Wyatt ended up taking Paige to Walmart for her socks. Big mistake, because she got fascinated with all the stuff available in the store. At first it was cute, but then he ended up downright amazed at how unfamiliar with the retailer she was.

She’d walked up and down the aisles, picking up one thing after another, either marveling over the price or making a comment about the usefulness of the item. The woman had literally never been in a Walmart in her life.

Or, if she had, the experience was so long ago that she didn’t remember a thing about it. In the end, she bought socks, a metric ton of toys for Fluffy, DVDs, junk food, and a box of wine. Yep, in Washington State, land of good wine, the woman who could afford anything she wanted bought a box of wine.

“It’s good wine,” she’d said defensively when he’d given her what must have been a disbelieving look.

He’d held up both hands and said, “I believe you.”

He’d had his fill today of women who gave him hell for the slightest implication that she was wrong about something. Gran had ripped into him about cookies and lawn mowing. He’d learned his lesson.

They headed back up the mountain. It was late in the day by the time they reached the cabin. Wyatt carried Paige’s stuff inside. By the time he set her bags on the counter, he remembered that he’d planned to make her ask him for help instead of automatically doing stuff for her.

Well, hell. He’d screwed that one up.

She was holding that damned cat, cooing to it, except the whole thing was ridiculous because the cat was huge and Paige wasn’t.

Wyatt went over to his computer and booted it up so he could check the perimeter electronically. He’d seen no signs of incursion when they’d returned, but it was habit to check everything anyway.

There was nothing. A check of the visuals revealed some squirrels, a few deer, and a bear.

Paige had disappeared into her room with Fluffy. Wyatt headed for the bathroom near the guest room. He stopped hard in the hallway as the scent of something foul wafted to him.

He’d passed the laundry room, where the litter box resided, but this smell seemed to be coming at him from a different direction. He followed it down the hall. Into his room.

And there, in the middle of the bed, was a pile of what could only be crap.

He stared, blinking, for almost a full minute. That feline bastard.

Wyatt strode back down the hall, all the way to Paige’s room, and thought about pounding on the door. But that might scare her, so instead he settled for a knock, though he was seething inside.

Damned cat.

“Paige, open up. I need to talk to you.”

The door flew open and she stood there with wide eyes. Her feline companion lay in the middle of the bed, stretched out, tail flicking, blue eyes giving Wyatt the once-over as if to say Oh yeah, puny human?

“What? Is something wrong?”

“No. I mean yes. But nothing big.” He swore internally. “Actually, it is big. Huge. A pile of shit in the middle of my bed.”

Paige’s eyelashes fluttered as if she were trying to comprehend. And then her mouth dropped open for a split second before closing, her jaw hardening. She spun.

“Fluffy, what did you do?”

He licked his paw, completely unconcerned. Paige whirled around again.

“I am so sorry. He never does that. I mean, not since I tried to have a roommate for a while. Mr. Fluffypants didn’t like her and…” She swallowed. “Anyway, when she moved out, his incursions stopped.”

Wyatt would have laughed if he weren’t so pissed. Incursions? The damned cat was an operator, moving silently into his enemy’s stronghold and wreaking havoc before the enemy knew what was happening.

And all the while, he lay on Paige’s bed, staring at Wyatt as if he’d gotten the upper hand.

“I’m not moving out.”

“No, of course not.” She bit her lower lip between her teeth and he had a strong urge to suck that lip into his mouth. His groin began to ache at the thought.

No. Not appropriate. She’s a client.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, pretty hazel eyes wide and innocent. “If you want to go back to Walmart and buy a new comforter, I’m happy to pay.”

“I am not going back to Walmart tonight,” he growled. “You’re going to clean up your cat’s mess and wash the comforter.”

She drew herself up in her hoity-toity pose. “I’d really rather pay for a new one. Just throw it out, Wyatt. It’s no big deal. They had so many to choose from, and they weren’t expensive at all.”

He reached up and gripped the doorframe, giving her a casual look. Was he holding himself back from wringing the cat’s neck? Or showing his biceps to their best advantage even though he was pissed? And if he was showing off, what the hell did that say?

“Princess, you may be accustomed to throwing perfectly good stuff away because your daddy has more money than God, but around here we know the value of a dollar. There are people who’ll spend tonight under a bridge, who’d love that comforter, cat shit and all, and you say toss it and buy another one? No. Hell no. Your cat did this, you fix it. And use that money to buy someone a blanket who really needs it.”

Her cheeks were red. She tilted her perky nose up and he thought they were going to do battle right then and there. But she stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“Fine.”

She marched past him, into the kitchen, and grabbed a roll of paper towels. Then she went into the guest room. He followed, of course. She stopped short and stared.

“Oh my.”

“Yeah, oh my is right.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Do? Nothing. I got him a litter box, didn’t I?”

