Cut Throat (28 page)

Her bed was warm and comfortable. The flannel sheets were soft and smelled like sunshine. Probably some deftly scented laundry rinse, but it made her think of summer and fresh air just the same.

She lay on her side and snuggled into the pillow, then pulled the covers up over her ear, leaving only her face exposed, and drifted in and out of consciousness. Every so often an unfamiliar sound would be loud enough to get her attention, but nothing prompted her to get up and explore.

She could hear the muted sound of a television playing somewhere off in another part of the house, and occasionally the hum of the central heating as it came on.

She kept picturing the photos lining the walls in the hallway outside her room, and imagined what this house must have been like when all the children were still young and living at home. It must have been loud and fun and frantic, and it would have been impossible to be lonely.

There would have been birthday parties and holiday dinners and cookouts on the Fourth of July. They would have had fireworks and pets to play with, and they would have gone to bed every night unafraid of what the morning might bring.

She scrunched her eyes a little tighter, wishing she could fall back asleep and not think about what it would be like to belong to a family like this. If only Marsha were still alive. She would have been able to tell Cat what to do. She would have injected a dose of reality into the situation and

yanked Cat out of the rut she was always in.

As she thought of Marsha, the ache in her heart tightened. She missed her so much. Then she remembered a little dark-haired baby girl looking up at her in the night, and the ache lessened. She hadn’t been able to save Marsha, but she had saved a life. Maria Elena would grow up hearing the story of how an American woman found her wrapped in a blanket in her dead mother’s arms, and of how strong she was to have survived. She wouldn’t grow up with material things, but she would grow up knowing she was loved. No amount of money could buy that kind of blessing.

Finally Cat slept again, and sometime in the late afternoon, when Wilson came into her room, he found her asleep and, without waking her, stretched out on the big bed beside her and closed his eyes.

When Cat woke up again, she found him there, sound asleep. Sixteen

Wilson was asleep on his side facing Cat. When she opened her eyes, his face was the first thing she saw. Being this close to him without his vibrant personality in any way posing an emotional threat, she felt comfortable studying the man who claimed he loved her.

The first thing she focused on were his eyebrows. They were dark and almost perfectly formed, which was so unfair to women everywhere. All those beauty shop appointments to be waxed and plucked and he’d been born with the look.

His nose had been broken at least once, and there was that scar on his cheek. She frowned, wondering why, during all the time they’d spent together, she’d never asked him how it came to be there. No wonder he’d

become disgusted with her. She’d willingly gone to bed with him numerous times but had rarely bothered to ask him a single thing about his life. It had been all about her. Always her and her problems. Looking back, she was appalled to think how terribly selfish and cold she must have appeared.

Her vision blurred, which aggravated her. Here she was tearing up again when there was no obvious reason. It was amazing how she’d existed all these years without emotional connections. She’d gone through life and work with attitude and diligence, but she’d never let anyone close except Marsha—and now Wilson, and that was entirely due to his persistence.

Her gaze slid to his mouth. God, she loved that mouth—the full, sensual cut to his lips, and that sarcastic tilt at the corner when he grinned.

His nostrils flared slightly as he breathed, and there was a faint stubble of black whiskers that she knew he would shave off the first chance he got. There were worry lines between his eyebrows that she felt responsible for, but she resisted the urge to rub them away.

She watched him until she’d looked her fill. The quiet moments had given her a sort of peace—as if she’d finally given herself permission to follow this man and see where he led. Oddly enough, the lost, unsettled feelings she’d been having seemed less pertinent. She thought about what might happen if she kissed him awake, then changed her mind and began to get out of bed. As she started to roll over, the motion woke him, and he sat up immediately.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“Need any help getting up?” “I can manage.”

Wilson rolled out of bed, then glanced at his watch. “Dad will be feeding pretty soon. I’ll get my boots on and go help, if you don’t need me then.”

“I’m good,” Cat said, as she stood up. Seconds later, she flattened her hands against her ribs and groaned. “God in heaven…I hope I never have to go through anything like this again.”

Wilson took her in his arms. “It’s not about hoping…it’s about knowing that it can’t, because I can tell you for sure, I would be the one who wouldn’t live through it the second time.”

Gently he threaded his fingers through her hair, combing the dark tangles away from her face before he kissed her.

Cat heard the soft sound of his indrawn breath just before their lips met, then the faint groan of desire that came with it.

“Catherine,” he whispered.

“What?”

He sighed, then leaned his forehead against hers. “I don’t know…just… Catherine.”

She sighed. He wanted her. That in itself was a miracle. She laid a hand against his face, then rubbed her thumb lightly against the curve of his lower lip.

“Go help your dad,” she said.

He glanced at the stitches on her cheek and frowned at the bruising around both eyes. “Be back soon,” he said, and left quickly.

Cat made her way to the bathroom. After giving herself a pep talk, she went in search of Wilson’s mother. Since she was here, she wanted it to be on congenial terms. She had a lot of experience being in places where she wasn’t wanted, and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot by being standoffish. The easiest way to find out how sincere Dorothy McKay’s welcome had been was to spend time with her when no one else was around. It was the quickest way to discover the truth.

Dorothy felt centered. It was always this way when any of her children were home. Even though they were all grown and long gone from the house in which they’d been raised, it didn’t mean she didn’t love having them back. It was as if they gave her life purpose.

A big pot roast was in the oven, and a berry cobbler was cooling on the cabinet. She’d gotten out her crocheting and pulled her favorite chair close to the living room window for the light. Working with yarn always calmed her spirit. It was all about creating something, even while sitting still.

