Blue Skies by Catherine Anderson
The following morning at precisely eleven forty, Ryan Kendrick pulled the rented SUV to a stop before Art Adams’s prefabricated home. Hank gazed out the rear passenger window at the house, taking in the green aluminum siding, sparkling white trim, and twin bay windows that flanked the covered front porch. Typical of retirement homes in Arizona, the yard had been landscaped with cactus, other hardy plants, and decorative rock. A multistriped windsock, attached to a porch post, fluttered in the errant breeze. Colorful pots of flowers decorated the railings.
“Well?” Ryan turned to look at Hank. “You going to sit there all day, thinking about it, or go in and get her?”
Hank took a bracing breath. “I’m so nervous, I couldn’t spit if you yelled ‘Fire.’ Should I try to reason with her first? Or should I just scoop her up and carry her out?”
Bethany twisted on the seat. “Hank, for heaven’s sake. She’s not going to listen to reason until she sees all the improvements you’ve made to the ranch. You can talk yourself blue, promise the moon, and she’ll still never believe the two of you can have a life together. You have to show her first.”
His blue eyes dancing with laughter, Ryan shrugged and lifted his hands. “She’s the expert, not me. It’s a woman thing.”
“It is not a woman thing,” Bethany retorted. “Handicapped men feel exactly the same way. Hooking up with an able-bodied person is frightening enough. When that person lives miles from town on a ranch, the prospect is downright terrifying.”
“That must be her dad,” Ryan said, inclining his head at the house.
Hank turned to see a frail, stoop-shouldered man standing at the screen door. He looked much older than Hank had envisioned. Most people Carly’s age had parents in their late forties or early fifties.
“He’s motioning you to come in,” Bethany said, flashing Hank a bright smile. “A friend in the enemy camp! Go for it, Hank. Carly might be miffed at first, but once she settles down, she’ll think it’s wonderfully romantic.”
Somehow, Hank doubted that. Carly was the stubbornly independent type. She wasn’t likely to appreciate being bodily removed from her father’s house. Sweat trickled down his spine as he pushed open the rear door.
“Here goes nothing.” After gaining his feet, he leaned back into the vehicle to say, “Be ready to roll, Ryan. If this turns nasty, I want to be halfway back to the airport before any neighbors call the cops.”
Ryan gave him a mock salute. “All systems ready. I’ve been cuffed and stuffed once.” He slanted Bethany a teasing glare. “I don’t want to repeat the experience.”
Hank’s sister playfully socked her husband’s shoulder. “You’ll never let me live that down. Will you?”
“Absolutely not. It was entirely your—”
Hank slammed the door and missed the rest of Ryan’s response. It helped calm his misgivings to hear Bethany’s muffled giggles coming through the window glass. No one could argue that she and Ryan were the perfect couple or that theirs was a match made in heaven. Against all the odds and despite Bethany’s paraplegia, they’d built a fabulous life together.
If they could do it, Hank and Carly could, too.
Hank started up the pathway, his boots crunching on the white pebbles that covered the parched desert sand. Art Adams splayed a hand on the screen door to push it open and nodded a greeting as Hank ascended the steps.
“Who is it, Daddy?” a feminine voice called from inside.
Hank inclined his head at Art, crossed the porch, and stepped inside the house, his boots making hollow thumping sounds on a small square of marbled entry tile, bordered on three sides by ivory carpet. Hank took in the living room and adjoining dining area that opened onto a kitchen at the rear. The place was tidy, modestly furnished, and had that acrylic odor common to new homes with carpeting and molded countertops.
Hank no sooner registered the smell than another drifted to him, the unmistakable, never-to-be-forgotten scent that he’d come to associate with only Carly, a light but heady blend of baby powder and roses. As though his eyes were metal shavings and she was a magnet, his gaze jerked to where she sat in a rocker by the living room bay window. Sunlight slanted through the glass, limning the cloud of curly blond hair that lay around her shoulders and delineating the gauntness of her small, pinched face.
