“Here, ye wee beast. Try the chicken.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t usually give her people food. This chicken though, will make her like you. Slightly. I mean, she won’t go for your head with all her claws out.”
“Has she done that before?” Wallace leans against the counter, watching me.
“There was one time…” This shouldn’t be funny, but maybe time and distance made the memory more amusing than horrifying.
“Aye?”
“Oh, um… Well, Wicked Stepbrother #2, Steve, got completely hammered one night. Marlena and Kyle were out of the house, and he knocked on my door. Harder and harder until I was sure he was going to put a fist through the wood. I picked up my old Lacrosse stick and opened the door, ready to slam it into his face.
“Murder Mittens shot past me and leaped from the floor onto his head. I’ve never seen anything like it. He screamed and flailed around and she wasshreddinghis face. I finally got her off him and he ran down the hall, right into a pillar and knocked himself out. The next day, he couldn’t remember anything about the night before, so he told his mother and brother that he got jumped outside of the club and they bought it.”
“Murder Mittens, I’m going to feed you prime ribfor a week for being an excellent guard cat.” He speaks lightly, but I can feel the fury radiating from him. “Did that gobshite ever try to go after ye again?”
“No. He just… lurked. I’d turn around and he’d be standing there like a creep.” The exhaustion of the last night and day catches up with me and I sway.
He’s next to me instantly, holding my arm. “Are ye dizzy?”
“I’m fine.”Embarrassed to look weak in front of this man, though.“I’m really tired. Can you show me where I can sleep?”
“A’course.” I follow him up the oak stairway to the second floor. It’s as beautiful as the great room and kitchen downstairs, more warm wood, and leaded glass windows with stained glass accents- thistles on one, the moon on another, one window has a strip of stained glass with a beautiful line of tartan. He opens a door, gesturing for me to go in.
“I brought up your box of girlie shite and your clothes. Will ye be comfortable here?”
“Comfortable? I’m never leaving this room.” There’s a king-sized bed with a wrought iron frame and a thick, blue comforter. A cushioned window seat is bracketed by two tall windows, and a fireplace is framed in antique blue andgreen tiles.
Of course, another fireplace.
“Bathroom’s through that door,” he points to a corner of the room, “and your closet is behind that one. Fresh towels and the like in the cabinet.” He’s close to me, looking down with concern that draws his brows together, a slight wrinkle there like he does that a lot. “Can I bring up dinner for ye? You’ve not had enough to eat today.”
“I’m not hungry, I promise.” I nod firmly, like that’s going to convince him. “Just really tired.” Stepping away from him, I hoist myself up on the bed. “I want to sleep and not think about anything for a while.”
“That’s nae surprise, lass.” He smiles reassuringly. Why is he so kind to me? I still don’t understand why he brought me here. “Get some sleep, aye?”
“Okay.” I’m keeping my eyes open wide so the tears hovering there won’t escape and cascade down my cheeks. I need to be stronger than this.
He’s hesitating, clearly still concerned. Murder Mittens climbs onto my lap, giving my hand a comforting little lick. “See? I have my emotional support feline.”
“My bedroom is at the end of the hall if ye need me. I’ll keep my door open.” He gives me one lastsmile as he shuts the door and I hear the soft tread of his boots heading toward his room.
Looking down at my kitty, lounging across my lap and getting cat hair on my sweater, I burst into a painful round of sobbing, slapping my hand over my mouth.
What the hell have I done?
“I’ll call Morgan,” I tell Murder Mittens. “She’s probably worried.”
It’s then that I realize that I don’t have a phone. I don’t have anything from home, aside from my kitty, Morgan’s necklace, and the sweater I’m getting wet because the tears keep streaming down my face.
“It’ll be better in the morning. Dad always used to say that.” Her gold and green kitty eyes stare up at me as she purrs soothingly. “We’ll get some sleep. I’ll figure it out.”
My exhaustion and that violent round of weeping sends me back onto one of the lovely, goose down pillows and I instantly fall asleep, dreaming of fire, heat, and ash. I dream of Wallace’s amber eyes, looking down at me, glowing with tiny flickers of flame.
“I need a phone.”
Wallace looks up from his fried bacon, sausages,black pudding, fried eggs, mushrooms, and scones. He told me I needed to experience a “full Scottish breakfast.” It’s delicious, though after plowing through my meal with all the grace and manners of a farm animal, I can almostfeelmy arteries clogging up. How does he stay in such spectacular shape?
“Aye, ye do.” Wiping his mouth with a nice linen napkin, he leans back in his chair. I met up with him in the hall this morning. He was sweaty, dressed in workout gear with shorts that clung to his perfect ass. Now, he’s wearing jeans and a tight black t-shirt that barely contains his biceps.
