A Hickey for Harriet & a Cradle for Caroline

by Nancy Warren

  “MR. KUSHNER, Mrs. Kush—” He heard a mumbled exchange of female voices and then, “Um, Caroline to see you.”

  “Send her in,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his delight.

  He hadn’t been certain she’d come. Not all the Mels or wounded animals in the world could make Caro do something she didn’t want to do. And nothing, but nothing, would make her change her mind once she’d made it up, as he’d discovered in the most painful way possible.

  She walked in and, as she’d done the first time he’d seen her, she made him blink with surprise that any woman could look so flawlessly gorgeous outside of a movie screen or glossy magazine. “You get more beautiful every time I see you,” he said, taking pride in the fact that she was his, forgetting for the moment that she wasn’t.

  She gave him the look she usually reserved for slime and pervs and pulled out her notebook. “Shall we get started?”

  He sighed. “Have a seat.” He indicated the round table and chairs in one corner, thinking it would be easier for her to take notes. She sank gracefully into a chair. But then, she did everything gracefully. She flipped open her notebook and he saw that she’d come prepared with a list of questions.

  As Caro glanced at them, he wondered who she thought she was kidding. Years in the newspaper business had taught him to read upside down. He could see the series of neatly penned questions in her even, curved handwriting, and immediately suspected that she’d scribbled and crossed out and fussed over them and then rewritten her list. She’d obviously decided to pretend he was a stranger and that she was coming into this story cold.

  He settled back, prepared to let her interview him. While she was doing that he’d have the luxury of staring at her, which he’d missed. When she finished the interview he hoped she’d be relaxed enough that they could talk.

  It annoyed him to have to manipulate his own wife into a conversation, but this impasse was becoming ridiculous.

  Lillian had strict orders that she was to hold all calls and to admit no one while Caro was with him. She was enough of a friend that he had no doubt she’d throw herself bodily at anyone who tried to interrupt the interview.

  He had all the time in the world, knew they wouldn’t be distracted, and they were on his turf, all according to his carefully crafted strategic plan.

  “Why did you decide to open an animal sanctuary?” She read the question then gazed up at him and it felt as if his heart hiccuped. It wasn’t her beauty this time that caught him off guard, but the expression in her eyes. It was cool and remote, and he’d known and loved her for long enough to recognize the hurt and anger smoldering under the blue ice.

  She already knew the answer to her question; it was because she, Caro, had wanted it. She’d seen that the local animal shelter was full to overcrowded with abandoned cats and dogs and had no room, never mind resources, for wild animals that were injured or orphaned too young to fend for themselves.

  Jon used to laugh and say saving orphaned animals fulfilled her baby urge, but after almost a year of trying to get pregnant, they’d stopped with the jokes.

  Their lovemaking had been timed to her biological clock—not the one that said it was the time in her life to have a child but the one that said, “I’m fertile for the next forty-eight hours. Go. Now.” It could sure take the fun out of sex.

  He shook his head to scramble his thoughts into some semblance of order, “I wanted to do something…” he said, wishing he could offer some gesture to prove to her that he still cared for her, an act that would break through her angry refusal to face the problems in their marriage. No. He’d promised himself to ease into all that. She was still gazing at him and he wanted to tell her that if she expected any sense out of him she should look the other way. He couldn’t stare into her eyes and not remember…not want—

  “You wanted to do something…” she prompted.

  “Right. The committee and I decided to go ahead and get P.W.R., that’s Pasqualie Wildlife Refuge,” he said as though it might be news to her, “up and running before summer.”

  “Why now?” she asked. She wasn’t looking at her notes but at him, and he’d seen her next question was about community support. The “why now” had been off the cuff. So she felt left out, did she? Maybe if she’d returned any of his calls she’d have known the committee was meeting again.

  Since she’d departed from her script, he decided to depart from his, as well. Keeping his gaze on hers, he said, “Just over a month ago, we got the approval from the city to go ahead.”

  He still remembered how excited they’d been when they got the news. He and Caro had made love that night even though she’d been a day or two away from prime fertility and, according to the books and charts, they should hold off, saving Jon for stud service at the peak. But they’d got carried away and it had been how it used to be, before getting pregnant had turned into a giant chore and source of constant stress.

  She’d glanced at him that certain way she had and one thing had led to another. It had been the most fun they’d had in months.

  CARO STARED AT JONATHON, knowing he was remembering their last night together. Her body eased imperceptibly forward as she remembered it, too. His eyes darkened as sexual awareness hovered between them, and her lips parted on a sigh.

  Then pain clouded her vision as she recalled the following day when she’d come home to find another woman in her bed.

  Why had he fooled around? Was it because they’d become so baby focused? Or was it because they’d learned she was infertile and he wanted greener pastures?

  While she puzzled over questions she refused to ask, Jonathon sat across from her, looking much more handsome and sexy than any almost ex-husband should be allowed to look. Really, there should be a law.

  “Well,” he said as the silence lengthened, a note of amusement creeping into his tone. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “You didn’t answer the first one.” She crossed out her neatly handwritten list with a single pen stroke. “Why are you doing this now?”

