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“He’s sharing resources with you. He had two dead mice—” Kenny leaned closer and peered at something Casey had taken for a dark thread. “Make that three.”
Casey pressed his fist to his mouth, willing his stomach contents to stay put. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I will not throw up. I will not. “Please,” he said faintly, eyes still shut, “please don’t tell me that’s a mouse tail.”
“You want me to lie to you?”
Casey started to sink down on the desk chair but then bolted upright, eyes flying open. He squinted at the seat to make sure it didn’t contain any other mouse parts, and then plopped down with a sigh as Randolph Scott trotted into the room and jumped onto the bed. He patted one of the mice with a big front paw, and then minced across Casey’s scattered clothes—god, I’m going to have to wash all of them!—to sit, tail curled around his paws, regarding Casey with a distinctly smug expression.
“If you’re waiting for a thank you,” Casey said with a scowl, “you’ll keep waiting.”
“Aw, Casey. He only did it because he loves you.” Kenny gestured to the pillows and the—eww!—tail. “It’s all about the math. He’s saying, Look, I had three dead mice, and I gave two of them to you. You got the lion’s share.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think much of his luxury turndown service,” Casey grumbled. “Now I need to get new pillows.” He glanced at Randolph Scott, who was calmly washing the same paw he’d tapped the mouse with. “And possibly a new wardrobe.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport. Just keep your door closed from now on.”
“I do keep it closed!” Casey pointed at Randolph Scott. “But he can open those paddle door handles. I’ve watched him do it.”
“Well, don’t worry about it tonight.” Kenny grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the bedside table. “I’ll take care of these for you. I expect Dev has some extra pillows somewhere, although”—Kenny waggled his eyebrows—“if you were to sleep elsewhere tonight, I can have Pete bring in some new ones from Merrilton tomorrow.”
The excitement that had waned in the face of multiple mouse carcasses returned. Except…
“I don’t want Dev to think I’m only going with him because my pillows were defiled.”
Kenny picked up the mice with the tissues, much to Randolph Scott’s wide-eyed alarm. “I’m pretty sure Dev knows you’re not only after him for his bedding.” He smiled as Randolph Scott jumped off the bed and danced around his feet, mewing in distress. “He knows you’re a good guy. All of us do.” He saluted with the mouse-filled tissues. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He left, Randolph Scott at his heels.
Casey stood and pivoted slowly. Could there be other surprises lurking elsewhere? He shuddered. Note to self: leave nothing open. Luckily, his Dopp kit was in the bathroom, safely shut inside the old-fashioned vanity cabinet above the toilet. The linen closet had Shaker knob handles, as did his bedside table and armoire. Those, at least, were safe from feline incursions.
He hoped.
But Randolph Scott was a very resourceful cat. Maybe Casey could talk Dev into installing childproof latches, at least in his room? That was a conversation for later, though. Tonight, he didn’t even have to mention the mice because he and Dev were already planning to spend the night elsewhere. Dead mice, childproof locks, and pillow replacement could wait until tomorrow.
He glanced at the retro brass alarm clock on his nightstand. Shit! He’d already been up here for more than ten minutes.
Casey grabbed clean shorts, T-shirt, and briefs from the armoire drawers—making doubly sure to close everything up tightly—and raced for the bathroom. A glance over the banister assured him that Dev wasn’t already in the vestibule, tapping his foot with impatience.
He’d never do that, anyway. Dev wasn’t Donald, or Bradley, or any of the guys Casey had almost dated. He’d wait. But that didn’t mean he should have to. Casey refused to be one more person whose needs Dev had to cater to at the expense of his own. So, although he was thorough with his shower, he was also quick.
Since his scruff hadn’t reached Neanderthal chic levels yet, he didn’t bother to trim it. His hair could air dry on the way, and if it was still damp when his head hit Dev’s mercifully mouse-free pillows and Casey looked like a clown college drop-out in the morning? That was a tomorrow-Casey problem, along with childproof locks, et cetera.
Only two minutes past the initial fifteen target, Casey trotted downstairs, smoothing his Hunter’s Moon T-shirt, and hoped his smile wasn’t too lascivious. “Sorry I took longer than I…” His steps slowed as he peered around the empty vestibule. “Dev?”
He peeked into the living room. Also empty, as was the dining room, the butler’s pantry, and the kitchen. The picnic basket was still by the front door, its gingham covering slightly askew from Randolph Scott’s inspection. Casey shuddered. As long as he was taking something out and not putting something in.
Clearly, Dev had gotten caught up with something in the office, and Casey couldn’t get bent out of shape about that. He’d known going into this that Dev was an important guy, but there should be limits for Dev’s own sake, dammit.
As he headed down the hallway toward where the glow of the office light spilled out onto the gleaming wood floor, Casey couldn’t hear Dev’s voice, so maybe he wouldn’t have to give some thoughtless Home resident a piece of his mind about Dev deserving a little time off from being everybody’s go-to guy.
He pressed a hand to his middle to calm the butterflies doing loop-the-loops there. Soon. This is happening soon.
When he stepped inside, though, Dev wasn’t on the phone or busy on the computer or rifling through the neat stack of financial statements Casey had left for him. Instead, he was simply sitting in the chair, staring at nothing, his jaw tight.
“Dev?” Casey moved farther into the office so he could see over the monitors. Dev’s hands were clenched on his chair’s arms. “What is it?” Casey’s belly dropped. “Oh god. It’s not Ty, is it? Sylvia? Kat?”
He knew nothing had happened to Kenny, but Dev’s notion of family didn’t stop with his inner circle of friends. Casey hurried around the desk and crouched next to the chair, laying a hand on Dev’s forearm. Jeez, he might have been carved from quarry marble. “What can I do to help?”
Dev shook his head, muscles bunching in his jaw, but didn’t speak.
“You’re scaring me, sweetheart.” Casey ran his hand up Dev’s arm to rest on his shoulder. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
