Hank shifted to rest his hip against the doorframe. "I've given you my solemn oath that nothing will ever happen between us that you don't want to happen, Carly. If you think about it, isn't that as rock solid as your stipulation? Same results, different wording. No sex unless you say so."

"It doesn't seem as ironclad," she said faintly.

"If I'm a man who doesn't keep his word, nothing's ironclad. You can lock me down with promises 'til hell freezes over, and you'll still be going into this with no guarantees."

"I take it back," Zeke muttered. "You didn't get all the charm in the family, little brother. Even I could do better than that."

Hank cupped a hand over the mouthpiece. "Would you shut the hell up?"

"What?" Carly asked in a shocked little voice.

"Not you," Hank hastily assured her. "My brother's here, and he keeps adding his two cents."

"He's listening?"

Shit. Hank pressed a fist to his forehead. Speaking of stress headaches. "He's in the room. Not really listening, though." Liar, liar.

"Sorry." Zeke winced and shrugged.

"Where were we?" Hank asked Carly.

"You were saying there are no guarantees."

"Only if my word's no good. On the other hand, if my word is my bond, you'll be as safe agreeing to version as you would be if I agreed to yours."

Hank waited for her to respond. Nothing. He began to fear she might hang up. When push came to shove, the most important thing was that she agreed to marry him. Maybe, he decided, he should accept her dictate of no sex, and worry about changing her mind later.

He was about to tell her as much when she said, "I guess that's true," in a forlorn voice.

Hearing her hopelessness, Hank got a funny, achy sensation at the base of his throat. He wished he were there with her. Why, he didn't know. He doubted his presence would comfort her much. "Carly, you have to trust me," he said softly. "I swear to God, you won't regret it."

"I hope not."

"Does that mean we've got a deal?"

"I don't have much choice." He heard her swallow and grab for breath. "If you take me to court, how will it look to a judge? A pregnant woman, possibly going blind, who's on the dole with no hope of getting a job? I can't gamble with custody of my baby."

Hank sorely wished he hadn't been forced to play that card. The truth was, he'd never consider taking the child away from her. The very fact that she had chosen to carry the baby, regardless of the cost to herself, told him that she'd be a devoted and loving mother.

"I'm tired," she said, her voice trailing away on the last word. "Tired of fighting you, tired of fighting Bess. As long as I get to keep my baby, nothing else matters. I can survive anything for two years."

Hank wasn't sure how he felt about that statement. She could survive anything? What the hell did she think he meant to do, jump her bones the minute he got a ring on her finger?

"I'll want it in writing," she added.

He blinked and jerked his attention back to the conversation. "You'll want what in writing, that I won't press you for sex?"

"That you won't sue for custody after we divorce."

"Oh. Sure. I've got no problem with signing something like that."

"Am I to take that to mean you would have a problem signing a paper that says you won't press me for sex?"

For some insane reason, Hank nearly smiled. Sex, a fate worse than death. Only it wasn't really funny when he thought about it. It was his fault she felt this way. "No, of course not. You want it in writing, I'll give it to you in writing."

"Fine. I'd like that." Silence. Then, in a weary voice, she asked, "Will you draw it up?"

Hank considered the question. Somehow, he couldn't quite picture himself having an attorney draw up a document like that. "Yeah, I'll draw it up."

She sighed, the sound conveying exhaustion. Once they got all these messy details out of the way, he could take over and see to it that everything ran more smoothly for her. With some calm in her life, the headaches might disappear and the morning sickness might even abate.

"Now what?" she suddenly asked. "Are you, um, going to want to get married soon?"

"My insurance has a three-month waiting period for preexisting conditions. The quicker we get you signed up for coverage, the better. If anything goes wrong before that, a twenty percent co-pay will add up fast and your monthly premiums will be expensive as well." He struggled to organize his thoughts. "The first order of business is to apply for a marriage license. We'll have to go the courthouse to fill out the paperwork. I was thinking of a civil ceremony. Are you okay with that? I'm willing to do it in a church, if you'd prefer."

"No, not a spiritual ceremony. That would seem too final. It's only a temporary arrangement, after all. Besides, church weddings are more costly. If we don't keep the expenditures down, I'll be making payments to you for the rest of my life."

Red alert. Hank wasn't about to let her start pinching pennies and doing without because she didn't want to rack up a huge debt. He almost said as much, but remembering Bess's hurdle theory, he held his tongue. It was yet another issue that they could address later.

