No Perfect Hero(43)

It’s almost like they made him extra big to hold this extra big heart. But he had to go and bury it under a spiky layer of asshole just to make sure no one could ever get to it.

I’m still turning that over when we pull up to the inn and our duplex.

Somehow, I manage to help Tara out without her ever letting go of the cat. I’ll have to go into town later to fill his prescription and get the special food the vet says he needs to have.

That’s going to take a chunk out of my tips, but I don’t care.

I can spare it if it’ll help Mozart get better faster. The poor thing looks so bedraggled and lost it just makes me feel heartsore, and I can’t help nuzzling at him before shooing Tara toward the house.

“Go get him settled, love,” I say. “Remember to set him down gently and don’t let him walk too far. He’ll be woozy for a day or so, and he might hurt himself.”

She nods firmly, her pigtails bobbing. “Got it!” she says firmly, marching toward the porch with her precious burden—but then she stops, giving Warren a shy glance. “Thanks again, Mister.” Prim, but almost whispered. “Mozart says thank you, too.”

Warren looks awkward, raking a burly hand through his hair, but then he smiles. “It’s nothing, little lady.”

Tara only beams at him and bounds up the steps and inside.

Hell, we’d left the door unlocked after such a messy rush over the cat. Ugh.

My mind drifts back to the incident with the feathers. It's been all quiet on the stalker front, but I need to be more careful. Still, I won't let it ruin our little victory today.

So I let out a soft, rueful laugh that trails into a sigh, curling my hand against the back of my neck.

“What she said. Thanks, Warren. I’d never have found the vet.” I pause. “Oh, crap. I just realized...we didn’t settle the bill—”

“On the house,” Warren growls. “Doc’s an old friend. Owes me a few.”

His voice is distant, and he’s looking over my head, like he’s trying not to see me.

He's letting me off the hook.

God.

I should hold onto my silly tongue and the sudden tempo in my heart. But I guess I can only manage one.

Stealing another quick glance at him, I look down, scratching at my aching chest.

It's only a favor. For an animal. Not even for you so...

So.

He’s just some asshole, I tell myself again.

None of this matters. None of this counts.

I'm totally not getting wrapped up in some ridiculous crush on Mr. Snarlypants Mountain Man after two freaking favors...right?

“Look, just be careful around here for a while,” he says gruffly, as if he senses the stars in my eyes. “I’m going to walk the grounds. Make sure there aren’t any more of those damn traps anywhere. Can't have you or Tara stepping on one and getting hurt. Nearest clinic's damn near thirty miles away, and Doc doesn't do house calls.”

“House calls? For people or...?”

Warren looks at me, his eyes bugged out for a second, and then he shakes his head fiercely. “Forget it. Just a bad joke.”

Is it? I really wonder, but I know when to pick my battles.

Whatever's up with that strange small town vet, now's not the time.

I smile weakly. “It's been a long day. And it seems like you’re always looking out for us. We do appreciate it, you know. Me, Tara...Mozart.”

He almost flinches, and I’m not sure why.

“Warren?”

“Yeah, well...” He shrugs, shoulders tight. “It's not over yet. If I catch anyone leaving traps on this property, there’ll be hell to pay.” He turns away, lifting a hand in something that’s not quite a wave. More like half dismissal. “Gotta go, Hay. Let me know if you need anything else for Mozart.”

For Mozart.

Lovely.

Am I actually stung that he cares more about a cat than he does about me?

He took care of you, too, I remind myself.

Damn right he did. And here I am watching him walk away with my thank you frozen on my tongue, the words refusing to come out.

I’m not shy. Not really. I’ve never had trouble speaking my mind.

Yet Warren gets me tied in knots, until I can’t untangle my thoughts, my feelings, my words to know what to say to him.

If there’s anything to say at all.

Because now, for what has to be the millionth time, I tell myself the cold truth.

We're nothing.

Not friends. Not lovers. Not even long-term neighbors.

We're two people lost in the ruins of our lives. That's not love or hate or even silly, desperate infatuation.

That's pure delusion.





*



Delusion doesn’t mean I can’t express my gratitude.

And they do say actions speak louder than words.

Which is why, this evening, after Tara’s fully calmed down in one last stress-relief tearburst, and she’s cuddling the cat to the point that I can almost see the patient endurance in his eyes, I try.

I’m standing on Warren’s doorstep. Knocking. I shouldn’t feel this nervous, but...

No buts.

I’m just trying to say thank you in my own way, and I’m better at showing it than I am with words. That’s all it is.