Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Parker
I followed the long, winding drive past Karen’s house, in the direction of the Foothills Cat Rescue Society, until I arrived at a small bungalow nestled at the back of her property. The place had a cozy, gently worn charm—Karen had transformed her in-laws’ cottage into a cat shelter after they passed away. The white-painted trim on the small house was chipped in places, and the flower beds were overrun with wildflowers. But a sense of tranquility hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind and chirping bird.
I parked my car and hesitated for a moment. This place, with its quiet and its cats, was a sanctuary for me too—a world away from the life I had left behind.
I opened a text thread with Karen and Emily to check in.
Parker
I’m here.
Karen
Let me know if you need anything.
I shook my head at her offer, chuckling softly. I wouldn’t be bothering Karen. She’d had hip replacement surgery two days ago.
Emily
Don’t even THINK about helping, Karen. Your job is to recover. I’ve got someone coming to help Parker. They’re running late but will be there soon.
I let out a small sigh of relief at the thought of help arriving soon. The tasks that awaited could be overwhelming alone.
My phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts. I answered it without checking the screen. “Hi Emily?—”
“Who?”
The familiar voice on the other end sent warmth curling through my belly. “Hi, Mom.” Although I’d left my life in Boston behind, I couldn’t cut ties with her. She was my anchor, my one connection to the family. Mom didn’t know where I was living—my father could and would coerce the information out of her—but she checked in frequently to see how I was doing. “I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m at the shelter.”
She chuckled. “You always did want a pet. Now you’ve found a way around that.”
A grin spread across my face, even though she couldn’t see it. I’d found about seventeen ways around it. “Something like that.”
“How are you doing?” Despite our differences, I could hear her gentle, motherly concern.
“I’m fine,” I replied too quickly. I could almost hear her raised eyebrow on the other end. It was too soon to confide in her about Bowen. I didn’t know how she’d react. A rough-around-the-edges hockey player without a college degree—he was far from the kind of man she’d imagined for me. She loved me, but she was still a snob, still someone who socialized with billionaires, celebrities, and politicians. Bowen would be hard for her to accept.
“When are you going to get a better job than waitressing?” she asked, a hint of censure slipping into her tone. The words stung, even though they were a refrain I’d heard countless times since I’d left home.
I inhaled, steadying myself. “You know the answer to that, Mom. Once the scandal blows over and people stop judging me for my father’s sins.”
Silence stretched across the line. Then, a deep sigh drifted over, heavy and weary. “Harrison has been asking about you,” she said carefully, as if testing my reaction. “He wants you back, and…your father supports him.”
The warmth that had filled me moments ago turned to ice. I clenched my fist, feeling my nails bite into my palm. “They’re both delusional,” I muttered. It was good I’d left. They would have hounded me until I gave in.
“Parker…” She wavered, a hesitation that sent a chill down my spine. My mother was rarely uncertain, and her hesitation only made the moment more ominous.
“What is it?” I asked, my heart hammering. “Why did you call?”
There was a pause, and then she spoke, her voice lower, almost as if she were afraid someone might overhear. “I think your father knows where you are. I believe he hired a private investigator, and he’s got a security detail watching you.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I tightened my fingers on the phone. “No,” I whispered, the word barely audible. This couldn’t be happening. I thought I’d escaped his grasp, thought I’d finally carved out a small corner of the world where he couldn’t reach me. A deep shudder ran through me.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
A cold dread settled over me, making it hard to breathe. “I’ve got to go.” I hung up on her protests, my hand shaking as I lowered the phone.
I pocketed it, my heart pounding in my chest, and scanned the surrounding area. The peaceful quiet of the countryside shifted into something ominous, the stillness unsettling. Was my father having me watched? The thought sent a spike of fear through me, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I hurried to the cottage, desperate for the safety and comfort of the cats.
I entered the screened-in porch. The enclosed porch prevented cats from escaping to the outside when we opened the door to the house. I punched in the key code on the door lock and let myself inside, sighing with relief.
The seventeen cats and kittens in the house were mostly feral and unsuitable for adoption. But at the shelter, they had a warm, dry, safe place to sleep, plenty of food, and fresh water. Those who needed medical attention received it from a vet tech who came by as needed. The cats were living their best lives after being abandoned, abused, and/or born feral.
Meow, meow, meow. Cricket, a small black cat with a perpetually disgruntled expression, complained to me from her perch on one of the many shelves on the walls. Her green eyes narrowed in disapproval, as if she couldn’t believe I had the audacity to wake her from her nap. I couldn’t help but smile. Green, gold, and yellow eyes blinked at me from kitty condos, beds, and deep windowsills, their curiosity mingling with sleepiness.
“Meow, meow,” I said by way of greeting, but who knew what I was really saying in cat-speak? I softened my tone to match the calm I wanted to feel and said, “Let me clean the catio, and then I’ll move you all out there while I clean in here.” I retrieved a poop bag from the closet in the master bedroom, my movements practiced, and tucked it into my pocket.
