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"No," he said slowly, his expression hardening. "No, I certainly can't do
that."
The instant she felt the loosening of his arms, Cat pulled away from him and
moved toward the door. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll call it a night. One
way or another, it's been a very trying day." She pulled open the screen door,
the screech of its hinge slicing across her raw nerves like chalk across a
blackboard. Halfway through the door, she paused and looked back at him with a
stiff little toss of her head. "I assume the room at the end of the hall is
mine."
He looked at her for a long, hard second.
"No," he said flatly and started forward. "It isn't."
Something in his purposeful stride had Cat stepping quickly into the house.
"Then exactly which one is mine?" She continued to retreat from him when he
followed her into the living room.
"Truthfully-none of them."
"Precisely what does that mean?" An ugly suspicion formed. She stopped, her
hands coming to a rest on her hips. "When I agreed to this marriage, I told
you I would not share your bed," she informed him, ready to do battle on that
point.
"And I told you that was your choice." He took her by the arms and moved her
out of his way, then walked into the hall.
"Wait a minute." Cat went after him. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"
"That's your choice." He disappeared into the bedroom across the hall from
Quint's.
Cat wasn't about to follow him there. "In that case, I'll take the spare
room." Passing his door, she continued down the hall.
"It's full of boxes," he said from the bedroom. "If you don't believe me,
you're welcome to look for yourself."
That sounded suspiciously like the truth. Wheeling around, Cat marched back to
his bedroom doorway. "Would you kindly tell me where you expect me to sleep?"
He came out carrying a pillow, a blanket, and a bedsheet. "The floor or the
sofa, take your pick." Unceremoniously he dumped them in her arms.
"What?" She said, her mouth agape.
"I recommend the sofa. The floor can be a bit hard."
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She stared at him. "You can't be serious."
"I'm very serious," Logan responded coolly.
Cat sputtered for an indignant moment. "You should be the one sleeping on the
sofa, not me."
"Take another look at the sofa. It's about six inches too short for me, but
it's about the right size for you." His mouth quirked in a cold smile.
"Consider it an example of equal opportunity in action." He started to turn
away, then stopped. "Don't forget to lock up before you turn in."
With that, he walked into the bedroom and shut the door. Cat stared at it,
still wavering between fury and astonishment. Her first impulse was to charge
in and throw the bedding at him. But that would put her in his bedroom, the
last place she wanted to be.
Faced with no other satisfactory option, she strode into the living room and
tossed the bedding on the sofa. In quick order, she closed the front door,
locked the dead bolt, retrieved her overnight bag by the door, andd
disappeared into the bathroom, every movement sharp and brisk with controlled
anger. Minutes later she came out, her temper still simmering, a robe of
peacock blue satin hanging open over her matching nightgown, her face scrubbed
clean of makeup. She set the overnight bag next to the ancient and ugly
platform rocker, laid her dress and undergarments across its seat, made up her
bed on the sofa, then checked Quint one last time. Leaving the hall light on
for him, she turned out the rest of the lights and shrugged out of her robe,
draping it over an arm of the sofa before crawling beneath the covers of her
makeshift bed.
From Logan's room came the telltale creak of bedsprings. Cat gave her pillow a
vicious punch and rolled onto her side.
"Some wedding night," she thought, and suddenly found herself fighting tears.
Logan's mental alarm clock went off promptly at five o'clock, as always.
Dawn's pearl-gray light shone through the bedroom windows. Rolling over, he
sat on the bed, stretching his shoulders in a flexing shrug in an attempt to
throw off the heavy tension that continued to grip him. From childhood, he had
been a light sleeper, able to come fully awake and alert in an instant. But
last night had been a restless one, dogged by the knowledge that Cat ,his wife
,was in the living room. That thought brought back all of last night's needs
and frustrations.
He pushed off the bed, all taut energy again with no release available.
Crossing to the chair, Logan snatched his suit pants up and stepped into them,
pulling them on over his briefs. Barefoot, he padded into the bathroom,
steadfastly refusing to glance toward the living room.
A shower wasn't part of his routine first thing in the morning. That would
come later, before he changed into his uniform and assumed his role as acting
sheriff.
Back during the years he had lived in the city, he would have used these early
morning hours to go for a ten-mile run, work out in the gym, or spend time on
the shooting range. Now he spent the hours checking cattle, fixing fence, and
making any needed repairs or improvements plus half a hundred other
chores-seasonal or otherwise-that had to be done on the ranch. But none of it
before he had his morning coffee.
Fully dressed in boots, jeans, and a work shirt, Logan came out of the spare
bedroom and headed for the kitchen. All his fine resolve not to look at Cat
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