Authors: Catherine Anderson
She averted her face, clearly not believing him.
“I couldn’t make love to you. I was too upset. You’d almost died that day. I blamed myself. You’d told me, over and over, that I had no idea of your special needs, and I didn’t listen. My stupidity almost killed you. I felt so guilty—and I was terrified I couldn’t make the ranch safe. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with you. I wanted that more than anything. I hadn’t stopped loving you. How could you think that?”
The moment he asked, he knew it was a stupid question. With her past to muddy the water, of course she’d thought that. He grabbed her arm and drew her back to the intercom station. Like a crazed man, he grabbed her finger and started punching buttons. “That’s a direct line to the main house. That’s connected to the stable.”
After taking her through the sequence of buttons, which called every building on the ranch, he pushed her finger against the panic button. The shriek of the outside alarms pierced the silence, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Hank quickly depressed the button again to turn it off.
“The emergency alarm!” he cried. “Just in case the pager and intercom lines aren’t enough. Would a man who doesn’t love you go to these lengths? Damn it, Carly! I love you with every fiber of my being! If I didn’t, I would have left you in Arizona.”
Violent sobs racked her body. Hank drew her back into his arms. At first he just let her cry. When her sobs finally began to abate, he began to rock her, stroking her hair, kissing her brow, loving her as he’d never loved anyone.
“You’re blind, Carly. And I’m still here. If something happens and the next surgery fails, I’ll still be right here, holding you, loving you, unable to draw an easy breath without you. I won’t ever decide I don’t want you because you can’t see. I’ll love you with every beat of my heart for the rest of my life.”
Carly pressed her face against his shirt, so exhausted she could barely think, let alone guard what she said. She was running on pure emotion now. “I thought Michael loved me,” she whispered.
“I know,” he murmured. “Damn it, you were only eighteen. I know, sweetheart.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She made fists on his shirt. “I really,
really
believed him. I swore I’d never be that stupid again.”
“And then I came along, a cowboy with a well-rehearsed line of bull, and you fell for it all over again.” He tightened his arms around her, making Carly wish she could melt and simply be absorbed by him. “I understand how that must have hurt. And I also finally understand why you were so wary of me after that. There’s just one flaw in your reasoning. I really do love you, Carly Jane, not just because you’re beautiful, not just because we have fun together, not just because the sex is great. I love the whole package, every single thing about you. You can take half of those things away, and I’ll still love you with all my heart.”
Carly tipped her head back to see his face. “I want to believe that. But there’s this place inside of me that’s terrified.”
“We make a great pair, then. I’m terrified, too.”
“You?” She peered incredulously at his dark face, which swam in and out of a gray blur. “You’re terrified?”
“Damn straight. Terrified that you won’t believe I love you. Terrified that I may lose you. I’ll do anything, Carly. Just name it. I’ll go to counseling with you. I’ll rip up every damned walkway on the ranch and redo them to suit you. Just, please, don’t ask me to live without you. That’s the one thing I can’t give you, sweetheart, your freedom.”
The husky sincerity in his voice went a long way toward convincing Carly that he truly did love her. The tension she felt in his big body took her the rest of the way. He honestly was afraid that she might leave him. Knowing that gave her the courage she needed to stay.
Cupping his face in her hands, she went up on her tiptoes to touch her mouth to his. He groaned and ran his hands into her hair, then tipped his head to gain control of the kiss, his lips claiming hers in a moist, white-hot joining of tongues that robbed her of breath and made her head swim.
Hank
. She ran her hands down his neck, curled her fingers over his shoulders, trailed her palms down his arms to trace the bunched muscle and steely tendons under his shirtsleeves.
When she reached his wrists, he turned his hands palm up and ended the kiss to grab for breath. “These hands will always be there,” he whispered. “Your strength when your own is flagging, your support when you can’t stand alone. I meant those vows when I said them, I stand behind them now, and I’ll still do my damnedest to honor them when I’m an old man. There’s just one more vow I’d like to make.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“That my eyes are yours as well. When you go blind, I’ll draw pictures with words so you can still see all the beautiful things. You told me once that the most gorgeous thing you first saw was the Central Oregon blue sky. That’s my vow to you, Carly—nothing but blue skies for the rest of our lives, even after you go permanently blind.”
Carly hugged his neck. “Take me home, Hank.”
He bent at the knees to catch her up in his arms. As he carried her toward the cabin, she gazed up at his beautiful face, drinking in every hard line and chiseled plane so she could remember it later. If she were given a choice of one thing she could remember and take with her into total grayness, it wouldn’t be a sunset or a gorgeous blue sky.