A car pulled up outside, and I froze. My heart skipped a beat. Chase was supposed to be here, but my nerves were still on edge from the call. The front door opened, and I stepped into the living room to greet him, only to stop dead in my tracks. My heart caught in my throat, a thrill whirling through my stomach.
“You’re not Chase,” I said in a breathless whisper.
“And you’re not Emily,” Bowen countered, his deep timbre sending a shiver down my spine.
I shook my head, amusement bubbling up despite the tension in my chest. “I think they set us up.”
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Seems that way.”
My gaze lingered on his lips, my belly swooping with the memory of our kiss the previous day. It had been gentle yet electric, sending sparks through me I still felt.
Had I been right to let him kiss me? The doubt ate at me, guilt churning in my stomach. I was harboring a secret from him, a truth that weighed heavily on my heart. I’d chickened out on coming clean the previous day, telling myself I’d get to know him better before exposing myself. My palms dampened, and I wiped them on my jeans. After all, who knew if we had a future? I didn’t want to be presumptuous and premature.
That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
“…do?” Bowen’s question broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.
I blinked, shaking my head to clear it. “What?”
Bowen searched the room. “What do I do? Put me to…ah, ah…” He sneezed, a honking explosion, and cats and kittens skedaddled to the other rooms, their claws scrabbling on the vinyl plank flooring.
My eyes flew wide. “Don’t tell me you’re allergic to cats.”
He sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Didn’t know I was. Haven’t really been around cats.”
I cocked my head. “Not even as a kid?”
He shrugged. “Nope.”
“And yet, you volunteered to work at a cat shelter?” I asked, disbelief coloring my tone. It seemed both absurd and endearing.
He shrugged again. “Chase asked me to.”
It was that simple to him. His dedication to his friend sent warmth through my chest. “Let me see if we have any antihistamines in the medicine cabinet.” I found allergy medicine and snagged a box of tissues from the bathroom. Next, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed everything to Bowen. “This should help.”
He wiped his watery eyes and downed a tablet before he croaked out, “Thanks.”
I frowned. “Do you need to leave?”
He shook his head and grunted. “Put me to work, boss.” He stuffed his pocket with tissues.
“Okay, let’s start on the catio.”
His brows drew together. “The cat-what?”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped at his bewildered expression. “The cat patio,” I said, leading him through the cozy, cat-filled house. The interior was a labyrinth of cat trees, scratching posts, and shelves that wrapped around the walls, making it a feline paradise. As we made our way toward the back, I had to weave around a few curious cats who padded close, their tails flicking as they watched us with keen interest.
I pushed open a wooden door leading onto the screened-in porch, the catio. The small cat flap cut into the bottom of the door allowed the cats free access in and out. Sunlight filtered through the mesh screens and cast a warm, golden glow over the space. Wooden climbing structures lined one side, while a cushioned outdoor sofa sat invitingly on the other. It was a place where the indoor-outdoor boundary blurred into a fresh environment yet was safe for the cats.
As we stepped out, three curious cats lifted their heads, their eyes narrowing in displeasure at our intrusion. “Sorry, boys. You have to go inside for a bit,” I said softly, shooing them off the sofa with gentle pats. Mac, an old brown tabby with huge, round eyes, was vocal about his disapproval, his meows strident in the small space.
“I know, I know. Tell me about it,” I murmured to Mac, brushing a hand along his back as he begrudgingly trotted through the door. Once all the cats were inside, I locked the cat flap and closed the door, sealing us off from the house.
I turned to Bowen and crossed my arms. What should I do with him? By playing matchmaker, Emily had saddled me with an inexperienced helper. I could give him menial tasks today, but if he was going to volunteer again, I had to train him. I strode to a litter box, picked up the scoop, and held it up. “Cat care 101. Cleaning the litter box.”
He wrinkled his nose, and I grinned. “Well, you asked for it.”
I showed him how to scoop and clean the litter box and add fresh litter. He meticulously freshened the rest of the boxes on the catio while I cleaned hairballs off the tile floor. I swept, he mopped, and we soon finished cleaning the catio like teammates. Maybe Emily had known what she was doing when she scheduled us together.
When we finally finished cleaning the catio, I wiped my hands on my jeans and turned to Bowen with a playful smile. “Now for the hard part,” I warned, opening the door to the house.
He grunted and lifted the poop-filled bag. “Worse than cleaning litter boxes?”
I nodded. “We need to herd the all the cats from the house onto the catio, so we can clean the house.” I winced. “They aren’t very cooperative.”
He squared his shoulders. “Let’s do it.”
We started in the far reaches of the house, moving methodically as we roused the sleeping cats and gently coaxed them toward the catio. It wasn’t easy—some cats, like Mac, were grumpy and resistant, while others seemed determined to avoid capture entirely. We herded them with as much patience as we could muster, until only one little long-haired calico kitten remained in the living room, cowering in the corner.
Bowen dropped to his hands and knees and reached for her.
“Careful! Missy scratches and bites.” She hissed, arching her back, and her tail fluffed into a bottle-brush.
He snatched his hand back, and I moved forward to take his place.
