His 1-800 Wife

by Shirley Hailstock

  Catherine put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. She drove to Jarrod's office. He would be there now. She pulled her car into the spot next to his Jeep. Something wouldn't let her get out. She couldn't see Jarrod right now. Her emotions were too close to the surface. If he looked at her the way he had before he kissed her, she'd dissolve. She couldn't do that. She wasn't in love. She needed time.

  Reversing again, she backed out of the space and headed for the exit. She looked both ways but not in the rearview mirror. Pulling out onto the road, she never saw Jarrod come out of the building and stare at her retreating taillights.

  ***

  Jarrod pulled into Catherin's driveway moments after she stopped her sporty BMW. He parked next to her car and jumped down from the Jeep. By the time she cut her engine, he was standing at her door. He pulled it open, bent down and put the teddy bear he had in his hand in front of his face.

  "I hear chocolates make you feel good."

  Catherine got out of her car but didn't say anything. He peeked around the brown-and-white bear. He offered her the box of chocolates he held in his free hand.

  "What's the matter? Is my information wrong?" He went behind the bear again. "It's not chocolates. It's Cracker Jack's." He peeked at her, this time pro­ducing a single box of Cracker Jack's from behind the bear." I always did get my C's mixed up. You aren't Catherine at all. You're Crystal. Or is it Chantel?"

  She crossed her arms and smiled. Jarrod lowered the bear.

  "That's it," he encouraged. "Smile some more."

  Catherine burst into laughter.

  "I'd nearly forgotten the side of you that's silly, impractical and always ready to make me smile."

  Jarrod stepped forward, dropped the bear on the roof of the car and hugged her. He was silly over her. When Audrey called and said Catherine left upset, he was concerned. Then she arrived and left his office with­out coming inside. He rushed after her, remembering her love for Cracker Jack's and chocolate.

  "How did you know I needed cheering up?"

  "Radar," he said, closing the car door. He handed her the teddy bear and chocolates, and together they went inside her house. "Audrey called me at the office. I saw you come and leave. Anything happen you want to tell me about?"

  Catherine dropped the bear on the coffee table in her living room but opened the candy. She took out a piece and popped it into her mouth. "Nothing happened, really. I feel silly thinking about it."

  "Tell me," he said.

  "I don't want to tell you. That's why I couldn't come into the office."

  Catherine dropped down on the sofa, slipping her shoes off and tucking her feet under her. Jarrod sat down, leaving enough room between them to keep from crowding her.

  "I'm probably the only one you can tell." He paused." Just pretend it's raining outside, that there's a raging thunderstorm taking place and we're alone."

  That was the scenario they had from the past. They talked to each other, and Jarrod knew the boundaries. He knew when to kid her and when to take her seri­ously. He knew how to keep her secrets, and she would keep his. If they'd started this engagement differently, they would be a compatible couple.

  "It isn't raining," she said.

  "You're hedging."

  Catherine took a deep breath and exhaled. "Audrey and I were in the bridal shop. I put the dress on."

  "Your wedding dress?"

  She nodded. "I never expected to feel. . ." She stopped. "It was all so surprising." She got up and paced, as if she needed to collect her thoughts. "The salesclerk and seamstress kept turning me around, adjusting this and that. Audrey hovered like a mother hen and I never really got a look at myself. Then they all moved away, almost as a group, and I was alone, standing on that pedestal, staring at a stranger."

  "A bride."

  "A wife," she corrected him.

  Almost a wife, he thought. That frightened her. Jarrod knew something about marriage frightened her. She hadn't completely told him what it was, but he could tell something had driven her to using a 1-800 phone number to find a man willing to marry and divorce her. Suddenly seeing herself in the role of wife must have scared her. She'd fight it, run away from it. Yet she'd come to him. Why? Because he represented the other half of her equation?

  "I'm sure you looked beautiful," he told her.

  "It wasn't me. It was a stranger."

