Authors: Catherine Anderson
“Skydiving? You jumped from an airplane?”
“I had no concept of height. It wasn’t frightening at all to me.”
Hank felt chilled just thinking about it. “It can be windy up there.”
She sent him a questioning look. “You’ve jumped?”
“I have, and you either had a death wish or you were crazier than a loon. What if the wind carried her voice away, and you didn’t pull the cord in time?”
“I didn’t go alone. I buddy jumped with an instructor.”
He was relieved to hear it. Just not so relieved that he could think about it without wanting to give her a shake. “It’s a dangerous sport.”
“So is bungee cord jumping, but people still do it.”
“You didn’t.”
“No. It was from a bridge. I was afraid the cord might break, and I’d hit the water.”
Hank saw the tense expression that stole over her face. “You were afraid of hitting the water but not hitting the ground when you jumped from a plane?”
She bent her head and pretended interest in the socks she was rolling. “Water is terrifying to me. It gets in my ears, making it difficult to hear, and I lose all sense of direction. If I go under, I’m not sure which way is up. And when I surface, I can’t tell where the bank is. I swam with Bess and Cricket a few times, but I never really enjoyed myself.”
She went into the bedroom to put a pile of socks away. A few moments later, Hank glanced up and saw her gazing out the window toward the corrals. When he went to stand behind her, she rubbed her arms and said, “Horses are so much bigger than I thought they’d be.”
“You’ve never seen a horse?”
“I’ve seen pictures. On the western channel, they don’t look so huge.”
He couldn’t conceive living one’s entire life without ever seeing a horse. Every so often, during the course of their conversation, he’d think he was beginning to understand what it was like to be blind. Then she’d say something to make him realize he hadn’t a clue. To live in constant darkness, to never see the dawn, to never watch the sun go down.
Gazing down at her, he tried his best to grasp what it must be like for her. Only it was impossible. The whole world and everything in it was new to her.
Resting his shoulder against the window frame, Hank turned toward her. “What’s it like, seeing for the first time in your life?”
She danced nervous fingertips over the glass. He didn’t miss the way she moved slightly to put distance between their bodies. “Confusing.” She tapped the glass with a fingernail. “I know the glass is there, but I can’t see it. Bess says sunlight and images reflect off the surface if you really look, but I don’t notice things like that.”
Hank studied the glass. Once, as a kid, he’d walked into a patio door and damned near broken his nose. “Windows can be tricky for anybody.”
“I suppose.” She sighed and frowned thoughtfully. “Some things seem backward. That’s worrisome because it isn’t a difficulty my doctor told me about.”
“What things seem backward?”
“Silly things.” She shrugged. “Things I memorized by touch years ago—they seem all wrong somehow.”
“Such as?”
“The dialing pad on a telephone, hot and cold water faucets, letters and numbers. It’s like—” She shook her head. “In my mind, I had a picture of things, but I saw them on my side of the darkness. Does that make any sense?”
It didn’t, but he nodded anyway, wanting her to go on.
“Now that I can see, things are outside, staring back at me.”
Hank still wasn’t getting it, but he smiled to encourage her.
Her scowl deepened. “When I dial a phone, for instance. If I close my eyes, I’m fine. But if I open my eyes, I get all confused, hitting the three when I want to hit the one. It’s the same with letters.” She trailed her fingertips lightly over the glass. “When you read braille, you trace the little bumps. Imagine the letter, traveling up your arm and into your brain, where you store it inside the darkness with you. You don’t see it. You have it
in
you. Then, suddenly, it’s outside, and for me, it’s as if it got flipped over, wrong side up. I don’t know if other people experience the same thing or not. Maybe I’m just weird.”
“That sounds like dyslexia. You’re having trouble interpreting spatial relationships.”
“It does sound like dyslexia, doesn’t it? Just what I need, a learning disorder on top of everything else.”
Hank chuckled. “I doubt you’re dyslexic, honey. Listening to you, you know what comes to mind? The way letters look in a mirror. They’re always backward. When you consider how the eye works, it kind of makes sense that you might have trouble for a while. The retina has reflective layers, sort of like a mirror, conducting image impulses to the brain. Maybe your impulses are jumbled right now, and the images are getting flipped in transit.”
“You think?” she asked hopefully.
