Baby Of Convenience. Diana Whitney
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shout, sharp with tension and edged by fear, penetrated the chaotic noise. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“Maggie,” Laura whispered.
Shifting the kibble bag, she hurried down the winding stairs. Her heart nearly stopped at the sight that greeted her.
The basement looked as if it had been bombed. Sawdust was everywhere. Loose bottles of wine, some of which were probably worth more than Laura’s ancient automobile, had been haphazardly piled or rolled into a corner of the basement. Pieces from one of the expensive oak wine racks had been tossed around the carpeted floor like kindling.
A frantic shout from across the room redirected Laura’s attention. “Is it loose yet?”
Two male figures were hunkered in the corner where the straw-padded kitten bed had once been.
One of the male figures, a beefy block of a man wielding a whirring circular saw, squatted on denim-clad haunches that were partially obscured by a belt of lumpy leather pouches bristling with tools. The other was bent at the waist, his upper torso in shadows, although Laura could see the outline of a shoulder, along with a flash of forearm exposed by the rolled-up shirt-sleeve.
Maggie paced beside the two men, tail flicking, eyes focused intently on the activity.
The beefy workman flipped off the whirring saw and sat back on his heels. It took a moment for Laura’s ears to adjust to the near silence.
A peculiar muffled whine caught her attention a moment before the workman spoke. “This here rack is bolted to the floor, just like the last one.”
“Rip it out,” said the man in the shadows. The voice clearly belonged to Royce Burton, which was somewhat shocking to Laura since she’d never seen the immaculately tailored executive without a suit coat, let alone tieless, rumpled and with rolled-up shirtsleeves.
The workman shrugged. “Seems a shame. Might be able to punch a hole in the back of the rack instead of tearing out the sides of it.”
“Too dangerous. We can’t be certain exactly where it is.”
Again Laura heard the peculiar muffled whine, which evoked an instant reaction in Maggie. The mama cat emitted a comforting trill and tried to poke her head into one of the openings of the rack from which the wine bottles had already been removed.
In the space of a heartbeat, Laura’s blood ran cold as she recognized the muted sound as the desperate mew of a trapped kitten.
More tiny cries emanated from a wooden barrel in the corner, a barrel over which a rumpled, yet recognizably expensive suit coat had been tossed. A thick coat of sawdust covered the ruined garment.
The workman shifted on his haunches, heaving a regretful sigh. “There oughta be some way to get that thing out without tearing up a thousand dollars’ worth of custom-built racking.”
“Just tear the damned thing out,” Royce snapped. “And be quick about it.”
Although Royce’s face was still concealed behind the edge of the wine rack, his voice brooked no argument, and the workman offered none. The burly guy grunted, shrugged and fired up the circular saw. A moment later the blade chewed mercilessly into the hard oak, spewing sawdust into a choking cloud.
Laura just stood by the stairs, frozen in shock, fear and dismay. Every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth as she sized up the situation and grasped the seriousness of it. One of Maggie’s precious kittens was trapped behind that massive wine rack.
A single slip of the saw blade could prove disastrous. The kitten had apparently managed to wriggle into the narrow space between the rack and the wall, and had somehow become stuck there. Royce was directing that the side of the rack be destroyed to gain access to that airspace without risking injury to the tiny creature that was trapped there.
Maggie was clearly perturbed by her baby’s predicament. The poor animal paced frantically, flicking her tail, her mouth opening repeatedly in what could be presumed to be a frenzied vocalization at the kitten’s plight, although any sound the mama cat made was being drowned out by the din of the whirring blade.
A cloud of sawdust sent Laura into a convulsive coughing fit, which was also drowned out by the din. Neither Royce nor the busy workman had noticed her presence.
As Laura caught her breath and wiped her stinging eyes, Royce suddenly stepped out of the corner long enough to scoop up Maggie into his arms. He stroked the distressed feline with obvious fondness and appeared to be speaking to her. Whatever he said seemed to soothe Maggie. She immediately rubbed her forehead against Royce’s chin and nestled comfortably against his chest, with her huge cat eyes focused on the busy workman.
Before Laura could digest this unexpected and decidedly peculiar development between her beloved Maggie and a man who had only a few short weeks ago confessed to having despised cats, the workman flipped off the saw and stood, rubbing the small of his back. “That oughta do it,” he grumbled.
Instantly Royce returned Maggie to the floor. He grabbed hold of a loosened sideboard. Nails bent with a screech as he ripped the board out and tossed it into the growing pile of chewed oak.
Then he dropped to his knees, his upper torso hidden from view. A grunt emanated from the corner behind the partially disassembled wine rack. “That’s it…come on, little guy…just another inch… Ow! Damned splinters.”
The workman scratched himself. “Want me to try and tip the rack forward?”
“No, it’s too heavy” came the muffled reply. “If you lose your grip, the kitten will be crushed.”
Laura’s stomach lurched at the thought. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from screaming out loud. The kittens were only a few weeks old, so tiny and helpless. They’d barely begun to totter out of the crate bed to explore their new surroundings. It hadn’t occurred to her that there might be dangers lurking for curious baby kittens, just as there were for curious baby humans.
She’d certainly understood the need to childproof Jamie’s surroundings, and had done so even before he’d learned to crawl on his own. Why on earth hadn’t she checked the basement for hazards?
This was all her fault. If anything horrible happened to one of Maggie’s babies, Laura would never forgive herself.
“Damn, he’s really wedged in there,” Royce muttered. “I can feel fur, but I can’t get a grip— Wait a minute. He’s wiggling toward me… Gotcha!” He crawled backward and flopped into a sitting position, grinning broadly at the mewing, gray-and-white kitten in his hand.
It was Rascal, of course. Tiny Mr. Trouble-with-a-tail himself. Laura should have known that if there was a single enticing hole within reach, Rascal would be the one to investigate.
Now the terrified kitten clung to Royce’s shirt and frantically mewed in his face as if relaying every detail of his frightening ordeal.
Royce chuckled, seeming utterly unconcerned by the tiny claws shredding his expensive garment, or the ragged gash in the knee of his suit pants. “I imagine you are pleased to be out,” he told the kitten. “I don’t like tight, dark places myself.”
Rascal emitted a sound halfway between a pleasant trill and an emphatic yowl.
“You’re very welcome.” Royce sat back on the filthy floor, allowing Maggie to crawl onto his lap and groom the face of her rescued kitten. “But the next time you notice an enticing crack between a cabinet and a wall, do us all a favor and ignore it.”
The air Laura had been holding in her lungs escaped with a massive whoosh, alerting Royce to her presence. His head snapped up, his eyes widened. He stood immediately, unceremoniously dumping Maggie onto the floor while the kitten still hung from his shredded shirt.
Royce’s brows crashed together in a frown that was supposed to be ominous, Laura presumed, but seemed more like embarrassment to her.
“Your animals have wreaked havoc on my life,” he announced.