  Jarrod suddenly laughed. "Catherine, don't tell me after all these years, you don't know how beautiful you are? That was no stranger in the mirror. It was you."

  She looked at him curiously. She was beautiful, breathtaking. Jarrod didn't know how he'd missed it. All the years they lived side by side and he'd played joke after joke on her, while all this beauty had slept in the house next door.

  Jarrod went to her and took her hand. He led her into the hall by the door and stood her in front of the mirror. "Cathy, look at yourself," he said. He put his hands on her shoulders and stood behind her. "You're a beautiful woman. In a wedding gown, a nightgown, swathed in a towel or wearing nothing at all, you couldn't be anything else."

  ***

  The salt air smelled sweet to Catherine. She took a deep breath and relaxed as Jarrod sped along the beach road with the top open. The wind pulled all the curl out of her hair, but she didn't care. She needed to get out of the house, needed Jarrod to take his hands off her shoulders or she'd turn around in his arms and break her own rule.

  His voice had that rough, sexy quality to it. She could feel it undoing her defenses. Warmth burned up her face, into her ears; she even felt the strands of her hair grow warm. She faced him in the mirror, searching his eyes for a sign that he was teasing, that this was another of his jokes. What she expected to see there was a phantom of deception to complement his comment. She found none. What she saw made her heart pound. Did he really think she was beau­tiful?

  Here was a different facet to Jarrod's character. Every time she turned around he surprised her. She was engaged to someone she'd known most of her life, but he was still a stranger. Jarrod had always been the joker, her enemy, a thorn in her side. Infrequently he'd been her savior, but now who was he? And why was it every time she found herself near him, her heart did flip-flops and her knees turned to water? She didn't even want to think about what happened to the rest of her body.

  Jarrod had suggested they go to the beach, and she grabbed at the opportunity to move away from him and get her beach bag. He took her to her beach, the one where he'd put the ring on her finger, where the rock wall that was so prevalent in the state ran for miles, where she liked to talk to the sea. Newport didn't have many beaches. In fact, actual beach was rare and small. The amount of sand didn't cover an acre. Yet, today there were more people enjoying the sun than she'd seen in a while. Jarrod held her hand as he led her to a secluded place in the shadow of a craggy hill.

  "Do you want to go in the water?" he asked.

  "Not just yet. I love to hear the sound the waves make. I think I'll just sit here for a while, but you can go in."

  Catherine dropped down on the blanket Jarrod spread on the sand. She wore shorts and a sleeveless top over her swim suit. Jarrod stripped off his shorts, which came to his knees, and pulled the T-shirt over his head. Catherine struggled not to gasp when she saw him. Through clothes, she knew he had a powerful body. Without clothes, he was magnificent. His skin was evenly colored, darkened by the sun, with rich, red undertones. She couldn't help staring at the tight muscles of his legs and arms. He looked as if his job entailed manual labor on a daily basis. Everything about him was hard, and Catherine found her hands itching to reach out and touch him, run her palms over his strong physique. Her mouth went dry and definite signs of arousal stirred within her.

  "I'm glad you like what you see." Jarrod smiled and ran toward the water.

  Catherine couldn't deny his comment. Shame at being caught with her hand in the cookie jar washed over her. Between the sun and Jarrod's affect on her, she should be nothing more than a mass of Je
llo on the blanket. Yet her skin held her intact. She watched Jarrod run down the beach, unable to tear her gaze away from him. He was beautiful. She'd never seen a man more perfect. He'd stood her in front of a mirror today and forced her to look at herself. Now she looked at him, stared at him. He knew the effect he'd had on her. When had this happened?

  She should get in the water. The Atlantic was often cold and refreshing; however, today she feared that if she walked into the water, her body would sizzle.

