Blue Skies

by Catherine Anderson

  At her questioning look, he said, “Sorry. A man should always walk on the outside. The rules of gentlemanly behavior, according to my father.”

  “Hasn’t he heard of the feminist movement?”

  “The what?”

  She rolled her eyes and rewarded him with a smile that rivaled the sunlight. “I realize this is a rural community compared to Portland, but it can’t be that far out of the mainstream.”

  “Depends on the company you keep. My dad was a third generation rancher. We ranchers have our own way of thinking, especially about women.”

  “Oh?”

  Hank verbally scrambled to clarify that statement. “It’s a little known fact, but female ranchers claim to have started the feminist movement.”

  “Really?” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “How do they figure?”

  “They never needed to demonstrate with picket signs to get equal rights. They earned them by the sweat of their brows over a century ago. Take my mom, for instance. You’ll never meet any woman who’s more ladylike, but she held her own as a rancher’s wife, taking care of the house and us kids, plus bailing Dad out whenever he needed her help. I’ve seen her butt heads with bulls, buck hay alongside men, take care of us kids while she was doing it, and still feed twenty hired hands at the end of the day. My father says she’s a hell of a woman, and he’s right. She saved his ass so many times you’ll never hear him say that it was his ranch or his money. They each had their own roles, of course, but Dad would come in from the fields, throw on an apron, and do kitchen duty just as quickly as she’d throw on jeans and boots to work outdoors with him. ‘Needs Must’ was their motto, and they shared the workload.”

  “They sound wonderful.”

  “Yeah. My mom’s a sweetheart, and my dad—well, you’ll meet him soon enough. He’s a curious blend of modern thinking and old-fashioned courtesy. He’s all for a woman shattering the glass ceiling, but no man better treat her with disrespect while she’s climbing the corporate ladder.”

  When they reached the courthouse steps, she said, “I’m so nervous my stomach has butterflies.”

  “About getting a marriage license?”

  She shifted her small purse from one hand to the other. “I really, really wish there were another solution.”

  Hank nudged up the brim of his Stetson to better see her face. When she looked up at him again, he smiled gently. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  She nodded and straightened her shoulders. “Right. It’s the most practical way to do things. I know that.”

  He just wished she could be marginally relaxed about it. He gestured toward the broad steps.

  She turned and began the climb. Hank noticed her scowling in concentration, which told him the rises were difficult for her to see.

  “It’s my visual cortex,” she explained when she caught him watching her. “I have trouble with depth perception and can’t see depressions and edges.”

  “Ah.”

  Once at the landing, he pushed open the double doors and stood back for her to enter first. Then he grasped her elbow again to guide her to the elevator.

  “We can use the stairs,” she protested.

  “I put in a hard morning,” he lied.

  As the metal doors of the elevator slid closed behind them, Hank pressed the button for the third floor. Then he settled against the handrail with his arms folded at his waist. Carly stood center front for the duration of the ride, fidgeting with her purse and hair. Hank noticed that her hands were trembling.

  “It’s not that big a deal, you know. In five minutes, we’ll be finished.”

  She nodded. Then she graced him with a hesitant smile. Hank felt as if the sun had just peeked out at him from behind a cloud again. Her mouth was one of the loveliest he had ever seen, the upper lip a perfect bow, the lower one full and soft. “It just seems so strange,” she said. “I’ve never gotten married before.”

  He chuckled in spite of himself. “Me, neither, come to think of it.”

  The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened. He led the way to the clerk’s office, opened the door, and ushered Carly inside. Moments later they were trying to fill out the required form. To see the fine print, Carly held the paper a few inches from her nose. Why, Hank didn’t know. She had to study each letter to make out a word.

  “Why are there so many different fonts?” she grumped. “One time, A’s have curlicues, the next they don’t. It drives me nuts.”

  Hank studied the words, and in the doing, he began to get a glimmer of understanding. Carly was seeing letters for the first time and trying to correlate them with the unchanging shapes she’d memorized by touch.

  To save her unnecessary frustration, he began reading the lines aloud to her, which earned him a scolding frown from the clerk. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to be there for three hours.

  “It’s just a standard application,” he whispered. “Is it absolutely necessary to read all the fine print?”

  “I like to know what I’m signing.”

  Hank didn’t know what possessed him, but as he began to read the next line, he altered the wording. “I hereby swear on this blank day of blank,” he softly intoned, “that I’ll be my lawfully wedded husband’s sex slave, no questions asked, and will obey him in all things, even when he’s criminally abusive and unreasonable.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What?” She snatched the paper away from him. For an awful moment, Hank feared he might have made a mistake by teasing her. But then she gulped back a giggle and rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. It doesn’t say that.”

  “My point, exactly. It’s just a standard form.”

  She sighed. “Oh, all right. Just show me where to sign.”

  He pointed and then made the mistake of glancing away. When he looked back, he saw that she’d put her John Hancock on the witness line. Oops. Hank signaled for the clerk. “I’m sorry. Could we get a fresh form?”

  Carly squinted at her signature. “What? Did I mess up?”

  “No big deal.” Hank shoved the new application under her nose, pressed his finger to the correct line, and said, “Sign right there.”

