Blue Skies

by Catherine Anderson

  “How about your father?”

  “My dad can’t afford a plane ticket. The marriage will mean nothing. I see no reason to issue an invitation and make him feel obligated to come. I’ll call and tell him after it’s over.”

  A marriage that meant nothing? It went against everything Hank had been raised to believe. His problem, and one of his own making. He had concocted this crazy plan. “Right. He’ll probably want to fly up when the baby comes. This way, he won’t get stuck twice with the cost of airfare.”

  “Exactly. And I’ll be more comfortable if there isn’t a lot of fuss.”

  Hank just hoped he could convince his mother of that. Mary Coulter loved to give parties, and she’d probably insist on having a reception.

  “I’ll do some calling Monday morning to find out how we should proceed,” he said. “I’ll be in touch to let you know.”

  “I—okay. I’ll be expecting you to call then. Monday, do you think?”

  Hank had no idea how long it would take to get everything arranged, but he could certainly keep her posted. “Sure. Monday.”

  She ended the call without saying good-bye. Hank returned the phone to his belt. Zeke was behind the bar, mixing them each a drink.

  “Well?”

  Hank crossed over to sit on a barstool. “She’s agreed to the marriage.”

  “You don’t look very happy about it.”

  Hank took the tumbler his brother shoved toward him. He thumbed the condensation that beaded the glass. “I coerced her into it. I feel like a bastard.”

  “Sometimes, little brother, life doesn’t offer a man any choices. If ever a lady needed help, I’d say it’s her.”

  “She’s worried that I’ll go into Romeo mode the minute she says ‘I do.” ’

  “You are only human.”

  Hank nearly choked on the Jack and Coke. “I’ve never forced myself on a woman in my life. I don’t plan to start with her.”

  “I know you’d never force her, Hank. But sex is important to a man. What’ll you do for two, maybe three years? Play around on the side?”

  Hank snorted. “Not hardly. I’ll be a married man.”

  Zeke nodded. “Exactly. It isn’t in you. Which leaves you high and dry unless she comes around.”

  “I’m not going into this with a bunch of expectations riding drag. I’ve given her my word I won’t press her for sex, and I’ll damn well keep it.”

  “Of course you will. But a man has physical needs, like it or not. When those aren’t met for a long period of time, even a mild-tempered fellow—which I’ll point out that you’re not—can get testy and hard to live with.”

  “I’m not bad-tempered,” Hank retorted.

  “You’re no pussycat, either. Living with a woman—being close all the time—it can be a real bitch and put a strain on any relationship.”

  “I’ll deal with it somehow.” Hank rolled the glass between his hands. “If cold showers don’t work, I’ll mosey down to the stable and work until I drop before I take it out on her. She’s suffered enough because of me.”

  Zeke gave him a sharp look. “Are you developing feelings for this girl?”

  “Feelings? Not hardly. She’d frustrate a saint.”

  “I see.”

  “I doubt it.” Hank laughed humorlessly. “She’s like no woman I’ve ever met—difficult and infuriating and—” Hank broke off, at a loss for words.

  “And, what?”

  “Sweet,” Hank whispered. “So sweet that I need to be horsewhipped for ever touching her.”

  “Sweet?” Zeke grinned, his lean cheeks creasing into deep brackets at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, boy.”

  Seeing his brother’s amusement, Hank took exception and said, “What’s that mean?”

  Lifting his glass, Zeke said, “Cheers, Romeo. You’re a goner.”

  Chapter Ten

  At a quarter to ten on Monday morning, Carly had just taken a sip of herbal tea when the phone rang. Knowing it was probably Hank, she leaped up from the kitchen table as if she’d been stuck with a pin. Then she stood there, rubbing her hands on her jeans, reluctant to answer.

  On the fifth ring, she found her courage. “Hello?”

  “Hi.” His deep voice sounded warm, and she could almost see his slow grin. The image rankled. Without even bothering to identify himself, he asked, “How’s the tummy this morning?”

  Ordinarily, Carly wouldn’t have been disturbed by an inquiry about her health, but coming from Hank, the question seemed intrusive and personal, not to mention proprietary. It was her digestive track, thanks very much. “Fine,” she lied.

  “No nausea? That’s good news. How’s the head?”

  Having a headache had come to seem almost normal. It was only when the ache became a pounding pain that she was forced to lie down. “The head’s fine, too.”

  “Good, good.” A rapping sound came over the wire. She envisioned him striking a pen on a hard surface. “I just got off the phone with the courthouse. No blood tests or physicals are required in Oregon now. It’s a simple matter of going in to get a marriage license today or tomorrow and making an appointment with a JP for the ceremony. How does Friday afternoon strike you?”

  “For the wedding, you mean?” Carly hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. “Oh my.” What was his big hurry? “That’s, um, only four days away.”

  “I know, but there’s no real reason to wait. We may as well get it done.”

