Blue Skies

by Catherine Anderson

  Bethany went into the kitchen for a bottle of wine and three goblets. En route back to the table, she said, “It’ll be extremely expensive, especially if you bring in experts to draw up the plans. I have several blind friends from college. I’m sure I can hook you up with the right contacts. But they’ll probably make a list of needed improvements longer than your arm. They usually do.”

  Hank rubbed the back of his neck to ease away the tension. “I’m not worried about the costs. The Lazy J is half mine. I’ll borrow against my equity.”

  Ryan took the wine Bethany poured for him. Leaning back on his chair, he took a sip and said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll float you a loan.”

  Hank knew Ryan was richer than Croesus, but it went against his grain to tap family. “I can’t take your money, Ryan. I need to do this on my own.”

  “Bull hockey.” Ryan set his glass on the table with a decisive click. “I know you’re good for the money. And the truth is, Carly won’t be the only one to benefit from the changes. Bethany has a hard time getting around out there. She worries about getting stuck if she goes very far from the house.”

  “That’s true,” Bethany inserted. “On the Fourth, I was afraid to take Sly down to play in the creek because the ground is soggy. Ryan had to go with him. I’d visit you guys a lot more if there were pathways for my wheelchair.”

  Hank shook his head. “I came for information and advice, not money.”

  “Yeah, well, what you came for and what you get may be two different things,” Ryan said. “It doesn’t make good business sense to borrow against the ranch, putting the family land, not to mention your source of income, at risk, when I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. I’ll be royally pissed if you go that route. How can you turn down a pay-it-back-as-you-can, no-interest loan?”

  Hank arched an eyebrow. “No interest? Who has no business sense?”

  Ryan winked at his wife. “My interest return will be having that hell hole you call a ranch transformed so my wife can visit there without one wheel of her chair dropping off into a hole large enough to swallow a Volkswagen.”

  Hank laughed in spite of himself. “Hell hole? Excuse me. You’re talking about the Coulter family heritage.”

  “Exactly.” Ryan inclined his head at Bethany. “She’s a Coulter by blood. I reckon if anyone has a right to go all over that ranch, it’s her. Go all out, Hank. Turn that ranch into a dream come true for handicapped ladies. My reward will be watching your sister wheel all over the place with our kids, showing them all the things she used to do when she was growing up.”

  “Amen,” Bethany said.

  “You’ve got one kid.” Hank motioned toward Sly, who was devouring his mashed potatoes without benefit of utensils. “Why are you using the plural?”

  Bethany blushed and flicked a glance at Ryan.

  “You’re pregnant?” Hank laughed incredulously. “Wow! That’s fabulous, Bethie. I’m happy for you guys.”

  Her blush deepened. “We’re not sure yet. Maybe.” She glanced at Ryan again. “Probably. I’m late.”

  “A whole lot late.” Ryan grinned, his twinkling blue eyes warming with gentle affection as he regarded his wife. “She’s been so busy this summer with the riding academy for handicapped kids that she’s neglecting the important stuff—like letting me know I’m about to be a dad again.”

  Bethany wrinkled her nose. “I’m not neglecting anything. I just haven’t had time to take a test, thank you very much. I either am or I’m not.” She slanted her husband a sultry look. “If not, we’ll just keep trying.”

  “I’m thrilled for you guys,” Hank said. “Congratulations.”

  “About accepting that loan.” Bethany gave Hank an accusing look that said, “You owe me this.” “Ryan has an obscene amount of money. If you borrow against that land and put my family heritage at risk, I’ll never forgive you.”

  Hank couldn’t speak for a moment—couldn’t even think what to say. He only knew he was the luckiest man alive to have such a wonderful family.

  “I accept,” he said huskily. “Thanks, Ryan. It might have taken me a month to secure a bank loan. Now I’ll be able to start the work right away.”

  “And bring your wife back home where she belongs a whole lot sooner,” Bethany inserted with a happy grin.