  Sticking out the tip of her tongue, she pursed her lips in concentration and squeezed the pen hard enough to snap the plastic as she scrawled her signature. Hank forgot all about the form. That mouth. He would have happily forfeited his share of the Lazy J to kiss her again.

  When she finished, she whispered, “Did I stay on the line?”

  Not precisely. “You did great,” he said and quickly added his signature. Done. He had his pretty little sex slave all wrapped up and tied with a bow.

  Moments later, they showed the clerk their picture IDs and were finished. Carly puffed air into her cheeks as they walked to the elevator. “I’m glad that part’s over.”

  Hank felt relieved, too. Why, he didn’t know. It had only been paperwork. Carly fell silent as they walked back to his truck. Hank didn’t try to help her in this time. Before he started the engine, he looked over at her.

  “Would you like to go out for lunch or something?”

  She looked surprised by the suggestion. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Coffee, then?” He felt it was important that they spend some time together before the wedding, his hope being that she’d feel a little less nervous if she came to know him better.

  “No thanks,” she said with a smile to take the sting out of her refusal. “Coffee isn’t allowed now. It may harm the baby.”

  Hank thought of all the drinks served in restaurants that wouldn’t harm the baby, but he decided to let the subject drop. She clearly didn’t care to go.

  The drive back to the apartment complex passed in silence. When Hank had parked at the curb, he switched off the ignition. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Friday?”

  She nodded. Her fingers fiddled nervously with a button on her blouse. “Would it be possible for you to pick me up on the way to the courthouse? Bess got called back for a seco
nd interview at a dentist office today. That’s a positive sign. If she gets the job, she may have to work that afternoon.”

  “Sure, I can pick you up,” Hank assured her. “Will three thirty work?”

  “That’ll be fine.” She sat there for a moment, clearly searching for something to say. Then she sighed. “Well, I’d better go. Until Friday, then?”

  “Right.”

  It bothered Hank to just sit there while she exited the vehicle. He was accustomed to performing the gentlemanly courtesies. But he resisted the urge.

  Before shutting the passenger door, she flashed him a brittle smile and said, “ ’Bye.”

  Hank gazed after her as she moved along the walkway that led to her apartment. Friday. In four short days, he’d be a married man. As unnerving as that realization was, he knew it was even more unsettling for Carly. He wished he could do something to make her feel better about it.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t think what.

  Chapter Eleven

  That night, Hank went to see his parents. Despite his familiarity with their suburban home, he had a surreal feeling as he sat down at the oval kitchen table. His mother sat across from him. His father took a chair to his right.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you something?” Mary asked. “Tea only takes a minute, and the coffee’s still fresh.”

  Hank’s nerves were already raw. He didn’t need a jolt of caffeine to stretch them tighter. He settled back on the oak chair. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  Mary took a sip of tea from a dainty little cup with gold at the fluted edge. “It’s lovely that you stopped by. We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “It’s a busy time of year. Jake and I are still imprinting the spring foals, and we had four new horses brought to us this week for behavior modification.” Hank’s gaze shifted to the section of wall next to the window where six handprints were encased in aged plaster, one belonging to each of the Coulter brood. Looking at his own, Hank found it difficult to believe that he’d ever been that small. It occurred to him that one day soon, he might have his child’s handprint hanging in the kitchen. “Things will slow down here shortly.”

  “I hope so. You and Jake work too hard.”

  Hank tried to think of a gentle way to tell his parents his news. While he discarded one idea after another, the old teapot clock on the wall behind him seemed to tick more loudly with each passing second.

  “I have something I need to tell you. Prepare yourselves for a shock.”

  Mary sat more erect. Harv scowled, staring at Hank with those all-seeing, laser-blue eyes that had always unnerved him as a kid.

  “I don’t know how to work my way up to this, so I’ll say it straight out.” Hank waited a beat, and then he dropped it on them. “I’m getting married Friday.”

  Hank’s parents stared at him incredulously. His mother, a small, plump woman with dark hair barely touched with gray, carefully set her teacup on its saucer, glanced at her husband, and smiled uncertainly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a laugh. “My ears are getting so bad these days. I could have sworn you said you’re getting married.”

  Hank nodded. “You heard me right.”

  “I didn’t know you were even dating anyone exclusively.”

  Hank hadn’t lied to his folks since childhood, and he didn’t want to now. “These things happen quickly sometimes.”

  “On Friday, did you say?” Mary touched a hand to her throat, and her eyes went soft and shiny. “This is so sudden.”

  “I know it must seem that way. I’m sorry for not giving you more warning.”

  Harv patted his shirt pocket for the cigarettes he’d discarded four years ago. “How long have you known this woman, son?”

  “Long enough,” Hank replied evasively.

  “Do you love her?” his mother asked. Then she laughed. “Silly question. You wouldn’t be marrying her if you didn’t.”

  If only they knew. Hank was grateful that his mother had answered her own question. If he could avoid it, he preferred not to get into the particulars of his relationship with Carly.

  A frown pleated Mary’s brow. “Friday, did you say? This Friday?” At Hank’s nod, she said, “My goodness, that only gives us three days.”