It would be her memory of the love she saw shining in Hank Coulter’s eyes.
W
hen the newest Coulter male finally made his debut, Art Adams, Bess, Cricket, the entire Coulter clan, and all the Kendricks were gathered in the hospital hallway outside the birthing room. Hank was inside with his wife, vacillating between roles of coach and worried husband. He had delivered countless foals and honestly hadn’t believed childbirth would faze him, but he was badly shaken every time Carly cried out in pain.
Instead of telling her to breathe, all he could say was, “Sweet Christ,” or, “I’d give my right arm to go through this for you,” or, “Why did God decide it should be women who bear the children?” Each prayer, proclamation, and question was followed with, “Never again. You hear me, Carly? I’m getting cut.”
In between bouts of labor, Carly smiled weakly. “You’ll get a vasectomy over my dead body, Hank Coulter. I want at least one more baby, and maybe even more than that.”
“Later. I can’t even contemplate it now.”
Carly had no such problem. “I can get pregnant between transplants without causing serious complications.”
“Does the father dying of a massive coronary qualify as a complication? I can’t watch you go through this again.”
When Hank Jr. was born and swaddled in birthing room blue, Hank collapsed onto a chair, his sigh so exhausted that he might have delivered the child himself. He clung to Carly’s hand, the baby cradled in his other arm. Carly could see only a thick gray gloom. Just as her corneal specialist had predicted, she’d gone completely blind only a few days after Hank had collected her in Arizona, and she’d lived in grayness ever since.
Carly consoled herself with the thought that it would be only temporary. As soon as her specialist felt it was safe, he’d perform a second SK to restore her sight, and when that procedure began to fail, she could have her first corneal transplant. If all went well, and she had to believe it would, she had many years of sightedness to look forward to.
Maybe, with a little luck in her corner, Hank Jr. would be married with children of his own before her sight failed permanently. Carly could hope. Seeing her children grow to adulthood would be so wonderful. Seeing her grandchildren would be a fabulous bonus.
She just wished with all her heart that she had her sight right now so she might see her little boy.
As if Hank guessed her thoughts, he began describing their child to her. “He’s so perfect, Carly Jane,” he whispered huskily. “His hair is dark brown, just like mine, and his skin is dark as well. He’s got chubby red cheeks and a mouth just like yours.”
Tears filled Carly’s eyes, for now that she had been sighted, she actually knew what the color red was and what color brown was and what her own mouth looked like.
“He’s wearing a funny little blue stocking cap,” Hank murmured. “It makes him look like a wizened little cone head.”
Carly laughed, seeing their baby in her mind.
“His fingers and toes are so tiny, and they’re the prettiest pink you ever saw.”
Hank suddenly went quiet. Carly could almost feel his reverent awe. “Oh,
God
,” he whispered.
“What?” she whispered.
“The first light of morning,” he replied.
Carly could tell that the room had grown brighter. The grayness around her wasn’t quite as dark.
“I wish you could see it,” Hank whispered. “Pearly white, coming through the window blinds, touching the room with stripes of wispy rose and gold. It’s as if angels are here and filling the room with soft light.”
Carly clung to her husband’s big hand, seeing it all in her mind so clearly. It was almost as good as seeing it herself. And maybe angels were there. Angels were created from love, weren’t they? This room was brimming with love.
Hank bent to kiss her and slipped the tiny bundle of new life into her arms. Guiding her hands, he showed her their son’s fingers and toes, whispering, “Have you ever seen anything so tiny and perfect?”
As they stripped their baby naked, Hank painted pictures with words so Carly could see everything in her mind’s eye. There was such love in his voice as he described their son’s bowed legs, his swollen belly, the umbilical cord, and his wrinkled little face. He said each word with such heartfelt devotion and tenderness. Carly wondered now how she ever could have believed this man might not want her because she was less than perfect.
A lovely warmth filled her, and with an exhausted sigh, she let her eyes fall closed. She had known all her life that she would see only for a time and then go blind again in her later years. Never, though, had she imagined that she would be able to face the eventual return of blindness with such peace.
With Hank at her side, she would never really be blind again. His eyes were hers, just as he’d vowed. When they grew old, they would take walks at sunset, and she’d be able to see everything. His gift to her—pictures painted with words. Love wasn’t about easy, according to Hank. It was about sticking through thick and thin. He would always be with her, unless death took him first, and even then, Carly knew she’d never be left in complete darkness again.
She would have the love of this man to light her way.