Until Logan.
Hampshire’s favorite son.
The delectable bachelor destined to marry wealthy and within his class, she thought, recalling the final words of the article. The words she couldn’t bear to read aloud.
Chapter Eight
Lunchtime on Monday, Logan found a private spot in the courthouse and pulled his cell from his pocket. From the minute he’d arrived at the office this morning, his boss had him at his beck and call, covering an important case for a hospitalized co-worker, when the judge refused to grant a postponement.
He’d put Catherine’s number into his Favorites and he tapped the phone app, then her name. Anticipation kicked in only to listen to incessant ringing before her voicemail picked up. He muttered a curse. His only break for the day that would give him free time away from the client, and Catherine wasn’t answering.
“Montgomery, Judge wants you in his chambers. Seems your client’s causing trouble again,” the bailiff called from across the hall.
Logan groaned, ended the call before he could leave a message and ran down the hall.
Sometimes priorities sucked, he thought.
* * *
Hiding out wasn’t smart. It didn’t say much for her ability to cope. But then, Catherine didn’t want to cope. She wanted to forget. That she’d slept with Logan. And that he hadn’t gotten in touch.
She’d arrived at Kayla’s on Sunday and today was Tuesday. So what if she hadn’t told him where to reach her? He was a lawyer. A smart guy. If he’d wanted to find her, he could. Easily.
As much as she’d told herself not to expect anything, that she didn’t want anything, his silence hurt anyway. Because despite all the truths Catherine knew in her mind, her heart wanted to believe she was different, special. Not just a cheap and easy fling.
She wanted to forget, and catering to her pregnant sister would help her do just that.
Plus, it would allow Kane to leave the house without worrying that he’d left Kayla alone. It was the least she could do in exchange for invading his space and their privacy. She carried a tray of food upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door.
“If it’s more muffins, I’m stuffed.”
“Cinnamon French toast,” Catherine called back and kicked open the door with the toe of her foot.
Kayla propped herself up in bed.
“I made it just the way you like. A few raisins, a touch of low-calorie syrup…”
“Cat, sit down.”
After placing the tray on the dresser, she joined her sister. “I’m sitting. What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” She glanced at Kayla’s stomach and was rewarded by a jolt of movement under the sheet. “Active little guy.”
“Or girl. Listen to me. About all this… food.”
“I’ve been cleaning the kitchen, I swear. And I’m freezing the casseroles. You and Kane will have enough food to get you through the…”
“The first decade of this child’s life. Catherine, slow it down. I know you better than anyone. You only cook like a demon when you’re upset. It’s been two days and you haven’t mentioned him, but you’ve barely left the kitchen.”
“Him who?” she asked, avoiding her sister’s gaze.
Kayla rolled her eyes. “You know stress isn’t good for the baby.” She patted her stomach. “And worrying about you is stressful. Now, stop playing dumb and tell me what gives.”
Trust Kayla to hit her in the heart. Catherine eased herself down on the bed. “Remember when we were kids? And Christmas came? All the kids on the block got tons of gifts. Even if it was a used bike or a hand-me-down doll, they got wrapped gifts under the tree and Santa came.”
“But not for us,” Kayla said softly.
“Right. How many birthday wishes and Christmas lists did I waste asking for my daddy to come home?”
“I’m not sure. You never said it out loud. You swore it never bothered you the way it bothered me. And I should have sensed that it did.”