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“Just a few steps more, baby.” My heart races with joy, but I can’t get ahead of myself yet. One tiny slipup could hurt her, make her flee, and ruin the shaky trust I’ve fought to build. The rising sun reflects off the water and warms my already overheated face. Sweat drips down my temples, and I grab hold of my wrists, afraid I’ll jump the gun. “Just a few steps to a brand-new life, baby girl. I’ve got beds, good food, toys, catnip on Saturday nights, and all the cuddles you can handle.”
She stares suspiciously, intrigued by my offer but probably wondering if I’m yanking her chain. I can’t blame her for questioning my motives. Stray cats need to be on their guard night and day—that’s the only way they survive.
I hold my breath, watching her take two steps back and three steps forward, with one more to go. Her pupils suddenly dilate to saucers. Her back arches, then a low guttural growl catches me by surprise. I scramble back like a crab, but my momentum stalls against something that feels like a brick wall, and the kitty runs away.
“Do you need some help?” The brick wall speaks. My head snaps up, and I glimpse the source, a fair-haired man with dark eyes, a wicked smile, and a body sculpted by the gods. Where in the world did he come from?
I blink rapidly, blinded by the sun and his unspeakable beauty. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like him, not here or in Sycamore Mountain—not even on television. But this creeper ruined my plans and threw away five days of hard work.
“No, you’ve done enough.” I groan, then bite my tongue, too frustrated to hide my intense displeasure for a man who was only trying to help. It’s not his fault, but my failure could result in tragedy if I don’t catch that cat soon. Stray dogs roam this beach at night in search of food, and they might mistake this fat little Calico for their next meal.
I scramble to my feet, shifting aimlessly in the soft sand to regain my balance. The handsome stranger clears his throat and offers his hand. I hesitate but ultimately place my palm in his hand, letting him pull me to my feet.
Attractive does not mean harmless. We’re alone on a beach, and my mother didn’t raise me to be a trusting fool. I can hear her voice in my head.
Remember, Ted Bundy was handsome. That's how they get you.
“Thank you, and I apologize for my snarky comment. I’ve been trying to catch that cat for the past few days, and this is the closest I’ve come,” I stammer, embarrassed by my rudeness and hoping my contrite behavior will make amends or prevent him from carrying me into the ocean and drowning me.
“You mean Buster?” His deep voice jumps an octave, and he points to the chunky Calico reclining against a nearby palm tree, frantically cleaning his behind.
“Buster? That’s a silly name for a girl.” I tiptoe toward the cat and consider my next course of action. He may be huge, hot, and handsome, but I have a one-track mind. There are far more critical things on my to-do list than flirting with strange men who smell like cocoa butter, and what is that? Sandalwood?
A storm is scheduled to pass through later this evening, and I hate to think of this little girl spending another night cold, wet, and alone. There's no need for that when Grandma Jane's Cat Colony offers space to spread her wings.
“Buster isn’t a girl. He’s a boy.” The strange man follows close, oddly fixated on lending a helping hand.
I glance over my shoulder and lift my hand to my brow, shielding my eyes from the sun to get a better look at his face. There’s no denying he’s yummy, but he doesn’t know the first thing about cats.
“Calicos are almost always girls,” I huff, confident with my assessment.
He chuckles and points to the cat in question. “Well, Buster has balls. I’m pretty sure he’s a boy.”
I squint and squat to get a better look. My jaw drops. My tongue ties. “Oh... my... God. Oh, my God. We’ve just found a polydactyl male Calico. Do you have any idea how rare he is?” I flail my arms, squealing with glee, then accidentally strike his calves. He hardly flinches. He’s a golden slab of sculpted marble, and I couldn’t hurt him If I tried.
“We need to get him. He must be guarded like the Mona Lisa.” I creep forward, and he drops to his knees, crawling next to me.
“I’m Felix, by the way.” He stops to extend his arm, and I give him a quick shake, one eye on his sinewy forearm and the other on my fat Calico boy. He mustn’t escape.
“I’m Harlow. I’m new to the island—only six months in,” I reply, crouching low, careful not to lose the element of surprise.
“Can you crawl that-away and block his exit?” I gesture with my head and slink forward like a snake.
“That’s a lovely name.” His brown eyes twinkle as his mouth tips into a slight smile. My heart skips a beat, and for the first time, it has nothing to do with cats.
“If I help you catch Buster, what do you plan on doing with him?” That’s a fair question. There’s no reason Felix should trust that I don’t mean this poor boy harm. He doesn’t know me from Adam, and there are a lot of sickos who like hurting animals for kicks.
I lift my gaze and examine his thoughtful expression, wondering what makes him believe he’ll succeed where I fail. “I have a sanctuary at the old Mills place. It’s still under construction, but I plan on neutering that big sack and putting him on the road to life indoors,” I whisper through the corner of my mouth. “If I can rehabilitate and socialize him, I’ll find him a good home. If he’s hard to place, I’ll let him live out his days with me.”
He tilts his head with curiosity, his stern gaze focused on my mouth. I chew my lip, unsure why he’s suddenly lost his ability to speak and wondering if he’s judging my cat love. Most men can’t handle a woman with an excessive number of cats, but I don’t shrink away from who I am. I wear my crazy cat lady nickname with pride.
He surprises me with a smile, then stands, shaking sand off his shorts. “Buster’s a buddy of mine. I feed a few strays around my place. I’ll help you.” His cockiness grates my nerves, but I close my eyes, count to ten, and buy myself time to cool off. He means well, but catching strays isn’t as easy as calling them over and sticking them in a carrier.
“Felix, right?” I pause to consider his name. I don’t think I’ve met anyone named Felix, but it sounds cat-like enough to make me smile. “I appreciate your help, but this is a male Calico—he’s too precious to take any chances with...” My words fall away as I watch him strut toward the palm tree, then pet my fat boy’s back. He bends forward, sweeps Buster into his cradling arms, offers him a scratch on the head, then strides back with a smug grin of self-satisfaction.
“Do you have a carrier nearby?”
I nod, stunned by his talent and instantly smitten by his tender touch. “Sure... follow me.”
