Accidentally Catty (13 page)

Katie fought a flush of her cheeks and a ripple of pleasure by gritting her teeth. “Shelves—hang them, please.” Before she got a noose and hung herself from the old maple out back. “Second room at the top of the stairs, the walk-in closet, all the hardware’s on the floor. Hammer’s in the toolbox in the laundry room.”
Go. Away. Take your divine body with its scintillating, intoxicating smell a-way.

“As you wish. Oh, and feline,” he whispered in her ear.

“What?”

“A six-letter word for cat is
feline
,” he chuckled before loping off toward the stairs, taking them two at a time with his long, muscled legs. Petey and Paulie followed on his heels, flying up the stairs in a tumbleweed of fur and yips, but thankfully, no voices in her head.

Marty stuck her head around Katie’s shoulder and sighed, coffee in hand. “He’s fucktastic, don’t you think?”

“Fuck what?”

“It’s one of the beast Nina’s favorite words,” Casey called. “It means he’s fabulous and worthy of a good sheet shining. You have to admit, he’s like a Blow Pop. One you wanna lick till you get to the middle.”

The idea of licking Beck came in a hot rush and left in a gay one. “Aren’t we all a little old to be gushing over a twenty-year-old?”

“It’s what makes us unafraid to gush. We’re secure in our womanhood, and every one of us happily married. We gush from afar, but we still gush. Lighten up, Katie,” Marty chided with a grin. “It’s not a crime to find a man of his age attractive. Whatever that age is, I’d bet it’s at the very least legal. It looks like Beck’s going to be around, at least for a little while, until he remembers who he is, and we figure this out. So enjoy the view. Especially the one from behind.” She followed her words with a wink.

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re telling you to ride the landscape in your womanhood Hummer. Just appreciate it from afar if it makes you uncomfortable to
gush
,” Casey reminded.

“He’s gay. The point of appreciation then becomes null and void.” Her response sounded so stuffy and snobbish. Neither of which she was.

“Oh, he is not either gay, Katie,” Marty protested, snaring Muffin and hoisting her over her shoulder.

“Yes, he is.” He damned well better be. It was her only hope for survival after the way just one word of his approval affected all regions womanesque on her body.

Casey clucked her tongue. “If he was thinking about your taters, I highly doubt he’s gay.”

“Maybe he was thinking about surgically acquiring a pair of his own that were fashioned after mine?” Transgenders had implant surgery all the time. Though any surgeon who took on the task of changing Beck’s gender had his work cut out for him with all that hard, gruff exterior to work with. He’d make an ugly woman.

Marty chuckled. “You, as a veterinarian, know this already, but it bears saying the rule applies to the paranormal, too. Primarily, shapeshifters of the animal variety remain true to animal kingdom rules in their sexual behaviors. I can’t say I’ve ever seen two male werewolves shack up, set up housekeeping, and make crème brûlée together in their nest of love. Not that I’d care, mind you. I’m every bit as progressive as the next person. I support love, period. I’m just saying it hasn’t ever happened that I’m aware of. So if you hoped to fend off that growing attraction you have going on for him by telling yourself he’s gay—I’d find a new distraction. It’s okay to think he’s yummy. We won’t point fingers.”

Noooo. Katie briefly rolled her eyes heavenward.
Please, please don’t let that be true. I can’t afford another attraction to a man that will only bring me trouble.
“But he likes
Project Runway
.” Admittedly, a feeble defense if ever there was one.

Casey took one last sip of coffee before taking her cup to the big copper basin sink to rinse it. “And I like
Ice Road Truckers
, but I can assure you, I’m not a lesbian, and Beck didn’t say he liked
Project Runway.
As I recall, it just sparked a memory for him.”

Katie let her eyes slide closed when she leaned her hip against the counter. He had to be gay. Period. She’d accept nothing less.

“Katie!” her aunt yelled to her from the door. “Come out front, girl. We got company!” Teeny stuffed her gardening gloves into the pocket of her red-and-black-flannel jacket, her nostrils flaring, the air wheezing in and out of her lungs from so many years of smoking.

