His 1-800 Wife (14 page)

"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 souls 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?"

"Jarrod, you know that was different."

"Maybe, but when you woke up you didn't move your arms. And you stared at me for a full half hour before curling those long legs around me and going back to sleep."

Catherine gasped. "You were awake!" Her ears burned with embarrassment.

He said nothing.

"Why didn't you say something?"