A Small Town Christmas Part 69

But Zach had preferred stove patrol to the 911 call that involved an old lady who had managed to fall out of her recliner. He frowned at the memory of his new nickname: Little Old Lady Killer. It would be a couple of weeks before he didn't have to endure a million jabs from the paramedics about how the old woman had kept patting his arm and offering to make him cookies after he'd gotten her back into her chair (no small feat since the "little" old lady had weighed almost as much as Zach). On top of those adventures he had done his mandatory daily workouts, three home safety visits, and the crew had been called out to help with a bad accident on the highway at one A.M. That one had almost been enough to make him question why he did what he did for a living.

The answer was simple, really. He liked helping people. Doing what he did gave him a feeling of purpose. He also appreciated having so much time off during the rest of the week. It allowed him to work on big projects like flipping this old Victorian.

"Oh, you should keep it," his mother had said when she and his stepsisters stopped by uninvited to check it out shortly after he bought it. (Yet another attempt to insert herself into his life.) "I can already see it with a Christmas tree in the bay window."

And a wife and kids running around. She hadn't said that, but Zach knew she'd thought it. "It's not me," he'd said.

"It could be," she'd said right back.

That was when he'd looked at his watch and announced, "I'd better get going. I've got an appointment to look at flooring."

Mom had eyed him suspiciously. "Since when do you need an appointment to look at flooring?"

"Special order," he'd improvised, and escaped to the safety of the hardware store.

Mom wanted grandkids, who knew why. Maybe she thought she could do better as a grandmother. Whatever. It didn't look like his younger brother David was going to give her any-he was too busy taking pictures for National Geographic and surfing in Australia-but it was useless to pin her hopes on Zach. He wasn't signing up for eHarmony anytime soon. Or going on The Bachelor.

His stepsister Natalie had nominated him for the show and someone had actually contacted him. He'd thought the guys at the station were playing a joke on him and had managed to get in some pretty insulting cracks before he realized the call was for real. Then he'd gone from amused to p.i.s.sed.

Both Natalie and Kendra (whom he referred to collectively as the Steps) had been indignant that he'd pa.s.sed up the opportunity to let the whole world watch while a bunch of ring-hungry chicks closed in on him. Yeah, there was a lost opportunity all right. You'd think a college freshman and a high school soph.o.m.ore would have more to do than b.u.t.t into their stepbrother's love life. You'd also think all three women would have figured out by now that he wasn't a get-serious kind of guy.

At least not anymore. Zach was done being a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t.

Anyway, marriage was for ... who was it for? His friends were all either single or divorced. Mom hadn't exactly been a s.h.i.+ning example of wedded bliss, either, at least not with Dad. She'd stuck it out the second time around but Dad was still a mess.

No, Zach liked his life as a single dude just fine. No worries, no stress, just good times.

He had reached his front porch when the orange tomcat that had followed him home emerged from the bushes. The animal joined him at the front door and wound around Zach's legs meowing, playing the cat sympathy card.

"Hey, Tom, what the heck are you still doing hanging around? Go home, bud," said Zach.

The cat repeated his meow and rubbed Zach's leg.

Zach wasn't really into cats. He was more of a dog man. At least he had been back in high school, but when Dexter died Zach swore off dogs.

Just as well. Pets required care, and with his job Zach couldn't give an animal the kind of attention it needed. Still, he felt kind of sorry for this mangy, orange tomcat. The poor guy looked pretty skinny. Judging from his chewed-off ear he'd taken a few knocks.

But he had a flea collar and a tag. He obviously belonged to somebody. "So, are you lost, dude, is that it?"

Well, it was December-peace on earth, goodwill toward men. And cats. It wouldn't hurt to bring this one in and hang on to him until his owner could come pick him up. Zach could do that much.

He picked the little guy up and brought him inside. Then he checked the tag on the cat's collar. "Ambrose, huh? Kind of a wussy name, isn't it?"

The cat yowled at him.

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to be called Ambrose, either. Well, don't worry. I'll get you back where you belong."

But when he called the number on the cat's tag, the woman on the other end of the line wasn't thrilled to hear from him. "He was my mother's cat. We were getting ready to take him to the animal shelter when he ran away."

"The animal shelter, huh?" Zach looked over at the cat only to see him dash under the leather couch.

"I just lost my mother and we're a little stressed over here," the woman added brusquely. "I only have a few days left to take care of things before I fly back to Florida and I don't have time to worry about that stupid cat. He's on his own."

Whoa, somebody was going to get the Good Samaritan seal of approval, but it wasn't this woman.

"Thanks for calling," she added before hanging up.

Zach stared at his cell phone in disbelief. "Geez, lady." How could somebody be so callous about an animal?

