Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I get the feeling Beau’s sharp blue eyes miss nothing. He looks at the barn like he has already realized it’s crumbling. I think he knows why I’m doing the hot bedding thing. He walks in after me, looks around, and freezes.
“It’s nice in here,” he comments.
He looks so out of place in his city attire. He looks like he’s going to a meeting where he hands someone their lunch and maybe their dinner as well, boss style. And I’m not talking about food. Rather, it’s him handing them their ass. There’s no doubt the meeting would take place in a super expensive all-glass high-rise building with at least ten other people in the room, their combined net worth higher than my calculator can count.
“It isn’t great yet, but thanks,” I reply.
“No. It’s tidy. I like what you’ve done with it.”
There’s still a thick layer of hay all over the floor. When I start fixing this place up, it’s all going to have to be dug out. The bales I have stacked up on the one side for the cats, their little houses their food dishes, and mats, all the garden tools, and half of the other junk that came out of the shop when I started cleaning it out.
When I got here, the shop was bursting at the not-so-great-metal-clad seams. I threw away the gross stuff, the crap there was no reason to keep. I recycled what I could, called a guy to take away the scrap metal, and donated the salvageables I didn’t need, but there were some things I couldn’t part with. A few bundles of roof shingles that match what’s on the roof of one of these buildings, although I’m not sure which one, old boards, some live edge lumber, old barn wood—all of that would find a buyer in a few hot seconds if I posted it for sale, but I want to keep it. My arts and crafts end with sewing, but don’t count me down and out yet. There’s also a collection of ancient, decrepit furniture in here—a dresser missing the back leg, a very warped, faded, water-damaged antique armor, a vanity missing the mirror, and two drawers.
It’s all a work in progress. When I have the shop ready to go, I guess I’ll be able to move everything in there. Like the barn, it’s a work in progress. It might not need a new concrete floor, but it does need repairs to the metal siding and roof. The big overhead door also barely stays on its hinges and scrapes the ground every time I try to move it.
Beau perches on the edge of a bale. They’re stacked up, so they’re the right height for him. I want to tell him not to ruin his suit, but I figure his clothes are his business. I feel like I’m on fire even just having him here, his frosted-over eyes roaming around the place, never fixing on me but still seeing straight through me. It makes my blood rush and my heart pound double time.
I pretend like he’s not here and call the cats instead.
“Mama? Baby?” Okay, so I inherited these cats. When Beau grunts at the names, I explain, “They showed up out of nowhere. I’m not sure if they were living here already and were just scared of me for the first month or if someone dumped them, or if they moved in from somewhere else. They weren’t that friendly at first, but they weren’t feral. Once I spotted them and started feeding them, it only took me a few months to win their trust.”
“Mama and Baby?” Beau quirks a brow.
“One is big and orange, and one is not so big and orange. They might not even be related.”
When the cats hear me, they come rushing in from under the far side of the barn wall. There’s no cat door, but there is a hole in the one board that serves as one. They don’t mind that I have a stranger here.
“Holy cow. That cat is a serious unit,” Beau exclaims.
I let out a surprised laugh and set down the food bowls. I have some soft cat food that I’ve mixed with canned salmon. They don’t get treats like that often, but I make a point to give them something delicious every few weeks. They do have dry cat food, too, but they hardly touch it. They’re outdoor cats, and they’re hunters. They love fish, but they also love a warm mouse. They honestly can take or leave my soft food offerings during the warm months. They like it much more in the winter.
“She is, I suppose.” What an odd term—unit. I like it.
Mama is huge. She’s one of the biggest cats I’ve ever seen. When I was first able to get close, I had to check her over like six million times to make sure she didn’t have balls because I’d also never seen a lady cat that huge before. The baby cat is maybe half the size. She’s also orange but more of a creamy color, not bright with white stripes like the other one. I honestly do doubt they’re even related, but who knows? I like to think of them as a mom and baby. It’s a sweet thought.