Page 70 of Jasper

Jasper scrubbed a hand over his face. “The kittens need to be fed.”

“She had cats?”

“No. We found them half-frozen to death on the farm. Only three survived. They have to eat every few hours, and if they don’t get fed when they’re hungry, they’ll scream the house down.”

“You sleep. We’ll take care of the kittens.” Kade moved to the door and opened it and called down the hall. “Blade?”

A very tall, very dangerous-looking man filled the doorway. He had to be at least six-five, and his beard wasn’t a full beard. It was more like Jasper’s, barely there, but it looked way more lethal on this guy. His cut identified him as vice president of the MC.

“You good with cats?”

“Why?” His voice was deep and just as lethal-sounding as he looked.

“Kittens need to be fed, and he needs sleep, and I got to get home before my wife beats my ass. Can you feed them?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Jasper wasn’t so sure he trusted the man with his babies, but he was dead on his feet, and he didn’t think he could stay awake long enough to get through a feeding.

Unless Sloane was still awake, but he doubted she was. She’d napped, but she’d been up singing Christmas songs along with the radio the whole way here. The woman was probably passed out cold.

Jasper moved past both men, picked up the bags he’d dropped, and went upstairs. Just as he suspected, she was sound asleep on the bed. The kittens were already starting to meow. You could set your clock by their feeding schedule.

“Loud little rascals,” Blade commented as he took the cat carrier from Jasper. “What do they eat?”

“Kitten milk. You have to heat it in the microwave for five seconds. They drink a bottle each.” Jasper handed him the bag that contained the kitten milk and the bottles. “I left the litter box downstairs. Once they run around for a few minutes, you can put them back in the carrier and they’ll sleep until five. Make one of the guys take over. Max should be here by then.”

“You got it.” Blade rotated the carrier until he could see them. “They got names?”

“The orange one is Scrappy, the black and white one is Patches, and the tabby is Rocky.”

Jasper watched as the big biker took his cats, and he prayed he didn’t step on them when they got loose. They were lightning fast.

Shaking his head, he took Sloane’s shoes off and lifted her long enough to put her under the blankets.

“Jasper?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Shh, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

“I know.” She slipped her arms around him when he lay down. “I’m always safe with you.”

God, he hoped so.

Her head tilted up so she could see his face. He looked exhausted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t, though. She saw the stress and the fear stamped across his face. “Thank you, Jasper.”

“For what?”

“For keeping me safe, for getting us here when I know you’re ready to drop. For not being a serial killer.”

He laughed. “I thought the jury was still out on that?”

“They might be, but I’m not. You’re a good man, Jasper Watkins. A very good man.”

“I…”