Sheltered by the Millionaire(4)

Tucking the cat into his suit coat and securing her with a firm grip,  he stepped into the welcoming reception area, its tiled surfaces giving  off a freshly washed bleach smell. The waiting area was spacious, but  today, there were wire crates lining two walls, one with cats, the other  with small dogs. They were clean and neat, but the shelter was packed  to capacity. He'd heard the shelter had taken in a large number of  strays displaced during the storm, but he hadn't fully grasped the  implications until now.

The shelter had a reputation for its innovative billboards, slogans and  holiday-themed decor, but right now, every ounce of energy here seemed  to be focused on keeping the animals fed and the place sparkling clean.

He closed the door, sealing himself inside.

The cat sunk her claws in deeper. Whit hissed almost as loudly as the  feline and searched the space for help. Framed posters featured  everything from collages of adopters to advice on flea prevention.  Painted red-and-black paw prints marked the walls with directions he  already knew in theory since he'd reviewed the plans during his land  dispute with Megan.

A grandmotherly woman sat behind the counter labeled "volunteer  receptionist." He recognized the retired legal secretary from past  business ventures. She was texting on her phone, and waved for him to  wait an instant before she glanced up.

He swept his hat off and set it on the counter. "Morning, Miss Abigail-"

"Good mornin', Whit," the lady interrupted with a particularly thick  Southern accent, her eyes widening with surprise. The whole town knew he  and Megan avoided each other like the plague. "What a pleasant surprise  you've decided to adopt from us. Our doggies are housed to your right  in kennel runs. But be sure to peek at the large fenced-in area outside.  Volunteers take them there to exercise in the grassy area."

She paused for air, but not long enough for him to get in a word.  "Although now I see you're a cat person. Never would have guessed that."  She grinned as the calico peeked out of his suit jacket, purring as if  the ferocious feline hadn't drawn blood seconds earlier. "Kitties are  kept in our free roam area. If you find one you would like to adopt, we  have meet-and-greet rooms for your sweetheart there to meet with your  new feline friend-"

"I'm actually here to make a donation." He hadn't planned on that, but  given all the extra crates, he could see the shelter needed help. So  much of the post-tornado assistance had been focused on helping people  and cleaning up the damaged buildings. But he should have realized the  repercussions of the storm would have a wider ripple effect.

"A donation?" Miss Abigail set aside her phone. "Let me call our director right away-oh, here she is now."

He pivoted to find Megan walking down the dog corridor, toward the  lobby, a beagle on a loose leash at her side. He could see the instant  she registered his presence. She blinked fast, nibbling her lip as she  paused midstep for an instant before forging ahead, the sweet curves of  her hips sending a rush of want through him.

Her bright red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He ached to  sweep away that gold clasp and thread his fingers through the fiery  strands, to find out if her hair was as silky as it looked. He wanted  her, had since the first time he'd seen her when they crossed paths in  the lawyer's office during the dispute over a patch of property. He'd  expected to smooth things over regarding finding an alternate location  for the new shelter. He usually had no trouble charming people, but  she'd taken to disliking him right away. Apparently her negative  impression had only increased every time she perceived one of his  projects as "damaging" to nature when he purchased a piece of wetlands.

He'd given up trying to figure out why she couldn't see her way clear  to making nice. Because she had a reputation for being everyone's pal, a  caring and kindhearted woman who took in strays of all kinds, ready to  pitch in to help anyone. Except for him.                       
       
           



       

"Megan," the receptionist cleared her throat, "Mr. Daltry here has brought us a donation."

"Another cat. Just what we were lacking." Megan's smile went tight.

He juggled his hold on the fractious fur ball. "I do plan to write a  check to cover the expense of taking in another animal, but yes, I need  to drop off the stray. She's been wandering around in the woods near my  house. She doesn't have a collar and clearly hasn't been eating well."

"Could have been displaced because of the storm and has been surviving  on her own in the wild ever since, poor girl. Animals have a knack for  ditching their collars. Did you take her to a vet to check for a  microchip?"

"I figured you could help me with that. Or maybe someone has come by here looking for her."

"So you're sure it's a girl?"

"I think so."

"Let's just pray she's not in heat or about to have kittens."

Oh, crap. He hadn't thought about that.

Megan passed him the dog leash and took the squirming cat from his  arms. Their wrists brushed in the smooth exchange. A hint of her  cinnamon scent drifted by, teasing him with memories of that too-brief  kiss a month ago.

She swallowed hard once; it was the only sign she'd registered the  brief contact, aside from the fact that she kept her eyes firmly averted  from his. What would he see in those emerald-green eyes? A month ago,  after her impulsive kiss, he'd seen surprise-and desire.

He watched her every move, trying to get a read on her.

"Hey, beautiful," she crooned to the kitty, handling the feline with  obvious skill and something more...an unmistakable gift. "Let's get a  scanner and check to see if you have a chip. If we're lucky, you'll have  your people back very soon."

Kneeling, she pulled a brown, boxy device from under the counter and  waved the sensor along the back of the cat's neck. She frowned and swept  it over the same place again. Then she broadened the search along the  cat's shoulders and legs, casting a quick glance at Whit. "Sometimes the  chip migrates on the body."

But after sweeping along the cat's entire back, Megan shook her head and sighed. "No luck."

"She was pretty matted when I found her yesterday." He patted the  beagle's head awkwardly. He didn't have much experience with pets, his  only exposure to animals coming with horseback riding. The cat and dog  were a helluva lot smaller than a Palomino. "I combed her out last night  and she's been pissed at me ever since."

She glanced up quickly, her eyes going wide with surprise. "You brushed the cat?"

"Yeah, so?" He shrugged. "She needed it."

Her forehead furrowed. "That was kind of you."

"Last time I checked, I'm not a monster."

She smiled with a tinge of irony. "Just a mogul land baron and destroyer of wetlands."

He raised a hand. "Guilty as charged. And I hear you have need of some of my dirty, land-baron dollars?"

He looked around, taking in a couple of harried volunteers rushing in  with fresh litter boxes stacked in their arms. The dog sniffed his shoes  as if checking out the quality of his next chew toy.

The stuffing went out of her fight and she sagged back against the  wall. "Animal control across town is full, and we're the only other  option around here. People are living in emergency housing shelters that  don't allow pets. Other folks have left town altogether, just giving up  on finding their animals." He could hear the tension in her voice.

"That's a damn shame, Megan. I've heard the call-outs for pet food, but  I hadn't realized how heavy the extra burden is for you and the rest of  your staff."

"Let's step into my office before your kitty girl makes a break for the  door. Evie's in there now, but it'll only take a second to settle her  elsewhere so we can talk." She rested a hand on the front desk. "Miss  Abigail, do you mind if Evie sits with you for a few minutes?"

"Of course not. I love spending time with the little darlin'. You don't let me babysit near enough. Send her my way."                       
       
           



       

Megan looked at Whit, something sad flickering in her eyes. "Evie's taking the day off from school. Come this way."

He followed her, his eyes drawn to the gentle sway of her hips. Khaki  had never looked so hot. "I'm sorry to add to your load here, but I  meant it when I said I want to make a donation to help."

She opened a metal baby gate and ushered the beagle into the room. It  was a small room with a neat bookshelf and three recycling bins stacked  in a corner. Two large framed watercolors dominated the walls-one of an  orange cat and the other of a spotted dog, both clearly painted by a  child. The bottom corner of each was signed in crayon. Evie.