His 1-800 Wife

by Shirley Hailstock

  "You mean no sex."

  "No sex." She nodded, agreeing with him.

  "How long do you think that's going to last?" He walked right up to her. He could tell she wanted to move away, but Catherine always stood her ground. She'd been butting heads with him since their child­hood. He knew she wouldn't let him know how much his words could scare her. This was his Catherine, the one who would challenge him, who wouldn't back down when it came to a fight. Suddenly he under­stood why he'd tormented her all those years ago. He loved the way she rose to the challenge.

  "You said we're adults and we can act responsibly."

  "Like we were doing in that swing this afternoon?" He took another step. Heat enveloped them. He could smell her perfume. He leaned toward her. It wasn't perfume. What he smelled, what had kept him thinking of her for all those years was her own essence, the scent that defined Catherine. It was under the perfume, part of her makeup, as inseparable a part of her as her eye color and the ebony darkness of her hair. His eyes stared at her mouth. He watched her lick her lips. The gesture made him want to taste them, see if they were as sweet as they had been earlier in the day. He wanted to kiss her again. Jarrod felt her sway. He could feel the hesitancy in her. At the last minute she sidestepped him, just as he'd decided to close the gap between them. Jarrod had to stop himself from falling.

  "We only need to kiss if there is an audience. And we have none."

  "Any more rules?"

  She flashed him a pointed look. "What about the argument?"

  "What argument?"

  "This afternoon in front of Audrey," she said.

  "Lovers' quarrel," he supplied. "We can say you were angry because I came back and didn't immediately call you, but we patched it up in the gazebo." He watched her face. Color rose under her skin.

  "We'll have to set a date," she recovered. "After­ward, I suppose we'll live in my house. Unless you have some objection."

  "No objection."

  "What about a wedding date?"

  He shrugged. "You choose it."

  "Jarrod, I don't want to feel I'm making you do something you don't want to."

  "You're not." He went back to the bar, but not for a drink. He didn't want anything to impair his faculties. He was going to need every bit of his wits intact to deal with this woman. "Six weeks from today."

  "What?" she asked.

  "The wedding," he explained. "Saturday, August fourth. First Baptist Church."

  "Audrey won't think that's enough time."

  "Audrey's already married," he told her. "She'll have to adjust."

  Chapter 3

  The ocean roared. Catherine hugged her knees to herself as she watched the waves splashing, creating a sudsy play with the rocky cliffs. The sky was bright blue. Soft clouds moved gently overhead. A warm breeze blew loose tendrils of her hair. Gulls sang in the sky, cawing their incessant melody to all who would listen. This bright morning Catherine had the entire show to herself.

  She hadn't slept well. She should have. She was getting what she wanted: a husband, her family off her back. Jarrod was really a friend. She couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. Six months after the wedding she'd be divorced and life would go on. So why was her plan giving her second thoughts?

  It was Jarrod, and that comment about children. He had been drunk. She could blame it on that, but when he answered her question there was no sign of drunkenness in his eyes. What she saw was sorrow. She'd never thought of a family. She'd only thought of solving her immediate problem. What would happen if things got out of hand and she got pregnant?

  No! She shook her head to reassure herself. No sex. They'd agreed on that. There was no way she could get pregnant. This was going to be a business deal, not a real marriage. Still, her thoughts suddenly included him.

  She remembered him last night in the library of his mother's house. Sober, he was charming. He'd wrapped the garden party ladies around his finger. In the swing she'd succumbed to that same charm. Drunk he looked just as good, better than good. She'd turned away from him when he tried to kiss her, but she'd looked into his eyes. Searching for some way to explain her behavior, her feelings, her newfound affection for someone she thought of as brother mate­rial. His eyes weren't evenly brown. In their depths was a ring the color that reminded her of a lion's mane. His skin, the wine dark color of a bay mare, contrasted with her own. He was the perfect combination of noble beast and king of the jungle.

