Chapter 2: Ally - Purrfect Valentine

The scratches on my cheek throbbed in time with the kitten’s screams. She was absolutely losing her mind in my arms—thrashing, wailing, straining toward the door like she could will the grumpy asshole back through sheer desperation. He didn’t look back. Not once.

The brass bell finished its cheerful chime. The door clicked shut. And I stood there like an idiot, bleeding slightly, holding a hysterical cat, watching a man who didn’t deserve the love this kitten clearly had for him.

She is not my problem.

His words rattled around in my skull. That, and the way he’d looked at my outstretched hand as if I’d offered him something contagious instead of a handshake.

“What an ass,” I muttered, turning around.

“Did you see him, though?” Bev materialized at my elbow. “Those shoulders. That jaw. The glasses.”

“I saw him refuse to shake my hand and abandon a sick animal.” I shifted the kitten, who was still wailing. “Forgive me if I’m not swooning.”

“You get foster animals who need a little time to warm up. How is he any different?”

“For one, he clearly isn’t sticking around long enough to thaw out. At least I hope he’s not. He’s rude.” I approached the counter and used a free hand to let Cupid, the fat orange cat sleeping on the counter, sniff my hand. A second later, he bumped into it until I was petting his head. Meanwhile, the kitten still struggled against my grip.

“Rude and handsome aren’t mutually exclusive,” Bev said.

Wim snorted from behind the counter. “They should be. Doesn’t he look like Superman?”

“I suppose he could be Superman on red kryptonite. That made Clark an ass, didn’t it?” I asked.

“I think you’re right,” Wim said with a nod. “Although it could’ve been black kryptonite.”

“Both,” Bev corrected. “And now I want to rewatch Smallville.”

I stroked my thumb along the kitten’s spine, murmuring nonsense sounds. She was trembling now instead of thrashing—progress, maybe. Her infected eyes were crusty and weeping, and underneath the matted white-and-tan fur, I could feel the sharp jut of her ribs. And that belly. Distended in a way that made my stomach sink.

“What’s his story?” I asked, jutting my chin towards the front door. “Did he talk much besides grunting?” Aphrodite, the beautiful siamese leapt to the counter and bumped her head against my arm. I smiled and pressed a kiss to her head. “Or did he treat you two the same? The man clearly has the personality of a wet sock.”

“His car broke down somewhere on the road outside the Corner.” Bev stood beside me, clearly not finished with her report. “Must’ve walked quite a few miles in this chilly weather. With that kitten in his coat, apparently.”

That made me pause. Miles. In dress shoes and a wool coat. Carrying a kitten he claimed to want nothing to do with. There was a reason I liked animals more than people. People were complicated. This one more than most.

The kitten’s wails had finally subsided into pitiful mews. I tucked her into my teal jacket, letting my body heat seep into her tiny frame, and she burrowed against my chest with a shudder. Better.

“How’s Cupid’s ear?” I asked, gently tilting the fat cat’s head to examine the canal. Clean. Pink. Healthy.

“Cleared up beautifully,” Wim called from the coffee station. “Did the drops exactly like you said.”

Aphrodite watched me, blue eyes tracking my movements, clearly jealous of the attention I was giving her adopted brother. I scratched behind her ears. “And this one’s appetite?”

“Better. She actually finished her wet food yesterday.”

“Good.” I straightened, one hand still cupped protectively over the lump in my jacket. “Where’s Eros hiding?”

“I’d guess the back room. He was out here a moment ago, but he’s been skittish all morning. Knocked over a display of heart-shaped cookies an hour ago.” Bev shrugged. “I think he’s avoiding consequences.”

“Typical.”

Wim slid my usual mug across the counter—the chipped blue one with the faded sunflower—filled with black coffee. I collected it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my free hand.

“Thanks.” I took a sip. “But I should get this sweet baby to the clinic. Do a proper exam. Can I get this to-go?”

“You’ll let us know how she is?” Wim’s voice had gone soft as she took the mug and dumped its contents into a travel cup. “She seems like a sweet thing. Despite the company she came in with.” She snapped the lid on and passed it back to me.

“I’ll keep you posted.” I tilted the cup in a goodbye. “Let me know if you catch anymore strays.”

I pushed through the café door, the cold biting into every inch of exposed skin, and nearly walked straight into Mr. Asshole.

He was standing maybe ten feet away, glaring at his phone. His jaw was clenched. His shoulders were rigid. And even scowling at a screen in the fading afternoon light, he was unfairly attractive. Definitely Superman vibes like Wim had said.

Sighing, I took a couple steps forward. My old yellow VW bug sat patiently as it waited for me. I should’ve walked to my car. Minded my own business. Let the angry stranger figure out his own problems.

