Cut Throat (30 page)

When the game finally broke up, Cat was exhausted. Carter and Dorothy left, carrying the card table and cards to be put away, leaving Wilson and Cat alone. When Cat stood, she swayed on her feet.

“You’re worn out,” Wilson said. “I should have put you to bed hours ago.” “I’m fine. I had that nap, remember?”

“You’re not fine,” Wilson said, and picked her up and carried her down the hall. He toed the door open and carried her into the bedroom, then set her down beside the bed. “Sit down, baby. I’ll pull off your shoes and socks.”

Cat was too tired to argue. She sat, then braced herself against the pain as Wilson began pulling off her shoes and socks. The next thing to come off was her sweater. He pulled it over her head, then laid it aside.

“You go to the bathroom. I’ll turn back the bed and get your flannel PJs.”

Cat didn’t even bother to ask how he’d managed to pack what she’d needed as she staggered into the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later with her hair in a ponytail and her jeans undone.

Wilson handed her an old T-shirt. “This will be softer against your skin than the buttons on your pajama top,” he said as he helped her put the shirt on.

She nodded gratefully, letting him pull the rest of her clothes off for her, then help her into the pajama bottoms. She crawled in between the covers, groaning with relief as she finally settled.

Wilson watched the changing expressions on her face while thinking how stunningly beautiful she really was.

“Catherine?”

The serious tone of his voice got Cat’s attention.

“What?”

“Are you sorry you came?” he asked. “No.”

A small grin tilted one corner of his mouth. “Still mad at me?” “No.”

“What do you think of my parents?”

She thought of what Carter had said to her, and of the love that Wilson professed to have for her. If she had the guts to trust her heart instead of her instincts, she might let herself love them back.

“I think…if I let them…they would be a soft place to fall.”

Wilson’s eyes widened as a lump came into his throat. “And if you trusted me…?”

“I can’t wrap my head around that kind of joy.” “Because you don’t trust me?” he asked.

She reached for his hand. “No, Wilson, you’ve proven yourself worthy of trust. Far more than I deserved.”

“Then what can I do to make this all right for you?” “I think…maybe…I just need some time.”

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. “I can give you that, too.” “Thank you, Wilson…for everything.”

“You’re welcome. So…is there anything I can get for you before I go shower?”

“No. I’m fine.”

He bent down and kissed her cheek, then groaned and gently kissed her lips, careful not to hurt the cuts and bruises.

“Sleep well, my love,” he said, and then he was gone.

The room was in shadow, with the light in the adjoining bathroom left on so that she would be able to see should she need to get up in the night.

For a while she lay with the echo of Wilson’s words ringing in her ears, listening to the sounds of people readying for bed, and then, afterward, the silence as the house settled for the night.

Finally Cat slept.

Less than an hour later, Wilson came into the room, pulled the covers

back and slipped into the bed beside her. When the nightmares began, he was there, pulling her back from the darkness. She rolled onto her side with a pillow clutched to her chest, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Wilson…?”

“What, baby?”

She sighed softly. “Nothing…just…Wilson.”

He caressed her face, then smoothed her hair away from her forehead “Rest now,” he said quietly.

So she did.

Seventeen

It was Sunday, and the everyday routine of the McKay family was undergoing a drastic change from what Cat was just getting used to after three days. Sunday, she’d been told, was also family day, which meant that, after church, all the grown children and their families came home for dinner.

She was trying not to be nervous all over again.

She had been at the McKay house long enough that she was actually starting to think there might be life after revenge. Being brought here under duress had seemed like a slap in the face at first, but Wilson had ignored her demands to be taken home, and now she was glad he had.

In just the short time she’d spent with Dorothy, she’d come to

understand what she’d lost when her mother had died. So much of a woman’s confidence came from the example her mother set, she realized. A woman learned by observation that when a crisis occurred, instead of tearing a family apart, it brought them closer together. Learned that, when the world was falling down around your ears and you were positive you’d made the worst mistake of your life, your mother would still be there—loving you, forgiving you, on your side no matter what.

Cat had missed that part of childhood. She’d grown up fast and hard, and never let anyone see her cry. After a while, she hadn’t even bothered to cry for herself. Weeping didn’t change a damn thing about the miserable hand she’d been dealt, so why bother?

Then Wilson McKay had come out of nowhere, wanting something from her that she didn’t know how to give. It was her good fortune that he’d refused to give up. And it was a blessing that he’d loaded her up and brought her to his childhood home. This was not only a place of unconditional love, but a place where she could feel herself healing in body and soul.

However, in a short while she was about to meet the adult versions of the kids she’d seen in the pictures lining Dorothy’s walls. She’d also been told that between them, they had given Dorothy and Carter twelve grandchildren, all under the age of fifteen. She didn’t know whether to be worried or just plan on losing herself in the crowd.

Dorothy had opted out of church services and had been cooking since daybreak, yet she had still managed to serve waffles with blueberry sauce for breakfast. Cat was in awe of Dorothy’s multitasking abilities. And there was another thing through which they’d connected. Cat had been mesmerized by Dorothy’s skill at crocheting, and Dorothy had seen it. Two days ago, Dorothy had produced another crochet hook and a fresh skein of pink yarn, and begun teaching Cat how.

At first Cat had rejected the notion, saying she couldn’t possibly learn. She’d felt awkward and silly, and couldn’t seem to balance the yarn between her fingers while pulling loops through with the hook. But Dorothy didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. Finally Cat had given up and given in, and found out that she loved it. So far she had learned how to make a chain and a simple crochet stitch, and she was as proud of the beginnings of her own afghan as she’d been when she’d become certified as a bounty hunter.

