Mistletoe and Mr. Right (Moose Springs, Alaska #2) - Sarah Morgenthaler Page 0,19
had left too. Since then, Diego had been stuck with Rick, who didn’t know a thing about raising a teenager.
The least he deserved was a windshield free of snow every once in a while.
The path to the house was scraped clear, leaving one less thing Rick would have to do himself. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the extra pair of helping hands…even if those hands were connected to the surliest twenty-year-old he’d ever met.
When Rick opened the door, a cat was waiting for him beyond the foyer rug, eyeing Rick with disapproval.
“Evening, Roger,” Rick said.
Roger’s tawny eyes were flat. As far as he could remember, Roger had never liked anyone, not even when they’d brought him home as a kitten from the shelter in Anchorage. In the years that followed, Roger had grown as heavy and as long as a small bobcat. And his distrust of Rick had grown proportionately.
“I got home as soon as I could,” he told his ex’s pet.
Roger mewed, a dismissive sound if he’d ever heard one. The orange tabby’s tail twitched, a sure sign he was displeased.
“Okay, fine. But Diego’s here. I’m not sure why it always has to be me.”
Rick leaned over and picked up the massive house cat, adjusting his hold so Roger was in his favorite spot, cradled along the length of Rick’s forearm, belly up and head flopped back.
For some reason, Roger preferred to look at life upside down, dangling from Rick’s arms. Flipping a switch to turn on the Christmas lights they’d strung up along the hallway, Rick frowned at a three-foot section that had been pulled down. Some of the lights were out.
“Roger, are you eating my decorations again?”
The tabby mewed his innocence…not that Rick believed him.
“Hey, crazy cat guy,” Diego called from the living room. “Did you pick up milk?”
Dammit. Rick knew he’d forgotten something.
Draped across the same side of the same living room couch he’d been sitting on for years, Diego still managed not to look sure of his place there. Like Roger, Diego had tawny eyes and a bad attitude. But since they were the only family Rick had, he figured he was lucky. Sure beat coming home to an empty room.
“You didn’t get the milk.” Diego rolled his eyes.
Knowing he was busted, Rick countered, “When did I become the crazy cat guy?”
“When you decided to stop dating and showering and started talking to the cat instead.” Diego didn’t smile very much, but he was really good at smirking. And that was definitely a smirk on the kid’s face.
“I still shower.” Rick raised an arm to give himself a sniff. Did he smell? If he did, had Lana noticed? They’d been standing awfully close…
“I fed Darla.” Diego managed to sound like that was somehow Rick’s problem. “She’s mad at you.”
“She’s not mad at me. She loves me.”
“Go ask her about it. She seems mad.”
Well, that was never good. So off to the “study” Rick went to apologize to a hedgehog. The study was actually a third bedroom that Rick had arranged with bookshelves and an old desk. And also Darla.
Tucked in the Roger-proof cage he’d built her, the tiny hedgehog was sleeping deeply. Complete with a little house, furniture, and even a hedgehog-sized potted plant, Darla had the good life. When Rick adjusted Roger on his arm, visually checking Darla’s water bottle—because opening the cage with Roger present was a bad idea—the movement woke her up, earning him a sniff and then her quills fluffing up as she turned her head.
Yep. That was a disgruntled hedgehog.
“Sorry, Darla. I had to work late.”
She refused to look at him.
“It’s how we eat, honey,” he reminded her. Darla was not willing to be convinced.
When he returned from the study, Diego followed Rick into the kitchen. While Rick rubbed an upside-down tabby belly, Diego pulled two large bowls out of the dishwasher, still steaming and beaded with moisture from a freshly run load.
“All you had to do was buy the milk.” Holding up a nearly empty gallon of milk, Diego shook it pointedly.
Amused at the younger man’s grumbling, Rick grabbed two boxes of cereal from the cabinet with his right hand, knowing better than to set Roger down to use his left. Roger required a solid ten minutes of upside-down reflection before consenting to be uprighted. Any less than ten minutes would result in a meow, flattened ears, and a scratch. Any more than fifteen minutes would bring a bite and some fairly dramatic hissing.