  “We’re keeping it simple, Mom. She has no family here. Just a civil ceremony with no frills.”

  Mary looked crestfallen. “Surely you won’t mind if I give a reception. We can do it here. What kind of wedding will it be with no celebration afterward?”

  “Carly and I don’t really want a reception. We’re, um—well, it’s sort of sudden, and we want to avoid a bunch of fuss and—”

  Hank’s father broke in with, “Weddings aren’t solely for the bride and groom. They’re for the family as well. If your mother wants to have a small reception, I see no reason why she shouldn’t.”

  Determined to be the winner of this debate, Hank tried to think of an argument that would satisfy both his parents. Nada. Then he made the mistake of glancing at his mother. Her eyes were filling with tears.

  “You’ll only get married once,” she said shakily.

  Not necessarily. But Hank preferred not to get into that, either.

  “I want to do something special to mark the occasion. You’re our son.”

  How was a guy supposed to stand firm when his mother was about to cry? Hank took off his hat and set it on the chair next to him. Damn. He could hold his own with men. Somehow, it was never so easy with women, and now he had two of them to please.

  “It’s bad enough that it’ll be a civil ceremony,” Mary went on, her voice growing more taut with each word. “But to not even celebrate with a reception afterward? We’ll have no pictures, no wonderful memories to share as a family.”

  Under the table, Hank’s dad gave him a nudge with his boot. Hank knew when he was licked and held up a hand. “Mom?” Mary just kept talking. “Mother? Whoa! Will you give me a chance to say something?”

  Mary fell silent, her expression accusing. He had clearly just earned the honor of being the only son who’d ever broken her heart.

  “If I say yes to a reception, will you give me your solemn oath to keep it very, very simple?”

  Mary nodded. “Simple will be fine. I can do simple.”

  “All right, then,” Hank conceded. “But it has to be small with only family members in attendance. Agreed?”

  Mary immediately brightened. “Small is good. I can do that.” She blinked her tears away and wiped one cheek. “It’ll be more intimate that way.” She sniffed and rubbed under her other eye. “I’m sorry. It’s not every day our son gets married! I can’t imagine treating it like any other day.”

  Hank had already read that, loud and clear. As long as his mom kept it simple, he guessed a reception wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Carly, did you say? That’s a darling name.” Mary sniffed again. “When will we get to meet her?”

  Hank rubbed his jaw. “She’ll be pretty busy all this week, packing and getting ready for the ceremony. You’ll probably have to wait to meet her the day of the wedding.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Hank agreed, but he didn’t want to throw too much at Carly all at once. There’d be plenty of time after the nuptials for his family to get to know her.

  Hank fiddled with the bean mosaic that graced the center of the table. He’d made it for Mother’s Day eons ago. His dad had coated it with a fiberglass resin to protect the design, an off-center, cross-eyed rooster with a spiky comb made of brown rice. The poor bird looked as if it had just been knocked silly with a tack hammer.

  “What does she look like?” Mary asked.

  Hank thought for a moment. “Blond, pretty.” He felt his father’s gaze sharpen. “Not the flashy type. Her hair is naturally blond, honey gold with darker streaks. She wears no makeup, near as I can tell. If I were to describe her in just a few words, I’d say she’s more the church angel type—like the ones you see painted on chapel ceilings.
”

  Harv relaxed. Mary beamed. “She sounds lovely.”

  She grabbed a pen and paper from the telephone stand and began jotting down notes. Glancing up at Hank, she said, “We’ll have to invite the Kendricks.”

  Hank imagined the living room of his parents’ home crammed with people. “Except for Ryan, the Kendricks aren’t really family, Mom.”

  “Close enough. Your sister, Bethany, is a Kendrick now. They’ll be sure to hear about the wedding from Ryan.” She began drawing up a list, which grew to alarming proportions even as Hank watched. “And we can’t exclude Molly’s parents.”

  Hank threw a pleading look at his dad. Harv’s mouth twitched. “Molly’s mom and stepfather might not make it down, sweetheart. They’ll have to drive clear from Portland, and we aren’t givin’ ’em much notice.”

  Hank prayed his father was right. If fifty people showed up for the ceremony, how would he explain it to Carly? “I really think it’d be better if we include only immediate family. I’ve got four brothers and a sister, two of them married with kids. The JP’s office won’t hold all of us, let alone all our in-laws and shirttail relatives.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Mary said. “Just leave the details to me.”

  That was what worried Hank, the details. Why did women have to complicate everything?

  Mary glanced up at her husband. “We can’t exclude Sly and Helen.”

  Harv angled a look at Hank. “Nope, I don’t guess we can.”

  Mary dimpled a cheek. “Our Hank, getting married. Can you believe it, Harv? When he said he had to tell us something, that was the last thing I expected him to say.”

  “It came as a surprise, all right.” Harv pushed up from the kitchen table. “Hank, while your mother works up an invite list, can you step out to the garage with me for a minute? I want to show you something.”

  Hank knew what that meant and braced for an interrogation as he followed his father outside. Harv didn’t disappoint him. Once the fire door swung shut behind them, he pitched his voice low and asked, “What the hell is goin’ on?”