Chapter 7
Theo
I've always been a sucker for strays. It's why I became a vet, honestly.
Not just because I love animals—though I do—but because there's something about a creature in need that makes my chest ache.
Something that bypasses all my rational thoughts and goes straight to that primal alpha part of me that wants to protect.
Which is why, when I see Rowan kneeling on the side of Lakeside Drive in the rain, I brake so hard I nearly send my coffee flying.
At first, I think she's hurt. She's huddled over something, her hair plastered to her face, completely soaked despite the fact that it's only been raining for maybe ten minutes. But as I pull over and jump out of my car, I realize she's cradling something tiny and bedraggled against her chest.
"Rowan?" I call, jogging toward her. "Are you okay?"
She looks up, relief washing over her face when she sees me. "Theo! Thank God." Her voice is strained, almost breaking. "I found him in the ditch. He's so small, and I—I didn't know what to do."
She holds out her hands, and my heart squeezes. There, trembling in her palms, is quite possibly the tiniest, most pathetic kitten I've ever seen. It's orange and white, no bigger than my palm, soaking wet and covered in mud. Its eyes are barely open, and its breathing is rapid and shallow.
"He was just... crying," she says, and I realize her eyes are wet with more than rain. "I couldn't just leave him."
Something about the desperate, protective look on her face makes my alpha instincts go haywire. It's not just the kitten that needs saving; it's Rowan too, kneeling in the mud without a jacket, looking up at me with those big, worried eyes.
"Of course not," I say, crouching beside her. "You did the right thing. Here, let me see him."
She passes the kitten to me carefully, our hands brushing. I examine the tiny creature quickly—male, as she thought, probably around three weeks old. Far too young to be away from his mother. He's hypothermic and likely dehydrated, but his heart seems strong.
"Is he going to be okay?" Rowan asks, her voice small.
"He needs warmth and fluids," I say, already shrugging out of my jacket one-handed to wrap around her shoulders. "And probably some medicine. But his chances are good now that you found him."
The relief on her face is palpable. "Oh thank god. What should we do?"
"First, let's get you both out of the rain." I help her to her feet, my hand supporting her elbow.
"My car's right there. I've got a first aid kit at the clinic, but I think we should just go straight home. He needs warmth more than anything."
She nods, clutching my jacket tighter around herself. "Thank you. I was gonna call you before you drove by. I didn't know who else to call."
Something warm uncurls in my chest at the fact that she thought of me, even though we've only known each other a few days.
"It's what I do," I say, trying to sound casual. "Saving tiny creatures is literally my job description."
In the car, Rowan cradles the kitten against her chest, under my jacket. She murmurs to it softly, promises that it'll be okay, that she's got him now. I crank the heat up high and drive home as quickly as I safely can.
"Will Jasper and Wells be okay with this?" she asks suddenly, as if the thought just occurred to her. "I know it's your house, but bringing home an animal without asking..."
I wince slightly. "It'll be fine," I say, with more confidence than I feel. Jasper isn't exactly known for his flexibility when it comes to house matters. And Wells is allergic to most things with fur. "They'll understand it's an emergency."
She doesn't look convinced, but the kitten mewls weakly, recapturing her attention.
When we pull into the driveway, I see Jasper's truck is already home. Great. Just what we need—Grumpy Alpha vs. Rescue Kitten, round one.
"Let me do the talking," I tell Rowan as we head up the porch steps. "And maybe try to look... I don't know, less like you're already emotionally bonded to that kitten."
She attempts to rearrange her face into something less openly adoring as she looks down at the tiny bundle in her hands, but it's a lost cause. She's already fallen hard for the little guy, and it's written all over her face.
The moment we step inside, Jasper's voice calls from the living room: "That you, Theo?
Did you pick up the—" He appears in the doorway, stopping short when he sees us—me with an armful of vet supplies I grabbed from my trunk, Rowan soaking wet despite my jacket, holding something that makes a pathetic mewling sound.
His eyes narrow. "No."
"It's just temporary," I say quickly, already moving toward the kitchen. "Found him abandoned on the side of the road. He would have died out there."
"I found him," Rowan corrects, following me closely. "Then I saw Theo driving by."
Jasper crosses his arms, his whole posture radiating disapproval. "And you immediately decided to bring it home? Without discussing it with anyone else who lives here?"
