A while back, I called Shep, begging him to save Maple. At the time, she was a four-month-old miniature Highland cow found neglected in a backyard petting zoo a couple of hours from hisplace. At first, he refused to get her, but it wasn’t long before his resolve crumbled.
Once he and Noelle got together, she was smitten with Maple too—and now she wants a friend for her.
A soft rap at the door draws my attention from my phone and the kitten still in my lap. It’s probably Mrs. Bixby, coming to investigate my latest rescues. I wouldn’t be shocked if she’d seen them being dropped off and came to offer unsolicited advice. Another round of knocking shakes the door, louder and more persistent this time. When a third round rattles the doorframe, I sigh in defeat, accepting that whoever it is won’t be ignored.
“Come in,” I call out loudly, and the kitten flinches.
I’m not moving and interrupting his feeding now that he’s settled. That would be asking for a tiny paw attack, and I’d rather stay scratch-free.
Whoever is here must have heard me because the door creaks open and footsteps echo down the hall.
“Birdie Mae Matterson, you’d better not be dead, or I’m switching to the full-sugar syrup at Latte & Lassoed. Your ghost will be stuck haunting me forever!” Charlie hollers, announcing her presence.
“We should’ve waited outside,” Briar says in a mock-serious whisper. “What if my brother’s here and he’s not wearing any clothes? I can’t handle that kind of trauma.”
“That sounds like ayouproblem,” Charlie quips. “He may not be my type, but I’m not above enjoying some eye candy while we’re here.”
I snort softly, adjusting the bottle as the kitten suckles, thankfully ignoring the commotion in the hallway.
“I’m in the kitchen!” I pipe up. “I’m alive, and unfortunately, Walker isn’t here to wander around shirtless.”
Not that I would mind if he were, though I’d rather not have witnesses when I see him naked for the first time because it could require resuscitation.
Seconds later, Charlie and Briar step into the kitchen.
Briar enters first, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her tanned skin glows from countless hours in the sun, and her brown eyes are wary as she glances around, probably checking to make sure Walker isn’t here.
Charlie follows, her red hair falling in loose curls. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt with the wordsRaise Hell, featuring a graphic of a cowgirl riding a tiger tucked into high-waisted jean shorts. As the style icon of the group, she tends to choose outfits that make a statement—usually in the form of vintage graphic tees.
She stops in her tracks when she spots me on the floor.
“Tell me I’m hallucinating and that you’re not holding a cat. You know I’m allergic,” she groans.
I shrug. “How was I supposed to know you’d show up an hour after someone left five kittens on my porch?”
She edges toward the table, treating the floor like lava, and drags a chair to the far side of the kitchen before plopping down in it.
“Sorry, you’re on your own.” She crosses one leg over the other and leans back. “If I get near those furballs, my eyes will puff up, and I’ll look like a cartoon villain.”
Briar rolls her eyes. “Don’t sweat it, Birdie. I’m happy to help.” She strides over to the box next to me and scoops out a black kitten with cream stripes and a white underbelly into her arms. “Does this one need to eat?”
I nod. “Yes, thanks.”
She picks up one of my premade bottles from the counter and settles on the floor nearby, leaning back against the cabinets.
The kitten eagerly reaches for the bottle, whining softly as she guides it to its mouth.
“This one is absolutely adorable and has quite the appetite,” Briar notes.
“Any chance you’d want to take her home?” I ask tentatively.
The hardest part of rescuing animals is finding them homes where they’ll be safe and loved. Not everyone is willing to take in unexpected animals, but thankfully, Briar is one of the few who is.
“We both know she’ll beg until you cave, so you might as well give in now,” Charlie singsongs.
Briar chews on her bottom lip, glancing between the kitten and me. “Jensen and I have been thinking about getting a couple of cats to keep the mice out of the barn once it’s done.”
They’re constructing one behind their new house for Ziggy, their fainting goat. I found him abandoned by the railroad tracks last year and rescued him—funny enough, I was in the middle of wrangling a lamb and another litter of kittens I had just saved when I begged Briar to foster Ziggy. It quickly turned into a permanent adoption.
