Handyman Special

by Pamela Browning

  "Hi, Sage!" he said, grinning a wide gap-toothed grin before racing away.

  "That's Gregory," Sage explained. She hesitated, remembering that Adam had no place to go except the Willoree Hotel. "Would you like to come in?"

  "I thought you'd never ask," he said, and she looked up at him quizzically to see if he was joking. But his dark eyes regarded her in all seriousness.

  "I'm home," she called out and hurried toward the back of the house. The piano playing stopped long enough for a young feminine voice to say, "Hi, Sage," and then the playing resumed in the middle of the piece. The younger sister, probably. Adam winced as the unseen pianist hit a flat when she should have hit a sharp.

  His first impression of the house was of color. The rooms fairly burst with it. To his left, bright chintz draperies looped across crystal holdbacks at the window over the dining-room window seat, where a nest of throw pillows echoed the summery shades of the drapery flowers. Cinnamon-velvet upholstery sharpened the lines of the camelback sofa in the living room to his right; an Oriental carpet graced the polished hardwood floor. Potted chrysanthemums in yellow, white, rust and gold flanked a long library table near the stairs. A faint, crisp fragrance of lemon-scented furniture polish filled the air.

  Unsure what was expected of him, Adam followed Sage, his eyes on her legs. Even in that old pair of loafers, her ankles looked trim and neat. He speculated irrelevantly that she'd have slim feet with narrow, elegant toes.

  Sage led the way into a dim room, a den, where the television in one corner flashed images of numbers on the screen to the rhythm of frantic music. The flashing numbers ceased, and soft, safe Big Bird appeared. On the couch a child snuggled next to an elderly man, both of them watching "Sesame Street." The child was Sage's daughter, Adam could tell. In the light from the small lamp on the desk behind her, the child's hair shone pale reddish-gold. A diminutive version of Sage.

  "Mommy?" called the child, her voice brimming with delight. Sage blocked his view, but then she rushed, almost ran, across the room. Little arms reached up to embrace her, and Sage scooped the child into her own arms, cradling her close. The man stood up, peering at Adam. Then, realizing that he'd never seen Adam before, he stepped forward to shake Adam's hand.

  The hand that gripped Adam's was gnarled and worn, but it had one of the firmest grips Adam had ever encountered.

  "Leon Madsen," said the older man in a gravelly voice.

  "I'm Adam Hracek," said Adam, meeting the old fellow's eyes with a gaze that was firm and clear. This would be Sage's grandfather, he decided.

  Even though he was taking stock of Leon, Adam was fully aware of what was going on between Sage and her daughter. Sage smoothed the baby-fine red-gold hair, crooning softly in loving concern, and at the same time she inspected the little face for signs of sickness or health. Adam's view was mostly obstructed by Leon's shoulders until Leon stepped aside and said, "Have a seat, Adam."

  At that moment, Sage straightened and turned slightly on the couch so that he could see her face and the child's more clearly in the flickering light from the television screen. His eyes were now accustomed to the dimness, and he looked first at Sage and then at the smiling child she held in her arms. He expected to see a smaller version of the mother's face in the child's.

  Joy had the same beautiful hair color, the same flawless complexion. But then the shock of it, totally unexpected, hit him so hard that he felt physically weak.

  Adam's heart lurched to the pit of his stomach and back again when the child's distinctive mongoloid features told him that there was no way, no way in the world, that Joy McKenna could ever completely resemble her lovely mother.

  Chapter 3

  Sage had seen the same look of stunned shock that flashed across Adam's features all too often when people first saw Joy. The initial shock wave was always followed quickly by pity and sometimes embarrassment. Experience had taught her that other people would take their cues from her, and so she had learned to act as naturally as possible. Sage accepted her daughter as she was, and part of her responsibility as Joy's mother was to transmit her own maternal pride in her child.

  Adam sat down slowly in an ample armchair, unable to tear his eyes away from the small girl. She was a pretty child. He couldn't deny that. But his heart went out to Sage. Why hadn't she told him that her child was handicapped? Finally he understood Sage's anxiety about Joy and her rush to get home. That apprehension didn't seem at all abnormal to him now. It only made him aware of the hidden vulnerability in a woman he had thought of, until now, as unusually capable.

