Black Cat and the Accidental Angel (Black Cat Mysteries Book 3) (6 page)

His fur slipped back into place on his back. His puffed up tail hairs relaxed and his heartbeat slowed. “We got left behind when our
persons’
car got
smooshed
in an accident. We’re going home. You wouldn’t have any idea which way is home, would you?”

“Depends. Where do you live?” The cat’s big blue eyes slid shut, and then opened.

“Well, that’s the problem. I whacked my head and I don’t quite remember which way… Oh!” As hard as he’d tried to ignore the truth, it stuck out like a blister on a bunny’s butt.

Reality check! He had no idea where home was. Angel must have known the truth, but she’d let him lead her north all day, knowing quite well he didn’t have a clue where he was going. She’d been
handling
him, humoring the guy with the conked noggin.

He turned and glared at Angel. “You knew. All day, you knew we were lost. Why—?”

“Yes, dear. I knew. It was important for you to feel in control. You see, it didn’t really matter
which
way we went today. Finding food and water was the goal. And you’re so clever, you found this lovely place. We’ve had a splendid dinner and we’ve made a wonderful friend. Everything will be okay now, won’t it, Rosie?”

Rosie scratched the side of her ear. “Sure, kid. Anything you say. If I can help, just say the word. What do you need?”

“Let’s see.” Angel glanced at him, her gold eyes wide. “Dear, about tonight…perhaps we should find a place to…
umm
…sleep?”

“
Uh
…yeah…right. Any thoughts about where we could sleep, Rosie?”

Rosie jerked her head toward a battered pick-up truck parked under an apple tree. “Over there. It gets cold here at night. How about under that tarp? You can sleep in the truck tonight. I’ll share my breakfast with you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Rosie.” He jumped into the pick-up. “Come on up, Angel.” His voice sounded muffled from under the tarp. “It’s warm and dry. And, there are blankets up here.”

Angel leaped up.
“This looks nice. Thanks, Rosie.” She stretched and then crawled beneath the tarpaulin where she kneaded the blankets into a soft nest.

Snug and warm with Angel curled next to him, he slept. He woke once, only for a moment. The truck rocked gently from side to side.
Must be the wind.

In the morning, they’d have to move on. But, which way should they go? How would they ever get home? They would have to make some decisions in the morning. It was too much to think about just now. He yawned and drifted back to sleep.

Chapter Six

A
wakened by the squawk of a blue jay, he peeked out from under the tarp where he and Angel had passed the night. The tasty morsel hopped on a low branch overhead.
Hungry! Bird! Breakfast.
He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes, flexed his muscles and did a quick equation to determine wind velocity versus thrust between the truck and the blue jay…too far…no point in exerting himself. The thing was too skinny to feed two of them anyway, and—

“Daddy, come quick. Look what I found.” A cherub-faced little girl leaned over the bed of the pick-up truck bed.

His heart did a flip-flop.
Who
…
?
He looked up. Where were Rosie’s apple trees? Where was her back porch? Instead, a canopy of tall pine trees towered over the truck. Pine needles lay scattered across the tarpaulin.
Uh-oh, Toto. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

The child’s brownish-blonde ponytail fell over one shoulder. Her eyes twinkled when she smiled. “Daddy. Look. There are kitties here.” She reached and touched his head.

Ouch.
Her touch reminded him of the knock on his head.
Meow!

The tarp jiggled and from deep inside, a faint hiss. Angel!

The little girl jerked her hand back, the tips of her fingers streaked with blood. “Daddy, his head is bleeding.” She wiped her crimson fingers on her blue jeans.

A shadow moved across the truck bed. “Stand back, Cindy. If he’s hurt, he might bite. Here, let me see.”

He peered into the daddy’s face, taking measure of the man. Was he cruel? Would the man feed them? His tummy rumbled again.

Calloused hands reached into the truck and caressed his head, but the man’s touch assured kindness as he felt the wound.

The daddy’s cheeks were dark with several days’ stubble. Worry lines crossed his forehead, though his firm jaw suggested courage and determination. Smile lines framed his lips. He looked like an okay guy
. I think we could be friends.

“That gash on his head must hurt, but I don’t think it needs stitches. We’ll take the cat inside and clean him up. Look. Here’s another one.” The daddy reached down and pulled Angel out from under the tarp into the truck bed.

She hissed and struggled, then twisted her body into a helpless fetal position.

Don’t be afraid, Angel, he’s okay.

“Here, kitty. You’re going to be alright.” The daddy stroked her head.

Angel nuzzled into his red-checkered shirt. “There now, that’s better. We won’t hurt you.” He set her in Cindy’s outstretched arms. “That’s right, hold her real gentle and talk nice. She’s scared. I’ll bring in the tom.”

“
Shush, shush
, now kitty,” Cindy murmured. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you some milk.”

Milk! The magic word. The promise of milk sounded like a fine idea. A purr rattled in Angel’s throat.

The daddy’s feet scrunched through the gravel on their way to the cabin. Cindy followed with Angel.

As they stepped onto the porch, a dull thrumming sound rumbled beyond the nearby shed. Despite an attempt to sniff for a clue to the identity of the sound, the only discernible scent was damp pine needles and trees.

“Now, lie here on this blanket by the wood stove.” Cindy smoothed the corners of the blanket and patted Angel’s head. “Here’s a bowl of water if you’re thirsty.”

After a good breakfast, a warm cloth and ointment applied to the top of his head, a nap seemed an excellent idea.

