There, among the brambles, is a small cardboard box. I reach in, careful not to get scratched by the branches, and gingerly pull the box out. Inside lay three tiny newborn kittens, one gray, one brown, and one a creamy blond color. Their eyes are closed, and they wobble on their legs anytime they try to stand.
“You poor little dears!” I pick the box up and cradle it to my chest.
These aren’t lost pets. These kittens have been purposefully dumped here. Who would do such a thing?
I hold the box tighter. “No one is going to hurt you now.” My gaze returns to the top of the mountain, and I nibble on the inside of my cheek. Newborn animals are a lot of work. Feedings every few hours, constant attention. But I’m basically a stray and Levi took me in. He wouldn’t turn his back on these helpless creatures either, would he?
I look down at the mewling triplets. “You guys are going to have to be extra cute and win him over.”
On the off chance that I’m wrong and the bundle in my arms aren’t outcasts but have simply been misplaced by anirresponsible person who had been by for the bookmobile, I head across the street to the General Store. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Jack MacDonald knows everyone and everything that goes on in Turkey Grove.
A little bell over the door jingles as I step in.
Jack is standing behind the counter and grins when he sees me. “Hey there. What can I do you for?”
I walk over to him and tilt the box toward him. “I found these kittens outside the garage. Any idea if they belong to someone and were accidentally left behind?”
Jack reaches up and adjusts the brim of his stained ball cap. “Left, you say?”
I nod.
His gaze lifts and meets mine. “Let me make a few calls real quick, but my guess is that whoever left them doesn’t want them back.”
My heart squeezes. These kittens are too young to be away from their mother. If I hadn’t found them, they probably wouldn’t have lasted through the night.
I mosey away from the counter to give Jack a little privacy as he makes his calls. The store is smaller than it appears from the outside, only five aisles cutting straight paths down the middle of the space. I weave between two shelves and peruse the items he has stocked. Sarsaparilla candy in the shape of tiny wooden barrels, Slim Jims, and individual bags of potato chips on one side. Fishing tackle, small garden tools, and mosquito repellant on the other. Farther down are a few nonperishable food items next to household cleaning supplies.
I peek over and see that Jack is still on the phone. The dog treats remind me that I’m going to need something to feed the kittens, but they’re too young for solid food and I don’t think straight cow’s milk is going to do it. I doubt Turkey Grove has a feed store or pet store, which are the only two places I can think of that would have a kitten-specific formula.
Pulling up a new web browser tab on my phone, I search for what I can feed the kittens and find a formula recipe consisting of condensed milk, water, plain yogurt, and egg yolks.
Jack steps into the aisle, hands in his pockets. “If anyone knows anything, no one is saying.”
I look down at the bundle in my arms. The kittens are sleeping, their little bellies rising and falling peacefully. I look back up at Jack. “What about you? Will you take them?”
He holds his hands up, palms out like I’ve just told him this is a stickup. “I can’t. Allergic.” As if to prove his point, he sneezes.
My conscience pricks at forcing three helpless kittens onto Levi, but what else am I supposed to do? I can’t just let them die. I find a dusty can of condensed milk on a shelf and grab it and a carton of farm-fresh brown eggs. Hopefully Levi will have yogurt in his refrigerator.
I peer down again at my precious bundle. These little angels need names. Something special and cute. Evangeline has Kitty Purry, and Anna Leigh has Fancy. Maybe something along the same lines, punny but bookish. I run a finger lightly over the gray kitten’s back, then eye the other two. My lips quirk.
“You’re going to be Dumpurrdore,” I tell the gray cat, thinking of the Hogwarts headmaster’s long gray beard. “And you”—I tickle the pale blond one under the chin—“I’m going to name Meowfoy, but no funny business, you hear?” I turn my attention to the brown kitten. “Which makes you—” I tap my chin, thinking. “Hermeowne.”
I pay Jack and thank him, then readjust my grip on the box and bags, practicing a speech in my head that sounds similar to that of a child trying to convince her parents to let her keep the pretty kitties. I know Levi likes his solitude, and he’s already been more than hospitable, but how could he resist the cuteness of these little squishy bean toes?
Thwump,crack.
My gaze peels from the kittens in my arms and up the hillside, searching for the source of the loud sound that puts me in mind of a lumberjack. My eyes widen as they land on Levi. His back is turned toward me, his feet spread about shoulder-width apart, with a pair of faded jeans slung low on his hips and showing off a pair of muscular legs. An ax hangs from the grip of his right hand, and in a smooth, powerful motion, he swings the tool in a wide arc behind him, up over his head where his other hand meets to grip the handle. Then he brings the sharpened head down with a crack on the log in front of him.
My pulse picks up speed, and my stomach muscles tense against the fluttering sensation happening in my middle. A voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like my own breaks past any filter set in place, thehubba hubbaringing in my ears and making me squirm at my own indecency. I’d never really gotten before why romance writers like to add a scene of the hero splitting wood to their manuscripts. I’ve maybe even rolled my eyes in the past. But I get it now. Toootally get it.
Levi’s arm arcs as he swings the ax again, muscles along his back rippling while those corded ropes in his arms are taut and hard. One of the kittens meows, which makes Levi twist at the waist to investigate the sound. His pale amber eyes catch mine, and I clear my throat of the physical response watching him chop wood has given me before answering his silent question. “Someone abandoned a trio of kittens.”
His thick eyebrows slant downward in displeasure, and he stomps his way toward me.
My heart thrashes inside my chest. I really need to get a grip on myself and my runaway hormones. I’m not sure if the fierce expression on Levi’s face is over the idea of a person throwing away a living thing like a piece of trash or if he’s upset that I’ve upended his solitude even more with three mewling, needy newborns. But my racing pulse at his intense look, coupledwith his recent display of strength and the untamed wildness about him, needs to get back in check before I do something spontaneous and potentially disastrous. Like press my lips against his.
He stops in front of me, his gaze darting between my eyes and the kittens before he reaches in and scoops up Meowfoy in one of his giant hands. The little furball is dwarfed by his palm and lets out a plaintiff cry.
