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“Good. You can save it to pay for our kids to go to college.”
This time it was Cat who drew back to look at him, more amused than annoyed by his attitude. “For your information, Logan, I happen to have more than enough money in my trust fund to do just that. There is absolutely no reason not to use the income from it to buy some of the things we need.”
“And there is absolutely no reason you can’t wait a couple months until we can afford it.” His tone of voice was just a little too firm for her liking.
“Let me see if I have this straight.” Falsely calm, she sat upright. “It’s all right for me to buy something as long as it’s with your money.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.” Eluding the hands that tried to hold her, Cat swung off his lap and moved away.
“There is nothing wrong with that rocker, Cat. It’s solid and well-built.” He stood up.
She wheeled to face him. “It’s ugly.”
“Then throw a damned blanket over it.”
“Now, wouldn’t that look lovely.”
Reining in his anger, Logan strove for patience. “Cat, I don’t want to get into a fight over this.”
“That’s too bad, because it’s exactly what we’re going to do.” She folded her arms high and tight across her breasts.
“Damn it, I didn’t marry you for your money.”
“Well, you’ve got it. In case it hasn’t sunk in yet, when you married Cat Calder, you didn’t get just me—you got my family, my friends, and my money. You can’t take what you want and throw the rest away.”
“I’m not throwing it away.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You want me, but you don’t want anything to do with my money. Therefore, you don’t want me to have anything to do with it, either. Don’t you know how archaic that sounds?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” he said tightly.
Cat widened her eyes. “Oh? What would you call it? A little too much pride, maybe?”
“Look who’s talking about pride,” Logan countered as the sharp jangle of the telephone cut across his words. “I’ll get that,” he muttered, spinning on his heel and striding into the house.
In less than three minutes, he was back, his hat pushed squarely on his head and car keys in his hand. “There’s a grass fire ten miles south of Blue Moon. The wind’s whipping it straight toward town. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
The news pushed aside their unresolved argument. “A fire. Logan, I—” She took a step toward him.
He turned, catching her by the arms. “Buy the damned chair. Buy fifty chairs if that’s what you want.”
“You’re too late. I’ve already decided to look at samples of upholstery fabric, maybe try my hand at refinishing the wooden arms on the platform chair. There really isn’t anything wrong with the way it’s constructed.”
“It’s just ugly.” His smile was quick and warm.
“Very ugly. But I am buying the fabric to recover it—maybe even a coffee table,” Cat warned.
“I can live with that,” he told her. “But I’m not sure I could live without you.” He kissed her once, lightly, thought about kissing her again, but it was difficult enough stopping with one. He ran down the steps to the patrol car.
Cat watched until the headlights stabbed into the darkness of the ranch lane. Looking to the southeast, she noticed a black smudge staining the starred sky, possibly smoke from the fire. But the ranch was too far away for any glow from the flames to be seen. It seemed an odd time of year to have a prairie fire. The spring rains had been scarce, but Cat hadn’t realized conditions had gotten that dry.
With a slightly confused sigh, she went back inside the house and turned a critical eye on the platform rocker, trying to visualize it covered in different colors and patterns. For a few moments, she toyed wickedly with the idea of lacquering the wooden arm a vivid scarlet and upholstering the rest of it in royal purple, with hot orange accents. Logan might not like it so well then.
