All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,30
laughed. “That’s really sick.”
“What’s sick?”
They’d come to a small trailer park—the kind with the really big, fancy, well-appointed trailers that had more square footage than most permanent homes.
“Naming this place Tornado Alley when it’s in the middle of the woods. Not even flatland woods, but mountain woods.”
“Tornadoes don’t hit the mountains?”
Tucker brought the truck to a stop in the driveway of 1313 Tornado Alley and turned around to study Angel before killing the ignition. “There’s too much disruption to the air flow up here. When were you born, Angel? Most kids get that sort of thing in school. Or on TV. Or on computers?”
“I was in Daisy Place when your aunt was around fifteen years old,” Angel answered, returning Tucker’s look levelly. “She only recently got the internet and cable.”
His image flickered, and when he came back, his lower lip was fuller and his chin just a little more square.
Between that and the limpid green eyes, Tucker was remembering what it was like to have a choice in who he crushed on, something he hadn’t believed in since he was seventeen.
He turned toward the trailer with an effort, wondering if Angel had chosen that form deliberately to dick with him.
“Wow. This woman never met a wind chime she didn’t like,” he said, the awe completely legitimate.
“They’re chaos,” Tucker contradicted grimly. He shivered, remembering the sound in his head as he’d held… as he’d held…. “Bad memories.”
Angel frowned at him. “How could you have bad memories of wind chimes?”
The side door of the trailer opened, and Tucker hushed him. He didn’t want to talk about that.
The woman who came out was in her early fifties, slender, vital, with recently dyed hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore sporty little capri jeans and a tank top, the sort of outfit that would have done Laura Petrie proud.
“Hi. Are you here about the kittens?” She smiled, and Tucker had a sudden yearning for his own mother. She’d been like this—cute, hip, friendly—the kind of woman who didn’t seem to age because she didn’t let herself get old.
“Yeah, did Rae Greenaway call?” Tucker could easily see the two women being friends.
“She did indeed. But she didn’t tell me there’d be two of you. I’m Margie Miller, so pleased to meet you.”
Tucker barely managed to shake her hand.
He and Angel gaped at each other for a moment, and then Margie turned back toward the stairs. “Come along. They’re all in the playpen right now. You can see which one you want.”
Seen
“UH, SURE,” Angel said after a quick glance at Tucker, who shrugged. “How many kittens are there?”
“Seven—a lucky number. You two are the first to come by, but they’re more than weaned and ready to go home.” She looked over her shoulder at Tucker. “Mr. Henderson?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tucker said, that hint of infatuation Angel had seen in his eyes when he looked at the woman present in his voice. Tucker seemed to have an affinity for this woman. For a moment Angel’s temper flared—dammit, Tucker seemed to have an affinity for everybody except Angel, but as Angel took a breath (a breath), he reminded himself that sometimes affinity wasn’t sexual. This woman could see Angel. Maybe they were simply resonating as people who could see the supernatural.
“Rae told me you bought some pet supplies at the hardware store. You did remember food, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tucker confirmed, darting a glance at Angel. “Kitten food.”
“Good. Kittens need food, comfort, and a bed, hopefully near their human. And they need to be fixed.” She scowled, and it was not Angel’s imagination—the woman’s sharp brown eyes took them both in. “This mama just wandered in, but usually I get all my cats fixed immediately, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Angel said in reflex, and she seemed to be fine with that.
Still, Tucker took the lead up the small flight of stairs to the landing, and he made sure to hold the door open so Angel could walk over the threshold without walking through the door itself.
And straight into heaven.
“Oh dear,” he said, his heart sort of exploding. Seven of them? Had she really said seven? They were adorable, frolicking, sleeping, purring little puffballs, all of them as excited about being alive as Angel had ever seen another being.
He was not aware of sitting down in front of the pen and staring longingly at the little creatures, but when Tucker sank down with a little thump beside him, he could not guard his heart.