Читать книгу Sheltered by the Millionaire - Catherine Mann - Страница 8

Two

Six Weeks Later

The wild she-cat in his arms left scratches on his shoulders.

Whit Daltry adjusted his hold on the long-haired calico, an older female kitten that had wandered—scraggly and with no collar—onto the doorstep of his Pine Valley home. Luckily, he happened to know the very attractive director of Royal’s Safe Haven Animal Shelter.

He stepped out of his truck and kicked the door closed, early morning sunshine reflecting off his windshield. Not a cloud in the sky, unlike that fateful day the F4 tornado had ripped through Royal, Texas. The shelter had survived unscathed, but the leaves had been stripped from the trees, leaving branches unnaturally bare for this region of Texas, even in November. The town bore lasting scars from that day that would take a lot longer to heal than the scratches from the frantic calico.

He should have gotten one of those pet carriers or a box to transport the cat. If the beast clawed its way out of his arms, chances were the scared feline would bolt away and be tough as hell to catch again. Apparently he wasn’t adept at animal rescue.

That was Megan’s expertise.

The thought of seeing her again sent anticipation coursing through him as each step brought him closer to the single-story brick structure. Heaven knew he could use a distraction from life right now. For six weeks, ever since they’d shared that kiss after the tornado, he’d been looking for an excuse to see her, but the town had been in chaos clearing the debris. Some of his properties had been damaged as well. He owned multiple apartment buildings and rental homes all over town. And while he might have a lighthearted approach to his social life, he was serious when it came to business and was always damn sure going to be there for his tenants when they needed him.

He’d thrown himself into the work to distract himself from the biggest loss of all—the death of his good friend Craig Richardson in the storm. It had sent him into shock for the first couple of weeks, as he grieved for Craig and tried to find ways to help his pal’s widow. God, they were all still in a tailspin and he didn’t know if he would be in any better shape by the memorial service that was scheduled for after Thanksgiving.

So he focused on restoring order to the town, the only place he’d ever called home after a rootless childhood being evicted from place after place. And with each clean-up operation, he thought back to the day of the storm, to clearing aside the rubble in the day care.

To Megan’s kiss afterward.

Sure the kiss had been impulsive and motivated by gratitude, and she’d meant to land it on his cheek. But he would bet good money that she’d been every bit as affected by the spontaneous kiss as he was.

Granted, he’d always been attracted to her in spite of their sparring. But he’d managed to keep a tight rein on those feelings for the three and a half years he’d known her because she’d made it clear she found him barely one step above pond scum. Now, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that the chemistry was mutual. So finally, here he was. He had the perfect excuse, even if it wasn’t the perfect time.

And Megan wouldn’t be able to avoid him as she’d been doing since their clash over the site where she’d wanted the new shelter built. A battle he’d won. Although from the sleek look of the Safe Haven facility, she’d landed on her feet and done well for the homeless four-legged residents of Royal, Texas.

Tucking the cat into his suit coat and securing her with a firm grip, he stepped into the welcoming reception area, its tiled surfaces giving off a freshly washed bleach smell. The waiting area was spacious, but today, there were wire crates lining two walls, one with cats, the other with small dogs. They were clean and neat, but the shelter was packed to capacity. He’d heard the shelter had taken in a large number of strays displaced during the storm, but he hadn’t fully grasped the implications until now.

The shelter had a reputation for its innovative billboards, slogans and holiday-themed decor, but right now, every ounce of energy here seemed to be focused on keeping the animals fed and the place sparkling clean.

He closed the door, sealing himself inside.

The cat sunk her claws in deeper. Whit hissed almost as loudly as the feline and searched the space for help. Framed posters featured everything from collages of adopters to advice on flea prevention. Painted red-and-black paw prints marked the walls with directions he already knew in theory since he’d reviewed the plans during his land dispute with Megan.

A grandmotherly woman sat behind the counter labeled “volunteer receptionist.” He recognized the retired legal secretary from past business ventures. She was texting on her phone, and waved for him to wait an instant before she glanced up.

