Chapter 2 #3
He rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway, she doesn’t even live in the state anymore. Hooked up with a tourist and kept the fling going five years now.”
Does he sound wistful? For her, or for her life? Or is the latter my wishful thinking?
He drops his arm. “I never got your name. He called you Pressie?”
“Only Papa calls me Pressie. It’s Prescott Keys.” His gaze flicks down to my left hand, and it might be because of the different last name. I was never a Young. “Should I just follow you? I need to put these guys in my front seat in case my tubs shift around.”
“Put them in my back seat in case the puppy wants to roam. I know where I’m going.”
Makes sense. I shouldn’t risk the distraction. He helps me transfer the sleepy animals. Haven wandered all over looking for the fluffy orange cat, so I’m confident we found the whole group.
Minutes later, I’m in my car and following a nice but dusty black pickup down the highway. Eventually, he turns onto a winding dirt road that disappears into a mature copse of trees.
An old white ranch house comes into view. The yard looks cleaned up, and the fence around it is tidy. A lot of new houses have popped up since I was last in Huckleberry Springs, and my memory is only fuzzy at best, but this place has been here a while.
Haven drives past that, farther down to a brown barn. To the left, chickens in a mobile pen peck in the grass around a small shed. The doors are open and blocked by scaffolding. Has Haven been here long? How much of the obvious care in this property is from him?
I park next to his pickup. When I hop out, the smell of the barn surrounds me—dry straw, dust, and a hint of manure. Two bay quarter horses watch us from a pasture next to the barn, their tails swishing.
The smell brings back memories I’d rather stay trapped in my head.
“I’ve got a little tack room that can be their home base. Come take a look and see what you think.” He walks with a swagger that’s mesmerizing. Long, powerful legs eat up the ground. The way that shirt hugs him is obscene. “I have some cat food left over. Think they’re old enough for some kibble?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I can pick up some wet food in town and bring it by tomorrow.” Is that a weird offer? To just stop by a hot cowboy’s house? For the animals. That’s the only reason. And maybe to ogle those chickens darting across the yard.
“Stop in whenever. I keep the doors open.”
“Just like that?”
He shrugs his brawny shoulders. “Why not? I can give you my number, but if you need to get ahold of me, I’m around here somewhere or at the distillery.”
“You hang out at the distillery a lot too?” I’m not a fan of cowboys who are only interested in a good time .
His eyes narrow slightly. “You could say that.”
“Why?” I have to hear it. Why spend so much time at Bootleg and the distillery? It’s probably nicer than my dad’s bar, but still, why not spend time with his family or friends?
“I own it.”
Oh. Shame fills me. I didn’t even think of that option. Haven’s done nothing but help me, and I assumed he had no life outside of a glass or bottle. Technically, he doesn’t, since he’s the owner, but it’s not the same. “Congrats.”
A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “Thanks. Co-owner, actually. I run it with my brothers and the Foster brothers.” The pride in his voice is unmistakable.
Well. One of us has our life together. “Papa mentioned an old mine getting renovated into a new place. He was worried he’d be out of a job.” I let out a nervous laugh. “In a weird and previously unheard of twist, he might’ve moved in with me instead.”
Haven’s gaze sharpens. “You’re living with Silas?”
“Temporarily. I’m…between jobs.” Not for lack of trying. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I turn away before he can tell I’m on the verge of crying and head to his pickup. “I can help you get them settled. I’ll make calls tomorrow.”
“You might not have a lot of luck until Monday.”
Of course not. Why would anything be easy this year? “I’ll keep trying. Eventually, I should get these little guys out of your hair.”
He opens the door, and the puppy launches herself at me. I catch her and enjoy the deep chuckle behind me. “Looks like you got yourself a friend. What should we call her while she’s here? ”
The name comes to me immediately. “Meadow, since that’s where I found her.”
“Meadow the black Lab. Think she’s purebred?”
“Maybe from a backyard breeder, but why not sell her?”
“They don’t always have buyers. Or someone had buyer’s remorse.
” He collects all the kittens, and my various hormones peak at the same time.
A big man with an armload of baby animals?
I’m flushed, but I’m cold. I’m breathless, but my chest is heavy.
I’m turned on, and I’m terrified. The sight of Haven Hennessy with kittens is insisting he’s very much my type.
“I can put these guys in the tack room.” He juggles them as they try to squirm out of his hold. “There’s an old saddle blanket I don’t use anymore that they can all lie on.”
“Let me see if Meadow needs to potty.” I set her down on the edge of the gravel that abuts the grassy area by the barn. She sniffs around, her velvety ears barely lifting. Then she trots to the grass and starts peeing.
