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Again, Gus barked.
The
type of bark that had Nash knowing this wasn’t about Gus being his typical pain-in-the-ass self and waking Nash up for no reason. Nash’s body was heavy and desperate for more sleep, and his eyes hurt. He ran his hands over his face. Maybe Gus had eaten something and it wasn’t agreeing with him. Not wanting to deal with that shit—literally—Nash slid out of bed then headed for the living room of the single-story log home Chase had built for him to let the dog out.
When he was two steps down the hallway, Gus barked again.
“What?” Nash asked, glancing over his shoulder before snorting to himself. It wasn’t like Gus could answer. At that stupidity, Nash’s mind slowly began to wake up, and Gus trotted off in the other direction down the hallway.
Nash sighed and followed. At the very end of the hallway was a small laundry room. Gus sat down and shoved his head between the wall and the dryer. Growing curious, Nash sidled up next to him and peered into the space.
“Hell no!” Wide awake now, Nash gave Gus a shove to the side, not believing his eyes.
A gray-and-white cat lay on her side. Not my cat. Blood covered the space. Not my kittens. “This is not your house,” he told the cat, going down to one knee. With a steady push, Nash shoved the dryer over and discovered a cat that didn’t belong to him had taken his favorite T-shirt and birthed three kittens on it. “My goddamn shirt,” he growled.
Gus stuck his face under Nash’s arm, getting a good look at the kittens.
The kittens were screeching. The cat was not moving. He touched the mom, expecting to get attacked, but the cat lay motionless. He gave her a hard poke on the hip. Nothing. No flicker of movement.
Gus whined.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Nash leaned in, squinting his eyes, and saw movement on her belly, telling him she was still breathing. “You’re forgiven for waking me up,” he told Gus, then grabbed the laundry basket, emptying the contents onto the floor. He gently pulled out his now-ruined shirt and scooped up the cat and her kittens, placing them in the basket.
He threw on one of his dirty T-shirts and jeans from the floor and grabbed the basket full of cats, heading out the door within minutes. Once outside, he placed the basket on the floor of the passenger seat, and Gus took the seat, obviously not wanting to be left behind.
Nash was on the road in seconds and found the emergency vet clinic phone number on his cell.
Leah, the veterinarian who cared for the small animals in town, answered on the fourth ring. “It’s Nash Blackshaw,” he said. “I’m on my way to see you with a cat who gave birth to three kittens. Something’s wrong.”
“I’ll be ready.” Leah’s voice sounded as tired as Nash felt. Obviously, he had woken her.
Sunrise was not far off now, and a couple hours of sleep was not enough, but adrenaline was pumping through Nash’s veins as he drove toward town.
Twenty minutes later, Nash arrived at the clinic, finding Main Street with only a few cars on it. The rest of River Rock was fast asleep. He parked at the curb then jumped out, moving quickly to open the passenger side door. Gus joined Nash outside, and Nash grabbed the basket, hurrying toward Leah standing at the doorway. She wore a long white coat with her jet-black hair pulled up in a ponytail.
The second Nash got inside of the clinic, Leah glanced into the basket. “Let’s have a look.” She placed her hands on the cat, who still didn’t move, and squeezed her belly, sending a gush of blood onto his once-favorite T-shirt. A shirt that Nash had since high school. It was old and ratty and so damn comfortable.
“She’s hemorrhaging,” Leah said, concern in her voice. She scooped up the cat. “Wait here.”
Nash blinked, holding on to the basket of screaming kittens. Watching Leah run off into the back, he realized how bad the cat’s condition was. He moved to the chairs in the waiting room, taking a seat, placing the basket onto the floor.
Gus came next to him and sat down, looking at the kittens before glancing up at Nash with his tongue wagging out.
“Just because you may have saved that cat’s life, don’t get any ideas,” he told his dog. “We’re not keeping them.”
Gus glanced back at the kittens and whined before lying down next to him. Nash stared at the kittens screaming at him, not sure what in the hell to do with them.
Gus flicked his eyes up at him. Those puppy-dog eyes got to Nash every damn time.
“Fine.” He scooped up the little fluff balls gently and placed them against his chest. All three kittens fit in one hand. They had to be hungry.
He was tempted to go back and ask about food when Leah suddenly rushed out of the back room, carrying a brown bag and a piece of paper. “I need to take her into surgery,” she said. “Go home.” She practically tossed the bag at him and gave him a note. “There’s bottles and formula. The note tells you everything.”
“Wait,” he called. Maybe holding them had given Leah the wrong idea. “They aren’t mine.” He had the guest ranch to run. He had something to prove to Megan. He had a baby on the way. “Leah,” he called as she turned away. “Leah,” he repeated, more firmly.
“You’ve got this,” she said, jogging toward the back. “I’ll call you once she’s stable.”
Nash stared at the empty room. He glanced at the kittens in his hand. They’d grown quiet, maybe warm and comforted now.