Hank felt as if a horse had kicked him in the chest. The air rushed from his lungs. His knees threatened to fold. Dear God. Dark circles of exhaustion underscored her wide, blue eyes. The once delicate hollows beneath her cheekbones were now prominent and sunken, making her look almost skeletal. Art had told him what to expect, but nothing could have prepared Hank for this.
He took three halting steps toward her. She tipped her head to listen, her expression growing bewildered. Her gaze was trained directly on him. He kept waiting for some sign of recognition, but none came, and he finally realized she couldn’t see him—not even in blurry silhouette. In the last three weeks, she’d gone almost totally blind.
“Hank?” she whispered incredulously.
Bracing his hands on the arms of the rocker, he leaned down to get nose to nose with her so she could see his face. “Hell, no. It’s the UPS man, here to collect a parcel bound for Oregon.”
“What are you—?” Her question was cut short by a startled gasp when he scooped her out of the chair, one arm angled to support her back, the other behind her knees.
Hank thought he glimpsed a shimmer of joy in her beautiful eyes. Then, with an outraged little huff, she cried, “Put me down this instant. What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m collecting my wife.”
Hank jostled her in his arms to get a better hold, which had the pleasurable effect of making her grab for his neck.
“Oh, God, don’t drop me!”
Not a chance. A down quilt had more substance than she did. Hank turned to leave the house and was surprised to see Art standing at the door, one arm angled out from his body to hold open the screen, his hands gripping four white plastic bags, filled to bursting with what looked like clothing.
“If I’ve missed anything, I’ll stick it in the mail,” he told Hank. “You carry her. I’ll manage these.”
“Daddy?” Carly’s voice was shrill with disbelief. “Do something!”
“Like what?” Art asked.
“Stop him!”
His blue eyes very like Carly’s, Art grinned and winked at Hank. “He’s forty years younger than I am, sweetheart. I can’t possibly stop him.”
Hank turned sideways to maneuver out the doorway, Carly’s flailing feet catching on the doorframe. “Unless you want to be tossed over my shoulder like a sack of grain,” he warned, “you’ll stop that kicking.”
She went suddenly still in his arms. Then she stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t try me.”
Hank hurried across the porch and down the steps. As he marked off the distance to the SUV with long, sure strides, Ryan jumped out, circled the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.
“Hi, Carly. Ryan Kendrick, here. Good to see you again.”
“Hi, Carly!” Bethany called gaily from the front seat. “I came along as Ryan’s copilot. We flew down in the Kendricks’ old rattletrap jet.”
“That’s a joke,” Hank inserted quickly. “It’s a very nice, comfortable plane, and Ryan’s an experienced pilot.”
“Well, of course, it was a joke,” Bethany retorted. “Ryan would never take his pregnant wife up in anything less than an airworthy plane.” Bethany winced, touched her lips, and said, “Oops. I meant to save that news for later.” She beamed a smile. “We’re pregnant together, Carly. Isn’t that totally cool?”
Carly didn’t seem to register anything Bethany said. She twisted in Hank’s arms, searching blindly for her father. “I’m not going with you, Hank,” she insisted frantically. “Daddy? You have to do something. You can’t just let him take me!”
Art swung open the rear cargo door to stuff in Carly’s things. “
Hank felt Carly wince at the words and knew they’d pierced her to the quick. He gently deposited her on the back seat, half expecting her to bolt for the opposite door the instant he turned loose of her. Instead she just sat there, looking lost, forlorn, and wounded. Hank’s heart gave a painful twist. The one person she’d always been able to count on had just jerked up the welcome mat and implied that he didn’t want her in his life.
Hank almost closed the passenger door to tell Art he had overplayed his hand. But, no. No one knew Carly better than her father, and Hank had to trust that Art knew what he was doing. By cutting the familial ties, he’d cast Carly adrift, leaving Hank as her only anchor. As deeply as that might hurt Carly now, it might be best for her in the end. This way, she would be forced to depend on Hank, and in the doing, she’d learn that she could count on his love.