With Angel snuggled by his side, he studied the layout of the log cabin. The main living room extended into a small kitchen at one end. Two doors led off the living room on the far wall. A kitchen table and chairs and a small sofa faced the potbelly stove. “Well, this is nice.” He curled his tail around his front feet. “A little rest in the woods for a few days will be good for us. Give me time to get my strength back, but we can’t stay long. We’ve got to get home. It can’t be far from here, do you think? Angel? Angel? Are you awake?”

Angel lay with her eyes closed and her nose turned up. “
Ahhh
… This feels so good. Milk and a warm fire.
Persons
to feed us—that’s what I’m used to. Don’t talk about
leaving
. I don’t want to think about it today. I’ll think about it tomorrow.” She twitched her whiskers. “Oh. Did you see that movie? It’s a line from one of my favorites.
Gone With the Wind
.”

“Gone with the what?” His eyes flew open. “How can you expect me to remember lines from a movie when I don’t even remember my own name? Listen, they’re talking about us. This can’t be good.”

“Where do you suppose they came from?” Cindy sat at the kitchen table, a sketch pad and colored pencils strewn across the tablecloth.

Her daddy lay stretched out on the sofa, reading the newspaper. “I’ll bet they crawled into the truck when we stopped at the grocery store, on the way home from Grandma’s house last night. They must have come from somewhere down near the store.” He flipped the page of his newspaper.

“Can we keep them, Daddy?”

“What? The cats? I’m sure someone will want their pets back. You can take care of them the rest of the day. When we go back into town tomorrow, we’ll take them to the animal shelter.”

There were those cursed words a cat never wants to hear! The
AS word
s. They’d have to make their get-away during the night if they were to avoid the animal shelter.

Cindy gazed toward the blanket. A little pout clouded her face, and then a smile. “Isn’t he pretty? He looks like he’s dressed up in a wedding suit—all black with a white bib and big white feet. He has such a cute little white mustache. What shall we name them, Daddy? We have to call them something while they’re here.”

It wasn’t polite to eavesdrop, even if
inferior humans
didn’t realize that cats understand every word they say. Cats had kept that particular secret for a thousand years, and he wasn’t about to let the proverbial cat out of the bag…so to speak.

Angel sighed softly in her sleep. With her paws curled delicately into her breast, her eyes shut tight and her little nose pointed up, she looked as though she might be saying a prayer.

“Look, Daddy. She looks just like a little angel. I’ll call her Angel.”

Now, wasn’t that strange? Was it just a coincidence that Cindy should name her Angel? The exact name she’d said he should call her? Prickle bumps scattered across his back.

“I’ll call the boy cat…oh, I can’t think of a good name,” Cindy said. “I’ll just call him
Black Cat
until I think of something better.”

Black Cat
…
Black Cat
… The prickle bumps raced across his cheeks. Something about the name sounded familiar, though he supposed all
person
s might refer to him that way, since he was black…almost all black. But, it was more than that. The chill bumps spread from his cheeks down across his chest. It felt as though at some point in his life,
Black Cat
might have been his
real
name. It was odd that Cindy had guessed Angel’s name, but how could she have guessed both their names? A coincidence?
He shivered
.

The daddy’s voice sounded as scratchy as his cheeks with a three-day-old beard. “Run on now and straighten your room. Black Cat needs to rest. He’s been hurt.”

Cindy nodded. “You go back to sleep,
um
…Black Cat and…and Angel. I’ll be back in a few minutes and tuck you in.” She stroked both their backs and left the room.

With the warm stove, a full belly and Angel’s purrs sounding like a Lilliputian lawn mower next to his head, Black Cat laid his head on his paws. Within minutes, he began to dream.

A little girl jumps from a swing and drags a stick in the dirt. “Get it, Black Cat! Snake! Snake!” I pounce. The imaginary foe is dead. I turn my back on the wretched beast and stalk down the flower-lined path, toward the house. The scent of wisteria and roses fills the air. A lady opens the front door and I dart into the house, as though I belong
…

Black Cat woke with a start. Was it a dream or a memory? Who was the little girl with bouncing curls and the beautiful lady? He’d ask Angel when she woke up. Maybe after a good nap and a full belly, she’d be more inclined to tell him about his family. Or, was it something too terrible to bear? Was she still protecting him? Was that why she wouldn’t tell him? He shuddered.
Don’t go there
…

Chapter Seven

D
addy John folded his newspaper and laid it on the coffee table. He stood, crossed the room to the china cabinet and picked up a framed photograph of him, Cindy, and his ex-wife standing near a mature vineyard. How happy they were—back then.

Cindy had grown so much since that day, her head not even reaching the top wire on the grapevines in the background. Those were better days, when the vineyard his father planted grew strong and tall and produced some of the finest grapes in the valley. Back when they were still a family—before Iraq—before the fire in the vineyard. Before the divorce and Carolyn left.

With a sigh, he replaced the photograph. Best not dwell on things from the past. Things change. People change. Every day held a new challenge.
But, Lord, how much more can I take?

When do I catch a break?
John wiped his hand across his face and crossed to his desk.

The stack of envelopes hadn’t shrunk since last he looked. What did he expect? Leprechauns prancing through the night, paying the bills?

He opened the top envelope. Phone bill—two months late. He shoved it back in the envelope and opened the next. Mortgage—three months behind. A red stamp across the top read
Overdue, Foreclosure Pending
.

No way could he lose the ranch his father built forty years ago. No way could he allow the bank to foreclose because of the mortgage he placed on the property after the fire. No way would he be forced off his land. But, how could he make the payments when the newly planted grapes wouldn’t come to first harvest for at least another year? His secret weapon wasn’t ready to spring on the world yet, either.