Shiloh awoke to the noise of something scratching on the door the next morning. At first she thought she was at home on Malloy Ranch and one of the three dogs wanted someone to get up and feed them. Then she realized she was at Waylon’s place. She hadn’t seen a dog in the two days she’d been there, and hopefully, Polly hadn’t followed them home the night before. If she had, Rusty would think Shiloh had stolen her.
She got out of bed carefully so she wouldn’t wake Waylon. The rising sun defined the trees, now with a few buds and minty green leaves, instead of only dry, brittle branches. The scratching continued and she was surer with every step that Polly had run away from home.
She opened the door and the ugliest dog she’d ever seen ran into the house. It had long yellow hair, short legs, and a wide jaw. Poor thing looked like its mama might have been a corgi and its papa a Labrador—and it had a rat in its jaws. There were two things that Shiloh hated, and rats were both of them. She froze right there, door wide open, and a calico cat rushed in after the dog with another of those rat things in her mouth. The dog went to the living room, dropped the gray thing on the floor, and stretched out beside it. That’s when Shiloh realized it wasn’t a rat but a kitten.
The cat laid its little burden down, and Shiloh realized both of the critters were kittens. She started to close the door and the cat rushed out and brought in a third baby and took it to the living room. She flopped down so that the kittens were between her and the dog.
“What’s goin’ on?” Waylon asked as he crutched up the hallway. “Thunder woke me up. Is it raining?”
“Yep,” she said. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”
He peeked out the door, and raised an eyebrow. “The wind is blowing, but I don’t see any rain.”
A loud clap of thunder caused the dog to whimper and wrap itself more securely around the mama cat and the kittens.
“Good Lord!” Waylon muttered when he saw the sight in his living room. “Where did those things come from?”
“The porch, I guess,” Shiloh said. “I opened the door and both of them brought in the kittens and made themselves at home. Never seen anything like it. Thought they were carryin’ in rats at first and then I thought it was puppies. Do we keep ’em?”
“Well, I was thinkin’ about gettin’ a dog, but one that would help round up cattle, not kittens.” He crutched over to the sofa and sat down.
The dog’s tail thumped against the hardwood floor, so Waylon reached a hand down. The mutt licked it and then nosed the cat toward him. The cat left the dog to babysit her three wiggling kittens and went over to wind around Shiloh’s legs.
The rain came in like a huge sheet of water from the dark clouds. A powerful wind slammed it against the windowpanes so fiercely that Shiloh was sure it would break the glass. “We can’t put them out.”
“Guess you’d better scramble up extra eggs this mornin’, and when the storm passes we’ll ride into Claude and get them some food. We’ve got babies to raise. You going to stick around and help me with them after the week is over?” Waylon asked.
“I’ll visit them on weekends and at least once through the week, but I can’t leave Malloy Ranch permanently.” She sat down on the floor, and the mama cat crawled up in her lap. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”
“That’ll be your job.”
“They’ll be your cat and kittens. You should name them,” Shiloh said.
Waylon pulled his phone from the pocket of his pajama pants, surfed through it for a minute, and then laid it on the end table. Blake Shelton was singing “I’ll Name the Dogs.” The lyrics said that she could name the babies, and he’d name the dogs.
“Are we still talkin’ about kittens?” she asked.
“Yep, we are, but that song came to mind,” he told her. “This poor old boy is so ugly I’m not sure what to name him.”
“Well, my cat and babies are so pretty, it won’t be hard to name them once I find out if they’re boys or girls,” she told him. “But right now, I’d better get some breakfast started and hope this storm gets on past us so we can go get the feeding done and make that drive to town.”
The mama cat followed her to the kitchen and purred its thanks as Shiloh made sausage gravy, biscuits, and scrambled eggs. Whoever tossed the poor creatures out, she thought, should be caught out in the rain without an umbrella—and then shot right between the eyes.
Her phone rang and she dug it out of the pocket of her pajama bottoms. “Hello, Bonnie! You’re never going to believe—”
“Did you find the dog and cat?” Bonnie asked.
“How did you know about them?” Shiloh asked. “Did Waylon already call Rusty?”
“No, but I was hoping you’d find them before this damn rain started. I got soaking wet getting from my old truck to the house after I left them all on your porch,” Bonnie told her.
“You rat! Why didn’t you ask Waylon before you did that?”
“Because he might have said no, and you’ve talked about wanting a cat, and”—she stopped for a breath—“you remember Granny Denison, who comes to church?”
“The little old lady that sits behind us and sings off-key?” Shiloh asked.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Bonnie said. “She died yesterday, and Rusty found out her great-nephew inherited her house. The guy was going to put Granny Denison’s dog and cat to sleep if someone didn’t take them. Polly, Martha, and Vivien hate cats, so we couldn’t have them.”
“That’s horrible.” Shiloh couldn’t imagine killing the dog, even if it wasn’t the prettiest animal in the world, or that sweet cat and kittens.
“I thought so too, so when Rusty told me, I drove over there and got them. I didn’t want either of you to say no before you saw them, so I kind of left them on the porch,” Bonnie said.
“What’s their names?” Shiloh asked.
“Callie is the cat. Blister is the dog. You can name the kittens,” Bonnie said. “And there’s food, a litter pan, and their toys in your van. I didn’t want to leave it all on the porch with the storm coming.”
When something wasn’t quite right—especially where either Bonnie or Abby Joy was concerned—Shiloh got the same antsy feeling that she had right then. “You are a sneaky one,” she said when it finally hit her what Bonnie was doing, “but it won’t work. I’m coming home as soon as the doctor clears Waylon.”
“Are you accusing me of trying to get you to stay with Waylon so I’ll get the ranch?” Bonnie laughed.
“Are you?”
“If I am, is it going to work?”
“Hell, no!” Shiloh said. “I’m hanging up, and you’re still a rat!”
“Did you find their owners?” Waylon made his way into the kitchen.
“They belonged to Granny Denison, and she died. Her great-nephew was going to put them to sleep, so Bonnie brought them over here,” she said. “The dog’s name is Blister. The cat is Callie. So you don’t get to name the dog. Do I still get to name the babies?”
“How about I name the boys, and you can name the girls.” He smiled again.
Waylon had smiled twice in one day! She should’ve gone to the pound and brought in cats and dogs before now.
“Tell her thank you. It gets lonely around here,” Waylon said.
Shiloh whipped around and stared at him without blinking. Surely she’d heard him wrong. Any other man would be cussin’ and throwing things. “Are you serious?”
He dragged a chair over to the stove, which was no easy feat with crutches, and propped his leg on it. “Move over and I’ll help out, and yes, I’m very serious. Besides, what were the chances that I could have a dog and cat both? Most of the time, they hate each other, and on the plus side, since you let them in, you have to come visit and babysit them from time to time. I’m sorry to hear about Granny Denison. When’s the funeral? We should go.”
“I’ll ask Bonnie,” Shiloh answered.
When he leaned over to get the butter, his arm touched hers. The chemistry was definitely still there. It hadn’t died since the kiss from the night before. What would it hurt to see where a few dates might lead? A fling didn’t necessarily mean wedding bells and a pretty white dress.