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‘What did you talk about?’
She wished to heaven she hadn’t mentioned Sol Adams now. She seized another drumstick, even though she hadn’t touched her first. ‘We chatted about Alec, mostly.’
‘And?’
And his hand on mine felt fabulous. But she had no intention of telling anyone that either. ‘And…’ She floundered for a moment. ‘And he’s babysitting my kittens.’
‘He is?’ Tracey blinked. ‘Sol is a cat person?’
That made Cassie grin. ‘No, I don’t think he is. He looked as if he’d sucked a lemon when I asked him.’ She could tell he wasn’t a cat person, but he’d still said yes. The thought warmed her.
Jack smirked. ‘I can’t say I blame him.’
Jack wasn’t a cat person. He wasn’t really a dog person either. He was a hunting and fishing kind of person.
Jean leaned across the table. ‘We should’ve let Cassie keep those kittens here.’
‘Nonsense,’ he chuckled, suddenly smug. ‘Sol Adams can look after them. It serves him right.’
For what? Why didn’t Jack like Sol? She bit back a sigh. Maybe it was another reminder that a person from his son’s generation was alive when his son was not.
‘Can you set me up with him?’ Tracey suddenly demanded.
Cassie choked on fried chicken. ‘What?’
‘Could you arrange a blind date for us or…better yet…have a dinner to welcome him back to town?’
Gee, she could just see Sol jumping at that.
‘How about Saturday night?’
No! It was a terrible idea. It was—
‘For Pete’s sake, Tracey, leave Cassandra in peace.’ Jack’s smugness had fled. His jaw clenched and his eyes flashed fire. ‘Let her finish her dinner.’
Tracey subsided, but Cassie could tell by the stubborn light in her eyes that it was only a momentary reprieve. As soon as Tracey got her alone she’d renew her appeal. Cassie glanced around the table and her heart sank. Since when had she been able to deny any member of this family anything?
Sol knocked, then shifted from one foot to the other. He glanced down at his watch. Hell. It was still early. He hoped Cassie was up.
One thing. She’d asked him to do one thing and he couldn’t even manage that. He’d been a fool to come back.
He knocked again. Under his breath he started to count. ‘One, two…’ He’d knock again when he got to ten. ‘Three, four…’ Would she go ballistic? Every other woman he knew would throw a hissy fit. ‘Five, six…’A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t see Cassie throwing a hissy fit. ‘Seven, eight…’ The grin disappeared. She loved those kittens. She’d told him so. ‘Nine—’
The door cracked open a fraction. One velvet eye peered through the gap, then the door flew open. ‘Sol! What are you doing here?’
He stared at her, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember. The thin terry-towelling robe she wore would’ve been more than respectable in ordinary circumstances, but not now—not when she was so wet. He must’ve hauled her out of the shower. He gulped. Her wet hair dripped down the front of the robe, outlining a shape that had his tongue fastening to the roof of his mouth. He dragged in a breath. Keep breathing, Adams. You can do it. It’s easy.
No, it wasn’t. It was damn hard. Cassie’s curves were as lush and gorgeous as the woman herself. Need pierced through him. His knees almost buckled. He wanted to haul her into his arms and—
He tried to extinguish the pictures that rose in his mind. He could see Cassie’s lips moving, but no sound reached his ears. He rubbed a hand over his face.
‘Sol?’ Her forehead creased in concern. ‘Are you okay?’
He was a lot of things, but okay wasn’t one of them. And he had no intention of telling her that. ‘I, er, didn’t sleep too well last night.’ At least that was the truth.
‘What are you doing here?’
Aw, hell—that’s right. The kittens. Remember? Ballistic hissy fits and stuff? Ballistic he could cope with. He eyed her warily. As long as she didn’t cry. ‘I, er…’ He scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the top step.
‘Yes?’ She drew the word out as if tempted to shake him.
‘I seem to have lost one of your kittens.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sol.’
She was sorry? She was sorry!
‘You’d better come in.’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. She tossed a quick glance outside before she slammed the door, then led him into the living room.
He looked around and his jaw dropped.
‘I lied to you, you know?’
He forced himself to focus on her words, her face, rather than the surroundings. If he didn’t he’d explode. Or implode. Or he’d fall into an abyss he’d never get out of again. ‘Lied?’ He latched onto the word.
‘I told you the kittens wouldn’t be any trouble.’
She started to dry her hair vigorously, as if suddenly aware of how it dripped down the front of her robe. The action made bits of her jiggle. Bits he shouldn’t be staring at if he didn’t want himself called a male chauvinist pig.
He stared at the wall behind her. An enormous photo of Brian holding up a trophy and surrounded by his Australian team-mates dominated the space. His gut clenched at the triumphant grin on Brian’s face. He glanced to his left. An enormous trophy cabinet stood there. He swung away to his right and another wall of photographs rose out at him—Brian scoring the winning try in some grand final, Brian awarded the sportsman’s medal of the year, Brian on the shoulders of his team-mates.
Brian. Brian. Brian.
‘What is this?’ he suddenly burst out. ‘A mausoleum?’
He immediately wished he’d kept his fat trap shut when Cassie stepped back from him, her eyes dark.
‘I’m sorry.’ He took a step towards her and she took another step back. He stayed put and held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I, uh, the kitchen is through there if you want to grab a coffee. I’ll go get dressed.’ And then she was gone.
Sol tossed another glance around, then left the room with a grimace. His gut clenched again when he entered the kitchen. Evidence Cassie had shared this house with Brian was everywhere. His eyes rested on a coffee mug on the sideboard. It read: ‘Old rugby players never die they just…’He didn’t have the heart to turn it over and read the punchline. Brian had been a rugby player, a good one, but he hadn’t been old. And he shouldn’t be dead.
