With an ominous look, the guy replied, "Ask my dog.He'lltell you."
So he had a dog, too?This was another surprise – assuming, of course, that he was telling the truth. After all, guysthatgood-looking weren't known for their honesty.
I made a show of looking around. "So, whereishe?" And then, at the guy's blank expression, I added, "I just mean, since you're out on a walk, I figured you'd be walking your dog, too."
"Yeah, except I'm notona walk," he said. "I'm on a rescue mission." And then atmyblank expression, he said, "I saw you from the window, figured you needed help."
"Oh." This was yet another surprise and didn't quite fit with the looks of him. "Really? From what house?"
He flicked his head toward the other side of the street. "Guess."
When I looked, I spotted the house right away. It was big and brick with lots of windows. In the largest front window sat a big orange cat whodidlook an awful lot like Ginger with those wide innocent eyes and slightly ruffled fur.
I looked back to the stranger. "He looks perfectly friendly tome."
"I never said he wasn't friendly. I just said he was trouble."
"Yeah, well…maybe he's thegoodkind of trouble." But even as I said it, I considered howthattheory had played out in my own life – not with cats, but with men.
Perversely, the men weren't even mine. They were my mom's – a whole string of them who were too smooth, too good-looking, and too quick to come and go, disrupting our entire household in the process.
During the twenty-five years I'd spent on this earth, I'd learned one thing for sure. When it came to trouble, there was no such thing as the good kind, not where guys were concerned.
The recollection was just the thing I needed to remind me that I wasn't standing out here for my own enjoyment.
I turned and gave the stroller a concerned look. Even though the kittens were perfectly cozy, I would still need to get them home.
As if reading my mind – or maybe my expression – the guy said, "So, about that rescue, where's the missing wheel?"
I pointed toward the nearest storm drain. "I'm pretty sure it's inthere."
His eyebrows furrowed. "Prettysure?"
"Well, it's not like I saw it pop off," I explained. "Just all of a sudden, the stroller wobbles, and it gets hard to push, so I stop and look down. That's when I notice the missing wheel. But I can't see it anywhere, so I figure it rolled out onto the street andtheninto the drain."
Unlike the sidewalk, the street was actually plowed, which meant that I couldn’t even check for tracks in the snow.Talk about frustrating.
I turned to study the drain. It was one of those modern storm drains that you'd hardly notice if you weren't looking for it. The thing wasn't even covered by a steel grate because the opening itself was just a narrow gap underneath this particular stretch of sidewalk.
But it hardly mattered. The gap was definitely wider than the missing wheel, making it my prime suspect.
When I looked back to the stranger, he was staring toward the drain as if calculating the odds of my theory being correct.
When a new gust of wind sent my loose hair fluttering around my face, I lifted a gloved hand and shoved the strands away from my eyes before confessing, "I think Ididhear a clunk though."
The guy looked back to me and said, "Wanna know whatIthink?"
"What?"
"You need a ride." He glanced toward his house. "If you hang on, I'll grab my truck."
At least he hadn't said his motorcycle.Still, my stomach twisted with new worry.I'd love a ride.But I barely knew this guy. To get into a vehicle with him – with all of the kittens, no less – seemed a bit risky.
I couldn't help but wince. "Thanks for the offer. It'sreallynice, but…" I tried to think. "I don't suppose you could grab a pet carrier instead?"
When the guy didn't jump at my suggestion, I clarified, "I don't mean anything with wheels. I just mean a basic carrier, you know, like you'd use for a trip to the vet? Youdohave one, right?"
He didn't look thrilled with the question. "And if I do?"
