Chapter 7 #2
“Here.” She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and held it out between her arms, making a nest. The morning air bit at her skin through her thin t-shirt, but she ignored it.
Anson placed the kitten gently into her makeshift nest, his calloused fingers brushing against her arms as he pulled away.
The touch sent a ripple of awareness through her despite the chill.
“Two more,” he said, already turning back to the task.
She cradled the first kitten close, trying to transfer some of her body heat to the tiny creature. “How old do you think they are?”
“Few weeks, maybe.” He disappeared halfway under the porch again. “Too young to be without their mother.”
She looked around the yard, searching for any sign of an adult cat. “Where is she?”
“Don’t know.” His voice came muffled from beneath the porch. “Could’ve been taken by coyotes.”
The thought made her stomach twist. Was that the sound she’d heard? A coyote taking the mother cat? She looked around the yard again, and her gaze snagged on an indentation in the mud near her front window.
A footprint right under her window.
Her lungs seized mid-breath. The world narrowed to that single impression in the mud.
Landry.
He was here.
No, no, no.
He couldn’t be here.
Anson brought out an orange kitten and placed it in her arms, and it was enough of a distraction that her lungs unlocked. She stared down at the kitten—bigger than the first, but still so small. When she looked back at the spot under her window, she no longer saw the footprint.
She shook her head and held the two kittens close as Anson disappeared under the porch again. She was being paranoid. Of course, there were footprints in the mud here. It was a ranch.
Finally, Anson emerged with a calico that was much smaller than the other two. The runt. Her eyes were not open, and she was terrifyingly still. Bramble nuzzled it and whined, worry evident in his amber eyes.
“Fuck,” Anson said, voice tight. He tucked the listless kitten against his chest, snapped up his coat, and strode toward the barn. “C’mon. We need to get them to Lila.”
“Lila?”
“Veterinarian.”
His strides were long enough that she had to run to keep up. Bramble trotted ahead, pausing occasionally to look back as if checking that all the kittens were accounted for.
The barn doors stood open, warm light spilling out across the yard. Inside, a woman with pale golden hair was examining a bay mare’s leg while a massive man held the horse steady. The woman—Lila, presumably—looked up as they entered, her eyes widening at the sight of them.
“Found them under her porch,” Anson said before Maggie could speak. “Mother’s gone. The little one’s stiff.”
Lila moved immediately, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached. “Let me see.” Her voice was calm but carried an undercurrent of authority that reminded Maggie of the director on her show—someone used to being listened to in a crisis.
Lila took the tiny calico from Anson’s hands and cradled it close to her chest. She rubbed the kitten’s body vigorously through the fabric of her shirt, her movements practiced and sure.
“Bear, grab that heating pad from my truck,” she instructed without looking up. The massive man – who must be Bear – moved with surprising grace for someone his size, disappearing through the barn doors.
Maggie clutched the other two kittens tighter, their tiny bodies trembling against her. “Will she make it?”
“She’s responding,” Lila said, still rubbing. The little calico had begun to move slightly, mouth opening in a silent cry. “There you go, little one. That’s it.”
Bear returned with a portable heating pad. Lila directed him to plug in the pad near one of the barn’s outlets, and she carefully placed the calico on the warmed surface.
“Let’s see the other two,” she said, turning to Maggie.
Maggie handed over the gray kitten first. Lila examined it, checking its mouth, eyes, and tiny paws.
“This one’s a boy,” she announced, setting him beside the calico on the heating pad. “Dehydrated, but his temperature is coming up.”
The orange kitten went next, squirming more vigorously in Lila’s hands.
“Another male. Stronger than the others. I think they’ll all be okay, but they’ll need round-the-clock care.
Warmth. Formula. Regular feeding.” She glanced at Anson.
“The barn is too cold, and the bunkhouse isn’t ideal—too many people, too much activity. ”
“The forge,” Anson said without hesitation. “It’s warm. Quiet.” He cleared his throat. “Got my cot in the back. Could set them up there.”
Lila’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she nodded. “That would work. I’ve got kitten formula in my truck. Bear, sorry to send you out again. Can you grab the blue toolbox?”
Bear nodded and strode out of the barn again, ducking his head slightly as he passed through the doorway.
“We’ll need to feed them every two hours,” Lila continued. “Keep them warm—you can take the heating pad, and I can get you an incubator if the little girl doesn’t respond. And stimulate them after feeding to help them eliminate.”
Maggie blinked. “Stimulate?”
“Their mother would lick them to help them pee and poop,” Lila explained. “We’ll use a warm washcloth.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, feeling out of her depth. She could rebuild an entire house from the studs up, but kitten care was new territory.
“It’s not complicated,” Lila assured her. “Just time-consuming. And vital. Without consistent care, they won’t make it.” She laughed as the orange boy nearly squirmed out of her grasp. “Oh, he’s got spark.”
“Spark,” Maggie repeated, watching as Lila settled the orange kitten next to his siblings. “That’s what we’ll call him.” The name fit him with that orange-coat flash of defiant energy, despite everything.
“Perfect. And this little one...” Lila gently stroked the calico, who was starting to squirm weakly on the heating pad. “She’s the fighter. Ember.”
“What about the gray one?” Maggie asked, crouching down to get a better look at the tiny kitten. His fur was the color of woodsmoke, soft and fluffy despite being half-frozen.
“Smoke,” Anson said quietly from behind her.
She glanced up, surprised he’d offered a suggestion. His eyes were fixed on the kittens, his expression softer than she’d seen it before. When he noticed her looking, he shifted his weight, the openness disappearing behind his usual mask.
“Makes sense,” she said, turning back to the kittens. “The forge kittens.”
Bear returned with a blue kit and handed it to Lila. She unzipped it and pulled out several small bottles, syringes without needles, and packets of what must be formula.
“Okay,” Lila said, sorting through the supplies.
“Here’s the formula. Mix one part powder to two parts warm water.
Not hot. Test it on your wrist like you would for a human baby.
They’ll each need about 2-3 milliliters every two hours.
” She demonstrated loading a syringe. “Like this. Slow and steady. If they get air in their lungs, they can develop pneumonia.”
Maggie nodded, trying to absorb everything.
Lila continued her instructions, showing them how to hold the kittens for feeding, how to stimulate them afterward, what signs of trouble to watch for.
Through it all, Anson stood close enough to hear but far enough that they never brushed against each other.
She was acutely aware of him—the careful way he listened, the small nods he gave at key points in Lila’s explanation, the mud drying on his shirt, further highlighting the muscle beneath.
When Lila finished, she packed the supplies into a smaller bag and handed it to Anson. “This should get you through today. I’ll bring more formula by this evening and check on them. Anything happens before then, call me.” She glanced between them. “You two will be okay with this?”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously.
Anson cleared his throat. “Forge is warm. Got a steady fire going already.”
“Good.” Lila smiled. “They couldn’t ask for a better setup. I need to finish up with Suzy here, but then I’ll come by and help with their first feeding.”
Anson nodded his thanks, then gestured toward the door with his chin. “Should get them settled.”