The first day of lessons, Wilson had come in to find both women sitting side by side on the sofa. He’d seen them with their heads down, leaning so close together that their foreheads were almost touching. When he realized what they were doing, he walked right back out again without disturbing the process.

He’d been floored by what he’d seen, but at the same time, touched by Cat’s willingness to try something new. He knew from experience that she didn’t like to be put in unfamiliar situations and hated to show weakness. Once in a while he would stop and watch her with his Dad or his Mom and wonder where this woman had come from. She was nothing like the bullheaded, do-it-myself female he’d known. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought the real Cat Dupree was in hiding and a body double had taken her place. It wasn’t a complaint, but it made him nervous, wondering if this about-face was going to stick, or if she would suddenly switch back to her cantankerous self and nail him to the wall for bringing her here.

The morning had passed quickly, and Cat was lazing in her chair with the yellow afghan over her legs. She was wearing camel-colored pants and a

white pullover sweater. Her dark hair was hanging loose, but in deference to the special day, she was wearing a tortoiseshell clip on one side.

Wilson was wearing blue jeans, a denim shirt and an old pair of brown boots. His hair, as usual, needed a cut, and he was still sporting the small gold loop in his ear. Cat was beginning to appreciate the significance of that small rebellious gesture. She, of all people, knew about rebellion.

She had her crochet work in her lap and was adding a new row when Carter suddenly pointed out the window and jumped up.

“Here comes Charlie,” Carter said, and headed toward the front door.

Cat looked at Wilson, then took a deep breath. She’d gotten comfortable with his parents, but meeting his brothers and sisters was like starting from scratch. There was a whole new set of people and names to remember. The bruises on her face were fading from dark purple to a paler shade, mixed with a little green and brown. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it was what it was.

Wilson could tell Cat was nervous. He didn’t know how to make this any better for her.

“Cat…”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Quit fussing,” she said. “I’m fine. If I can put up with you, the rest of them will be a breeze.”

Wilson felt a kick in the pit of his stomach. “So…is that what you’ve been doing? Putting up with me?”

Cat sighed. From the look on Wilson’s face, she’d said something wrong. She just wasn’t sure what it was.

“Wilson.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever it was that I said wrong, get over it. You know I don’t know how to do this relationship stuff. You can either bear with me or toss me out on my ass and shut up, ’cause I’m doing the best that I can.”

Wilson heard the fear in her voice and got up from his chair, and took the yarn out of her hands and set it aside. Regardless of the fact that his brother Charlie, sister-in-law Delia and their three kids were coming through the door, he kissed her square on the mouth, without regard for bumps and bruises. When he pulled back and looked up, Charlie was grinning, while the rest of the family looked a little shell-shocked.

Cat would have been more comfortable taking down a reluctant perp than meeting the rest of Wilson’s family. However, if she was going down, she was going down fighting. She stood up, unaware that she’d lifted her chin in a defensive position, and waited to see what came next.

Wilson stood with her, then put his arm around her shoulders. Immediately Cat felt sheltered, as if Wilson was ready to defend her despite what anyone thought. It was a daunting emotion that she didn’t know how to take.

“Everyone, this is Catherine,” Wilson said. “Catherine, this is Charlie, his wife Delia and their kids.”

Then the smallest of Charlie’s children, three-year-old Mindy, broke the ice. “Unca Wilson…is she you girl fend?”

Everyone laughed, and then Delia dispatched the kids to the swing set out back and her husband to the back porch to keep an eye on them. After that she slipped her hand in the bend of Cat’s elbow, eyed the state of her face and frowned at Wilson before turning to Cat.

“I’m assuming Wilson Lee didn’t do this to you, honey.”

Wilson frowned. “Damn, Delia…you just lost your status as favorite sisterin-law.”

Cat couldn’t help smiling. She was beginning to understand the love beneath the bullshit this family handed out. And she set her place in Wilson’s heart forever when she calmly stated that she’d gotten herself into a really dangerous situation and he had saved her life.

Delia’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Cat said.

Delia kissed Wilson on the cheek. “You know I was teasing…but this obviously wasn’t a funny subject. Sorry.” Then she pointed toward the kitchen. “I think I hear a potato calling my name. Come on, Catherine. I need a drink, and I know where they keep the good stuff.”

Cat looked a little startled, which was what Delia was obviously aiming for. “I’m kidding,” she said. “How about some of Mom’s sweet tea?”

“Sounds good to me,” Cat said, gave Wilson a quick look, then let herself be led away.

Soon the rest of the family arrived and the kitchen was filled with the women of the family helping Dorothy finish up the meal. The men came in long enough to snitch bites, taste-test sauces and carry heaping bowls of food to the dining room table.

Cat had slipped out of the kitchen a short while earlier on the pretext of going to the bathroom, but what she really needed was some quiet. The noise level was beyond loud and the number of people overwhelming. She’d gone down the hall toward her room, but her escape ended when she heard a baby fussing in Carter and Dorothy’s bedroom.

She knew that Wilson’s baby sister, Emily, had a new six-month-old baby, who’d been asleep when they’d arrived, so they’d put her on the bed to keep sleeping. Obviously baby Lynnie had awakened to find herself all alone.

The door was ajar. Cat pushed it the rest of the way open and walked in. The little baby was penned in on the middle of the mattress by pillows that had been propped up all around her to keep her from rolling off the bed. Lynnie’s squawking stopped immediately when she saw a friendly face. She broke out into a big smile, and began kicking her legs and waving her arms. It was a “pick me up” plea Cat couldn’t ignore.