4. Cat
CAT
"Hey, Cat." Steve pops his head into the barn. I shift and wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
"What's up?" I ask.
"Arthur wants me to run into town and get some more chicken feed. Is there anything else I should pick up?"
"Yeah, Pogo somehow got through the fence this morning, and I need to fix it." Pogo is one of our goats, and the little shit keeps escaping the pen.
Steve chuckles. "I'll pick up some PVC pipes and line the top of the fence. That should keep him in."
"Let's hope so, but I'm not holding my breath." I laugh. "Thanks, Steve."
Steve tips the brim of his hat and disappears out of the barn.
I turn back to the task at hand, which is mucking Blue's stall.
"You know," I say, as I prop my hand on my hip and regard Blue, who is happily standing in the corner of her stall while munching on some feed.
"It's a beautiful day. You should be out in the pasture with the others instead of in here stuffing your face.
" My statement earns me a headshake. I swear the horse knows what I'm saying.
"Suit yourself." Out of the twelve horses we have here at Callaghan Ranch, Blue is my favorite. She's also been here the longest.
She came to us nearly fifteen years ago.
My grandfather had bought her off some guy in Colorado who was going to put her down.
There’d been a raid on a guy's property who had been reported for animal cruelty.
Blue was one of three severely malnourished horses to have been rescued.
Sadly, the other two didn't make it, and if it hadn’t been for my grandfather seeing something in Blue worth saving, she wouldn't be here today.
I'll never forget the day she arrived on the ranch.
Blue was nothing but skin and bones. Her hooves had been so neglected, they had begun to curl.
I'll never understand how someone who wants to own animals does not want to take care of them.
I mean, why have them in the first place?
Looking over at Blue, I smile. Even after all she's been through, she still turned out to be one of the most beautiful and gentle creatures.
Propping the shovel against the stall, I walk over to her.
As soon as I'm within reach, Blue nudges my shoulder.
"I bet I know what you want, pretty girl.
" Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve the carrot sticks I stuck in there before coming out.
I hold out the treats, and she eagerly takes them from my palm. "Sweet girl." I kiss her muzzle.
"Cat! Are you there?" I hear my grandfather calling out my name.
I turn and step out of the stall. "Yes, Sir!
" I call back, making my way out of the barn.
When I step out, I'm surprised to see Lev's truck pulling up in front of the house.
"Everything alright, Daideò? What's Lev doing here?
" I don't know what would bring Lev by. He comes into the salon sometimes with Summer, but other than a few hellos here and there, we don't really know each other.
"Everything is fine," Grandpa assures me. "Lev called me this morning, and he needs some help. I told him to talk with you as well before I say yes."
I scrunch my brows. "Okay." Still confused, I continue to make my way up the hill toward the house with my grandfather at my side. Pete, my Golden Retriever, lets out a playful bark and runs up to Lev as soon as he steps out of his truck. "Pete, down."
Lev just smiles and gives Pete a rub down. "No worries," he says, giving Pete one last pat. He then offers my grandfather his hand. "Good to see you, Arthur."
"You too, son."
"How you doing, Cat?"
"I'm doing okay, Lev. What brings you by?" I jump in, not beating around the bush.
Lev levels me with a sharp gaze. "I have a bit of a situation and am in need of some help."
I study him for a beat. "Sure. Why don't you come up to the porch, and I'll get us something cold to drink? A beer, okay?"
Lev nods. "A beer would be great. Thanks."
Smiling, I look at my grandfather. "You want a beer, Daideò?"
"Have you ever known me to turn down a cold one?" He smirks.
I grin back at him. "No, Sir." Shaking my head, I make my way up to the porch with Lev and Grandpa following behind.
Dashing inside, I grab a few longnecks from the refrigerator and head back out on the porch.
Handing the drinks, I sit down in the chair beside my grandfather and wait for Lev to speak.
He takes a long pull of his beer then lays out why he's here.
"I have a friend; his name is Easton, and he's in a bit of trouble. "
"What kind of trouble?" I ask.
"For you two to fully understand the kind of trouble he's facing, I have to tell you exactly who he is. But I need this information to not leave this porch."
My grandfather and I eye each other, and by the tone of Lev's voice, whatever situation he needs our help with, it's more than just a favor.
"Go ahead, son. You have our word that what's said won't go any further than us," my grandfather assures, and I nod.
Lev sighs. "My friend is Easton Evans."
Lev looks at me like he's waiting for the name to mean something to me. It only takes about five seconds for it to sink in. I hold my hand up. "Um…are you referring to The Easton Evans? As in East of Addiction?"
"That would be the one," Lev confirms.
"Who is this Easton fella you two are going on about, and what kind of addiction does he have? I don't want no drugs in my house if this Easton guy stays here," my grandfather grumbles. Both Lev and I burst out laughing.
"Daideò, Easton is a singer. His band name is East of Addiction."
"There won't be any drugs involved, Mr. Callaghan. You have my word." Lev chuckles.
"Oh, well…alright then." My grandfather continues to look at us skeptically, but Lev continues.
"As I was saying, Easton is in a bit of trouble. I went to head up security at his concert over the weekend up in Seattle, and his manager informed me he's been getting some threatening letters."
"Like a stalker?" I ask.
Lev nods. "His manager, Miles, thinks so. Sometimes there are just letters and sometimes gifts."
Grandpa jumps in. "Letters and gifts don't sound so bad."
"No." Lev shakes his head. "But death threats and signs of a mentally unstable person are."
