Free That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) by Debbie Macomber Page B

case, do you always cry when a man kisses you?”
    “Of course not,” she snapped. “It was all that wine you forced me to drink. Now, do you want an omelet or not?”
    “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.” A smile crinkled the lines about his eyes, and for a moment Cathy could almost hate him. She couldn’t help being curious about what he found so amusing.
    Hands positioned challengingly on her hips, she spun around. “All right, I don’t want to talk about it. Are you happy?”
    “Pleased. I appreciate the honesty.”
    “Wonderful,” she murmured. Taking a mixing bowl from the cupboard, she cracked the eggs against the edge with brutal force, emptying them into the bowl. She didn’t know how she was going to force herself to eat. The thought of food was enough to make her sick. “I don’t ask you personal questions. I … I wouldn’t dream of inquiring about your marriage or your relationship with your wife.” She waved her hands in the air dramatically, then gripped the fork and furiously whipped the eggs.
    Grady watched her movements for a minute. “Those eggs are going to turn into cream if you don’t stop whipping them to death.”
    “It’s clear you don’t know a thing about cooking, otherwise you’d realize you’re supposed to whip the eggs.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, how would you feel if I started prying into your life?”
    Grady shrugged and then gestured with the open palm of his hand. “My life’s an open book.”
    “Fine,” she snapped. “How’s your love life? How many times a week did you and your wife make love?” She threw the questions at him in rapid succession, not pausing to breathe between.
    “Rotten,” he shot right back at her. “And in the end Pam and I didn’t.”
    “Aha!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “The truth comes out. And just why weren’t you and Pam acting like husband and wife?” There was a sense of satisfaction seeing the way his mouth tensed and the way his jaw worked. His eyes narrowed into deep, dark sapphiresthat were as cold as Arctic ice.
    Wiping her fingers with a hand towel, she smiled at him sweetly. “As the saying goes, if it’s too hot in the kitchen …”
    “Pam and I didn’t make love because she was no longer interested in lovemaking—or me, for that matter.”
    Cathy flinched. She hadn’t expected him to reveal so much of his life. In all actuality, she and Grady were two of a kind. “Is that when you began running?” The minute the words were out, Cathy knew she had made another mistake.
    “Listen, Cathy.” Grady rammed his fists into his pockets. “I don’t know where you come off. I’ve never run from anything or anyone.”
    “Then why do you work twenty-hour days and spend so little time at home that your daughter hardly knows you?” Now that she’d started, Cathy couldn’t make herself stop. Why wouldn’t she quit? She couldn’t imagine what made her delve into the intimate details of his life as if it was her right to know. She found herself digging at him unmercifully. She had no right to throw stones at him when she was just as vulnerable.
    “All right. You want answers, I’ll give you answers.” His breath came out roughly.
    “Grady, no.” The words were ripped from her throat. “I’m sorry, I have no right. Can’t we agree to leave the past buried? It’s obvious we’ve both been hurt. It won’t do either of us any good to dredge up all that pain.”
    He sighed heavily.
    Cathy walked across the kitchen, slipped her arms around his middle, and softly laid her head on his chest. His arms circled her and held her close and tight, pressing her to him while he buried his face in her hair. They stood with their arms around each other in the middle of the kitchen floor until Cathy felt a faint shudder rake through him.
    “Did you say something about dinner?” he asked, then firmly kissed the top of her head, breaking the embrace.
    Cathy smiled gently to