She stiffened at the tone of his voice and lifted her chin.
"You know why."
"You want the wedding night to be special. Well, I cannot do this anymore."
Alarm slithered along her spine. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that until we're married, if you still want to that is, I'm going to have to stay away from you."
"But..."
"For my own peace of mind and so that this does not happen again. You do something to me, something I'm not certain I like. The wedding is a week away. We will communicate by phone. This weekend I will be going to my club." He hesitated as he stared down at her. "There's so much a man can take and I've reached my limit. Good night, Catherine."
She watched in disbelief as he bounded down the steps and into his car. She was still sitting there when his taillightsdisappeared. As if sensing her confusion and despair, Galahad came back out and placed his large head on her lap.
"I'm fine," she whispered, her fingers combing through his thick fur. "I'm fine."
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 verysoon 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 eversince 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 severalof 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.