He shook his head and whispered, “I’ve got her.” And then a deep, soft rumbling issued from his chest.
He was…purring.
Missy’s hissing stopped almost instantly, her wide eyes focusing on Bowen in shock. The little kitten, who had been so full of fear just moments ago, seemed mesmerized by the sound. Bowen kept purring quietly, but his natural baritone resonated through the room. I held my breath, watching the interaction with awe.
After a few tense moments, Missy relaxed, her arched back leveling as the threat she’d perceived melted away. Bowen reached out again, his hand moving slowly, deliberately, until it was just a few inches from her. She sniffed the air, her little pink nose twitching as she cautiously leaned closer. With a tenderness that made my heart ache, Bowen ran a single large finger down her tiny head, and her eyes drifted shut in contentment.
Without hesitation, Bowen gently scooped her into his hand—her small body fitting perfectly in his palm—and brought her close to his chest, continuing to rumble softly. Missy’s purr soon joined his, the sound creating a harmony that filled the room with an unexpected sense of peace.
My heart melted into a puddle right then and there. The man was a natural.
Bowen stood with the grace of a seasoned athlete, his movements smooth and sure, as he padded over to the catio. He crouched down and released Missy, who darted out of his hand and joined the other cats without a single complaint. It was as if she had been waiting for his reassurance to feel safe.
I gaped at him, unable to hide my amazement. “You’re a cat whisperer.”
He grunted, brushing off the compliment with a light flush creeping up his neck. “It seemed like the logical thing to do: purr like a mother cat.” He averted his gaze.
Message received. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but I’d never forget the way he tamed our spitfire. Sparing him further embarrassment, I moved on. “Would you rather…” I began, drawing his attention back to me.
He met my gaze, and a small twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.
“Freshen the food and water, or clean more litter boxes?”
He wiped his nose with a tissue and grunted. “I’ll take care of the litter boxes.”
“Such a gentleman.” I winked playfully.
That earned me another grunt and a lip quiver.
We worked together seamlessly, feeding and watering the cats, loading the dishwasher with dirty bowls, and tackling various other chores. Bowen wasn’t just good with the cats—he seemed to have an innate sense of what needed to be done, anticipating my chores without requiring instruction. He was more than a cat whisperer; he was quickly becoming a Parker whisperer, too.
When we finally opened the door to the catio, the cats and kittens flooded back into the house in a rush, their small bodies creating a feline tsunami. Bowen’s eyes widened at the sight, and he stumbled back a step, clearly taken aback by the sheer number of cats.
I couldn’t help my smile at his reaction. “Welcome to the world of cat herding,” I said with a laugh, watching as the cats spread out.
We followed the wave into the living room, where the cats quickly settled in. They chomped down on fresh food, scratched posts with enthusiasm, and playfully wrestled with one another. Some resumed their places on sunny windowsills, while others claimed high shelves, cat condos, and comfy beds for their naps.
Bowen propped his hands on his hips. “So much personality packed into one room.”
“You mean ‘purr-sonality,’” I teased.
He rolled his eyes and groaned.
I chuckled softly, a warm flutter in my chest at his interest in the shelter and its residents. “They each have their own stories to tell, that’s for sure.”
As if on cue, a sleek tortoiseshell cat with an uneven gait approached Bowen, rubbing affectionately against his leg. Bowen kneeled, rumbling softly again, and ran his hand over her head. She purred, pressing into his touch with a contented sigh. “What happened to her back leg?” he asked gently as he continued to pet her.
“A car hit her and sped off,” I explained with a tinge of sadness. “A good Samaritan brought her to us. The vet had to amputate her leg, but she gets around just fine. Don’t you, Tori?” I cooed at the cat, feeling a swell of affection for the brave little survivor. Watching Bowen connect with her, I couldn’t believe he’d never been around cats before. Beneath that rough exterior was a soft heart, and I felt privileged to witness it.
“You’re good with them,” I said softly, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. “They sure seem to like you.”
He grunted. “They’re not so bad,” he admitted, his tone almost reluctant, as if he didn’t want to give too much away. He scratched behind Tori’s ears with ease. “Could get used to this.”
Satisfaction swelled within me, a warm, contented feeling settling in my chest. Despite his allergic reaction, it was as if he belonged here among the paws and claws.
“Here, let me show you how to play with them.” I motioned for Bowen to follow me to a nearby basket filled with an assortment of toys.
We spent the next hour engrossed in play, fluttering feather wands and tossing crinkly balls for the cats to chase. Bowen proved to be a quick learner, his movements fluid and gentle as he engaged with each fur ball.
Surrounded by the comforting presence of the cats and the surprising warmth of Bowen’s companionship, a sense of peace settled over me as I dangled a wand of strings in front of a tabby. Perhaps it was the coziness of the shelter, or perhaps it was something more, something that transcended words and explanations. All I knew was that, in that moment, I was right where I should be.
With exactly the right person.
I wanted more. But for that to happen, I needed to bridge the gap between us.
How did I close the distance when I was hiding so much?