  “You want the real reason?”

  Did she? “Yes,” she said, very much afraid she didn’t.

  “I did it to get one hour where you and I could talk like sensible adults.”

  Oh, no. She didn’t want that at all. It scared her so much she wanted to run. “I’m not here as a sensible adult. I’m here as a reporter.”

  “You know more about this shelter than I do. I’ll give you a couple of good quotes and we’re done. Then I want to talk to you.”

  “I only want to talk about the refuge.”

  “I got a call from Jeremy. A logger found a peregrine falcon with a broken wing. Hit by a car.”

  She nodded. The birds sometimes hunted near highways then got stunned by headlights. The peregrine had been decimated by pesticides and urbanization of its habitat, but through a worldwide breeding program, it was coming back. Still, there were too few. Saving an injured bird was an important service.

  “The vet fixed it up, but nobody knows what to do with it. You know as well as I do that it won’t have a chance in the wild while it’s healing. I decided to fast-track the shelter to give injured animals like that falcon a temporary home. That’s all.”

  He looked a tiny bit pink, as though embarrassed to be thought an animal lover.

  Don’t ask, she warned herself. It’s not your problem. But she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

  “Where is it now?”

  “What, the falcon?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “At the house.”

  “The house?”

  “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

  “But, Jon, you can’t let it become used to humans. It’s the worst thing you can do.”

  He shook his head, looking sad. “This guy’s never going to fly again. I thought we’d let him be our first permanent shelter resident.”

  She wanted to see that falcon, but while she could be strong here at t
he paper, she didn’t think she could stop herself wallowing in misery if she went to the home she and Jonathon had shared.

  She could hardly stand thinking of the shelter and how hard they’d worked on it together only to be shut out.

  He must know what she was thinking. “Why don’t you come by later and see him? He’s eating well, but you might have some ideas for improving his surroundings.”

  No. No. No. She wasn’t getting dragged back into her old life. “I have to leave,” she said.

  She got up quickly, intending to make a fast exit, but dizziness overcame her. She blinked and swayed as the room spun around her.

  As she took a staggering step toward the door, Jon was there, his hands warm and strong as they grasped her shoulders.

  “Hey, there,” he said.

  “O-oh.” She put a shaky hand to her head, still feeling woozy. “Got up too fast.”

  It was so familiar, feeling him holding her like this, his eyes focused on hers with warmth and caring.

  She swayed into him, inhaling his scent, so familiar and yet already slightly exotic from their weeks apart.

  His hands slipped up over her shoulders, one going to rest on her upper back, the other beneath her hair in a gesture that was as natural as it was welcome.

  “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  She’d rest here in his arms just for a second until she felt strong enough to walk. Right now her legs would buckle under her if he let her go, which he showed no signs of doing.

  His eyes were such a deep, dark blue, and she loved the tiny lines that fanned out from the corners as much as she loved the few silver hairs that threaded through his short black hair. She was a tall woman, but he was a taller man. They’d always fit together so well.

  For a long moment they simply stared at each other, each afraid to shatter the moment. She felt herself lean into him even as the sensible part of her tried to resist. But resistance wasn’t an option. As his mouth moved toward hers, her eyes drifted shut.

  He kissed her softly and she felt herself yearning for more when he pulled back a fraction of an inch.

  “I miss you,” he said.

  “Mmm,” she said, her eyes still closed, her lips still uptilted for another kiss.

  “Come home with me.”

  Oh, how she wanted to. “I can’t. We’re separated.”

  “We could unseparate.”

  Her eyes snapped open to find him staring at her with more frustration than passion in his eyes. “I don’t—”

  “It wasn’t about Lori.”

  “Pardon?” She could not believe he had the poor taste to bring up that woman’s name. She took a big step back, leaning against the table for support.

  “The reason you ran out on me.” He made a frustrated sound. “I’ve had weeks to think about this. About why you ran so fast and refused to listen to what I had to say.”

  “Oh, so now you’re a psychologist as well as a philanderer?”

  “I’m the man who loves you, who always loved you. Probably always will. I never slept with Lori Gerhardt.”

  “Hmm. And if I’d walked in five minutes later I wonder if that would still be true.”

  “I wish to hell you had walked in five minutes later—you’d have seen Lori on her way out.”

  Caro curled her nails into her palm, turning her hand into a fist that she dearly wanted to pound him with. “I’m supposed to believe you didn’t invite her?”

  “I’ve told you I didn’t.”

  “How did she get in? Climb in the window? Slide under the door without setting off the security system?”

  He shook his head, glaring at Caro as though this were somehow her fault. And the worst part was she wanted to believe him. She was that pathetic. “She made up a story for the cleaner, said I’d sent her to get something. That got her in. The cleaner never actually saw her leave, just heard her call goodbye.”

  “This sounds like something out of a soap opera.”

  “Maybe that’s where she got the idea. All I know is she put herself in our bed. What you walked in on was not what it looked like.”

  “Lori went to a lot of trouble. She must find you irresistible.”

  “Unlike you.”