  “I can’t wait,” Hank said hollowly. “I promised her friend Bess I’d wait to go get her until all the work is completed, but it won’t be easy.”

  Ryan pushed up from his chair and went to get the portable phone. “Bethany, go find those contact numbers for Hank,” he said as he punched out a number himself. A moment later, he said, “Hey, Rip. Ryan Kendrick here. How’s business this summer? Do you happen to have a work crew available?” He listened for a moment. Then he gave Hank a thumbs up and said, “That’s great. My brother-in-law needs some work done, ASAP, a major project similar to the one you did for me on the Rocking K.” Ryan’s grin broadened. “Two crews? Hey, buddy, that’d be fantastic. He’ll need a few days to get the plans drawn up. If you could book both crews for the first part of next week, I’d really appreciate it.” Ryan paused. “You bet. Hank Coulter. He owns the Lazy J, east of town.” He recited Hank’s cell phone number. “That works. He’ll be expecting you to call. Thanks, buddy.”

  After breaking the connection, Ryan grinned. “You’re halfway there. Rip Tanner’s top-notch. He runs a tight ship and hires the best men around. Things have been slow this summer, and he’s got two crews that aren’t booked right now. He can have them on site next Monday, ready to break ground.”

  Hank had seen the quality of Tanner’s work on the Rocking K. As he recalled, the construction company had also gotten the project finished in record time. “That’s fantastic. Thank you, Ryan.”

  For the first time since he’d walked into the cabin and found Carly gone, Hank was able to relax. He had the money to revamp the whole ranch, and paying off the loan wouldn’t put him in a bind. He also had two crews lined up to get the work done. Bethany would get him in touch with other top-notch professionals to plan the project.

  If all went well, Carly might be back home on the Lazy J in only a few weeks.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Art Adams stood in the doorway of the shadowy guestroom, gazing solemnly at his daughter, who had finally fallen asleep in a fitful sprawl on the queen-sized bed. In the summer heat, even central air couldn’t keep the rooms comfortable without costing him a fortune, so he kept the thermostat at eighty. As a result, Carly was covered only with a sheet, the sharp projection of her hipbone and the pointed thrust of her shoulder clearly visible through the limp drape of linen.

  In the three weeks since she’d shown up on his doorstep, she’d done nothing but spin her wheels, enlisting him to spend hours on the Internet to try to help her find a teaching job, either here in Arizona or in Oregon. When that endeavor had failed, she’d asked him to read her the Help Wanted section of the classified ads each evening, her eyes fixed almost feverishly on nothing, her face taut. There were no jobs in the immediate area that she could perform. Each night as he’d opened the paper, Art had prayed that they might happen across something. Even a position as a phone solicitor would have given her some sense of purpose, but so far, they’d found nothing. Without a specially equipped computer, Carly couldn’t even write a letter of introduction by herself.

  It hurt to watch his daughter, who’d always taken such pride in being self-sufficient, being brought to her knees. In trying circumstances, other women could wait tables, take care of other people’s children, or sling hamburgers to make an income. None of those options were open to a blind woman.

  In the interim, Carly had lost an alarming amount of weight. It was like watching someone be bled dry. With each passing day, her dauntless spirit had weakened and she’d become more pale and listless. Now she spent most of her waking hours sitting by the window, listening to country-and-western songs on the radio while staring blindly at the desert, her once express
ive eyes gone empty except for an awful hopelessness that Art couldn’t dispel.

  Watching her suffer this way, Art had come to hate Hank Coulter with a virulence that frightened him. His child’s heart was breaking, and the man she mourned didn’t care enough to pick up a phone and call her. Never in his life had Art felt so frustrated, angry, or horribly helpless.

  Over the last few days, he’d tried to distance himself and regain his emotional equilibrium, but it was impossible. How could a father pull away from his only child? Her joy was his joy. Her pain was his pain. Right now her world was falling apart, so his own was in a shambles as well.

