His 1-800 Wife (31 page)

"Not quite." Jarrod rolled the stool closer. It had a high seat, giving him the ability to work at the slanted table and read even the top of the paper. Catherine felt the warmth of him as his chest touched her back, pinning her between him and the drawing. He reached around her and pulled the paper aside. Under it were plans for a carnival ride.

She could hardly concentrate. He was so close. She felt the old weakness enter her legs and threaten to dissolve her knee joints. She wanted to lean back, sit on his lap and press herself against him, have him cradle her in the safe haven of his arms.

But she didn't. She forced herself to stand and concentrate on the design.

"A Ferris wheel," she said. When he pulled that page away and she saw the plans for a large mansion, she understood. "It's an amusement park." She turned to him. He was so close to her, his arms completely surrounded her.

"The Cantu Brothers are considering adding another theme park to their holdings. We're bidding on the project."

"I hope you win," she said. She paused for a moment. She raised her eyes to look at him. The light was behind her and she cast a shadow on him, obscuring his vision. "I'm glad you're talking to me again."

He said nothing. Catherine thought, maybe she'd been mistaken.

"I thought you understood when we were in Montana that I didn't want to stay married."

Jarrod closed his arms around her. He felt so good. She put hers around his neck. "Were you in love with me when we were in Montana?" he asked.

She was. She knew that now, but she didn't know how to answer his question. Now she knew she'd been in love with him a lot longer than Montana. He was the reason she took that 1-800 number. It wasn't Audrey or her mother. It was because she wasn't in love with anyone other than Jarrod. She didn't want to marry anyone but him. Yet she never thought she would. He wasn't even in the United States at the time.

Then suddenly he was there. He was holding her on the swing, much like he was holding her now.

"Catherine?"

She looked in his eyes. She nodded. She had been in love with him in Montana. She had to tell the truth. She didn't want to lie. She couldn't.

"Yet you think I'll take away from you the things you want to do in life?"

"You won't mean to."

He stood up suddenly. His hands, which had been on her waist, went to her head. He finger combed through her hair. "People in love don't do that, Cath­erine. They make a life together, as a single union, not as two individuals on separate roads who happen to sleep in the same bed. They believe in the same things. We don't know what those things are because you won't let us find out."

She wanted to tell him that she did want to know. She wanted everything he wanted, but she said none of the things she knew he wanted to hear.

"There are several things I can do, Catherine." His mouth dropped and he kissed her. Her eyes closed, and the slow burn Jarrod had already kindled in her body cranked up her thermostat. "I could make love to you. Torture you with your own love." He kissed her again, his tongue dipping into her mouth, extracting a response that was immediate and over­whelming. He yanked her forward, slamming her body into him, allowing her to feel the entire length of him, the erection that pushed into her stomach, tantalizing her with what she wanted. Her feet lifted her to her toes, her body pressed into his, feeling his length, the hard strength of him as he held her. "It feels good, doesn't it, Catherine? You like it. I can tell. I can hear it in the sounds you make in your throat." He kissed her throat, then trailed his mouth across her shoulders, pushing the small straps of her gown aside. She felt the heaviness of her breasts release. Her body longed for him to touch her breasts, to touch her all over. "But I'm not going to do it, Catherine."

He pushed her out of reach. She felt the cold where his body had been.

"I'm going to let you torture yourself. I'll fulfill my part of the contract. I'll attend dinners and parties. I'll play the attentive husband, the doting newlywed, but once we're inside these doors, all bets are off."

He left her then. A moment later, she winced as the front door slammed.

She'd really made a mess of this whole thing. Jarrod had been the first to tell her that she hadn't thought everything through. Now she'd hurt him immensely. She hadn't intended to, but she knew he wouldn't listen to an apology. She didn't know what to do except try and make him understand. It wasn't now that life would change. They were too much in love now. In time the fire between them would bank and the smoke would clear. Then she would be rid of her dreams of her need to be an individual. She would be Jarrod's wife and nothing more.

Catherine looked at Jarrod's drawings. She ran her fingers across the flat surface of the paper.

Was being his wife such a bad thing?

***

Jarrod's wife. Catherine paced up and down the den after Jarrod left. They were always angry these days. Their emotions simmered just below the surface, and she seemed to set off some kind of bomb in him each time she got close. She wanted to be close. The idea of not having Jarrod around caused her physical pain. She'd become used to people smiling as they teasingly emphasized "Mrs. Greene" when they spoke to her.

She
was
Mrs. Greene. Catherine sat down on the stool where Jarrod's amusement park was taking shape. He was designing the plans. What about them? Could he design plans for marriage? Could she be married to him for always, for the death-do-us-part kind of forever? She tried to look forward to February, but all her mind did was race backward to the places they had been, the times they had laughed together, the silly, cute and loving things he did for her. He wanted her, actively pursued her and she. . . she stopped him at every turn, invoking the divorce card like some carnival barker playing the badger game.

Catherine didn't want a divorce, not anymore. She wasn't sure now that she ever had. She wanted to change her life to keep him in it. She'd told him women changed their lives after marriage. She'd even explained how it happened. People did things for love and didn't even realize they were giving up some­thing for that opportunity. They would look back and see all the things they'd wanted to do, but never had because somehow they had gotten lost in marriage. But life was full of those decisions, and marriage was no different. She could tell herself it was a compro­mise, but if that was true it was one she wanted to face. And she wanted to face it with Jarrod.

