With the bag of cat grits in her hand, she walked toward the far side of the barn. She smiled at the horses neighing gently in their stalls and wondered where the cats were hiding.
“That’s Sandy.”
Ashley jumped and grits scattered across the floor.
“Oops,” said the same high-pitched voice. “I’ll help you pick them up.”
A little girl’s pair of jean-clad legs appeared at the top of the loft ladder.
“I’m Catherine,” the little girl said as she hurried down the ladder. “Who are you?”
Ashley grinned. Catherine had only been four years old when she’d last seen her. Her blond curls had darkened to a honey-gold, but her eyes were still dark brown and full of mischief.
“I’m Ashley Fisher. I’m staying with Matthew and Sean.”
“Dad said Uncle Matthew has a visitor staying with him.” She crouched on the ground and lifted a handful of grits into the bag. “What are you doing with these?”
Ashley knelt on the floor and added more spilled grits to the bag. “Uncle Matthew asked me to feed the cats.”
“They won’t come straight to you. You have to let them know you’re their friend.”
“I’ll remember that. Where is the best place to feed them?”
Catherine stood and looked around the barn. “You could leave them beside the hay bales down here, but one of the ranch hands might step in them. And the horses can’t eat them ‘cause it might make their tummies sore.” Her eyes lifted to the top of the ladder. “You could leave them in the loft. Our cats like it there. It’s warm and cozy.”
Ashley didn’t like heights. It wasn’t that she was scared exactly, just super cautious. She studied the ladder. Even though it was old, it seemed sturdy. Besides, Nathan and Amy wouldn’t let their daughter climb it if it wasn’t safe.
She looked at Catherine, then down at the grits. “Okay, the loft it is. Do you know if there’s a bowl or something we can pour the grits into?”
Catherine nodded. “Mom cleaned them yesterday.” She raced to the tack room and came back with two bright red bowls. “How are you going to carry them up there? You don’t have big pockets.”
Ashley looked around the barn. “I’ll use this.” She picked up an old woolen blanket and wrapped it around her neck, tying a loose knot at the front. It looked like a sling and smelled like a horse, but she didn’t mind.
Catherine handed her the cat grits and smiled. “Here you go. Follow me.” She scooted up the ladder as fast as a bolt of lightning. “Did you know that Aunt Sally gave us three more cats?”
Ashley kept her gaze locked on the ladder. “How many do you have now?”
“Six. They can’t have babies, though.”
The disappointment in her voice was easy to hear. “That’s probably just as well.”
“Mom said the same thing. I’ll show you my secret hiding place,” she whispered. “It’s the best place to feed the cats.”
Catherine held Ashley’s hand as they walked across the loft. Half the floor was stacked high with hay bales. The other side was being used to store furniture, wooden crates, and old wagon wheels.
“We can’t look in the boxes unless dad’s with us,” Catherine said. “Does your dad know you’re here?”
Ashley shook her head. “No. He doesn’t live in Bozeman.”
“Where does he live?”
“In a city called San Francisco. It takes a long time to get there.”
“Oh.” Catherine climbed onto the first row of hay bales and held her finger to her lips. “You have to be quiet. Sometimes the cats sleep in my secret hideaway.”
Ashley followed her pint-sized tour guide over another row of hay bales. When Catherine stopped, she peered over her head. Tucked against the far wall was a small wooden door, almost hidden behind a mound of hay.
Catherine crouched low and slowly opened the door. She beckoned Ashley forward. “Tabitha is asleep. She’s an old cat.”
