Sitting up slowly, Catherine tested her equilibrium. She was definitely still woozy and her head hurt like a bitch. She wondered if the last hypercharged aspirin Fynn had fed her had worn off, or if this was just the best her head was going to get. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor; then slowly added her weight to them until she was fully standing.
Not entirely awful.
There was a scratch at the door. Maybe Fynn had left to get some breakfast and his hands were too full to turn the knob. Considering her sorry state, she did her best impersonation of bounding toward the door which meant more of a head-holding shuffle. She felt a smile on her face and excitement quickening inside her, and not just for the fact that she was starving. She opened the door, expecting those blues eyes and that messy hair to greet her. Instead she saw clear to the lake. Then she felt a cold wet nose against her knee, which made her look down and take in her breasts, bared to the world outside.
“Why the hell am I half naked?” she asked out loud, covering herself with her arm. At least she had underwear on—another pair of Tara’s, this one emblazoned with “Was It Good for You?” across the front.
Then that cold nose against her knee again, reminding her that she had company. She looked into the gentle brown eyes of her buddy, Magnus. “Hey boy. What are you doing here?” She rubbed his head lovingly. “Where’s your friend Fynn?” she asked him, hoping he had answers.
He lolled his head and wagged his tail but would not divulge that privileged information.
A quick look at the scenery told her that her stupid car was still there but Georgia’s rental was gone. Did he take it? She scratched her head, accidentally raking across the lump that might actually be the half-formed twin she had absorbed in the womb; it certainly throbbed like it had its own heart.
She backed in the door and Magnus followed without coaxing.
“Where is everybody?” she asked the dog who wouldn’t give up his sources.
She looked around the room for clues and found the bra she’d been wearing last night hanging on the lamp shade. It was such a cliché that a small chuckle rumbled up and escaped her mouth before her brain could remind her that something had to have happened in the many hours since she had first found herself—fully clothed—in bed, with Fynn nursing her head wound. Did I do a strip tease? Did we—” She couldn’t even finish the thought. Not that she hadn’t actually thought about doing it. But she’d been so dazed. A patient in his care. Nobody should take advantage of a situation like last night. Not even someone so delectably hot and—she remembered the spearmint and the sandalwood and felt a flush in her system.
Calm down Catherine, she warned herself. Get a grip. You’ll figure this out. If something went on, seriously, would it really matter? He practically lives on the other side of the planet. You’ll never run into him again in a million years. But somehow that failed to soothe her. That was part of the problem.
Magnus was dutifully watching her, waiting for her next move, ready and willing to go along with it whatever it was.
First of all, she needed to get dressed. She put the bra back on and then searched the room for more clothes, stumbling over her phone in the process. Picking it up off the floor, she flipped it open only to find that no one had been concerned enough to call and check in on her during the night.
She dialed Georgia. The call went straight to voice mail and she gave digital Georgia hell. “Where the fuck are you guys? I’m all alone here! Why did you leave me here with Fynn all night?” she demanded, certain to avoid adding, I can’t be trusted! This way if she found out that something had happened last night she could blame them for her indiscretions even though she was growing quite certain that she would have consented to just about anything.
She didn’t bother calling Tara because she found her phone underneath the empty box from the cupcakes. They were living like pigs.
Catherine’s eyes honed in on her trusty old blouse. The one she turned to every time she ran out of anything else to wear. It had brought her so much luck and happiness over the days; maybe she should just throw it out before she left this place. She dug through Georgia’s stuff, uninterested in more super tight and clingy duds from Tara’s collection. She found a plain, pale-pink T-shirt, but the royal blue bra showed through the fabric. She dug deeper to unearth a lightweight navy V-neck sweater that would look good with the jeans she’d worn on Monday. Checking herself in the bathroom mirror, she decided that her makeup from last night was good enough to get her through for now.
“So, pal, what should we eat for breakfast?” she asked Magnus when she came back in the room. “I’ve got some Pop-Tarts.” She picked up the box and looked inside. One package left. “Looks like there’s one for you and one for me. Hope you like cherry.”
She pulled out one of the pink frosted pastries and handed it right into his mouth. Within seconds it was gone, practically swallowed whole; she ate her own significantly slower. She wiped the crumbs off her hands and onto her jeans since she’d run out of freebie fast-food napkins. Then she grabbed her purse, thankful to find the keys to the car inside. She dropped her phone inside too and told Magnus to come. She didn’t have to tell him twice; he shot out the door and stood by the car.
“You’re a smart one,” she said, popping the locks and opening the driver’s door. By the time she had unplugged the cord and turned back around, Magnus was sitting perkily in the driver’s seat. “Oh no you don’t. Move over ya big lug.” She squeezed in beside him, playing squash until he finally budged, hurdling the console and begrudgingly accepting his copilot status.
-38-
She pulled into Fynn’s driveway and wound down toward the house, parking in front of the porch. This time she might be coming unannounced again, but at least she had something he would want—his dog. There was already an extra car in front of the garage, one that she didn’t recognize from all of her many visits over the past several days.
