Page 10 of Ruck Me Harder

Kiana clears her throat. “Nothing.”

She pouts. “Come on. Don’t leave me out.”

“I was thinking of getting a kitten, but it’s a bad idea,” I hurry to lie. “I travel too much.”

Not to mention their claws terrify me. Sharp little devil blades. My younger sister had a cat growing up and I still have a scar on my chest from when she scratched me.

Cari’s face clears. “Oh. I get that. My brothers want to get a pet. I keep talking them out of it.”

My scowl at the mention of her brothers is automatic.

She frowns. “Did Al reach out to you? Were you able to reschedule?”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say casually, sticking my hands in my pockets. “It’s messy.”

“But—”

I shake my head. “What are we doing today?”

Susan details our jobs. There’s dog walking, feeding, and cleaning out the cages on offer.

“I’ll clean the cages,” I immediately announce. Hopefully, they’ll be empty.

“Great, Tony will show you what to do,” Susan says.

My stomach sinks.

When Cari said she worked here… and now there’s a guy named Tony here…

Slowly, I turn around, and sure enough, there is Tony Gonzales, scowling with a tiny black kitten clutched in his massively muscular arms.

“Come on,” he grunts, jerking his chin. “We’re this way.”

Kiana raises her eyebrows, looking between us. I shake my head.

“I don’t have all day,” Tony snaps.

five

. . .

Tony

I don’t want her here. She’s dangerous.

Vivienne Gallagher winds up in my animal shelter? This isn’t a coincidence. I sense tomfoolery afoot, and I know exactly who to blame.

Glaring at my sister, she smiles innocently at me as I head toward the back room. I’ve gotten most of the kitten cages taken care of, so only the adult cats need theirs done.

Setting Shadow back in her cage, she gives a pathetic mewl. She has serious separation anxiety. I can’t relate, so I stroke the top of her head.

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell her, and she bats at my hand with her little paws, clinging to me until I gently untangle myself. My icy heart thaws a teeny tiny bit.

And then I glance at Vivienne, wearing a scowl on her face that tells me in no uncertain terms she still hates me, and my insides turn to ice again.

I can’t force her to not hate me. But that doesn’t mean the cats can’t get some much-needed help.

The shelter is chronically under-funded. I’m lucky to get a salary at all. I get paid just above minimum wage for fifteen hours of work a week and usually volunteer another five to ten, depending on my training schedule and my shifts at the restaurant.