That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics)

  “Will you stop?” she said, shrugging off his touch and forcing herself to sound carefree. “I don’t need a protector. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She raised her hands in karate fashion. “I’ll have you know these hands are registered weapons with the FBI.” Afraid her eyes would tell him more than she was willing to reveal, she opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs.

  Leaning lazily against the counter, Grady’s hands gripped the edge of the tile. His look was deceptively aloof, but he couldn’t disguise his interest. “If that’s the case, do you always cry when a man kisses you?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “It was all that wine you forced me to drink. Now, do you want an omelet or not?”

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.” A smile crinkled the lines about his eyes, and for a moment Cathy could almost hate him. She couldn’t help being curious about what he found so amusing.

  Hands positioned challengingly on her hips, she spun around. “All right, I don’t want to talk about it. Are you happy?”

  “Pleased. I appreciate the honesty.”

  “Wonderful,” she murmured. Taking a mixing bowl from the cupboard, she cracked the eggs against the edge with brutal force, emptying them into the bowl. She didn’t know how she was going to force herself to eat. The thought of food was enough to make her sick. “I don’t ask you personal questions. I … I wouldn’t dream of inquiring about your marriage or your relationship with your wife.” She waved her hands in the air dramatically, then gripped the fork and furiously whipped the eggs.

  Grady watched her movements for a minute. “Those eggs are going to turn into cream if you don’t stop whipping them to death.”

  “It’s clear you don’t know a thing about cooking, otherwise you’d realize you’re supposed to whip the eggs.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, how would you feel if I started prying into your life?”

  Grady shrugged and then gestured with the open palm of his hand. “My life’s an open book.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “How’s your love life? How many times a week did you and your wife make love?” She threw the questions at him in rapid succession, not pausing to breathe between.

  “Rotten,” he shot right back at her. “And in the end Pam and I didn’t.”

  “Aha!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “The truth comes out. And just why weren’t you and Pam acting like husband and wife?” There was a sense of satisfaction seeing the way his mouth tensed and the way his jaw worked. His eyes narrowed into deep, dark sapphires that were as cold as Arctic ice.

  Wiping her fingers with a hand towel, she smiled at him sweetly. “As the saying goes, if it’s too hot in the kitchen …”

  “Pam and I didn’t make love because she was no longer interested in lovemaking—or me, for that matter.”

  Cathy flinched. She hadn’t expected him to reveal so much of his life. In all actuality, she and Grady were two of a kind. “Is that when you began running?” The minute the words were out, Cathy knew she had made another mistake.

  “Listen, Cathy.” Grady rammed his fists into his pockets. “I don’t know where you come off. I’ve never run from anything or anyone.”

  “Then why do you work twenty-hour days and spend so little time at home that your daughter hardly knows you?” Now that she’d started, Cathy couldn’t make herself stop. Why wouldn’t she quit? She couldn’t imagine what made her delve into the intimate details of his life as if it was her right to know. She found herself digging at him unmercifully. She had no right to throw stones at him when she was just as vulnerable.

  “All right. You want answers, I’ll give you answers.” His breath came out roughly.

  “Grady, no.” The words were ripped from her throat. “I’m sorry, I have no right. Can’t we agree to leave the past buried? It’s obvious we’ve both been hurt. It won’t do either of us any good to dredge up all that pain.”

  He sighed heavily.

  Cathy walked across the kitchen, slipped her arms around his middle, and softly laid her head on his chest. His arms circled her and held her close and tight, pressing her to him while he buried his face in her hair. They stood with their arms around each other in the middle of the kitchen floor until Cathy felt a faint shudder rake through him.

  “Did you say something about dinner?” he asked, then firmly kissed the top of her head, breaking the embrace.

  Cathy smiled gently to herself. “I did,” she said. Not that she really was interested in cooking—or eating, for that matter. But she put her culinary efforts into creating one of her specialties, a cheese-and-mushroom omelet.

  When everything was ready, she carried the two plates to the table. Grady had surprised her by getting the silverware and folding paper napkins.

  Cathy was still eating when he pushed the empty plate aside. “You’re a good cook.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Pam was a good cook.”

  Cathy lowered her fork to her plate. She wanted to tell him to stop, she didn’t want to be compared to another woman.

  “In some ways, the two of you are alike.”

  Cathy shifted uneasily. “Don’t.”

  Grady looked up, surprised. “Don’t? Don’t what?”

  “Compare me with someone else.”

  He leaned back, lifting the front two chair legs off the ground. “I’m doing a poor job of this.” His gaze was full of impatience, but she sensed it was directed more at himself than at her. “What I’m trying to say is that my marriage was over a long time before Pam died. She hated Alaska Cargo. There wasn’t a time I flew out on assignment that she didn’t believe I was flying to meet another woman.”

  “Was she always so insecure?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It was only after I started the company. In the beginning she was pleased to be a part of it, but after Angela was born she became depressed, lonely, and unhappy.”

  “Undoubtedly, having her husband around more often would have helped.” Her sympathy lay with Grady’s wife. She’d grown up witnessing her mother’s loneliness. For all the time her own father spent with her during her growing-up years, Cathy may as well have been fatherless.

