Chapter Nine Noah #2
I wish I could say the rest of the night was a breeze, but everything that could go wrong did, and when I finally crawl into bed at nearly eleven, sleep eludes me.
And it’s because of what I said to Odette and what a total crock of shit it was.
“I’m up, I’m up,” I grumble as I push back the heavy black comforter that I really don’t want to crawl out from under.
But I have no choice—I’m being summoned.
Though small, Tootsie makes a hell of a ruckus if she doesn’t get her feed by 6:00 a.m.
I check the clock on the bedside table.
5:55 a.m.
Yep, right on schedule.
I sit on the edge of my king-size bed, trying to coax myself to actually get up. I’m used to running on a shitty sleep schedule, thanks to all my years of traveling for hockey, but I thought I’d be done with that when I retired.
Clearly, I was wrong.
Tootsie clucks loudly again, and I finally push myself out of bed. I do my business in the bathroom, get dressed in my new uniform—jeans and a simple T-shirt—then head downstairs to start the coffeepot.
The hen might be in a hurry, but I am not leaving this house without some caffeine.
While it’s brewing, I comb through the cabinets for something to eat. The only thing I can find is a protein bar. I have no idea how old it is, but I scarf it down anyway. I guess I’ll be hitting the grocery store this morning before opening the cidery.
After the coffee is ready, I pour it into my favorite to-go cup and head outside.
Tootsie is at my feet in an instant, pecking at the tops of my boots.
“I know. You’re starving.” I crouch down to pet her. “Come on, then. Let’s get you some food.”
She darts off the porch and down my long driveway toward the farm. I trail behind her, chuckling at how fast she’s moving. Nothing motivates her more than the promise of food, which is how she makes it all the way to my house every morning to make sure I’m up to feed her.
Truthfully, I don’t mind it. The morning walk is nice, and it helps me start my day with a clear mind.
There’s always something so calming about walking between the big evergreens that line the road.
It’s not like the farm is far from town, but it feels hours away when I’m out here like this in the early morning, the fog rolling over the hills and through the trees. It’s peaceful.
Something I can use more of lately since Odette started working at the farm.
We’ve been working together for a week and a half now with no incidents to report. No almost kisses, no running into doors, no black eyes or busted noses.
Nada.
I wish I could say we’ve found a good rhythm working together, but all it consists of is grunts—that’s me—and sighs—that’s all her. We barely talk. We certainly don’t banter. We don’t even share breakfast anymore. We just work, argue over silly shit, then go our separate ways.
I know it’s because of what I said to her, that she’s like a sister to me.
God, I wish I could take it back. Every damn fabricated word of it.
But I have to keep telling myself that until I believe it, especially since the days are getting warmer and her shorts are getting shorter.
I try to shake the thoughts from my head as Tootsie leads us into her coop.
I spread some food and collect the fresh eggs they’ve laid to add them to our egg stand before stopping by the pond to check out the goats.
After, I head into the barn to get a list of supplies I’ll need.
If I’m going into town this early, I may as well stop by the hardware store.
I grab the gas cans from the shed for the mower since I’ll need to mow that pasture before it gets too out of hand.
The last thing I need to add to my to-do list is cleaning up piles of grass before the wedding.
I’ve been doing that enough by tearing apart the barn.
Every time I take something down, another issue pops up.
I have no clue how this thing hasn’t completely blown over in one of our windstorms. But I just know I’m going to build it back stronger than ever.
I’m going to make this the best damn wedding this town has ever seen, and not just for Izzy.
Much like Odette wants to do this to show the town she’s not a failure, maybe I want to prove I’m not one either. I may have failed at marriage and being the husband and man Chelsea wanted me to be, but I’m not going to fail at this too.
I don’t have to believe in marriage, but it doesn’t mean I can’t make this place a damn good venue. Ezra was right that this could turn into something big for weddings.
When I finally make it back to my place, it’s seven.
That’s good. Everything will be open by the time I get into town, and I can get this all done before Odette shows up here in an hour.
I shoot Ezra a quick text as I’m heading out the door.
Me: Running into town. Need anything?
Ezra:
Ezra: For you not to text me before 8.
Ezra: And also, napkins. Our supplier isn’t dropping them off until tomorrow, and we’re low. Just enough to get us through today.
I shoot him back a quick “got it,” then make my way into town in my truck, which was my parting gift to myself when I left the NHL. I figured if I would be working on a farm, I would need a big vehicle to haul stuff around in. I was right. This baby has saved us more times than I can count.
Ezra would never admit it, but it’s way more useful than the swanky sports car he drives around. It makes him stick out like a sore thumb, but he doesn’t seem to care. That’s Ezra for you. He’s never really given a shit about what people think of him.
I hit the hardware store and load up my truck with new boards, nails, screws, and shingles.
I’m determined to get that damn roof done this weekend.
Thankfully, it’s summer, so we’re in the drier months here in the Pacific Northwest. We haven’t really had to worry about the rain too much, but I want to be prepared just in case.
Besides, we’re now down to just eight weeks to make this place perfect.
I need to make some major progress—and soon.
I make sure to grab a few bags of feed for the chickens and goats too. The last thing I need is Tootsie getting pissed at me and running amuck all over the farm. Well, more than she already does.
