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But she couldn’t let that happen. She’d had enough trauma in her life. The last thing she wanted was more.
Chapter 7
After lunch, Tracy spread a blanket on the living room floor and put the kittens on it so Clara could play with them. The mother cat took a break to eat and use the litter box before curling up in a nearby chair to keep an eye on her babies. Murphy slept on, undisturbed by the cats or the little girl’s happy chatter.
At about six weeks, the kittens were old enough to play and explore. They climbed onto Clara’s shoulders, chased a string, nibbled her fingers, and purred in her arms. The little girl was all smiles and giggles.
“Are they boys or girls?” she asked Tracy.
“It’s hard to tell when they’re so little. But I think the little tabby is the only girl. The rest are boys.”
“I’ve got names for them,” Clara said, making a cradle with her skirt and putting the four kittens in it. “The black one is Midnight. The orange one is Ginger. The striped one is Tiger. And this one . . .” She picked up the little white cat and kissed its head. “This one is Snowflake, like my toy cat back at the ranch. They look just the same. But this Snowflake is real. I love them all, but I love him the most.”
“Those names are perfect,” Tracy said. “Have you thought of a good name for their mother?”
“Uh-huh. She has all the cat colors—white and black and orange. So, I think you should call her Rainbow.”
“Rainbow. I like it.” Tracy had been prepared to accept any name, even a silly one. But Clara had made a good choice.
Leaning over the chair, she stroked the calico mother’s soft fur. “How do you like your new name, Rainbow?” she asked.
Clara laughed. “Listen to her. She’s purring. She likes it.”
Rainbow jumped down from the chair, walked over to Clara, and gave an insistent meow.
“I think she’s telling you she wants her babies back,” Tracy said. “Let’s put the kittens in their box for now. We don’t want them to get too tired.”
They carried the kittens back to the laundry room and lowered them gently into the box. Rainbow jumped in after them, and they all settled down for a nap.
“Now what?” Tracy asked. “Would you like to change your clothes and play in the snow, or would you rather stay in and make some cookies?”
Clara yawned. “Could I rest a little bit first?”
“That sounds like a good idea. Would you like to lie down on my bed under a nice warm blanket?”
“Just for a little while.” Clara sounded sleepy. Tracy guided her to the bedroom, helped her onto the bed, and laid a pretty, quilted comforter over her.
“How’s that? Cozy enough for a princess?”
“It’s nice.” Turning onto her side, she noticed Steve’s photo on the nightstand. “Who’s that?” she asked.
“My husband. He died more than a year ago, but I keep the picture there to remember him.”
“I saw another picture on your fireplace. Is that him, too?”
“Yes, with me and Murphy.”
“I’m sorry he died. You must be really sad.”
“I am, but only sometimes,” Tracy said. “Now close your eyes and rest. If you need anything, I’ll be close by. Just call me.”
When Clara didn’t reply, she tiptoed out of the room. A few minutes later, when she checked, the little girl was fast asleep.
Entertaining a four-year-old had taken a lot of energy. Tracy was ready for a nap herself. But Rush would be showing up soon. Surely, he’d have called if he was going to be much longer.
She’d tidied the kitchen and living room and was kneeling beside Murphy’s bed, scratching the old dog’s ears, when she heard a rap on the door. She pushed to her feet and hurried across the room to answer it.
Rush stood in the doorway, moisture glistening on his dark hair and on his down parka. When Tracy glanced past him, she saw that the sky had darkened with clouds, and a soft, light snow was falling.
