“I guess your dad’s happy you became a painter. I mean, he always wanted his children to be part of the construction business.” Translation: you caved and did what Daddy wanted you to do.
He thought about telling her he’d taken art courses in Houston but decided to keep quiet. She didn’t care what he’d done with his life.
Her gaze slid away from him. “Maybe I’ll look inside just in case the attorney slipped into the castle through another entrance.”
Mandy started to walk past him and then froze. She stared at the trim he’d been painting. “Red?”
Con imagined the word plague would drip off her tongue with exactly the same tone. “It’s a little more than just red, but yeah, it’s red.” Something evil in him sensed the color was an abomination to her and it reveled in her disgust. “I like red. I’m pretty sure I’ll paint almost everything in the castle red.”
“Inside?” She vibrated with outrage.
Obviously, she thought the park’s owner had just hired him to slap paint on the castle. Obviously, she thought she’d get to choose all the colors. Surprise, surprise. The evil in him rubbed its hands together and gleefully plunged onward. “Uh-huh. I like lime green and neon orange, too. So don’t worry, I won’t paint everything red.”
“No.” The word was a breathy exhalation of defiance. “You will not use those colors. I’m the designer—”
She got no further. At that moment the cat must’ve decided to take a closer look at this paint that was causing such a brouhaha, and leaped for the ladder where the small can rested.
Con’s last coherent thought as he watched the cat scrabble for purchase with its front paws on the shelf holding the paint, was that he’d never seen such an uncoordinated animal in his life. Reflexively, he reached for the paint. Too late. Frantic to keep from falling to the ground, the cat hooked the can with one paw and brought it down on top him as he lost the battle with gravity.
“Ohmigod!” Mandy’s wail of disbelief was echoed by the cat’s yowl of surprise.
Red paint coated the cat from whiskers to tail. He was Dynamic-Red highlighted by gleaming yellow eyes. The cat expressed his general feelings with furious hisses and growls. He was one pissed kitty.
“Get this crap off me now! I don’t have a freakin’ public humiliation clause in my contract.”
Startled, Con glanced around. Someone talking in his head? Nah. He shrugged away the momentary weirdness and leaped into action.
Before the cat had a chance to race away, he scooped it up like a fumble recovery and ran with it. The cat fought him as Mandy shouted advice, but he kept running until he reached the edge of the moat. Maintaining a secure grip on the cat, he knelt and then dipped it into the water.
The cat screeched and clawed. Con was aware that Mandy had scrambled down beside him. He glanced at her. “I’ll hold him while you wash the paint off.”
“Me?” She sounded horrified.
Probably thought red hands didn’t make the right color statement for her. “Look, do you want to be the one to return him to Sparkle looking like a Texas Chain Saw Massacre survivor?”
Mandy widened those big blue eyes, and for just a moment he was back on the beach all those years ago. There’d been a full moon reflecting off the Gulf that night. He’d parked his pickup high on the beach, and then they’d walked hand in hand down to the water. They’d knelt on the sand facing each other, and she’d looked at him out of those same eyes. But back then her eyes had shone with sensual hunger, and he’d been generating enough lust to power all of Texas.
She broke the brief spell by glancing down at the struggling cat. “You’re right. I’ll rinse off the paint. Don’t let him go.”
Easier said than done. Hanging on to the damned cat was like holding onto a greased pig with claws. The cat was still twisting and yowling. Someone had probably already called 911 to report a murder in progress.
“Help! Cat drowner! Don’t even think about dunking my head. I can’t feel the bottom. I have to feel the bottom! I can’t swim, you jerk. Land. Put me on land before I turn you into a small ugly parasite.”
It had to be the heat. He’d been painting in the sun for too long today. Once the cat was taken care of, he’d go into the castle, cool off, and eat lunch. So why hadn’t he heard voices on other days when he worked in the heat? He didn’t want to think about it. He had to believe it was the heat, or accept that the cat was talking to him. And that would spell certifiable with a capital C.
Finally, between the two of them, the cat was clean. Con set it on the bank expecting it to race for home. Instead, it carefully shook each paw free of water and then glowered at them.
Con frowned as he pulled a clean rag from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Dad’s a dog man, so we never had any cats at home, but I’d swear what we’re seeing here isn’t normal cat behavior. Look, it’s not running away. It’s just glaring at us.” He glanced at Mandy. Uh-oh. She was dabbing at red paint spots on her dress.
“It’s not glaring at us. It’s glaring at that red trim. Cats have more sophisticated tastes than dogs. A dog would like red trim. A cat knows better.”
Con didn’t try to hide his grin. She sounded ticked off, and ticked off could be a prelude to other emotions. Anything that got Mandy all passionate about something had to be an improvement over her Princess of Perfect persona. “I don’t know. Seems strange to me
