Shit. If she didn’t get air in, it meant she wasn’t breathing. If she wasn’t breathing, it meant she’d die.
“Fuck!” she yelled, yanking her foot back inside and finally taking a gulping breath. She put her hands on her knees and sucked in another huge breath. Dammit, she felt lightheaded.
As soon as spots stopped dancing in her vision, she went back to the door.
“Ramona,” she shouted again, her voice disappeared into the freezing wind. Maybe she’d come back on her own after she got over her curiosity?
A horrible high-pitched cat squeal of pain cut through the air.
“Ramona!” Sloane screamed, leaning out the door from where she gripped the frame.
The squealing continued. Sloane had never heard Ramona make that noise before.
It was a sound of awful pain. Or terror. What was happening? Ramona needed her.
Now.
Sloane lifted her foot again.
Ramona’s screeching yeowls continued.
And still, she couldn’t.
Shame choked Sloane as she pulled her foot back in again. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
She slammed her fist against the door frame. This was so stupid. She took a huge breath and stuck her foot out the door again.
Her heart began pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears. It was racing. She put a hand to her chest. Oh God. She was going to have a heart attack. Ramona was out there, caught by some animal, suffering, and Sloane couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe—
Sloane crashed to her knees and bowed her head, sobbing.
And all that shit she’d been thinking earlier about how perfect her life was—what a crock of shit. First with the identity theft and now this.
She was a freak who couldn’t leave her own house. She hadn’t been outside for over six years and even then… God, Aunt Trish had to sedate her in order to bring her from California up here to the ranch after her grandparents washed their hands of her when she turned eighteen.
Ramona was suffering and she couldn’t even—
Please, she prayed to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in, help!
“Hello?” called a voice from the darkness. “Do you need some help?”
Chapter 2
SLOANE
Sloane looked up in shock as a figure emerged from the dark road into the sphere of light from her porch. She scrambled to her feet as the large man in dark sweats and a hoody came closer.
Her first instinct was to pull back, but then Ramona screeched again.
“Yes!” Sloane said desperately as chunks of accumulated snow continued to drop from the shaking tree branches. “It’s my cat.” She pointed up in the tree, leaning out over the threshold of the door as far as she dared.
As the man came closer, she could make out more of his features. He had olive skin, a strong, arrow-like nose, and as he pushed back his hoody to get a better look up at the tree, he revealed jet black hair.
His brow furrowed as his eyes searched the shaking tree. He covered his eyes as he got closer to protect from the falling snow.
“There!” Sloane shouted, pointing as she caught a glimpse of a large dark shape racing around the trunk, halfway up the thirty-foot-tall tree.
It was Ramona. And streaking right after her was a much smaller shape—a squirrel? Good God, Ramona was screeching her head off like that because of a squirrel? Then again, Ramona had been an indoor cat her whole life. She wasn’t exactly used to wildlife.
More snow fell down from the branches and the man circled the tree on the ground below with calm, calculated steps.
The top of the tree shook violently and Sloane’s arm jerked outwards in a stop motion, as if that would do anything. “Ramona!” she shouted again.
But then, almost in the blink of the eye, the dark shadows were streaking around the tree again, heading back down again.
“Dinner!” Sloane shouted, hoping to tempt her beloved, infuriating cat. But the squirrel was the one running away now and Ramona was on the chase. The squirrel flew down the tree trunk and out across the snow. Ramona was milliseconds behind.
But as soon as her paws hit snow, the stranger was there, scooping her up in his arms. She yowled and fought but he was smart and he lifted up the bottom hem of his hoodie to trap her against his chest while also protecting himself from her claws.
He sprinted towards the house and Sloane moved back from the door to let him in.
He hurried inside and Sloane slammed the door shut behind him. He immediately dropped down to his knees and released the angry cat from the makeshift pouch of his hoodie. She was gone like a shot from her captivity, fleeing to the den.
Sloane ran after her. “What were you thinking?” she cried, finding Ramona hiding under the couch in the corner of the room.
Sloane bent over on all fours and peered under the couch. She reached an arm under the couch to pull Ramona out, wanting to check to make sure she was okay and hadn’t been hurt by the squirrel but the stranger’s voice stopped her. “Don’t. Let her calm down first.”