Kay might have had something to do with it, though. Sex in jeans with her own money, she seemed to enjoy his company but kept him totally at arm's length. He didn't get it. Every time he was tempted to bag it, she gave him just enough encouragement to stay. God, he was a chump. He didn't want to be thirty and still cleaning up someone else's dog crap.
Grimacing, he rose to throw the papers away, pushing through the sheets of milky plastic that separated the back room from the store. The storage room/office was cold-it had been snowing all day with only the dog people coming in since it had become dark. He was tempted to flick the Closed sign around early, but Kay would give him hell for closing before eight.
It'd give me an excuse to talk to her, he thought as he trashed the papers and grabbed the disinfectant spray. Kay spent most of her time in the back when she was in. Cooper was the one who actually ran the place-except for the dogs. Kay brought them in from some exclusive breeder. The cats were from a local shelter.
The warmth of the store was welcoming as he slipped back through the plastic curtain. A quick spray, and the round kennel was clean, all evidence of the dog erased under the scent of bleach. Cooper straightened with a sigh. Twenty-five and a pet shop geek. He'd swear Kay wasn't g*y-the occasional flirting suggested otherwise. Maybe it was him.
The sudden whirling of the birds in their cages brought his head up, and the hair on the back of his neck pricked. Feeling like winter had slipped in under the door, Cooper turned to the big plate-glass windows dark with night and the peaceful falling snow in the streetlight. His eyes widened at the little girl, no more than nine, standing in the middle of the aisle: white tights, little black shoes, and a coat made of black fur. Her vividly red hair was straight under a matching fur hat, and her hands were hidden in a muff.
"Oh! Hi!" Cooper stammered, pitching his voice high as he looked for a parent. "You surprised me! How long have you been in here?" She must have come in while he was in the back, but he hadn't heard the bells ring.
The little girl beamed. "Did I?" she said cheerfully, seeming to think it funny to have scared a grown-up. "May I see the kittens?"
Cooper nodded as he set the spray bottle on a back counter, trying to hide his annoyance. He liked kids, but not when their parents dropped them off as if he was a babysitter-especially fifteen minutes to closing. "Sure, but don't let them out, okay?"
Huffing a sigh of preteen independence, she strode confidently to the multistory cat cage. Crouching, she made a tiny trill of sound, and two gray heads and one black one popped up from the sleeping pile. The kittens fell over themselves to reach her, pressing against the mesh and meowing. "They like me," she said shyly, endearing as she glanced at him with her green eyes.
Cooper stood with his arms over his chest and looked at his watch. He couldn't kick her out. It was cold outside. "Is your mom around, sweetheart?" he asked. There was a discount store across the street, but it was closed. Maybe the bar down the way. The girl seemed as if she was used to being alone.
"I want the black one." She looked up, her hair framing an almost triangular face and lips too red for such a little girl, fingers pushed into the cage as far as she could get them. "She looks like me."
Cooper dropped back a step and smiled. He didn't see the resemblance, but he wasn't nine years old. "You can have her if your mother says it's okay. Why don't you go get her? We close in five minutes."
The girl pulled her hand from the cage and stood, her eyes alight. "I'll trade you for her."
Oh, for crying out loud . . . Cooper glanced at the Open sign and sighed. He'd dealt with children before. "My boss won't let me trade. Is your mother at the bar, honey?" He was getting the oddest vibe from the kid, a weird mix of wealth and abandonment, like a child of privilege raised by a rich drunk, a child never lacking for anything except a constant source of love, forced to take it in overindulgent spurts when sobriety hit.
"I'll trade you." The little girl confidently got to her feet and reached into her muff. "His name is Leonard. He bites, the little brat. I wanted a cat so we could play, but Mama picked a dumb bat. See?"
Cooper's eyes widened when her thin fingers opened to show a mouse-size wad of fur coiled up and its eyes tightly closed. She's got a bat! he thought, images of rabies and needles racing through him. "Oh, sweetheart," he said, swooping to the nearby display stand for a rodent box. "Put it in here. You shouldn't ever play with a bat. Never, ever."
"See! That's what I told Mama!" she said triumphantly as her little white hand dropped the dead or unconscious animal into the box, and Cooper closed it, stifling a shiver as the animal's tiny nails scraped. "She thinks bats are safe 'cause they can fly, but I like cats. They can sneak around even in the day."
Oh my God, Cooper thought, wondering if he should take the little girl in the back to wash her hands. A bat that let you pick it up wasn't healthy. Who the hell was supposed to be watching her? "Honey, do you know your mom's phone number?"
"You want to trade?" she asked, innocent eyes wide.
A chill took him as he patted her head. "If your mother says it's okay. Do you have her cell number?"
From the front of the shop, a feminine clearing of a throat startled him. Snatching his hand from the little girl, he spun to the woman standing just inside the door, arms over her chest and her hip cocked as she looked severely at the little girl.
The bells didn't ring, he thought as the little girl scuffed her shiny party shoes, the black kitten settling in her arms and almost disappearing in the girl's fur coat. How . . . , he thought. How did she get the cat out of the cage so fast?
"Emily, I told you to wait for me," the woman said as she approached, her narrow hips swaying and pointy boots making a decisive tap on the oak flooring. But for all of Cooper's worry that she'd seen him touch her daughter, the woman was clearly amused, her angular face and small nose showing a delightful good humor. The family resemblance was obvious, from their red hair to the deep green of their eyes, skin so pale as to make their lips blood-red.
Cooper's face warmed, and he stepped away from the little girl. He shouldn't have touched her, but by God, a child shouldn't be running around with a dead bat in her pocket.
"I was careful, Mama," the little girl said defiantly. "I waited until the dog left."
"I'm not angry about the dog," the woman said as she laid a possessive hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You can't sell Leonard, no matter how you dislike him."