Marriage by Contract Part 3. Sandra Steffen

bronze and platinum all rolled into one.

      “What happened?” Gib whispered incredulously.

      Making a sound that was half sigh, half moan, all feeling, Tony said, “I think my son and I just reached a little understanding. Come on downstairs, Malone. Something tells me he’ll drink his bottle now. And then he’ll probably sleep for a couple of hours.”

      “That’s good,” Gib answered, following more slowly. “Maybe that will give you enough time to explain why your wife had a marriage contract drawn up, and why you look frustrated enough to bite somebody’s head off.”

      * * *

      Autumn was in the air, and so was blessed silence.

      Tony and Gib were sitting on the patio on the wicker furniture Martin Smith had helped move from Beth’s place less than two weeks ago. Now that Chris was sound asleep in his crib upstairs, the night was infinitely quiet, beautifully, amazingly, wonderfully quiet. Lights were coming on in houses up and down the street. The stars weren’t out yet, but the moon was full, and lights twinkled from the windows of the cabins sparsely dotting the face of the mountain.

      “Whew,” Gib whispered, propping his left leg on a low stool. “It only took one six-pound baby to do what it usually takes a tall, voluptuous blonde to do. That kid of yours wiped me out. Wore me down. Turned me weak in the knees. If you’re lucky, I might have enough energy left to listen to what’s bothering you. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, why you look ready to hit somebody, and what it all has to do with that marriage contract I happened to leaf through when I first arrived.”

      Running a hand through his hair, Tony took a deep breath and eyed his friend. He hadn’t planned to confide in anyone about this, but suddenly he wanted to tell Gib. He didn’t really know where to start, so he started at the beginning. “I don’t know how to explain it, but something strange happened to me the night Christopher was born….”

      Gib nodded every once in a while and asked the occasional question. For the most part, he listened, taking it all in, piecing it all together. Tony told him about the zing that had gone through him immediately after he and Bethany had helped Annie Moore bring Christopher into the world. He explained how Beth had asked him to marry her and why, and everything else that had happened since. When he’d finished the entire, sordid story, neither man said anything for several minutes.

      Finally, Gib spoke. “You’ve gotta find a way to tell her you’re sorry, man. You are sorry, aren’t you?”

      Tony was leaning ahead in his chair, his elbows on his thighs, his chin propped on his hands. Staring out into the darkness of his backyard, he said, “I’m sorry as hell. I’m just not sure what for.”

      Gib shook his head and reached for the drink he’d been nursing for the past hour. “It looks to me as if Beth’s Achilles heel is her inability to have biological children. You found her most tender area and stomped on it.”