  And yesterday. What had happened to them yester­day? How could she feel so different in his arms? Her body had become liquid honey, warm and oozing, and raw with power, blending into his. She'd never felt like that before. In all the years they'd been together, the tricks he'd played on her, the rainstorms he'd seen her through, even the hug at the airport when he left for England, hadn't prepared her for the bevy of sensations that raced through her when he kissed her.

  She couldn't figure it out. Even the roaring ocean didn't give her answers. She'd come here to ask for help, but she couldn't focus on any one question. There were too many of them crowding in on her, falling over each other in their quest for answers. What would marriage be like, even an in-name-only marriage? The ocean crashed in her ears. Was that it? Did she really want that kind of marriage?

  She didn't.

  She wanted a real relationship, one based on trust, mutual loving and equal giving, but that never hap­pened. She'd seen it. In every marriage she knew, even her sister's and her mother's, something had been traded in, given up, and mostly the women gave up part of themselves, part or all of their dreams. She wouldn't do that. Not for anyone. She had dreams and she would see them through. She would never marry for real.

  "I thought I'd find you here."

  Catherine squinted, raising her hand to the sun. Jarrod stood a few feet from her perch against the stone wall that ran for miles along the rocky coast below, separating, in some cases, the sand from the grass. The sun was behind him, making a silhouette of his powerful body. She blamed his surprise appear­ance as the reason her body began to tingle. The rush of blood in her ears rivaled the ocean forces, pumping double time.

  He wore shorts and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes. But pecs, abs, and muscle definition that could keep Michelangelo busy for an eternity. A living statue. Catherine swallowed.

  Jarrod might have been brother material when he left for England, but the muscle-chested god standing in front of her now brought out no sisterly feelings on her part. She squirmed, feeling she needed to remain on her guard. If he discovered that she thought of him sexually, he might try to kiss her again, and although Catherine yearned to feel that rush of exhil­aration that overtook her when he held her in his arms, she had no defense against him.

  Jarrod dropped down to the sand beside her. His arm brushed hers. Quickly she moved away, but not quickly enough to forestall the fire that burned her like a thousand suns.

  "What's going on, Catherine?"

  "Why should something be going on?"

  "Because this is your alone place. You come here when you need to talk to the sea."

  "I don't talk to the sea." She tried to laugh, glanc­ing at the blue water. His gaze told her that he knew her well enough to know she came to the water when she needed to sort things out. It was fright­ening that the years of separation hadn't dulled his memory of her habits.

  "You let it talk to you. So what did it tell you this morning?"

  "That you were right last night." She grabbed a handful of sand, watching the granules sift through her fingers, rather than look at Jarrod.

  "I was drunk last night."

  "You still made sense."

  "About what?"

  "About the plan needing more thought." Cather­ine watched him playing with the grass as well.

  "Is that what you're doing here?"

  "I'm trying."

  "I gave it some thought last night—after the booze wore off."

  "What did you decide?"

  "The decision is no longer ours." He
reached in his pocket and pulled out a small blue velvet box. He offered it to her.

  "What is that?" She stared at the ring box as if it held some strange potion that would forever alter her if she opened it.

  Jarrod pulled the blue top open. Catherine gasped at the ring inside. It was beautiful. A huge, blue, square-cut diamond. It was surrounded by smaller white diamonds in an invisible setting. The stone, which had to be five or six carats, looked as if it were floating on the bed of white that covered the inside of the box.

  She didn't even know she'd reached for the box until she had it in the palm of her hand. She cradled it as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held. "Jarrod, it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen."

  "It belonged to my grandmother."

  Catherine was staring at the stone. It took a moment for his words to register.

  "What did you say?" She looked at him. "Jarrod, I can't wear your grandmother's ring." She handed the box back to him, but even as she did, she was imagining the ring on her finger.

  Jarrod snapped it closed. "I told my mother you'd react this way, but she is so thrilled with the engage­ment that I couldn't do anything but bring it."