  "Joy, this is Adam," Sage said gently. Joy had inserted two fingers into her mouth. She looked younger than her four years, with her round cheeks and a countenance of total innocence.

  "Can you say something to Adam?" prompted Sage in a soft voice.

  "Hi," said Joy after reluctantly removing the fingers from her mouth, and then she immediately buried her face in Sage's bosom.

  "She's shy with people she doesn't know," Sage explained.

  Adam was saved from having to answer by the arrival of a short, plump woman with graying brown hair who wore frameless glasses perched on a sharp nose. The woman stopped drying her hands on her apron and started to speak, but she hesitated in surprise when she saw Adam.

  "Irma," said Sage, "this is Adam Hracek."

  Adam stood, a little uncomfortable under Irma's thorough scrutiny. He wondered fleetingly why Sage called her mother by her given name.

  Irma, after her quick once-over, had little time to spare for him. "Hello," Irma said briskly before returning her attention to Sage. "Did Gregory worry you over the phone, Sage?" she asked. "He said he told you that Joy's been sneezing."

  Sage caressed the wispy hair falling over Joy's forehead. Joy was absorbed in "Sesame Street" again, two fingers returned to her mouth. "I was concerned," admitted Sage. "It sounded as though Joy might be catching my cold."

  "I think it's an allergy," said Irma. "The ragweed in the empty lot next door is blooming, and Joy and Gregory have been playing outside almost every afternoon. Maybe you should ask Dr. Hargraves if he thinks Joy might be allergic to it." While Sage was digesting this idea, Irma turned to Adam. Her movements tended to be sharp, birdlike. She reminded Adam of a small quick-eyed sparrow. Irma said, "Would you like to stay for dinner, Mr. Hracek? There's plenty."

  A home-cooked meal sounded like manna sent from heaven at the moment. Eating with Sage's family would give him a further insight into her life, which he saw from a new, more somber perspective now that he'd met her child. He was more curious than ever about Sage, and he'd eaten too many solitary, tasteless meals at the local greasy spoon café to relish the idea of even one more.

  He nodded in assent, and his eyes met Sage's over the head of the child. He was happy to see that Sage looked glad that he was going to stay. But he had misgivings about Sage herself. Sage appeared feverish. He could have sworn that she looked sicker than she had an hour ago.

  There was no time to worry about this, however. Almost immediately, Irma called them to the spacious dining room, and Adam was caught up in the loosely organized mayhem of the family's coming together after a day apart. The dynamics of the situation were something totally new to him, and he felt so much an outsider that all he could do was step aside and observe.

  First Hayley, the pianist, appeared at the table in her cheerleading uniform, was introduced, and smiled archly, a sixteen-year-old who didn't yet know how to make a secret of the fact that she found him handsome. Then Gregory plopped himself down at his place and was sent, over his loud objections, to rewash his hands, which looked as though they hadn't come in contact with either soap or water in a couple of months. Ralph, Irma's husband, appeared and kissed Joy on the top of the head as she sat placidly sucking on two fingers in her chair at Sage's right. Ralph was a stocky man who eyed Adam warily when they were introduced, but he was friendly enough. Adam was offered a place at Sage's left, which he gratefully accepted. He sat down before he
was lost in the melee.

  Sage disappeared to help Irma bear the platters of food to the table, and then Gregory reappeared with clean hands. Leon, whom everyone seemed to call "Poppy," teased Hayley about her cheerleading outfit. The dog, a coal-black, Heinz 57-variety inexplicably named Snowball, sat and begged at Joy's side, which made her laugh loudly, and Ralph got up to put the dog out. Finally they were all seated and for a few brief seconds everyone was quiet except Ralph, who asked the blessing. Then Ralph asked Sage to pass the salt. The salt shaker was still in the kitchen, where it had been taken to be refilled, so Sage got up to retrieve it.