  Grady chose to ignore the comment. “It was more than insecurity. Several times I recommended she see a professional who could help her deal with these emotions, but she never would.” The front chair legs hit the linoleum with a thud.

  “Some women are like that.” She attempted to sound sympathetic. Her mother was the Rock of Gibraltar, but there were memories of lying in bed pretending to be asleep while listening to her mother cry. Her father had offered so many promises, ones he never had any intention of keeping.

  “Pam would regularly pack her bags and threaten to leave me. She seemed to think that would bring me to my senses.”

  “Did you stop her?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Why should you?” Cathy flared. “We’re talking about your wife, the mother of your child. Pam didn’t want to leave. What she wanted was for you to tell her you loved her, you needed her. Clearly the poor woman was desperate for some form of affirmation.”

  Anger shot into Grady’s eyes, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Leaving me, or rather threatening to, was all part of Pam’s games, of which you know nothing.”

  “Oh, brother.” Cathy stood abruptly and stalked to the other side of the room. “Here it comes, the I-don’t-play-games game.”

  Grady rose and leaned both hands on the table as he glared at her. “You don’t know the facts.”

  “You’re right, I don’t,” she countered. “By your own admission you let your wife pack her suitcase and were so darn proud you couldn’t tell her you loved her.” She lifted her hand to her face and just as quickly let it drop to her side. “It isn’t any wonder Angela is a lost, lonely child.”

  “Leave my daughter out of this.”

  “How can you expect a child to feel loved and wanted
when her father can’t—”

  Grady slammed his fist on the table, causing the plates to jump and clatter on the top. “I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

  Lifting a hand to remove a strand of hair from her face, Cathy noted that her fingers were shaking and quickly clenched them at her side. “So have I.” The words were breathless. Even now she wasn’t sure why she’d let this conversation escalate to this point. Grady was right. What went on between him and his wife was none of her affair.

  Without another word, Grady left the kitchen, stalked into her bedroom, and returned with a sleeping Angela cradled in his arms.

  “I’d like to say the evening has been a pleasant one, but it hasn’t,” he said, his voice tight and terse. Without so much as glancing backward, he carried the sleeping child with him out the door.

  Her sense of righteousness was quick to dissipate. Cathy bit into her bottom lip, regretting her thoughtless words. Lashing out at Grady had ruined a promising relationship. She would never see him again.

  Chapter Five

  Linda Ericson sauntered into the teachers’ lounge and sat beside Cathy. “Morning.” The greeting was cheerful, followed by a wide smile.

  “It’s Monday, the first day for parent-teacher conferences. You’re not supposed to be so bright and chipper. The least you can do is have a sour look like everyone else,” Cathy chastised with a sigh.

  Her friend’s eager hand covered Cathy’s. “I’m too excited to worry about what day of the week it is, or conferences, for that matter.”

  The sparkle in her friend’s eyes captured Cathy’s attention immediately.

  “I’m late,” Linda whispered.

  Cathy didn’t move. The dark, gray eyes studied Linda’s, afraid she was reading more into the words than her friend intended. “You think you might be pregnant?”

  Linda laughed, the sound of her happiness filling the room. “That’s what it usually means, doesn’t it? Dan says we shouldn’t get our hopes up until I see the doctor. I’ve got an appointment this morning; I wanted to take one of those pregnancy tests. I know they’re generally reliable, but I prefer to have a doctor to confirm my condition before I say anything to family.”

  Linda wanted children so badly that Cathy couldn’t help but share in her happiness. “Linda, this is great news. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”

  “The doctor appointment’s at ten. I’ll be back in the office about eleven. All you need to do is stick your head in the door. The expression on my face should be enough to tell you.”

  * * *

  Cathy carried her coffee cup into the classroom with her a few minutes later. Linda’s hopeful news had boosted her spirits. Since her last meeting with Grady two weeks ago, her disposition had been badly in need of an uplift. Darn Grady Jones, anyway, she thought spitefully, placing the mug on her desk. The coffee sloshed over the rim, and with an impatient sigh she took a tissue and mopped up the liquid. What was it about that man that continued to haunt her? For the last two weeks she’d gone about with a feeling of expectancy. Deep down she hoped he would contact her again. He hadn’t, and she didn’t blame him. She was the one who owed him an apology for delving into his personal affairs. Besides, if Grady’s pride had prevented him from giving his wife the security she needed, he wasn’t likely to reach out to her.

  Surprisingly, Cathy discovered she missed him. In the short time they’d been seeing each other she had come to like Grady. Realistically, the break was probably inevitable, and the sooner it came in the budding relationship, the better. They were far too different. Her only regret was that they didn’t part as friends.

  Angela had come up to Cathy’s desk the Monday following their argument.

  “Yes, Angela.” Cathy had smiled gently at the young girl.

  Angela’s eyes were sad, and for a moment Cathy was tempted to pull her into her arms and hug her.

  Angela glanced away shyly. “Daddy says I should call you Miss Thompson from now on.”