Once I have all the lumber supplies I’ll need, I pull into the gas station and grab the cans from the bed of my truck.
I’m just about done when I hear my name being called.
I turn to find Peaches . . . and a cat in her arms.
Oh shit.
The older woman is wearing a pair of wide-legged pants that look about three sizes too big on her, a flower-print shirt that could double as a dress, and her trusty gardening hat.
Her long, nearly white hair flows behind her as she speed-walks my way, a pair of threadbare flip-flops making that obnoxious thwack, thwack, thwack with every step.
“Noah! Noah!” she hollers.
I yank the gas nozzle from the can, not caring about the fact that it’s not yet full, and race to screw on the cap.
But I’m not fast enough.
“Hey,” Peaches says, holding a tiny tuxedo-colored cat out to me. “Pork, meet your new dad, Noah.”
I don’t know if it’s because I’m completely mystified by the name she’s given it, or if it’s just out of pure instinct, but I take the cat from her outstretched hands.
And dammit if the thing doesn’t start to purr instantly, so small it fits perfectly into my palm.
“Aw, see? He likes you.” Peaches scratches under the kitten’s chin. “He’s going to like living with you just fine.”
“What? Living with me? New dad?” I hold the cat back out to the old woman. “Peaches, no. I can’t take this cat.”
“But you already did.” She grins up at me, taking a step back. “And look how happy Pork is. I’ve never seen him so pleased before.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean much. He’s had a short life.” The little guy lets out a big yawn, as if he’s as tired of Peaches’s bullshit as I am. I thrust the cat at her again. “I can’t take him.”
“But you have to. He chose you.” She takes another step back.
“That’s how this works. The cats come to me and ask me to give them a home, and I do.
” She points across the street in the direction she came from.
“I was just over there, and Pork saw you and started meowing his head off. He knew you were his person.”
“Peaches, that’s absurd. Where are you getting all these damn cats?”
“Cats have sex, Noah, and from the sex comes new cats. That’s how the animal kingdom works.”
I can say with certainty that I didn’t have talking about cat sex and the animal kingdom on my bingo card when I decided to come into town today, especially not before 8:00 a.m.
Yet here I am anyway.
“I understand that, but how are you always finding them?”
“Because they come to me.” She tips her head to the side. “I’m not understanding what you’re not understanding here.”
“I—” I shake my head. “You know what? Never mind. I still can’t take this cat.”
I hold the kitten out, and once again Peaches takes a step away.
“I can’t take them back. That’s not how it works.”
“Not how it works? I—”
“He’s weaned. He’s ready for the big boy food. All he needs is care and love. Good luck.”
“Good luck? Peaches! Peaches!”
But my protests are fruitless. She spins on her barely there flip-flops and runs. Literally runs away.
And she’s quick too. She’s already across the gas station parking lot before I even fully realize what’s happening—she’s seriously leaving this kitten with me.
I stare after her, trying to figure out what the hell just happened and what exactly I’m going to do with this cat. I don’t have the time or patience for a kitten, especially not now.
I look down at the little fella tucked into the crook of my arm, and he peers up at me with green eyes that are far too intense for such a young age.
“I guess you’re coming home with me.” Meow. “But don’t get used to it,” I warn him. “You’re not staying.”
Meow.
I huff, then toss the gas can back into the truck bed. With the cat curled up on the passenger seat, I steer toward the cidery, praying I don’t get stopped along the way and get saddled with another cat.
To my surprise, Odette is already at the property when I pull up.
She’s leaning against her old BMW, her hand curled around a to-go cup of coffee, a fritter clutched in the other. I already know she doesn’t have one for me. She hasn’t brought me one since the morning we fought.
It makes me regret what I said to her even more. Not because I want a delicious breakfast treat, too, but because it means she’s being standoffish toward me.
The worst part is that I don’t entirely blame her. I would be, too, after the way I embarrassed her like that.
I hop out of the truck, then reach inside and scoop up the little ball of black and white. He fell asleep about five minutes into the drive, and not that I’d ever admit it out loud, but it was very hard to keep my eyes on the road and not on him. He just looked so sweet curled up.
“What the . . .” Odette pushes off her car when she sees the kitten. “Peaches got you, too, didn’t she?”
“I certainly didn’t get him of my own accord,” I grouse, trying not to be too charmed when the little thing nuzzles against me. “He’s going back tomorrow, so don’t get attached to him.”
“Of course he is.” But she grins. She grins, and I know exactly what kind of grin it is.
She doesn’t believe me.
“He is,” I insist.
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Noah.” That fucking smile widens. “Can I hold him?”
“Be my guest. I have work to do.”
She crams the rest of her fritter in her mouth, then takes the kitten with her free hand, snuggling him against her chest. “Hi, little baby,” she coos at him. “Hi there. It’s so nice to meet you.”
I look away, focusing on getting the supplies out of the truck and not at all on how fucking adorable she looks holding him.
“He’s so cute,” she says softly, like she’s trying not to disturb him. “What’s his name?”
“Pork,” I say through a grunt, pulling a heavy piece of lumber out of the pile. “Peaches said his name is Pork.”
“Pork.” She smiles down at him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Pork. We’re going to become very good friends.”
And I’m going to be spending the entire day acting like I’m not jealous of a cat getting all of Odette’s attention.
The worst part? It’s nobody’s fault but my own.