  Chapter 5

  It was her wedding day. Catherine couldn't believe how fast the last six weeks had passed. She also couldn't believe this room. Masquerading as a guest room, it now looked like the aftermath of a war zone, a war of roses, baby's breath, netting, gloves, tissue paper and discarded clothes. Bridesmaids crowded the mirrors, applying makeup and adjusting their hair. Catherine's mother bustled about as if she'd lost her way. Audrey muttered to herself about cater­ers, the band, the photographer, any number of details that needed her personal attention or the world would fall apart. Everyone was talking, raising the noise level to decibels high enough to repel dogs.

  Bouquets, shoes, purses and spilled magazines were scattered on the bed, the floor, the dresser and draped across the sides of the antique mirror. The room looked like an explosion of white cotton mixed with clusters of pink and rose.

  Catherine was the only one not moving or talking. People skittered about her as if she were an appari­tion. She looked at her white gown, seeing the irony of her ghostlike appearance. Yet she wasn't a ghost, and the man she was marrying wasn't a ghost either. She wished she were; then she wouldn't be the only scared person in this room; that is, if she discounted Audrey, who was probably afraid something would go wrong, like mayonnaise jelling in shrimp salad or the petals in the pool withering before the reception started.

  She wondered what Jarrod was feeling at that moment. Was he as uptight as she was? Catherine looked around her. She wanted to scream, force them all to leave, give her some breathing space, but she was too frightened she'd come undone. Whatever was holding her together, she needed to cling to it or she'd be worse off than the other women around her.

  A knock on the door arrested everyone's attention. They all stopped at once, as if some choir director had cut the last note with a quick snap of his thumb and forefinger. Everyone turned and looked at the white-with-gold-accented door as if they expected the horror from 20,000 leagues to enter.

  It wasn't a monster, but one of Audrey's maids who came inside. She looked at Catherine and offered her a smile.

  "The photographers are here," she said to Audrey.

  Moments later, Catherine allowed the platoon of photographers to place Catherine and the brides­maids in position. Thank God, they lived in a small state. It seemed Audrey had hired every photographer available. Video crews and portrait photographers swarmed over the group, separating them and putting them together like marionettes. She smiled for the cameras, doing everything expected of a blushing bride, but her flush was due more to her deceptive plan than the love she should be feeling today.

  She wished this whole affair was behind her. If she had it to do over, she would never agree to a wedding. An elopement would be quick and simple. Allowing Audrey to plan this circus had been her second mis­take, but there was nothing to be done about it now. In a few hours it would be over. She and Jarrod would have the wedding and reception behind them. They'd be on a plane to Montana, away from everyone and able to relax.

  She looked forward to the honeymoon. It would be a time she could literally let her hair down. There would be no one around they needed to pretend for. They'd be free to do as they pleased for a week. By the time they returned home, she'd be in a better frame of mind and could develop the routine she and Jarrod would play for the next six months.

  Catherine plastered a smile on her face for the camera and that was how she remained until she stood at the back of the First Baptist Church. The music began and the bridesmaids went down the aisle. It was her turn now. The doors opened and the dream began. Catherine gripped her father's arm hard enough for him to look at her with concern. She released her hold and smiled as best she could. Sun­light streamed into the sanctuary, filtering through the stained-glass windows, giving the room the dream­like quality she'd imagined nearly a month earlier. She stared at the figures waiting: her sister, her bridesmaids, Elizabeth. Then Jarrod stepped forward and smiled at her. She could see through the veil covering her face a smile that warmed her heart.

  The wedding march began. Catherine took the first step.

  ***

  In New York City in the 1870's, it was fashionable for married couples to accept the loan of a house in the country. The rich, who spent their summers in cottages by the ocean in Newport, set the standards of that closed society.

  Jarrod and Catherine had been born in Newport, but neither would fit into the stringent rules of old New York society or even their own. If they did, they wouldn't be in the Montana mountains on a pretend honeymoon. Jarrod hadn't thought of tradition when he accepted the loan of this cabin from his friend. He'd thought of it as a perfect setting for Catherine. He'd been with Rafe, Rafael Patterson, a buddy from architectural school. When Rafe presented the design for the cabin, Jarrod had seen several photos of the construc­tion and followed as the building was going up. This place, however, was a cabin in the same way The Breakers was a cottage. And Rafe rarely visited it any longer. He was often away on a job or running his business in San Francisco.