"Oh, god," I gasp. "So, where do we come in?"
"Summer and I suggested that Easton lay low here. He just wrapped up his tour, and his manager thinks it's best he disappears for a while until they can find who's been harassing him."
"Does he not have anywhere else to go? Family?"
"He has a sister in Polson but doesn't want her involved. Easton mentioned going to Polson for a few days for his niece's birthday but was adamant about not staying and possibly bringing harm to them. It's public information that he has a sister."
"What about bringing the trouble here?"
Lev gives me a tight nod. "I understand your concerns.
Trust me, I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think you'd be safe.
Nobody will know he's here except us three and his manager.
He's not even allowed to tell his sister, though, knowing Easton he will give her a heads up.
The two are close and don't keep secrets.
I'll help keep an eye on things as well and I have connections in Polson that have my back.
As far as anyone knows, he is taking this time to travel.
That's the statement that the press will receive. "
I stare down at my lap while mulling over the information Lev just fed us.
"Cat." My grandpa regards me. I look at him, already knowing his answer. My grandfather would give anyone the shirt off his back if they needed it. I look at Lev. "Will it be just Easton staying here? And not his bandmates or a girlfriend?"
"No. Just him," Lev assures. "If you agree, I can have a security system put in on the house and have some cameras placed around the property. I want you to know I wouldn't ask this of you if I thought there was any real threat to you or your grandfather, Cat."
I give Lev a warm smile. "I don't know you all that well, Lev, but that I do know."
"And you can save yourself the hassle of security," Grandpa cuts in again as he angles himself to show Lev the weapon strapped to his side and then pulls up his right pant leg to show the one he has strapped to his ankle. "I got my own damn security. Don't let my age fool ya, son."
"No, Sir. I would never underestimate you, Mr. Callaghan," Lev respectfully tells my grandfather.
My grandfather is an excellent shot, and he taught me how to shoot as well.
Most importantly, he gave me the knowledge on safely handling firearms and respecting them.
And what Lev doesn't know is you won't hardly find a time I'm not carrying.
"Well, I guess the only other question I have is when can we expect our guest? "
Later that night, I step out on the back porch with a glass of wine and my laptop.
I had lain in my bed, unable to find sleep, for the better part of two hours.
After Lev had left earlier, my grandfather and I looked at each other, and a few unspoken words were said before we went about our day.
Bottom line: when someone needs help, and you have the means to get them the help they need, you do.
Simple as that. It may not be the way of others, but it's the Callaghan way. Now, my problem is I am finding myself curious about Easton Evans. He’d better not be some cocky jerk who thinks he can come here and order people to be at his beck and call.
Just because he's rich and famous doesn't mean me or anyone here will put up with any bullshit.
Though it's probably wrong of me to judge the guy before he even gets here.
But I'm not too na?ve to know how those celebrity types can be.
And because I like torturing myself, I decided to come out here and do my stalk of shame in private.
Sitting down on the lounge, I set my glass on the table beside me and tuck my legs underneath my butt.
A cool summer breeze picks up, causing my exposed skin to prickle but feel good at the same time.
The breeze carries the smell of honeysuckle, and I close my eyes as I take in the familiar scent.
It also brings with it the comfort of home and how much I love this place.
With that comes the dreaded reality of what would happen if I lost this place.
I love Callaghan Ranch. There is no other place in this world I want to call home.
Not wanting the weight of what the future might hold and the fate of my home in jeopardy, I push those thoughts away and bring my attention back to the computer sitting on my lap.
Cracking it open, I move the cursor to the search engine and type in Easton Evans.
I've listened to his music and seen a picture of him before, but I'm still not prepared for all that is Easton to pop up on the screen.
I suck in a sharp breath and stare at the image of him up on stage at some concert: tall, black hair, piercing gray eyes, tattoos covering both arms. I won't lie, the man is gorgeous.
I don't typically describe a man as beautiful, but if any male specimen on this earth can be described as such, it would be Easton Evans.
He's standing on stage with a guitar in his hands, his mouth inches away from the microphone.
He's wearing a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and a pair of faded jeans.
And though it's just a picture, I can't help but be mesmerized by his full lips and the way he commands the crowd's attention in front of him.
I imagine every person hanging on to each word that passes over those panty-melting lips of his.
Shaking my head, I force myself out of its current daze and continue to scroll through dozens of photos.
Easton on stage and Easton leaving clubs.
Some appear to be Easton hanging out on a bus with his bandmates.
But most of the pictures filling the computer screen are of Easton with women.
Walking into hotels, walking out of hotels, leaving restaurants, leaving clubs and bars.
Each time he's photographed with a different woman.
And they all have something in common; they all look like models—tall, willowy, long sleek hair, sophisticated.
I snort. Seems he has a type. An unexplainable feeling settles into the pit of my stomach, and that feeling resembles jealousy.
What a stupid thing to be feeling. I don't know this man.
And if I did, it's not like I'm someone he'd look at twice.
I'm the complete opposite of all those women.
I'm five-feet, two-inches tall on a good day.
I have red curly hair that I've long ago given up trying to tame.
Summer tells me all the time she'd kill me if I ever cut or dyed it.
I also like pie way too much to be considered thin.
Though, I do like my curves. Life is too short to not have pie whenever you want.
Deciding I've had enough stalking, I slap the laptop shut and gulp down what's left of my wine. Lev said to expect Easton in a couple days, and I just hope I know what I've gotten myself into.