Jan Freed - My Fair Gentleman

Joe examined the thing with a shudder. He hated cats. All cats. Even fake ones. He leaned forward and squinted. Stood up and moved closer. Bent down and reached out.

The doorstop opened slitted green eyes and hissed. Something gray streaked up close and bit Joe’s outstretched hand.

“Son of a bitch! ”

“Romeo!” Catherine rushed forward and scooped the gray cat from the floor.

Clutching his injured hand, Joe glared at the scruffiest, ugliest, meanest-looking excuse for a famous lover he’d ever seen. Satanic yellow eyes glared back from the cradle of Catherine’s arms. At her feet, the black doorstop yowled plaintively.

She looked down, her expression softening. “It’s okay, Juliet, he’s not hurt. See?” Catherine lowered the huge gray tomcat to the floor, where he began grooming himself as if soiled irreparably by the incident.

Joe pointed a wounded finger. “ He’s not hurt? I need a rabies shot, for cryin’ out loud.”

Frowning, she reached for Joe’s hand, examined his punctured skin with a small sound of dismay, then twisted toward Allie. “Honey, would you get antiseptic and bandages from the medicine cabinet please?

Crouched on the floor stroking the black cat, Allie looked up and met Joe’s stare. Traitor, he accused silently.

Her golden skin flushed. “Sure thing,” she mumbled, loping off to the bathroom.

“Romeo’s had all his vaccinations. You won’t need a rabies shot,” Catherine assured him.

“Where the hell was he hiding all that time?”

“Under the couch. He probably thought you were going to hurt Juliet. He doesn’t like men.”

“No kidding,” Joe muttered.

Bending her head, Catherine probed his wound. “Does it hurt much?”

Like he’d been stabbed with hot pokers. “Nah.”

“Such a manly man,” she said, amusement lacing her voice. “Is this my cue to swoon?”

“You wouldn’t be the first one, doll.”

Her green gaze lifted. The air hummed between them. Her shift in mood from skeptical to speculative didn’t surprise him. His fierce desire to satisfy her curiosity did.

Allie ran up, breaking their locked gazes. “Here’s the stuff you wanted,” she said breathlessly.

Catherine released his hand and reached for the supplies.

“Does it hurt real bad, Joe?” Allie’s expression offered an apology for not asking him earlier.

“Nah.” He grinned and deepened his voice. “I’m a manly ma— Ow-w-w!’

“It’s only a little iodine,” Catherine said sternly, dabbing his fingers with the stinging liquid. “Quit fussing. Manly men don’t whine.”

He dropped his chin to his chest and thrust out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. Allie giggled. Catherine glanced up and snorted. Reclaiming his hand with a shake of her head, she set to work.

Absurdly pleased, he nodded toward the two cats now vying for Allie’s attention. “What the bell are they doing here?”

She froze, then continued bandaging his fingers. “They live here.”

His good humor fled. “Excuse me?”

“They live here,” she said louder, as if the problem were his hearing, not the cats.

“Don’t you mean they lived here?”

“No.” She finished wrapping his last puncture wound and offered a bright smile. “There you are. Good as new.”

He caught her wrist as she stepped back. “Cats weren’t part of our deal.”

“Didn’t I mention them?” She shrugged elegantly. “Oh, well, they’re so little trouble it must have slipped my mind.”

“Catherine…” he warned.

Her expression sobered, all flippancy gone. “I can’t keep them at the house, Joe. My father is allergic to cats.”

“So have the house cleaned before he comes back from England.”

“I tried that after his book tour. It nearly put him in the hospital. He’s severely allergic.”

“So keep ‘em outside. This neighborhood is a friggin’ cat paradise. All those trees to climb, birds to chase—”

“Dogs to chase them,” Catherine finished, her tone grim. “Juliet’s declawed. She couldn’t defend herself or even climb a tree for safety. I have to keep her inside. And Romeo is devoted to her. He’d die if I separated them.”

Joe made a sound of disgust and released her wrist. “Gimme a break. They’re just cats, for God’s sake.”

Some emotion veiled her face, a vulnerability that said the animals, were much more than casual pets, much more than he could comprehend. The next instant her eyes narrowed, so like the doorstop’s it was eerie.

“The students who rent this apartment come and go, but Romeo and Juliet stay. This is their home. If you can’t share it with them, I’m afraid our deal is off.”

Allie moved up and tugged on Joe’s arm. “They won’t be any trouble. I’ll take care of them myself. You won’t have to do a thing. Please, Joe, can we stay?”

He looked into doe brown eyes and remembered a little girl of six pleading for a kitten, a little girl of eight pleading for a puppy.

“You said yourself it was only for a month,” she persisted, turning his own words against him.

He’d vetoed the kitten and puppy. The subsequent rabbit and bird, too. His mother wouldn’t tolerate an animal in the house, and, as she’d told him, he wouldn’t be there to help care for them.

Before Allie’s imploring eyes grew disillusioned, before his gut could churn with guilt, he cupped her head and rumpled her silky hair. “Okay, pal, tomorrow we’ll bring a load of stuff over and get settled in. But when it comes to those two monsters, forget what I said about us sticking together. You’re on your own.”

Whether his sudden difficulty in breathing came from Allie’s crushing bear hug or the quiet thanks in Catherine’s eyes, he couldn’t have said.

FIFTY MILES AWAY, Mary Lou Denton eased behind the counter of Columbus Truck Stop’s diner and tied an apron over her slim black skirt. The luncheon special—chicken-fried steak as big as a hubcap—would keep things hopping for hours yet. She might run the place now, but she couldn’t sit on her duff in the manager’s office while the waitresses up front ran themselves ragged. She’d walked too many years in their shoes.

Grabbing an order pad and pencil, she slipped into the stream of action without a ripple. Dishes clattered. Voices rumbled. Steam clouded or curled, spreading the smells of grease, coffee and fresh-baked bread. A waitress’s telltale perfume. She’d have to wash and rinse her hair twice tonight, but the thought didn’t annoy her as it used to. She pushed back a surge of uneasiness.

If there was an extra spring in her step, it wasn’t because today was Wednesday. She hadn’t worn her hair up in a French twist for any particular reason. Her heart didn’t leap each time the door jangled open. No, not hers. That would mean she cared who came in. And she was way too smart for that. Irene whizzed past balancing loaded plates on both arms. The harried waitress’s well-timed mumble found its mark and Mary Lou scanned the eating customers. Ah. So Grace had discovered the new driver for Valley Produce, had she?

When the pretty young woman tossed him a parting smile and headed toward the kitchen, Mary Lou stepped into her path. “The family in booth three finished five minutes ago.”

Grace blushed, knowing she’d been caught flirting. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mary Lou nodded and moved out of the way. Yes, ma’am, old lady, ma’am. As if she’d never experienced the thrill of a man’s appreciative gaze. As if she never would.

Without vanity, she knew her thick dark hair had very little gray, her skin few wrinkles, her body little excess flesh for a woman of fifty-two years. Men still cast her second glances. She stared at the front door, realized what she was doing and turned back to the counter wearing a blush of her own.