  "This is getting out of hand," Catherine said. "Couldn't you tell her we'd buy a ring? That I only want a gold band, no engagement ring?" She closed the box, covering it with both hands.

  "I tried," Jarrod said. "She would have none of it. She said every woman wants an engagement ring."

  Catherine stared at the box in his hand. She hadn't thought about a ring at all. She'd never considered a wedding ring either. Of course, she figured she'd wear one, but it would be plain, like their agreement, all business, no embellishments. Nothing like the beautiful blue diamond had ever entered her mind.

  "I never thought of anything like this happening," Catherine said, reaching for the box. She opened it and looked at the stone again. Its beauty made her remember all the fairy tales, happily ever after, white gowns, babies and dreams of a perfect life.

  "You can't back out now." Jarrod took the ring from the box and reached toward her. She stared at his outstretched hand, then at the box, before bring­ing her gaze to his. Somehow her hand was in his, and he slipped the white gold ring on the third finger of her left hand.

  It was heavy, unfamiliar, foreign, beautiful. Tears filled her eyes. When she raised her gaze to Jarrod's, he was blurred through the mist. She leaned forward and put her cheek next to his. The gesture said thank you. They were two friends sharing a moment in the sun. For a long time she held on to him, knowing this was their final moment as friends. After this nothing would be the same for them again. As Catherine held him, she felt something flowing through her, as incessant and powerful as the distant sea.

  Jarrod's head turned, and he pressed a kiss onto her cheek. Catherine met him, and his mouth touched hers. Not with the hunger of yesterday, but with the gentleness of understanding. The kiss was brief, and she slid her head onto his shoulder. She felt him breathing. His heart beat fast, and she knew it matched the rhythm of her own.

  They were bound now. What had begun as a practical joke had turned into something else. Had she been foolish to think she could control its course? She touched the ring on her finger. Neither she nor Jarrod could back out now, even if they wanted to. She tightened her arms around him. Did she really want to back out?

  Did he?

  Catherine had never been more confused. She'd lived next door to Jarrod for most of her life. Robert had lived around the corner. Growing up, they were a thorn in her side—two Abbotts to her Costello. Jarrod had pointed out that they were no longer children and this was no joke.

  The ring glistened in the light. She thought of what it meant, should mean, to any couple getting married. The unbroken circle, the stone, a shining light in a storm, a beacon to point the way to the one person who'd vowed to stand by you for all their days on earth.

  "Jarrod?" She pulled back and set herself apart from him. "Do you want to call this off?"

  "We've only been engaged a day," he said.

  Catherine looked down. "I said that last night. We'd only been engaged six hours then." She paused. "It's daylight now, and we should both be able to see things more clearly."

  Jarrod looked out at the ocean. Catherine looked there too. The sea rolled in toward the rocky coast. It didn't take her fears away as it often did. It didn't lift the worry from her shoulders that her awareness to him had brought, and it didn't move the man sitting next to her.

  "We could set a date for late next year," Catherine suggested. "Or we don't have to set a day at all. In a little while we could break the engagement alto­gether."

  "Still scheming, aren't you?"

  "I don't mean to," she said. "Normally, I'm a very honest person."

  Jarrod looked serious. "Catherine, I know you are. You must be going through something terrible to go to this extreme."

  "I think it's transference."

  "What?"

  "Audrey's been married for four years. She should have at least one child by now or be pregnant. Yet she seems to have parties instead of babies. I suppose she's getting pressured from my parents to produce a grandchild. In retaliation she joins Mother in their drive to find me a husband."

  Jarrod took her hand, the one with the ring on it. "So you thought you'd take matters into your own hands?"

  "It didn't sound so trivial when I came up with the idea."

  "It isn't trivial. I know the pressure."

  Catherine looked at him. He still held her hand. "You mentioned that yesterday. I thought mothers never wanted their sons to marry."

  "Not my mother. I'm her only son and she wants grandchildren too."