He swept his hat off and set it on the counter. “Morning, Miss Abigail—”

“Good mornin’, Whit,” the lady interrupted with a particularly thick Southern accent, her eyes widening with surprise. The whole town knew he and Megan avoided each other like the plague. “What a pleasant surprise you’ve decided to adopt from us. Our doggies are housed to your right in kennel runs. But be sure to peek at the large fenced-in area outside. Volunteers take them there to exercise in the grassy area.”

She paused for air, but not long enough for him to get in a word. “Although now I see you’re a cat person. Never would have guessed that.” She grinned as the calico peeked out of his suit jacket, purring as if the ferocious feline hadn’t drawn blood seconds earlier. “Kitties are kept in our free roam area. If you find one you would like to adopt, we have meet-and-greet rooms for your sweetheart there to meet with your new feline friend—”

“I’m actually here to make a donation.” He hadn’t planned on that, but given all the extra crates, he could see the shelter needed help. So much of the post-tornado assistance had been focused on helping people and cleaning up the damaged buildings. But he should have realized the repercussions of the storm would have a wider ripple effect.

“A donation?” Miss Abigail set aside her phone. “Let me call our director right away—oh, here she is now.”

He pivoted to find Megan walking down the dog corridor, toward the lobby, a beagle on a loose leash at her side. He could see the instant she registered his presence. She blinked fast, nibbling her lip as she paused midstep for an instant before forging ahead, the sweet curves of her hips sending a rush of want through him.

Her bright red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He ached to sweep away that gold clasp and thread his fingers through the fiery strands, to find out if her hair was as silky as it looked. He wanted her, had since the first time he’d seen her when they crossed paths in the lawyer’s office during the dispute over a patch of property. He’d expected to smooth things over regarding finding an alternate location for the new shelter. He usually had no trouble charming people, but she’d taken to disliking him right away. Apparently her negative impression had only increased every time she perceived one of his projects as “damaging” to nature when he purchased a piece of wetlands.

He’d given up trying to figure out why she couldn’t see her way clear to making nice. Because she had a reputation for being everyone’s pal, a caring and kindhearted woman who took in strays of all kinds, ready to pitch in to help anyone. Except for him.

“Megan,” the receptionist cleared her throat, “Mr. Daltry here has brought us a donation.”

“Another cat. Just what we were lacking.” Megan’s smile went tight.

He juggled his hold on the fractious fur ball. “I do plan to write a check to cover the expense of taking in another animal, but yes, I need to drop off the stray. She’s been wandering around in the woods near my house. She doesn’t have a collar and clearly hasn’t been eating well.”

“Could have been displaced because of the storm and has been surviving on her own in the wild ever since, poor girl. Animals have a knack for ditching their collars. Did you take her to a vet to check for a microchip?”

“I figured you could help me with that. Or maybe someone has come by here looking for her.”

“So you’re sure it’s a girl?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s just pray she’s not in heat or about to have kittens.”

Oh, crap. He hadn’t thought about that.

Megan passed him the dog leash and took the squirming cat from his arms. Their wrists brushed in the smooth exchange. A hint of her cinnamon scent drifted by, teasing him with memories of that too-brief kiss a month ago.

She swallowed hard once; it was the only sign she’d registered the brief contact, aside from the fact that she kept her eyes firmly averted from his. What would he see in those emerald-green eyes? A month ago, after her impulsive kiss, he’d seen surprise—and desire.

He watched her every move, trying to get a read on her.

“Hey, beautiful,” she crooned to the kitty, handling the feline with obvious skill and something more...an unmistakable gift. “Let’s get a scanner and check to see if you have a chip. If we’re lucky, you’ll have your people back very soon.”

Kneeling, she pulled a brown, boxy device from under the counter and waved the sensor along the back of the cat’s neck. She frowned and swept it over the same place again. Then she broadened the search along the cat’s shoulders and legs, casting a quick glance at Whit. “Sometimes the chip migrates on the body.”

But after sweeping along the cat’s entire back, Megan shook her head and sighed. “No luck.”

“She was pretty matted when I found her yesterday.” He patted the beagle’s head awkwardly. He didn’t have much experience with pets, his only exposure to animals coming with horseback riding. The cat and dog were a helluva lot smaller than a Palomino. “I combed her out last night and she’s been pissed at me ever since.”

