Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(43)

Hell no. He stepped back. “I can’t do this for twenty-three more days.” He couldn’t do this for twenty-three more minutes. The only quiet place in Jonah’s world was his house. And that cat was the antithesis of quiet. As far as Jonah was concerned, Kitty Fantastic was the Antichrist cloaked in fur.

Shay stepped out onto the porch and rested a hand on his chest, and he admitted, silently to himself, that she was also his quiet place. She was also staying, apparently, which added a whole new level of complication to their already complicated situation.

Knowing she was a tumbleweed at heart, who would eventually roll herself right out of town, made it easier to maintain his distance. Knowing she was staying? Well, that changed everything.

“Of course you can’t,” she said, sympathetically. “Nobody could.”

He was pretty sure Shay could. The woman shied away from nothing—except him. Which was why he’d come over here thinking that this was going to be a battle. Relieved to see that it wasn’t, he stepped back and was about to offer to go and get the cat when she said, “Hang on,” and shut the door in his face.

He waited a good long minute. When she still didn’t come back, he knew he’d been played. She was probably running out the back door, bolting for freedom as he stood there on her porch in bedhead and potting soil. Then the door swung open and Shay stuck a stick in his hand. It was about a foot long and had a couple of colored feathers attached to an elastic string.

“What’s this?” He shook it and it jingled. From inside the house a dog barked.

“A bonding toy. It will make him feel as though he belongs in the space.”

“He doesn’t belong. It’s my space.”

“Before you go to sleep, wiggle this around on the bed for about ten minutes,” she said, undeterred. “Kitty Fantastic will be so tired he’ll curl right up and pass out.” She leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the lips, nothing big but it still left him rocked, which was how she was able to say, “Gotta go. Call if you have any questions, and good luck,” before closing the door in his face again.

This time she didn’t come back. Even when he rang the bell three times and knocked twice, sending the dogs into a barking contest. On the last rap, Ms. Pricket poked her head out the upper window. Even though she was in a bathrobe with curlers in her hair and toilet paper wrapped around her head, she sent him a scowl as though he was the one violating the morning.

He looked at Shay’s front door one last time and sighed.

“Rookie mistake,” he mumbled, walking back across the street, the feathers dragging on the asphalt, a jingle sounding with each step he took.

He should have brought the cat with him.



Later that night, Shay sat in the barber chair and stared down at the plaster and dust covering her skirt—her favorite white eyelet skirt. It was less depressing than looking at the contractor’s estimate Peggy had brought over. There was no way she could get all of this done with her limited funds.

“I’ve got a few bucks saved for a rainy day,” Peggy offered, placing a gentle hand on Shay’s.

“I can’t take anything else from you,” Shay said. The older woman hadn’t even batted an eye when Shay explained that she might need to break her lease and move out of Peggy’s rental if this was going to work. She gave Shay a hug, then offered to lower the rent until Shay got the rescue up and running. “Maybe it’s not too late to call Mr. Russell and tell him I changed my mind.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Harper set down her gyro—compliments of Emerson and the Pita Peddler—and picked up the estimate. Her only response was a low whistle.

“Not helping,” Shay said.

“Right, sorry.” Harper put on her best let’s get down to business face and really looked at the numbers. “Okay, well, if we do all of the demo and painting ourselves, it would save us,” she closed her eyes and mumbled, “nine, carry the one, add the six.” She handed Shay the paper back. “Just over two grand.”

“And I bet with your girls’ help, we could get it done in three or four days,” Peggy said, looking around the room, assessing it with the eyes of someone who had done a remodel or two in her lifetime.

“When did St. Paws become a ‘we’ and an ‘us’?” Shay asked.

Emerson snorted. “For Harper, it was the second she said hi and you said hi back. One semismile and she becomes a barnacle of friendship and rainbows. You collect strays, she collects people. You’ll get used to it, cat lady.” She shrugged.

“I can never say no to a worthy cause,” Peggy said and Shay wasn’t sure if it was because, like her, Peggy couldn’t say no to an animal in need, or if she meant that Shay was the worthy cause. Either way it warmed her heart.

“As for the demo,” Emerson said, double-fisting a crowbar and a baseball bat she’d dug out of her truck. She gave the frame a little whack, then kicked it with her boot. Hard. The old wood was no match for her steeled toes and came loose at the bottom. “I bet we can get it done by the end of the weekend.”

Harper clapped her hands once, then looked around the room. She located a piece of cardboard in the far corner and, with markers that materialized out of thin air, got busy. Two seconds later she held up a stellar drawing of a giant thermometer with twelve lines—the first two already colored in.