  She sighed. Was it true? Wasn’t it true? There was no way she could ever know. “It’s about trust.”

  “Yes. It is,” he said, looking both sad and angry. “Marriage is about trust. And it’s about sticking together in the bad times.” He stared at her in frustration. “And when the first excuse offered itself, you took it and ran.”

  Caro’s jaw dropped and her brows rose. “Are you saying it’s my fault we split up?”

  There was a long pause. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It was tough on us, trying to get pregnant. I guess we’ve both always been the lucky ones. Life’s been pretty easy and we’ve always achieved what we set out to do. But this one we couldn’t control.”

  She glanced down and fiddled with the edge of her manicured nails.

  “It took me a while to figure out, but you weren’t simply being pigheaded and unreasonable. You were scared.” His voice was gentle and he had her blinking rapidly. This was the first reference either of them had made to their failed attempts to conceive a child. Everything in their lives had been perfect. Too perfect, perhaps. Suddenly they had no tools to help each other through it, so they’d backed off, thrown themselves into the animal shelter, both gone to work, but there were tensions they’d both ignored. Troubles they hadn’t shared.

  “I can’t believe how pathetic your excuses are,” she said in a tone that was meant to be sarcastic but came out sounding wimpy even to her own ears. “How come you never thought about how hard that year was on me before?”

  “Because I was too busy thinking how hard the year was on me!”

  “Hard on you?” She could barely believe she’d heard him correctly. “You weren’t taking your temperature every five minutes and planning your schedule around prime fertility days.”

  “Well—” he grinned slowly “—I didn’t take my temperature, but my schedule definitely got involved in the fertility days. I’m only sorry it stopped being fun.”

  “And we stopped talking,” she admitted, acknowledging their marriage had been threatened and she hadn’t even realized it. Not consciously, anyway. “We probably should have had counseling.”

  “We still could.”

  She glanced up. “I don’t know, Jon. I think some time apart is good for us.”

  “Well, I hate it. I miss you.”

  She let out a breath.

  “Come home with me,” he said.

  “I can’t.” She shook her head. “Our troubles won’t go away that easily. I don’t even know if I want…I have to go.”

  “What about your quotes?”

  “I’ll make them up.”

  “Make them up?” His jaw dropped he was so stunned. “But you’re a journalist.”

  “I work for the Star.”

  He snorted. “Quote this.”

  Before she could protest, or back away, or run, which she did best of all, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He felt her entire body develop an instant case of rigor mortis, so stiff and cold he thought he might contract frostbite from her lips. Then, just as he prepared himself for her to pull back and slap him, all the ice melted.

  A warm sigh escaped her lips and she snuggled her body up against him, her arms going around his neck.

  It had been so long, she hit his system like lightning, sending heat and electricity zapping through him. He was like a frustrated dieter who’d been denied his favorite foods too long. He devoured her. Nibbling, nipping, licking, tasting, taking them both deeper and deeper into the kiss until he became light-headed and she was swaying in his arms.

  He pulled away enough that they could both drag in a breath.

  Her eyes were big and glassy, her lips glossy and plump. “I love you,” he said.

  He
knew it had been a mistake to tell her that when she pulled away and grabbed up her notebook and bag. “Tell that to someone who might believe you,” she said, and marched out.

  6

  CARO STORMED OUT of Jon’s office, so angry and confused she could barely see straight. She strode along the hallway, knowing her lipstick would be smeared, her hair mussed and her cheeks flaming brighter than her mother-in-law’s hair.

  She was so angry she marched on autopilot for the nearest washroom. Before she realized it, she was in the newsroom, when she’d have been better to take the other hallway and skirt editorial altogether.

  Her brain was as badly disordered as her hair, and her mood was no better. Especially when the first person she all but knocked flying was sports reporter Steve Ackerman, whose eyes widened when he took in her appearance.

  “Not one word!” she warned as she stalked past to the washroom.

  Fortunately it was empty.

  For about thirty seconds.

  She’d no sooner dragged her makeup bag out of her leather satchel than the door swung open to reveal two women she really didn’t want to see right now.

  “Hey, Caro,” Tess said with studied casualness. “Everything all right?”

  “Peachy,” she snapped, pulling out a lipstick with a hand that shook so badly she’d end up looking like one of the Simpsons if she tried to apply the stuff.

  “Here, let me do your lips,” said Harriet MacPherson, seeing her predicament. “I owe you.”

  Caro relaxed her grip and let Harriet have the tube. “And look at the monster I created.” But she was secretly proud of her protégée. The Harriet who’d been so dowdy and shy when they’d first met had emerged into a beautiful, confident woman. Her taste in clothing still leaned toward fifties Highland fling, but she wore it with attitude. And when she bothered with makeup, as she had to when she was a Pasqualie Braves’ cheerleader, she was a stunner.

  With competent hands that didn’t shake, Harriet repaired Caro’s lips.

  “Good as new,” she proclaimed, handing back the lipstick.

  Caro pulled out a brush and fixed her hair, not liking the hopeful expression on Tess’s face. Harriet did a better job of looking impassive, but then she hadn’t known Caro as long.