As Hank turned to shake his father-in-law’s hand, he couldn’t help but marvel at how far they’d come since the beginning of their phone conversation last night. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. They both loved the same woman.
Art’s eyes swam with tears and his mouth trembled as he gripped Hank’s hand. “Take good care of her,” he whispered.
Normally Hank gave another man a firm handshake and quickly loosened his hold. This time, he maintained contact, trying to convey without words how deeply he loved Art’s daughter and that the request was totally unnecessary. Somehow, though, with Art struggling against tears, a mere handshake didn’t seem enough.
To hell with it, Hank thought, and hooked his left arm around Art’s thin shoulders to give him a hug. “I’ll make her happy,” he whispered. “You’ve got my solemn oath on it.”
His thin body trembling, Art fiercely returned Hank’s embrace and whacked him on the back. “I know you will, son. If I didn’t, you’d play hell taking her away.”
“Phone collect. We get business rates, and I’ll happily cover the charges. She’ll need to hear from you regularly.”
As they drew apart, Art nodded and murmured, “I’ll wait a few days, give her some time to settle in.” He swallowed and brushed tears from his weathered cheeks. “Make the most of it. I can’t leave things like this for long.”
Hank nodded and turned to climb into the SUV. Hands lying limply in her lap, shoulders slumped, Carly stared straight ahead as he slid in beside her. Her pale face had gone absolutely expressionless. He considered giving her some space for a while, but then he recalled the story Art had told him last night and decided that was the worst mistake he could possibly make. Instead, he looped an arm around her, drew her snugly against his side, and didn’t resist the urge to press his face against her hair.
“I love you, Carly Jane,” he whispered gruffly. “I’ll always love you. You can’t distance yourself from that. You can’t run from it. You may as well stop trying.”
Her painfully thin shoulders jerked as he curled his hand over her arm.
Bethany turned and reached over the seat to pat Carly’s knee. “I’m so excited to see you again, Carly. I know you and Hank have some wrinkles to iron out and need to talk. I just want to say that everyone in our family will be there to support you.” She shoved some folded papers into Carly’s limp hands. “Those are letters from Jake, Zeke, and the twins. They’ve each committed to a weekday when they will chauffeur you into town if something happens and Hank isn’t available. Isn’t that great? You’ll never have to worry about being stranded. In addition to that, Mom and Dad have volunteered to babysit. If you go to work and Hank is busy on the ranch, daycare won’t be necessary.”
Carly smiled wanly but said nothing. Bethany shot Hank a worried look. He lifted his eyebrows, hoping his sister might take the hint and shut up so he could get a word in edgewise. Bethany fell quiet and turned to face forward again. It wasn’t much by way of privacy, but for the moment, it was the best Hank could hope for.
He ran his hand lightly over Carly’s sleeve. She wore the same white blouse that she’d been wearing that wonderful evening at Lake Lemolo before they’d first made love.
He took a deep breath and began his spiel, which he’d rehearsed a fair hundred times so he wouldn’t mess it up.
“Now that I know how poor your eyesight actually was the day you fell in the pond,” he began, “I completely understand how frightening a place the Lazy J must have seemed to you. I want you to know up front that I’m not angry with you for leaving me. I never was.” He dragged in another quick breath. “That’s all behind us now. The condition of the ranch is no longer an issue. It’s totally safe for you now. I won’t go into all the details. You’ll see the improvements for yourself soon enough.”
“No,” she said tautly. “I will not see the improvements. I’m almost totally blind again, Hank. The word see isn’t in my vocabulary.”
It was telling to Hank that she had focused on her failing eyesight and hadn’t asked how he’d managed to afford the improvements. That was, after all, the reason she’d given for leaving him in the first place, a deep concern about him going into debt. Art was right. This wasn’t so much about their ability to overcome the obstacles, but more about Carly’s fear that he’d want out of the relationship once the excitement wore off.
