He didn't appear angry at all but rather amused. "What a brat. Sorry I wasted your time, but, hey, since you’re already here, I don’t suppose you’d give my new baby an exam. The store I adopted her from say she’s healthy and all that but doesn’t hurt to be sure.”
"Did this store mention the age or give you any paperwork?"
He dug into his jacket and pulled out his phone, flicking it before turning to show the screen. "This is the email I was sent with my receipt and stuff."
According to his email, the kitten was fourteen weeks old. Due for its second set of shots but had its first. Was one of seven in the litter and… Oh. She absorbed the next interesting tidbit as she scrolled the rest of the email, including the amount he'd paid not just for overpriced stuff but the cat itself.
“You shelled out five hundred dollars for a cat with only a single set of shots?” That was a rip-off for what amounted to a basic domestic breed.
“I know, it was a steal considering the cuteness. And she was the last one left. I was lucky to find her.”
Utterly clueless, and yet kind of adorable for it. She grabbed the kitten and raised it for a look before it went off the edge of the table. She palpated its belly, legs, checked its private bits and cleared her throat. “So how important is the sex of your cat?”
He frowned finally. “What do you mean?”
“Your girl is a boy.”
His brows just about shot off his forehead. “Say what? A boy? Impossible. I checked between the legs myself. Nothing there.”
“Yet. The balls haven’t dropped.”
“My princess is a prince?” His utter astonishment almost made her laugh.
"Maybe. I can only speak to the testicles it has."
"A boy. Hunh. So, gonna assume the food is the same?”
She nodded. “The only real difference in male or female is the operation they get. Spay or neuter.”
His hand dropped to his groin. A reaction many men had to the neutering bit. “Must we cut them off?”
“Your little boy will turn into a pissing and noisy tom if you don’t. Avoid neutering and you might find yourself the proud owner of a home marked in cat urine, not to mention granddaddy to a whole bunch of kittens.”
The man's gaze widened. “Sorry, little guy. Guess you’ll be getting the big snip.”
“In better news, your kitten looks healthy. No sign of fleas or worms, but to be sure, you should bring in a stool sample and have it checked.”
“You want me to poop in a jar?” He sounded utterly shocked. With reason.
She gaped. “Um, not your poop, the cat's!"
“Oh.” He blushed but also grinned. “Guess that makes more sense.”
Cute, but dumb. Shame.
“Would you like to do the second set of shots today?”
“Will it hurt?”
“It’s a little pinch for the kitten and then lots of napping.”
The Viking eyed the discarded beard and grabbed it, stuffing it into his pocket. “In case he needs comfort while he sleeps.”
“You can hold the kitten to your chest while I do it,” she offered.
The big man snuggled the tiny furball as she administered two shots, one in a haunch, the other in a shoulder. The cat barely noticed, but the man flinched each time.
She discarded the needles before removing her gloves. “And that’s it for this appointment. Shall we settle your bill and plan a date for the next?”
They emerged into the reception area, and she swung around the tall counter to log into the computer.
“Where’s the dude that was handling the front?” he asked, looking around. The kitten slept in the front pocket of his lumberjacket.
“Francis? He's finished for the day.” He'd left after whispering to her about the man with the bearded cat.
“You’re by yourself? At night?” He sounded quite scandalized.
“Yes. I assure you I’m quite safe. Even vampires avoid me on account of my love for garlic.”
“You can never have too much garlic,” he agreed. “But that won’t protect you if someone decides to target your place when you’re alone. A friend of mine who works in a medical clinic a few blocks from here was recently accosted.”
“I appreciate the concern, but you needn’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.” She could hold her own against most. She reached for a sheet she’d printed and handed it over. “Here’s the bill for today.”
He read it, and his expression grew more and more shocked. He whistled. “I am in the wrong business. Hot damn.” He pulled out his credit card, and she finally saw his name. Ulric Bradbury. Francis hadn’t created a file given they expected this to be a simple walk-in, one-time-only service.
“You should see the university bills.” Between those and the price tag attached to opening her own practice, she’d be working her ass off for a few more years yet before she could think of slowing down.
“I only ever did college. And that was a waste, given my degree in criminology is useless as a security guard.”
“Surely a career in law enforcement is more lucrative.”
“Not when I count the perks I get with my boss.”
“Let’s figure out your next appointment.” She kept the tone businesslike as she finished off the visit. The receipt printed, and she handed it over.
“Thank you for choosing Honey’s Vet Clinic for your pet. Have a great evening, Mr. Bradbury.”
“I’ll try.” He marched to the door, only to pause and turn around as if to speak.
“Did you forget something?”
“I—Uh—No,” he stammered before leaving.
But he'd be back.
In four weeks for the kitten’s next set of shots.
3
You idiot! Ulric left the vet, kitten tucked in his pocket, confused and hesitant for once in his life.
He’d found the one. Would swear it. And yet she wore a wedding ring. Maybe to avoid guys hitting on her. Women did that in the bars all the time.
I should have asked her. Only wouldn’t that come across as creepy? Hey, so are you really married, or is that ring just for show? He’d have earned a proper slap most likely. But how else could he find out if she was married and if yes, was she happy?
Not that a no answer would have made a difference. She wore a ring, making her off limits. Despite what he might have thought upon seeing her, she couldn’t be the one.
Arriving home, he removed the groggy kitten from his pocket and placed him gently on the floor. He watched the little bugger saunter off.
The swagger should have been his first clue. Princess Froufrou, his first love, had always been so graceful and delicate. Unless you were late with her food, then claws unsheathed.
“What am I going to call you?”
“Meow.” The reply didn't help.
At this time of night, there wasn't much to do other than game or watch television. Instead, he changed into a dark hoodie, locked his apartment, and returned to a spot near the clinic and waited. The lights inside remained bright. His watch indicated it was just after eight. She should be—
There she was. Dr. Honey Iris emerged, wearing a thick and warm Sherpa-lined jacket, not once looking to see if anyone lurked nearby. She locked the door and then strode off, handbag in hand, pace brisk.