“Good call, Red,” Haven says as he strolls past. His shadow falls over me as he goes, and I almost lean into it.
No, that’s just the breeze. It’s upsetting my balance…or something. I straighten my skirt. It shouldn’t blow up again, but I can’t take any chances.
What are the odds he saw when it did? It was like two seconds, if that. I was quick to right my clothing, and then I heard the engine. It was just my luck that the hottest guy I’ve ever seen had to drive by, and that he’s everything I don’t want in a man.
I don’t want any man right now.
He owns his own business. Figures it’s a bar of sorts, though.
If he ever did rodeo, I’d take all four strays and hide them in my room until Papa started sneezing.
This is just temptation. A wall to force me in a different direction, as if Huckleberry Springs isn’t everything I’ve been avoiding since I gave up on being a daddy’s girl.
And here I am, living with the dad who never wanted to be with Mom and me.
When Meadow’s done, I pick her up to go to the tack room.
The door is closed. I crack it open to find a neat little arrangement.
Haven’s spread out an Aztec-patterned saddle blanket on the ground.
The kittens are inspecting all the edges and corners.
Their little claws shouldn’t hurt anything in the room that they can reach or climb on.
It’s better than a ditch. They have food and shelter and a handsome man who’s doting on them.
Lucky cats.
“I was thinking,” Haven says, still squatting by the blanket in a way that highlights the power in his thighs, “that Meadow should stay in my mudroom. She’ll need to be taken outside for the bathroom, and it’ll help her get used to people. It’ll make it easier to find her a home.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.” He rises, and wow, the man is taller up close, but not intimidatingly so. I’m five-ten and not at all used to looking up at people. My ex is my height, and looking back, he was resentful about it.
I overlooked so much.
“I was also thinking that I could get my niece down here to help acclimatize the kittens to people. She’ll get them good and desensitized quickly.”
“They’re not feral, but I’m sure a kid handling them will only help to find homes for them.” One of the gray tabbies stalks the orange one, the short fur along her back standing up in a razor line.
I take out my phone and open the camera. Smiling, I take several action shots and two videos, moving all over and contorting myself as much as I can without baring my butt again.
Meadow’s inspecting everything too, her nose working overtime. As she explores, I take more pictures. Haven stays quiet the whole time. He probably thinks I’m absurd, some wannabe wildlife photographer who thinks she isn’t a talentless hack.
Or is that me superimposing how I felt trying to make a go of influencing without Buford?
“You seem more serious than the usual animal lover,” he finally says.
The observation is free of the judgment I have been heaping on him.
It’s not like I don’t have a reason to be wary of guys like him, but a little bit of guilt slips in.
Being jaded is exhausting, and I had to humble myself when I called Papa to see if I could stay with him for a while.
Still, tension creeps in as I prepare my answer. “I used to do this for a living.”
“Pet photography?” He actually sounds interested.
“People first. Then one cat specifically. It morphed into an influencer career.” I can’t help but cringe, waiting for the surprised looks. The judgment. The questions about when I’ll get a real job.
A dark brow arches, but he remains quiet.
I tuck a rogue strand of hair behind my ear. The need to explain is ever-present. I didn’t fail because I’m bad. “The big drawback of blowing up big with one cat is that the money dries up when he gets sick and dies.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
My heart constricts. I miss Buford way more than the money, but unfortunately, the world doesn’t care that I miss him.
I’m now broke. “Thank you. He got me through losing my mom, and then he was gone. Anyway, when the star of the show passes, the sponsorships vanish, and poof. I’ve lost my companion and my job. ”
“Damn.”
That’s not the worst of it. It was only the beginning. Or the middle? It doesn’t matter.
I go to tuck my phone into my pocket, but I graze my thighs instead.
Right. I drove across the state all gussied up to help myself feel better.
Didn’t help. “So I’ll be slinging drinks at Bootleg for a while.
” I shrug, clinging to my phone. “It’ll help me support these guys until I find a home. ” For them and me.
“Don’t worry about it. Come out and see them whenever it works for you. A little pet food won’t break me.”
No, it won’t. The man has a house, property, a job—two jobs.
I’d have to check my car seats for loose change to buy the rescues food.
So as much as I’d like to argue, I can’t.
I went from being an independent woman, globetrotting with my hopefully-soon-to-be fiancé, to being a homeless woman, couch surfing with my dad and working in his bar.
All I need is time. I’ll save up tip money. I’ll figure out what I’m going to do for a career that doesn’t include returning to wedding shoots or getting rejected over and over again by social media algorithms because no one’s interested in me. And I’ll leave town. As soon as possible.