"Fine. We'll keep it low-key. We'll have to have witnesses, though."

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"I imagine my family will want to come. You okay with that?"

"I guess I'll have to meet them, sooner or later. I may as well get it over with."

Hank tried to imagine his parents and siblings formally shaking her hand after the wedding and then fading from the picture. It wasn't happening. The Coulters would make a big deal out of the marriage, even it was only a civil ceremony, and they'd consider Carly to be part of the fold the instant Hank put a ring on her finger. There'd be no such thing as getting over with, not with them. "Are you planning to invite Bess?" he asked.

"I, um-yes, if you don't mind." She still sounded nervous and uncertain. Hank wished he could think of something to say that might ease her mind. "Bess is like a sister to me. Right now, I'm very upset with her, but I can't exclude her."

"How about your father?"

"My dad can't afford a plane ticket. The marriage will mean nothing. I see no reason to issue an invitation and make him feel obligated to come. I'll call and tell him after it's over."

A marriage that meant nothing? It went against everything Hank had been raised to believe. His problem, and one of his own making. He had concocted this crazy plan.

"Right. He'll probably want to fly up when the baby comes. This way, he won't getstuck twice with the cost of airfare."

"Exactly. And I'll be more comfortable if there isn't a lot of fuss."Hank just hoped he could convince his mother of that. Mary Coulter loved to giveparties, and she'd probably insist on having a reception.

"I'll do some calling Monday morning to find out how we should proceed," he said."I'll be in touch to let you know."

"I-okay. I'll be expecting you to call then. Monday, do you think?"Hank had no idea how long it would take to get everything arranged, but he couldcertainly keep her posted. "Sure. Monday."

She ended the call without saying good-bye. Hank returned the phone to his belt.Zeke was behind bar, mixing them each a drink."Well?"Hank crossed over to sit on a barstool. "She's agreed to the marriage."

"You don't look very happy about it."Hank took the tumbler his brother shoved toward him. He thumbed thecondensation that beaded the glass. "I coerced her into it. I feel like a bastard."

"Sometimes, little brother, life doesn't offer a man any choices. If ever a lady neededhelp, I'd say it's her.""She's worried that I'll go into Romeo mode the minute she says 'I do.' "

"You are only human."Hank nearly choked on the Jack and Coke. "I've never forced myself on a woman inmy life. I don't plan to start with her."

"I know you'd never force her, Hank. But sex is important to a man. What'll you dofor two, maybe three years? Play around on the side?"Hank snorted. "Not hardly. I'll be a married man."

Zeke nodded. "Exactly. It isn't in you. Which leaves you high and dry unless she

comes around.""I'm not going into this with a bunch of expectations riding drag. I've given her myword I won't press her for sex, and I'll damn well keep it."

"Of course you will. But a man has physical needs, like it or not. When those aren't met for a long period of time, even a mild-tempered fellow-which I'll point out that you're not-can get testy and hard to live with."

"I'm not bad-tempered," Hank retorted.

"You're no pussycat, either. Living with a woman-being close all the time-it can bea real bitch and put a strain on any relationship.""I'll deal with it somehow." Hank rolled the glass between his hands. "If cold showers don't work, I'll mosey down to the stable and work until I drop before I takeit out on her. She's suffered enough because of me."Zeke gave him a sharp look. "Are you developing feelings for this girl?""Feelings? Not hardly. She'd frustrate a saint."

"I see.""I doubt it." Hank laughed humorlessly. "She's like no woman I've ever met-difficult and infuriating and-" Hank broke off, at a loss for words.

"And, what?"

"Sweet," Hank whispered. "So sweet that I need to be horsewhipped for evertouching her.""Sweet?" Zeke grinned, his lean cheeks creasing into deep brackets at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, boy."Seeing his brother's amusement, Hank took exception and said, "What's that mean?"Lifting his glass, Zeke said, "Cheers, Romeo. You're a goner."

Chapter Ten.

At a quarter to ten on Monday morning, Carly had just taken a sip of herbal tea when the phone rang. Knowing it was probably Hank, she leaped up from the kitchen table as if she'd been stuck with a pin. Then she stood there, rubbing her hands on her jeans, reluctant to answer.

On the fifth ring, she found her courage. "Hello?"

"Hi." His deep voice sounded warm, and she could almost see his slow grin. The image rankled. Without even bothering to identify himself, he asked, "How's the tummy this morning?"

