The bedroom was sectioned off by five large floor-to-ceiling wood posts, and in the center of the room the queen sleigh-style bed was the focal point, its rich deep mahogany wood and scrolled etching unlike anything Althea had seen before.
In one corner was a stone-covered fireplace, similar to the one in the living area although slightly smaller, flanked by an antique-looking cheval mirror and Victorian-era chair that completed the furnishings.
There was a distinctly feminine touch to the room, making Althea wonder if a woman had had something to do with the decorating. Immediately she discounted the thought. With the way Nate Wilde had reacted to her, she doubted any woman, save Lilly, ever set foot in the cottage. At least not if he had anything to say about it.
The man obviously had issues.
As she walked through the cottage on her way to the kitchen, she glanced around the main living area. Although more rustic…masculine, in design, it too had a hint of softness, with its oversize furniture and ornately carved tables. As in the bedroom, there was a stone-covered fireplace, with a large, plush chocolate-brown rug set in front of it.
Althea paused, then walked over to the fireplace. Hunching down, she ran her hand over the soft pile, her fingers sinking deep into the fibers.
Out of nowhere came the image of her and Nathan Wilde sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking a glass of wine together, their bodies pressed close, their attention only on one another.
As soon as it did, she ridiculed herself for the fanciful image.
Nate Wilde had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted nothing to do with her and if he had his way she’d be packed up and off the ranch, the sooner the better.
Not that she wanted him, even if he were so inclined.
She didn’t know one thing about the man. Had only met him once.
What she did know was that he was arrogant and condescending. She also knew he had a chip on his shoulder about women that even a blind man could see.
And he was so different from the type of man she normally was attracted to it was ludicrous to even think of the two of them sharing a glass of wine, or anything else for that matter.
With an almost cruel clarity her body mocked her, her nipples tensing as thoughts of him barged their way into her mind. Forcing her to remember the way his aftershave, mixed with his body’s natural scent, had blown across her senses, making her catch her breath when he’d stepped close to her inside the stall.
Or the look in his eyes when she’d issued the challenge to him. A look that said more than his words, one he probably wasn’t aware of himself. One every woman knew the meaning of when it crossed a man’s face.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
Rising, she walked toward the kitchen, poured water in the kettle and set it on the stove while she stood staring out of the small window. She didn’t know how long she stared outside, but the sound of the kettle whistling jarred her out of her thoughts. She poured the water into a mug, sunk a tea bag inside and sat down in one of the chairs at the dinette table.
Should she stay or should she go.
The lyrics of the song played around in her mind.
From the corner of her eye, she spied a penny lying on the carpet and rose slowly, walking over to it, a thoughtful frown on her face.
She lifted the coin from the carpet, fingering it.
“Heads I stay, tails I go. Seems a good enough way to decide as any,” she said, laughing humorlessly.
Closing her eyes, she flipped the coin in the air, willing to allow fate to make the decision for her.
In what seemed to be slow motion she watched it spin in the air before it landed, soundlessly, on the thick carpet at her feet. She waited a full minute before glancing at it.
Heads.
She lifted the coin, palmed it in the center of her hand.
“Two out of three,” she murmured.
Two more times the coin came up heads.
She sat back on her haunches, this time her laughter more relaxed. She shook her head. Not only because she was allowing a coin toss to decide her fate, but the fact that fate was seriously conspiring against her.
She took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and pulled herself together.
Despite everything that had happened to her over the past two years, she wasn’t a quitter. She was tired of running. Damn tired. And this seemed to be the perfect place, if only for a short while, to take a break from running. Do some thinking about her life, figure out how to untangle the mess it had become.
And if Nate Wilde had a problem with that…well, she had tackled bigger obstacles in her life. He wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
After breakfast, Althea took a leisurely shower, smiling in bliss when she squirted the foamy, deeply scented bath gel onto her sponge, the rich, decadent lather smooth and silky against her skin.
Much like the rest of the cottage, the bathroom was fully stocked with everything from designer shampoos to the shower gel that felt like silk against her skin.
After indulging for longer than she should have in the shower, she quickly dried off, hurrying through the rest of her morning routine. When it came time to get dressed, she paused as she rifled through her meager possessions.
“Jeans, or jeans…or then again, there’s jeans. Hmmm…what’ll it be?” She tilted her head as though seriously considering her options. “Jeans it is,” she said aloud, a reluctant laugh tumbling from her lips.
After lifting out the jeans, her hand brushed against her rare concession to feminine sensibility, one of only a few things she’d brought with her, nestled at the back of her drawer.
The proverbial little black dress.
She remembered the last time she’d worn it, at a black tie event with her father, the last one they’d been to together before he died. The smile drifted away from her face as she spied the small, framed photo of them she kept in the drawer. She lifted it and ran her thumb over his face.
“You look so handsome, Daddy,” she whispered.
It was the last photo she had of herself and her father together. That night had been the last night she’d seen her father alive.
She closed her eyes briefly and placed the photograph back where she kept it.
Thinking of the man who’d stolen her life, her world made her clench her jaw tight and battle against tears that were never too far away, threatening to consume her if she allowed them to.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Angrily Althea swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
Tears weren’t going to help her current situation, no more so than they could bring back her father. It was what it was, as that cliché saying went. But damn if it wasn’t a hard, bitter pill to swallow.
She carefully refolded the dress and placed it at the back of the drawer, along with the photograph.
She quickly dressed, choosing her standard jeans, thermal undershirt and sweater, stuffed her feet inside her worn tennis shoes before grabbing her parka and heading out the door, putting her emotional armor in place, ready to face whatever the day…or Nate Wilde…dealt her.
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