Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk Page 0,24

the clear, star-filled sky. Keenan stood beside her, his head cocked back, his eyes focused up.

She briefly considered taking his hand...just because...but instead fell into step beside him.

It was warm for September, which was why most of the women shoppers they passed wore shorts or capris and sandals. Mitzi felt a bit overdressed in her flowing skirt, blousy top and heeled boots. But if the admiring glances sent her way were any indication, most men—including Keenan—liked what she wore.

“Did I mention I’m going to be flying to—” She gaped as Keenan took off running across the asphalt lot.

Mitzi watched first in irritated puzzlement then in horror as he headed directly into the path of a mammoth four-by-four.

“Keenan.” His name ripped from her throat, though she doubted he heard her over the truck’s pounding bass.

The driver missed him by inches, flipped up his middle finger, then hit the gas and sped from the lot.

Mitzi raced across the asphalt lot, her heart pounding. She slid to a stop in front of him, grabbed his arm in a death grip. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed. Whatever made you—”

Then she saw it. A tiny gray kitten cradled in his large, callused hands. While Mitzi stared, the animal lifted its head, fixed its green eyes on her and mewed.

The fur was longish but couldn’t hide that the kitten was beyond skinny. Ribs were prominent and green eyes enormous in a too-thin face.

Keenan’s eyes met hers. “He’d have run over her.” His voice held an icy edge. “He saw her and could have easily missed her. But he wanted to hit her.”

He stared into the distance, his eyes as cold as his words.

“Bastard,” he spat.

Mitzi turned in time to see the lights of the truck disappear from view.

“I’ve known men like him.” She thought of her sister’s second husband and shivered. “Guys into hurting women, children, animals, just because they can.”

A plaintive mew pulled Mitzi’s attention back to Keenan.

She stepped close, stroked the kitten’s head with two gentle fingers. “She’s tiny. How old do you think she is?”

Keenan pulled his gaze from the darkness. His eyes softened. “I’m guessing about four weeks.”

“What are we going to do with her?” Mitzi glanced around the parking lot, at all the cars and trucks entering and exiting. For a baby like this one, danger was everywhere. She pulled her brows together in a worried frown. “We can’t leave her here.”

“No,” he agreed. “She’ll be hit. Or wander from the parking lot into the darkness and an animal will get her. We’ll drop her off at the shelter. She’ll be safe there.”

Mitzi started to shake her head even before he finished speaking. “According to the local news the shelter already has too many cats. Next weekend they’re offering special pricing to try to reduce the number.”

“It’s not fair,” Keenan murmured almost to himself. “Her life has barely begun and already she struggles.”

“You could keep her,” Mitzi suggested hopefully as they slowly crossed the lot to their vehicles.

“Can’t.” The word hung heavy with regret. “The boardinghouse where I live doesn’t allow pets.”

“What about your sister?”

“Puffy, their Pomeranian, despises cats.” Keenan paused when they reached her BMW. His hazel eyes met hers, held. “You could take her.”

“Me?” Surprise had the word coming out on a squeak.

“You have a house.”

“A house under construction,” she reminded him. Still, her gaze was drawn now to the kitten resting contentedly in the crook of his arm.

“Cats don’t need a lot of care.” Keenan rested a hand on the top of the low-slung car. “You had one. You know.”

Oreo. Mitzi’s heart lurched. The black-and-white had been one of the true bright lights of her childhood.

“Cats are self-sufficient.” Keenan’s tone turned persuasive. “Give ’em a litter box, food and water, and they’re happy.”

Mitzi gazed down at the kitten. “I wonder if I could teach her to do tricks like you did with Mr. Tubs.”

“You’ll keep her?” Relief etched itself on his face and sounded in his voice.

“I don’t see I have much choice.” Mitzi scooped the kitty from his arms, held her close then smiled as the animal began to purr. “She needed a break. Tonight she gets two. You saved her life. I’ll give her a home.”

The next couple of days passed quickly. Keenan saw the kitten, but not Mitzi. On Thursday, when he packed up his tools and headed to his car, she still wasn’t home.

He fought a surge of disappointment. It wasn’t that he was desperate to see her, he was merely