  The phone rang just then, jerking Art from his musings. With one last look at his girl, he carefully closed the door and limped into the living room to grab the portable. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mr. Adams?” a deep, masculine voice said. “This is Hank Coulter, Carly’s husband.”

  For an instant, Art was so taken aback he couldn’t think what to say. Then anger surged through his body, so sudden and searing he began to shake. For days, he had fantasized about all that he would say to this worthless excuse for a human being if he ever got the chance. He headed for his bedroom where he could speak his mind without waking Carly.

  The moment the door was closed behind him, Art said in a voice several decibels above normal, “You rotten, good-for-nothing son of a bitch!” That wasn’t exactly the delivery he’d planned, but it sufficed—for starters. He wondered if Coulter had hung up and hoped he had. Carly was better off without him in her life. “Are you still there?”

  Another brief silence ensued. Then Coulter cleared his throat and said, “Yes, sir, I’m still here.”

  The “sir” caught Art totally by surprise, making him wonder for a fleeting instant if he had made all the wrong assumptions about this man. Nah. The polite response was undoubtedly just for show. Well, Art wasn’t that easily fooled. Coulter’s actions spoke for themselves, and they weren’t those of a man who loved his wife.

  “How dare you call this house after three weeks of silence?” Art cried. “If you think I’ll let you talk to my daughter, think again. You got her pregnant, robbed her of her sight, derailed her education, and then broke her heart. I think you’ve done quite enough damage.”

  Art expected Coulter to cuss him out and hang up—or demand to speak with Carly. Instead, the younger man said nothing for a long moment. His voice had gone husky with what could only be regret when he finally responded with, “You’re absolutely right. Guilty as charged on all counts—except the last one.”

  “Meaning?” Art asked incredulously. “My daughter’s emotionally devastated. If you’re not responsible for that, who the hell is?”

  “Circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Yes, sir, and I’ve been working to remedy the problems ever since she left me. Now that I’ve accomplished that, I’d like to talk with you about how I should proceed, hopefully with your blessing.”

  “Proceed? With my daughter, you mean? Think again.”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling afraid for her, Mr. Adams. I had my head up my ass. I admit it.”

  Again, Art was surprised. An admission of guilt was not what he expected.

  Coulter dragged in a shaky breath, then rushed to add, “In my own defense, I have to remind you that I’d never been around a blind person. I knew Carly’s sight was failing, but I had no idea she was in any physical danger. We’d talked about making improvements to the ranch. I figured we could make do until next summer when she had her second surgery. The pond incident drove home to me what danger she was in, and I swear to you, I’ve barely slept since, trying to get everything fixed.”

  Art still wasn’t following, but before he could demand clarification, Coulter continued. “She’ll be absolutely safe with me now. I know you’re probably thinking I couldn’t possibly transform an entire ranch in only three weeks, but I promise you I have. I brought in professional analysts, they drew up the plans, and I hired two full-time work crews to get everything done.”

  Art held up a staying hand, then realized Coulter couldn’t see him. “What’s this about a pond incident?”

  “It’ll never happen again,” Coulter assured him. “I know it terrified her. She almost died. I’d be terrified, too. I’ve built walkways with guide rails all over the ranch, complete with intercoms at every intersection so she can call for help if she grows disoriented. Staff from our local Blind and Low Vision Services came out to lend a hand as well. In addition to organizing the house, they ordered metal tags, imprinted in braille, for every intercom station so Carly will know where she is at all times. I also got a pager to wear on my belt so she can beep me no matter where I am on the property. The digital readout will tell me exactly where she is whenever she pages me.”

  All the anger drained out of Art, and he sank onto the bed like a slowly deflating helium balloon. “My daughter fell in a pond?” It wasn’t really a question. Suddenly, all the pieces were beginning to fit together for him.

  “She didn’t tell you about that?” Coulter sounded as bewildered as Art felt. “What reason did she give for leaving me, then?”

