That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) (15 page)

“Why didn’t you say something?” His voice was harsh, impatient.

“I … I was worried. You’ve always phoned when you were going to be late.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded a second time.

“Because.” She stamped her foot, angry with herself, angry with him. “I knew you’d be mad as hell, and I was right.”

Hands rested challengingly on his hips, his eyes narrowed with a menacing look. “Don’t ever do that again. Understand?”

“Yes, your worshipfulness,” she returned in mock servitude.

Grady ran a hand over his face. He looked tired, emotionally and physically weary. “Pam used to do that,” he murmured in a tight voice.

This wasn’t the first time Grady had compared her to his first wife, and she didn’t like it any better now than she did before. “Listen, Grady,” she said forcefully, punctuating her words with an accusing finger. “I’m not Pam.”

“Then don’t act like her,” he returned calmly.

Anger simmered in the depth of her deep gray eyes. “If you were so miserable with your first wife, then why didn’t you divorce her? Why do you hurl accusations at me that have to do with her? You’re being unfair, Grady Jones.”

He reached for a cigarette from inside his shirt pocket. “I couldn’t leave her,” he said calmly. “She was sick.” He pivoted sharply and left the room.

Cathy followed him into their bedroom. “Did you walk away every time Pam and you had an argument? No wonder she packed her bags. It was a desperate attempt to get some reaction out of you.”

Grady swiveled. She had never seen a man look angrier. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening.

If there had been a wintry feeling in their bed before, that night it was an Arctic blast. Ramrod stiff, Cathy lay on her back, staring sightlessly at the dark ceiling. She couldn’t sleep, not with this terrible tension hanging between them.

It’s your own fault,
she told herself. It was a childish prank to hang up the phone without speaking.
But it’s his fault, too,
she continued to reason. He could have phoned. Why not tonight when he had in the past? Not that it mattered who or what had caused the argument. Grady would never apologize.

“Grady,” she asked quietly, “are you asleep?” She knew he wasn’t.

“No.” Even his whisper sounded gruff and impatient, as if he didn’t want to have anything to do with her.

She held her breath, reaching down inside herself. Apologizing wasn’t going to be easy. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she began. “I’ll never phone you like that again.”

He was silent for so long Cathy wondered if he had heard her. “Grady?” she repeated his name.

“I heard.” He scooted across the short distance and pulled her into his arms, holding her the same way he had that morning.

Her dark hair fanned out across his shoulder. Was Grady Jones capable of admitting he was in the wrong? Pride, determination, arrogance were so much a part of this man that she wondered if anything or anyone was capable of bringing him to his knees. “Why didn’t you phone and let me know you were going to be late?” she questioned weakly.

“I thought Ray had,” came his response, in a low voice. He paused before adding, “I shouldn’t have compared you to Pam.”

It was the closest she was going to get to an apology, as minute as it was, and Cathy couldn’t help feeling encouraged. “There’s something you should know about Pam.” Grady breathed in deeply, and the sound seemed to echo around the bedroom. “Pam was mentally ill. I did everything I could to help her, but she didn’t want help. She hated me; she hated Angela. In the end, she hated herself. Angela was less than two when Pam committed suicide.”

Cathy was speechless. From all the bits and pieces of information Grady had given her, she should have guessed that the desperate ploys for attention Pam had used pointed to a deeper problem.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her hand caressed his jaw and felt the muscles work
convulsively beneath her fingers. Slowly she lowered her lashes, knowing what it had cost him to tell her about Angela’s mother.

Fiercely, his arms closed around her, holding her so close that for a moment she was afraid he might crush her. His breathing was labored, as if revealing this part of himself and his first marriage had physically drained him.

Her heart cried out to this man who was her husband. The guilt he must have endured, the helplessness, the frustration. Tenderly, she weaved her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her breast. A longing rose within her to assure him, to console him, but Grady didn’t need the words. He needed her.

An exploring hand sought her breast, and the warmth of his fingers seemed to burn through the thin nylon gown. She didn’t resist when he shifted positions and removed the offending material, slipping it over her head. His mouth rocked over hers as he gently laid her back against the mattress.