When she rang the bell she heard footsteps in answer on the wood floor on the other side of the door, and the nervousness started fluttering inside her. She had been in a constant off-kilter state since the moment she met this guy and after last night it was even worse. Something had definitely happened.
Fynn opened the door and peeked out, looking like maybe he had been the one hit by a baseball last night. He rubbed at his face and blinked his eyes like he couldn’t adjust to the day behind her.
“Did I come at a bad time?” she asked quickly. His blue eyes were already working their magic and turning her into an awkward adolescent all over again—at least he made her feel young.
“No, I was just resting…. Wait, how’d you get here? You shouldn’t be driving yourself around quite yet.”
“You left me alone… what was I supposed to do?” she pointed out.
“I left you in very capable hands,” he said, confused.
“Yeah, my own.”
“Where are your partners in crime?”
“You tell me.”
“I left them at seven this morning, at the cabin, watching you.”
“Guess they got bored of watching me sleep. I wasn’t very good company.”
“You were a regular variety show for me.”
She looked at him, weighing his words, trying to understand what that meant.
“They were supposed to stay with you and keep up the hourly wakeups.”
“Obviously they don’t follow directions very well.”
“I’m glad I didn’t let them do it last night or you could be in a coma now.” His tone was all shades of serious.
She appraised him. Was he just committed to taking care of someone who was in need or was he worried about her? She could tell from his body language, the way he was holding the door tightly to him, that he had no intention of coming out to talk to her or inviting her in. He seemed even more standoffish than ever.
“Anyway… I just came over… to thank you…” she said uncomfortably. “And I brought you somet
hing.”
“Should I close my eyes?”
“Sure.” She watched the blue disappear behind full eyelashes she would kill for. “Ta-da,” she announced halfheartedly.
His eyes fluttered open just as Magnus bounded up the steps, like he’d been waiting for his cue. She had told him the plan on the way over, but never believed that he would understand what “ta-da” meant. And considering the last thing she’d heard from him when they got out of the car was the sound of him gacking in the bushes; she’d figured he would be too distracted to listen for the magic word.
“Magnus! Did you give Mr. Hall the slip, boy?”
Catherine gave him a questioning glance.
“My neighbor,” he said. “I called him from the cabin to ask him to take Magnus in for the night. I had left him in the yard figuring I’d be back in a few hours. Problem is my neighbor has a screen door without a latch on it and Magnus escapes. He usually comes home though.”
“He was knocking on my door first thing,” she explained. “I thought you might have sent him to wake me up—your replacement.”
“Probably would have been the better choice over your ADD-afflicted friends.”
She snorted lightly—perfect. “Anyhow…” she said, filling in the space with anything to keep the conversation going. But she didn’t know what else to say, so she scuffed her feet on the porch, hoping he would say something or at the very least come a little closer.
Magnus pushed between the doorjamb and Fynn’s legs to get in the house, wagging his tail and farting across the threshold.
“We shared some cherry Pop-Tarts for breakfast,” she offered guiltily.
“Oh,” he said, a tight smile on his face. “Not much of a dog person, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying, dog people know that blueberry is the best option for canines—they can have sour stomachs.”
A small grin broke across her face. “Well, thanks again… for last night.” She blushed, knowing she sounded like a broken record.
“No problem.”
She turned to go and got only half a step before turning back. “Um… I was just wondering… did I tackle you and kiss you at some point in the night?” There was something about watching his lips that sparked a vivid realization of having been there before.
“No,” he said with a grin.
“Oh.” Her relief was tinged with the slightest regret. “I guess I dreamt that….”
“I guess you did.”
“Then I guess you didn’t stand on the bed and sing ‘Never Tear Us Apart?’”
“Now that happened,” he said.
Her memories were clipped, like a montage in a movie.
“And did I recite the preamble to the constitution?” she asked slowly.
“Only because I asked you to,” he said smoothly.
“In my underwear?” she eked out.
“Now that part was your idea.”
She blushed deeply. “But the kissing was just a—”
“No, you kissed me all right.”
“But you said—”
“I meant no tackling was involved. I went willingly.”
“Oh.” Her heart was in borderline palpitations.
“So you really don’t remember?”
“It just seems garbled, like a dream.” She looked at him, searching for the rest of the answers, and then deciding to just blurt out what she needed to know. “I woke up almost entirely naked, my bra hanging on the lampshade.”
A smile danced in his eyes. “Wish I’d seen that.”
“You mean I wasn’t, um….”
“No, you weren’t naked when I last saw you. You stripped down to underwear for the preamble, but you were still wearing that much when I left.”
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “So we didn’t actually—”
“No, we didn’t do it, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
She looked at her feet to hide what she feared would show on her face in some way.
“I hardly thought that would be appropriate considering.” He leveled the words like a charge.
