Cat Trick

I spent maybe another five or ten minutes exclaiming over the stack of comics, holding up issues and giving Marcus a summary of their story lines. Then he poured us each another cup of coffee, and we went out onto the deck in the fading light. He sat in a slat-back wooden chair and propped his feet up on the railing while I took the swing, kicking off my shoes so I could curl my feet underneath me.

“This is so beautiful,” I said, looking out over the backyard, rimmed with trees. The leaves were already turning, and even in the half-light of dusk I could still see colors from amber to scarlet. “How long have you been here?”

“Three years this winter,” he said. “I liked the place the moment I saw it.” He sank a little lower in his chair. “You know, it’s kind of because of Desmond that I’m here.”

“Roma’s Desmond?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

Desmond was another Wisteria Hill cat. Marcus had found the cat, injured, by the side of the road and taken him to Roma’s clinic. She’d ended up having to treat both of them. Desmond wasn’t exactly social.

Curious, Roma had done a little exploring at the old estate and found the feral cat colony. Marcus had been her first volunteer, although I wasn’t sure if he’d actually volunteered or if he’d been conscripted. Oddly, the cat seemed to like the clinic, so Roma had kept him. Desmond was long and lean with sleek black fur and there was something just a little intimidating about his presence. He was missing one eye and half an ear, which only made him seem more imposing.

I made a hurry-up motion with one hand. “Tell me,” I said.

“There isn’t that much to tell,” he said, setting his mug up on the railing. “I found Desmond. I took him to the clinic, and that’s when I met Roma for the first time. I knew she’d taken over the practice when Joe Ross retired. A couple of days later, I went back to see how Desmond was doing and we started talking. She told me that Joe had bought a sailboat and was planning to sail around the world so he was selling his house. I drove past on my way home and made him an offer in the morning.”

He reached over and patted one of the railing’s wooden spindles. “Most of the work has been outside so far. The yard was kind of overgrown. The end wall of the garage had a tilt that had to be fixed. And I built the deck.”

“You built this?”

He nodded. “With a lot of help from Harry Taylor.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. Harry put the swing together, so you’re safe.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I said, folding my hands around my cup. He could cook. He could build things. He smelled good. I took a sip of my coffee. I needed to think about something else.

“So what’s next?” I asked to distract myself from thinking about how great Marcus smelled.

“The attic,” he said at once. “There are boxes up there from whoever owned the house before Joe bought it. I have no idea what’s in them or who they might belong to.”

“A mystery,” I said. “I like those.”

“I’ve noticed that,” he said with a laugh.

We talked about his plans for the house for a while. I set my mug down on the wide deck boards and rubbed my left arm.

“Your wrist hurts,” Marcus said, dropping his feet and straightening up in the chair.

“A little bit,” I said. “I think we’re going to get some rain.” I’d broken my left wrist just over a year ago, and since then I’d become pretty good at predicting the weather based on how it felt.

I stretched and slid my feet back into my shoes. “I should get going. Owen could have Fred the Funky Chicken parts all over the kitchen by now.”

Marcus got the box of comic books and carried it out to the truck for me. “Thank you for those,” I said, tipping my head toward the carton on the passenger seat. “And for dinner. Will you come and have dinner with me—and the fur balls? Maybe next week?”

“I’d like that,” he said. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

He smiled, and I thought about standing on my tiptoes, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. While I was thinking about it—and having a little internal debate with myself—he leaned down and kissed me.