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“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rolling off the bed. When he opened the door to the mudroom, the kitten was on him like bees on honey, rubbing against his leg and purring and meowing up a storm. Those big green eyes stared up at him, and for the longest time, he did nothing but stare back. But then something shifted inside him, some little piece of his heart that gave in, and, knowing he’d probably regret his next action, Beck grabbed him up and headed back to his room.
He settled back against the pillows, and damned if the kitten didn’t snuggle up under his chin and begin to purr loudly. The animal meowed occasionally, seemingly happy to feel safe and secure and warm, and somewhere in the night, the darn thing claimed a piece of Beck that he thought was dead. He didn’t know it, of course, but he would. Eventually.
When he woke up, the kitten was still asleep, curled in the same position. Gingerly, Beck got to his feet, not wanting to disturb it. He tucked some blankets around him and had a quick shower, then dressed quickly in a pair of old jeans, work boots, and a faded black T-shirt. He didn’t want to leave the kitten on the bed because it was a long way down for such a small thing, so he brought him into the kitchen and made a bed for him on one of the chairs while he brewed his coffee.
Outside, the sun was poking through the night sky while the snow still fell and glistened. It was that perfect time of morning, that hour when most folks were asleep and the world was silent. Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at his door, followed by someone jangling the doorknob.
What the hell?
The kitten raised his head and looked over as Beck strode toward the door. He took a moment and peeked out the small window there, then opened the door to find his mother shivering in the early morning cold.
“Mom? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Instantly concerned, he stepped aside and hurried her in.
“I’m fine, Beckworth.”
He winced at his Christian name, suddenly on alert. His mom only used it when she was either up to something or upset with him.
“Is that coffee I smell?” Her voice was light, seemingly unconcerned, so he was going to assume she was up to something.
She stepped out of her boots and shrugged off her bright red puffy jacket, mittens, and hat. He followed her over to the kitchen, where she came to a stop when she spied the kitten, now standing on the chair and giving them both a long stretch and leisurely twitch of its tail.
“Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing. When did you get a kitten?” Elise Jacobs didn’t bother to hide her surprise, or pleasure, for that matter, as she walked over to the chair and gently picked up the little orange fur ball. “Beck, she’s adorable.”
He wasn’t going to debate the level of cuteness the kitten possessed with his mother. “I’ve been calling it a he, and don’t get too attached because I doubt he’ll be here the next time you show up at six in the morning.”
Elise held it up, had a look, and shrugged. “It’s hard to tell at this age. You’ll have to get Molly to examine it and tell you the sex.” She looked at Beck. “I think it’s a girl.” She cradled the kitten against her chest and waited for Beck to pour her coffee before following him to the sad red-and-black-plaid sofa in the living room. The furniture in here, not that there was much, had been pilfered from a renovation he’d worked on a few years back. The stuff was old and worn, but Beck didn’t care—it served a purpose.
There wasn’t a table for his mother to set her coffee on, so she let the cat free, and the little guy immediately began to play with the tassels on some old pillow someone had given Beck when he’d first moved in.
“Where’d you find the cat?” Elise asked, watching him closely.
Beck knew she had an ulterior motive for coming to his place, but he was fine with playing this game—at least until he was done with his coffee.
“He was hiding up inside my truck yesterday. Probably crawled up in there to keep warm. He’s damn lucky I saw his tail, because it could have been game over if I hadn’t.”
“You got a name?”
“Nah. Like I said, I’m not keeping him.”
“You said you were doubtful.” His mom flashed a smile. “You should name him.”
“You’re up early.” He changed the subject, something he’d learned to do from the best—his mom.
She nodded. “I have a list of things to do a mile long, so I was up and at ’em at five.” She cracked a smile. “I’ve already been to the gym.”
For the first time, he noticed her clothing, black-and-pink tights with a matching long-sleeve top. His eyebrows shot up. “Gym? That’s impressive.” His mother had always been a small thing. He would bet she’d never been much more than a buck twenty in her life. She’d never been particularly active—golfing was about it for her, and maybe the occasional hike along the lake. She drank soda at least once a day—and not the diet kind—loved chocolate and chips and fried chicken, and made no apologies for it. He’d heard her say on more than one occasion that she had her father to thank for an undeniably high metabolism.
“Doctor Hanley said I needed to get more exercise.”
Beck frowned. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing a little cardio can’t fix.”
“That’s not being specific at all.” His sarcasm was strong, and he didn’t need the look in his mother’s eye to tell him. “Care to elaborate?”
“My sugar is creeping up, and my cholesterol is a tad high. That’s all.”
“I’m going to guess no more soda or chips either.”
