I expect to slip out the next morning without an interrogation from my mother, but no such luck.

“Where on earth are you going at this hour?” She glides from her bedroom into the living area wearing a silk robe that looks like something out of a film from the forties. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and I wonder if she was up late.

“Sorry to wake you,” I mumble, not really answering the question as I shove food into the cooler I’m packing to take to the reindeer ranch.

My mother steps closer and grabs one of my foil-wrapped breakfast burritos. Without unwrapping it, she lifts it to her face and inhales. “Mmmm. You’re still making my famous chicken sausage with garlic and sage.”

I nod and finish packing a big bunch of grapes into a tote. “I’ve made a few modifications to the recipe. You can have that one if you want it.”

She eyes me for a moment, then sets the burrito down. “I thought I’d see if Breann is free today to give me a tour of this place. I’d like to see where my grandparents’ house used to be.”

Bile rises sour in my throat, but I swallow it back to reply. “Bree has meetings all day. If you wait for me, I can give you a tour when I get back. We’ll have plenty of time.”

I have no idea if that’s true, but I know I want to minimize the time my mother spends around my siblings. Or anyone, for that matter.

“I’ve been wanting to reorganize your spice cabinet,” she says. “I could do that.”

“Perfect.” I grit my teeth, not wanting my spices reorganized, but figuring it’s a small price to pay to keep my mother busy. “I’ll make us a late lunch and can give you a tour afterward.”

“That sounds lovely.” She smiles, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen my mother without makeup since I was a boy. She’s pretty, maybe prettier than I remember. Fine lines have set around her eyes, and I wonder if the smoothness of her forehead is the result of good genes or a good surgeon.

I heft the cooler off the counter and wonder what it would feel like to hug her right now. We’re so unaccustomed to displays of affection that she’d probably have a stroke. “Enjoy your morning,” I tell her. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

I hope I won’t regret that one. She smiles and adjusts the sash on her robe. “You have a good day.”

My drive to the ranch is a short one, and my head is filled with thoughts of Amber. I know I should be more concerned about my mother, but I can’t get Amber out of my head. Part of me regrets stopping the other night. Making love to her under the stars would have been a fantasy come true.

But part of me is glad we just talked. Well, talked and groped, but mostly talked. It’s rare for me to open up to anyone like I did with her, and I can’t put my finger on why it happened.

I’m still thinking about it as I step out of my truck and follow the red and white signs that say, “snip clinic.” They lead to a small, modern-looking outbuilding on the other side of the barn. A sign on the door says, “come in,” so I push through it and step into an impressively modern-looking vet clinic. The walls are painted white and lined with stainless steel shelves and banks of wire-doored kennels. There’s a strong scent of antiseptic, but it’s a clean smell that contrasts pleasantly with juniper and hay.

“Hey.” Amber smiles as she looks up from her station at the head of a massive stainless-steel table. It’s large enough to hold a reindeer, but right now it’s holding something much smaller.

“Cute cat,” I manage, trying to ignore the way Amber’s tugging its crotch like she’s hunting for bugs. What the hell is happening? “Is this where I make an appointment to get snipped?”

Jade glances up from the other side of the table and smirks. “You laugh, but I actually had a classmate try that my second year in vet school.”

“On himself or someone else?”

“Himself,” Amber says. “I remember that story. He couldn’t afford a vasectomy, so he tried a do-it-yourself job.”

“Ouch.” I’m not sure if I’m more squeamish about the story or the fact that Amber’s still pulling out the cat’s crotch fur in alarming clumps. “Did it work?”

“Nope.” Jade draws a scalpel out of some gadget that says “autoclave” on the side, and I try not to think about what she plans to do with it. “He got through the epidermis and had to drive himself to the ER.”

I shake my head, ready to change the subject. “Okay, can one of you please tell me what you’re doing to that cat? Because to me it looks like you’re just ripping fur off his crotch with your bare hands.”

“Pretty much.” Amber tosses a ball of fine fluff into a wastebasket behind her. “We’re plucking the fur from the incision site.”

“Can I buy you some razors next time?” I ask. “Please?”

“They irritate the skin,” Jade says. “And you definitely don’t want irritation where you’re about to stick a scalpel.”

