All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,34

get one. The same reason I just had to get up this morning and get a truck and supplies and a cat.”

Oh. “None of these things are coincidental,” Angel hazarded. “And your aunt Ruth didn’t work because the things she did with her talent were necessary.”

Tucker touched his nose, and then, before Angel could ask the obvious question, said, “Hey—there’s the turnout for Daisy Place. Do you think I should pull all the way up to the side of the house?”

Angel shook his head—he knew this one. “See how the driveway slopes up and then levels off? And then turns into the garage, with the paved space in front of the house?”

“I do. I thought I’d—”

“The property line—the one that’s marked with all that metal—starts at the line of the slope. If you park on that level place, you’re good, but if you turn right to sit next to the house or, heaven forbid, try to park in the garage—”

“The car starts having problems,” Tucker deduced. “I see. Well, good point. Thank you. So why do the internet and cable—”

“I have no idea,” Angel said shortly. “I think it was to make me look bad in front of your aunt, but that’s just supposition.”

Tucker’s gurgle of laughter startled him. “You were against it.”

Angel scowled. “It should have been a disaster. It wasn’t. I was glad for her, and very glad for you, but nothing about Daisy Place points to something so obviously technology-based surviving.”

“Hm.” It was a pondering sound, and Angel waited. “So we need to add the graveyard, the ghost cats, and Margie, who can see you, to our list of… quirks. And we still have ghosts that need clearing out. I say we stay focused on the ghosts.” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. “Because finding that bottle led to one of the best moments I’ve had in a while.”

Angel’s jaw tightened, and he had to make a conscious effort not to transfer some of the pressure to the kitten. I doubt that, Squishbeans. “You could always date your friend’s son, Andover.”

And like that, Tucker’s forced ebullience fell flat and leaden in the front seat of the truck.

“I don’t date,” he said, voice cold and still. “It’s bad for everybody.”

“But that young lady—” Angel was so confused.

“Let’s just say that’s how my talent works, okay?”

It had been such a good day—with the kittens, with the friend who could see Angel, with the conversation that hadn’t seemed to hurt—Angel didn’t push it.

“Okay,” Angel said. He was still confused, but Tucker’s anger seemed to lighten a little. Squishbeans went back to being the center of the universe once more.

Ghostbusting a Nut

DINNER WAS great, and Tucker made extra so he could have some the next day. He decided that home improvement should probably wait until the morning, but he was determined to have another crack at the room.

“You could always take a rest,” Angel said. He was still carrying the cat, and Tucker was still wondering how that was possible.

He hadn’t wanted to make too big a deal out of it, but the timing seemed very suspicious. So did the zombie ghost cat giving birth. He loved the kitten—not even Tucker was that hard-hearted—but he could still remember that urge to go get a cat.

It was the same urge that had propelled him to get a truck, to meet Josh and Rae, to meet Margie, who could see Angel, and to go get a cat that was, apparently, the best thing to happen to Angel since he’d gotten trapped here at Daisy Place—something he still wouldn’t talk about.

Tucker had picked up Squishbeans, and he’d felt the little pop in his chest, the one he usually felt when he was sitting across from a girl or a boy he was about to do the wild thing with.

Making conversation with Margie had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done after that. A part of him was trying to get over feeling used—the karmic forces had actually driven him into the world at large to find a cat for Angel.

A cat.

But a part of him was relieved. It was a relief to know that those forces he’d served all these years, the forces that had pretty much ruined his life—those karmic forces—were actually capable of compassion in a wholly nonsexual way.

For the cost of some cat litter, Tucker’d had his faith renewed.

But that did not mean he was ready to rest on his laurels. It was time to empty some drawers, to strip