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“Hit me.”
“She’s not a cat.”
“No. She’s also not a dog, a rabbit or a guinea pig.” He’d made the mistake of rescuing a tank of guinea pigs once. That was the same day he’d instituted a no-guinea-pig rule. The creatures were too similar to rodents for his taste, plus his cat had decided he’d brought home a snack. Yeah. Not a fun afternoon.
“You can’t keep her. Not in a box, not at your place. You have to give her right back.”
7
MIA SPOTTED THE house with its For Sale sign three miles into her five-mile Monday afternoon run. Since Tag had convinced her to cancel her Sweet Moon’s reservation and stay with him for the remainder of her short stay on the island, she’d been enjoying her downtime. Discovery Island wasn’t Cabo, but it had its charms.
And, thanks to that downtime, she had no problem slowing her pace and taking a closer look at the house. The summer cottage had a screened-in porch facing the ocean, peeling white paint and an overabundance of red-and-pink geraniums rather like lipstick on a slightly careworn woman. The color could have been a cheerful attempt at a fix-up or a general screw you to a critical universe, emotions Mia herself had felt too often. Her feet slowed even as her head nagged at her to pick up the pace. She wasn’t staying, and she didn’t need a house. FedEx would bring her new credit cards tomorrow, and then she’d head off-island. Problem solved.
As an officer, she’d been based in San Diego, but she’d spent most of her tours of duty overseas. She’d lived out of two duffel bags even when she’d been stateside, and none of the few rentals she’d stayed in had counted as a home. So if she’d flipped through freebie real estate brochures by the newspaper racks, that was her guilty secret. As was her desire to put down roots now that she was out of the military and her own woman.
It couldn’t hurt to look, and the place seemed safe enough.
She hopped the fence, a waist-high formal white picket number almost swallowed up by a Leaning Tower of Pisa formed from delphiniums and tiger lilies. The simple fact she knew the names of the flowers only proved she’d been spending too much time with another new vice: gardening catalogs. It was amazing how many people wanted to sell her flower bulbs for a buck.
“You need a little love, don’t you?” she asked the house as she picked her way toward the front porch. No one had mowed the lawn in about a hundred years, leading to more weeds than grass, but the weeds were beautiful. Sprays of bright yellow shot up everywhere, and a bushy red plant with rubbery leaves had gone to seed, spreading madly across the yard.
The house, of course, didn’t answer her. Thank God. She didn’t need to add completely crazy to her résumé. A gravel path led to a robin’s-egg-blue front door with little stained glass panels. She crunched closer, noting the visible signs of rot in the sagging porch boards. Definitely a fixer-upper. That was okay. So was she.
Something moved underneath the porch. Sweat prickled her skin and not because of her run. She dropped to her knees, scanning the shadowy space half visible beneath the porch and the geranium screen. Two feet of space was more than large enough to accommodate a soldier. Or snakes, raccoons and a half-dozen other members of the animal kingdom. At least she could rule out sharks. There. The something twined against the geraniums, resolving into a flash of orange fur.
A cat.
Her house came with a cat.
“Hello, there,” she crooned, inching closer just in case kitty was scared. Like a tiger crossed with a giraffe, the cat sported orange stripes on its sides and swirls going every which way. In addition to being colorful, the cat also came with a full quotient of feline confidence, as well, strolling out from underneath the porch like Mia’s last commanding officer. It paused from a safe distance and looked at her, clearly waiting for something. Mia didn’t have much experience with cats, but even she could tell that much.
“Yes, sir.” The cat looked at her again in silent demand, chirped and disappeared back into the shadows. Right. She had her marching order. Gingerly, she stuck her head underneath the edge of the porch—she’d risk spiders for six inches and no farther—and realized kitty was definitely a girl. And hello...came with company. Five kittens blinked back at her from somebody’s old T-shirt.
She fished out her cell from the pocket of her running shorts and called the number listed on the For Sale sign. The woman who answered was happy to send a Realtor out to show the place. Mia got the feeling the real estate market wasn’t exactly booming on Discovery Island. The cat brushed against her bare leg. Whether kitty knew it or not, she needed a helping hand.
