When I finally make it back to my place, it’s seven.
That’s good. Everything will be open by the time I get into town, and I can get this all done before Odette shows up here in an hour.
I shoot Ezra a quick text as I’m heading out the door.
Me:Running into town. Need anything?
Ezra:
Ezra:For you not to text me before 8.
Ezra:And also, napkins. Our supplier isn’t dropping them off until tomorrow, and we’re low. Just enough to get us through today.
I shoot him back a quick “got it,” then make my way into town in my truck, which was my parting gift to myself when I left the NHL. I figured if I would be working on a farm, I would need a big vehicle to haul stuff around in. I was right. This baby has saved us more times than I can count.
Ezra would never admit it, but it’s way more useful than the swanky sports car he drives around. It makes him stick out like a sore thumb, but he doesn’t seem to care. That’s Ezra for you. He’s never really given a shit about what people think of him.
I hit the hardware store and load up my truck with new boards, nails, screws, and shingles. I’m determined to get that damn roof done this weekend. Thankfully, it’s summer, so we’re in the drier months here in the Pacific Northwest. We haven’t really had to worry about the rain too much, but I want to be prepared just in case. Besides, we’re nowdown to just eight weeks to make this place perfect. I need to make some major progress—and soon.
I make sure to grab a few bags of feed for the chickens and goats too. The last thing I need is Tootsie getting pissed at me and running amuck all over the farm. Well, more than she already does.
Once I have all the lumber supplies I’ll need, I pull into the gas station and grab the cans from the bed of my truck.
I’m just about done when I hear my name being called.
I turn to find Peaches ... and a cat in her arms.
Oh shit.
The older woman is wearing a pair of wide-legged pants that look about three sizes too big on her, a flower-print shirt that could double as a dress, and her trusty gardening hat. Her long, nearly white hair flows behind her as she speed-walks my way, a pair of threadbare flip-flops making that obnoxiousthwack, thwack, thwackwith every step.
“Noah! Noah!” she hollers.
I yank the gas nozzle from the can, not caring about the fact that it’s not yet full, and race to screw on the cap.
But I’m not fast enough.
“Hey,” Peaches says, holding a tiny tuxedo-colored cat out to me. “Pork, meet your new dad, Noah.”
I don’t know if it’s because I’m completely mystified by the name she’s given it, or if it’s just out of pure instinct, but I take the cat from her outstretched hands.
And dammit if the thing doesn’t start to purr instantly, so small it fits perfectly into my palm.
“Aw, see? He likes you.” Peaches scratches under the kitten’s chin. “He’s going to like living with you just fine.”
“What? Living with me? New dad?” I hold the cat back out to the old woman. “Peaches, no. I can’t take this cat.”
“But you already did.” She grins up at me, taking a step back. “And look how happy Pork is. I’ve never seen him so pleased before.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean much. He’s had a short life.” The little guy lets out a big yawn, as if he’s as tired of Peaches’s bullshit as I am. I thrust the cat at her again. “I can’t take him.”
“But you have to. He chose you.” She takes another step back. “That’s how this works. The cats come to me and ask me to give them a home, and I do.” She points across the street in the direction she came from. “I was just over there, and Pork saw you and started meowing his head off. He knew you were his person.”
“Peaches, that’s absurd. Where are you getting all these damn cats?”
“Cats have sex, Noah, and from the sex comes new cats. That’s how the animal kingdom works.”
I can say with certainty that I didn’t have talking about cat sex and the animal kingdom on my bingo card when I decided to come into town today, especially not before 8:00 a.m.