The fact that she didn’t know how much he loved her made him want to shake some sense into her. He wasn’t an untried kid with raging hormones, no depth, and a complete lack of honorable intent. He was a grown man who knew his own mind. When he gave his heart to a woman, it was forever.
But that was a discussion for later, something they needed to address in private. For now, he could only say he loved her and assure her that he hadn’t taken a huge financial risk by doing the necessary improvements to the Lazy J. To that end, he launched into an explanation, telling her how Ryan had floated him a sizable, no-interest loan, which they could repay over time.
“Whatever you do, don’t say thank you,” Bethany inserted. “The truth is, Ryan backed the project as much for my benefit as yours.” Hank’s sister went on to describe how trapped she’d always felt on the Lazy J. “It’s so wonderful now, Carly! There are cement paths going all over the place. I took Sly down to the creek yesterday all by myself. It’s only ankle deep in most places, a perfectly safe place for him to play, but before, my chair always got bogged down in the swampy earth. Now I can wheel along, no problem, and keep an eye on him while he chases salamanders.”
Carly flashed a brittle smile. “That’s great, Bethany.”
Listening to Carly’s stilted half of the exchange, Hank could only wonder how long it might be before she let down her guard and dared to feel happy for herself.
The return flight to Oregon in the Kendrick family jet seemed interminably long to Hank, even though they landed on the Rocking K airstrip less than four hours later. His nerves were shot by the time he got Carly and her belongings transferred from the plane to his truck. The tension only increased during the forty-minute drive to the Lazy J.
After parking his truck near the main house, Hank drew the keys from the ignition, cupped them loosely in his hand, and stared sadly across the ranch. Everywhere he looked, there were cement walkways, bordered on both sides by metal railings. It had been no easy task to plan the layout so large trucks and heavy equipment could pass through the fencing to reach the vast expanses of Lazy J land beyond the creek. Hank and Jake had spent hours going over the blueprints and requesting changes so the ranch would be a friendly place for the handicapped, yet still fully operational.
Over the last three weeks, Hank had imagined this moment a hundred times, picturing the glow of happiness on Carly’s face as he took her for a tour. Now, after talking to her father about
“Well,” he pushed out, “we’re finally home.” He leaned across the cab to unfasten her seat belt. “Go have a look.”
“I can’t look,” she reminded him stonily.
“Okay,” he replied with exaggerated patience, “go have a feel.”
Her lips thinned to a grim line. “You’re joking, right? Been there, done that. I’m not going anywhere on this ranch by myself.”
After five hours of trying to coax a smile from her, Hank’s patience really had worn thin. He guessed maybe that was a good thing. If he could get his temper up just a little, it would make what he had to do a whole lot easier.
He deliberately thought of how unfair she was being to him. That inched his blood pressure up a notch. How dare she compare him to an eighteen-year-old kid? He could get really pissed when he thought about the injustice of that. To add insult to injury, she actually believed he’d love her only as long as it was fun, that when the going got tough, he’d bail. That raised his blood pressure several more notches.
He could do this. All he needed to do was focus on his side of it, and he’d be well on his way to seeing red. He stared for a moment at the ranch again, thinking of the fortune he’d spent on all the changes. Had he gotten a thank-you? No. So far, she hadn’t even given him an attaboy.
He threw open his door, swung out, slammed it closed with enough force to shatter window glass, and circled around to her side of the vehicle with angry strides. She had huddled in her corner the entire trip, so she nearly pitched out of the truck when he jerked open her door. He caught her from falling, then grabbed her at the waist and swung her unceremoniously to the ground. She flinched when he drew back and booted the door closed.
“Are you wanting to fight with me, Carly Jane?” he asked, his voice several decibels louder and a whole lot angrier than he intended. “Because if you are, let me give you fair warning. I’ve busted my ass for three weeks with very little sleep, trying to perform miracles here. I’d appreciate just a little cooperation and gratitude.”