GARRETT HART
Garrett stared at the little girl. "A what?" he wheezed.
An explosion of sounds erupted from another part of the house. Garrett heard the dog barking, the cats hissing, ceramic shattering, and a stream of cuss words.
"Nana!" cried Mrs. Hanover. Everyone stepped over Garrett—except for the little girl who stepped on him—and ran toward the cacophony.
When Garrett sat up, he noticed that even the film crew had left. He slowly gathered himself and his pride off the floor, brushed as much mud as he could from his face and shirt and went into the kitchen.
For the second time in two minutes, Garrett's jaw dropped.
Chaos reigned. A gray-haired woman hunched against the counter with a hissing cat perched next to her. The dog sat in front of the woman, wagging his tail and looking with interest at the spatulas she held together in a sort of cookware cross. She continued a litany of very impressive cursing, which was occasionally punctuated by the cat's shriek of terror.
Garrett's gaze swept the room. Medusa was trying to coax a gray-haired cat off the top of the refrigerator while Susan and the boy had crawled under the breakfast table to grab the calico.
The little girl circled the table calling for her turtle and Mrs. Hanover stood in front of the sink trying to delicately extract a black kitten from a stack of teetering dishes.
The men from the television station had cameras pointed at the entire scene and both grinned broadly.
Garrett put his lips together and gave a shrill whistle.
Quiet descended like a thick blanket as everyone looked at him. Even the animals gave him their attention. He sighed in relief. Finally, he could take some control over this situation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, the black kitten broke the silence with a terrified yowl.
Garrett heard the tower of dishes creak ominously as the kitten scrambled against the plate.
He saw Mrs. Hanover reach toward the sink, her face a mask of comical horror, and knew she was too late to stop the dishes from falling.
As cups and bowls shattered on impact, the kitten somehow remained on the plate as it fell to the floor. But the plate didn't break—it shot across the linoleum with the cat clinging to it like a furry surfer, bounced off the opposite cabinet and slid toward Mrs. Hanover.
It hit her sneaker and the cat arced upward with paws extended. As the plate overturned with a clink, the kitten landed in Natalie's arms, scaled her shoulders and settled itself on top of her head.
After a "Wow, Mommy, do that again" from the little girl, silence descended. All eyes were trained on him, except the dog's—he was licking Nana's spatula cross. Garrett opened his mouth then closed it. He tried again, but no sound would come out.
He cleared his throat and gestured for Susan and the boy to come out from under the table.
They did so, and Susan handed Garrett the calico cat. He blinked down at the fuzzy bundle in his hands.
A funny feeling wobbled in his stomach.
Oh, dear Lord. He wanted to laugh.
He choked down the urge to throw back his head and let loose. It would not set a good example for the children, if he guffawed at their antics. Nor would it impress Mrs. Hanover.
To calm himself, he petted the cat as he took a couple of deep breaths.
"I'm Dr. Garrett Hart," he said in a firm voice. "I will be teaching you some new things in the next four days and I think now is the best time to start."
"You." He pointed at Medusa. "Please gather the cats, take them upstairs, and lock them in a room."
"My name's Sylvie," she said as she took the calico from him.
"Thank you, Sylvie. When you're finished with your task, please come back down. I want to talk to you and your siblings."
She turned around and shrieked, "Oh. Em. Gee!"
Garrett followed her horrified gaze to the cameramen. The girl ducked her head and wailed, "I could just die!" Then she dropped the cat and ran out of the room.
The blue-eyed munchkin stepped in front of him. "You can't lock up my kitties in a room, you dumb old doctor. I didn't want you, anyway. I wanted a private directive."
Garrett squatted in front of her, so that he would be on her eye-level. "You mustn't speak that way to people. It's not respectful."
Tears pooled in her sky eyes at his gentle rebuke. Her heart-shaped face was framed by riotous black curls that had loosened from her ponytail. He wanted to hug her, not lecture her.
Garrett felt like a big jerk when one crystal tear ran down her peach cheek.
Garrett stood and turned around. One man had the camera pointed at him. Susan and the other cameraman had disappeared.
The camera's lens looked like one huge, unblinking eye and Garrett suddenly felt vulnerable. This might've been the dumbest idea he'd had yet, and he'd had a lot of dumb ideas.
Was he really going to be able to prove his parent/husband abilities to the girl he'd had a crush on for years?
The boy stared at him sullenly and Natalie hadn't moved from the middle of the kitchen. She carefully removed the kitten from her head and put it down.
The dog barked loudly, drawing everyone's attention to Nana, who had exchanged her spatulas for a bacon slice. She looked at everyone and said, "What? He's hungry."
Natalie said nothing for a moment then she glanced at him. "The dog's not mine. He followed me home this morning when I went running. I let him into the house and all hell broke loose."
"That must have been when I came in," he said.
He found himself admiring her oval face. Just a sprinkle of freckles bridged her nose. Then he noticed the red scratch on the underside of her jaw.
"Looks like the cat got you," he said, gingerly touching the skin under the wound.
He heard her indrawn breath and looked at her. Her rosebud lips were parted slightly.
She had such a perfect mouth. The lower lip was a little fuller than the upper. She had small, even white teeth. And there was a dimple on the right side of her---
He blinked, realizing that Natalie was staring at him, wide-eyed. Oh, hell. His fingers were still on her neck. He quickly moved his hand away and felt the heat of embarrassment flush his face. "You ... uh, need a bandage."
"Looks like she needs an ice bath to me," muttered Nana.
Everyone looked at the older lady, and she grinned, unrepentant. "I'll take Rodeo outside and rinse him off."
"Rodeo?" questioned Natalie.
"That's what I'm naming my dog." Then Nana walked toward the back patio doors, Rodeo following behind her obediently.