Read How Cat Got a Life for Free Online

She was strong enough to give in gracefully. He was fully aware of her mistaken belief that she was chasing him by setting up the date. He had every intention of making her realize that since he became single again, he conducted his life as he chose and could be as unmovable as a rock.
    “Sheriff Leonetti. So nice you could make it.” Phyllis Bright cooed a greeting as they entered trough the arbor gate. The woman threw an acid look in Cat’s direction. Behind her, several more unmarried females had daggers in their eyes. Brock couldn’t resist sliding his arm around Cat’s waist in a possessive gesture.
    He might as well use the night to shake off the pack of bloodhounds that ran after him for a wedding ring. His life would be easier if people assumed he had a long distance relationship that put him out of bounds.
    “What would you like to drink?” he asked as he settled Cat at a table for two. “The usual choice is wine, beer, sodas, and some kind of fruit punch.”
    “White wine, please.” She glanced around. “I thought they’d have rows of seats for the concert.”
    “The garden is used as a coffee shop during the day and the tables are anchored down.”
    He stopped to exchange a few words here and there and returned ten minutes later with her wine and a club soda for himself. Cat met him with a sunny smile. Not an anxious frown because strangers made her uneasy, or words of complaint because he’d kept her waiting.
    “It’s chardonnay,” he said. “I hope it’s all right.”
    “I don’t know much about wine. You could serve me the cheapest rotgut and convince me it’s vintage.” Cat took a sip and nodded her approval. Glancing at his tall glass, she asked, “You don’t drink?”
    “I have an occasional beer, but I don’t like the brand they serve.”
    She lowered her glass to the table, then leaned her head back and inhaled deep breaths, closing her eyes. “It’s lovely in here. I can smell the flowers, but I don’t know what they’re called. I’ve never had a garden. Those birds must be robins. I wish I had some breadcrumbs to scatter. They seem quite tame.”
    Watching her made Brock feel lightheaded, as if the evening air carried a narcotic or someone had spiked his drink.
    “The music will start at eight,” he told her, and picked up the box of matches to light the lantern on the table. “The lights will go off, except the ones by the canopy for the players.”
    She glanced at him, her green eyes veiled and mysterious. He moved his chair closer, on the pretext on repositioning it for a better view of the musicians who had arrived and sat down to tune their instruments. When the darkness fell, candlelight flickered in her hair. The tension that had centered in his groin all week spread to his chest. He reached out and draped his arm over the back of her chair, idly stroking her shoulders, sliding his fingers into the nape of her neck. With a sigh, she leaned back and made the contact firmer.
    The comment that had troubled him since he picked her up at the hotel rattled inside his head. When she had first spoken, the idea had caused him mild annoyance, but now the feeling hardened into anger.
    Cat had implied she’d only agreed to the date to please her stepson.
    Before the night was out, he wanted to make her admit that she’d lied.
    ****
    “Do you go every Thursday?” Cat asked and almost groaned out loud as she heard her words. Couldn’t she achieve anything more original…more… daring ?
    Brock steered the car down the street through the evening darkness. The only light came from the controls on the dashboard. Shadows swept across the hard planes of his face. His hands gripped the wheel, strong and sure. A shiver raced down her skin at the memory of how those hands had explored the nape of her neck while they were listening to the music.
    “I check the program before deciding. If it’s classical, I try to make the time.”
    Cat curled her fingers over the lapels of his