Page 4 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

Ali pulled up to four eighty-seven North Downing at ten o’clock, parking her faded blue Subaru behind a sleek black Lucid Air that looked like it had driven straight out of a sci-fi movie.

She tried to imagine how nice it would be to drive, gliding silently along the road, instead of her own rust bucket that sounded like a washing machine full of boots when it hit thirty.

Still, hers got her to where she needed to be, just, and that was the best she could hope for.

She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, tucking a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear and grimacing at the coffee stain on her collar.

Professional, she reminded herself. You are a professional.

Her stomach fluttered with pre-appointment nerves—a familiar sensation, though today they seemed to be more at the forefront of her mind.

Without overanalyzing, she chose to put it down to visiting the cats for the first time since Vivian had passed.

Chairman Meow meowed from his carrier in the passenger seat.

“Nobody asked you,” Ali told the cat, gathering her battered messenger bag. “And remember, we’re here to help, not to judge.”

The morning was crisp, typical for early spring in Denver. Ali paused at the bottom of the porch steps, allowing herself a moment of grief for Vivian.

“You’d better be right about this, Vivian,” she muttered, climbing the steps.

She was reaching for the doorbell when the front door swung open, revealing Jessica Taylor in a tailored navy pantsuit, her curly hair pulled back into a sleek bun.

Ali’s first thought was that the photograph hadn’t done her justice—Jessica Taylor was striking in person.

The only thing disrupting the image of corporate perfection was a small tuft of orange fur clinging to her left sleeve.

“Dr. Ritchie?” Jessica extended her hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Ali shook the offered hand. Jessica’s grip was firm, her palm warm and soft.

Ali noted her own slight awareness of the contact—a professional hazard when working with attractive clients.

“Please, call me Ali. And I’m happy to help.

Vivian was very special to us at Healing Paws.

” She lifted the cat carrier slightly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a colleague.

Chairman Meow helps with initial assessments. ”

Something flickered across Jessica’s face at the cat’s name—the briefest quirk of her lips that vanished almost immediately. “Chairman Meow,” Jessica repeated. “Creative.”

“I wish I could take credit, but he came with the name,” Ali said. “And he’s very insistent about using his full title.”

“Come in.” Jessica stepped aside. As Ali passed, she caught a hint of expensive perfume, subtle yet inviting. “I was just about to make coffee.”

Ali followed her into the house, immediately scanning for the resident cats. Ernest Hemingway was in his usual spot on the windowsill, and she could see Scout peering cautiously from the top of the bookshelf.

The interior of the house was unchanged from Ali’s last visit—eclectic furniture, colorful rugs, and overflowing bookshelves. The only new addition was a sleek laptop set up on the dining room table, surrounded by file folders and legal pads covered in bold, precise handwriting.

“Working remotely?” Ali asked, setting her bag on a chair and placing the cat carrier on the floor.

“Trying to,” Jessica said as she moved through the house.

Her heels clicked against the hardwood with a rhythm that drew Ali’s attention to the elegant wiggle of her hips before she caught herself.

“I have a conference call in an hour, but I thought it would give us enough time to discuss my new... situation.”

Ali followed Jessica into the kitchen, where an expensive-looking coffee maker, clearly not Vivian’s, was already gurgling.

“I see you’ve met Ernest,” Ali said, nodding toward the orange fur on the woman’s sleeve.

Jessica glanced down, grimaced and plucked the fur from her jacket before depositing it in the trash and sanitizing her hands.

“Yes, he seems to have claimed the sunspot in the main window, as well as the upstairs hallway, directly in the path to the bathroom.”

“That’s Ernest,” Ali smiled, leaning against the counter as Jessica prepared coffee. “Creature of habit. Vivian could set her watch by his napping schedule.”

Jessica’s movements were economical as she prepared two mugs of coffee, as though her time and effort were the most precious commodities. When she reached for the mugs on a high shelf, Ali noticed the line of her neck, then immediately redirected her attention. Get a grip, Ritchie!

“I tried to retain the services of the previous housekeeper, but she had other plans, so I’ve researched some options for the.

.. animals,” Jessica said, handing Ali a mug.

Their fingers brushed briefly during the exchange, causing Ali to pause, taking in the long digits and neatly manicured short nails.

“There are several reputable long-term boarding facilities that could take them and—” Jesssica continued.

“What? No,” said Ali, accepting the coffee and now fully engaging in the conversation. What was this woman thinking? “That won’t work. You can’t move Vivian’s cats. They were her rescues, and this is their forever home.” She paused. “I’m guessing the will stipulates they remain here, right?”

Jessica’s eyebrow arched. “You’ve read my aunt’s will?”

“Not directly, but Vivian discussed her plans with me.” Ali took a sip of coffee. It was rich and full-bodied. “She was specific about keeping the cats together in their home.”

“This is my home now,” Jessica said, then seemed to catch herself. “Or it will be, after the six-month period.”

“Of course,” Ali nodded. “But for now, the cats need stability. They’ve just lost their person.”

Jessica leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee mug. For a moment, Ali caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her expression—was that a crack in her tough exterior? If it was it only seemed to add to her allure.

“I understand you’re an expert, Dr. Ritchie?—”

“Ali, please.”

“Ali,” Jessica said. “But I know nothing about cats. I’ve never had a pet. My schedule is demanding, and my lifestyle isn’t conducive to animal care.”

“That’s why I’m here. To help you navigate this transition.” She opened the cat carrier door. Chairman Meow emerged with dignity, surveying his surroundings before sitting and grooming his paw.

