Page 54 of With This Ring
She’d had a bad day—areallybad day. Her favorite butter-yellow-obsessed mother of the bride had called her crying, explaining that her daughter had decided to cancel her wedding and elope to Las Vegasinstead. Dakota was stunned. This wedding was supposed to make some of her problems go away. She was finally going to be able to recoup some of the money she’d lost on her ruined stock, but instead, she’d lost the entire sale.
Now she had to figure out what to do next. Selling last year’s gowns at a discount wasn’t helping her situation, and she still hadn’t gotten anywhere with her insurance company or her landlord.
She considered calling her father and asking for help, but she couldn’t admit defeat. Instead, she’d take a cut in pay and live on ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese until she came up with a solution.
Dakota had stayed late to work on Layla’s gown, but no matter what she touched, she messed it up. The beading was off-center, and the sleeves were giving her fits. She had resewn them several times until she realized it was almost eight thirty, and her stomach’s growls had nearly drowned out the music playing in her workroom.
She motored into her driveway, and her headlights swept across the front of her house. The rain beat a steady cadence on the roof of her car, and she massaged her forehead, where a headache throbbed.
Hudson’s fancy vehicle sat in the driveway next door, and lights glowed in the downstairs of the impressive colonial. She was grateful she’d managed to avoid him during the past week. Every day her stomach had clenched with anticipation when she left for work and when she arrived home. Although she dreaded a run-in with him, she also missed him and wondered what was going on in his life, and that made absolutely no sense to her at all.
After grabbing her umbrella, she wrenched open the driver’s side door. Then she sloshed through the puddles in her black heels to collect her mail from the mailbox and dash to the front door. She yanked the door open, expecting to find Trouble there yammering about how he should have been served his supper hours ago. But the cat was nowhere in sight.
“Trouble,” she sang on her way to the kitchen. “Trouble, I’m home.”
Dakota dropped the stack of mail, and a letter from her mortgage company caught her eye. She opened it, and her heart sank when she found that due to the increase of taxes, her payment was going to jump more than 20 percent in two months.
“No, no, no,” she groaned as a shaky, sick feeling doused her. The increase in her mortgage coupled with her business woes could possibly cause her to lose her store and her home.
Her phone buzzed, and Dakota pulled it from the pocket of her raincoat. She had three unread texts from Parker:
Been thinking about you.
How was your Thursday?
Any chance I can stop by real quick?
Her shoulders drooped as she set down her phone and the letter. After the day she’d had, it was best she didn’t talk to Parker. She didn’t want to burden him with her problems. Although he was sweet and seemed like a good listener, she wasn’t ready to open up to him. She’d wait until tomorrow to text him back. Maybe by then she’d have a solution to her problems.
Looking down, she realized she hadn’t felt any soft fur rubbing against her legs. She scanned the kitchen for her feline friend. “Trouble?”
She rested her hand on her hip. He had to be hiding somewhere. Or maybe he was punishing her for working late every night this week.
She filled his bowl with a smelly chicken and tuna dinner. Surely the aroma would jostle the kitty from his bad mood or his hiding spot.
“Trouble! Trubs!” she called. “Dinner is served!”
Dakota waited, but no cat emerged. “Kitty, where are you?” Shesearched the den, peeking behind the sofa and tables before padding down the hallway. “This isn’t funny, Trouble.”
After failing to find the cat in her office, she headed into her bedroom, where she checked the cat’s usual hiding spots—under her bed, behind her nightstand, and even beneath her dresser, which always astounded her. How did cats manage to flatten themselves like pancakes? But the feline wasn’t lurking in any of those spots.
Had Trouble followed her into her closet this morning when she ran back in for her shoes? She opened the door and flipped on the light. “Trouble? Baby, this isn’t funny. If you’re here, then come out. I’m not in the mood for this. I’ve had a really rotten day.”
When she came up empty, she racked her brain.Where else would that silly cat hide?
She recalled how he used to sleep behind the dryer when she’d first moved into the house. Maybe he’d rediscovered that spot and decided to spend the rainy day there.
She peered around the washer and dryer. “Trouble,” she sang. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
She held her breath, hoping to hear the cat’s meow, but the house was silent except for the pattering of rain on the roof.
“Trouble, please come out.” Her voice shook. “This isn’t funny anymore.” She whimpered. “I’m sorry for working late, but I’m home now, and your supper is waiting for you. Please, kitty.”
The food! Maybe he’d evaded her and snuck back to the kitchen to chow down while she was looking for him like a fool.
Dakota retuned to the kitchen, hoping to find the cat scarfing up his meal, but the bowl remained untouched.
She spun, surveying the kitchen and den, but there was still no sign of her beloved orange cat. A sinking feeling overcame Dakota. What if he got out? And what if he ran away or—worse—what if he got hit by a car and was suffering by the side of the road somewhere?