His 1-800 Wife (13 page)

"Can I try one?" He indicated the croissants.

"Do you dare?"

They were golden brown and a little lopsided. Some of them were completely round like biscuits, but they smelled good. Catherine looked around the room in several directions before deciding on a specific path. She went to a cabinet next to him and pulled down a saucer. Lifting a croissant from the tray she'd retrieved from the oven, she set it on the table. Jarrod sat down.

"Aren't you going to have one?" he asked as she turned away.

She nodded and picked up her own mug of coffee, which matched his. Sitting across from him, she bit into the misshapen piece of bread.

Jarrod tried his. "It doesn't look good, but it tastes fine."

"It's a little greasy." Catherine frowned. She reached for the marmalade and lathered a thin film on the delicate bun.

"Catherine," Jarrod began. "Last night—"

"Jarrod, I'm sorry." She cut him off. "I'm not a tease. I never intended. . .I mean, things just sort of got out of hand."

Jarrod put his hand on hers. She stopped talking.

"I don't want an apology," he said. "I don't want us to be uncomfortable with each other either. We've always been friends. Even through our jokes, we never lost sight of our friendship. I want to preserve that."

She pulled her hand free and picked up her mug. "You think we can be friends?"

Jarrod nodded. In his heart, Catherine had taken up a position greater than friendship, but friendship was all he could offer her and all that she would accept. From their conversation last night, before their aborted lovemaking episode, Jarrod knew she feared marriage. He didn't totally understand her fear of a long-term relationship, but he knew if he offered more, she'd turn away from him. "You weren't the only one on the floor last night." Her eyelids dropped, concealing her expression. She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail with curls that dropped down her back. Jarrod was sure she'd fixed it that way to keep any errant strands from coming loose and dangling at her throat. There was no change for him to touch her hair and set off the chain reaction that had had them naked and in each other's arms. Jarrod knew she was replaying that scene in her mind. It crowded into his consciousness with all the fire and color of the hearth as it had glowed in the early morning hours of their wedding night.

***

It took two days for the awkwardness to go away. Despite their agreement, being around each other, knowing that they had come so close to making love, had stolen most of their comfort with each other, but eventually Catherine relaxed and began to talk to Jarrod the way they had before anything happened. The two spent little time in the cabin. It seemed to be the one setting that made them most aware of each other. Inside they were alone, the moun­tains their only chaperones.

"This is it," Jarrod said. Catherine looked around. She sat astride her horse, the early morning light and the clear, fresh air of the mountains, green and lush on one side, brown and golden on the other, surrounding her. Jarrod dismounted and came to help her down. She went into his arms without hesitation and he lifted her to the ground. Immediately he released her, stepping back.

"Where is here?" she asked, looking around.

"This is what I wanted you to see."

Catherine walked in front of the horses, which Jarrod tethered to a low branch. The scenery was better than anything that could be captured on movie film. The display of colors couldn't be translated. It had to be seen, firsthand, with the naked eye. Catherine turned, taking in the full panorama of the scene.

"It's beautiful," she said, breathing in. He was quiet. She glanced at the sky. Jarrod smiled at her. "What?" she asked, seeing his Cheshire cat grin.

"Look over there." He pointed to a place on his left. Catherine followed the line of his hand. She saw only the mountain. Pine trees clustered about in groupings. "See anything interesting?"

Catherine glanced at the mountain and back at Jarrod. He was playing a joke, she thought. "Is this a trick question?"

He shook his head and came to stand behind her. Catherine immediately stiffened. He hadn't come anywhere near her in days.

"You can only see it twice a day. It's nearly time."

"See what?" She scanned the hillsides and the val­ley below.

"Just a second," Jarrod whispered close to her ear. Fingers of electricity danced against her skin, both exciting and warming her. He put his hands on her shoulders. Catherine steadied herself. Heat poured into her face. Jarrod turned her slightly toward the west. "Look now." Again, he whispered. She closed her eyes a moment to find her bearings. Then she opened them and she saw it.

"The cabin!" she said, as if she'd never seen it before." Where did it come from?" Immediately real­izing she'd made a stupid comment, she continued, "I mean, why couldn't I see it before?"

“It's a trick of the light and masterful engineering," Jarrod explained. "Rafe, did it on purpose. He wanted to preserve the mountain, so he designed the cabin using its own material. In some cases, the sides are carved directly out of the rock. When the light hits it the right way, it appears and disappears when the light goes. If you don't stand exactly in the right place, you can't see it at all."

Catherine took a step to the side. He was right. The cabin disappeared. "It's like Brigadoon," she said, stepping back to the place where she could see the house.

"Exactly," Jarrod agreed.

"How long is it visible?"

"An hour."

"Brigadoon got a whole day."

"But it only showed up every hundred years. At least you can see the cabin twice a day."

"When is the next time?"

"It changes due to the seasons and the amount of daylight. On cloudy days, you can't see it at all. When the light hits that ridge over there"—she had to turn around to see the place where he pointed—"light bounces off that rock and reflects backward toward the cabin. For an hour, you can see it. Then it's gone until morning."

"You must enjoy being an architect, seeing your dreams come to life." She turned back, realizing her statement could turn into another discussion of dreams.

"It's restoring too. My years in England involved total restoration of some buildings. And what about your ships? You get to see them being built day by day."

"It's not the same as doing it yourself."

"Like those croissants."

She laughed. "I got a lot of satisfaction from baking those," she said, again revealing more of herself than she wanted. "If I keep at it, I could probably get the shapes right. It's the dough that's the hardest, according to the cookbook, and I managed to do that all right."

Jarrod sat down on a large boulder and took her hands. He pulled her forward and put his arms around her waist. "As long as you don't stay up all night making them, I'm willing to eat them." Cather­ine swallowed hard. She wanted to relax in his arms, but she knew better. This was the first time he'd made physical contact with her since that first night, and her body screamed for her to move into his embrace. His hands moved slightly at her waist, then stopped, as if he remembered they weren't supposed to do that. He pushed her back and looked up into her face.

"How would you like to go to a dance tonight?"

"Dance? Where?"

"When Rafe's caretaker delivered the horses, he said there was a dance in town and we were expected.

"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.