She had a few pieces of jewelry she could sell, and they would have to give up the condo Dalton had inherited from his father. She’d fly home tonight, get a realtor in tomorrow, and call Brock in the morning to explain.
Cat called the airline from the room, cursing the fact that she hadn’t replaced her broken cell phone. Bitter laughter caught in her throat—more like a sob really—when she realized she couldn’t afford a new phone anyway. She got a seat on the last flight and called Dalton. He wasn’t picking up, and she left a brief message to say she was flying home tonight and would call in the morning. At least she had upgraded to a flexible ticket. If she hadn’t, she might be stuck on a park bench while she tried to raise funds.
It took her two trips to the car, one with her luggage and another with the evening dress folded over her arm in the protective plastic bag from the store. She paused at the reception and paid for the telephone calls.
Tears of panic stung her eyes as she sat, listless, in the rental car. They were broke, totally and utterly broke. Like a train hurtling down the tracks, the disaster had been looming down on her, but she had ignored it, always hoping for some last minute miracle.
She should have known better. Miracles didn’t happen in real life.
****
It had been one of those days—a pile-up on the highway, a brawl at Stan Merrill’s diner, and a case of theft at the metal foundry on the industrial estate. Brock didn’t get home until eight. In the kitchen, cups stood on the table, arranged for the breakfast they hadn’t had the time to stop for in the morning.
Loneliness pressed around him. He’d barely had time to call Cat in the office for a quick hello. The urge to see her seized him. He picked up the phone and called the hotel. One thing was sure—he knew what to get for her for Christmas, a new cell phone in the same network as his.
“Mrs. Bridgewater, please. She’s in room 335.”
“I’m afraid she checked out today.”
“Checked out?” His voice rose in surprise. “Did she move to another hotel?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Brock thanked the man and slowly lowered the receiver. Concern and anger fought inside him. What had happened? Where had she gone and why the hell hadn’t she let him know?
He found the number to Dalton’s cell phone and dialed.
“Where’s Cat?” he asked as soon as the young man picked up. “She has checked out from her hotel.”
“I don’t know. She left me a message an hour ago that she’s flying home tonight and will call me from there. Her flight is at ten-twenty.” The young man lowered his voice. “I thought she might have had an argument with you. Her message sounded terse, but I guess she was just in a hurry to catch her plane.”
“Thanks.” Brock broke the connection.
She was gone. Just like that. The worry that something had happened to Cat faded, and the fury that had been brewing inside him sprung free. She’d set out to seduce him after he told her that he didn’t approve of sex before marriage. It must have given her a thrill, seeing a reluctant man turn into a rampant bull in bed.
He’d been nothing but a challenge to her.
Brock’s jaw tightened. He might have thrown his own principles out of the window, but he still had law and order to uphold. She’d committed a misdemeanor, and the charges wouldn’t be dropped unless she served her full eighty hours of community service. By God, he would see that she worked every minute of her time, even if he had to drag her back himself.
How had he allowed himself to fall in love with such a manipulative little vixen? The thought struck Brock as he rushed through the hall, reaching for his car keys on the side table. His feet rooted to the floor, and his hand froze in the air.
Love?
His shoulders fell and he blew out an angry sigh. Hell, it had caught him like a hurricane, an inevitable force that brooked no resistance, gave no choice. The
Cat called the airline from the room, cursing the fact that she hadn’t replaced her broken cell phone. Bitter laughter caught in her throat—more like a sob really—when she realized she couldn’t afford a new phone anyway. She got a seat on the last flight and called Dalton. He wasn’t picking up, and she left a brief message to say she was flying home tonight and would call in the morning. At least she had upgraded to a flexible ticket. If she hadn’t, she might be stuck on a park bench while she tried to raise funds.
It took her two trips to the car, one with her luggage and another with the evening dress folded over her arm in the protective plastic bag from the store. She paused at the reception and paid for the telephone calls.
Tears of panic stung her eyes as she sat, listless, in the rental car. They were broke, totally and utterly broke. Like a train hurtling down the tracks, the disaster had been looming down on her, but she had ignored it, always hoping for some last minute miracle.
She should have known better. Miracles didn’t happen in real life.
****
It had been one of those days—a pile-up on the highway, a brawl at Stan Merrill’s diner, and a case of theft at the metal foundry on the industrial estate. Brock didn’t get home until eight. In the kitchen, cups stood on the table, arranged for the breakfast they hadn’t had the time to stop for in the morning.
Loneliness pressed around him. He’d barely had time to call Cat in the office for a quick hello. The urge to see her seized him. He picked up the phone and called the hotel. One thing was sure—he knew what to get for her for Christmas, a new cell phone in the same network as his.
“Mrs. Bridgewater, please. She’s in room 335.”
“I’m afraid she checked out today.”
“Checked out?” His voice rose in surprise. “Did she move to another hotel?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
Brock thanked the man and slowly lowered the receiver. Concern and anger fought inside him. What had happened? Where had she gone and why the hell hadn’t she let him know?
He found the number to Dalton’s cell phone and dialed.
“Where’s Cat?” he asked as soon as the young man picked up. “She has checked out from her hotel.”
“I don’t know. She left me a message an hour ago that she’s flying home tonight and will call me from there. Her flight is at ten-twenty.” The young man lowered his voice. “I thought she might have had an argument with you. Her message sounded terse, but I guess she was just in a hurry to catch her plane.”
“Thanks.” Brock broke the connection.
She was gone. Just like that. The worry that something had happened to Cat faded, and the fury that had been brewing inside him sprung free. She’d set out to seduce him after he told her that he didn’t approve of sex before marriage. It must have given her a thrill, seeing a reluctant man turn into a rampant bull in bed.
He’d been nothing but a challenge to her.
Brock’s jaw tightened. He might have thrown his own principles out of the window, but he still had law and order to uphold. She’d committed a misdemeanor, and the charges wouldn’t be dropped unless she served her full eighty hours of community service. By God, he would see that she worked every minute of her time, even if he had to drag her back himself.
How had he allowed himself to fall in love with such a manipulative little vixen? The thought struck Brock as he rushed through the hall, reaching for his car keys on the side table. His feet rooted to the floor, and his hand froze in the air.
Love?
His shoulders fell and he blew out an angry sigh. Hell, it had caught him like a hurricane, an inevitable force that brooked no resistance, gave no choice. The
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