Hank knew he shouldn’t touch her, but he couldn’t resist. He gently tweaked the end of that cute little nose. “I do,” he assured her. “Stop worrying. Even if you are dyslexic, which I seriously doubt, it’s no big deal anymore.”
She looked none too sure about that.
That evening while their supper simmered on the stove, Hank suggested that Carly should call her father. She responded by saying, “I hate to run up long distance charges on your bill.”
He unclipped the cell phone from his belt and handed it to her. “I’ve got a long distance package. Something like three-hundred minutes a month, and I use only about half of them. You can talk without it costing me a cent.”
She squinted at the phone, then handed it back to him. “It’s too small and confusing. Can you dial for me?”
She recited the number, and Hank punched it in. Then he went to the living room and flipped on the television, pretending to be watching the news while she talked to her dad, a conversation that began with a tremulous, “Daddy?” Then she settled down to talk, explaining to Art Adams about her temporary marriage to Hank. “He wanted to help me through this,” she said haltingly. “In the end, he was so convincing I couldn’t say no. I would have invited you, but it seemed senseless for you to spend the money on air fare when it was only a formality.”
Convincing?
He’d blackmailed her into saying yes.
“I know,” Carly said softly. “I’m very lucky that he’s here for me.” A long pause. “No, Daddy. It’s not like that. We, um, have an agreement. He seems okay with it.” Another pause. “I won’t get my heart broken, Daddy. It’s just a convenient arrangement, something he offered to do for me and the baby. Neither of us has any expectations, and once I’m able to get out on my own, we’ll dissolve the marriage.”
When the conversation moved on from that topic to life in general, Carly was soon laughing. “You did the jitterbug? She must be quite a lady if she convinced you to dance.” A sigh. “What is the jitterbug, by the way?” His answer sent her into a fit of giggles. “I’m so happy for you. It’s good to know you’re having so much fun down there.”
Hank was equally glad to know that she was so close to her dad. It was more in keeping with his idea of family. Too soon to suit him, Carly told her father she should say good-bye. “I shouldn’t use up too many of Hank’s minutes,” she explained. “I’m using his cell phone.”
Hank almost interrupted to tell her she could use all the minutes she liked, but then he’d be revealing that he’d been eavesdropping. He decided that she’d covered all the important stuff. He could work on her usage of his long distance allotment later.
“Thank you, Hank,” she said softly as she returned the phone to him. “It was good to talk to him.”
He could tell that she’d enjoyed the conversation by the glow of her smile and the pleased light in her lovely eyes. “What’s he like?”
“Funny.” She shrugged. “Wonderful. He’s always been my rock.”
Hank felt an unwarranted pang of resentment. He wanted to be the person she counted on. And where had that thought come from? He had to keep it firmly in mind that Carly had no intention of remaining in this marriage. If he started thinking in terms of forever, he’d be setting himself up for heartbreak.
As a distraction, he escorted Carly to the stables to meet his horses. The entire way there, she kept saying, “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
Hank laughed. “You climbed on a skateboard. Trust me, my horses are a lot safer.”
“So you say.”
At the entrance to the stable, she put on her brakes and stared at a mare just inside the enclosure that stood with her head poked out over a stall door. “It’s all right,” Hank assured her.
She reluctantly allowed him to draw her closer. In that moment, Hank wasn’t sure which made her warier, him or the horse.
“It’s
huge
.”
“
It
is a she.” Hank reached out to scratch behind the horse’s ears. “Her name’s Sugar. She’s a sorrel.”
“I thought you raised quarter horses.”
“Sorrel is a color, not a breed.” He pointed further up the aisle to a gray-muzzled gelding. “That old fellow is a buckskin. Took to biting recently, and his mama brought him here for an attitude adjustment. In the next stall, the reddish brown mare with the black mane is a bay.”
She shook her head. “I’m still struggling to learn all the different shades of pink. I’ll never get horse colors straight.”
“The horses won’t give a hoot.” He tugged on her hand to bring her closer. “Sugar’s safe.”
And so am I
. “It’s all right. She won’t hurt you.”
She reached out a hand, then snatched it back at the last second. “Doesn’t she have teeth?”
“Of course. She doesn’t bite, though.”
“Are you sure?”
