Chapter 4
Knox
I came to Crystal Cove for peace and quiet.
Not because I’ve got a hero itch that needs scratching.
Except…no decent guy would’ve turned his back on someone scared half to death.
And lending a helping hand has nothing to do with that challenge, though thoughts of me untying Cami’s sheer, satin robe and mapping her with my tongue are already taking up more space in my head than I can spare.
But her mention of house-sitting all summer while Ms. Palmer—or Millie, as I know her—vacations in Costa Rica gave me pause.
An impromptu one-night stand with my bombshell neighbor could easily lead to unintended consequences, especially since we’d continue to have these run-ins—which seems to be our apparent norm.
So, after analyzing the situation, I’ve decided to tweak Mont’s challenge and, instead, bang the next hottie I encounter.
Cami and I’d be nothing more than a pair of neighborly acquaintances.
We’ll smile and wave to one another in passing, borrow cups of sugar, or, case in point, lend one another a helping hand.
“Is it safe for me to come up?” Cami’s hushed tone floats through the spacious attic.
“Yeah, it’s safe,” I assure. “But tread lightly, so they don’t freak out.”
“Wait. Did you say, so they don’t freak out?” Seconds pass as though she needs a moment to steel herself. “Well, now I’m freaking out knowing there’s more than one of whatever’s been wreaking absolute havoc up there.”
I chuckle. “You might be pleasantly surprised.”
About a minute later, Cami makes her way up and freezes, lips parted as her gaze falls onto a pair of furry little noisemakers nestled in my lap.
“Oh. My. Goodness!” she squeals, her smile an explosion of bliss. “Are those…kittens?”
She’s changed out of that almost-sheer robe into shorts and a tight, white tee.
The shape of her full, perfect tits and pert nipples holds my gaze. I grit my teeth, tearing my eyes away and onto the tiny, wet, newborn kittens.
“Sure are,” I say, gently rocking the old wicker chair back and forth as if I were trying to lull two newborn babies to sleep.
“And it looks like a rather exhausted Mama Cat is lurking from underneath there.” I gesture toward an antique table in the corner, cobwebs stretched across its weathered surface like threads of my grandpa’s old fishing line.
“She’s likely the source of those grueling squeals. ”
Cami treks toward me, floorboards flexing quietly under her bare feet, gaze laser-focused on the two kittens parked comfortably atop my lap.
“Careful,” I warn, rising to meet her halfway, kittens balanced under one arm.
With my free hand, I take hold of Cami’s soft hand, guiding her as she navigates past empty paint cans and stacks of yellowed newspapers, ducking to avoid exposed beams crisscrossing overhead.
“How about you sit in the rocking chair and cuddle these little furballs while I try to coax Mama Cat out of her hiding place?”
Cami nods, and I watch as she settles into the rocking chair before I hand over the meowing duo.
Gentle coos fill the dimly lit space as she cradles the tabby kittens, her infectious smile beaming with delight.
Damn. This woman has my attention anchored.
Look. The. Hell. Away.
Why won’t my eyes obey a simple command?
Maybe I should reconsider those neighborly boundaries.
Right. Who am I kidding?
She’s probably not even single.
Probably not interested in a mid-thirties, overanalyzing divorcé with possible trust issues.
A yowl from underneath the antique table yanks my attention away from Cami.
Focus. Cami’s a distraction you don’t need now, or all summer.
Crouching down on all fours, I move slowly toward Mama Cat, her yowls now accompanied by intermittent hisses.
How did she get up here? Can’t imagine Millie’d be a cat lover. Not after what Cami mentioned about that no-sand rule.
“It’s okay,” I say, hushed and gentle in an effort to ease the vigilant feline. “No one wants to harm you or your babies.”
I scan the attic, my mind already calculating escape routes in case Mama Cat bolts.
Aged woodwork and dust fill the cramped space while boxes, most bursting at the seams, are stacked haphazardly against spackled walls.
“You think Mama Cat might be injured?” Cami asks, the chair squeaking as she rocks the mewling pair of fur babies.
“Either that or she’s about to deliver more kittens.”
I edge in slowly, body low, movements steady. I hope my growing proximity doesn’t incite a defensive strike, or worse, make Mama Cat run off and possibly get hurt.
She’s tucked in the corner on top of a stack of old newspapers, her flank heaving, tail twitching.
Another yowl cuts through the attic.
This one’s longer. Sharper. As though she’s having trouble. Shit.
I glance back at Cami, who’s still cooing at the kittens, thankfully unaware there’s panic knotting my chest.
As I inch closer, Mama Cat manages a strangled hiss, which tells me all I need to know.
“Um…” I carefully rise, brushing dust from my knees. “We need to get her out of here.”
“Wait. What?” Cami says behind me, her tone clipped, the light creak of the chair cutting off mid-rock.
“Looks like she’s trying to deliver more.” I snatch a nearby storage bin from off a shelf, dump its contents—broken picture frames and lace scraps—and line it with a frayed beach towel hanging from an exposed beam. “And, honestly, she’s not doing so well on her own.”
Concern widens Cami’s darkened eyes.
“If we don’t get Mama Cat to a vet soon, she and her unborn kittens could…”
Cami doesn’t even wait for me to finish before shuffling to her feet, twin kitties swaddled in her arms as though they already mean something to her. “What can I do to help?” Her shaky inflection tells me she’s as panicked as I am.
“Find a small box to put those kittens in, take them to the Range Rover parked in my driveway, and wait for me. Doors should be unlocked.” I rake my fingers through my hair.
“There’s an emergency animal clinic about ten minutes from here.
We’ll take them all there once I get Mama Cat safely inside this bin. ”
She nods, already backing away, careful with each step.
I hear the rustle of cardboard, thin mews, and the creak of floorboards as Cami disappears down the stairs below while I shift my attention back to rescuing a cat in distress.
Dropping to my knees again, I ease the bin toward her, my tone rough with urgency. “Come on, girl. You’ve gotta help me help you and your babies.”
Her fur is matted and damp against my fingers. To my surprise, she lets me pull her close without a fight.
But then her eyes shut slowly.
Dammit! We may be running out of time.
Mama Cat shows no resistance as I lower her into the towel-lined bin, only offering a sound so weak, it barely counts as a protest.
Before getting back on my feet, I tuck the towel tighter around her fragile body, then lay the lid loosely across the top, leaving it cracked so she can breathe.
Crystal Cove was supposed to be about peace and quiet.
A chance for me to heal my butchered heart.
Now I’m knee-deep in kittens, a mother cat in labor, and a hot-as-hell neighbor who may damn well ruin me.