"He was dying," Rowan says, her voice taking on a stubborn edge I'm starting to recognize.
"We didn't have time for a household meeting."
"What's happening?" Wells appears from his office, looking between us with growing suspicion. His eyes land on the bundle in Rowan's hands, and he takes a deliberate step back. "Is that a cat?"
"Kitten," I correct, already filling a hot water bottle at the sink. "About three weeks old. Abandoned. Needs immediate care."
"This is not a pet hospital," Jasper growls. "The house rules clearly state—"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Rowan interrupts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Next time I'll just leave a helpless baby animal to die in the rain because it might inconvenience you."
Jasper's jaw tightens. "That's not what I—"
"Guys," I interject, wrapping the hot water bottle in a towel. "Fight later. Save the kitten now."
This, at least, seems to pause the brewing argument. I motion for Rowan to bring the kitten to the kitchen island, where I've spread out supplies from my emergency vet kit.
"Wells, can you grab more towels? Soft ones," I direct. "Jasper, I need a box or a small basket. Something we can make into a temporary bed."
Both of them hesitate, then move to follow my instructions. Nothing like taking charge to make alphas fall in line.
"What can I do?" Rowan asks, her eyes never leaving the kitten as I gently take him from her.
"Get changed into dry clothes before you catch pneumonia," I say, already examining the tiny creature more thoroughly. "Then come back and help me feed him."
She looks reluctant to leave the kitten even for a minute, but nods and heads upstairs.
Once she's gone, Jasper returns with a shoebox. "The kitten isn't staying," he says gruffly, watching as I clean the mud from the kitten's fur with a warm, damp cloth. "We find it a home as soon as it's stable."
"His name is Gerald," Rowan announces from the doorway. She's changed into dry clothes—leggings and an oversized sweater—and her hair is wrapped in a towel. "And he's not an 'it.'"
"Gerald?" I repeat, fighting a smile. "That's... an interesting choice for a kitten."
"He looks like a Gerald," she says with complete conviction, coming to stand beside me.
"Dignified but down on his luck."
The kitten in question lets out a pitiful mew that's anything but dignified, but Rowan nods as if he's just confirmed her assessment.
"It doesn't matter what its—his—name is," Jasper says, though I notice he's moved closer, peering at the kitten with reluctant interest. "He's not staying permanently."
"I'll find him a home," Rowan promises, though something in her tone makes me suspect she's already considering herself that home. "But he needs care for a few weeks first. He's too young for adoption."
"How young?" Wells asks, returning with an armful of towels. He keeps his distance, but I can tell he's curious despite his allergies.
"About three weeks," I answer, finishing my examination. "He'll need bottle feeding every few hours, including overnight. And he's got an upper respiratory infection starting, but I can treat that."
"That sounds like a lot of work," Jasper points out, looking pointedly at Rowan. "And you just started a new job. Who's going to take care of him while you're working?"
"I will," she says immediately. "I'll figure it out. Bring him with me if I have to. Crystal seems like she'd be okay with a kitten in the shop."
"Or I can check on him during lunch breaks," I offer, surprised by my own eagerness to help.
"The clinic's not far from the florist."
Jasper looks between us, clearly sensing he's losing the battle. "Fine," he finally says. "But it's your responsibility. And if it—he—damages anything, it comes out of your rent."
"Deal," Rowan says quickly, before he can add more conditions.
For the next hour, we work together to get Gerald settled.
I show Rowan how to mix the kitten formula and feed him with a tiny bottle, how to stimulate him to go to the bathroom (a necessity at his age that makes Jasper grimace and Wells flee the room), and how to set up his makeshift bed with the hot water bottle for warmth.
She's a quick learner, her hands gentle but confident as she takes over the feeding. The look on her face as Gerald latches onto the bottle and suckles eagerly is something between pride and wonder.
"You're a natural," I tell her, watching as she carefully wipes milk from his tiny chin.
She smiles, not taking her eyes off the kitten. "I've always liked taking care of things. Plants, mostly, since pets weren't allowed in my apartment. But I grew up with cats."
Gradually, Wells and Jasper migrate to the living room, pretending they're not keenly interested in the kitten's progress.
Once Gerald is fed, cleaned, and sleeping peacefully in his box-turned-bed, we all somehow end up in the living room. Rowan sits cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, where she's placed Gerald's box so she can keep an eye on him.