The cat came back out and started rubbing against Zach's legs. Zach picked him up and tried to explain to the little guy that this wouldn't be much of a home for him. "I know you got a tough break, guy, and I'd like to help you out, but I'm a firefighter. I'm gone at the station a lot and there's no woman here to look after you." At least there never was on a permanent basis.

Now the cat was purring. Aw, Geez.

Cats pretty much took care of themselves, right? At least that was what Zach had always heard. Still, he had his hands full remodeling this place. The last thing he needed was an animal.

"Okay, tell you what. I'll give you something to eat and then you're on your own."

He put the cat down and went to the fridge. It trotted after him.

The animal shelter found homes for animals. He should take the cat there right now and be done with it. Except this little dude was no cute kitten. Who would want him? He'd end up in the kitty gas chamber for sure.

Zach looked down at him and frowned. "Why did you have to show up on my doorstep?"

The animal meowed and snaked around his legs.

With a long-suffering sigh, Zach opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. "Tell you what. You can stay until we find a real home for you. How's that?" He poured milk into an empty sour cream container and then set it on the floor. "Drink up, dude."

The animal sniffed at it, then turned and walked away.

"What?" Zach called after him. "You're a cat. You're supposed to like milk."

Old Tom kept walking.

"Oh, yeah," Zach called after him. "Way to be a good guest."

This animal was going to be a pain in the b.u.t.t, he could already tell.

TWO.

If the cat thought this was some frickin' restaurant he was in for a rude awakening. Zach had stuff to do and he didn't have time to make a cat food run.

He was going to catch some Z's and then, in the afternoon, start demolis.h.i.+ng the kitchen. All the cheap cabinets were coming out to be replaced with new ones Zach had found at Mike's Home Center in downtown Angel Falls. The floor was coming up, too. Mike had given him a deal.

After a couple hours of shut-eye Zach threw on his rattiest T-s.h.i.+rt and ripped jeans and got to work. His new roommate sat in the doorway and watched him set out his tools, but once Zach started making a racket, he was gone.

"Get used to it, Tom," Zach called after him. "We're doing a remodel here."

Hopefully he'd be finished come spring. Then he'd sell the house, and take the money and run. There was no point in a single guy keeping a big house like this. He'd buy himself one of those slick new condos they were putting in over on Falls Ridge, where he could have a view of the town and the Cascade Mountain range beyond.

Thinking about how he would invest his profits gave Zach plenty of energy, and by the time his firefighting buddy Ray arrived he had taken up half of the old vinyl. He'd also managed to mangle the subfloor pretty good, too. Tim the Tool Man, the next generation.

"Whoa, dude," said Ray, taking in the pile of vinyl pieces. "You didn't waste any time."

Ray was a big guy like Zach, but unlike Zach, he actually knew one end of a hammer from the other. He was divorced and his only child was a Chihuahua named Taquito (Tacky for short) that went everywhere with him. Ray had been more than happy to help remodel the kitchen in exchange for pizza and beer.

He frowned at the dents and craters in the subfloor and said, "We're gonna have to do some major patching before we can put down new vinyl." He started into the kitchen, the quivering Tacky in his arms. The toe of his boot made contact with the container of milk Zach had put out earlier and tipped it, starting a white stream running across the pocked floor. "What the h.e.l.l?"

"Forgot to pick that up." Zach tossed the container in the sink and dropped a paper towel on the milk.

"Why was it down there in the first place?" asked Ray, setting Tacky down. The animal tucked his tail between his legs and trembled.

"I took in a stray cat," said Zach, and tossed the towel.

Ray made a face. "Cats."

Zach handed him a hammer. "What have you got against cats?"

"They're chick pets. Women love 'em cause they're cute. Me, I want an animal that does something, like play fetch, guard your house." Tacky was jumping up on his pant leg now and Ray gave him a pat on the head.

Zach crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. "Like Killer there?"

Ray frowned. "Hey, he knows how to sound the alarm. Dontcha, boy?" he added, his voice softening.

"You have to take care of a dog," Zach argued. "Look at you. You've got to leave Tacky with your mom when you're at the station. Cats are different. They take care of themselves."

"Yeah? I guess the cat got the milk out of the fridge all by himself," Ray said with a smirk.

Zach pointed a crowbar at him. "Okay, smart a.s.s. How about putting something besides your mouth to work?"

Ray grinned and got busy.

"Anyway," Zach said to both Ray and himself, "I'm just keeping him till I can find a nice home for him." Where that would be he wasn't quite sure. But it wouldn't be here. The cat needed someone who would love him the way Ray did that dumb rat-dog of his. And besides, the little guy wouldn't be happy here. All the banging and noise scared him.

It didn't do much for Tacky, either, who went running when his master tossed his first chunk of vinyl on the pile with a thud.

By the end of the afternoon the kitchen looked like it had been hit by a hurricane and the two men were sweaty and starving and ready to order pizza.

