"Somehow I doubt that. And I seriously doubt that you've got any idea just how important it is that you speak to Carly."

Hank's stomach clenched, and icy foreboding moved through him again.

"Unfortunately," Bess went on, "you blew your chance. She'll never get in touch with you now. She only tried to begin with because she felt obligated to let you know. And then you didn't remember who she was. Tell me, Mr. Coulter, do you deflower so many virgins in the back of your truck you can't keep them straight?"

Hank sank onto the edge of the bed. He couldn't dredge up the indignation to defend himself.

"Carly is pregnant." Bess's whiskey voice quivered with anger. "That is your fault and, by extension, mine. I never should have taken her to that bar in the first place, and I sure as hell shouldn't have left her alone so some predatory creep could home in on her."

Hank wanted to say he wasn't a predatory creep, but the truth was that he'd come to see a lot of things differently since that night, and Bess was essentially correct. He'd gone to Chaps to have fun and end the evening with an accommodating female, no strings attached. For reasons beyond him, Carly had happened onto his hunting grounds.

"I didn't realize," he said. "If I'd known she was a virgin, I never would have touched her, I swear, but she didn't send out those kinds of signals."

"Maybe you were just so drunk, you weren't reading her signals very well."

Hank clutched the phone with such force his fist ached. Memories flashed through his mind-Carly, sipping the drink and wrinkling her nose; Carly, resisting momentarily when he waltzed her outside; Carly, uncertain where to put her hands when he kissed her. Bess was right. He hadn't been reading her signals very well.

Bess sighed as if the anger had drained her. In a hollow, sad voice, she said, "To make matters worse, Mr. Coulter, Carly wasn't just any virgin. She was born blind with congenital cataracts and recurring lattice dystrophy. She had surgery to restore her sight only two and a half weeks ago, a mere week before you met her. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Hank felt as if the mattress had suddenly vanished from under him. "Blind, did you say? I'm sorry. You blew my mind clear off track. Cataracts and what kind of dystrophy?"

"Lattice. It hardens and cracks the surface of the corneas. In severe cases like Carly's, it causes blindness. The only solution is to scrape the surface of her corneas or do a corneal transplant. Carly had her first superficial keratectomy a week before you met her."

Hank didn't want to hear this. He really, really didn't want to hear this.

"Right now, her visual cortex is like that of a new-born baby," Bess continued. "That's the part of the brain where visual images are recorded as memories, for want of a more scientific explanation. When we're born, the visual cortex is blank. Because she was born blind, Carly's has remained blank. Now that she can finally see, she's struggling to learn her colors, to visually recognize numbers and letters, familiarize herself with the world around her, and getting terrific headaches from the ceaseless onslaught of stimulation. Now, thanks to you, she can't even take pain medication because she's pregnant."

Hank swallowed, hard. He felt sick to his stomach.

"The night you met Carly, she'd gone with me to Chaps to sit at a table and simply watch. She'd never seen people dance, and the few men she'd ever seen had been at a distance. When you started coining on to her, she actually believed all your hokey lines." Bess made a sound of frustration. "Oh, she says now that she actually didn't, that she just went with the moment, knowing deep down that it was all a bunch of blarney. But I've known her all her life. On some level, she believed every miserable lie you told her. Otherwise, she never would have gotten in the truck with you."

Hank's heart gave a painful twist. Oh, God. He remembered wondering if Carly were fresh out of a convent or something. He hadn't realized at the time how close he was to guessing the truth. He'd been one of the first men she'd ever seen at close range? His own voice rang in his memory. You're so damned beautiful. When I first saw you, my heart damned near stopped beating. Where have you been hiding all my life, darlin'?

He'd come on like a high wind.

Hank couldn't blame Bess for lighting into him, and he listened in miserable silence as she went on to tell him that this pregnancy could have an adverse affect on Carly's lattice dystrophy. "Her first SK may not last as long as it should now, and her specialist advises against her getting a second one while she's pregnant. Do you understand what that means, Hank? My friend, who's waited twenty-eight years to finally see, may go blind again during this pregnancy and remain that way until the child's born. To make matters even worse, she'll no longer be eligible for special grants to help her finish school. In order to be reinstated as legally blind and become eligible for the financial aid again, she'll have to undergo another SK and a corneal transplant, and both procedures must fail. How do you think that's going to affect her studies, not to mention her finances?"

Bracing an elbow on his knees, Hank pressed a knotted fist to his forehead. Shit, shit, shit!

"Having a baby will be expensive, too," Bess added.

"Doesn't she have insurance?"

"A major medical policy with a rider for eyes that her dad got right before she graduated from college, but it only covers eighty percent."

"She has private insurance? I thought she was a teacher."

"She was a teacher, but she knew from the start that she would leave the job in two years to attend grad school. Her group coverage stopped the moment she quit."

"Couldn't she get on Cobra until school convened and she could get student insurance?"