Paige turned. “You did, but you also insisted on calling him Spike. I told you he didn’t like it.”

Seriously, was she crazy cakes or what? “He’s a cat! He doesn’t know the difference.”

Paige smirked as she unwound a wad of paper towels. “Oh really? Tell me why else he did it. Did you swat him or something? Yell at him? Take away food?”

“No, none of those things.”

“But you did call him Spike instead of Mr. Fluffypants.”

“It’s a ridiculous name.”

“I told you to call him Fluffy. You didn’t listen. You have also been rude to me. He senses it.”

“Rude? Because I make you do your own chores and clean up after your cat?”

She huffed as she advanced on the pile with her wad of paper towels. A moment later, it was gone. The brown stain in the center of the comforter was not.

“If you had that hideous camouflage comforter from my room, you’d have never known this was here.”

“Then I’m glad I don’t have it.”

She carried the crap into the kitchen and dropped it in the trash. Then she washed her hands.

“All you have to do is stick it in the washer now,” she said, sniffing.

“No, that’s your job,” he told her.

“My job? Why? I cleaned up the mess.”

“You didn’t. You removed the most prominent evidence of the incursion. Cleaning up the mess means putting it back the way it was before the incursion happened.”

She shook her head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hey, you used the word first. Not me. But if you want to treat this like that little bastard is a commando, then trust me, from a commando’s point of view, the mission is not complete. You have to remove all evidence and return the quarters to the way they were.”

Paige blew out a breath. “You’re nuts, Wyatt.”

He was nuts? “I’m not the one with a twenty-pound male cat named Mr. Fluffypants.”

“You really want me to wash your comforter?”

“And the sheets as well. Yeah, I do.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and threw her hands in the air. “Fine.”

Paige marched down the hallway to the guest room. He followed. She ripped the comforter and sheets from the bed, struggling to get the fitted sheet off. He almost went to help her, but she tugged it free at the last second and jerked the whole thing from the bed.

Then she carried the pile, though she could barely see over it, to the laundry room where she stuffed it into the washer. After a mumbling search for detergent, she found it and upended some into the washer. Then she closed the lid and twisted some dials before pressing a button. The washer started up with a smooth whirr.

“There. Satisfied?” She faced him with arms folded across her body, chin thrust out militantly. “You thought I wouldn’t know how to do it, right? You wanted to test me? See if I knew the washer from the dryer?”

Wyatt stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed, watching her. “Something like that,” he drawled as desire and admiration and anger all twined together in his gut.

He wanted to kiss her and he wanted to strip her naked and take her right here in the laundry room. On top of the washer. During the spin cycle.

Stop. Not happening. Down, boy.

Her nostrils flared and her cheeks stayed red. “Well, I do know how. You don’t think I have elves come in and do my laundry, do you?”

“No, but I bet you have a housekeeper.”

Her nostrils flared again. “I do, and she does laundry. But she only comes a couple of times a week, and sometimes I need something sooner. So I learned how to wash my own clothes when necessary.”

“Bravo,” he drawled. Yeah, he was still pissed at the cat, still pissed at Gran and Hildie and even the fact he was in this situation instead of busting into an enemy enclave and kicking some terrorist ass.

No, he was busy babysitting a spoiled woman and her pampered feline. This is what his life had come to.

“You don’t have to be so damned smug and superior,” she growled.

“I’m superior? Me?” Who the hell was she kidding? “Princess, you’ve never been inside a Walmart in your life until today. And somehow I’m the superior one?”

Her face reddened. “I’ve been to Walmart, you rude bastard. It’s been a few years, okay? I liked it.”

Her eyes flashed hot. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. Nothing more. It might even be worth the dent to his integrity if he did.

Fury whipped through him.

“You’re like one of those disaster tourists. Someone who visits those who are less fortunate than they are and then insist on using that visit to show how worldly and in touch they can be. While you go back to your safe bed at night, to your baby lettuces and avocado toast, those people are still in danger. Still struggling. But you’ll write a check and make yourself feel better. Tell yourself you’re doing an awesome job being a great humanitarian.”

Her eyes were wide, wounded. He knew he should stop. But he couldn’t. Something bigger than him was taking over.

“In the meantime, those people who are marginalized will do desperate things. Some of them will radicalize, and then one day they’ll be trying to survive, trying to gain an inch of ground in the misery in which they exist. They’ll fight to the death, and they’ll take down your buddies as they do. You’ll kill them without mercy, because that’s what you’ve been trained to do, but you won’t forget. You won’t damned well forget, especially when you have to face your buddy’s wife and baby daughter and tell them how sorry you are for their loss.”

He was breathing hard. Staring at her. Fists clenched at his sides. Her lip trembled. And then she lifted her arm, reached out her hand. Dropped it again.

“I’m so sorry, Wyatt. I had no idea.”