“Wow, is this one of those new invisible cars?” I called out instead as I walked up and stopped next to him. Sheesh, had he been this tall inside? “Aren’t they supposed to be super expensive? I didn’t think they’d actually be this hard to see.”

His head snapped up. Dark eyes behind those Clark Kent glasses. Oh boy, I’d definitely pissed off the Superman wannabe. “What?”

The lump in my jacket stirred at the sound of his voice. Tiny paws edged with claws pressed against my chest, straining toward him, and a pitiful mew vibrated against my sternum. She’d gone from hysterical to half-asleep in the span of five minutes, but apparently one word from Mr. Personality was enough to wake her right back up.

Unbelievable.

“Your car. It’s really cool.” I pretended to walk around the car, examining the invisible details. I stopped when I was opposite him, grinning while he glared at me.

“I’m getting an Uber.”

Oh, honey. Oh, you sweet summer child.

Chuckling, I shook my head. “I hate to inform you, but you’re going to be waiting a while.”

“It says no drivers are available. I’m refreshing.”

“You could refresh until your fingers freeze off.” I took a sip of my coffee, ignoring the wriggling little ball of fur in my coat. “Uber doesn’t exist here.” I held up a finger when he opened his mouth. “Neither does Lyft.”

He glared at me. It made me want to point out that I wasn’t the reason it didn’t exist in our small town. “What do you mean it doesn’t exist?”

“No Uber. No Lyft. No ride-sharing. This is Cupid Corner.” I gestured at the heart-shaped banners fluttering from every lamppost. “Population two thousand on a good day. If you need a ride, you walk, ride a bike, drive yourself, or know someone.”

I watched him process this and mentally scolded myself for taking so much pleasure out of torturing him.

“You mentioned Lynx? The mechanic?”

He grunted.

“I could give you a ride,” I offered with a big smile, though inside my mind, I was wondering what the hell was wrong with my mouth. The guy was clearly a jerk, and I really didn’t want to spend more time with him. Apparently, though, my lips had different plans. “I’m heading that direction anyway.”

“No.”

No hesitation. No thank you. Just no.

Fair enough. He hadn’t thanked me for offering to examine his kitten either. Or shaken my hand when I’d introduced myself. Some people were determined to be miserable, and who was I to stand in the way of their dreams?

“Suit yourself.”

I unlocked my car, slid behind the wheel, and let the engine sputter to life while the kitten shifted against my chest. Through the windshield, I watched him wage war with his pride. His phone. The empty street. The complete absence of any vehicle that might save him from accepting help.

Come on, I thought, sipping my coffee with a smirk on my lips. You know you want to.

Despite the cold, I rolled down the window and gave him a little wave. “Enjoy the walk,” I called, keeping my voice sweet as sugar. “It’s a couple miles to the mechanic. Uphill for the last stretch.” I paused, then added helpfully, “In those shoes.”

Fifteen seconds later, he stalked toward the passenger side. The expression on his face fit a man approaching his own execution more than a man who’d just been kindly offered a ride. He grabbed the handle and pulled.

Nothing.

He pulled harder. The door rattled but held firm.

Now, I could have warned him. The passenger door stuck in cold weather—you had to lift and jiggle simultaneously, a technique I’d perfected over eleven years of ownership. I could have rolled down the window and offered helpful instructions. That would have been the kind thing to do.

Instead, I took another sip of coffee and watched him fight my car.

His knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. A muscle twitched in his cheek. At one point, he braced his foot against the frame for leverage, which was both ineffective and deeply satisfying to witness.

This is for not shaking my hand, I thought pleasantly.

When I was certain he was about to either give up or rip the door clean off its hinges, I leaned across and popped it open from the inside.

“Trick mechanism,” I said straight-faced. “Temperamental. I probably should have mentioned that.”

Something flickered in his expression—annoyance, yes, but underneath it, the faintest ghost of grudging respect. Or maybe that was just the cold. Hard to tell with this one.

He folded himself into the passenger seat, and suddenly my little Bug felt three sizes smaller. The man was big. Broad shoulders that brushed the seat back. Long legs crammed into the footwell at an angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He smelled like cold air and something else. I wish I could’ve said it was cedar, maybe, or sandalwood, but no. It was sweat. The man had definitely worked up a sweat walking into town.

I was acutely aware of how close his thigh was to the gearshift. How his presence seemed to fill the small space until I could feel the warmth of him against my arm. Rolling up the window, I unzipped my coat enough to let the kitten out because I didn’t want the seatbelt to crush her. I set her on the dashboard, and a second later, she’d leapt onto Mr. Grumpy’s lap.

