A Home by the Sea

He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. His older brother answered on the third ring, sounding breathless. “McLeod’s. Reed here.”

“Hey, big bro. I’ve got an emergency on my hands. Can you meet me at Dad’s shop in ten minutes? And bring baby blankets—or clean towels.”

There was a potent silence. Then Reed McLeod cleared his throat. “Baby blankets?”

“That’s what I said, big bro.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not. I don’t have time to explain anyway. There’s zero visibility out here and this storm is just starting. Gotta go. And be sure to bring the big car, will you? I’m not taking chances with these drifts that are forming.”

“This is an emergency?”

“Yeah, it is.” Noah glanced down at the kittens and frowned.

“I was just sitting down to Myra’s amazing dumplings, but I figure the story you’re going to tell me will be worth it. You’re usually good for a story.”

He hung up before Noah could give him an earful.

Noah was a careful driver, but he barely missed getting hit three times in the whiteout. A layer of ice had formed beneath the fresh snow, and by the time he reached the meeting point at his father’s shop, he was ten minutes behind schedule.

He knew that Grace was worrying about the animals, though she didn’t pester him with questions or complaints.

“How are your guys doing?”

“Two of them are moving around. I think they just started nursing, thank heavens. But the other two look very lethargic. The mother needs fluids. And I’m afraid that—” Her breath caught. “Wait. No way.”

“What?” Noah wanted to look over at the kittens, but he didn’t dare take his eyes from the road given the icy conditions. “What happened?”

“You are not going to believe this. I mean really not going to believe it.” Grace’s voice filled with a husky wave of tenderness.

The smoky sound did something odd to Noah’s pulse. “Tell me, Grace.”

“I thought there were four kittens. But now I can see that this cat has three kittens and one puppy.”

“A puppy?” Noah swerved to avoid a Volvo, skidding sideways over a patch of black ice. “Damn. Okay, now would you say that again? You can’t mean—”

“I’m sure of it. The mother is treating them all the same, grooming them in turn, but I know a puppy when I see one. This looks like maybe a collie-retriever mix. He’s licking my finger in search of food. At least I think it’s a he. You’re a big sweetie, aren’t you, honey? So soft.” Her face was radiant when she looked up. She reached over and squeezed Noah’s shoulder. “I couldn’t have managed this without you. How can I possibly repay you?”

As her hand skimmed his arm, Noah felt a stab of heat. He knew a few ways, but they didn’t bear thinking about. Head out of the gutter, pal.

“Let’s say you thank me by giving me at least one of these guys. Preferably two. I’d really like that puppy you’re holding to be one of them. But you found them, so that’s your call.”

“Oh, no. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’m only here in D.C. temporarily, so they’ll need homes. Best of all would be keeping them together, at least until the little ones are older.” Something crossed her face, and Noah saw worry darken her eyes. “I’ll be traveling a lot for the next six months. I won’t be able to take any of them with me. What am I going to do?”

“We’ll work something out. They won’t go back on the street.” He spared time for a quick glance and saw her biting her lip. “Are you going far?”

“Chicago. Oregon. Paris. Provence. Back to Paris. Then probably Romania.”

“Yep, I’d say that’s far. What kind of work do you do, anyway?”

“Food research.”

“Come again?” Noah slowed for a light and frowned when he felt his Jeep slide. The ice was getting worse, but he didn’t want to worry her. “Is that like food technology? Artificial fragrances and additives? Because I have to tell you, I hate people who tamper with what we eat. If God had meant us to eat Red Dye #4, hydrogenated fats and square tomatoes, he would have made them that way to begin with.”

Grace smiled faintly. “I’m with you. Basic is best. The kind of research I do is largely historical.”

“Historical food?” Now Noah was really confused. “How historical?”

“About a thousand years. Herbs and storage skills to prevent disease. Medieval food preparation. Royal feasting rituals from Europe and Asia.” She gave a wry smile. “Are you asleep yet?”

“Hell, no. That’s fascinating stuff. My mom would pick your brains to learn about any of that. She might even surprise you with what she knows.”

“Is she a nutritionist?”

“No. It’s just a hobby of hers. Or family tradition—maybe you’d call it an obsession. She grew up in Ukraine and her family was dirt-poor, so she was hungry a lot as a child. She was homeless when she came to this country. Pretty grim times. She has great respect for a good, nourishing meal and home cooking. She taught all of us to have that.”

“Your family? You cook together?”

Noah nodded. “Four brothers and one sister.” He swerved again, and this time his tires spun out on a patch of ice. He eased off the brake immediately, but noticed that Grace sucked in an anxious breath. Yet even then she didn’t complain.

Strong stomach.

Noah liked that in a woman.

“You can ask my mother for all the details when you meet her.”

“Meet her? But I don’t—”

Noah revved the motor, making the snow fly. The big wheels dug in hard, but they didn’t move. As Noah gunned the motor again, a silver Hummer pulled out of a side street and nosed parallel to the now seriously snowbound Jeep. Grace watched the doors open and two very big men jump out.

She leaned forward, clutching her bundle of babies protectively. “Who are those men?”

“It’s all right, Grace. You can relax.” Noah grinned at the older man, who was wearing a big Russian fur hat. “The cavalry has just arrived.”

THEY DIDN’T LOOK LIKE CAVALRY.

They didn’t look like anything Grace had seen before. The younger man was blond with striking cheekbones and a tan as if he worked outside. His face was unreadable as he pulled open Noah’s door. His wary expression deepened to alarm when he saw Grace hunching protectively over the neatly wrapped bundle on her lap. “Hospital, ASAP,” he snapped decisively. “Why didn’t you go straight to the E.R., Noah? You passed one—”

Grace shifted in her seat. “No. I mean, it’s not what you think—”

“No hospital needed. We’re going home,” Noah said firmly. “The women can handle it.” He nodded at Grace.

“Are you crazy? If you have a baby—” Noah’s brother leaned down and lifted a corner of the coat. A mewing sound filled the car. “Cats?” Reed McLeod straightened slowly, his mouth set in a wry grin. “You’ve got cats,” he repeated. Then he yanked Noah outside into a snowbank.

A big man, looking like a jolly commissar in his big hat and long coat, watched them mock-box, jumping and shoving each other through the drifts. He shook his head. “Just ignore them,” he said calmly, smiling at Grace. “They are hopeless, I am afraid. Always competing.”

“I noticed,” she said wryly. This had to be Noah’s father. He looked like a Celtic poet, with eyes the color of a clear highland sky. Grace picked up the hint of an accent in the soft roll of his vowels. “And you must be their father.”