He dug into the console one-handed and found a half-eaten chocolate bar. Who did that? Who took a bite or two and then basically tossed it away? In his house, growing up, they didn’t waste. Back then, the Pride wasn’t as rich, so families made do with what they had.
“It’s partially eaten,” he apologized, showing it to her.
Fluffy, not being picky, made it disappear, wrapper and all.
He parked a few blocks away and marked the location. Once he got to his dad’s, he’d make a few calls. Could be, instead of torching it, the Pride might choose to take the car joyriding before ditching it somewhere, muddying where it had been.
Getting out of the vehicle, Fluffy followed without being asked, more and more cognizant. He began to wonder how old she was when she got trapped. She certainly didn’t act like a child. Would someone develop normally without interaction?
She kept pace and didn’t say a word, her gaze instead tracking all around, taking note of the bungalows lining both sides of the street, what some called the post-war homes. Single-family houses erected in tidy rows, creating some of the first suburbias that now, fifty to seventy years later, had turned into a dense city as it grew.
The sidewalk bordered the front yard, a patch he’d mowed growing up with many weeds that shrank as the tree in the front yard grew. Nothing left to mow now. His dad opted for that horrid pebble shit that replaced grass for a maintenance-free space, and the tree was gone. Only a stump remained.
As they went up the short flight of stairs, Fluffy glanced toward the bay window, the blinds not fully closed. She pointed. “Is that a cat?”
A peek inside showed his Neffi—his precious baby—perched on his dad’s lap, head pushing into his hand, getting a good rub.
Zach almost slapped himself. It couldn’t be true. Except, it was. His cat cheated on him!
Rather than knock and wait for his dad to bellow, he stormed into the house. “Traitors!”
By the time Zach stalked into the living room, his dad sat in his plaid recliner alone, face set in a scowl. “Should have known it was you barging in. Never did manage to take the barn cat out of you. Where’s your manners, boy?”
“Don’t you dare play innocent. I saw you!” He jabbed a finger at his dad and then Neffi on the opposite side of the room, staring at the wall.
“Saw what?” sniped his father from his chair.
“Drop the act. I know you and my cat have been conspiring against me,” Zach accused. His cat had yet to acknowledge his arrival.
“Did you drink too many of those protein shakes? Because you’re speaking nonsense,” his father blustered.
“Don’t deny it. You like my cat.” And the most betraying part, his cat seemed to like his dad, too.
His father sliced a hand through the air. “Do not! Disgusting, mangy, filthy thing. As if. I’d prefer a dog over that feline.” His father glared. Neffi licked her ass because she cared so much.
“Lies. I am surrounded by lies,” Zach exclaimed. “I should leave you both now to each other.”
“Want me to kill him?” The soft query had him whirling to see Fluffy eyeballing his dad.
“No killing my father.”
“Your father.” She perused him. “I see where you get your face.”
Wait, what? Was that a good thing? A bad thing? He couldn’t tell.
“You brought a woman?” His dad sounded so surprised.
With reason. Zach didn’t bring girls over. Actually, he only ever visited with his cat. “This is Fluffy. The Pride wants me to keep an eye on her.”
“The Pride left this delicate little thing with a brute like you?” His father, the charmer, stood. A big man, he’d only gotten bigger after the accident left him with a bum leg. “Come in, er…did you say Fluffy?”
“Yup. Fluffs, this is my dad, Joseph Lennox.”
“Call me Joe,” his father rumbled, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi.” She stared at their locked hands. “I’m Fluffy.”
“Forgive my presumption, sweet lady, but do you mind me asking what you are? I’ve never smelled the like. You remind me of the mountains in the winter.”
An apt description. “Fluffy is a yeti.”
“Er, what?” His dad’s startled gaze bobbed between them.
“You heard me. According to Nora, she’s a Russian yeti.”
“There is no such thing,” his dad proclaimed.
“Guess again. I found her in the Russian Arctic.”
“And smuggled her home?” His dad added an incredulous note.
“We were kidnapped,” Fluffy chirped.
“By who? The tiger mob?” Dad’s eyebrows hit his hairline.
“Humans.” Fluffy just kept helping.
His father laughed. And laughed.
“Not funny,” Zach grumbled. “There’s a seriously bad group after Fluffy. Coming here probably put you in danger. We shouldn’t have come. Let’s go, Fluffs.” He turned to her, and his dad predictably blustered.
“You ain’t going anywhere.”
“I’m serious about the danger.”
“You saying I can’t handle myself?” His father squinted at him.
He knew his dad could handle himself; it’s why he’d come. “I don’t know, old man. Looks like you’ve been hitting the beer more than the gym.”
“I’ll have you know it’s solid.” His father thumped his gut.
As if on cue, Fluff’s tummy grumbled.
It drew Dad’s attention. “When was the last time this idiot fed you? Never mind. You come with me, baby girl, and we’ll get you all set up.” Joe hobbled into the kitchen, and Zach knew better than to offer to do any of the cooking. After the accident, his father took offense easily to anything he thought was someone pitying him. It made him extra determined to do everything without help.
Zach would argue more, but the man made a mean grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Basic? Not in his dad’s kitchen, given the tomato juice was fresh-pressed and then brought to a quick boil with some fragrant herbs. Sprinkled with mozzarella and served with thick slabs of bread—homemade—buttered and toasted golden with a thick chunk of hard cheddar between the slices. Joe might have retired from the cooking industry, a chef for more than forty years, but he’d not lost any of his skill.
Fluffy started out the meal by shoving a whole quarter of the sandwich into her mouth and grabbing the bowl, lifting it to her lips. Zach just took a bite from his meal and stared at her.
Then he deliberately grabbed a spoon, ate his soup, and sopped his sandwich in it. The bowl went back down, and a determined Fluffy, attempting to mimic, proceeded to make a mess. But she kept trying, while Joe gaped.
Zach ate a single serving and left the rest to her. His dad angled his head, a subtle nudge.
Zach left his stool and went to the pantry, pretending to look for something. His dad closed the door and loudly whispered, “Where did you say you found her?”
“In a cave in the Arctic. I think she’d been living there a while.”
“Doing what?”
The artifact part of his mission was secret, even from his dad. Zach shrugged. “Dunno. My job is to keep an eye on her.”