  Done? Carly got the laundry done. She got the housework done. Legally binding herself to a man she barely knew didn’t fall into the same category.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, even though she wasn’t. In truth, she was horribly nervous, the kind of nervous that made her heart pound and her skin feel as if it were turning inside out. Friday? She remembered the urgent way he’d jerked at her clothes and spurted semen on her thighs, so eager to possess her that he hadn’t even managed to aim straight. Now he was racing for the finish line again. What assurance did she have that he’d keep his promises after the wedding? “I’m just—dandy.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “Try not to get too wound up about this marriage business. All right? I don’t want you getting a stress headache. Think of it as a technicality.”

  How did he know about her headaches, let alone that they might be caused by stress? Bess. And who did he think he was kidding, saying the ceremony would be nothing but a technicality? She’d be married to him, wouldn’t she? Stuck out on some ranch, heaven only knew how far from town, and unable to drive. She’d be totally dependent upon Hank Coulter for everything. The thought set her teeth on edge. She was accustomed to doing for herself. Now she’d be relinquishing all control. There’d be no public transportation out at his ranch, no stores within walking distance. She’d be cut off from the world. She didn’t even know if he’d provide her with a phone.

  “I drew up that paper, by the way.”

  Her attention snapped back to the conversation.

  “My brother Zeke witnessed my signature. No sex unless you say so. No filing for custody after a divorce. I also added a clause about the start-up cash I’ve promised to give you. If there’s anything else you want included, just let me know. On a computer, it’s easy enough to make changes, and it’s no big deal to have my signature witnessed again.”

  The very fact that he was so willing to add other stipulations made Carly suspicious. If he truly believed the document was binding, wouldn’t he be reluctant to include anything more than what they’d already agreed on?

  “Speaking of our agreement, what will be your solution to that problem?”

  “My solution to what problem?”

  She ground her teeth, wondering if he were being deliberately obtuse. “To being celibate for two or three years.” Tension had her stomach doing roller coaster dips. “Is it your plan to—well, you know—continue as you have?”

  “Going out on weekends, you mean?”

  T
hat was a polite way of putting it. “Yes. Is that your plan?”

  “I’ll be married,” he retorted, as if that said it all. “I won’t step out. I’d be breaking my wedding vows.”

  Wonderful. He’d be all hers, sexual deprivation and all. “What do you intend to do, then?”

  Another silence, followed by a weary sigh. “That’s my problem, Carly. Trust me to handle it.”

  No, it was her problem. And she didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him. In her experience, people who used underhanded tactics in one situation were inclined to play dirty whenever an opportunity presented itself.

  As though he sensed her thoughts, he said, “Carly, I’ve promised you that it’ll be a marriage in name only unless you say otherwise. I’ve drawn up a document, guaranteeing that in writing. What else can I do to make you feel better? You name it, you got it.”

  “Forget I mentioned it,” she said hollowly. “I was just—never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  Friday. What if he had a vile temper? What if he was an alcoholic? What if he was a wife beater? The list of possibilities was endless. That night at Chaps, he’d seemed like a nice guy, and Bess now seemed to trust him. But what did either of them really know about Hank Coulter? Nothing. If he got staggering drunk every night of the week, she wouldn’t find out until she was married to him.

  He interrupted her musings by asking, “Are you free this afternoon, by any chance?”

  Her heart stuttered another beat. “Free to do what?”

  “There’s a waiting period after getting a marriage license. Three days, I think. We need to get the paperwork taken care of today or tomorrow to have the ceremony on Friday.”

  “Oh.” Carly tugged on her ragged T-shirt and touched her hair, which was still tousled from sleep. “What time this afternoon?”

  “Will two work?”

  That gave her nearly four hours. “If you’re absolutely bent on doing this, I guess two will be fine.”

  “I’m bent on it,” he said firmly. “Would it help if I sat down with you and went over my financial situation?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “You sure? You might feel better about all this if you could see the entire picture and know in your own mind that we’ve got no other choice.”

  Carly doubted anything would make her feel better. She wasn’t even sure she was thinking rationally. Bess didn’t seem to think so. Maybe her hormones were in a state of flux, and she was being unreasonably difficult.

  “I’m sure,” she managed to assure him.

  “Two it is, then. Before you hang up, can we try something?”

  “What?”

  “I just thought we might try saying good-bye this time, like normal people. So far, all our phone conversations have ended with you hanging up on me.”

  The teasing note in his voice caught her by surprise, and she almost smiled. Then she caught herself and firmed her lips. She wasn’t going to be charmed by him again. Letting her guard down with Hank Coulter was dangerous. “I enjoy hanging up on you. It gives me a perverse satisfaction.”

  Brief silence. There was another smile in his voice when he said, “I always like to satisfy a lady. Go for broke.”

  Carly grinned in spite of herself as she dropped the receiver into the cradle without telling him good-bye.

  Hank arrived on Carly’s doorstep promptly at two. He knocked, three spaced raps with the back of his knuckles, and then cooled his heels on the welcome mat, waiting for her to answer. He heard rattling sounds coming from inside, then what sounded like bare feet pounding across the carpet.