"Cobra is frightfully expensive, especially with eye coverage, and she could only stay on it for eighteen months."

That seemed like plenty of time to Hank until Bess added, "Carly had no guarantee that her first eye surgery would be successful. If it hadn't been, the specialist would have waited to let her eyes recover, and then he would have done a corneal transplant, lengthening the time before she could start attending classes and qualify for student insurance. Even if Cobra had extended her coverage on the preexisting condition, she couldn't have paid the huge premiums for any length of time."

"Ah."

"When you've got an ongoing condition like Carly's that will require numerous surgeries and you're not yet ready to settle into a permanent career job because you want to further your education, you have to look ahead and make sure you'll always have insurance, no matter what. Too many things can go wrong. If you let your private coverage lapse, your chances of finding another private insurer to take you on are slim. Most times, they won't even consider accepting someone with a serious preexisting condition. The only reason she was able to get the coverage she has is because she'd been covered for years under her father's policy. When she finished college and became ineligible as his dependent, his provider was obligated to give her coverage under her own policy."

Barely able to concentrate, Hank passed a hand over his eyes, trying to remember how they'd gotten off on a discussion about insurance. Pregnant. He needed a few minutes to regain his equilibrium and collect his thoughts.

"Just picture it, Hank. A blind college student, pregnant with your child, doing without her eye drops because they cost too much. Major medical doesn't offer prescription co-pays or help with office calls."

Bess fell silent for an interminably long while. Finally she said, "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

Hank couldn't think what to say. This was far worse than he had imagined. What in God's name had he done? "Give me a minute. I'm trying to think."

"Think about what? Without your help, this pregnancy will screw up Carly's whole life."

"I understand that."

"Do you? It took her ten years to get where she is right now. This baby may make it impossible for her to go to grad school. It's hard anytime a single woman gets pregnant while she's trying to get through college. For a blind woman, magnify those problems a hundredfold."

Hank nodded, then realized she couldn't see him, "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he replied.

"You're not saying much. Has any of this sunk into that boulder you call a brain?"

Normally, Hank wouldn't have taken that from anyone, but at the moment, he honestly felt he had it coming. No matter how many shots Bess took at him, it was Carly who'd taken the hardest hit. Dance with the devil, and you're bound to get burned. Oh, how he wished that were how it worked. But instead of ruining his own life, he'd destroyed someone else's.

"Right now, the boulder comment isn't far wrong. I'm still reeling at this end."

"And that's it? That's all you've got to say, that you're reeling?"

"You think I come up against a situation like this every day? Try to imagine my side in this. I didn't just hit on a virgin-which I'll point out to you is damned near impossible nowadays-but I hit on a blind virgin. Correction, a formerly blind virgin, who is now pregnant and may go blind again, thanks to me. I'm trying to absorb all this and figure out what the hell I should do."

"It seems pretty obvious to me."

Hank flopped back on the bed. He'd screwed up a few times, but never like this.

"No offers of money?" Bess asked shrilly. "No assurances that you'll try to make this right? All you can think about is yourself. Well, let me clue you in on a couple of things, buster. It hasn't been you puking your guts up every morning. And it isn't you whose future has just been blown to hell."

"Bess, I-"

"What can she do, sling hamburgers to cover the extra expenses? She can't even read yet. Toss in vision that blurs at the drop of a hat or conjures up things that aren't there, and maybe, just maybe, you can start to imagine how impossible it would be for her to work right now."

"Just give me a minute, Bess. I'm not bailing out here."

"When I see you, hat in hand, with your wallet extended, maybe I'll believe it."

"Don't hang up."

"Go screw yourself."

"I can't show up with my wallet extended if I don't know where she lives."

"I can't give you our address. She never wants to clap eyes on you again, and now that I've talked to you myself, I don't blame her. And, by the way, cowboy, you're a rotten lover. I don't know exactly what happened in your truck that night, but it definitely wasn't something Carly will remember with fondness for the rest of her life."

With that parting shot, Bess slammed the phone down in his ear. Hank lay there listening to the dead zone, still stunned by everything Bess had told him. That he would take care of Carly financially went without saying. But, somehow, that didn't seem like enough.

Puking every morning? And judging by other things Bess had said, the morning sickness might prove to be the least of her physical problems during the pregnancy. He couldn't just cut her a check to salve his conscience, arrange to support his child, get visitation, and then walk away.

Chapter Six.

Hank needed to talk with someone. Somehow, he couldn't quite bring himself to confide in Jake, who was reclining on the sofa, his pretty wife tucked under one arm, his son asleep on his chest. He looked too damned respectable for words. Instead Hank drove out to see his brother Zeke, who was almost two years older than him, still single, and might understand how a guy could land himself in such a mess. Hank was relieved to see lights still on in his brother's newly purchased ranch rambler. He parked on the circular gravel drive.

