That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) (11 page)

Acting out of habit, she leaned down and ruffled his long black ears. Straightening, she blindly hung her coat in the bedroom and slipped off her shoes, replacing them with fuzzy slippers.

The letter seemed to radiate heat, drawing her back into the kitchen. Like a moth drawn irresistibly to a flame, she was attracted to the letter. Ten months had passed since their argument, seven since the wedding. What did he want now? Now, when she was just beginning to build a new life for herself. Now, when she was beginning to feel again.

The phone rang, jolting her into reality. Her attention swiveled to the kitchen wall, and she mentally shook herself before lifting the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Cathy, is that you? This is MaryAnne.”

“MaryAnne,” she repeated, stunned. “Is everything all right?”

Her sister’s laugh echoed over a line that linked several thousand miles. “Everything’s wonderful. I’ve got some fantastic news,” she said, and took a deep breath. “News so good, I couldn’t wait for a letter. Mom and I decided to phone. Guess what. No”—she laughed again—“don’t guess. You’re going to be an aunt. Steve and I are going to have a baby.”

“A baby.” All these months Cathy had dreaded the thought that her sister would become pregnant. Steve and her sister’s child. The pain was suddenly so sharp she could barely breathe.

“I haven’t even told Steve yet. Mom went to the doctor with me this morning, and we decided to phone you. I’m at Mom’s now.”

“Congratulations.” Somehow the word made it past the huge lump forming in her throat.

A short silence followed. “Are you all right, Sis? You don’t sound right.”

“I have a cold,” she lied. “A rotten cold. Let me talk to Mom.”

By some miracle she made it through the remainder of the conversation. Her mother was ecstatic with the news of her first grandchild, but her voice carried a note of warning. If Cathy hadn’t been so upset, she might have been able to decipher the silent message.

Frozen by the impact of the phone call, Cathy stood for several minutes, unable to turn around and face the letter waiting for her on the table.

Peterkins jumped into her lap when she sat at the table. Long minutes passed before she lifted the letter and gently tore open the envelope.

At the salutation, Cathy squeezed her eyes shut. The letter began, “My Darling.”

A huge sob broke from her, heaving her shoulders. How could she be
his
darling when he was married to her sister? Cathy forced herself to continue reading. Ten months, almost a year. It had taken him that long to admit he had been wrong. He admitted he married MaryAnne out of spite. Like Cathy, he had been caught in the whirlpool, unable to free himself. A thousand times before the wedding he had thought she would put a stop to everything. When she didn’t, he believed she must not truly love him. Now he knew differently. She had to love him, because he loved her so desperately.

Cathy could barely see to read further. Tears were blurring her vision, streaming down her face, as sobs racked her shoulders.

It wasn’t too late, he said. He couldn’t continue to live with MaryAnne when he loved Cathy. If she wouldn’t come to him, he would fly to Alaska and get her. Somehow he’d make things right with MaryAnne.

A bitter anger built deep within her. How could she possibly feel anything but contempt for a man like Steve? Had she loved him so long she didn’t know what it was not to care about him?

She took the letter, crumpled it in a tight ball, and hurled it across the room. The force of the action seemed to drain her of energy, and she slumped forward and buried her face in her hands. She cried until there were no more tears. She should hate Steve, he was contemptible. Yet without question, she realized she didn’t.

The phone rang a second time, and Cathy blew her nose before answering.

“Hello.”

“It’s Grady.” He sounded stiff, almost formal. “I take it you’ve made a decision.”

“Yes.” The one word trembled from parted lips. “I’ve decided to accept your proposal.”

What had she done? Cathy stared at the phone in a dreamlike trance. This couldn’t be happening to her. This horrible, stomach-wrenching knot was the same feeling she’d experienced during Steve and MaryAnne’s wedding. Now she had agreed to marry Grady. A man already married to his company. A man who openly admitted he didn’t love her but needed a mother for his child.

The choice had been made for her. No matter what Steve had done, she couldn’t stop loving him. If he were to come to Alaska as he claimed, she wouldn’t be able to resist him. Not when her whole being was crying out to be his.

