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Did he bother her?What kind of question was that? Her breath caught in her throat. She sensed danger in the air, though she couldn’t say why. “I don’t care either way,” she said, lying to his face. “But I’m not your responsibility. I’m a competent, capable, fully grown woman.”
Harry’s gaze dropped for a split second to her breasts and then returned to her face. He took a step closer. “Competent adults don’t climb rickety trellises in the middle of the night,” he said. The words came at her like tiny bullets, puncturing her self-esteem.
She took a step closer, too. “It’s not rickety,” she yelled. “My grandpa is a very good carpenter.”
Suddenly, she and Harry were in touching distance again. Some part of her marveled at how long his eyelashes were. In one split second of self-awareness, she realized with horrified insight that she either wanted to punch him or kiss him. What kind of monster was she?
Was he staring at her mouth? Was that yearning she saw on his face? Maybe she really had hit her head on the way up. That was the only explanation for this insanity.
“Harry,” she whispered.
“Cate.” The single word was gravelly. It sent a frisson ofsomethingdown her spine.
The hour was late. There had been a lot of adrenaline and feelings flying around. No way in hell was she going to do something stupid so soon after her aborted wedding. Harry would use her flightiness to mock her or point out that she was akidwho didn’t know her own mind.
Part of her wanted to stay and see what happened. Wanted it rather desperately, in fact. But it was the very depth of her fascination with Harry’s tense, volatile posture that convinced her to take a step back. And another.
“Good night,” she said. And she fled.
Ten
She was going to have to buy Grammy a new set of sheets.
When Cate woke up and saw all the little traces of blood on the bed linens, she felt like one of the walking dead. Even worse was the way her arm muscles screamed at her when she tried to use them.
Last night she had showered and changed into a soft T-shirt and a clean pair of undies. Then she had taken a couple of ibuprofen and crawled into bed. Falling asleep hadn’t been a problem. But she had tossed and turned during the night. Her dreams were bizarre.
Because her bedroom faced east and she hadn’t closed the drapes, the morning sun woke her far too early. She pulled the pillow over her head and tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use—especially with the smell of coffee permeating the house.
She might not be a coffee drinker, but she loved the way it smelled.
Once she was up and dressed in jeans and a cute top, she grabbed her phone and did a search for local masseuses. There were two. Maybe she could grab an early appointment.
She got lucky on her second try.
Last night still felt weird, so she wasn’t eager to run into Harry. She waited until she heard his footsteps coming to the second floor and his bedroom door opening and closing.
Then she sneaked down the staircase, avoiding all the creaky spots, and left the house. She didn’t need Harry’s car. It was a gorgeous day for a walk, and not nearly as hot as it would be later in the afternoon.
Once she reached the town square, she felt guilty, so she sent him a text.Running errands. Be back after lunch.That was vague enough. It said loud and clear that she was out and about doing her own thing.
No need to be rude. But she also wanted to send the message that he needed to back off and let her take care of herself. He’d brought all his fancy work-computer stuff. The aggravating man had plenty to keep him busy, even if itwasthe weekend.
Her masseuse turned out to be a gentle giant who was a shade older than Harry. Cate had seen male therapists before, so it didn’t bother her. “I’ll do Swedish today, not deep tissue,” she said.
He chuckled as he hit Play on a boom box and introduced the sounds of a mountain stream mixed with wind chimes. “Too much ambition at the gym?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
When he saw the scratches on her arms and legs, he raised an eyebrow. “Cats?”
“Nope. Rosebushes.”
It didn’t take long for the familiar routines of the massage to relax her bodyandher psyche. She let her brain idle, choosing instead to listen to the music and feel her muscles unkink a bit at a time. By the time it was over an hour later, she felt like a new woman.
Since she had skipped breakfast, her stomach was growling by eleven. She wandered the streets, getting acquainted with newer businesses. A familiar mom-and-pop lunch place caught her eye. Locals were already starting to pour in, always a good sign.
She opened the door, waited to be seated in a scarred wooden booth and perused the menu. The restaurant was named for its signature dessert, the peach crumble.