She looked at the desk, then went over and sat in his chair. On the side, next to the computer where he worked when he wasn't sitting at the drafting table, was a photograph of the two of them. It wasn't a wedding photo. It had been taken on their honey­moon, during the barn dance. She'd never seen it before. Catherine picked it up and stared at them. She touched the glass, running her finger over Jarrod as if she could touch him.

She wanted to be Jarrod's wife, with all its implica­tions and complications. She wanted to fight with him, make love with hum, talk, dance, read his poems and love notes. She wanted the changes in her life to remain a constant part of it. Jarrod's life had changed. He'd walked with her down a path she opened. He'd adjusted to her way of life. If anyone had lost some part of himself, it was Jarrod.

Audrey came to mind, and her mother. They were opening a business and they were married. Audrey's husband was supporting her in her choice. He offered his advice when she asked and stood by her decisions when she voiced them. Their mother had raised two girls, but she wasn't old by today's standards, and it had been her decision to be a stay-at-home mom. She was making changes too, going into an endeavor with her daughter that would mean added stress and the promise of reward.

Catherine wanted to make her own decisions. She didn't want family pressure or a husband tying her to a path. That was what she'd told Jarrod on their honeymoon. She knew he spoke for himself when she accused him of being the one man who was different, who would complement his wife instead of mold her into some unwanted role.

He
was
different. And she wanted him to remain that way. She wanted to tell him, rush out of the door and find him, let him know that nothing on earth was stronger than her feelings for him. That the two of them needed to talk, needed to redirect their lives and their marriage. That she was willing to work at the relationship, build it one day at a time, the way his plans were laid out. That her rigid ideas could be made flexible, and that she could adjust to the changes that life threw in her path, that she only wanted to walk that path if he walked with her.

But it was too late. She looked at the photo again, then hugged the frame to her chest.

Jarrod was gone.

Chapter 14

Catherine stared at the test kits. She didn't believe them. She'd been staring at them for hours, hoping they would change. Coming home tonight, she'd bought three more. All four of them showed the same result. She was pregnant!

Dry-eyed and stony, she sat on the bathtub rim and willed the results to change. But they didn't. The pink turned pink. The blue turned blue. The plus sign showed up bright and clear. Four tests couldn't lie.

What was she going to do? Jarrod and she? They were going to have a baby. She was going to be a mother. He a father. Where was he?

She hadn't thought about getting pregnant until it was too late. She knew exactly when it happened. At Stone House. She'd been so glad to see Jarrod that they had made love then and there, on the floor in front of the hearth. She hadn't filled her prescription in her haste to get to Maine. Neither of them thought of a condom or the consequences of their lovemaking, but here were the results. Four small packages hailing the beginning of life. She touched herself, smoothed her hand across her abdomen as if she could feel the small cells splitting, multiplying, growing larger with each hour, each day. She needed to talk to someone. She needed Jarrod. She wanted him. She wanted to crawl into his arms and have him whisper in her ear that it was all right, that everything would be all right. But she couldn't talk to him. He was either working or out of town. When he was home, he wasn't really there. At least not for her. Tonight she didn't know where he was. He'd left a message with Jenny that he wouldn't be home for dinner, and it was past two o'clock in the morning now.

Catherine gathered all the tests and threw them in the trash. She dressed for bed, knowing sleep was not on the agenda tonight. As she slipped between the sheets, she heard the doorbell. She glanced out the window and saw Jarrod's Jeep and another car in the circular driveway. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the door. She couldn't think why he was ringing the doorbell. She was just glad he was home.

Pulling the door open, she was surprised to see Robert and Elizabeth. They had Jarrod's arms over their shoulders.

"What happened?" She swung the door wide and they brought him in.

"I got a call that he couldn't drive."

"Is he all right?"

"Sure, he'll be fine in the morning," Robert said.

"Maybe the afternoon," Elizabeth corrected.

Catherine closed the door. She came around to look at him. "He's drunk," she said.

"Where do you want him?" Robert asked.

"Can you take him upstairs?" The three of them got him to the second floor. Elizabeth got to the top of the stairs first. She went into the first bedroom, which Jarrod was no longer sharing. Catherine didn't say anything. She pulled his shoes off and Robert removed his tie. They pulled the blanket over him and the three of them left.

"What happened?" Catherine asked when they were downstairs.

"I don't know. He apparently drank too much at George's bar. George took the keys to the Jeep." He reached in his pocket. "I left them in the Jeep," he explained.

Catherine nodded. "I'll get them later."

"George knows we're friends, so he called me. Jarrod fell asleep on the drive here."

Catherine knew he meant he'd passed out and Rob­ert was either saving her feelings or preserving Jarrod's dignity.

She wanted to run upstairs to Jarrod but remem­bered her manners. "Can I get you two something to drink?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Robert was about to take me home." Elizabeth hugged her and Robert kissed her on the cheek. They went out and Catherine ran upstairs. Jarrod was sprawled across the bed, snoring.

Catherine climbed up next to him. She ran her hand down his chin. He needed a shave. He stirred but didn't awaken. He cleared his throat and the snoring stopped. Catherine knew it was only temporary. He'd snore again before long. She was glad he was home, glad he was back in her bed, although he would feel awful in the morning. She imagined it was feeling awful that drove him to the bar. It had to be her and her feelings about marriage that drove him away. He had been in love with her since she was sixteen years old, he'd said, and she was planning to divorce him.

Catherine pulled the covers back and unbuttoned his shirt. She took it off him and removed his pants and socks. He wore black silky underwear, the same ones he'd had on at Stone House. She wondered if he was wearing them for the same reason. Did he want her, and this was his way of keeping the memory of her close? He said he wouldn't torture her with his lovemaking. Was not making love torturing him as much as it was abusing her?