Page 90 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

They don’t bring the right clothes.

They buy marshmallow Fluff thinking it’s peanut butter.

And then they’re discovered by the world’s sexiest cowboy, a big bear of a man who belongs on the cover of “Hot Rancher Monthly,” who makes it too easy for the woman to fall in love with him because he’s so sweet and funny and generous and can go all night and half the next day.

Oh, Frankie.You’re falling in love with him.

“Uuuuugggggghhhhhh!”I spin around in the cabin with my hands in my hair.I double over and rest my palms on my knees.I have to start thinking clearly.That’s the first thing I should be packing—my damn common sense.

“Mrrrreeeewwp.”

I look up at Pussy.“Yes?You have an opinion about something?An observation?Criticism?”

“Rrrrp.”

I fall forward onto the mattress and grab Pussy, clutching her to my chest.Immediately she purrs.

I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

I’ve said far too much to Special K, and now he’s probably down there on the ranch making “plans” to help me disappear.

I’ve also said too little, and because of that, he can’t comprehend the nastiness that sticks to me, how horrifying these men are.Sure, I think I called Niko a “psycho killer,” but that term has lost its punch.Just last week I heard one Lynx frat bro insult another because he ordered the wrong beer.“Bro, I said Heineken—not Corona— you fuckin’ psycho killer!”

Of course, Special K doesn’t have a good grasp of the situation.

I’m lost.I’m so sad.I’m so incredibly fucking angry – at myself.

It’s time.I have to dip.

I kiss Pussy’s forehead and put her back on the down comforter.I wish I could take the memory foam mattress.I’ve really enjoyed this bed.Mostly, I’ve enjoyed having Special K in this bed with me.

I jump up and get back at it.

With the days growing longer, I’ve got a few hours still before nightfall.I’ll make a few trips to the Toyota and back.And then I can come back for Pussy.

I throw my toiletries in the duffel bag.I grab one of the lighters.A flashlight and a lantern.Cat food and the can opener.

At least now I know men like Kevin MacLaine exist.Maybe one day I’ll find someone like him—as gentle as he is strong.As adorable as he is masculine.

Right.

There’s only one, and I’m putting him in my rear-view mirror.

Not despite my feelings for him, butbecauseof my feelings.I want him to be okay, and he can only be okay if I’m not with him.

I ball up the sweater.Hell yes, I’m taking his Bulgari-infused sweater.And I have no choice but to wear Summer’s hiking boots on my way out.Maybe after I’m settled—what the fuck does that mean?—I’ll mail them back.

I hoist the duffel off the floor and slip the strap over my back.“Be back in a bit, Pussy.”I double-check the latch so she’s safe.

From the feral hogs.

I go back, snatch my gun, and recheck the latch.And I start walking.

I think about Dad.When I was little, he used to tuck me in at night with a story.He’d tell me that if there was ever a day when he couldn’t be with me, he’d be sure to send the right people at the right time to be with me until he could get back.That way, he said, I’d always be safe, loved, and taken care of.He called these temporary stand-ends “earthly angels”.

It was a sweet story and it did comfort me.And since it was always accompanied with a kiss to my forehead and his careful attention to tucking me in under the blankets, I asked for that story every night.

When he was ripped from me, I stopped believing in pretty much everything, including his bedtime story.I hardly ever feel my dad’s presence these days, not that I seek him out.I don’t remember the last time I talked to him, as a matter of fact.