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“What does that mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Kitty in Egyptian. Lev thought it clever.”
Yep, I’d been right about the names. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I love that,” I said.
“And you, little man. You will be...”
The boy cat rolled over on his back, revealing more russet patches on his shiny white coat.
“Jigsaw.”
I kissed Nash’s sharp cheekbone, marveling at the heat from his skin. The flush hadn’t yet receded. Showing emotion was still such a challenge for him, and it would, no doubt, be a challenge in our relationship. Not that I was much better. Boarding school and my father’s family had worked hard to quash my “outbursts,” deeming such shows of anger and sadness “unladylike.”
“Mayet and Jigsaw. Great names.”
“Thanks.” He was silent a moment, cuddling the three of us. “Thanks for my kitten.”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”
“It’s the best gift I’ve gotten in years.”
“So I should cancel the chocolate cake with caramel icing?” I asked.
“No way! That’s my favorite.”
The storms in his eyes abated, and I inhaled sharply at the warmth pooling there.
“I love you,” he said. “And I think I love them.” Awe colored his tone.
My heart lurched and then thumped, warm and gooey. This man. He was such a dichotomy. Arrogant and domineering to his peers and the press, but such a soft, sweet soul under the veneer his parents’ life had shellacked him with so early. I knew why he was the way he was. He needed softness and comfort in his life.
And I had begun to understand what he’d been trying to tell me: my leaving the way I did had changed him, too. He’d lost me that night, just as I’d lost him.
We carried the cats, their carrier, beds, food, litter box, and other paraphernalia we’d stopped to pick up into the kitchen under the baleful eye of Steve. I headed to the huge freezer and pulled out another bag of vegetables, which I wrapped in a towel and handed to Nash.
“I know it has to be bothering you. I’ll get the kittens organized.”
Steve helped me set up the food dishes and water, but his wary expression remained.
“What’s your plan?” he asked as we settled the kittens’ food in the pantry.
“Well, I’m going get the cats organized and make sure Nash’s hand’s okay. We’ll need to discuss whatever the early news stories say, though I don’t want to read them, and—”
“I mean about Nash,” Steve said. His brows tugged in low over his nose. “He’s fragile.”
I bit my lip. Nash wouldn’t like Steve calling him such, but I understood Steve’s worry. “Mama Grace wants me at the ranch.”
He kept his body still. “All right.”
“And I want time with Nash. To see how we fit.”
He narrowed his eyes. How had I not noticed that they were a similar shape to Nash’s? Probably because I’d never thought to pay attention to Nash’s bodyguard back then.
“I’m not going to interrupt your attempts to normalize relations with your son,” I said.
He jolted. Then he ran both hands through his hair. It was more silver than blond these days. “He told you. Of course he told you.”
“We used to share everything.”