“I suppose not,” I agree, wondering for the millionth time what else I don’t know about life on a ranch.

Finally reaching the end of her task, Amber stands up and leaves her sister to—uh, I don’t want to consider what Jade’s about to do. I keep my focus on Amber and the delight that’s flooding her face. I’d like to pretend it’s me, but I’m guessing she’s just hungry.

“You really brought breakfast?” she says. “Oh my God, I love you.”

I know she’s kidding, and it’s not the first time a woman I barely know has professed undying affection over my culinary skills. Still, the words leave me flush with happiness. So does the sweater she’s wearing. It’s red and fitted and even though the neckline isn’t low, it offers a stunning view of the curves beneath it. Curves I had my hands on less than twelve hours ago.

I order myself to stop gawking at her and feed her instead. Prying the top off the cooler, I show her the tidy foil-wrapped bundles inside. “I wasn’t sure how many people you’d have or how the shifts would work, so I packed a couple dozen breakfast burritos you can microwave one at a time.”

“Oh my God, that smells amazing. Are they still warm?”

“They should be. Do you have time to sit?”

“For sure,” she says. “Jade could totally do a castration in her sleep.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t, since my cousin sleeps here a lot.”

Amber laughs and turns to scrub her hands at a large stainless-steel sink. Wiping them on a paper towel, she moves toward a tiny card table tucked under a window in the corner. “You doing okay, Jade?” she calls.

“Peachy keen,” she calls. “Save one of those for me.”

Amber sits down on one side of the table and takes the foil-wrapped burrito I hand her. I glance back at the unconscious tabby Jade is leaning over on the other side of the room. For the first time I notice he’s missing his right rear leg. “What’s the story with that cat?”

“Stray,” Amber says as she peels away the wrapper and dunks her burrito in the small cup of salsa I’ve just handed her. “Someone dumped him here a week ago. He’s a surprisingly good mouser considering the missing wheel.”

“Why would somebody just leave a three-legged cat?” I shake my head, disgusted by my fellow humans. “Or any cat, for that matter.”

“It happens a lot.” Amber finishes swishing her burrito in the salsa. “People get tired of being responsible for a pet, so they drive them out into the country.”

“They think they’re ‘setting them free,’” Jade calls, not bothering to mask her disgust.

“Mostly they become coyote food,” Amber admits. “The lucky ones find their way here.”

I steal a glance back at the operating table, then wish I hadn’t. If this one’s lucky, I don’t want to know what unlucky looks like.

“What’s going to happen to him?” I ask. “Do you turn him loose again or what?”

Amber shrugs and reaches for the salsa. “We’re full up on barn cats right now, so we’ll try to find him a home. Why, are you interested?”

“Maybe.” I don’t know why, but I feel an odd kinship with the three-legged cat. True, we haven’t met, but I feel for the guy.

A crippling urge to rescue.

That’s what Sarah used to call it, but I don’t think that’s what’s driving me. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help someone. To take a shitty situation and make it better.

Amber bites into her burrito, then closes her eyes and gives a reverent moan. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” she says around a mouthful of food. “What’s in this?”

I’m distracted by the blissed-out look on her face and almost forget to answer. “Homemade chicken sausage with sage and garlic, a little kale, sweet potato, organic eggs, smoked gouda, caramelized onions—”

“Good Lord, why have I never made friends with a chef before this?” She grins at me, and I try not to hang up on the word “friends.” Is she in the habit of groping other friends? It’s none of my business, but jealousy nips the edges of my heart anyway.

She takes another bite and sighs with pleasure, and I can’t help remembering those same sighs last night. What would it have been like if I hadn’t hit the brakes? Part of me regrets it, but part of me knows it was the smart move.

“Next time you meet a girl you like, do her a favor.” Sarah’s long-ago words ring in my head, echoes of what she said to me before she kicked my ass to the curb. “Let her see the real Sean sometime. Not Prep School Sean. Not Damage Control Sean. The real Sean.”

As I watch Amber devour the burrito, I’m positive I’m getting there. Maybe it’s her zest for life. Maybe it’s her kooky humor or her kindness toward animals or her passion for food. Maybe I’m just really, really hot for her.