  “I think that would be best in the classroom,” Cathy agreed. “But outside of school you can call me Cathy if you like.”

  The child brightened for a moment, then regretfully shook her head. “I don’t think I better,” she said, and returned to her desk, her gaze downcast.

  Although Angela had always called Cathy by her formal name, the child began coming into the basic skills classroom for a few minutes after school. Together, they would go over her papers. Angela was such a precious child, and it was easy for Cathy to give her the attention and affection the child craved. That shy, toothless grin was enough to endear her to anyone. But even in those few minutes they shared alone, Cathy had always called her Miss Thompson.

  Between classes that morning, Cathy hurried to the school office and stuck her head in the door. Linda had her back to her.

  “Well?” she questioned expectantly.

  Linda turned, her mouth pinched with bitter disappointment. Tears filled the round eyes, and she hurriedly tilted her head upward. “The doctor ran another test … I’m not pregnant,” she whispered, and held an index finger under each eye, “and this crying has got to stop.” She laughed weakly.

  “Oh, Linda, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know.” She sniffled. “The doctor explained that because I want a baby so much my mind is working to convince my body that it’s pregnant. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all.” Cathy yearned for the words that would ease her friend’s disappointment, but could find none.

  “Don’t you have a class?” Linda asked smoothly.

  “Yes.” Her head made a jerking action, reinforcing the fact. “Are you going to be all right?”

  Linda nibbled briefly at her bottom lip. “I’ll be fine. After all these years I should know better than to hope. It’s my own stupid fault. Both Dan and I have reached the place where we’re forced to accept that we’ll probably never have children. That was plan A. The time has come to consider plan B.”

  “Adoption?”

  Linda nodded. “Now, scoot before I have seven first- and second-graders in here looking for their teacher.”

  Crisp, purpose-filled steps carried Cathy to her classroom.

  School was dismissed two hours early the week of parent-teacher conferences. Cathy’s part in these meetings was limited. As a basic skills teacher, she usually forwarded the papers and information to the child’s regular teacher unless there was a specific problem she needed to discuss with the parent.

  Before school that morning, she had delivered the information to each of the teachers who had a conference scheduled with one of her students. She noted that Angela Jones’s conference had been assigned for that afternoon. After all the times she had failed to get Grady to come to the school to discuss Angela and her learning difficulties, Cathy doubted another teacher’s success.

  She decided to spend the free time changing bulletin boards. Busy pinning the Thanksgiving figures into the cork material, Cathy didn’t hear Grady walk into the room.

  “Am I interrupting something?” His low-pitched voice seemed to reach out and grab her.

  Cathy gasped audibly and stuck her finger with a sharp tack. “Darn.” She jumped off the chair and placed her index finger in her mouth, sucking at the blood.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Contrary to what he said, he didn’t sound the least bit contrite.

  “Grady Jones.” She breathed his name in surprise.

  “I’d like to discuss Angela’s progress.” His smoldering dark eyes rested on her mouth.

  Her heart continued to beat like a jungle drum. “You’ll need to see Angela’s teacher. I’ve given my portion of the report to her.”

  He shook his head. “Mrs. Bondi sent me to you.” He stepped into the room and handed her Angela’s papers.

  “All right.” She pulled the chair to her desk and sat down. Grady brought another from across the room and set the chair disturbingly close to her own. “What do you want to know?” she questione
d.

  “Is the tutor helping?”

  Cathy had to bite her tongue to keep from saying Angela’s regular teacher could have answered the question just as well. “Yes, she’s doing great.”

  “Not according to these papers.” He flipped page after page, revealing backward letters and improper figures and consistently bad grades.

  Cathy sighed, her gaze connected with Grady’s. “You must accept that Angela’s improvement will be slow. This work is extremely difficult for her. But she tries very hard, and I can’t help but believe that, given time, there will be a vast difference in the quality of her work.” The urge to fight for Angela was almost overpowering. “You will continue having her work with the tutor, won’t you?”

  The mask he wore faded. “If you believe this extra help will help her.”

  “I do, Grady.” She hadn’t meant to use his name. To continue in an impersonal discussion would be impossible if she removed the barriers.

  “Angela likes you. I’ve never seen her take to anyone the way she has to you.” His voice was low, almost reluctant.

  Cathy looked away, fearing what her eyes would tell him. “I like Angela very much, too.”

  “And her father?”

  “Angela’s father is one of the most interesting men I’ve ever known.” She kept her gaze lowered.

  “Interesting.” He spat the word out contemptuously. “What about handsome, suave, and several other fitting adjectives that freely come to mind?”

  An involuntary smile cracked her lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of arrogant, conceited, and high-handed.”

  “But he’s a good kisser,” Grady insisted.

  Cathy couldn’t deny the tenderness she had experienced in his arms the evening they’d returned from Denali. “Yes,” she said and sighed, “he’s all that and more.”

  Grady exhaled as though relieved. “How’s Peterkins?” Before she could answer, he stood, placing his hands in his pockets, and walked to the window, seemingly interested in the darkening afternoon sky.

  “Fine. He’s still gnawing on the bone you gave him.”