Chapter 8
She spent Saturday ruthlessly cleaning the house.
Her life had been so disordered and unstable when she was a teenager after her dad left, that after the accident, she had deliberately trained herself to be calm in every situation and had succeeded.
She allowed nothing to faze her, except now.
He had not called and she decided that she was going to give him time and space to think.
So, she cleaned. Shooing a reluctant Galahad out the door with his chew toys, she started upstairs, dragging down curtains.
Armed with the window cleaner and wash cloths, she scrubbed the windows until they sparkled in the sun.
Then she tackled the bed, taking off the sheets and dumping them onto the floor.
She had donned her oldest pair of denim shorts and a faded gray t-shirt for the task.
Her hair was tied up in a messy knot on top of her head.
A scarf was tied around her forehead to keep the sweat from dripping into her eyes.
She spent two hours dusting before hauling everything downstairs to put into the washer.
When that was done, she started downstairs and ignoring the aches in her muscles, she dusted and scrubbed the floors.
She had been meaning to dig up the herbs she had planted in pots on the windowsill in her kitchen. Today was as good a day as any.
Spending most of her evenings with Dean had caused her to neglect her housework. It was coming to spring break and very soon she was going to be out for two weeks. When she returned to school, she would be a married woman, that is, if he had not changed his mind.
Stretching her hand out, she stared at the shadow made by the ring she had taken off and put away carefully.
She should call him, she thought achingly.
No, she shook her head. She should give him space.
It occurred to her last night that she was making a big mistake marrying him, but her heart was saying otherwise.
She loved him. There was no escaping that.
Did she think she could change him? She would like to believe that he was in love with her. She was hoping and praying that he was. He acted that way. He was attentive and protective and treated her well.
She ignored the small voice insisting that she posed a challenge to him, one that he had never faced before. No, she told herself. It was much more than that.
Sitting at the counter, she recalled in vivid detail the conversation with her pastor just last night. He had called her into his office right after she had arrived for the young people's session.
Pastor Eric Bennett was in his early sixties and was a kindly and patient man who had been there for her and her mother ever since she could recall. Even when she was going through her 'rebellious' stage, he had never given up on her, and had told her recently how proud of her he was.
"Your fiancé missed a few counselling sessions," he began, gesturing her to the chair in front of his desk.
"I know. I'm not making excuses for him, but he's spending the weekend at his club."
Pastor Eric's steady light blue eyes studied her. "You had a fight?"
She thought about lying but decided against it. "We did, yes."
The man nodded and, picking up a paperweight, he rolled it between his palms. "I have my doubts about you fitting in with his kind of lifestyle.
" He held up a hand when she opened her mouth.
"I trust you completely, my dear," he stated in that calm and reasonable tone of his.
"You've proven yourself to be an outstanding woman and one of integrity. I don't want to see you hurt."
She smiled at that. "We will no doubt hurt each other over the years.
You were the one who taught us in Bible studies that none of us is perfect.
That we come with flaws. Dean has several of them that I'm aware of.
His childhood was traumatic and painful.
There's a distinct lack of love in his household.
I intend to change that for him. I know the risks I'm taking.
Am I scared? Yes, I am, but I'm going to see this through. No matter what."
He smiled at her with that gentle patience of his. "I'm counting on you, my dear. I have every confidence in your resilience and strength."
Now sitting around her tiny counter with the wedding just a little more than a week away, she was not so sure of herself.
She had insisted on purchasing her wedding dress herself, an exorbitantly expensive satin and lace gown from Romano's. He was footing all the other bills, the logic of which he had pointed out to her, and she had agreed, but pride had moved her to buy her own wedding dress.
And she was missing her mother who was not alive to see her walk down the aisle.
Tears burned the back of her eyes, and the grief had her trembling.
For the first time in a while, she felt all alone in the world.
She missed him, she thought drearily. Since Dean had come into her life, she had come to rely on him for company, for solace.
The feel of his arms wrapped around her was enough to make her feel wanted and needed.
Scrubbing the back of her hand over her moist cheeks, she rose to finish the task she had begun.
*****
Dean preferred to take out his frustration another way. He had flown in at the club late afternoon on Friday and went straight to his assigned rooms, where he spent the night drinking and then tossing and turning on the bed.
That spring morning, he had decided against having breakfast in his suite and went out to one of the various dining rooms available to the members.
The spring weather had brought out the members in droves.
Wanting to avoid the familiar faces, he had elected to have a late breakfast on the balcony, grateful that he had been left alone with his thoughts and his meal.
He wanted to call her. There were several times he started to reach for the phone just so he could hear the sound of her cultured voice.
He wanted her calm nature to soothe his tattered soul.
But he deliberately decided against it. He was pissed with her.
She had brought him down to a level where he no longer recognized himself.
He had almost begged her to let him make love to her. He never had before and he had no damn intention of allowing a woman, no matter how bloody special, to reduce him to begging for her favor or giving her so much power over him.
Pouring another mug of coffee, he wandered over to the railing to lean against it.
The morning was almost gone, the afternoon creeping in.
From his vantage point, he could see movements on the various courts.
A rousing game of tennis was going on. A few feet away, people were gathered on the golf course.
Several of the pools were occupied, the sounds of laughter drifting towards him.
He saw familiar faces. David and his wife Amber were one of the couples on the tennis court.
And he had seen Kane and Kelly in one of the pools.
He did not especially want to socialize, but he suspected he was not going to be left alone for very long.
The invitations to his wedding were out and the shock of him tying the knot was making the speculative rounds.
There were going to be questions, ones he was not prepared to answer.
Tossing back the rest of the coffee, he went back to his room to change into swimwear.
After the tenth lap, he figured he'd had enough. His muscles were screaming and the weather had taken a turn. The chilling breeze that had sprung up had goose bumps popping up on his skin. Dragging his fingers through his wet hair, he blinked water from his eyes, and it was then he saw her.
Hazel Whitbourne had been a lover of his as recently as four months ago and they had parted on good terms, or so he thought, until she started calling him at all times of the day and night.
Now she was here, her minuscule red bathing suit barely covering her lush bosom.
"Darling," she purred, long talon-like nails that matched her suit exactly, running up and down her bosom, limpid blue eyes very inviting. "I heard you were here."
He stiffened when she reached behind her to tug at the strings of her bikini top.
"Don't!" His cold voice issuing the command had her pausing.
"I don't understand." She looked genuinely puzzled.
"I assume you heard that I'm engaged to be married." He started to haul himself over the lip of the pool when she glided towards him.
"I'm married and that never stopped you before." She pointed out sulkily.
He felt the sickness in the pit of his stomach at that statement.
"You were separated." He knew how weak that sounded and almost cringed.
Before he met Catherine, his life was a free for all where he never gave a blessed damn who he hurt.
Now he did. And he would never hurt her.
"And I'm a different person now." His expression gentled.
"You told me that you were trying to make things up with your husband.
He loves you, Hazel, and that should count for something. Make it work."
"You're here alone and so am I. We could..."
"No." He shook his head and firmly but decidedly put her out of the way.
"I'm not interested." Without waiting for her response, he climbed out and grabbed the towel he had placed on the chaise.
Abandoning the idea of just taking in some of the late afternoon sun, he headed for the outside bar.
Kame Takahashi and Adam Whitmore were lounging on bar stools, drinks in their hands, and had obviously seen the altercation.
"Quite the control you showed back there," Adam drawled, a lazy smile flashing across his face.
"She was practically naked," Kane observed in his own inimitable way. "Very entertaining." Observant dark eyes studied the faint flush on the younger man's face. "The old Dean would have given us quite a show."