It’s all of those things in Amber that bring out the best version of me.

She must sense me staring at her with a way-too-serious expression because she gestures to the burrito and does a mock swoon. “This is seriously like the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she says. “Ever.”

“Says the girl who used to put marbles in her mouth,” Jade calls from the operating table.

“What? I wanted to see what they tasted like.” Amber grins and takes another bite of burrito.

“Please tell me you were three and not twenty-three.”

Amber laughs and dumps more salsa on her burrito, then moans as she takes another bite. “So good.”

“You’re making me uncomfortable with all that groaning over there,” Jade calls.

“Says the girl whose bedroom is down the hall from mine.” Amber gives me a pointed look. “Brandon stays over a lot.”

I glance over at Jade to see her blushing bright pink over her surgical mask. I can’t tell if she’s smiling, but I’m guessing she might be.

“You guys have the best relationship.”

“Family’s weird,” she agrees cheerfully. “Gotta love ‘em, though.”

I consider telling her about my mother. About the drama with her showing up at the ranch and the awkwardness with my siblings. I wonder if there are any hot-button issues with her parents, and I open my mouth to start the conversation.

But I close it again quickly.

No. Not now. Mid-castration is hardly the time for a deep-digging conversation about family. In the back of my head, my dead ex-fiancée tells me I’m doing it again, but I push her voice aside and push another burrito toward Amber.

“Stumpy the cat should be awake in a few hours if you want to meet him,” Amber says. “By then we’ll have a whole bunch of other cats here for you to check out.”

“Thanks.” I fish into the cooler for another burrito, not interested in the other cats. I know Stumpy’s going home with me, though he might do it with another name.

Jade finishes the snip job and joins us on the other side of the room. I set her up with a burrito and her own cup of salsa while she washes up at the big sink before dragging another chair over to the table.

I hand her the foil wrapped package, and she wastes no time peeling it open. “You guys are killing me with these,” she says before taking a bite. “Holy crap, you’re right. He’s amazing.”

“See?” Amber grins at me, a smile that shoots straight to my groin. I could never get tired of feeding this woman. I make a mental note to do it as often as possible.

“I aim to please.” I shove a pile of napkins at Jade as Amber polishes off her burrito and glances at her watch.

“We’ve got ten minutes until everyone else shows up, so eat fast,” Amber says.

Jade chews more quickly and nods at her sister. “Did you figure out what you’re doing tomorrow?”

Amber makes a face. “Not yet. I’m still considering my options.”

“What’s tomorrow?” I ask.

Amber makes a face. “A wedding I’m supposed to go to. I was planning to go with this guy friend of mine, but he just bailed.”

“Friend.” Jade snorts and dunks her burrito in the salsa. “Connor would polish your shoes with his tongue if you asked.”

“Not true,” Amber says, looking embarrassed. “And since he has the flu, I don’t want his tongue anywhere near me.”

There’s a flicker of jealousy at the center of my chest, and I do my best to ignore it. “So are you just going to go stag, or what?”

Amber shrugs and takes another sip of coffee. “I’d rather not go at all, honestly.”

“You have to,” Jade says. “You promised Beth.”

“Right, my spy mission.” Amber rolls her eyes and wipes her hand on a napkin. “Beth used to date the groom.”

“She’s over him, obviously.” Jade takes another bite of burrito.

“Sure,” I agree. “I send spies to the weddings of all my ex-girlfriends.”

“She wants to know about his wedding,” Amber says. “So she doesn’t accidentally make hers too similar.”

“Or so she can make hers better,” Jade scoffs. “I’m glad I’m in charge of reindeer and not all the wedding stuff. Some of these brides are nuts.”

Amber just shrugs and balls up her foil. “It’s human nature to be curious about exes. Can’t blame a girl for wondering.”

“No, but I can blame her for being a stalker,” Jade says. “She doesn’t expect you to bring back video or anything like that, does she?”

Amber shakes her head. “Just a detailed report.”

I ball up my own burrito foil and add it to Amber’s. “Want me to go with you?”

Both sisters look at me. “To the wedding?” Jade asks.

I nod. “Sure, if you want a date.”

