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The possibilities were too awful to contemplate.
At dinnertime, Harry knocked and called out to her. “Pizza’s here. I put two slices outside your door.”
She waited until she heard his footsteps recede on the hardwood floor. Then she opened the door a few inches, snatched the plate and went back into hiding, moaning with appreciation as she wolfed down the hot, gooey treat.
If pizza still tasted this good, maybe all was not lost.
Thursday morning all hell broke loose.
Not a note. Something far more in-your-face. Apparently, she had taxed Prescott Harrington’s ability to be empathetic and supportive.
At roughly 9:30 a.m., the bedroom door burst open, and her host stomped into the room, practically snarling. When he turned on the overhead light, she grimaced and threw an arm over her face. “Go away,” she pleaded.
Harry ignored her petulant whine. Instead, he grabbed the covers, threw them to the foot of the bed and stared at her with apparent disgust. “Enough is enough, Cate. Get the hell out of this bed.” He leaned down and took a theatric sniff. “I’m pretty sure you stink.”
“You can’t boss me around,” she said. “Besides, you’re supposed to be nice to me. I’ve been abandoned at the altar. Haven’t you heard?”
His hair was tousled as if he hadn’t had time to comb it yet. How long had he been planning this? The fire in his eyes and the slashes of color across his cheekbones said his mood was volatile.
He put his hands on his hips. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to wallow in misery, Cate. Now it’s time to show what you’re made of.”
She glared at him. “That’s bad grammar.”
“I don’t give a crap. Get up. Take a shower. Get dressed. And be in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”
“Why?” she wailed, trying to reach the quilt and failing. She felt monstrously exposed. What kind of man could be so cruel?
His glare softened. “It’s like falling off a horse, honey. You’ve got to get back out there. The world is sailing along without you.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “And what if I don’t care?”
“You’re hurt. You’re scared. But hiding out in this bedroom indefinitely isn’t an option.” His smile was oddly sweet given his recent actions. “The Cate Penland I know isn’t a coward.”
“I beg to differ,” she muttered. But she scooted to the side of the bed and stood up. She was still wearing the same high-end shirt Harry had given her Saturday night when the two of them pried her out of her wedding dress.
Harry winced when he saw the assorted stains on the fabric. “I could have given you another shirt,” he said. “You’re a mess.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” The Cate from a few days ago might have started crying again, but the moderately more composed Cate was made of sterner stuff. “I’ll have it cleaned,” she said. “Or buy you a new one.”
“I don’t care about the damn shirt,” he said, glaring at her with his arms folded over his chest. “But if you’re not in the kitchen when the eggs are ready, you won’t like what happens next.”
He turned on his heel and stomped out, leaving Cate to wander into the bathroom and gasp when she saw her reflection. The days had run together. Whenhadshe last bathed?
Because she absolutely believed Harry’s dire threat, she jumped in the shower and grabbed the shampoo. Although his timetable was strict, she couldn’t skip washing her hair. When she was done in the bathroom, she had no choice but to open her luggage. There, neatly packed, were all the beautiful outfits she had bought for her trip with Jason.
A few of her bras and matching undies still had the tags attached. On Saturday morning, she had thought she would be taking the first steps of a brand-new life. Instead, she was facing the whole phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes thing.
The process sounded difficult and painful.
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. The lump in her chest threatened to crush her spirit and steal her breath, but she thrust out her jaw and rummaged in the larger of her two suitcases to find a pair of cream linen pants and a matching ecru lace tunic.
If Harry expected her to venture back out into the world, she was going to do it in style. There was no time to dry her hair, so she combed it out and left it to brush her shoulders.
Fortunately, she made it to the kitchen with thirty seconds to spare. Harry stood at the range nursing an iron skillet of fluffy eggs. On the back of the stove a plate of biscuits kept warm. The delicious smell in the air was perfectly crisped bacon waiting to be served.
He shot her an unreadable glance over his shoulder. When he first saw her, she thought his jaw dropped, but he turned his back so quickly she couldn’t be sure. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“Nope. We can sit at the counter if that’s okay with you.”