She closed her eyes to block the pain as the tears ran hot and scalding down a face that was ashen. The enormity of her decision was only beginning to hit her. With a sense of urgency, she took a long bath, scrubbing her skin with unnecessary harshness, as if to remove every trace of Steve from her life.

Later she took Steve’s letter and placed it in the fireplace, setting it aflame with a match, desperately hoping the action would forever burn him from her life.

Grady came to her house late that night. He had showered, shaved, and changed clothes. From beneath his heavy overcoat he produced a bottle of champagne.

Cathy greeted him with a weak smile; her mouth trembled with the effort. If Grady noticed the puffy, red eyes or the deathlike expression, he said nothing.

“First things first.” He set the bottle aside, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her soundly.

Cathy felt like a rag doll with no will, with no desire to accept or refuse Grady’s advance. Her arms hung lifelessly at her sides.

When Peterkins growled and nipped at Grady’s pant leg, Cathy felt Grady pull away and bury his face in her neck. Simultaneously, he brushed off the dog.

Raising his face, Grady drew in a ragged breath. Cathy could feel his lips move against the top of her head as he issued a half-smothered oath. “We’re going to have to do something with this mutt. Sooner or later he’s going to have to accept that I’m going to touch you, and as often as I like.”

Cathy nodded and broke the embrace. A hand on the spaniel’s collar, she placed him in her bedroom and closed the door.

“I’m not sure that was the wisest place to put him,” Grady said with a chuckle. “Now, if you want to make yourself useful, bring out two glasses. I’ll light a fire and we can enjoy the champagne in here.”

Cathy hesitated. She could see no reason to celebrate, not when her life, her hope of ever finding happiness, was forever gone. The corners of her mouth drooped as she struggled within herself. Grady deserved better. At least he had been honest with her. Entering the kitchen, she took down two goblets and brought them in to Grady.

Forcing herself to smile, she settled beside him on the carpet. Peterkins was scratching against the bedroom door, wanting out, but Cathy ignored his repeated pleas.

With their backs supported by the sofa, knees raised, Grady opened the champagne. The plastic top made an exploding noise as the foaming liquid escaped from the spout of the long green bottle. Laughing, Grady poured the sparkling drink into the glasses, handing Cathy the first glass.

The laughter drained from his eyes as his look met hers. He held up his glass to propose a toast. “To many happy years.” His voice was low and serious.

Cathy touched her glass to his. “To many years.” Purposely, she deleted one word. How could she ever be happy again?

Together they took the first sip. The liquid felt cool and soothing against a parched, raw throat, and Cathy eagerly returned the glass to her lips.

Grady removed the champagne from her hand, setting it aside. An instant later his mouth covered hers. Cathy was better able to respond, placing both hands against his chest. Grady’s heartbeat felt strong and loud against her palms.

The moment was broken when the fire crackled. She jerked at the unexpected interruption. His hands tangled in her hair, pressing her face into his sweater. The warmth, the comfort of his embrace was so potent that she slowly lowered her thick eyelashes. Grady would never replace Steve, but he was gentle. She could count on him being tender. Never had there been a time when she needed it more.

After a second glass of champagne, Cathy’s smile was less stiff, her response more relaxed. Grady’s kisses were sweet and tender, but he seemed to be restraining himself from
deepening his desire.

“Shall we set the date?” he asked her, his arm cocked beneath his head as he stretched out on the carpet.

“Any time you say.” She took another large gulp of her drink, needing the fortification.

“Thanksgiving weekend?”

So soon!
her mind screamed in alarm. “Sure.” She threw her head back, ruffling the mass of long brown curls. “Why not?” Immediately, her mind tossed out several logical reasons why not. Cathy chose to ignore them.

Grady looked pleased. “The wedding will have to be small. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” She preferred a minimal amount of fuss. “Linda Ericson can be my witness, and Angela the flower girl.”

Grady shifted his position, sitting upright. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to take the time for a honeymoon.” His eyes seemed to bore into hers.

“I have to go back to school on Monday, anyway.” Shrugging her shoulders, she looked away.
Get used to it now,
she told herself. Every important family function, Christmas, Angela’s birthday, their anniversary, would all come second behind Alaska Cargo. In the long run, it might even work out better that way.