He put his hand to the mare’s muzzle. Sugar expected a treat and chuffed, wiggling her lips over his palm. “See? I’ve still got my hand.” He grasped Carly’s wrist and shoved her slender fingers under the mare’s nose. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Oh,
God
.” Rigid with tension, she squeezed her eyes closed, clearly expecting to lose half her arm. After a moment, she lifted her lashes and giggled at the ticklish sensation of the horse’s lips on her skin. Hank wished he could nibble on her for a while. “She’s so
soft
,” she whispered.
“Like velvet,” he agreed, remembering how soft her legs had felt last night. He released his hold on her. “Go ahead and pet her. She’s a big sweetheart.” When Carly hesitated, he laughed. “I’d never tell you to do something if you might get hurt. This horse is so gentle I could lay a newborn at her feet.”
Carly stepped closer. Soon she was touching Sugar’s ears and running her slender hand over the mare’s mane. “Oh,” she kept saying. “You’re so
sweet
.”
The sentiment seemed to be mutual. As if Sugar recognized a gentle soul, she began nickering and nudging Carly for more petting.
“I think she likes me,” Carly said with a laugh.
What wasn’t to like? Hank liked her, too. Perhaps more than was wise. Uncertain what to do with the emotions she evoked within him, he turned away.
“This is Sonora Sunset, Molly’s stallion,” he said at the next stall. “Poor fellow was whipped within an inch of his life. Molly showed up here one day in a Toyota, pulling a huge two-horse trailer. Sunset was inside, raising sand and shrieking to wake snakes in six counties. That’s how Molly met Jake.”
Carly came to stand by the gate, her stricken gaze moving over the stallion’s scarred black coat. “How
awful
,” she said softly. “Who did that to him?”
“Molly’s ex, Rodney Wells. He’s a sick son of a bitch.” Hank realized what he’d said and rubbed his jaw. “Sorry. I need to watch my language.”
Carly suppressed a smile. “Your language doesn’t offend me, Hank. I’ve heard much worse.”
“From who? He needs to learn some manners.”
“I went to college, remember—a special school for the blind my first year, but then I mainstreamed at Portland University. On a campus, people use all kinds of expletives.” She fixed her attention on the horse again. “Why did Molly bring a wounded stallion to Jake? Tucker’s the vet.”
“So’s Isaiah. They’ve started a practice together.” He hooked an arm around the stallion’s sturdy neck. “Molly wasn’t looking for a vet. She needed a horse psychologist. Sunset was loco from all the abuse.”
“Jake is a horse psychologist?”
“He and I have a way with horses. A lot of people think we’re horse whisperers. Molly heard about Jake through a trainer, and she brought Sunset here in hopes that Jake could save him from being put down.”
Watching Hank with the stallion, Carly could see that he had a way with the animals. “Are you?” she asked.
He flicked her a quizzical look. “Am I what?”
“A whisperer.”
His white teeth flashed in a teasing grin. “I’ll whisper in your ear any old time you want.”
Carly could well remember the shivers that had run down her spine when he had. She hugged her waist. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” His grin broadened, and he winked. “In answer to your question, no, I’m not a horse whisperer. Is there such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Is there?”
“I doubt it. I’m good with horses, is all. No big mystery. They’re just like people, with fears and phobias, likes and dislikes. Some trainers are old school. They use harsh methods to get the job done. Others take a more gentle approach, but they’ve got a set way of doing things, regardless of the animal. Jake and I follow our instincts and take our time, always bearing in mind that each horse is different and may need different handling.” A teasing twinkle warmed his sky-blue eyes. “They’re sort of like women that way.”
Carly chafed her arms.
“You cold?”
“No.” She was, actually, but she hesitated to say so. He wore no jacket and might offer to share his body heat. She gingerly touched the stallion’s nose.
“He’s a big old love, just like Sugar,” Hank assured her. “Didn’t used to be, but Molly brought him out of it. He’s gentle as can be now—for a stallion.”
Carly jerked her hand away. “What’s that mean?”
Hank grinned and turned to lead the way deeper into the stable. Trailing behind him, Carly admired the graceful harmony of his movements. His long legs bowed out slightly at the knee, a trait she’d noticed in his father and all his brothers as well. She assumed it came from sitting in a saddle so much of the time. Whatever the cause, it was attractive, giving him a rugged air that went well with his broad-shouldered, tapered torso.