Page 42 of Courting Catherine
“My tools are at the shop. Is there anything else?”
“When I was walking, I kept wishing you were with me.”
She looked away until she was sure she had rebuilt the chink he’d just knocked in her defensive wall. “We want different things, Trent. Let’s just leave it at that.” She turned toward the door. “Try to get your car in early,” she added without looking around. “I’ve got an exhaust system to replace tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
C.C. fired up her torch, flipped down her faceplate and prepared to cut off the tail pipe on the rusted exhaust of a ’62 Plymouth.
The day was not going well.
She wasn’t able to get the scheduled family meeting off her mind. No other paperwork on the necklace had shown up, though they had gone through reams and reams of receipts and old ledgers. She knew, because of Amanda’s refusal to talk, that the news wasn’t good.
Added to that had been another restless night. She heard Fred’s whimpering and had gone to check on him only to hear Trent’s low murmuring soothing the puppy behind his bedroom door.
She’d stood there for a long time, listening.
The fact that he’d taken the stray into his room, cared enough to comfort and nurture only made C.C. love him more. And the more she loved, the more she hurt.
She knew she was hollow-eyed this morning, because she’d made the mistake of looking at a mirror. That she could handle. Her looks had never been a major concern. The bills she had found in the morning mail were.
She’d been telling the truth when she’d told Suzanna the business was doing well. But there were still rough spots. Not all of her customers paid promptly, and her cash flow was too often merely a trickle. Six months, she thought as she cut through the old metal. She only needed six months. But that was too long, much too long to help keep The Towers.
Her life was changing, changing fast, and none of it seemed to be for the better.
Trent stood watching her. She had some battered hulk of a car up on the lift and stood under it, wielding a torch. While he watched, she shifted aside as a pipe clattered to the floor. She was wearing coveralls again, thick safety gloves and a helmet. The music she never seemed to be without jingled from the radio on the workbench.
Surely a man was over the edge when he thought how delightful it would be to make love on a concrete floor with a woman who was dressed like a welder.
C.C. changed positions, then saw him. Very carefully she shut off the torch before she lifted the shield of her helmet.
“I couldn’t find anything wrong with your car. Keys are in the office. No charge.” She flipped down the shield again.
“C.C.”
“What?”
“How about dinner?”
She pushed back the shield and eyed him warily. “How about it?”
“I mean...” With a leery glance overhead, he stepped under the car with her. “I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.”
She shifted her weight. “I’ve had dinner with you every night for several nights.” She flipped the shield down. Trent flipped it up again.
“No, I mean I want to take you out to dinner.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
She lifted a brow. “Well, that’s very nice, but I’m a little pressed tonight. We’re having a family meeting.” She pulled down the shield again and prepared to relight the torch.
“Tomorrow then.” Annoyed, Trent pushed the shield back up. “Do you mind? I like to see you when I talk to you.”
“Yes, I mind because I’ve got work. And no, I won’t have dinner with you tomorrow.”
“Why?”