She glanced up quickly, her eyes going wide with surprise. “You brushed the cat?”

“Yeah, so?” He shrugged. “She needed it.”

Her forehead furrowed. “That was kind of you.”

“Last time I checked, I’m not a monster.”

She smiled with a tinge of irony. “Just a mogul land baron and destroyer of wetlands.”

He raised a hand. “Guilty as charged. And I hear you have need of some of my dirty, land-baron dollars?”

He looked around, taking in a couple of harried volunteers rushing in with fresh litter boxes stacked in their arms. The dog sniffed his shoes as if checking out the quality of his next chew toy.

The stuffing went out of her fight and she sagged back against the wall. “Animal control across town is full, and we’re the only other option around here. People are living in emergency housing shelters that don’t allow pets. Other folks have left town altogether, just giving up on finding their animals.” He could hear the tension in her voice.

“That’s a damn shame, Megan. I’ve heard the call-outs for pet food, but I hadn’t realized how heavy the extra burden is for you and the rest of your staff.”

“Let’s step into my office before your kitty girl makes a break for the door. Evie’s in there now, but it’ll only take a second to settle her elsewhere so we can talk.” She rested a hand on the front desk. “Miss Abigail, do you mind if Evie sits with you for a few minutes?”

“Of course not. I love spending time with the little darlin’. You don’t let me babysit near enough. Send her my way.”

Megan looked at Whit, something sad flickering in her eyes. “Evie’s taking the day off from school. Come this way.”

He followed her, his eyes drawn to the gentle sway of her hips. Khaki had never looked so hot. “I’m sorry to add to your load here, but I meant it when I said I want to make a donation to help.”

She opened a metal baby gate and ushered the beagle into the room. It was a small room with a neat bookshelf and three recycling bins stacked in a corner. Two large framed watercolors dominated the walls—one of an orange cat and the other of a spotted dog, both clearly painted by a child. The bottom corner of each was signed in crayon. Evie.

The little minx peeked from under the desk, a miniature version of her mom right down to the freckles on her nose. “Hello, Mr. Whit.”

She crawled out with an iPad tucked under her arm, then stood, her red pigtails lopsided. Evie’s face was one hundred percent Megan, but the little girl had a quirky spirit all her own. Evie wore a knight’s costume with a princess tiara even though Halloween had already passed and Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching. Her mother smoothed a hand over her head affectionately, gently tightening the left pigtail to match the one on the right. “Miss Abigail wants you to sit with her for a few minutes, okay? I’ll be through soon.”

Evie waved shyly, green eyes sparkling, then sprinted out to the front desk, carrying her iPad and a foam sword.

Megan gestured for him to step inside the small office, then closed the gate again. “You mentioned writing a check, and I’m not bashful about accepting on behalf of the animals. I’ll get you a receipt so you can write it off on your taxes.”

“Where will you put this cat if you’re already full?” he asked as the beagle sniffed his shoes.

“I guess we’ll learn if she gets along with dogs since she’ll have to stay in my office for now.” She crouched down with the cat in her arms. The pup tipped his head to the side and the cat curled closer to Megan but kept her claws sheathed. Nodding, Megan stood and settled the cat onto her office chair.

“She likes dogs better than she likes me, that’s for sure.” He shook his head, laughing softly.

“I guess not every female in this town likes crawling into your arms.” She crinkled her freckled nose.

He would have thought she was jealous. She had been avoiding him since the tornado. He would have attributed it to her being busy with cleanup, but his instincts shouted it had something to do with that impulsive kiss. “I feel bad for adding to your load here. Could you use more volunteers to help with the extra load here? I’m sure some of my buddies at the Texas Cattleman’s Club would be glad to step up.”

“We can always use extra hands.”

“I’ll contact Gil Addison—the club president—and get the ball rolling. Maybe they’ll adopt when they’re here.”

“We can only hope.” Her hand fell to the cat’s head and she stroked lightly. The cat arched up into the stroke, purring loudly. “I’m working on arranging a transport for some of the unclaimed pets to a rescue in Oklahoma. A group in Colorado has reached out to help as well, but we’re still trying to find a way to get the animals there. And since the Colorado group is a new rescue, I need to look over their operation before entrusting our animals to their care. Except I don’t know how I’ll be able to take off that much time from work for the road trip, much less be away from Evie for that long. She’s still unsettled from the trauma of last month’s storm. But, well, you don’t need to hear all about my troubles.”