They emptied the bottle, and Cathy suddenly giggled. “Did I tell you the good news?” Not waiting for his answer, she let the words rush out on a hiccupping sob. “I’m going to be an aunt. My sister … my little sister is going to have a baby.” The whole living room began to sway, and she reached out to brace herself.

Kissing the tip of her nose, Grady placed a hand on each of her soft shoulders. “You’re drunk, Cathy Thompson.”

“I’m not, either,” she denied hotly. “But I will be soon.”

* * *

Her head was throbbing when she woke the next morning. Sitting up, she glanced around and pressed massaging fingers to her temples. The events of the past night were cloudy and unclear.

School. She was supposed to be at school. In an attempt to untangle herself from the sheet and blankets, her head pounded all the harder. Finally, she gave up the effort and fell back
against the pillows.

What had happened last night? She couldn’t remember undressing. When had Grady left? Dear Lord, he hadn’t spent the night, had he? Fearfully, she bolted up again; her eyes flew around her, searching for evidence. Thank goodness, no.

Without making excuses, she phoned the school and reported that she wouldn’t be coming in. Later, Linda called to check on her and see if there was anything she could do. Cathy assured her there was nothing. There was nothing anyone could do anymore. Her fate had been cast.

Aspirin dulled the throbbing pain in her head, yet she remained in her housecoat, sitting with Peterkins on her lap in a cold living room. There were no paths her thoughts could travel that hadn’t been maneuvered before. She felt numb, lifeless.

The doorbell chimed before noon.

“Who is it?” she asked, surprised at how weak her voice sounded. She didn’t open the door.

“Grady,” the male voice boomed, and Cathy pressed her fingers to her temples at the rush of pain.

“Let me in.”

Releasing a long sigh, Cathy turned the lock and pulled open the door.

“You okay?” His brow was furrowed with concern as he moved into the house. He was dressed in his work clothes. “You look terrible. I called the school and they said you phoned in sick today. I knew I shouldn’t have left you last night.”

“I’m fine.” She ran long fingers through limp, uncombed hair.

“Am I supposed to ignore the large birds circling your house?” he demanded.

Cathy winced at the sound of his raised voice. “The what?”

Impatiently, Grady shook his head. “Never mind. You should be in bed.” A rough, male hand cupped her elbow, directing her none too gently toward the bedroom.

“Grady,” she hissed. “Let go of me. I’m fine. No thanks to you. I’ve got a hangover, that’s all.” Placing the blame on him sounded so logical at that moment.

For a second he looked stunned. “My fault! You’re the one who emptied her glass and mine and then insisted we open another bottle. I knew this was going to happen. I should have put an end to it long before I did.”

Embarrassed, she looked away. “And … and just how did it end?”

Grady’s laugh was filled with indulgent amusement as he brought her into his embrace. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she struggled for release. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re very beautiful, especially with your clothes off.”

Immediately her cheeks flamed crimson. “You’re no gentleman, Grady Jones.”

“I’m more of a gentleman than you realize,” he said and laughed. “Now get dressed. If you aren’t feeling all that bad, let’s go get the blood tests taken care of.”

* * *

“How can you act so calm?” Linda questioned.

Cathy looked across the dining room table, complete with Thanksgiving turkey and all the trimmings. “What do you mean?” she answered with a question.

Linda pushed herself away from the table. “The wedding’s in two days, your mother’s flying in tomorrow night, and you’re as cool as a cucumber.”

“It’ll probably hit her all at once,” Grady said, briefly flickering a look to Linda.

“More than likely at the altar,” Cathy added, noting not for the first time the way Linda was watching her.

The subject came up again while they were doing the dishes. “I may be an old married lady,” Linda began, “but it seems you and Grady are both acting extraordinarily calm. You both appear to look upon this wedding more like a dinner party than a lifetime commitment.”

“Oh, honestly, Linda,” she said, and rubbed the pan she was drying with more energy than needed. “Both of us are beyond the age when we stare breathlessly into each other’s eyes and sigh with deep longing.” She placed a hand over her heart and breathed in a giant mocking breath.