Shoot, I knew he’d introduced himself, but I couldn’t remember his name. I guess I hadn’t paid attention.

“Stop,” he muttered, plucking the kitten off his lap, wincing when she dug her claws into his pants. “Just go down there.” He put her in the footwell, and a second later, like a fluffy boomerang, she was back in his lap.

“You’re fighting a losing battle. She’s going to sit in your lap,” I said, not bothering to hide my grin as I buckled. “Seatbelt,” I said, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.

He reached for the buckle. Pulled. Nothing happened.

He tried again, harder this time, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

“It sticks sometimes,” I offered after a generous pause. “You have to kind of—yeah, there you go.”

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds before the kitten made her next move. She wasn’t content with his lap, apparently. She stood on her hind legs, tiny paws pressing against his chest, and began scaling him as if he were a mountain she was determined to conquer. Claws caught in the wool of his coat—expensive-looking, I noted with petty satisfaction—as she climbed toward his shoulder.

“What—” He froze, hands hovering uselessly. “What is she doing?”

She. Not it. Progress.

“Trying to feel safe.”

He tried to detach her, gently prying her claws free, but she was relentless. Every time he pulled her off, she latched back on. Finally, she reached his shoulder and pressed herself against the curve of his neck, purring so hard I could hear it over the engine.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but he’d stopped trying to remove her.

Against the sharp line of his jaw, she looked absurdly content. Absurdly right, like she’d always belonged there.

“I’m allergic,” he said, but the words came out flat.

“Mmm.” I kept my eyes on the road and chuckled. “That must be why she likes you so much.”

Mountain View Motors appeared around the next curve—a converted barn with wood siding and a hand-painted sign featuring a mountain ridge. No smoke curled from the chimney today, and the big garage door was shut tight against the cold.

I pulled up front and cut the engine, then thought better of it. The kitten had finally settled into a purring loaf on his shoulder, and I wasn’t about to let her freeze while I sorted out his car situation.

“She’s going to stay,” I told him, restarting the engine and cranking the heat. “You and I are going in.”

The kitten ignored me, too busy nuzzling into his neck. He looked profoundly uncomfortable. Good.

“You coming?” I asked, already climbing out.

He extracted himself from my Bug with significantly less grace than he’d entered it. The kitten mewed in protest as he peeled her off his shoulder and deposited her on the warm driver’s seat.

“Stay,” he said gruffly.

She stared at him with huge, betrayed eyes.

We crossed the gravel lot to the garage, our breath fogging in the late afternoon air. I knocked on the side door—three sharp raps—and waited.

Nothing.

I knocked again. Still nothing.

“The two ladies at the coffee shop said he might be closed,” he said, accusation threading through his voice.

“He is closed. But he’s still normally hanging here.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Lynx’s contact. It rang twice before he picked up.

“Hey Doc.” His voice was low, a little rough. “Everything okay with the Bug?”

“My car is fine. But I’m actually outside your garage with a stranded traveler. Car broke down on the road outside town. Any chance you can hop in the tow truck and bring it here to take a look?”

A pause. I heard shuffling, maybe footsteps. “Give me two minutes.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Mmhm.” He hung up.

Grumpy Pants was watching me with an unreadable expression. “Friends?”

“I’m the town vet. He has an elderly cat. She’s about a thousand years old, mostly blind, and I adore her.” I tucked my phone back into my pocket. “He’ll be down in a sec. He lives in the house behind the shop.”

“But you have his personal number because...?”

“Because I’m his vet.” I smiled sweetly. “Small towns. Everyone knows everyone.”

He didn’t argue.

A minute later, a figure emerged from behind the garage—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that looked like he’d been running his hands through it. Lynx McMurty, who was only a year or so younger than me, actually succeeded in being taller than the man next to me, who stood straighter as soon as Lynx walked up. Tattoos peeked out from under his flannel sleeves, and even from a distance, I could see the grease stains on his jeans.

“Doc.” He nodded at me, and the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re not usually the one dragging strangers to my door.”

“Special occasion. Lynx, this is—” I realized I still didn’t actually remember his name. He’d said it in the café? Something with a C. “—actually, I’m so sorry, I’ve completely blanked on your name.”

“Corbin,” he supplied, jaw tight.

“Right. Corbin.” I gestured between them. “Corbin, this is Lynx McMurty. Best mechanic in Cupid Corner.”

“You’re sweet,” Lynx said with a grin. “Car trouble?”

“Broke down about five miles out. Engine made a noise and died.”

Lynx grunted. “What kind of noise?”

“Grinding. Metal on metal.”

“Year and make?”

“‘68 Mustang.”