Long fingernails dug into the muscled strength of his bare back as his mouth sought the places he knew would excite her beyond reason.

When she was weak with her need for him, Grady paused and lifted his face. “Don’t fight me tonight,” he muttered thickly. “I need you.”

How could she give him more than she was already? He wasn’t referring to a physical struggle but a mental one. He wanted all of her, her heart as well as her soul. So much more than what she could offer him. Her arms curved around him as a bitter sob erupted from her throat.

Grady paused, and Cathy felt the regret run through his body. Gently he gathered her in his arms and kissed away a tear that had slipped through her lashes. A rough, callused hand caressed her cheek. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I understand.”

In a crazy way, she was sure he did.

* * *

“I’ll be back before eight,” Cathy explained, and leaned down to kiss Grady on the cheek. The gaily wrapped gift was clenched in one hand.

“Mite stingy, aren’t you?” he said, with a stern look, before tossing the newspaper to the carpet. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap.

Angela giggled with delight. “Are you going to kiss her, Daddy?”

“You bet your boots I am,” he told his daughter, and proceeded to do just that. The kiss was cajoling, a sensuous attack that spoke more of passion than farewell. Her senses reeling, Cathy made a weak effort to fight him off. He had been like this since the night of their first argument. The night he had told her about Pam. They hadn’t made love since, but he was more loving than she had dreamed possible. Making excuses to touch her, bringing her small gifts, almost as if he were courting her.

“Grady,” she whispered, struggling to maintain an even breath, “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”

He chuckled and helped her up, escorting her to the back door. “Drive carefully.”

“I will.” The shower was for Linda Ericson. The adoption had gone through, and Dan and Linda were going to pick up six-year-old Katy that weekend. Cathy, with the other teachers from school, had decided to throw a surprise shower for her.

“I want a kiss good-bye, too,” Angela insisted, running into the kitchen.

“Honestly.” Cathy feigned her dismay. “You’d think I was going to be gone a year instead of a few hours. What about you, Peterkins, do you want me to kiss you good-bye, too?”

The spaniel barked, and she stooped to rub his floppy, black ears.

* * *

When Cathy returned two hours later, she sensed almost immediately that something was wrong. Even before she walked in the back door, a strange, eerie feeling came over her. She paused just inside the back porch as a chill raced down her spine.

Soft sobs could be heard coming from the living room. Grady was holding his daughter on his lap, gently rocking her, comforting her. He didn’t seem to know Cathy was home. Setting her purse on the table, she walked into the room.

“What’s wrong?”

Angela took one look at Cathy and burst into giant sobs. “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, her young shoulders shaking pitifully.

Puzzled, Cathy knelt on the carpet in front of the pair. Even Grady looked unnaturally pale. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing you could have done to make you cry like this. Now tell me
what’s made you so sad,” she whispered reassuringly, and gently soothed the hair from the child’s forehead.

Angela buried her face in her father’s shoulder.

Grady’s eyes burned into hers. “Peterkins is dead,” he said without preamble.

Shock rippled over her. Cathy felt as if the world had suddenly come to a screeching halt. Her eyes pleaded with Grady to tell her it wasn’t true.

“What happened?” Somehow the words made it through the expanding lump of disbelief and pain that filled her throat. She knew she’d gone deathly pale.

“Peterkins wanted to go outside, and Angela let him out the back door. When he didn’t immediately want to come back in, she forgot about him for a minute or two. When she checked, he was lying at the back door, bleeding. He’d been attacked by an animal; he bled to death before I got to the vet. Dr. McFeeney said it was probably a wild dog. The artery in his leg was severed.”

As Grady recounted the details, Cathy had the feeling that this wasn’t happening. It was a dream, it couldn’t be real. She nodded, not knowing how she could be so calm. “Angela,” she whispered soothingly, “it’s not your fault. Any one of us could have let him out.”

Gentle cries racked the small shoulders as Angela climbed out of Grady’s lap and placed her arms around Cathy’s neck.

Tears blurred her eyes as Cathy wrapped the child in her embrace.

