Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(86)

Then Clive seemed to shrug his right shoulder, and there before us was a third cat. Beautifully adorned with the most gorgeous long, dark silver fur, she had gleaming green eyes and delicate features. She nuzzled against Clive, who was now flanked with stunning *.

“I can’t believe it,” I breathed as Simon chuckled.

“I suppose having three cats isn’t that different from having two, right?” he asked.

“Simon, come on. We can’t have three cats. I mean, can—”

Clive cleared his throat as if to say ahem.

And then, pushing her way in between the plump calico and a grinning Clive, there was a third newcomer. She was playful, bumping into the other cats and throwing herself on the grass in front of Clive, rolling on her back and letting out the funniest little sounds. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was giggling.

“Fuck me—he’s got himself a harem,” I swore, and Simon could no longer contain his laughter. As I shook my head, Clive tended to his ladies. Herding them together with a bap and a nip, he paraded them across the lawn and, one by one, into the house. Just as Clive crossed the threshold, he turned back to us. Leaning against the door frame, he regarded us with all the love in his eyes a cat can muster. Which is a lot. And when the catcalls started inside, he winked.

“Oh for God’s sake,” I said through a face-splitting grin. Still laughing, Simon extended his hand to me.

Linking my fingers through his, we walked across the lawn and into our home, where Clive and his ladies were waiting.





Epilogue


The Last Word

I set off on patrol, keeping track of all the new smells in this new territory. It was different from the last time I’d been here. Shinier in some ways, baubles scattered here and there for me to play with. Two shelves filled with curious bottles for me to knock off. Thoughtful. I’d investigate that further tomorrow. Tonight I had other things on my mind.

For weeks I’d roamed the wilderness of this strange city, boxed in by mountains on one side and water on the other. Water I’d learned the hard way not to trust, fast moving and not drinkable. Saltwater, the captain of the Highsteppers called it. The Highsteppers were the wisest gang of street cats I’d come across in my travels, tough but fair. Not at all like the Whisker Sours, who were just mean.

I’d been offered membership in the Highsteppers, which was a great honor that I appreciated. But I knew which side my Pounce was buttered on and I knew the Feeder must be looking for me. I scoured the hillsides, searching for the home I’d accidentally run from.

Here’s the truth, which no cat wants to admit. We long to be outdoors; we long to run and jump and prance and play. But . . . and here’s the secret . . . you can’t let us out.

Because we can’t always find our way back.

I was one of the lucky ones. I never gave up. I knew how much the Feeder must be missing me, and I couldn’t have that. But then? I found the ladies. Or rather, they found me . . . But that’s a story for a different day.

I knew my people would be so happy to see me, they’d not deprive me of my new lady friends. Now those ladies were safely tucked into a pallet constructed of blankets underneath the coffee table. The Tall One had originally put the bed right out in the open, but I tugged it under the table, knowing my ladies were used to sleeping under more cover. That’s the difference between being smart and being street-smart. The mean streets of Sossa Leeto had taught me that.

I continued to check the perimeter, monitoring a tree branch that was making an unpleasant scratching sound against a window on the east side. Not an immediate threat, but I’d keep my eye on it. I made my way into the dining room, facing down the window that had led to my greatest and most harrowing adventure of my nine lives. I tested the repair; it seemed solid. I gazed at the outside, which had always seemed so big and beautiful and full of excitement. It was.

But now, as I turned to look out over this quiet space, inside, full of nooks and crannies to nap and bathe and run and play, I realized that this was a great adventure as well.

I truly was wise beyond my ears.

Chuckling at my own joke, I left the window and made my way upstairs. As I passed my ladies, I could hear their deep breathing; they were sound asleep. I’d tuck myself in with them soon. I had a spot on the back of my neck that needed cleaning, and it was so much easier to group bathe.

Entering the room of the Feeder and the Tall One, I regarded their sleeping forms. Nothing had changed while I’d been gone, I was pleased to see. The Tall One was curled into a ball on one side, the Feeder sprawled out like a starfish. I’d seen one of those in the saltwater.

Jumping onto our bed, I sat on the pillow between them, wanting a moment with my people. Stretching out so that my front paws rested on the Feeder’s forehead, my back paws touching the Tall One’s chin, I at last relaxed.

I was home.





Viv Franklin wants to be swept off her feet by her dream guy. But should she pick the hot cowboy or the smoldering librarian? It’s like being forced to pick between Superman or Clark Kent!Really, how’s a girl to choose?


Read on for a sneak peek from the next book in USA Today bestselling author Alice Clayton’s Cocktail series Screwdrivered Coming Fall 2014 from Gallery Books!





chapter one


Standing atop a lonely hill, Vivian gazed out upon the turbulent sea. Voluptuous and shapely, she cut a striking silhouette. Resembling the siren she was purported to be, she looked to the west. A dark ship appeared on the horizon, and with its sighting, her pulse quickened. Was it the dark pirate captain who haunted her dreams? A tall and fierce warrior, his face was full of fury. And passion. With just a glance from him, her loins quivered. With a touch . . . implosion.