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Chapter 13
Ivy
As I gripped the bar to hoist myself up into the cab of Cameron Wilder’s truck, I thought about dominoes.
One of my favorite things to do when I was younger was to line them up in my room, winding paths and circular patterns that could intersect with each other as they fell. Something was interesting about watching the way they knocked each other over and which path ended up diverging, toppling in a way that I didn’t anticipate.
There’s something addicting about the sound of them falling, and the mess left over when the last one gets knocked down. Especially when you were the one in control of setting them up.
I had to make peace with something once I got in that truck.
It smelled good—like him. It was clean. And I was voluntarily sitting in the passenger seat, with a kitten in my lap, because past me knocked over the wrong fricken domino. Somewhere along the way, whatever choices I’d made, they’d led me to that exact place. I tried desperately to figure out which one, but it was pointless.
Cameron hopped into the driver’s seat (without help from the bar, because life was unfair and I was destined to feel at a disadvantage when this man was around), and he studied me with an amused grin on his handsome face.
“I fail to see what’s so funny,” I said loftily.
The cat took that moment to arch his back and nuzzle against the side of my thigh, where it had curled up the moment I sat down.
“He likes you,” Cameron replied.
“Of course he likes me. He’s been stuck in a wall for who knows how many days.” I sniffed. “It’s hardly personal.”
“I don’t know,” he murmured as he put the truck into reverse. “Ever have any pets before?”
I emitted a short puff of air, just shy of an actual laugh. “No. My dad used to call them an overly-sentimental waste of time and money.”
Cameron’s lips twisted in a thoughtful frown, but he didn’t say anything.
“What are we doing with it?” I asked, eyeing the animal skeptically, because its little paws were kneading on the side of my leg.
“We always have barn cats, so I think as long as we get it some food and water, a warm place to sleep, it’ll be fine. I’ll have our vet come out and check it as soon as she’s able.” He glanced at the critter. “Doesn’t look like it’s got fleas or anything.”
“Oh gawd,” I muttered, my lips twisting into a grimace.
He smiled. “You’ll be all right, duchess. He won’t infect you with anything.”
“Easy for you to say, sitting there at a safe distance.” Then I eyed him. “Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“Because it fits,” he answered easily.
He seemed to do that a lot. Easy answers. Easy smiles. Easy charm.
It was aggravating.
Cameron pulled his truck into the small drive that led beyond a beautiful log cabin toward a big red barn with the main doors pulled open. Laying in the sun outside the doors were two cats—one with orange-and-white fur and another with black-and-gray stripes. Their tails flipped lazily, and one stood with a stretch when Cameron’s truck pulled up.
The kitten in my lap pushed his back against my leg again, nuzzling further into the warmth of my body. He was so little.
“How old do you think he is?” I asked.
Cameron put the truck in park and then nodded at my lap. “May I?”
Carefully, I picked him up from where he was sleeping and handed him over to the man next to me. My fingers brushed his when I shifted the kitten’s weight, and I ignored the quick zip of electricity up my arm.
God, get with the program, I chastised my weak-ass nervous system. He was just a person. We didn’t need zaps or sparks or flutters or anything of the sort.
Cameron dragged the tip of his middle finger over the top of the kitten’s head, and when it closed its eyes and purred, I had to swallow against the sudden flash of heat at the back-and-forth movement.
