“You had a great dog, Colt.”
Fuck, she was killing him.
“I know,” he whispered.
“To Puck,” she whispered back and he felt his glass press into his hand before they both lifted them and drank again.
“This’ll be harder,” she told him, her glass again against his and her eyes again at his throat.
“Do it,” he murmured.
She looked at him and said, “He was a dick, but he didn’t deserve that,” she pressed her glass against his. “To Pete.”
Colt thought if Pete Hollister were ever to have a toast made to him that said it all, that was it, so he drank as did Feb and they resumed their positions.
“You didn’t know him and he fucked me over but he was a fun guy who made me laugh,” she pulled in a short breath and let it out on a shorter sigh. “To Butch.”
On the last toast, Colt drained his glass dry, so did Feb and he put his on the counter, taking hers out of her hand and placing it beside his. Then he used his hand at her neck to pull her body to his and wrapped his arms around her.
She slid her arms around his waist.
Then she whispered into his chest, “See. Told you I’m not gonna leave.”
“You’re doin’ great, baby.”
Resistance he didn’t know she was holding in her body drained away and she softened against him.
“Can I cry now?” she asked but her voice said she was already doing it.
“Have at it.”
Four days, four deaths, four times Feb cried in his arms.
He’d be the fool Susie accused him of being if he didn’t admit he liked the feel of her right where she was.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fucking jump for joy when this shit was over and at that moment he’d sell his soul so she’d never cry again.
When he heard the tears subside, he said, “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked his chest.
“For trusting me enough to give that to me instead of keepin’ it in and lettin’ it eat more of you away.”
She gave a slight jerk in his arms, not resistance, surprise, before she settled back in.
Finally, she tilted her head back and he looked down at her but he didn’t move his arms.
“I need to go to sleep,” she said softly.
“You gonna be able to do that?”
“I’ll take some of Doc’s pills.”
“That okay if you’ve been drinking?”
“I’ll check the bottle.”
Without another tactic left to him to delay, Colt let her go.
She started to the door but turned in its frame and looked back at him.
“I know it’s heavy, Colt. Thanks for sharing the weight of it,” she whispered then she walked with a hurried step, leaving him staring after her long after she disappeared down the hall.
Yes, she was fucking killing him.
Colt turned out the kitchen light, went to the couch, sat down, picked up the phone and called Sully.
Chapter Five
Reprieve
I got up feeling groggy, the pills worked great but they didn’t know when to stop.
I threw the covers back off Colt’s bed, rolled twice to make my way across the grand expanse to the side, threw my legs over, got up and dragged myself to Colt’s bathroom.
I was so groggy, I was halfway through my morning routine before I realized Wilson wasn’t sitting on the toilet seat watching me with blame in his eyes that said me brushing my teeth was not more important than him getting fed. Wilson was a cat and therefore could be aloof but he liked me and he didn’t make any bones about showing it. When I was in a room, Wilson was in it too. He might not be laying on me or rubbing up against me purring but he knew he was the man of the house and needed to keep me company so he didn’t often leave me alone.
Therefore I went in search of my unusually absent cat deciding, even though Colt was super cool last night going so far as to toast Pete with me, still I’d kill him if he let my cat out only for Wilson to be murdered by a bi-species killing maniac.
I heard the meows the minute I fully swung open Colt’s partially-opened bedroom door.
When I hit the doorway to the living room I saw Colt standing in the kitchen, a coffee cup in his hand, his back to me, his neck twisted, his eyes pointed down to the floor which was the source of the meows.
In the depth and breadth of my vision I saw all of it, including some of the living room, the dining area, the kitchen and even out the kitchen window which showed part of the speedboat, part of Dad and Mom’s RV.
But all I really saw was Colt’s back and it was a fucking great view. Nearly as good as his front view last night, shirtless, hair mussed and wearing shorts.
Damn, they needed to find this guy so I could get the hell out of there.
Colt turned when I hit the dining area and leveled his eyes on me.
“How do you get him to shut the fuck up?” he asked, his face cloudy.
Wilson meowed.
“You feed him,” I replied, hitting the kitchen.
“Then for God’s sake, feed him,” Colt muttered, turning, backing up, leaning his hips against the counter and crossing an arm on his bare chest, his coffee still held up, his scowl still aimed at poor, defenseless Wilson.
I got down to the business of feeding Wilson. Wilson saw my movements, knew the drill and shut his kitty trap.
“Thank God,” Colt muttered and I bit back a laugh but I couldn’t bite back my smile. “You should name him something else,” Colt told me.
“What’s wrong with Wilson?” I asked Wilson’s food.
“His name is Wilson?” Colt asked my back, I looked over my shoulder at him and saw his brows were knitted.
“Yeah,” I said, turning back to the food then moved to set it on the floor by Wilson’s kitty water bowl that Mom put out yesterday.
“You called him something else last night,” Colt said.
“I did?” I asked, going to the cupboard Mom took the mugs out of yesterday and I opened it to see in the divorce Melanie got the matching coffee mugs because none of Colt’s matched.
I picked one when Colt informed me, “Yeah, you called him ‘Mr. Purrsie Purrs’.”
I felt my neck get tight.
Oh Lord. That was my kitty speak, I only did that when Wilson and I were alone. Wilson loved it. Anytime I lapsed into kitty speak he came closer or if he was in another room he’d come running. But I let no one else hear my kitty speak. I thought Colt was sleeping or I’d never have done it. Obviously Colt wasn’t sleeping. Shit.
I decided to make no comment.
“Feb?”
“Mm?” I mumbled to the coffeepot, pouring myself a cup and not turning.
“Feb.”
“Yeah?” I asked, sliding to the side to open the fridge and grab the milk.
“February.” Oh shit, I could hear his laughter in my name.
“What?”
“Honey, look at me.”
I set the milk down next to my mug and turned to look at him. He was smiling.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Mr. Purrsie Purrs is funny,” Colt answered, he thought this was hilarious and I could tell it was taking everything for him not to laugh.
I rolled my eyes, muttered, “Whatever,” and started to turn again when Colt murmured, “Baby,” and when he did there was no humor in his tone at all.
At the timbre of his voice, I lifted my gaze to his and it felt like my head was moving in super slow motion. But when our eyes met things all of a sudden speeded up. Colt took one step forward in a lunge, his arm coming out and hooking me at the waist then, when he stepped back, I went with him. On the fly, I hit his body and my hands came up automatically to his chest to brace my fall. My hands were useless, his arms locked around me, his head came down on a slant and his mouth hit mine.