Kaylee was laughing out loud at the memory, but tears were running down her cheeks as well. When she thought of Meredith, that sort of thing happened. So many good times, lost.
“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered, wiping her cheeks.
She remembered that Mel said something about grief never getting smaller but how her world could get bigger. She wasn’t sure how that was done, but it was time to try. After she considered it for a few minutes she slid her laptop into her shoulder bag and headed for her car. She’d drive into Virgin River, which you could miss if you blinked, maybe have another coffee and whatever breakfast sandwich Jack offered. She’d try to write at the bar for an hour. Before her mom got sick Kaylee used to go to a coffee shop or a neighborhood restaurant called Carlisle’s where she could have a glass of wine and a New York–style pizza slice. She felt less like she was in detention if she wrote for a while in a coffee shop or bar.
As she walked to her car she heard the smallest peep and slowed her steps. She looked up first. Then down. Right there by her front tire was the tiniest black-and-white kitten. What was a person to do? She scooped it up in her hands and instinctively held it close to her cheek. “Aww. You are lost, little one.” She wasted a good ten minutes looking around for more kittens or at least a mother, but this guy was alone.
And then she did the one thing everyone cautioned against. She took him into her casita and gave him a bowl of milk and told him she’d be back in an hour or so.
“Well, well, Kaylee Sloan, just the person I wanted to see. I was going to give you a call a little later,” Jack said as she walked in the door.
“Do you need the casita sooner?” she asked.
“Nah, you’re fine. But I talked to an agent who leases rentals. Her name is Gloria, very nice lady, and she’s going to see what they have. I gave her your number. She’ll probably be calling soon.”
“Oh, thank you! Um, did you lose a kitten?”
“A kitten? No. A kitten?” he repeated.
“Cutest thing, all by himself. Or herself. I don’t know much about cats.”
“How big is this kitten?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“He could fit in a cup,” she said. “Black and white.”
“There are feral cats around, but we have a dog. And with the wildlife in the mountains, kittens without a mother don’t survive long and if they do, they’re fighting cats. Where is it?”
“In the casita,” she said. “I couldn’t leave it alone. You have a dog?”
Jack nodded. “Ralph. He’s a border collie. My son found him under the Christmas tree we put up in town every year so we had to keep him. He’s kind of lazy but he’d probably try to herd a kitten. He’s still herding us into the kitchen whenever he can.”
“I never saw a dog,” she said nervously. “I’m a little wary around dogs. I was bitten when I was a child. Pretty badly. Badly enough to set up a good-size phobia.”
“Ralph won’t bite you. He stays close to David, my son. Besides, Ralph’s partying days are over. Did you, um, feed that stray kitten?”
“No. I just gave him some milk and left him in the casita so he wouldn’t get hurt or lost.”
“You fed him. And what are you going to do with him now?”
“There must be a no-kill shelter around here somewhere,” she said.
“Nah, you should keep him. You two need each other.”
“I’ve never had a cat...”
“I hear cats are easy. Sometimes they’re independent and couldn’t give a shit about you, but some people claim to have very affectionate cats. And he or she’s a baby. That should give you an edge. Plus, you fed him—that’s commitment in his eyes. There’s a pet store in Clear River where you can get some supplies. I’ll give you directions.”
“I won’t even know what to buy!”
“It’s a pet store,” Jack repeated. “Tell them you don’t know what to buy and they’ll load you up. How was the casita? You sleep okay?”
“It was very nice, thank you,” she said in a somewhat frustrated tone. Had he just sold her a kitten? “Do you have some kind of breakfast sandwich? And coffee?”
“You bet. Preacher’s in the kitchen. What do you want on it?”
“Sausage, egg and cheese, please.”
“Sounds easy. Stay tuned.” He turned and went to the kitchen. A moment, and only a moment later, he placed before her a perfect sandwich, cut on the diagonal, with some home fries and a tomato slice on the side. “Anything else? Ranch? Mayo? Ketchup?”
“Cholula hot sauce?”
“A girl after my own heart,” he said, producing the desired hot sauce. Next came a mug of coffee and an ice water. “Be careful, now,” he said. “After a couple of Preacher’s meals, you’ll never cook for yourself again.”
She added her sauce, took a bite and let her eyelids drop in heavenly wonder. It was fabulous. “There are onions and peppers in here,” she said. “Brilliant!”
Before she finished the first half, the magic that was Jack’s Bar began to happen. People wandered in, recognized her as the girl from the fire, introduced themselves and tried to think of a house she could rent. She met Connie from the store across the street, Tom Cavanaugh from a local orchard, Jillian, who ran a small farm of specialty fruits and vegetables, Luke Riordan, who owned some cabins on the river, and Dr. Michaels, who worked with Mel. They all mentioned other neighbors and in no time at all she felt she’d met or heard about everyone in the town. When she finished her breakfast, she dabbed her lips and pushed her plate away. “I was going to see if I could write for a little while, but I think I have to go to the pet store.”
“Congratulations,” Jack said with a grin. “You’re
