Hitched(56)

“This wouldn’t have happened if you wouldn’t have married an asshole to try to fight me for the beast,” he snaps back.

Then he oofs, which I assume means Blake got him with an elbow.

“That beast is worth more than just his sperm, and he deserves a happy life,” I retort. “You’re the one who told your wife what he was worth.”

“I didn’t think she was the type to steal a horse.”

“Alpaca. And you’re the one who hired an inept private eye to spy on me and my husband.”

Kyle grunts. “He caught you sleeping separately, didn’t he?”

“How much further to Cara’s house?” Blake interrupts.

“Two blocks. See that oak tree that looks like it has a big penis growing out the side? Turn there.”

I smile. “Yeah, I can see where you’d be a disappointment, if that’s what she’s used to looking at every day.”

“Go on. Laugh. You’re right. I’m an idiot.” He hangs his head with his hand, and if I weren’t so worried about getting Chewy back before he gets hurt, I might actually feel bad for my cousin.

I get the sense he actually liked Cara, as much as the snootier side of the St. Claire bloodline is capable of liking anyone, anyway.

“There,” he says with a weary sigh. “The little house on the big lot.”

I gasp.

It’s an itty-bitty pink house that looks like it was ripped right out of the Candy Land board game and plunked down in the middle of Happy Cat.

And I do mean itty-bitty.

“She was on one of those home shows about going tiny after her house blew up in a gas explosion,” he says forlornly. “There are drawers under her bed that work the way they’re supposed to instead of getting off their tracks and sitting weird. And a table that folds out of the wall.” He sniffs. “She uses it as her desk too.”

Blake and I make eye contact around him.

I can’t believe I actually feel sorry for my cousin.

But I’ll buy him a beer later.

After we rescue my alpaca.

I hop out of my truck, Blake and Kyle on my heels. But I don’t even get halfway across the half-acre lot to the ten-foot-wide structure before the door opens and Cara steps out.

“I’d throw something dramatically, but I’m a minimalist and don’t have anything to spare to throw,” she says. “Next time, don’t tell a girl your dick is bigger than your house, especially when the house is as big as yours. I thought you cared about the earth, and instead you’re taking up as much space as an entire football team, however many people that is. I’m sure it’s a lot.”

“We’re looking for the alpaca,” I explain, not wanting to get sidetracked by the relationship drama.

Cara blinks. “Then shouldn’t you be at your place?”

“You didn’t take him?” Blake asks.

She huffs. “Of course not. I would never force a creature from his home. I know how terrible that feels. Believe me. And I don’t exactly have a spare bedroom. I had to give my fish away when I moved in.”

“The fish didn’t die in the explosion?” I ask, a little buoyed by the news.

She shakes her head. “No, I got him after. When I was living with my parents.” Her gaze shifts to Kyle, her eyes narrowing. “Also, I don’t make love like a giraffe anymore. Someone ruined that experience for me. Forever.”

“I can try harder,” he tells her.

“You’re a spoiled man-child who doesn’t realize the dick is the frosting on the cupcake. The only thing that could improve your cake is another seven to ten years of honest to god personal development.” She crosses her arms with an eye roll. “I’m never marrying a man again before I see his sock drawer. Now go away. I have to drown my sorrows in kombucha, and I don’t want an audience.”

“Can I verify that you don’t have our alpaca, first?” Blake asks. “Have a quick look around? And then we’ll leave you to your mourning.”

She flips a hand at the house. “Oh, please. Be my guest. Spread your mistrust all over my personal sanctuary. Would you like to ruin armadillos for me while you’re at it?”

“They carry leprosy,” I say, hating to be the bearer of bad news, but…

“Hope,” Blake mutters beneath his breath.

“But they’re really adorable otherwise,” I add hastily. “I love their armor.”

We make a quick trip around the house, verifying that Chewpaca isn’t sunning himself in the backyard or lounging inside on Cara’s bed.

Actually, I can’t even see the bed. Maybe it’s hanging from the ceiling?

These tiny houses are really something else.

“Maybe your alpaca decided to go find a bigger herd?” Cara suggests when we get back around front. “Don’t they like to have five or six buddies around for socializing and things?”

“No, he didn’t leave on his own.” I shudder at the memory of what I found when I went to let Chewy out this morning. “Someone sawed through the padlock and left tire tracks from the barn, and Too-Pac was very upset.” I shake my head. “But if you two didn’t take him…who did?”

“How should I know?” Her shoulders bob. “I’m a forensic statistician. If you want a private detective, hire that goofball Kyle uses. He caught you two sleeping apart, didn’t he?”