“Shit, that’s nice man.” Lynx nodded towards his tow truck parked near the garage. “You get it towed, or do you need me to get it?”

“As she said, I walked.”

“Right.” Lynx’s eyebrows rose a fraction. He glanced at Corbin’s shoes—the leather loafers that were definitely not made for mountain hikes—and then back up at his face. “Five miles. In those.”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence. Then Lynx shrugged. “You and I can head out now, and I’ll take a look and see if I can’t get it fixed on the road. Otherwise, we’ll tow it back and I’ll start on it tomorrow if I have all the parts I need.” He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands, even though they didn’t look dirty. “You got a place to stay tonight, man?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Sweetheart Inn is your best bet. But a lot of the B&B’s and places to stay are booked solid this time of year.” Lynx tucked the rag away. “The town sort of goes nuts for Valentine’s.”

“I noticed,” Corbin grunted.

“Let me grab the keys to the truck, and then we’ll go. Oh, but before I do that, can I swing by with Twixie sometime next week, Doc?”

I smiled and nodded. “Of course! I’ve got some open time in the middle of the week. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, she’s just needing another one of those arthritis shots. Been moving slower.”

“I would be too if I were around 88 years old.” I glanced toward my Bug, where the kitten was visible through the windshield, perched on the headrest and staring at us with unblinking intensity. “Speaking of which, I need to get that one to the clinic. She’s not in great shape.”

Lynx followed my gaze. “Yours?”

“Nope. His.” I nodded toward Corbin.

“No, not mine. It’s a stray. Attached itself to me on my walk into town.”

“Huh.” Lynx looked at Corbin with something that might have been amusement. “She pick you, or you pick her?”

“I didn’t pick anyone,” Corbin said flatly. “It followed me.”

“She,” I corrected automatically.

“Fine. She followed me.”

Lynx and I exchanged a glance. His mouth twitched.

“Well,” I said, clapping my hands together. “I’ll leave you two to sort out the details. Lynx, will you drop him off at the inn when you get back?”

“Sure thing.”

“And Lynx—” I pointed at him, “—tell Twix I have a new shipment coming in of her favorite treats.”

“She’s deaf. And she’s spoiled enough.”

“There’s no such thing as too spoiled for a senior cat and you know it.”

The almost-smile finally broke through, softening the hard lines of his face. “Get out of here, Vanderspelt. And be grateful that yellow deathtrap still works.”

“Works better than his,” I winked at Corbin before waving with a grin. I got back to my car, leaving the grumpy stranger in the capable hands of Cupid Corner’s favorite mechanic.

The kitten chirped when I slid into the driver’s seat, then immediately tried to climb over the center console toward the passenger side—toward where Corbin had been sitting.

“He’s not coming,” I told her gently, scooping her up and settling her in my lap. “It’s just you and me now.”

She mewed, and my heart cracked a little.

“I know, baby. I know.”

The exam took an hour, and the results took the hope right out of my chest. Wet FIP. Fluid in her abdomen, golden and viscous, confirming what I’d suspected the moment I felt the distension. A few years ago, this diagnosis would’ve meant palliative care and a gentle death. I’d lost cats to this disease. Watched owners sob in this office and my previous one while I explained there was nothing more I could do.

But things had changed. GS-441524 existed now—eighty-four days of injections, expensive and painful, but with survival rates that bordered on miraculous.

The catch? She was a stray. No owner. No history. And the treatment required stability, consistent handling, minimal stress. That, and lots of money.

She had none of those things. No one to fight for her.

Except me. And technically, the grumpy ass who’d found her.

I sat in my office, watching her sleep in the heated recovery cage. Her white-and-tan fur rose and fell with each breath. Her paws twitched, chasing something in her dreams.

“I can tell you’re a fighter, but you don’t have a shot without this treatment. He may have saved your life, but unless we can convince him to help, it still doesn’t look good, sweetheart,” I murmured.

She shifted, one ear flicking.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to find a text from my little brother, Jamie.

I smiled despite myself.

I reread my message. Assert dominance. Be the alpha. Huh. Maybe I needed to take my own advice. I could do that for the sweet little kitten.

A moment later, I had what I needed from Lynx.

Corbin’s number.

I typed a message, deleted it, typed again.

I hit send.

His reply came back in under a minute.

I gritted my teeth. God, he really was an ass. I saved his contact as “Asshole,” and then responded.

I spun in circles in my chair while I waited, watching the room blur around me until my phone buzzed.

I set the phone facedown on my desk and glanced at the kitten.

“Don’t worry, baby, I have an idea. We’re going to see if this Superman really does have Clark’s heart or whether we’re dealing with an imposter.”