He pushed through the back door, needing air. An enormous dog lifted his head from a kennel, his ears pricked forward. Sol sat on the lowest step, rested his elbows on his knees and stared back. ‘Are you Cassie’s dog or Brian’s?’
The dog sat up, stretched and shook his head.
‘Fair enough,’ Sol said, and patted his knee. The dog trotted over. Sol scratched his ears then reached for the tag around the dog’s neck. ‘Rufus.’ The dog’s tail thumped harder. ‘Ah, the eater of kittens. Well, Rufus, were you sad when Brian died?’ The tail kept thumping. ‘I wasn’t. Not really.’ He hadn’t been happy either, but it hadn’t been till now that the tragedy had hit him—that someone as young as Brian, as full of life as Brian, was dead.
He’d been sad for Cassie, but he hadn’t thought about the living hell she must’ve gone through. Could still be going through. He dragged a hand down his face. She was too young to be a grieving widow. And he hadn’t offered her any kind of condolence, any kind of comfort. His lips twisted. He knew Cassie. She’d have put on a brave face for the rest of the world and then grieved alone. He could’ve helped.
But he hadn’t. And if the truth be known his first emotion when he’d heard about Brian’s death had been one of hope. He shook his head. It could never be that simple, though, could it? He’d always resented Brian. Resented how easy he’d had it. Resented his offhand attitude to everything he had.
And then there’d been Cassie.
A gasp sounded behind him and he spun around. He met Cassie’s eyes through the screen door. They were wide and frightened. A hand fluttered to her mouth.
He leapt to his feet. ‘What’s wrong?’ What had scared her?
She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Upon my word, you like to take your life in your own hands, don’t you, Sol Adams?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Rufus here likes to eat strangers for breakfast.’
A smile stretched across his face. He didn’t deserve it, he acknowledged that much, but Cassie cared. She didn’t want him torn limb from limb by a dog.
It doesn’t mean anything, a voice in his head said. Cassie wouldn’t want anyone torn limb from limb.
It’s a start, his stubborn heart returned. ‘Me and Rufus here—’ Rufus wagged his tail ‘—have come to an understanding.’
Cassie folded her arms. ‘Really?’
‘I scratch his belly and he doesn’t eat me. He’s a big pussycat.’
‘Correction. He eats pussycats. And speaking of cats…’
She was right. ‘Let’s go.’ He hoped to hell they could find the kitten. He didn’t want to let her down. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t keep a closer eye on them for you.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ She locked the front door. ‘They’re the Houdini quartet. I bet it’s Rudolph who’s missing.’
‘Rudolph?’
‘The little one.’
He opened the car door for her. ‘Yep.’
‘Do you know how long he’s been gone?’
‘He wasn’t with the others when I let them out of the laundry.’ She bit her lip and fresh wave of guilt engulfed him. The kitten could’ve been out all night.
‘You checked inside the washing machine?’
‘Yep.’ He’d turned the entire laundry upside down. ‘There’s a spot under the washing machine where the floorboards have perished. My guess is he wriggled out of there somehow. I mean, it’s only the smallest of gaps—’
‘Rudolph only needs the smallest of gaps.’ She sighed. ‘We’re lucky the others didn’t follow.’
‘Well, they won’t now. I’ve boarded it up.’
A shadow fell across the car. ‘Is everything okay, Cass?’
Cassie swung around. ‘Keith!’ She beamed at the other man and something dark and ugly slugged through Sol’s gut. She gestured to Sol. ‘Do you remember Sol Adams?’
Sol sure as hell remembered Keith Sinclair, Brian’s best mate. Keith nodded, but didn’t offer his hand. Sol nodded back. He didn’t offer his hand either.
‘Is everything okay?’ Keith repeated.
‘Sure it is.’ Cassie’s smile widened. ‘I talked Sol here into letting me use his back veranda for my kittens, but one of them has got out.’
‘Again?’
Again? Sol felt a little better. If these kittens had priors for escaping…
‘But they’re presents for your oldies.’
Sol didn’t know whether to laugh or not at the look on Keith’s face.
‘I’m sure we’ll find it,’ Cassie soothed, but Keith had already hauled his mobile phone out of his pocket.
‘We’ll help.’
‘Really, Keith, it’s not necessary. You’ll be late for work.’
‘Not a problem, Cass. You know we’re here for you.’
‘But I—’
‘And we know how important those kittens are to you.’
It took Keith less than ten minutes to have a search party organised. A search party that consisted of Brian’s old mates—all members of the Rugby League Club. Sol didn’t know what to say, and he sure didn’t know what to think. Were they all in love with Cassie? Was this some kind of weird collective courting ritual? The dark glares they tossed him had his mind working overtime.
He turned to Cassie and she shrugged an apology. But her eyes danced, as if she wanted to burst out laughing. He glanced around again and had to clamp down on that same impulse. Six grown men crawled around Alec’s backyard calling, ‘Kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty.’ Any of these men would rather be dead than seen cradling a tiny kitten in their arms, yet here they were—
‘What on earth is all this racket?’
Alec burst out onto the back veranda still in his pyjamas, a scowl on his face and a kitten in his lap. Sol and Cassie stared at each other, then Cassie covered a grin with her hand. ‘Didn’t check the house, huh, Sol?’
‘How did it get inside? There’s no way—’
‘The damn thing was mewling out the front in the middle of the night,’ Alec grumbled.
Cassie smiled. ‘So you went out and got him?’
What Sol wouldn’t do to have her smile at him like that.
‘I had to,’ Alec grouched. ‘In the interests of peace and quiet and sleep.’
Sol noticed he didn’t offer to hand the kitten back.