Katie grabbed her black knit hat and camouflage jacket before pushing her way out the front door to find Sheriff Glenn standing within the frame of the door of his police car. “Ms. Woods,” he drawled, leisurely and slow, as though saying her name was more an accusation than a greeting. He tipped his big sheriff’s hat at her, though his small eyes suggested disdain.

Not a look unfamiliar to her.

“Sheriff Glenn,” Katie addressed him back, mirroring his tone as she took the front porch steps with heavy feet, pretending she had no idea why he could have possibly shown up. “What can I help you with?”

For sure, they’d been caught red-handed violating the restraining order. Surely, Sheriff Glenn had decided that was cause for their profiles to be placed on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.

He sucked in his large cheeks, resting his arm on the top of the police car door. “You got friends in visiting from the fancy city?”

Suspicion sent off a thousand alarms in her head. “And if I do?”

He smacked his thick lips together, then smiled cordially. “Visiting hours are between one and two and then again at five and six. You might wanna write that down.”

Teeny grasped a garden rake between her two palms, planting it in a defensive stance in front of her. “Get to the point, for gravy’s sake, Everett. Stop with all the mystery theater.”

Everett Glenn’s eyes snapped to Teeny. “Fine by me, Bettina. Your niece’s fancy city friend and the one with the mouth the size of the biggest crater on the moon are in lockup. If she’s wantin’ to pay ’em a visit, you’d better be on time.”

Katie’s eyes widened, but not before Teeny swung into action, lifting the rake high over her head and charging the sheriff. “Everett! What the hell’s gotten into you? Wha’d you do with those women?”

Katie lunged for her aunt, stepping in front of her and yanking the rake out of her hands with a force that surprised not just Teeny but her, too. The rake swung upward in a wild arc before she threw it, much like a javelin, across the lawn where it landed with a clatter against a rusty propane tank.

That feat brought with it an astonished silence until Casey and Marty flew down the steps in a flurry of heels and fashionable clothing. Casey’s eyes zeroed in on Everett. “What’s going on here? Katie? Aunt Teeny? Everything all right?”

The sheriff assessed the two women with critical small-town eyes. “More
city
friends?”

Katie’s chin lifted as she set a spitting mad Teeny behind her. “It’s none of your business if they’re from the city or from an alternate universe, Sheriff Glenn. Now what have you done with Wanda and Nina?”

Everett clasped his hands together in a slow clench, cracking his knuckles, clearly deriving great pleasure from toying with her. “I arrested ’em.” He let the words linger, smirking when Marty and Casey gasped.

“For?” Katie demanded.

The sheriff took his time getting into his cruiser, turning the key in a slow motion for effect. He leaned out the window with a smirk before finally saying, “For assault and battery on old man Green. He’s in a coma, and your fancy friends are responsible for putting him there!”

Beck eyed his shelf work critically, shoving slips of lace and silk out of his eyes. He inhaled the scent of lavender and musk on frilly lingerie neatly hanging in row upon row of satin hangers.

Katie’s scent.

Delicious.

He’d noted almost everything she wore had some sort of lace on it, her shirt, the cuffs of her jeans. It only added to the allure of the curves he’d eyed and the swell of her shapely hips.

But here was the proof, hanging in almost every color of the rainbow in all shapes and scanty sizes. It brought with it hot, sweaty images of skin upon skin and deft fingers beneath short hems—heavy breathing—supple-smooth berries-and-cream skin—the sound of gasps of pleasure.

His ridiculous borrowed jeans tightened. He had no business lusting for a woman when he couldn’t remember what his name was or how he’d come upon said woman.

But what a woman.

Beck frowned, forcing himself to focus on the shelves and not the scraps of silken temptations.

He found if he had something to focus on other than his predicament or what he’d seen last night, he could stand to be in this unfamiliar skin.

And his unfamiliar name.

He grimaced. Beck. For all he knew that could well be his name. Yet, he’d found, since this had all begun, he had a knack for getting a feel for what sat right and what didn’t.

Beck felt wrong. But no more wrong than Spanky did. He only knew both names were wrong.

Now cougars and things that bloody well went bump in the night, sucked blood to remain upright, and set fire to inanimate objects via fingertips on the other hand, definitely had a strange, distant ring that lingered for a second or two then blew up into a cloud of disbelief.