  Catherine leaned her shoulder against him. "Do you think we'll be like them when we have grown children?" Realizing what she had just said, she tried to correct herself. "I didn't mean we." She pulled her hand free to point it between Jarrod and herself. "I meant when we've finally married and—"

  "I thought you were never going to marry," he interrupted.

  "Well, I'm not, but you will. And you said you wanted children. Do you think—"

  "Exactly like them," Jarrod smiled.

  "Jarrod, how many children do you want?"

  "Are you applying for the job of wife and mother?"

  "No!" she said a little too loudly. "I never thought of you as a father, that's all. I guess I still think of you as that tormenting practical joker."

  "He's gone, Catherine." His voice was serious, concerned that he wanted her to believe him.

  "I know," she said. Some part of her wanted him back. "You might look the same, but you've changed."

  "Changed. How?"

  "You're older, more confident, there's a greater sureness about your actions. You don't seem to need to hide behind Jarrod, the Jokester." He was also handsome. He'd always been good-looking, even devastatingly attractive, but now there was something about his looks that seemed to come from the inside. "I think you have found your heart," she finished, sneaking a glance at him. "And I love that accent you've developed."

  "I don't have an accent."

  She put her hand out. "And I'm not wearing your grandmother's ring."

  ***

  "You could have waited one more lousy day," Eliza­beth Wakefield said by way of greeting. She stood at the edge of the restaurant table at which Catherine sat, one hand resting indignantly on her hip. Her white suit looked crisp and new and highlighted her teak-colored skin. "I go away one weekend"—she held up a finger—"and you get yourself engaged. What's up with that?"

  Catherine couldn't help but laugh at the mock annoyance on her friend's face. Elizabeth suddenly laughed and opened her arms.

  "Congratulations."

  Catherine stood up and hugged her.

  "I knew all those arguments between the two of you were disguising something else," Elizabeth said.

  Catherine had fooled her friend, and Elizabeth was no pushover.

  "So tell me the particular
s," Elizabeth said, taking a seat at the table. "When did this all happen? I would have sworn there was no man in your life, and to think you snagged Jarrod Greene. This must have flipped out every single woman in the state." She placed a hand on her chest and reared her head back in laughter.

  Elizabeth would have gone on talking, but the waiter came over at that moment to take her drink order. He left to get her iced tea.

  "There were a few women who expressed. . .sur­prise."

  "A few?" Elizabeth raised her arched eyebrows. "If he still looks as good as he did five years ago, surprise is an understatement. I wouldn't be shocked if half the population of Rhode Island suddenly decided to move to greener pastures, no pun intended. If I'd known about this, I'd have blown off that trip to Washington." She laughed again. "To see Julianna's face when Jarrod announced your engagement would have been priceless."

  The two women laughed until the waiter brought Elizabeth's drink and they had to sober to give their order. The small reprieve allowed Catherine time to collect herself. She needed to talk to someone. If she didn't, she was going to burst. She thought she could contain this, but things were rapidly veering out of control. Catherine twisted the engagement ring on her finger. She held her hands under the table so Elizabeth couldn't see how nervous she was.

  Elizabeth, who had been her best friend since grade school, had opened a computer consulting firm about the same time Jarrod had left for England. It had taken off with the lightning movement of technolo­gy's bits, bytes and Pentium chips. Elizabeth had con­tracts that had turned her into a workaholic. Yet she always seemed to find time for Catherine. If there was anyone Catherine could trust with her plight, it was Liz.

  She'd trusted her before with the details of her brief engagement while she lived in New York City. No one else knew the particulars, only that Catherine had been engaged to be married and for some reason it had been broken three weeks before the wedding. Shortly afterwards she'd returned to Newport and been there ever since.

  "You wouldn't believe the buzz," Elizabeth resumed right after the waiter left. "Jarrod Greene getting married. This news even replaces the hype surrounding that 1-800-WIFE line. It's all anyone has talked about for weeks. Every time I go to a new job, someone is talking about calling. I suppose every man in the state has dialed it. I guess that comes with living in a small town. There just isn't enough to keep them busy."