God, I’d give anything to be with her right now and put into practice everything our kiss last night promised would follow.
Walker: Got any plans tonight?
Birdie: Just visiting my mom, then a low-key night at home with Nugget and the kittens.
Walker: Kittens?
Birdie: Someone dropped off a litter of five on my doorstep this morning. Briar was kind enough to take three, leaving me with two adorable tyrants who won’t negotiate when it’s bottle time.
I’m momentarily distracted when I reach the Prickly Pear, holding the door open for an elderly couple before stepping to the side of the waiting area.
Walker: Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.
Birdie: Oh, if only you knew.
My thumb hovers over the screen, itching to ask if I can come over later, but I think better of it. If she wanted me there, she’d say so. Not willing to risk pushing her boundaries, I play this one safe.
Walker: If you need backup, I’m only a text away.
Birdie: I should be able to manage for now, but I’ll keep you on standby. Never know when I might need a cowboy with a six-pack to come to my rescue.
Walker: So you were checking me out when I had my shirt off the other morning.
Birdie: Uh… Mama wants to watch our show. Gotta go.
Walker: Don’t think that deflection will save you the next time we’re together, pretty girl.
Birdie: Talk to you later!
I laugh at her Herculean effort to dodge the question. That’s fine—there will be plenty of opportunities later to get the truth out of her. For now, I’m just glad she’s enjoying her time with her mom.
After a quick bite, I head back to the ranch. Pulling through the entrance, I notice my parents’ truck parked in front of Briar and Jensen’s cottage. Whenever we have family dinners, Ma hosts at the ranch house, which means they must be babysitting Caleb.
The one time Heath and I watched him when Jensen and Briar first started dating, he stayed up well past his bedtime watchingShrekand eating way too many cookies—which was one hundred percent Heath’s fault. Needless to say, our babysitting privileges were promptly revoked. That’s okay—I’ve still got my favorite-uncle status covered with gifts, including books likeDragons Love Farts: They’re More Fun Than Tacos!andThe Day My Butt Went Psycho,because every kid could use a good laugh before bed.
When I pull up to the ranch house, I beeline it to my loft to dodge running into Heath. After a quick shower, I kick back on the couch with my feet on the coffee table, watching an old western with a cold beer in hand.
The sun has long since set, and I’m halfway through another movie when I decide to call it a night. I have an early morning ahead with feeding the horses and cattle before heading into my shift at the sheriff’s office.
No sooner had I turned off the TV than Birdie texted me.
Birdie: I have a kitten emergency. Think you could come over?
I’m on my feet before I even finish reading her message.
Walker: Absolutely. You okay?
Birdie: Got a new crate and the door won’t latch.
Walker: Did you try wiggling it while pressing down?
Birdie: Yep, but no luck. I don’t want them to escape in the middle of the night so I could really use some backup.
I’m no kitten expert, but a simple wedge against the door should keep them in if the latch is faulty. Then it hits me—Birdie’s an animal rescue pro, so she’s got several crates and carries on hand for emergencies like this.
Could this be an excuse to get me to come over for something else?
Frankly, I don’t give a damn. If she wants me there, I’m going—no questions asked.
