“No,” Mirna says, her gaze cool. “We didn’t know how long this would take, and besides…” She pauses. “Why should Finley not get the winter holiday in Hollybrook she was promised?”
“Does that mean you’re not leaving tomorrow either?” My voice cracks with how desperate I feel.
Her gaze turns arctic. “I don’t think that’s up to me to say.”
A loud, indignant meow comes from the pet carrier.
“Do you happen to have a litter box?” Barb asks. “Maybelle’s been holding it since Boston.”
I glance at the pet carrier—Finley’s cat is inside!—and then at Dad. He makes a face. “We’ve got some sand in the garage.”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “I can take her out there.” I reach for the handle.
“Don’t try any funny business, young man,” Barb warns. “The villain in Goat’s on You stole the heroine’s goat and tried to blackmail her into sleeping with him to get it back.”
I cringe. I’ve been reduced to the villain of the story. And the worst part? I probably deserve it.
I carry the pet carrier to the garage out back, going through the side door and shutting it behind me. Dad’s got a stack of sandbags in the back corner, so I pour some onto the concrete floor, and hope it will do. We had a few dogs when I was a kid, but never any cats.
Crouching in front of the carrier, I tug the blanket off. A white, fluffy cat with large grey eyes glares at me like she’s trying to suck out my soul.
“Your mom’s not very happy with me right now,” I say. “But you and I can still be friends. I hear you’ve gotta go, so I’m gonna let you out, okay?”
She doesn’t blink—just keeps giving me the death stare—before prancing out like she’s royalty. She struts to the sand pile and takes the nastiest dump I’ve ever seen or smelled.
Gagging, I wave a hand in front of my face. “Good God, Maybelle. What have Barb and Mirna been feeding you?”
“I thought you called her Hellfire,” Tyler says behind me. His voice is sharp. His suspicion is back.
I don’t turn around, keeping my eye on Finley’s cat. I know how important Maybelle is to her. The last thing I want to do is lose her. “Yeah. I usually do, but…” I’m not sure how to finish the thought and don’t even try.
“How is it you didn’t recognize her grandmothers?”
“We told you we were pretty new.”
“How new?” he presses. “Since last fall? As close as she is to them, you’d think you’d have met them by now.”
I straighten, finally facing him. He’s not accusing me of lying about our relationship. He’s accusing me of being a crappy boyfriend.
“Neither one of us have a lot of free time,” I bite out.
He just stares at me, waiting for me to crack.
“You bought her that ornament,” I fire back, my tone a challenge. “Why?”
“Because any fool could see it meant something to her, and you’d already been an asshole to her, so I figured I’d try to make up for it.”
I narrow my eyes. “When was I an asshole to her?”
“I found her crying in the backyard two days ago. I offered to get you, but she practically begged me not to. Which told me you’d already upset her.”
I searched my memory in panic, but it only takes a second to realize when it was—after she overheard my call with Roland.
Dammit. I made her cry. The thought cuts like a knife.
“You know she’s too good for you,” he says flatly.
I do, but I’ll never admit it. “Why? Are you planning to go after her instead? You sure act protective enough.”