“My personal plane is at your disposal,” he said without hesitation.

“What? I didn’t realize you have a plane. I mean I know you’re well off, but....”

Her shoulders braced and he could almost see another wall appearing between them. He appreciated that she wasn’t impressed by his money, but also hated to see another barrier in place.

Still, the more he thought about flying the animals for her, the more the idea appealed to him. “Make the arrangements with the rescue and whatever else needs to be done as far as crating the animals. I assume you have procedures for that.”

“Yes, but....” Confusion creased her forehead. “I don’t know how to say thank-you. That’s going above and beyond.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. This is a win-win.” He got to help the animals, score points with Megan and spend more time with her to boot.

“But the cost—”

“A tax write-off, remember? Fly animals as far as you need them to go and your time away will be reduced considerably.” This idea just got better and better, not only for the animals, but also by giving him an “in” to see Megan, to figure out where to take this attraction. “This isn’t a one-time offer either. You’re packed with critters here. If there’s help out there, take it and my jet will fly them there.”

“I can’t turn you down. The animals need this kind of miracle if we’re going to find homes for them by the holidays.” She exhaled hard. “I need to get to work placing calls. There are rescues I hadn’t considered before because of the distance and our limited resources. Rescue work happens fast, slots fill up at a moment’s notice.”

“And this little gal?” He stroked the cat’s head and for once the calico didn’t dig her claws in. Perched on the back of the chair, she arched up into his hand and purred like a race car.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?”

He pulled his hand away. “I can’t. I’m at work all the time, which wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“Of course.” Megan looked disappointed in him, even though he’d just offered her thousands of dollars’ worth of flight hours.

But then, hadn’t he said it? Offering his plane was easy. Taking care of another living being? Not so easy.

“I should let you get to work on lining up those rescues.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and plucked a pen from the cup on the edge of her desk. He jotted a number on the back of the card. “This is my private cell number and my secretary’s number. Don’t hesitate to call.”

When he passed her the card, their fingers brushed. He saw the flecks of awareness sparkle in her eyes again. He wasn’t mistaken. The mutual draw was real, but now wasn’t the time to press ahead for more.

“Thank you again.” She flipped the card between her fingers, still watching him with suspicion, their old conflicts clearly making her wary. “Would you like to name your kitty cat?”

“That’s not my kitten.”

“Right,” she answered, a smile playing with her plump lips that didn’t need makeup to entice, “and she still needs a name. We’ve had to name so many this past month, we’re out of ideas.”

He thought for a second then found himself saying, “Tallulah.”

“Tallulah?” Her surprise was a reward. He liked unsettling her. “Really, Whit? I didn’t expect such a...girly name choice.”

“That was the name of my mom’s cat.” She was briefly theirs, but when they’d moved, the cat ran away. Then his father had said no more pets. Period.

“It’s a lovely name.”

He nodded quickly then turned to leave.

“Whit,” she called, stopping him short, “about what happened after you helped me get to Evie that day....”

Was she finally acknowledging the impulsive, explosive kiss? The thought of having her sooner rather than later... “Yes?”

“Thank you for helping me reach my daughter.” She looked down at her shoes for an awkward moment before meeting his eyes again. “I can never repay you for that...and now this.”

“I don’t expect repayment.” The last thing he wanted was to have her kiss him again out of gratitude.

The next time they kissed—and there would be a next time—it would be purely based on mutual attraction.

* * *

The stroke of Whit Daltry’s eyes left her skin tingling.

Standing at the shelter’s glass door, Megan rubbed her arms as she watched Whit stride across the parking lot back to his truck. His long legs ate up the space one powerful step at a time. His suit coat flapped in the late afternoon breeze revealing a too-perfect, taut butt. Her head was still reeling from his surprise appearance, followed by the generous offer she couldn’t turn down.