  The great room was the heart of the house, a huge central area that ascended to the stained-glass roof. The walls were dark paneling, giving the place a subtle smell of oil soap. A wide staircase sat to the side, angling upward past a sweep of window that covered the entire wall. Uncarpeted steps veered onto a veranda that squared off the room like a Shakespearean balcony.

  Jarrod pictured Catherine in this room. The fire­place was stone and enormous, rustic enough to roast a cow on a spit. It dwarfed his six-foot frame. Jarrod hadn't expected it to be this cold in Montana in August. Apparently, they were having an unusual cold spell. He'd built a fire as soon as he and Cather­ine arrived. The central heating was on, but the fire made it much more relaxing. The soft sounds of Wynton Marsalis played in the background.

  After the wedding this morning, and the reception and flight, Catherine probably needed sleep more than anything else. Jarrod had brought champagne and set it on the coffee table in front of the sofa, near the fire.

  He hadn't thought that being married had a feel­ing, but it did. He knew he would never allow anything to happen to Catherine if he could prevent it, but now he felt responsible for her, protective of her, that he was linked to her with a strong bond, even if it was for a finite period of time. During that time he'd follow the vows he had uttered this morning.

  Catherine came out of her bedroom. Her footsteps echoed on the floor above. He waited for her to appear. She'd looked so beautiful that morning. His breath had literally been taken away when he saw her standing at the back of the church, poised, ready to join hands with him and swear before God and the entire congregation to be his wife. For the length of the aisle, he wished the fairy tale was real.

  She came down the stairs dressed in a long white sweater and black slacks. The sweater reached her knees. It had a huge collar that stretched to her shoul­ders. It stood up and folded over, extending across her body and coming to a stop at the teasing swell of her breasts. The body of the garment hugged her curves, moving as she moved, with the flow of her steps, like those of an elegant queen, taking her from her private chamber to the cavernous throne room below.

  She paused at the turn, her hand on the banister. During daylight the sky and mountains could make the scene look as if she floated on air. Her hair was still in the style she'd worn for the ceremony, pulled up on top of her head in curls that were too numerous to count. A single ringlet coursed down the side of her face, drawing attention to her high cheekbones and soft complexion. Jarr
od swallowed.

  "You ought to be tired," he said.

  Catherine smiled, her eyes shining and bright "I'm so glad its over." She came forward. "You brought champagne. Wonderful. I love champagne."

  Jarrod led her to the sofa, and when she was seated, he poured the wine and handed her a glass flute.

  "What shall we drink to?"

  "Long life, love." She raised her glass and looked him straight in the eye. "And to the best friend a woman could ever have."

  "Long life. . .love," he repeated. They clinked glasses and drank. Jarrod put his glass on the table. "I ordered some food. I thought you might not want to go out"

  Catherine turned and looked at him." From where? It's an hour's drive through nothing but trees and hills to the airport. Or are you hiding a Taco Bell on the other side of that mountain?" Her smile was wide and happy as she glanced toward the window, where all that could be seen was the reflection of the room within.

  "Rafe's caretakers provided the food. All we have to do is microwave it."

  Catherine sipped the champagne. "I'm not very hungry, but I love the attention. Are you going to be this attentive for the next six months?"

  "Absolutely," he responded, hoping she didn't hear the catch in his voice.

  Six months, Jarrod thought. Inside him something tightened around his heart. This was temporary. He had to remember that Catherine was making this light. She was probably trying to put him at ease. It was their wedding night. But he wasn't at ease. He was tense. The last few weeks he'd become used to being with her, talking to her, explaining things, learning things. They were compatible. Jarrod kept to his promise. He hadn't touched her unless there was a reason. He admitted he wanted to, but she had an air that set limits.