Just outside the window, one of the barn cats was stalking a meadowlark

that had landed on the front gate. Dorothy paused, letting her hands go idle as she watched the drama play out.

As she was watching, Cat came into the room. Dorothy heard her footsteps and looked up, smiling broadly as she motioned Cat over to the window.

“Oh good…you’re here! Come see, honey. We’ve got a ringside seat to the drama.”

Cat moved as quickly as she could, then stopped beside Dorothy’s chair and looked out. Immediately, she saw the big gray tomcat crouched flat on the ground, with only the tip of his tail twitching, his big yellow eyes fixed on the bird on the gate.

Meanwhile the meadowlark continued to trill and call, as if it didn’t have a care in the world.

Catherine caught herself holding her breath, watching intently as the big tomcat began making his move. Slowly, slowly, he began to creep forward, move then pause, move then freeze, move then hunker down.

“Watch…here goes,” Dorothy said.

“How can you tell?” Cat asked. “Watch the tail,” Dorothy said.

The tip of the cat’s tail was twitching frantically now, his ears flattened. Then he leaped—just as the meadowlark took flight.

Dorothy clapped her hands together and laughed aloud.

“Old Fritz has yet to catch one of those birds, but he never quits trying. I guess I’ll go out and give him a treat to make up for the miss. Want to come with me?”

Dorothy held out her hand, waiting for Cat to clasp it. To Cat’s surprise, she did so without hesitation. Dorothy led the way, talking all the way about the lineage of the old tom Cat was about to meet, and, despite his failure with the bird, what a great mouser he was.

Cat watched Dorothy pour a handful of dry kitty treats into an old cup. “Okay, that should be enough for Mr. Fritz,” Dorothy said. “Out we go.”

Cat was all the way out the door before she realized how easy Dorothy had made this. She’d included her in the drama, shared the climax, then invited her along to meet Fritz, who was obviously another member of the family. If Cat hadn’t been so sore, she would have been enjoying herself immensely.

Dorothy glanced up at Cat as they paused at the top of the back steps.

“Is this too much for you, honey? If it is, just say so. I tend to overwhelm people without meaning to.”

“No, no, I’m fine…and you’re not overwhelming me.”

Dorothy beamed. “Good. So come on. I’ll introduce you to the main four

legged male around here.” She went down the steps, calling the cat. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Fritzie…treats. Treats.”

She rattled the treats in the cup. Seconds later, the old tomcat came bounding around the corner of the house. His tail and ears were on point. Dorothy grinned.

“Look. He doesn’t know we saw him fail, so he’s full of confidence. We should all pull ourselves together so well when we goof up.”

Cat wrapped her arms around herself against the chill as she watched Dorothy kneel down and begin feeding Fritz. She fed him one treat at a time, waiting to give him another one until he would meow a request. That went on until the treats were gone. Then Dorothy stood up, brushing the dirt and dried grass from the knees of her jeans as she pointed to the old cat.

“Watch this,” she told Cat. “Now he’ll sit down and begin giving himself a bath, as if I no longer exist.” She was smiling as she added, “Never make a cat your best friend. They’ll let you down every time.”

Cat thought of her best friend and smiled despite the lump in her throat.

“I can see that,” she said, as the cat turned his back on both of them and began to groom himself.

At that point Dorothy noticed that Cat was shivering. “Lord, what was I thinking? You don’t have enough clothes on to be out here like this. Let’s get back inside. I’ll make us some hot chocolate and warm you right up.

How does that sound?”

“Great,” Cat said, and was slightly surprised that she meant it.

Back in the kitchen, Dorothy washed her hands, then waved the hand towel at Cat as she began to dry them.

“Go on into the living room, honey. Find yourself a soft seat. I’ll bring the hot chocolate in there.”

Cat wished she were good at chitchat. Surely there was something she should be saying that would fill the uncomfortable pauses in their onesided conversation. Instead, she nodded and limped her way into the living room, where she paused for a moment, eyeing the furniture, then chose a large, overstuffed chair with a high back.

She’d barely seated herself when Dorothy came bustling into the room.

“Oh…good choice,” she said, and picked up a bright yellow crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and laid it across Cat’s lap.

Cat fingered the afghan, delighted by the color and touched by the care. “I’m not used to all this attention,” she said. “You’re going to spoil me.”

Dorothy cupped Cat’s cheek. “I spoil all my kids,” she said softly, then added, “This chair is a recliner. Want your feet up?”

Cat was still trying to wrap her mind around being included as one of the family and only managed a nod. Moments later she found herself reclining.

Dorothy patted her on the knee as she straightened the afghan. “The milk should be ready. I’ll be right back. Are you a marshmallow girl?”

Cat was still distracted by all of the attention and missed the question. “I’m sorry? What?”

Dorothy grinned. “Marshmallows…do you like them in your hot chocolate?”

Cat grinned. Marshmallows? In hot chocolate? This was too unbelievably Brady Bunch. “Oh. Yes. Actually, I do.”

“Great. Me, too,” Dorothy said, and actually waved at Cat as she left.

Cat was still wrapping her mind around Dorothy’s sweet nature, the softness of the afghan and the warmth of its weight, when she heard the back door open and someone come in. She recognized the voice, then had to deal with the jump in her pulse.

Wilson.

Her stomach twisted slightly. Was this what wanting to be with someone felt like? A little nervous, anxious to see his face?

Wilson came striding into the room, bringing the outdoors in. Like his father earlier, he smelled of cold air and the fresh scent of alfalfa hay.

“Hey, honey…are you comfortable? It’s been quite a while since you had your pain meds.”

“I’m okay,” she said.