After six weeks of reliving that brief but mind-blowing kiss, she’d seen him again and would be spending an entire day with him. Somehow, because of that day they’d gone from avoiding each other to.... What? She wasn’t sure exactly.

Maybe he’d gotten the wrong idea from that kiss and thought she was looking for something more. But she didn’t have time in her life for more. She had a demanding job and a daughter, and both had taken a hard hit from last month’s tornado.

And speaking of her child, she’d left Evie long enough. Thank goodness Miss Abigail had been so accommodating about helping with Evie. The retired legal secretary had even babysat a couple of evenings when Megan got called out to assist with an emergency rescue. Evie had been particularly clingy this past month. And she couldn’t blame her. That nightmarish day still haunted Megan as well; she often woke up from dreams of not reaching her daughter in time, of the whole roof of the preschool collapsing.

Dreams that sometimes took a different turn with Whit arriving, of the kiss going further....

Megan watched his truck drive away, a knot in her stomach.

It would be too damn easy to lean on those broad shoulders, to get used to the help, which would only make things more difficult when she was on her own again. Megan turned away from the door and temptation, returning to reality in the form of her precious daughter sitting on Abigail’s lap as they played on the iPad together. Evie’s knight’s armor was slipping off one shoulder, her toy sword on the ground beside her tiara.

Megan held out her arms. “Come here, sweetie.”

She gathered Evie into her arms and held her on her hip. Not much longer and her baby girl would be too big to carry around. This precious child, who wanted to be a “princess knight” for Halloween and cut through tornadoes with a foam sword. Megan had hoped her daughter would relax and heal as they put the storm behind them, but now Thanksgiving was approaching and Evie was still showing signs of trauma.

The holidays were tough anyway, reminding her that she was the sole relative in Evie’s life. She was a thirty-year-old single mom.

And damn lucky to have landed in this small town full of warmhearted friends.

“Thank you, Abigail, for helping out even after the school finished repairs. You’ve been a lifesaver.”

The roof of Little Tots Daycare had been reconstructed quickly, but the dust and stress had taken its toll on the kids and the workers. Some had gotten the flu.

Others, like Evie, had nightmares and begged to stay home. Her daughter conquered pretend monsters in iPad games and dress-up play.

Abigail rocked back in her chair. “My pleasure. She’s a doll.” She pinched Evie’s cheek lightly. “We have fun readin’ books on the iPad. Don’t we, Evie?”

Bringing her daughter to work wasn’t optimal, but Megan didn’t have any choices for now. “Thanks again.”

“I’m always a call away. The benefit of being retired. Maybe we’ll see Mr. Daltry again tomorrow. Now wouldn’t that be nice if he became a regular volunteer?”

As much as Megan wanted to keep her distance, she couldn’t ignore all the amazing things Whit had done for her.

Evie patted her mother’s cheek with a tiny palm. “Where did the nice man go?”

“He brought a kitty to stay with us here.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “We don’t like people who dump their pets. Does this mean I can’t like him anymore?”

“He didn’t dump the kitty, sweetie. He saved her from being cold and hungry in the woods.” Although she had to admit she was disappointed he hadn’t offered to keep the cat. She struggled not to resent his wealthy lifestyle. Everyone knew he was a self-made man who’d worked hard to build a fortune before his thirty-fifth birthday. “Tallulah lost her family and had nowhere else to go. We’re going to help her find them again.”

“’Lulah?”

“Right. That’s her name.”

“She can come home wif us and live in our house. I’ll get her a costume too.”

They already had three cats and two dogs, all of which Evie had been dressing up as part of her medieval warrior team. The costumes transformed them into horses, elves, queens and even a unicorn.

Their house was full.

And Megan was at her limit with work and her daughter. “You can visit Tallulah here while she waits to find her family. We have our kitties and doggies at home to take care of and love.”

Evie patted Megan’s face again. “Don’t worry, Mommy. I’ll tell Mr. Whit to keep ’Lulah.”

If only it worked that easily. “I need to work a little longer, just a few phone calls and then we can go home for supper. We’ll make a pizza.”

“Can Mr. Whit share our pizza?”

Abigail laughed softly from her perch behind the counter. “I think Mr. Whit wants to share a lot more than pizza.”

