His 1-800 Wife

by Shirley Hailstock

  "Expected?"

  "Yep." Jarrod made the sound as if he were imitat­ing the man. "There'll be barbeque to eat and the dance is in a barn."

  "A square dance?" She hadn't been to a square dance since. . . She stopped. Square dancing reminded her of Jeff. He loved going to places where they did western dancing. Catherine had become really good at it.

  "I didn't say that." Jarrod interrupted her thoughts.

  "I'd love to go," she said. "Square dancing is some­thing I can do. At least I'm as good at that as I am at baking."

  "I would never have thought it." He laughed.

  "You're mixing me up with Audrey. She's the one—"

  The tone of his voice stopped her from speaking. "I would never mix you up with anyone."

  If Catherine had wanted to say anything, the lump in her throat wouldn't have let her. What was going on here? What was going on in her head? Why couldn't she even think about Jarrod without her mind and body going on point? When he said things like that, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She read everything and nothing into his words. She knew she made him nervous. She knew he was attracted to her. That night on the floor was one indication, but the first day in the gazebo at Audrey's house should have been a warning.

  Why had she ignored it? She didn't want entangle­ments. That had been a prerequisite to this course. Neither of them wanted to be married. So why was she finding her thoughts focusing on Jarrod every moment of the day? They only had another two days before they would return to their lives in Newport. Her house wasn't as large as the structure across the other side of the mountain, but it was big enough for them not to get in each other's way for the next six months.

  They only needed to play public parts. When the doors closed behind them, they could become the individuals they had been before Jarrod returned from England. Catherine squinted. She told herself it was due to the sun, but reality insisted it was some­thing else entirely.

  ***

  "Catherine, if we don't leave now, we're going to be late," Jarrod called from the bottom of the stairs.

  Catherine rushed out of her room and raced along the corridor. "I'm ready," she said. "Almost." The last she whispered. "Are you going to be this persis­tent for the next six months?"

  "Absolutely," he replied, a wide smile showing on his face.

  Skipping down the stairs, she took in Jarrod's appearance. He wore jeans and a blue short-sleeved shirt with an open collar. The shirt was tucked in at the waist, and he had on a golden belt buckle. Catherine's jeans skirt was the same color as his pants and her western shirt had red pockets and fringe on the back. She wore matching boots with red tassels and carried her jacket over her arm.

  "I can see this isn't your first barn dance." His appraisal made her heart flutter.

  "Do you think I look like a drugstore cowboy?"

  "You could never look like a boy. Come on."

  He grabbed a jacket from the sofa and headed for the door.

  "Wait a minute. I have something in the kitchen." She turned.

  "You didn't make—"

  Catherine stopped. The look she gave him cut his speech. Going to the large room, Catherine picked up the silver disposable pan covered with aluminum foil and containing a generous portion of baked beans. She found a box top that was nearly the same size. Setting it in that, she headed for the front door.

  Jarrod opened it and she swept through and down the front stairs. He opened the back door and she put the box on the floor of the Jeep.

  "What's in that?" he asked.

  "Baked beans."

  "I thought you said you couldn't cook."

  Catherine got in the cab. "I can't," she agreed. "I cheated."

  "You did?"

  She tried not to laugh, but she couldn't hold it in. "I called Audrey. She walked me through it until it was done."

  Jarrod's laughter was deep. He started the engine. "You'll never be able to live this one down." He put the Jeep in gear and it rolled down the driveway.

  An hour later, they arrived at the barn. It was on the property of August and Opal Corcoran. They owned a cattle ranch, and this was the final event before the cold weather was to set in. Catherine was greeted with hugs and best wishes and offers of assis­tance if she needed anything. She felt as if the people she met were going out of their way to welcome her and make her feel comfortable.

  Opal Corcoran had taken the baked beans and placed them in the oven to reheat them. Jarrod took Catherine's arm and introduced her to the Belles, the Cranfords, the Smithsons, the Bufords and the Armstrongs. The others he did not know. Names whirled in her head as the music of fiddles and banjos reached the top of the barn and bounced off the walls.