“But making out was okay?” she asked, suddenly snippy at the fact that he hadn’t wanted to sleep with her.
“Well, come on. You were latched on like a leech. What was I supposed to do? I’ve got scars from the confrontation.” He poked at his neck.
“You’ve got a hickey,” she snapped. Something she hadn’t given anyone since high school.
“And I have to try to explain this to people.”
“Listen, can we just talk for a minute?” She tried her best to avoid eye contact with the bruise she had inflicted on him in playful passion, wondering what his skin tasted like—that memory was lost.
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“No, I mean really talk.” Something needed to be said, without the sparring and joking. She felt something inside that unnerved her about him, and she didn’t want to just walk away right now.
“Well… you see, my date… from last night—she’s here, and—”
Catherine blanched. She had forgotten all about the fact that he was seeing someone. She had been so caught up in her own drama that it had failed to register that he was involved with someone else—and he let me kiss him! What kind of ass makes out with a girl and then goes back to his date the next morning? At least I have an excuse for being the kind of girl who comes onto a guy who’s taken—I wasn’t in my right mind! What’s your excuse, Fynn?
“Fynn! Fynn!” A very young voiced call out from deep in the house.
His date has a daughter?
“Hold on! I’ll be right there!” he called back.
“But you gotta see what Magnus did! He throwed up all over the floor.” And then a little girl with brown pigtails pushed herself between the door and his leg, carrying Caramellie in one fist and her sundae house in the other. Catherine Marie fought off her inner child to stop herself from snatching the toy away.
“It’s really gross,” the girl said, looking up at them with big brown eyes.
Fynn looked to Catherine. “Uh, thanks for feeding him breakfast.”
What me? her look said in return.
The little girl yanked on his shirt, seeming to remind him that he was being rude not to introduce her.
“Cara, this is Miss Catherine; Miss Catherine, this is Cara.”
Her mind quickly flipped through the information it had filed away this week. That was the name on the door to the pink bedroom upstairs. She lived in his house! She was the one he had given the dollhouse to! She was the woman he had chosen to keep happy…. She was so young. Younger than Josey had been…. But he said he didn’t have a daughter.
-39-
Catherine retreated down the porch steps. She felt battered and bruised, and not just from the baseball she’d taken in the head; this feeling was on the inside. Her knight in shining armor from the night before was nothing but a simple cad, playing whatever woman was around for all she was worth. He had gone from her bed last night, back home to his bed… and his date, who had a daughter with a room of her own in his house—seemed pretty permanent.
What if she stomped back up the steps and swung the door wide and told his date that he had kissed her last night? And that he had slept with her, leaving out that it was only in the realm of actual unconscious slumber. If she was going to feel a fool right now she wanted company, and she had two other people she could make as miserable as herself—Fynn and his mystery date. But she was the other woman and doing that would just make her look pitiful. The woman in the house actually had a title; that gave her the station to choose if she wanted the slimy bastard. Catherine had nothing.
If she could do it over again, she would have let her inner child bite herself, and while that old biddy Catherine Marie Hemmings was busy being incensed, little Catherine could have grabbed the toy she wanted so badly. Caramellie was all she’d come for. It was all she
needed from this place—this man—and finally after a week of vacation had been blown and her credit limit skimmed, it had appeared in front of her—just a few feet away—in the much weaker grip of a little girl. She could have taken the doll and her house easily—sweet and innocent pigtailed Cara wouldn’t have even known what hit her. And Catherine could have lived with the shame of it because it was all Fynn’s fault. His burden. But instead she had allowed Fynn to close the door in her face without any explanation for the child at his side or the woman somewhere deeper in his house; she allowed him to keep everything in his perfect little life just that—perfect.
She dutifully got back in her car which started on the first try, working against her yet again. This was the time for car trouble. A reason to insinuate herself into Fynn’s business and meet his woman and leave his life in shambles. But instead the engine purred and awaited direction. As she drove around the rest of the circle drive, she glanced toward the garage where a car with an Iowa license plate sat quietly, staking claim. Obviously he liked his chicks to be from out of town.
She drove up the drive, stealing glances in the rearview mirror to take in a final picture of the house where Joel Trager lived. She was done. Completely and utterly done. The other woman could have him.
But what was that?
There was movement outside back at the house. She trained her eyes on the Iowan sedan, people milling about and opening the doors. By the time she looked forward again she was heading straight for a tree and had to jerk and hit the brake at the same time to make sure she evaded it. Stupid friggin’ tree shouldn’t be so close to the driveway.
When she reached the road she turned right, toward town, driving until the next turn and pulling into the first driveway available. She hoped no one in the house would need to get out for the next several minutes because she was on surveillance. She wanted to see just who Joel Trager’s visitors were. She couldn’t help but wonder what his woman looked like—probably taller and thinner and blonder than she was. Maybe they were on their way back to Iowa—the relationship over because he’d fallen for someone else unexpectedly.
2 Days 'Til Sundae (2 'Til Series Book 1) Page 25