  When the door finally swung open, Carly stood at the threshold, holding three blouses on hangers in one tightly fisted hand. She wore an overlarge white T-shirt over a gathered blue skirt that sported a red-and-pink floral pattern. Hank took in her fine-boned bare feet and dainty little toes, her gracefully turned ankles, and a brief expanse of shapely calf before jerking his gaze back to her face. A guy could do worse in a shotgun wedding, he decided. A hell of a lot worse.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I meant to be ready.” She pushed at her beautiful hair. “I have this embarrassing problem, and since Bess isn’t here, I thought you might help me.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I’m still lousy at matching colors.” She held the blouses higher for his inspection. “Can you tell me which of these goes best with my skirt?”

  One of the tops was hunter’s orange with purple and green starbursts. Hank could scarcely believe she might consider wearing it with a floral print. Pointing to his choice, he said, “I’m no fashion expert, but if I were you, I’d go with the white one.”

  She spun away. “I’ll be ready in two seconds.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door. “Don’t rush on my account.”

  As she rounded the corner, she began tugging off the T-shirt. Hank got a tantalizing glimpse of bare back and slender arm. Then the bedroom door slammed shut, depriving him of the view. He sat on the sofa to wait.

  Two minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom. Hank glanced up and barely suppressed an appreciative grin. She rubbed the end of her nose, making it turn a pretty pink. “Thanks for the help. Do I look all right?”

  She looked fabulous. And so sweet and uncertain of herself that he yearned to lavish her with compliments. Not a good idea.

  “You look great.” He pushed to his feet. “If I’d known this was going to be a dress-up affair, I’d have changed my shirt.”

  She pressed a slender hand to her chest. Then she retreated a step. “You’re right. A skirt is too dressy. Slacks would be better. Excuse me for a minute while I go—”

  Hank snaked out a hand to catch her by the wrist. “You look perfect the way you are,” he assured her. “I was only joking.”

  She stiffened at his touch. Hank quickly released her. Silence. He tried to think of something else to say. Nothing brilliant came to mind, so he settled for, “Well? You about ready to go?”

  She rubbed the wrist that he’d just touched as though to remove contaminants. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You’ll need your purse.”

  “Oh, of course. I’ll need ID. Will I need my birth certificate, too?”

  “They don’t require them here. Just a picture ID.”

  She went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a small black clutch bag barely large enough to hold a wallet. Hank was accustomed to women carrying much bigger purses. As near as he could tell, Carly wore no makeup. Maybe that explained it.

  “You travel light.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go get this done.”

  Once outside, she struggled to lock the door. Hank remembered Bess’s hurdle theory and refrained from offering assistance. While he stood there watching, he couldn’t help but notice how badly her hands were shaking. Nerves, he guessed. The realization bothered him because he knew he was the cause. He tried to remember that night—more specifically its ending. The images that circled through his head were vague and impossibly jumbled, culminating in blackness. Unfortunately, the proof was in the pudding, as his father was fond of saying. Whether he could remember it or not, he’d definitely done something to make this girl scared to death of him.

  The thought jerked Hank up short. Girl? She was twenty-eight years old, damn it, and he was going soft in the head. Even so, as he stood there fidgeting while she tried to get the door locked, he couldn’t chase away the thought that she was as shy and uncertain as a young teenager.

  After three tries, she finally got the key in the hole. Seconds later when he tried to help her into the truck, she avoided his hands and managed by herself. After she got settled on the seat, Hank closed the door and left her to handle the seat belt. When he swung in on the driver’s side, she was sitting straight enough to rule paper with her spine. For a second, Hank couldn’t think what might have kicked her anxiety level up another notch. Then h
e recalled what had transpired between them the last time she’d been inside this vehicle.

  As he pulled out into traffic, his palms sweat bullets on the steering wheel, making the plastic slick. He sneaked a glance her way, wishing she’d say something.

  She finally broke the silence with, “What a beautiful day!”

  Grateful for anything they might talk about, Hank leaped at the conversational opening with absurd relief. “That’s one of the nice things about Crystal Falls. Lots of sunshine. Over three hundred days a year on average.”

  “Really? How interesting. In Portland, it rains almost that much.”

  Hank almost said, “Really?” He caught himself before the exchange went from absurd to ridiculous. “You know what they say about Oregonians. We don’t tan, we rust.”

  She laughed shrilly. “Not over here, though.”

  “Nope. Over here, we get honest-to-goodness tans and skin cancer like other folks.”

  Hank drew to a stop at a red light. Still brittle with tension, but trying to pretend she wasn’t, she stared out the passenger window.

  “I love the sky here,” she said. “It’s such a gorgeous blue. That was one of the first beautiful things I ever saw, you know, the Central Oregon sky.”

  “You were already living over here when you had your first eye surgery?”

  “We moved into the apartment the week before and then drove back to Portland for the operation. It made things a little hectic, but Bess had to be settled in over here so she could start interviewing for jobs as soon as possible. She hopes to work full time the rest of the summer and then go part time after classes begin.”

  Hank was glad that their friendship was still intact. He’d worried that Bess’s defection might cause a permanent rift. The fact that Carly had forgiven her friend for the betrayal told him more about her than she could possibly know.

  A few minutes later after Hank found a parking spot on Main for his overlong truck, Carly took off walking toward the courthouse without him. He hurried to catch up, then grasped her by the shoulders and circled to her left, putting her between him and the storefronts.