  To say that he felt out of his element in this overwhelmingly family-oriented setting was to put it mildly, but Adam gamely helped himself to a man-sized portion of meat loaf, passed Hayley the scalloped potatoes, and in an attempt at conversation asked Gregory if he liked to play soccer.

  Things were off to a good start, he thought, until he looked up at the door leading to the kitchen and saw Sage standing there, her amber eyes glazed, her face unnaturally flushed. He immediately wanted to go to her and pushed back his chair in alarm, wondering why no one else had noticed how sick she looked.

  Sage reached out to grasp the door frame, clutching the salt shaker in her hand. She saw Adam start to rise from his chair, and her eyes locked with his in a moment of dizzy amazement that this was happening to her. Then, inexplicably, the salt shaker fell crashing to the polished wood floor, and Sage, with a weak "Oh!" crumpled into a sad little heap on top of it, her amber curls gleaming in the light from the chandelier.

  * * *

  "Sinusitis," said the doctor, "and a touch of bronchitis. It's what we call a secondary infection, a bacterial infection that goes to work on your system once it's weakened by a virus. It's unlikely to be contagious. When did you get this cold, anyway?"

  "A week ago," said Sage, elbowing herself up on the stack of pillows that Irma had placed behind her. "I'm getting up," she said, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. "I have to give Joy her bath and put her to bed."

  "You are not getting up," ordered Dr. Hargraves. "Put your feet back up there." Meekly Sage did as he said.

  "Hayley is bathing Joy," supplied Irma, looking worried.

  Sage sank back on the pillows. "When can I get up?" she asked. To think that she had actually fainted! She'd never fainted in her life.

  "Your temperature is so high that it nearly broke the thermometer," said Dr. Hargraves with a frown. "The antibiotic I've prescribed should have you up and around in no time. Be sure you take the pills as directed," he said sternly. "And none of this working in drafty old houses. Take it easy for a while."

  "Will you look at Joy before you go?" asked Sage anxiously. "She may be catching my cold. Irma thinks her sneezing could be a ragweed allergy."

  "I'll check her over," said the doctor. "Anyway, would I leave this house without a smile from my favorite little girl?" Dr. Hargraves loved Joy and considered her his favorite patient. Their house was the only one in town to which he paid house calls, part of the reason being that Irma was his distant cousin.

  "Sage, your guest is waiting downstairs," Irma said. "He's beside himself. He blames himself for not realizing how sick you were."

  "My guest?" Suddenly Sage remembered Adam. He was the one who had reached her first when she fell, who had cradled her in his arms after picking her up from the hard dining-room floor. He had made everyone step back so that she could breathe fresh air. Adam, the take-charge person, had taken charge of her.

  "May I see him now?" she asked.

  "You'd better," Irma told her. "He looks as though he's not going to leave here until he observes for himself that you're okay. He's pacing the floor and asking Ralph every few minutes if you're all right. It's driving Ralph crazy."

  Sage smiled. She could well imagine. Adam Hracek wasn't one to be put off for any length of time. "I want to talk to him," she said firmly.

  After Irma and Dr. Hargraves left, she waited, listening to the sounds of the family carrying on life around her in the solidly built old house where sound carried so well: Gregory slamming a door downstairs; Poppy cautioning him to be quiet, please; Hayley murmuring to Joy in the bathroom as Joy splashed in the tub.

  The sounds soothed her, and Sage took pride in them. She had put this family together, had meticulously modeled and fashioned it, so to speak. It was the structure she had worked on the hardest, more than any of her real-estate properties.

  "Sage?" The door to her room swung open and Adam peered around the edge of it. Then he came into the room, closing the door behind him, dwarfing the white wicker furniture, invading her bedroom, her private place, with his strong presence and his scent of cinnamon and cloves. What kind of after-shave lotion did he use, anyway? She'd never smelled any fragrance remotely like it before. Now his dark eyes were opaque with worry, and his ample eyebrows were knit across the expanse of his forehead.

  "Thanks for everything," she said, her voice so low that he had to move closer to the bed in order to hear her.

  He looked at her, drinking in the beauty of her against the soft green pillowcases. She wore something long and loose and flowing as she lay on top of the thick comforter, a caftan perhaps, and it was made of a velvety white fabric.

