“There. That was much better than the first one,” he murmured, his hands still locked around hers.
Fern was dizzy from the contact, drunk on sensation, and at a complete loss for words. Ambrose released her wrists and he stepped back and walked to the bakery entrance without so much as a see you later. Fern watched him go, saw the door swing shut behind him, and felt her heart skip along after him like a lovesick puppy. One kiss wasn't going to be nearly enough.
The very next night, Bailey Sheen rolled into the bakery at midnight like he owned the place. Fern had obviously let him in, but she wasn't tagging along behind him. Ambrose told himself he wasn't disappointed. Bailey did have a cat though. It scampered along beside him like a co-owner.
“You can't have an animal in here, Sheen.”
“I'm in wheelchair, man. You gonna tell me I can't have my seeing-eye cat with me? Actually, it can be your seeing-eye cat, since you're blind and all. One of the perks to being a pathetic figure is that I tend to get what I want. Did you hear that, Dan Gable? He called you an animal. Go get him, boy. Sic him!”
The cat sniffed at one of the tall metal shelves, ignoring Bailey.
“You named your cat Dan Gable?”
“Yep. Dan Gable Sheen. Had him ever since I was thirteen. My mom took us to this farm for my birthday and Fern and I each got to pick one from the litter. I named mine Dan Gable and Fern named hers Nora Roberts.”
“Nora Roberts?”
“Yep. Apparently she's some writer. Fern loves her. Unfortunately for Nora Roberts, she got knocked up and died giving birth.”
“The writer?”
“No! The cat. Fern's never had very good luck with animals. She smothers them with affection and care and they thank her by croaking. Fern hasn't figured out how to play hard to get.”
Ambrose liked that about her. There wasn't any pretense with Fern. But he wasn't going to tell Bailey that.
“I've been trying to teach Dan Gable a few wrestling moves, in honor of his namesake, but so far all he can do is sprawl. But hey, sprawling is one of the basics–and it's more than I can do,” Bailey said with a chuckle.
Dan Gable was a wrestler who had won an Olympic gold medal. In fact, he didn't surrender a single point during the whole Olympic games. He graduated from Iowa State with only one loss, coached the Iowa Hawkeyes, and was a legend in the sport. But Ambrose didn't think he would be especially honored to know a cat had been named for him.
Dan Gable, the cat, rubbed himself against Ambrose's leg but abandoned him immediately when Bailey patted his knees with the tips of his fingers. The cat jumped up on Bailey's lap and was rewarded with stroking and praise.
“Animals are supposed to be good therapy. Actually, I was supposed to get a puppy. You know, man's best friend, a dog to love only me, the kid who couldn't walk. Cue the violins. But Mom said no. She sat down at the kitchen table and cried when I asked her.”
“Why?” Ambrose asked, surprised. Angie Sheen was a damn good mom, as far as he could tell. It seemed a little out of character for her to refuse a dog to the kid who couldn't walk, who needed a loyal companion . . . cue the soft lighting and the farmhouse on Christmas morning.
“Do you know that I can't wipe my own ass?” Bailey said, looking Ambrose straight in the eye. He wasn't smiling.
“Um. Okay,” Ambrose said uncomfortably.
“Do you know that if I lean down too far to get something, I can't sit back up? I got caught once for a half hour just hanging limp over my knees until my mom came back from running errands and sat me back up again.”
Ambrose was silent.
“Do you know that my 120 pound mother can pick me up under the arms and move me into the chair in my shower? She washes me, dresses me, brushes my teeth, combs my hair. All of it. At night, she and my dad take shifts coming in and turning me throughout the night because I can't roll over, and I get sore if I lay in one spot. They've done that since I was about fourteen, night after night.”
Ambrose felt a lump forming in his throat, but Bailey carried on.
“So when I said I wanted a puppy, I think something kind of broke in her. She just couldn't take care of anyone else. So we compromised. Cats are low maintenance, you know? There's cat food and a litter box in the garage. Most the time Fern is the one who feeds Dan Gable and changes his litter. I think she made a deal with my mom when we got the kittens, though I can't pin either one of them down on it.”
“Shit.” Ambrose ran his hands over his bald head, agitated and distraught. He didn't know what to say.
“When are you going to start wrestling again, Brosey?” Bailey used the name the guys had called him. Ambrose had a feeling he did it on purpose. “I want to see you wrestle again. Having a cat named Dan Gable just doesn't cut it.” Dan Gable meowed and hopped off Bailey's lap as if he didn’t appreciate Bailey’s comments.