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I let my gaze drift to the open notebook on the counter, his sharply angled handwriting filling the pages.
“What’s this?” I asked, finger trailing over the scrawl.
“Oh, just some lyrics I’ve been working on. I was up late last night writing. Couldn’t sleep, you know?”
Oh, I knew. I heard him not sleeping. “I used to write when I couldn’t sleep. I was always my most creative when everything else was quiet.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“Not in a long time.”
“Well, perhaps next time I can’t sleep, I’ll come knock on your door, and we can be creative together.”
Chapter Twelve
KILLIAN
“Come on, you bloody bastard. You know you want to. Just let me grab you.”
What the hell was going on? The sound of Jameson’s groan followed by a few heavy sighs and then eventually a horse’s whinny had my curiosity piqued. I made my way into the stables, ready to intervene on either Jameson’s behalf or the horse’s.
“Jamie? Everything okay in here?”
The man wasn’t in a stall, fighting with a stubborn mare. He was balanced precariously on top of a ladder leading into the loft, reaching for something.
“What are you doing up there? Are you trying to break your neck?”
He sighed before climbing down, his ass on full display in those tight jeans, and I had to bite back a groan at the sight. God, the man was handsome.
“Trying to get this little bugger so he can stay out from under Turbo’s feet.”
As if on cue, Turbo stuck his head through his stall and nickered. When Jameson reached the floor, he turned around and showed me the little orange kitten nestled in the pocket of his hoodie.
“A barn cat?” I asked.
“Yes. I was trying to save him. I came in here and found him weaving his way between Turbo’s legs. I didn’t want him to die.”
I laughed and shook my head, reaching out to scratch the kitten between the ears. “Trust me, he’d be just fine. Turbo is used to cats. Specifically, this one’s tomcat of a daddy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, by the look of him, his daddy is the one who claimed himself a home here a few years back. Turbo is his favorite place to sleep. Turbo’s rump. He’s used to barn cats weaving between his legs, jumping up onto him, making themselves right at home.” The horse in question nudged my shoulder with his snout. “But it was a very noble thing you did, trying to rescue this kitten. Now, let him go so he can get up to more mischief.”
Jameson offered me a dubious look in response. “Let him go? What are you on about? He’s too little to be on his own.”
“I’m sure his mama is somewhere.”
“Are you? Have you seen him before? He’s so little.”
“He is very little, and no, I haven’t.”
“And how do you know that he’s okay? How do you know that his mum is waiting for him?”
“That’s usually the way of it.”
“Sure, but what if he was abandoned, and he found his way here? What if we’re the only people who will take care of him?”
“Jameson Lorde, are you a…cat person?”