  "Do you faint every time somebody says, 'Please pass the salt'?" he asked her, teasing. He was glad that the remark brought a smile to her lips.

  "Yes," Sage assured him. "And you should see what happens when somebody asks for pepper."

  "I'll have to keep that in mind," he said. "I can't wait to try it. Do you have any other key phrases that I should know?"

  Her eyes searched his, and she liked the way they gleamed at her so merrily.

  She could never imagine why she replied as she did. She certainly wouldn't have replied that way with any other man, most particularly one that she'd only known for a matter of hours.

  "Yes," she said softly, gazing up at him. "Kiss me."

  Adam looked momentarily disconcerted, but then in one fluid motion he dropped on his knees beside the bed, gathering her tenderly in his arms. The soft wool of his jacket brushed her hot cheek, and she felt as though she were in a dimension outside herself, a place where sensation overruled everything else. His cheek rested against hers for a moment and afforded her time to relax in his embrace, which felt so different and so new.

  She lifted her arms and let them wrap loosely around him, inhaling his cinnamon-and-clove fragrance, thinking that it wasn't an after-shave lotion at all. It was the warm natural fragrance of Adam Hracek.

  His skin against hers cooled her hot flesh. It didn't matter that her family surged around them outside the bedroom door. She only wanted to be held safely and securely in Adam's arms, forgetting her family and everything else. She needed him, needed to be held like this, and she hadn't needed anyone in a long, long time.

  Almost as one they shifted positions, lips seeking lips. First she felt the gentle abrasion of his mustache against her face, and then, beneath it, electrifyingly cool lips softly brushing hers. Sage closed her eyes and sank into the sensation, blocking out everything but Adam's sweetly seeking mouth, unloosing a host of sensations that flooded through her in a rush of heat.

  His breath fanned coolness against her face, and his lips tightened upon hers as he learned their contours. This kiss was long and tender and deep, but she shouldn't feel so moved by it. She stirred in his arms and he released his pressure on her lips. As she opened her eyes she saw that he closed his, saw before they shut her out that he was feeling something, too.

  She felt an ache of unbearable longing. Why or how, she didn't know. From the moment their eyes had met after her accident, she'd known that together, they could be something special and maybe even something permanent. Whatever their connection was, it felt right.

  He opened his eyes and she saw the wanting there, and he saw that she saw. Then his lips traveled to her temple, lingered for a moment, his mustache tickling, then drifted to her mouth
again for a heartfelt and urgent exploration. Finally, leaving her gasping, he pressed his lips to the soft flesh at the base of her throat where her garment parted in a deep slit.

  Adam lifted his head and looked down at her tenderly before dropping a kiss on the end of her turned-up nose.

  "I don't think that this is the medicine the doctor ordered," he said. The tension in his arms dissipated as he let her fall back on the pillows.

  "Who knows," she said lightly. "It may be the greatest discovery since penicillin."

  Adam's mustache twitched and his eyes twinkled with humor. He stood and straightened his sweater. "If you're right," he said, "I'll expect a miraculous cure. I'll call you tomorrow and see how well the cure is working."

  He stood staring down at her for one long moment, wondering what he was getting himself into. He had never met a woman quite like Sage McKenna, and it looked as though she came with problems the like of which he had never before had to face. He caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, thinking about that and what her entry into his life would do to him. A year. He would only be in Willoree a year before he moved on.

  Maybe. Just... maybe. He didn't know whether to hope or not.

  As he left Sage's room, Adam closed the door very carefully behind him.

  * * *

  Sage woke up late the next morning. As she lay in her bed, she gingerly pressed the skin on either side of her nose to test what her sinuses were doing. The skin felt tender, but her head no longer throbbed. She got up and showered quickly. She felt stronger than she had yesterday. When she arrived downstairs in the kitchen, Irma was preparing breakfast for Joy. Ralph, Gregory and Hayley had already left for work and school.

  "Don't forget your antibiotic capsule," said Irma, who was stirring milk into Joy's Cream of Wheat.