Cat Trick

His mouth was warm, his lips were soft and for a second—which was about how long the kiss lasted—I forgot how to breathe. Aside from kissing my dad on the cheek and Ethan on the top of his head—mostly because it bugged the heck out of him—I hadn’t kissed a man since Andrew. Andrew whom I’d thought I’d marry until we had a fight and he went on a two-week fishing trip and came back married to someone else.

I’d forgotten how much I liked kissing.

Marcus trailed one hand along my shoulder and then he took a step backward. “Good night, Kathleen,” he said.

“Good night, Marcus,” I said.

I got in the truck, started it and concentrated on backing slowly and carefully out of the driveway. Marcus raised a hand, and I did the same as I drove away. I didn’t think at all about backing him up against the door of the truck and kissing him until he was the one who couldn’t breathe.

No, I didn’t.

Hercules and Owen were sitting by the back door when I stepped into the kitchen, almost as though they’d been waiting for me to come home.

“Hello. How was your evening?” I said.

They exchanged glances and then looked at me, cocking their heads to the left at the same time, like the movement had been choreographed. They trailed me as I hung up my jacket and carried the box of comic books into the living room. I sat down in the big chair and set the comics on the footstool.

Herc narrowed his green eyes and studied the cardboard carton. I patted my lap. “Come up,” I said. “You know you want to.” He jumped up onto my lap and stepped carefully onto the end of the footstool. Then he stood on his back legs so he could poke his nose inside the box.

“Batman,” I said.

The furry black-and-white face surfaced, and it looked like he was frowning. “No,” I said. “Batman, not bat like the one who chased you across the backyard.” He made a small sound and his head disappeared back under the cardboard flap.

Owen had run out of patience by then. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He launched himself onto my lap, then leaned over and gave the carton a poke with one paw. Hercules meowed his annoyance, his head still inside.

“Stop that,” I said sternly to Owen.

He gave a snippy meow of his own; then he turned around, settled himself and stared at me.

“What do you want?” I asked. “A full rundown of my evening?”

“Rroww,” he rumbled.

“You’re worse than Maggie,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “Okay, Marcus made stir-fried chicken with noodles. It was very good.”

Owen waited a moment, then pawed at my left leg. Cat for “And then what?”

“We had Eric’s chocolate pudding cake for dessert.”

He licked his lips, but his gaze didn’t move from my face.

I scratched behind his ears and he started to purr. I leaned a little closer. “And you were right. That was a button you dug up this morning.” He ducked his head for a moment, giving me a sideways glance with one eye. “Yes, I know, modesty prevents you from saying, ‘I told you so.’”

I yawned. “Then Marcus gave me that box of comic books.” I gave the cats a brief summary of all the deals that had led to Marcus ending up with the old Batman comics. Neither one seemed very interested.

“And that was pretty much it.” I linked my fingers together and stretched my arms out in front of me. “Oh, and he kissed me.”

Owen had just turned to take another look at what his brother was doing. He swung around and almost fell off my lap. Hercules jerked his head out of the box so quickly he banged it on the cardboard flap. Clearly they knew what the word “kissed” meant.

“Don’t get too excited,” I told them. “It was just one kiss.”

The cats exchanged a look then, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have almost thought they seemed pleased.

9

I was sweeping the porch stairs the next morning while Owen did his morning survey of our yard and Rebecca’s and Hercules perched on the top step and watched for the grackle. Harry Taylor—Young Harry—came around the side of the house. I smiled at him. “Hi, Harry,” I said.

“Good morning, Kathleen.” He smiled back at me. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” I said, leaning the broom against the railing. “What is it?”

“I need a favor.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“You might want to hear what it is first,” he said. His expression was serious, and it struck me that maybe the favor had something to do with his father, Harrison Taylor Senior.

Harry must have seen something in my expression, because he held up a hand. “Don’t worry. The old man’s fine. When I left, he was making bread with Elizabeth.”