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I hadn’t thought I’d reacted overtly, but Elliot tilted his head, concern in his eyes as he turned my hand over in an attempt to examine it.
My eyes darted down, quickly yanking my hand away and tugging my sleeve down. I turned my back on Elliot’s crinkled brow, focusing on the man in the uniform.
“I’m Calliope,” I told him. He was older than Elliot yet younger than his father. I’d peg him as being in his late forties. His inky hair was liberally grey, as was his stubbled face. He had plenty of creases in his tanned face, mixed with a few smudges of soot. His eyes were a startling shade of green, attractive. He had a scar on his bottom lip, pulling it downward but not so much that he couldn’t grin and show off a white smile.
“I know.” He nodded. “Elliot doesn’t shut up about you.” His eyes danced down my body quickly before returning to my eyes. “I understand why now.” His tone was teasing—good-natured, not sleazy. “I’m Eric.” He held out his hand. “Fire chief by night, graphic designer by day.”
I shook his hand with my injured one. Jasper had hurt my dominant hand. I didn’t doubt it was on purpose.
That time, I made sure not to wince, even though his strong handshake and my returning grip sent spears of agony radiating through my wrist bone.
Likely wasn’t broken. But definitely sprained.
“Fire chief mean that you’re the one I’m going to give a tongue-lashing to for not managing your fire better and landing him in a hospital bed?” I let go of his hand and motioned to where Elliot was lying.
My tone was sharp and not welcoming, but Eric’s smile remained as his eyes darted from me to Elliot. “Yeah, I get it.” He cleared his throat. “As much as I would like to inflate my ego, I have to admit that I’m not able to completely manage a fire, nor a man who goes against my orders to save some mangy cat.”
I gaped first at Eric then swiveled to face Elliot who was propped up in bed.
“You risked your life, put yourself in the hospital, for acat?” I phrased the question slowly, quietly, using a tone that made most people scared shitless.
Not Elliot, savior of cats. His eyes twinkled.
“A kitten,” he clarified. “A baby cat. Most humans find them adorable.”
“I’m sure it would’ve been adorable when it was eating your body after it was burned to a crisp,” I snapped.
“Fluffy would never!” Clara piped in from beside me.
I looked down at her. “Fluffy?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “That’s her name.”
“Not much of a name with half of her hair burned off,” her father murmured.
Clara gave her father a glare a sixteen-year-old would’ve been proud of.
“Tell Daddy and Uncle Elliot that I can keep her.” Tugging at my sleeve, her demand had the authority of a thirty-eight-year-old woman.
“As much as I would love to go up against both of those men for whatever your little heart desires, I’m gonna have to clock out when it comes to a murderous cat,” I told her.
“Kitten,” Elliot offered from his spot on the bed.
Clara pouted. “Please, Aunt Loppie?” Her eyes widened as she used her usual name for me, except for the first time, she added the A word. The word I’d heard a bunch of times from my sister’s brood and Ava.
It hit me like a kick to the gut, coming from Clara. She was a smart cookie.
I immediately relented. “Where is this fucking cat?”
Beau’s mouth thinned. “At the vet. Getting patched up and tested for the various diseases it could have that Clara could catch,” he said gruffly and pointedly.
I looked from him to the little girl at my hip, wearing a mask because of her delicate immune system. Fuck. “What happens if it doesn’t have any of those diseases?”
Beau’s glower deepened. “It’s highly unlikely since it’s a stray.”
I did a quick calculation, measuring the odds. “How about this?” I bent down to Clara’s height. “If the tests come back clear, I will adopt the cat, and you can visit it as much as you want?”
The risk of potentially becoming what I swore I never would—a cat owner—was worth seeing the joy in Clara’s face, even underneath the mask. I readily accepted the small body when she threw her arms around me.