Murphy's Law

And a gun.

Nice men didn't carry around guns. Nice men also didn't carry around that kind of cash. As for the jewelry…well, who knew?

The man had supplied no explanation as to where the money or jewelry or gun had came from. He'd skirted the issue nicely, thank you very much. Which only piqued her curiosity all the more. Didn't she have a right to be curious? Not to mention concerned? Of course she did!

Not only had she taken the stranger in when she'd known it would have been better—easier, safer—to drive off and forget about him, she'd also overcome her own inherent weakness and tended his wounded thigh as best she could. That gave her rights, damn it! The least of which was the truth.

Murphy shook four aspirin tablets onto her palm, snapped the lid back on, then set the bottle on the marble-textured bathroom countertop. She retraced her path to the bedroom. Moonshine followed, but she paid the cat no mind. Right now, she was too intent on getting answers. Honest answers.

She opened the bedroom door. Like a magnet, her gaze was drawn to the bed. At first she thought the man was asleep. He was so quiet, so still. Asleep or…?

Murphy gulped.

Moonshine yowled a greeting and trotted over to the bed. His shaggy back legs launched him onto the man's chest.

The man grunted. His eyes snapped open, his blue gaze locking on the cat, narrowing dangerously.

Moonshine purred a greeting and curled up defiantly on the stranger's chest. His low, rumbly purr dared the man to swipe him off of the most comfortable bed the cat had found in months.

As it happened, he didn't have to.

Murphy hurried over, scooped Moonshine into her arms, and deposited the growling, unhappy feline in the hallway. “Don't look at me like that, bub,” she scolded, fist on one hip, the index finger of her other hand wagging at the offended cat in prim, school teacher fashion. “We've already discussed this. You aren't allowed in here. He…” She frowned as, over her shoulder she asked, “What's your name?”

“Garrett,” he said, and Murphy noticed the man was looking at her oddly. Hadn't he ever seen someone talk to a cat before?

She nodded, turning her attention back to Moonshine. “Garrett's allergic to you. You got that?”

Moonshine plopped himself down on the plush blue carpet of the hallway and meowed. Loudly.

“No arguments,” she reprimanded.

The cat meowed again. Louder. After a few seconds, as though he hadn't wanted to go into the room after all, Moonshine stood, stretched, and strode lazily back toward the living room. Behind him, his thick tail swished indignantly.

Murphy shook her head and shut the bedroom door.

“Do you always do that?” a husky male voice asked.

The man—Garrett, Murphy reminded herself—had a nice voice. Deep. Rich. The timbre was low and naturally throaty enough to send a hot current of awareness down her spine. She cleared her throat. “Do what?” she asked as she turned and approached the bed. A glint of amusement shimmered in those penetrating blue eyes.

“Talk to that thing like it understands you?”

“‘It' is not a ‘thing' he's a ‘he',” Murphy corrected sharply, Depositing the four aspirin tablets into Garrett's extended hand, she reached for the cup of water she'd set aside on the nightstand earlier. “And of course he understands me. Better than most people do, if you want the truth. And speaking of the truth…?”

Garrett took the aspirin and cup of water fast, as though he was snatching any excuse to avoid her question, even if only temporarily.

Murphy McKenna was not put off so easily. She took the empty cup when he offered it and put it back on the nightstand, her gaze never leaving his. “I want answers.”

“I figured you would.”

“And I want the truth. You owe me that much.”

“I thought you said you wanted me to lie?”

“I changed my mind.” She shrugged. “Just giving my womanly prerogative some extra exercise. Well?” she prodded when he said nothing.

“Look, sweetheart, can't we talk about this later?” he said finally, weakly. “I don't feel so hot.”

He didn't look too hot either, Murphy thought but didn't say. She couldn't. The truth was, wounded and pale or not, Garrett was still handsome. Handsome enough to make her breath catch. Handsome enough to make her heart beat faster. She'd be lying if she said otherwise. Still, putting handsome aside, after a split second's hesitation, she shook her head. “I want to talk about it now.”