirred the still-damp curls on my neck. I didn’t know where my hair towel had gone.

Or my good sense.

“Your whiskey did it,” I said miserably as I stirred warm water into the ocean whitefish paté in Princess’s bowl. She didn’t drink enough water so this was my compromise. “I overindulged and said bad things.”

“Is that why you turned to Jesus? To repent?” His tone was mild as he picked up the Bible I’d set beside me on the counter.

“Put that down,” I barked, panicked. “Right now.”

“Think I’m gonna self-immolate if I even touch the holy word—” He broke off as the fake book’s top swung open and my bullet clattered to the floor.

---