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time. Instant guilt.
    Well, guilt on her part anyway.
    She’d distanced herself from him years ago because of the way he treated her, and he’d distanced himself from her because of the distancing. Cassie was betting, though, that her father felt no guilt whatsoever about that, what with his my-way-or-the-highway approach to life.
    It was the first time she’d seen him in nearly ten years, and her immediate thought—once she got past the question as to why he was there—was that he looked so old. He was still dyeing his hair the color of crude oil, still wearing clothes straight out of the sixties, but there were a lot more wrinkles on his face than there had been during their last meeting.
    Her father eased himself to his feet. “Cassie,” he greeted.
    â€œDad,” Cassie greeted back with the same caution of those two theoretical burglars.
    Lucky volleyed some glances between them. “Does your dad have anything to do with this shit ?”
    â€œDo you?” Cassie asked her father.
    â€œYou’ll have to be more specific,” he snarled. “I deal with lots of different kinds of shit.”
    Bernie stood then, tugging off his glasses and dropping them onto the desk. He was about the same age as her father, but it was night and day in the apparel arena. Bernie was wearing conservative clothes similar to hers. Actually, the jacket was identical to hers.
    Something that made her frown.
    â€œMason-Dixon doesn’t have anything to do with the letter Dixie Mae left the two of you,” Bernie clarified.
    â€œThe old bat left you a letter, too?” But her father didn’t wait for them to confirm it. “She left me six fucking cats. Six! She arranged to have her driver drop them off at the club this morning. Them, and their litter boxes, which hadn’t been cleaned in days. They’re going to the pound as soon as I leave here.”
    â€œNo,” Cassie practically shouted, and it got everyone’s attention. “Grandmother loved those cats.”
    Her father’s fisted hands went on his boney hips. “Then why the hell did she leave them to me?”
    Yet another of those questions that Cassie couldn’t answer. Maybe Dixie Mae had indeed gone insane.
    â€œI’ll take the cats,” Cassie volunteered. “Just give me a couple of days. I’ve got my own problems to work out.” A laundry list of them, and that list just kept growing.
    Her father looked at her. Then at Lucky. “Did you knock up Cassie or something?” he asked Lucky.
    While Lucky was howling out a loud “no,” Cassie fanned her hands toward her clothes. Then toward Lucky’s. “Does it look as if we could be lovers?” she asked.
    Her father did more glancing and shook his head. “Guess not.”
    It was yet something else that made her frown. Maybe she needed to start shopping at a different store.
    â€œSo, you’ll take the cats?” her father clarified.
    Cassie nodded but didn’t have a blasted clue how she was going to make that happen. Her condo in LA didn’t allow pets. Still, the shelter here in Spring Hill probably wasn’t no-kill, and she couldn’t risk her grandmother’s precious cats being put down—even if it had been a lamebrain idea for Dixie Mae to leave her pets to a man who’d been on her bad side since she’d given birth to him.
    Her father moved closer and gave her the look . The one he’d been giving her since she was a kid. “Just know that I expect something other than cats from Dixie Mae’s estate. Whatever she had, I get half.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure you won’t,” Lucky spoke up. “Dixie Mae didn’t like you, and she always told me that she had no intention of giving you any money. She wanted her money to go to Cassie.”
    â€œCassie will share,” her father insisted. The look intensified, and suddenly she was six years old