“I want,” Amber says with surprising enthusiasm. “Seriously?”

I shrug, trying not to look too eager. “It’s a good chance to scope out what local caterers are doing for weddings.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in doing weddings,” Amber says.

She’s got me there. “Okay, it’s a good chance to see you in a short dress,” I admit. “Maybe something blue. Or no, yellow.”

Across the table, Jade smirks. “With cleavage,” she adds helpfully.

Amber rolls her eyes. “Would you two like to just take over my closet and dress me?”

Jade shoots me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m thinking. That undressing Amber is more what’s on my mind. She’s got me there, but I do my best to keep my eyes off the front of Amber’s red sweater. To convince big sister Jade I’m not one of those guys who’s only after one thing.

In any case, one thing’s for sure: I’ve never been more eager to attend a damn wedding.

---

My mother walks in and sniffs when she sees me crouching in front of the fireplace the next morning, stroking a hand down my new cat’s back. I’ve set up a small recovery ward for him, though he already shredded the fancy cat bed I bought while he was still groggy from anesthesia.

For now, he seems happy lying in a box marked “frozen halibut cheeks.”

Okay, “happy” is a relative term.

“Is it growling or purring?” my mother asks.

“Growling,” I admit. “But I’ll win him over eventually.”

She eyes the scratches on my arms and sniffs again. “You always were determined. I’ll give you that much.”

I can’t tell from her tone if it’s a compliment or a complaint, so I respond with a grunt. “He’ll come around.”

“I suppose I’m not surprised you picked a cat with a missing leg,” she says. “You always were a softie.”

Now I’m really not sure about the whole compliment/complaint thing, so I just keep petting my cat. “He needed help, and I needed a cat. It’s a symbiotic thing.”

My mother mumbles something that sounds like “co-dependent,” but I might be hearing things. “Does he have a name?” she asks.

“Gordon,” I reply. “Gordon Ramsay.”

That earns me a laugh. “He’s got the attitude.”

Gordon opens one eye and peers at my mother. He gives another growl and closes it again

“It probably has fleas,” my mother says.

“No fleas in the high desert,” I point out. “It’s too cold at night.”

I learned that from Amber, along with a dozen other bits of animal-related trivia I picked up yesterday at the ranch. If the occasion arises for me to regale prep school classmates with knowledge of reindeer mating habits, I’ll be ready.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding?”

I straighten up and smooth my hands down the lapels of my suit jacket. I’m ninety percent sure I’m overdressed for a small-town Oregon wedding, but the look on my mother’s face suggests I’m not quite up to her standards.

She glides forward to reach for my tie. “It’s crooked,” she says. “And much too loose.”

“Ow!” I slip a finger under the fabric as she yanks it tight.

She pats my hand away. “You never could do a proper Windsor knot. I don’t know what they were teaching you at that prep school.”

“Math, science, and literature?”

“They were supposed to be teaching you manners,” she says. “I did my best, you know.”

Her gaze lifts to mine and holds for a few beats. For just a moment, I think she might say something sentimental.

“I spoke with my lawyer this morning.”

And that’s as sentimental as she gets.

“Oh?” I try for nonchalant, but the truth is that I’m nervous about the stack of paperwork that showed up via Fed Ex yesterday.

“Just trying to get things straightened out with the title,” she says. “Making sure you kids have proper claim to the land and all that.”

“So you’re looking out for us,” I say slowly.

She meets my eye and gives a curt nod. “Exactly. Just trying to do what’s right.”

I clear my throat and wonder if that’s mouthwash I smell on her breath. It reminds me of the peppermint schnapps I bought for a chocolate torte last Christmas, and I try to recall where I shoved the bottle.

My mother steps back and surveys her handiwork with a critical eye. The Windsor knot or her son, I’m not sure which. “You’d better get going so you’re not late.”

I nod and take my own step back, putting a familiar distance between us. “You’ll keep an eye on Gordon?”

She looks down at the floor as though I’ve just entrusted her with folding a pile of laundry. Then she sighs.

“To the best of my abilities, of course.”

“Of course.”

I give my tie a tug, then turn and walk out of the room, ignoring the growing sense of dread in the pit of my gut.