Ordinarily, Carly wouldn't have been disturbed by an inquiry about her health, but coming from Hank, the question seemed intrusive and personal, not to mention proprietary. It was her digestive track, thanks very much. "Fine," she lied.

"No nausea? That's good news. How's the head?" Having a headache had come to seem almost normal. It was only when the ache became a pounding pain that she was forced to lie down. "The head's fine, too."

"Good, good." A rapping sound came over the wire. She envisioned him striking a pen on a hard surface. "I just got off the phone with the courthouse. No blood tests or physicals are required in Oregon now. It's a simple matter of going in to get a marriage license today or tomorrow and making an appointment with a JP for the ceremony. How does Friday afternoon strike you?"

"For the wedding, you mean?" Carly hadn't expected it to happen so fast. "Oh my." What was his big hurry? "That's, um, only four days away."

"I know, but there's no real reason to wait. We may as well get it done."

Done? Carly got the laundry done. She got the housework done. Legally binding herself to a man she barely knew didn't fall into the same category.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she insisted, even though she wasn't. In truth, she was horribly nervous, the kind of nervous that made her heart pound and her skin feel as if it were turning inside out. Friday? She remembered the urgent way he'd jerked at her clothes and spurted semen on her thighs, so eager to possess her that he hadn't even managed to aim straight. Now he was racing for the finish line again. What assurance did she have that he'd keep his promises after the wedding? "I'm just-dandy."

He said nothing for a moment. "Try not to get too wound up about this marriage business. All right? I don't want you getting a stress headache. Think of it as a technicality."

How did he know about her headaches, let alone that they might be caused by stress? Bess. And who did he think he was kidding, saying the ceremony would be nothing but a technicality? She'd be married to him, wouldn't she? Stuck out on some ranch, heaven only knew how far from town, and unable to drive. She'd be totally dependent upon Hank Coulter for everything. The thought set her teeth on edge. She was accustomed to doing for herself. Now she'd be relinquishing all control. There'd be no public transportation out at his ranch, no stores within walking distance. She'd be cut off from the world. She didn't even know if he'd provide her with a phone.

"I drew up that paper, by the way."

Her attention snapped back to the conversation.

"My brother Zeke witnessed my signature. No sex unless you say so. No filing for custody after a divorce. I also added a clause about the start-up cash I've promised to give you. If there's anything else you want included, just let me know. On a computer, it's easy enough to make changes, and it's no big deal to have my signature witnessed again."

The very fact that he was so willing to add other stipulations made Carly suspicious. If he truly believed the document was binding, wouldn't he be reluctant to include anything more than what they'd already agreed on?

"Speaking of our agreement, what will be your solution to that problem?"

"My solution to what problem?"

She ground her teeth, wondering if he were being deliberately obtuse. "To being celibate for two or three years." Tension had her stomach doing roller coaster dips. "Is it your plan to-well, you know- continue as you have?"

"Going out on weekends, you mean?"

That was a polite way of putting it. "Yes. Is that your plan?"

"I'll be married," he retorted, as if that said it all.

"I won't step out. I'd be breaking my wedding vows."

Wonderful. He'd be all hers, sexual deprivation and all. "What do you intend to do, then?"

Another silence, followed by a weary sigh. "That's my problem, Carly. Trust me to handle it."

No, it was her problem. And she didn't trust him any farther than she could throw him. In her experience, people who used underhanded tactics in one situation were inclined to play dirty whenever an opportunity presented itself.

As though he sensed her thoughts, he said, "Carly, I've promised you that it'll be a marriage in name only unless you say otherwise. I've drawn up a document, guaranteeing that in writing. What else can I do to make you feel better? You name it, you got it."

"Forget I mentioned it," she said hollowly. "I was just-never mind. Forget I said anything."

Friday. What if he had a vile temper? What if he was an alcoholic? What if he was a wife beater? The list of possibilities was endless. That night at Chaps, he'd seemed like a nice guy, and Bess now seemed to trust him. But what did either of them really know about Hank Coulter? Nothing. If he got staggering drunk every night of the week, she wouldn't find out until she was married to him.

He interrupted her musings by asking, "Are you free this afternoon, by any chance?"

Her heart stuttered another beat. "Free to do what?"

"There's a waiting period after getting a marriage license. Three days, I think. We need to get the paperwork taken care of today or tomorrow to have the ceremony on Friday."