Evie looked up, frowning. “Like what?”

Megan shot Abigail an exasperated look before kneeling to tell Evie, “Mr. Whit is sharing his airplane to help send some of the puppies and kitties to forever homes before Thanksgiving.”

“He shares his plane? See. He is very nice. Can I play my games, please?” Evie squirmed down with her iPad, her foam sword tumbling from her hand. “I’m gonna play a plane game this time.” Her daughter put on her tiara and fired up a game for touring the states in a puffy airplane.

Megan glanced at the receptionist. “I don’t want to hear a word about Whit’s visit today, Abigail. And no gossiping.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see if other volunteers were listening in. Luckily, most of them were occupied with exercising animals, folding laundry and washing bowls. The only person even remotely close enough to hear was Beth Andrews, Megan’s favorite volunteer.

“Gossip?” Beth chimed in. “Did I hear the word gossip? That would surely never happen in the town of Royal where everyone stays out of each other’s business. Not.”

Beth wasn’t a known gossip, but was definitely known for helping out everywhere; she was very involved in the community. The leggy blonde owned Green Acres, a local organic farm and produce stand. Beth’s business had taken a big hit from the tornado. That made her generosity and caring now all the more special, given how rough life had been for her lately. The homemade goodies she brought to the animals were always a treat. Beth had that willowy thin, effortless beauty that would have had women resenting her if it weren’t for the fact she was so darn nice.

Abigail stroked her phone as if already planning a text. “It’s a gift having a community that cares so much. Like how Whit Daltry just showed up to make a big donation.”

Beth arched a blond eyebrow. “You two are speaking to each other?”

Megan shrugged her shoulders and examined her fingernails. “He’s helping with the overflow of animals. I can work with anyone for the good of the animals.”

“Everyone’s had their lives turned upside down since the twister. To lose over a dozen lives in a blink...to have our friend Craig gone so young....” She paused with a heavy sigh. “No one has been exempt from the fallout of this damn storm. Even our mayor was critically injured. And that poor Skye Taylor...”

“What tragic bad luck that she came back to town after four years on such a terrible day. How is she doing?” Megan rubbed her arms again, feeling petty for stressing over her life, thinking of Skye Taylor, found seriously injured and unconscious after the storm, her baby delivered prematurely. And since Skye was still in a coma, she hadn’t even met her child. Megan shivered again, even though she didn’t know the woman personally. As a mother, she felt a bond. Thank God Evie was safe. That’s what mattered most. She would figure out how to heal her daughter’s fears.

Clearly agitated, Beth thumbed a stack of shelter flyers. “Drew checked in with the family and Skye is still in a medically induced coma and the baby girl—Grace—is in the neonatal intensive care unit.”

Abigail sighed. “And the doctors still don’t know who the father is?”

Did this qualify as gossip? Megan wasn’t sure, but if the talk could help find the father, that would be a good thing. “I’ve never met her, but I heard a rumor Skye ran off with the younger Holt brother despite their parents’ protests. So I assumed he was the dad.”

Beth tucked a stray curl back into her loose topknot, scrunching her nose. “I recall hearing mentions of an age-old feud between the Holts and Taylors. Abigail, do you have any idea who started it?”

“I haven’t a clue. Quite frankly, I’m not sure they do either, anymore.”

Beth shook her head slowly. “How sad when feuds are carried on for so long.” She stared pointedly at Megan. “So what’s this with Whit Daltry coming to the shelter to see you? And you actually spoke to him rather than running out the back exit?”

“Running out the back? I wouldn’t do that.” Okay, so maybe she had avoided him a time or two but hearing it put that way made her sound so...wimpy. And she didn’t like that one damn bit. “I think we’ve all done some reevaluating this past month. If he wants to offer his private plane to transport homeless animals to new homes, who am I to argue?”

Beth laughed softly. “About that flight... Look how neatly he tied in a way to see you again. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

Not even having a clue how to respond to that notion, Megan clasped her daughter’s hand and retreated to her office. The second she closed the door, she realized she’d done it again. Run away like the coward she’d denied being.

But when it came to Whit Daltry and the way he flipped her world with one sizzling look, keeping her cool just wasn’t an option.