  Catherine and Jarrod lined up with three other couples for the first square dance. Jarrod had two left feet, but he tried. Catherine's previous years of practice made her steps sure and her movements fluid. Often Jarrod was tangled, going in the wrong direction or turned back when everyone else faced front. The dance ended with her thoroughly laughing.

  "Are you going to be this critical for the next six months?" he whispered.

  "Absolutely," she said.

  The music started up again, and Mr. Corcoran asked Catherine to be his partner. She accepted and spent the next hour dancing with more partners than she thought had names. But she was having fun. Her eyes sought Jarrod frequently. He danced with a num­ber of partners. Catherine wasn't jealous, she told herself, but she longed to be swung around in his arms instead of the other women who crowded around him.

  She should be used to this. When he came back from England and she discovered him at Audrey's party, he was surrounded by some of her friends. Here was no different. Jarrod attracted women as the huge Montana sky attracted stars.

  "Tell me, do you like Montana?" Tom, the man she'd just finished dancing with, asked her. Catherine turned back to him.

  "I've only seen some of it."

  "Yes," he said. "You're on your honeymoon."

  "Montana is a big state. You couldn't see it in a week anyway."

  "You must go to—"

  '' Catherine." A shiver ran through her. She turned. Jarrod stood before them. "Would you like to dance?"

  She'd been waiting all night for him. The other men paled in his presence. Catherine wanted only Jarrod. She wanted to be in his arms again. She nod­ded, unable to speak. Tom excused himself, saving her the need to use her voice. The small band didn't play another square dance, but a country western song. The guitar cried out. Jarrod took her into his arms and folded her against him.

  Catherine stared into his eyes. His were dark. She thought they were darker than she remembered them. His hands on her waist were like hot irons. Catherine swayed to the music. Her arms closed around Jarrod's neck. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. The smell of hay in the barn receded next to the cologne Jarrod wore. The faintly musky smell was warmed by his skin.

  "Are you having a good time?" he asked, keeping her close.

  "Yes," she breathed. She was having a wonderful time in his arms. "They are very nice people. How did you meet them all?"

  He didn't release her to look in her eyes. He held her closer, and Catherine felt his arms cradle her with tenderness. His breath stirred her hair, and she felt it warm on her neck, expelled with controlled slowness. "When Rafe built the house, I came out."

  She felt his voice against her stomach.

  "We met then. They treated me as if I was family."

  "I feel that way too," Catherine said, her voice difficult to get out. She relaxed her cheek against his, going up on her toes to reach it. Pressing her body to the contours of Jarrod's, she lost herself in the song. He didn't speak again.

  For Catherine the room did not exist; the people around had disappeared. Only the feel of Jarrod's arms holding her and the sway of his body against hers made any sense, yet it made no sense at all. She freed her mind to think of nothing but the moment, being in his arms, feeling as if they were the only two soul
s on earth. For the three or four minutes of the song, she would stay in this fantasy, where she felt loved and where she could love.

  Then the music ended.

  ***

  By the time Jarrod pulled the Jeep into the circular drive of the cabin, Catherine had been asleep for nearly the entire hour's drive. She lay against his shoulder and he didn't want to disturb her. He cut the engine and the lights. Darkness swallowed them as quickly as if someone had snuffed out the sun. He listened to her breathing. Brushing his hand over her hair, he reveled in the softness of it. He wanted to wake her, gently urge her away from sleep, have her look at him and want him as much as he wanted her.

  Softly he kissed her temple. Moving her with as much care he'd show if a doctor handed him a newborn, he eased her back against the seat. Releasing his seat belt, he opened the door. The interior light shone on her. She shifted but didn't wake. Jarrod got out. The air was cold. He took a deep, restoring breath. Walking around the hood, he went to Cather­ine's side. Quietly he opened the door and released her seat belt. Then he leveled her toward him. Her eyes opened but didn't focus. Jarrod shifted her into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and settled her head against his shoulder.