  For twenty-one miserable days, Art’s hatred of this young man had been mounting to mammoth proportions. It took a considerable rearrangement of his thoughts to accept that his daughter had been the one to leave her husband, not the other way around. “She didn’t actually give me a reason,” Art admitted. “I assumed you took her for a ride and dumped her when you got bored.”

  “When I got bored?”

  For the first time in three long weeks, Art found himself smiling. This young fellow clearly loved his daughter, and Art realized now that he’d been way out of line, saying the things he had at the beginning of the conversation. He almost apologized but then thought better of it, choosing instead to find out, once and for all, what Hank Coulter was made of.

  Putting a gruff edge on his voice, Art said, “Talk is cheap. My daughter has been here for three weeks, and you haven’t picked up a phone to call her. That tells me all I need to know, namely that she’s better off without you.”

  “I waited to call until all the work was finished,” Coulter protested. “That’s why she left me, not because of anything I said or did, but because of all the dangers here on the ranch. She had it in her head that I’d be financially devastated if I made all the necessary improvements, that I’d be better off without her in my life. Wrong. To have her with me, I’d kiss this ranch good-bye in a heartbeat.”

  Carly had always been afraid her blindness was a burden to the people she loved. Art’s smile deepened. “That’s your story,” he said, injecting just enough disbelief into his voice to spur Coulter on.

  “It’s the truth! I love that girl with all my heart.”

  Art greeted that with a sarcastic huff. “You have a strange way of showing your love. Thanks to you, my daughter looks like death warmed over. She’s dropped so much weight, it frightens me.”

  “Oh, God,” Coulter whispered raggedly.

  Art continued relentlessly. “I’m deeply concerned, not only about her health, but also the baby’s.” That was absolutely true. “Now, out of the blue, you call here, expecting to reestablish communication? I don’t think so.”

  A loud clacking sound came over the line. When Coulter spoke again, his voice throbbed with anger. “Okay. I understand your position. Now try to understand mine. With all due respect, sir, that’s my wife you’re talking about. I’m coming to get her tomorrow. If you plan to stop me, you’d best be standing on the porch with a loaded shotgun and be prepared to use it.”

  “Calling the police would be a much simpler solution.”

  “Do what you have to do. A night in jail won’t kill me. Understand something. I love your daughter, and she loves me. No matter how many nights I spend in jail, sooner or later, I will bring her home where she belongs. When that day arrives, won’t it be more convenient for you to be on speaking terms with your son-
in-law?”

  Art admired this young man’s grit. Strength emanated from him, even over the phone line, and he obviously wasn’t one to be easily buffaloed. He was exactly what Carly needed in a husband, someone who would stand beside her through thick and thin. “Excellent point.”

  “I hoped to get your blessing before I—” Coulter broke off, his silence filled with question. “Pardon me?”

  “I said that’s an excellent point. I’ll definitely want to be on speaking terms with my daughter’s husband and the father of my grandchild. What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

  “Shortly before noon,” Coulter replied, his tone cautious and hesitant. “I, um—did I miss something?”

  Art finally allowed himself to chuckle. “No, son. I think it would be more accurate to say that I’ve overlooked a few things. When Carly arrived here three weeks ago, her eyes all red from crying, I couldn’t think past my anger. Someday soon, you’ll understand what I mean. I didn’t think; I just reacted. My little girl was hurting, and in my mind, you were responsible.”

  “And she didn’t set you straight?”

  Art laughed again. “No. Every time I asked what happened, her stock response was, ‘It just didn’t work out.’ Since it was obvious as hell that she still loved you, I jumped to the wrong conclusions. In short, I owe you an apology for the things I said at the start of our conversation.”

  “No apology is necessary. It’s enough to know that you won’t shoot me when I ring your doorbell. I love her, Mr. Adams. All I want is to build a life with her and make her happy.”

  Art had already deduced that. “Would you resent some well-intended advice from a tired old man?”

  “No, sir. I’m always open to good advice.”

  Art shifted on the bed to brace his back against the headboard. “I hope you’re comfortable. I have a long story to tell you about my daughter.”