The chill night air crawled down his collar as he walked up the stepping-stone path to the wide, country-style veranda. Two months ago, when Hank had helped his brother move, Zeke had meant to purchase some deck chairs so he could sit on the porch of an evening and gaze across his land, but so far, they hadn't appeared.

Once at the door, Hank leaned on the doorbell. An instant later, the sharp report of boot heels striking the entryway tile reached his ears.

"Hey, Hank," Zeke said as the door swung wide. "What are you doing out here so late?"

Trust a brother to bypass the pleasantries. The smell of fish wafted through the open doorway. Hank guessed that Zeke had dined on one of his famous gourmet meals. As masculine and tough as his brother looked, he loved to cook. Their mother was fond of saying that he'd make some lucky woman a wonderful husband, but so far, Zeke had managed to ignore her hints.

"I need to bend your ear, Zeke. I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."

Zeke glanced at his watch. "I've got to be up early tomorrow, but I can spare you a couple of minutes."

This was going to take a lot longer than that. Hank stepped inside. He heard the low drone of the TV, a newscast, judging by the sound, which reminded him that the world hadn't spun off its axis. He only felt as if it had.

"Got my tomato plants in today," Zeke said as he closed the door. "If you'd come earlier, you could see the garden."

The last thing Hank wanted to discuss was gardening.

"I've really messed up bad," he informed his brother.

"Yeah?" Zeke frowned, so closely resembling Hank's reflection in a mirror that it was uncanny. "Let me guess. You got in an argument at the bar, a fight broke out, and you smacked somebody."

"I haven't stepped foot in a bar for almost two weeks. I wish it were just a fight I had to worry about. If only it were that simple."

"Well, hell."

Zeke led the way to the family room, which stayed fairly tidy because there was no one but him to mess it up. After switching off the TV, he stepped over to the well-stocked wet bar. "Take a load off," he said, indicating the sofa with a nod of his head.

The mirrored wall behind the bar reflected the light, flashing into Hank's eyes as he lowered himself onto a cushion.

"Name your poison." Zeke set a bottle on the counter. "Whiskey, Scotch? If you prefer beer, I've got Black Butte and Fat Tire."

Hank shook his head. "Nothing for me, thanks. I've backed off on the drinking."

Zeke froze, one large hand curled over the whiskey bottle. "No more hanging out in bars, and you've backed off on your drinking?"

"That's right." The stunned expression on Zeke's face irritated Hank. "I'd think you'd be happy. You've bitched at me for almost a year to do both."

A long silence ensued. Finally, Zeke abandoned the bottle and stepped from behind the bar. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what have you done?" He sounded like their Irish-Catholic grandfather on a rant. "It must be something really bad if it's convinced you to straighten up your act."

Hank sat forward on the sofa and propped his forehead on his fists. "I got a girl pregnant."

Zeke dropped down on the adjacent easy chair and sprawled his legs. From the corner of his eye, all Hank could see of his brother were long stretches of dusty blue denim and the well-worn soles of his boots.

"Okay," Zeke said. Another silence. "Damn. I'm not the oldest. Why dump this in my lap? Jake's the one to talk to."

"Jake's married. I felt more comfortable coming to you. I thought you might better understand how I got into a jam like this."

"Think again. Unless the condom broke, there's no excuse for knocking a woman up."

Hank rubbed a hand over his face. "I wasn't wearing any protection. Normally, I do. This one time, I-" He shrugged. "Like you say, there's no excuse. I was a little drunk." Hank glanced at his brother's dark face. "Okay, dammit, a lot drunk."

"So drunk you lost all common sense? Sorry, I'm not buying."

"I started to get the condoms out of the glove box. The carton slipped and spilled all over the floorboard. We were in back, and I was-" Hank swallowed to steady his voice. "The unvarnished truth is, I was too drunk to give a shit. Not thinking straight. You know? I figured just once wouldn't hurt."

"Famous last words. You did it in your truck?" Zeke looked appalled.

"She wouldn't go two blocks over to the motel." Hank swept off his hat to push at his hair. He tossed the Stetson onto the cushion beside him. "I don't blame you for coming down on me, but right now, I need advice, not an ass chewing. I messed up. I admit it. Now I've got to figure out a way to fix things."

Zeke sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A pregnancy is kind of hard to fix."

"It gets worse, Zeke. She was a virgin."

"A what?"

"You heard me."

Zeke sat forward on the chair. Then he unfolded his considerable length to return to the bar. "God help us. How old is she?"

"Twenty-eight. At least give me credit for having a few standards. If a woman doesn't look well over twenty-one, I run the other way."

Zeke's blue eyes flashed with disapproval as he uncapped the whiskey bottle. "I wasn't implying that you have no standards." He poured bourbon into a glass, not even bothering to add ice. As he retraced his steps to the sitting area, he said, "You just took me off guard. Where in the hell did you find a twenty-eight-year-old virgin?"

"At Chaps."