  "Oh, God," Jarrod breathed, adjusting her tighter. He stood still a moment. He couldn't move, not due to her weight, but rather to the weakness that threat­ened to buckle his knees when her mouth accidentally brushed his neck.

  He went into the house and kicked the door closed. The sound woke Catherine.

  "Don't do that," he said when she squirmed in his arms.

  "Don't I have legs?" she asked, her voice groggy, almost child like. Jarrod thought she was fully awake, but maybe she was dreaming.

  "You have legs."

  "Can I walk?"

  "No," he told her.

  "Why not?"

  "They don't reach the floor." Jarrod played her game. "And no one can walk if their legs don't reach the floor." He'd reached the stairs and began the ascent.

  "Would you carry me?" She tightened her arms around his neck.

  "It would be my pleasure."

  "No, it's my pleasure. I get to see the stars."

  Jarrod stopped at the float point, the place on the stairs where he felt they were suspended. "It's beautiful."

  "Catherine, how much did you drink?"

  She sat up. "You think I'm drunk?"

  She wasn't drunk. She was playing. He could smell nothing on her breath except barbeque sauce and baked beans.

  "I know you're not drunk." He continued up the stairs.

  "Where are we going?" She turned to look down over the banister and into the room below.

  "You're going to bed."

  "Alone?" she asked. Jarrod stopped and stared into her eyes. "Aren't you going to bed too?"

  "Yes." He resumed walking.

  At her door, Jarrod stopped. Catherine reached down and turned the handle. "You can put me down now," she said.

  Jarrod didn't argue. He lowered her legs to the hardwood floor, holding her against him. For a charged moment they stared into each other's eyes. Jarrod brought his hands to her face. He cupped her cheeks and pulled her forward. His mouth touched her forehead in a soft kiss.

  "Good night," he whispered. Then he stepped back and went to his own room.

  He didn't look back. He knew she was standing in front of her door, waiting, staring at him as he walked away. He didn't know what Catherine was thinking. He hadn't known what he planned to do when he lifted her out of the Jeep, but for some reason he knew he couldn't look back, couldn't turn around and let her see how much he'd wanted to enter her room, how much he'd wanted to move his lips from her forehead to the soft, kissable mouth that had touched his neck and taken the strength from knees that could heft small logs or bound pipes or hold the weight of one beautiful woman. He reached his door, opened it.

  "Jarrod."

  He froze. He didn't breathe. His hand crushed the clear glass knob with a force that should turn it to powder. Catherine had called his name, stopped him. He'd hoped she'd do it, but he never thought she would. In the dark hall, her voice was low and sexy and did things to his heart. He turned back. The only light came from a lamp farther down the hall. She stood in the darkness, almost silhouetted. Jarrod out­lined her form with his eyes.

  "I enjoyed the dance." Her voice was a murmur, but she meant it. He could tell from the tone of wonder and fulfilled dreams. She was Alice exploring all the gardens of Wonderland or Dorothy as she gazed upon the Emerald City for the first time. "Our dance," she finished.

  Jarrod's heart leapt to his throat. She meant their dance, being in his arms, not the entire night of dancing, but the time the two of them had spent together. He could feel the room sway, exactly as it had before.

  "Would you like to dance?" He paused. "One more time?"

  "We have no music."

  Jarrod walked back to her. He placed his hands at her waist. She turned easily into his arms.

  "We both have legs," he said.

  Chapter 7

  The honeymoon was over. Catherine hoped the friendship was intact. Two nights ago they had danced in the hall. Both bedroom doors stood open, but when the dancing ended, they sat on the floor and talked until the sun tinged the sky. Catherine had sat against the wall outside her door while Jarrod stretched his legs in front of him and leaned his back on the carved railing. She didn't remember changing positions to lie down or crawling into Jarrod's arms, but that's where she woke in the morning. She was still wearing her skirt and blouse, and her boots stood together near her feet, out of reach. Jarrod's shirt had been pulled free of his jeans. His belt, with the huge gold buckle, lay near her boots, and her arms were around his waist as if her hands were guilty of the removal.