An hour passed before Angela had cried herself into a state of exhaustion. She fell asleep in Cathy’s arms. Grady carried her into her bedroom and paused until Cathy pulled back the bed covers. She lingered in the room, stroking the hair from Angela’s face until she was confident the little girl would sleep.

Grady was waiting for her in the living room and handed her a glass. “Drink this,” he instructed.

Without question, she did as he asked. The liquid burned all the way down her throat, but immediately a warmth began to seep into her bones.

“I did everything I could.” Apparently, Grady felt the need to assure her he wouldn’t have wished any harm on the dog.

“I know.” Deliberately, she took another sip from the glass. “Where is he?”

“Cathy.” Grady’s voice was gentle.

“I want to see him one last time, please, Grady.”

He stood and came to kneel beside her, taking both her hands in his. “You can’t. The vet has disposed of the body.”

She nodded, lowering her lashes. It was too late; she would never see her little spaniel again.

* * *

Grady held her for a long time that night. He fell asleep with her pressed close to his side. For several hours, Cathy lay listening to the rhythmic flow of his breathing while happy scenes with Peterkins continued to play in her mind. When the tears came, they slipped from the corners of her eyes and onto the pillow. Not wishing to wake Grady, she carefully scooted out of the bed, put on her housecoat and slippers, and wandered into the living room. The hurt flowed freely once she was alone.

Knees drawn up beneath her chin, she gently rocked back and forth. Steve had given her Peterkins. Now there was nothing of him or their relationship in her life. Everything was gone. Peterkins was the only good thing Steve had ever given her. Everything he’d done had been a source of pain. Perhaps she should feel a sense of freedom. But she didn’t, only an aching emptiness for the dog she would never see again. She felt nothing for Steve. Had felt nothing for him in a long time.

Cathy stopped the rocking motion, shocked at her thoughts. She felt nothing for Steve. She didn’t love him, she realized that now. The day his letter had arrived, she had known. It hadn’t been the shock of him wanting her badly enough to destroy her sister; it hadn’t been the letter. That day was when she realized she couldn’t possibly love a man like Steve. Her reaction to Grady’s proposal wasn’t out of fear that she would go to Steve. It was in response to the knowledge of exactly what kind of man she had once loved so deeply.

What was the real reason she had married Grady? Had she loved him? As soon as she asked the question, Cathy recognized the truth. It had happened so gradually she’d been unaware of her true feelings.

Silvery moonlight filled the room as fresh tears made wet tracks down her cheeks. Cathy heard Grady’s movements behind her before she saw him. She yearned for the comfort of his
embrace; she wanted to tell him the truth she had discovered. But the words wouldn’t come, not now, in her grief.

As if he understood her need for gentleness, Grady sat on the sofa beside her. Tenderly, he gathered her in his arms, brushing the damp curls off her cheek and kissing away each tear. Linking her hands behind his neck, she lifted her soft, moist lips to Grady. With an eagerness she would have been unable to explain, she willingly met each kiss with an abandon he had never known from her. She felt the surprise wash over Grady.

He paused, taking in a ragged breath, his eyes studying her. He stood, lifting her effortlessly. She looped her arms around his neck and released a long sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder.

He laid her on the mattress of their bed and leaned forward to cover her parted lips with his mouth. Again and again his mouth sought hers until the world was reeling with her need. Her lips parted in protest when he broke the contact. He groaned his own dissatisfaction and caressed her face with his shaven cheek. Brushing her ear with his lips, he questioned, “Cathy, are you sure?”

She nodded eagerly, her mouth finding the thick column of his throat, as her fingers pressed him close.

* * *

Cathy woke before dawn. The room was filled with golden streaks from the shifting moon. A sadness seemed to be pressing against her heart, and she remembered the loss of her dog. She turned to Grady, gliding her hand over his chest and laying her head on his shoulder. Their lovemaking the night before had been gentle and sweet. The memory of his tenderness was enough to bring a tear to her eye. How blind she had been, how stupid, not to realize how deeply she loved this man. Pressed close, their legs entwined, Cathy fell back to sleep.