Chapter Eight
Driving down the highway, Brian stared blankly through the windshield, mesmerized by the windshield wipers, back and forth, back and forth. They seemed to be giving him a message, although he had no clue what. He and Cait went back and forth, back and forth, always in the same rhythm, side by side, covering the same space, but never touching.
It should have been comforting, the steady swish and drag of the two parallel wipers, but Brian couldn’t shake the image of Grady and the woman he thought was Cait twisted together in the throes of passion.
How could kissing be that interesting? How could he get the asymmetric groping and rubbing out of his mind? It was grotesque, but he couldn’t turn away from it.
Especially since he’d thought it was Cait.
Why would she want that kind of madness and obsession? Did she go to the cabin to try and make him crazy? Because that wasn’t the way he was wired.
He had sex only in their bed, and only in certain positions, and only on the agreed upon days. He dictated the schedule around his work: three twenty-four hour shifts on and four twenty-four hour shifts off.
This week, his off days were Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. He’d had sex with her Friday and they weren’t due until Monday. She’d agreed to leave him alone Saturday and Sunday and let him go to the cabin to clear his mind.
So why had she invaded his space?
All because Connor said she was lonely at the lighting festival? Didn’t make sense, because she was never lonely before.
Two hours and twenty minutes after leaving his house, Brian turned his car onto the gravel driveway. Cait’s Toyota already occupied the carport, so he parked in front of the porch.
He shut off the headlamps and sat, staring at the dark cabin as if it were a foreboding monster. His skin prickled, and every hair on his head sizzled with a creepy sensation.
Logic told him things weren’t right with her. She should never have come to his sanctuary. But if he drove her away, she would make life difficult for him back home—especially where he was outnumbered by Harts.
Taking a deep breath, he fortified himself. He had to be brave and strong and logical. She’d listen to his reason and agree with him. It was time to end the farce, since she yearned for the kind of romance he could never give her.
Not that he didn’t like her. He cared a great deal about her, and he admired her, but he wasn’t the lovey-dovey type, and he wasn’t even sure if he knew the definition of love.
Brian exited the car and shut the door lightly. Taking careful steps, he eased his way onto the porch which creaked. The rain had abated into a light sprinkle, and it was well after midnight.
The living room was cool when he stepped in, and he noticed the fire had burned itself out. The bedroom door was closed, which meant she was in there, likely sleeping, since she didn’t come out to greet him.
Brian opened the bedroom door a crack and his pulse ratcheted higher. Two people snored in the room amidst sounds of intermittent grunting.
Was this a trap? Was Connor in on it? If so, they’d set him up to catch her in the act.
He flicked on the light and glared at the shapes sleeping in the bed before his eyes popped wide with surprise.
Two large black dogs shook their heads as they woke and Cait groaned and rubbed her eyes. She sat up on the bed and blinked. “Brian? You came back.”
“What are you doing here?” The words were out of his mouth before he could filter them. “I drove all the way back home to find you, and Connor said you came here. What are you doing with Alana’s dogs?”
He’d know those dogs anywhere. They were blue chows, a dilute shade of black. The larger one was Sierra, whose coat was a silvery-bluish color, and the smaller, more compact one was Melia, who was so dark, she was almost black, except for her gray snout. Brian wasn’t sure why these little factoids would take prominence in his brain when he should have been confronting his wife.
It was just another part of being weird.
“You know these dogs?” Cait crept to the edge of the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers.
“I know these dogs,” Brian said. “They’re Alana’s.”
“Who’s Alana?”
“Mrs. Thornton. How did they get here?”
Cait got off the bed and approached him, which made him draw back, even though logically, he knew he should give her a hug.
“They showed up at the door when I got here,” Cait said. “You were on a first name basis with Mrs. Thornton?”