“He’s missing an eye,” Jessica observed.

“Lost it in a street fight before I adopted him,” Ali explained. “He’s much more refined now, though he maintains his tough-guy image.”

“And what exactly does his assessment entail?” Jessica watched the cat with guarded curiosity.

“He’s mostly here for moral support. Mine, not yours,” Ali admitted with a grin. “But he’s also good at reading the resident cats’ reactions. They’ll be more relaxed with a fellow feline who’s calm in my presence.”

“I see.” Jessica didn’t look entirely convinced. “And what does this arrangement cover? How often will you be here?”

“Initially, three times a week. As you and the cats become more comfortable with each other, we can scale back.” Ali pulled out her notebook with its curled corners. “Shall we begin by meeting everyone? Or would you prefer to discuss your concerns first?”

Jessica checked her watch, a vintage silver piece that shone against her brown skin. “We have forty-five minutes before my call. Let’s meet the cats.”

Ali suppressed a smile at Jessica’s businesslike approach. “Great. Let’s start with Ernest, since you’ve already been formally introduced.”

Chairman Meow followed them as they moved toward the living room. Ernest was still in his window seat, a massive orange Maine Coon with six toes on each front paw. He opened one eye as they approached.

“Ernest Hemingway,” Ali said. “Seventeen years old, rescued from a hoarding situation when he was ten. He has arthritis in his back legs, which is why Vivian had the little steps installed by his favorite windows.”

Jessica nodded, absorbing the information with a serious expression.

“You can approach him slowly,” Ali encouraged. “He’s the most sociable of the group.”

Jessica hesitated, then stepped forward. “Hello, Ernest.”

The cat yawned, then extended his neck for a better look at Jessica.

“You can offer your hand for him to sniff,” Ali suggested. She found herself moving slightly closer, ostensibly to demonstrate, but really just drawn by the moment of vulnerability in Jessica’s hesitation.

With visible reluctance, Jessica extended two fingers toward the cat. Ernest considered them for a moment, then leaned forward to give them a delicate sniff. After a moment’s consideration, he bumped his head against her hand.

“That means he likes you,” Ali explained. “You can scratch under his chin if you’d like.”

Jessica complied, her movements mechanical. Ernest leaned into her touch, a rumbling purr emanating from his substantial form.

“He’s vibrating,” Jessica said, withdrawing her hand with an edge of wonder in her voice.

Ali laughed. “That’s purring. It means he’s happy.”

“I know what purring is,” Jessica said, her tone sharp, then eased her frown just a little. “I’ve just never felt it before.”

The admission surprised Ali, but she did her best to not let it show. “It’s something, isn’t it? Cats can purr at a frequency that actually promotes healing, both for themselves and the humans around them.”

“You don’t have to sell them to me. As you pointed out earlier, I’m stuck with them whether I like it or not.” Despite her words, Ali noticed Jessica’s expression continue to soften, not smile or come close to enjoyment, but enough to suggest the experience wasn’t awful.

“It’s science,” Ali explained. “Several studies have shown that the frequency of a cat’s purr—between twenty-five and one hundred and fifty Hertz—can promote tissue regeneration and decrease healing time.”

Jessica looked almost impressed despite herself. “You know your subject.”

“Animals or healing?” Ali asked with a smile.

“Both, apparently.” A hint of warmth colored Jessica’s voice.

They moved through the house, with Ali providing introductions to each cat they encountered.

As they walked, Ali her new client intently, taking in the tiny details, like the way she unconsciously straightened paintings as they passed, or the subtle tension in her shoulders increasing as she noticed something in the house that wasn’t just so.

They found Mozart hiding under the guest bed, only his frightened eyes visible in the darkness.

“Mozart was found alone and scared after his owner died,” Ali explained softly. “He’s very insecure and needs lots of reassurance.”

To Ali’s surprise, Jessica knelt beside the bed, despite her immaculate attire, and peered underneath.

“Hello, Mozart,” she said, her voice softer than Ali had heard it so far. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The small tabby retreated further under the bed.

“He’ll come around,” Ali said, touched by Jessica’s approach. “It took him months to trust Vivian.”

She knelt beside Jessica, careful to maintain appropriate distance, though she was aware of their proximity in the small space.

Chairman Meow approached the bed and sat a few feet away, blinking slowly in Mozart’s direction. To Ali’s astonishment, Mozart blinked back.

“Well, there’s something I don’t see every day,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?” Jessica asked, turning slightly toward Ali.

“Cat communication,” Ali explained. “The slow blink is like a smile in cat language. It’s a sign of trust or at least non-aggression. Chairman is telling Mozart that you’re safe.”

“Are you saying your cat is vouching for me?” Jessica sounded doubtful.

“Essentially, yes. He’s a good judge of character.”

As they moved back into the hallway, Ali checked the time. “We still need to find Zelda and Empress, but it looks like we might be running up against your call.”

Jessica nodded. “I should prepare.” She hesitated, then added, “We can continue this later.”

“Of course. While you’re in your meeting, I could do some observation and make notes for our care plan if you want?”

“That would be helpful.” Jessica hesitated, then added, “Thank you.”

The words seemed to cost her something, though Ali wasn’t sure what.

But she found herself curious about the woman behind the professional exterior—the one who knelt to speak softly to a frightened cat, who admitted she’d never felt a cat purr before and then just as quickly snapped back into business mode.

It was going to be an interesting assignment.