Free Hours to Cherish by Heather Graham Page B

know why you married me, Clay. I’ve talked to my father. Don’t lie to me, please.”
    “Oh, Lord, Cat,” he mumbled, his fingers threading through the magnificent fall of her hair. “I won’t lie to you, certain things did happen, but Cat, we really need to talk. When I come back, we’ll clear the air of everything.”
    He had kissed her long and hard, and while he was gone, Cat had belatedly realized all the mistakes she had made in her marriage. Childish mistakes. Granted, Clay could be hard. He had flaunted many things in her face. But if she had been older, a little more secure in her love, a little more mature, he might have understood her tempestuous nature, gentled his handling of her, opened himself to her.
    None of the lessons of belated wisdom she gave herself were ever to do any good. Clay never returned. And in time, Cat knew she would never, never love that way again.

CHAPTER FOUR
    C AT WOULD HAVE LIKED to stay in her room, nursing old wounds, for the remainder of the day and night. She did manage to spend hours, just staring at the beamed roof overhead, thinking, trying not to think, alternately shivering and freezing, and growing so warm that tiny beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead only to turn to pinpricks of ice and she would feel the shivering chills again.
    When she dragged herself up, the room was beginning to grow dim. She took a look at her reflection and winced, touching a finger to her damp cheeks. I’ve been crying over him, again, she thought miserably. Damn him! I get him out of my life and he walks back in.
    But I was wrong so many times, she told herself. I simply wasn’t old or mature enough to handle love or marriage.
    Cat stiffened. I was jealous, yes, but not without provocation. It was easy to remember Clay’s charming smiles, the debonair look of the rakish pirate he bestowed so easily on other women. The trip he took, arm in arm with another woman, just after their marriage … well, not arm in arm, maybe, but the blonde on the salvage operation had made no attempt to hide her desire for Clay, and Clay certainly hadn’t appeared to mind her attentions.
    And where the hell had he been for all those years, appearing now just in time to wreck her life? Pity she had been caught so off guard. She should have queried him, just to save herself this torment.
    There were shadows beneath her eyes already. She appeared taut and strained, as if she had aged years in the last few hours. Damn him, damn him, damn him! Cat closed her eyes, fervently wishing she could crawl back into bed and pretend the entire day had been a bad nightmare. She could just sleep and sleep. …
    No. She always made an appearance in the dining room, casually exchanging a few words with her guests, assuring herself that all was well. Clay Miller was not going to return and intimidate her. Heaven’s Harbour Lodge was hers, she was going to run it as she always did, and ignore him if he was rude enough to make an appearance.
    Cat dressed with very great care, winding her hair in a chignon and choosing a black halter dress with a swaying hemline. The neckline came high, forming a collar around her slender throat, but leaving her shoulders and back, other than three decorative straps, bare. The material was a simple polyester, but it clung to her shape nicely. Simple and casual Bahamian elegance. With a pair of heels and her hair piled high, she would almost match Clay in height, and for some reason—although she was determined to avoid him—that seemed important.
    Coral drop earrings and a matching bracelet completed her ensemble. Taking a step back from the mirror, Cat sighed and turned to leave the room. But her eyes lit upon the scrimshaw and she too picked it up, feeling the cool ivory with the palm of her hand. She had given Clay the scrimshaw. It had been a wedding present. Her fingers tightened around the ivory, and she felt tears forming in her eyes again. She quickly closed her eyes, stuffed