  She couldn't move. Jarrod pillowed her head on his shoulder. His arm ran down her back and rested on her hip. She looked at him for a long time. Then she closed her eyes and curled herself closer to him.

  Catherine remembered that morning as the limou­sine negotiated the narrow streets of Newport. If she and Jarrod had wanted to return to Newport unno­ticed, their plan was aborted by good ol' Audrey. A limousine awaited them at the airport. It stopped in front of Catherine's house. Jarrod took her hand as the driver opened the door.

  It looked different, Catherine thought, getting out of the car. When she left the weathered, cedar-shake structure, it appeared huge and roomy; now it looked smaller. She shook off the notion, telling her­self the memory of the size of the cabin and the vastness of the Rocky Mountains was still foremost in her memory.

  Catherine's front door opened, and Jenny stood there. "Welcome back, Mrs. Greene." She turned to Jarrod. "Mr. Greene."

  Catherine was confused. "Thank you, Jenny." Jenny was one of Audrey's maids. "What are you doing here?"

  "Ms. Audrey sent me over to get you settled. She said all brides need help."

  The limousine driver opened the trunk and set their suitcases on the ground. Jenny's husband Christian appeared behind her. He took the suitcases and went inside with a nod and a smile.

  "A couple," Jarrod whispered. Catherine squeezed his hand, which she was still holding.

  "This. . . this is a small house, Jenny." She didn't intend to stammer. "Jarrod and I want to be alone."

  Jarrod took advantage of the situation and put his arm around her waist.

  "Ms. Audrey knows that. You won't even know Christian and I are around. We'll be here during the day. You'll have the place totally to yourselves at night." She smiled sweetly. "Come on in. I've got a meal waiting for you."

  Catherine looked to Jarrod for help. She would swear there was a smile on his face. Without warning, he bent down and swept her off her feet. A slight scream escaped her." What are you doing?"

  "I'm carrying my bride over the threshold." He took her inside and set her on the floor. "It's tradi­tional for the groom to kiss his wife in their first home."

  Catherine stepped back as if he might do it. The thought caught her
off guard. She remembered where his kisses had landed them the last time. It was better to keep away from things like that unless necessary.

  "Don't worry, I've carried you in. I can wait for the kiss."

  "Jarrod," she started, but found she had nothing to say. "The dining room is this way."

  Catherine found the wedding gifts stacked against the wall in a room made for formal dining that she had used only three times since she'd returned from her time in New York City. Obviously Jenny and Christian had not arrived for the first time today. The room was dust-free and spotless. Even the windows gleamed from a fresh cleaning. The table was set for two, and Jarrod held her chair as she sat down. In front of her plate was a silver tray with an envelope on it. Catherine recognized her sister's hurried scrawl.

  "What now?" she muttered picking up the cream-colored envelope. The flap wasn't sealed. She slipped it open and withdrew the single sheet of paper.

  "Wel­come home," she read silently. "The first year is the hardest and we know you like living simply. To help ease your transition, here's one final wedding present. You may have the loan of Jenny and Christian for one year. They will alleviate the mundane tasks of daily living and give you time to yourselves." It was signed, "Love, Audrey and Dwayne."

  Catherine handed the paper to Jarrod, who scanned it quickly and tried to hide the smile that curved his mouth.

  "I'm glad you find this funny," she said dryly.

  "Catherine, you're the only woman in the world who would balk at having a maid."

  "Jarrod. . ." She looked over her shoulder to make sure Jenny wasn't hovering nearby. "We can't have them in the house with us."

  "They said they'd only be here during the day."

  "I know, but it means they'll expect us to use one room."

  "One bedroom," he corrected, leaning his arms on the table and whispering the words as if they were co-conspirators.

  "I can't share a bedroom with you. That wasn't part of the plan."

  "You slept with me just two nights ago," he reminded her.

  "I did not."

  "Correct me, but what would you call that position of unconsciousness where you had your arms around my waist and your head on my shoulder?"