"Hey, thanks, man," Zach said as Ray popped the top off a bottle of Hale's Ale. "Get out a beer for me, too, will ya?"

"Uh," Ray said, looking guilty. "This is the last one."

Zach gave Ray's gut a slap. "At this rate you're going to have to start running with me."

Ray made a face. "I'm in shape. This is just insulation for winter. And the only run I'm doing today is a beer run. Come on, Tacky." He bent to pick up the Chihuahua, which was back and climbing his pant leg.

"Naw, I've got it," said Zach. "You and Tacky stay here and chill. If old Tom comes out of hiding you can introduce them."

Ray picked up the little dog. "We better hope your cat stays hidden. Tacky would eat him alive."

Zach was still laughing when he hit the shower to clean up.

Fifteen minutes later, the pizza order had been called in to Little Lola's and Zach was on his way to Safeway for more beer. Most residents of Angel Falls really got into holiday decorating, so he had a scenic drive, past neighborhoods with a mix of old and new houses snuggled in among fir trees and shrubs, and decked out in holiday lights. Inflatable Santas and snowmen waved from lawns, and it seemed every home had a wreath hanging on its front door.

Zach supposed his house, which sat unadorned, looked like he was harboring the Grinch. But hey, he was busy with important projects. He didn't have time to screw around turning his place into a Christmas clone of every other house on the block. And he didn't have to. There was another advantage to being single: no honey-do list. Anyway, this wasn't his favorite time of year, so why be a hypocrite and deck the halls?

It was the first Friday in December and the parking lot was full of cars. Outside the grocery store a Salvation Army volunteer dressed up as Santa was braving a drizzle of sloshy snowflakes, ringing his bell and wis.h.i.+ng people a merry Christmas. Zach dropped a dollar in the bucket and went inside. The store was crowded with people on their way home from work and picking up last-minute dinner supplies. He caught a whiff of deli chicken. It made his stomach rumble and he hurried toward the beer aisle dodging shoppers as he went. A woman pa.s.sed him coming the other way, looking hot in black heels and a red party dress. Yow, Mama! At the end of another aisle he came upon a vignette of what always happened after the party was over. A harried mother snapped at her little boy: "I said we weren't buying that. Put it back!" Now, there's another s.h.i.+ning testimonial for family life, Zach thought with a silent sigh.

His mom may have split up the family but she'd never snapped at him. That was one thing he'd say for her. It was about the only thing he could say for her.

En route to the beer he caught sight of the pet food aisle and remembered the spilled milk. Since he was there he might as well look for some food for Tom.

Half the aisle was cat food, and he stood for a moment in front of the mountains of bags. Good grief. How many brands of this stuff do people need, anyway?

He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until a soft voice at his elbow said, "It's hard to know what to get, isn't it?"

He turned to see a redhead with big green eyes smiling timidly at him. She only came up to his chest and with her short curly hair and turned-up nose she reminded him of an elf. Elfette? Whatever the chick version was. She was lost in a down coat that looked way too big for her and her calves were swallowed up inside some ugly rubber galoshes, but judging by what he could see of her thighs he was sure she was hiding a nice little bod under that coat. Out of nowhere the chorus from Dr. Hook's "You Make My Pants Want to Get Up and Dance" popped into his mind.

He kicked it out right away. This woman also looked like the girl next door, the kind you settled down with, had kids with, the kind of girl a man didn't want to hurt. Not that Zach made a habit of hurting anyone. He didn't have to worry about that with the women he hung out with, women who were content with just having some fun and keeping things casual.

He reached for something generic and the elfette gave a little gasp. He looked over his shoulder. "Not good?" The price was right.

"Well, not the best. Do you have a cat?"

"I just took one in."

Her eyes lit up and she looked at Zach like he'd told her he rescued a child from a burning building. "Oh, you adopted him?"

Zach squirmed inside his jacket. "More like foster care. His owner died. The kids were going to take him to the shelter." Like he probably should have done.

"It's great you took him," said the elfette.

Just for a while. You should remind her of that, thought Zach. But he didn't.

"The shelter always has a surplus of cats and not all of them find homes. Some of them..." The corners of her mouth fell and she didn't finish the sentence.

She didn't have to. Now Zach could hear the theme music from Psycho running through his head.

"Anyway, it's wonderful that you've saved one."

Yeah, that was him, Mr. Wonderful. He could have fessed up that cat adoption hadn't exactly been his idea, that old Tom hadn't taken no for an answer. Instead he asked, "So, what's wrong with this food?" putting the conversation back on track before he could be tempted to do something dumb, like suggest she come over and meet his cat.

"The cheap dry food can be hard on their kidneys. And if you have a boy cat, well, they have a tendency toward prostate problems," she added, and her cheeks grew pink.