Only to return with a nagging sense of urgency he could neither pinpoint nor find a shred of evidence to support. It was just there—ominous, dark.

While there was plenty of ominous and dark, there was also a sense of safety with these women and Katie. One he couldn’t explain and was probably best left viewed for what it was worth. Borrowed time and a place to rest his head while he tried to figure out how he’d ended up here. A port in a storm. A sexy one, but one nonetheless.

The notion he was responsible for the fair Dr. Woods’s peculiar condition made him not just cringe but determined to find a way to help her. A compelling need to right a wrong he wasn’t wholly convinced he’d committed sat rooted in his gut.

And there it was. That nagging familiarity about this situation. Almost like he’d been here—done this. He just couldn’t remember when or how.

Damned well frustrating.

Beck leaned against the wall of the walk-in closet, brushing impatiently at the wisps of nightgowns, and reviewed what information he did have.

He was British—a man—not entirely bad-looking, if the reflection he saw in the mirror wasn’t distorted by his amnesia. Though, admittedly, Supermodel Ground Control wasn’t going to be in any hurry to book him a print ad with Abercrombie and Fitch.

He was at least six-foot-two. When he’d weighed himself on Katie’s scale this morning, he was two hundred point two pounds. And he liked cartoons. He’d caught an episode of
Scooby-Doo
on the television in his loaned pink-and-purple bedroom and had known exactly when Scooby would want a snack.

He also, apparently, liked
Project Runway
or knew of the show’s existence.

Which he was sure had left at least one or two of those women believing he was light in his loafers. Unlike most heterosexual men who would find that particular bit of information disturbing and become defensive about it, Beck found he didn’t much mind.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Maybe he was in fact a knob jockey.

He snatched a handful of Katie’s lingerie in his palm and inhaled deeply.

Well then.

No. He wasn’t gay.

Just secure.

He grinned.

 

 

“CASEY!
S’up, demonlicious?” A man held his knuckled fist forward for Casey to butt.

Out of nowhere, a portly, enormously tall man with heavy gold chains around his neck, a NY Giants jersey, jeans that fell past his round belly, high-top Nikes, gold teeth, and the widest grin Katie’d ever seen had appeared.

Out of thin air.

One minute she and the women were all in Teeny’s kitchen, worrying about how to spring Wanda and Nina while her aunt, angry to the point of fuming, had gone to lie down and take her heart medication. The next, a man who scooped Casey up in a bear hug, was standing in front of her, smiling and bringing with him an air of joviality.

Hooking her arm through his, Casey leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “Darnell, meet Dr. Katie Woods, DVM.”

He cocked his shortly cropped head and held out his hand to Katie, who took it without fear. “She the one?” he asked Casey.

“Yep. She’s it.”

He groaned, rubbing his rotund belly. “Oh, lady. You sho went and done it, huh?”

Katie nodded, her head still whirling from his sudden appearance. Oh. She’d done. “It seems I’ve definitely overachieved here. Pleasure to meet you. Casey says you can help with my asperity.”

Darnell shot Casey a confused glance. “Her who-ity?”

Katie smiled. “My predicament.”

He ran his large palm over the top of his head, giving it a good scruff. “I dunno if I can help you. Don’t know a lot about cats. Though don’t you worry, I got me some feelers out right now’bout your kind. But I sho can get those two women out the poepoe fo they turn this into some paranormal hootenanny. So tell old Darnell what all happened up in here?”

Casey explained what Marty and Nina were accused of while Darnell’s face went from one expressive state to the next. “Hoo, boy,” he whistled when she was finished. “The men know what’s goin’ on right now?” he asked, and Katie assumed he meant their husbands.

Casey popped her lips with a wince. “They’re golfing and the less they know, the better, don’t you agree?”

Darnell winked. “Clay’ll kill me, so yeah, I’m wit ya and never you mind. Darnell’s got yer back. So where am I goin’, and who I gotta take out when I get there?”

Katie blanched, but Casey placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. Darnell would never hurt anyone. He’s just going to pose as Nina and Wanda’s lawyer and post bail. We’ll keep everything on the up-and-up so as not to arouse suspicion. That means no mind games, Darnell. Keep Vampira out of that sheriff’s head, okay?”