His 1-800 Wife (9 page)

"That's a common reaction," the seamstress said to Audrey. "Most brides don't know what emotions will come out when they put on their gown. Then everything is beautiful—blurred, but extremely beau­tiful."

"Catherine, you're so lucky," Audrey said. "Most brides don't find gowns that need practically no alter­ation."

Catherine stood on the pedestal, above her sister and the seamstress, oblivious of anyone else in the room. She stared at the woman in the mirror. Inside the white lace and beads was her, Catherine Carson, impetuous, capricious, spontaneous, unpredictable, Catherine Carson. But who stared at her from the mirror? Who was this woman dressed in white? She'd never thought of herself as a bride, never really expected to marry, especially after her breakup with Jeff Sherman. There was too much to lose in marriage, but with this dress on, she could see all the promise, all the expectations of the bride and groom. She could hear the music playing, see the church aisle, imagine herself as she floated on her father's arm. She could see the bridesmaids and the groomsmen waiting.

It was surreal, cloaked with streaming rays of light, refracted through stained-glass windows. And at the end of the aisle . . . she gasped.

Jarrod!

He stepped out of the rays with his arms out­stretched, waiting, inviting, beckoning. Catherine shook her head, dislodging the image. She had to get out of this dress.

"Unzip me," she said, moving off the pedestal and heading for the dressing room.

"Wait, Catherine," Audrey called. "You'll stick yourself with the pins. The dress doesn't need much, but there are still pins in it."

"Unzip me," she said through clenched teeth.

"'Is anything wrong?" A salesclerk rushed over, look­ing distressed. Catherine couldn't explain what had come over her. She didn't know it would happen. She needed to talk to Jarrod. He was right. This was not the right thing to do. Her plan was good, but she should have insisted they elope. A wedding with white gown and orange blossoms was the stuff of couples truly in love. She and Jarrod only needed a justice of the peace. The gown was too much. She couldn't marry him in a gown, walk down that aisle, stand up in front of all their friends and swear to love, honor and cherish.

She just couldn't do it.

"Catherine?" Audrey called her name again. Cath­erine didn't answer. She tore at the sleeves to get out of the dress, uncaring of the delicacy of the fabric. Audrey looked at the clerk. "She's just nervous," Audrey explained.

"I'll get her something to drink," the clerk said, leaving them.

"Catherine, are you all right?" Audrey asked as soon as the woman left.

"I'm fine. I just didn't know I'd feel like this."

Audrey smiled. "That's all right, Catherine. All brides feel like this the first time they see themselves in a wedding gown. Suddenly they understand what everything is all about."

No, they don't,
she wanted to shout. If Catherine told her sister what was really going on, Audrey would be appalled that Catherine even thought of a fake engage­ment, let alone a wedding.

And after the wedding—what then? She was going to live with Jarrod. They were friends, but not lovers.
Not yet!
Her mouth opened in surprise. Where had that come from?
Stop it, Catherine.
She shook herself mentally. She knew where it came from. It came from the kiss she and Jarrod had shared. While he kissed her, she didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to go on and she wanted more. She wanted him to make love to her. Jarrod, of all people. She hadn't seen him in years, and when he had been in Newport, he was always playing some joke on her or embarrassing her. Yet her mind was full of him. He was the only man she thought of when she thought of marriage. But this wasn't a marriage, she screamed silently. This was an arrangement for six months. Only six months.

Catherine reached down to pick up the dress and hand it to her sister. She stopped in mid-reach. Sup­pose Jarrod played another joke on her. Suppose he didn't show up for the ceremony?

A fresh batch of tears rushed to her eyes. She couldn't stop them. What was wrong with her? Cather­ine grabbed her jeans and shirt and quickly pulled them on. The clerk brought her a bottle of water and a glass. Catherine pulled the top off and drank from the bottle, tipping it up and draining the contents.

"Audrey, I have to go."

"But. . ."

"I know we agreed to do some shopping." Cather­ine couldn't remember what they were supposed to shop for—place settings, silverware, bed sheets, she didn't care. "I need to see Jarrod. We have to talk."

She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder.

Audrey stopped her exit. "There isn't anything wrong, is there?" Catherine's expression must have said something, for Audrey continued. "Most brides get nervous, Catherine. You and Jarrod didn't have a fight, did you? Dwayne and I fought over everything: the silver, the tuxedos, the number of bridesmaids and groomsmen. You name it, we fought over it."

"We didn't have a fight." Catherine pushed past her sister.

If only it had been a fight, she thought, pulling the door of her car open a moment later and getting inside. Fights were easy. She wouldn't have these feel­ings if they'd had a fight. What they had was a kiss, a devastating kiss, a wedding kiss, a forever kiss. Cath­erine didn't want that. She was getting married to get divorced. So why did she have a daytime dream? Why did she see herself in that dress with Jarrod waiting for her? Why did his expression say happily ever after?

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.