Rescued by a Stranger

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Any idea what it would take?” Chase couldn’t believe he was spearheading this after his vow to stay uninvolved.

  “I’d have to do some research and talk to David this week.”

  “Jamie’s face would light the city if you told her she could mount up.”

  She squinted at him. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Help people. Help kids?”

  After warning himself all week, here he was, hoist on his own petard. He sighed. “I like kids. I saw a lot of broken ones over the years. You don’t work in Memphis without seeing a lot of broken things. And I hate to see Jamie feel like she’s broken when she isn’t.”

  “I know you ran away from something,” Jill looked up at the clear cerulean sky. “But you’re honest and caring. You could work around here, you know. Kids need help everywhere.”

  Honest. The word burned his conscience like acid. The idea of her discovering his secret horrified him, but he had no right to be dishonest—to hide what he was and what he’d done. One conversation—that was all it would take. But if he didn’t like who he was, how could she? He was here for the summer and probably no more; that much he’d semi-decided. He didn’t want to spend it without her friendship.

  “Let’s start with Jamie,” he said lightly.

  Jill reached into the take-out bag and pulled out three fortune cookies. “Look! One for you, one for me, one for Angel? Even though she’s already had her own egg roll.”

  He considered a moment. “We could bring it to McCormick. I kind of liked surprising the old guy.”

  “Now, do you see what I mean, Mr. Preston? I think the people who get you as a friend are very lucky. What a great idea.”

  THE GLOW OF early twilight masked some of the farmyard’s scars when they arrived at McCormick’s. With Chase at her side, Jill didn’t hesitate getting out of the truck, although she kept Angel close. McCormick liked horses; she didn’t know about dogs. They found him behind his house doing, of all things, his laundry. The sight of the sprightly farmer, clothespin in mouth, reaching for a work shirt off the line, was so comical Jill announced their presence with a laugh.

  “Looks like you need a maid,” Chase called.

  McCormick looked over his shoulder and tugged an old-style wooden pin from his lips, spitting as if he’d bitten the end off a Cuban cigar.

  “Or a wife.”

  “Can I help?” Jill moved toward the clothesline.

  “You’re too young, girlie, but I appreciate the offer.” He tossed the shirt in the basket on the ground and moved to the next article on the line.

  Jill joined him and pulled a few socks from the line. “How are you?”

  “Pretty good considering it was washing day. You can see how much I love it. I’m getting it done early.”

  “Olive taught you a lot about home ec, I see,” Chase said.

  “Hah. The only thing I remember about hanging clothes is that the socks went on one line, the shirts on another and the trousers on another. Made no sense to me, but I suppose that’s how it’s done.”

  “Come on then, let’s get finished,” Chase said, pulling a pin from another shirt. Within minutes the lines were empty.

  “Can I help fold them?” Jill asked.

  “What, did you come here to work?”

  “Sure.”

  “No,” Chase countered. “We brought you your fortune.”

  “Cookies,” Jill added as Chase pulled them out of his shirt pocket. “There’s always an extra.”

  “Oh. Well, gimme the one that says I’ll meet a nice Norwegian widow who does overalls.”

  Jill giggled again. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

  “No, no. Set down, I’ll just put these by the door.”

  Once on the holey porch, McCormick pointed to three ancient Adirondack chairs and they all sat. Jill held out the three fortune cookies. “I was serious. Pick one.”

  “Lotta nonsense,” McCormick said, but chose thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

  The crackle of cellophane filled the air, and three cookies snapped simultaneously.

  “Boring,” said Jill. “ ‘You will know the future when it has come.’ ”

  “Mine says, ‘Help me, I’m trapped,’ ” said Chase.

  “It doesn’t either! Let me see.” Jill snatched the slip of paper. “ ‘No man is born wise.’ Ooh, let’s analyze that one.”

  “Goes to show what horse hockey this is.” McCormick grunted. “ ‘A tall, dark stranger will fulfill your needs.’ Do they make tall, dark Norwegian widows?”

  “I suppose. Chase, are you Norwegian?”

  “No, ma’am. Scottish on one side. Ancestors on the Mayflower on the other.”

  “Phooey, doesn’t look like any of us is getting a rich fortune tonight. So, Mr. McCormick, how’s Gypsy? You know that’s really why we came.” She winked at him.

  “Females. Bond quick as flies to flypaper.”

  “Fine. If that’s how you feel, you boys can sit here while I go visit my soul mate.”

  She stood and tripped lightly down the porch stairs. The dog followed. Neither man moved a muscle.

  Gypsy pressed her massive face against the bars of her stall when Jill called her name and unlatched the door. As always, the beautiful mare’s sheer size took Jill’s breath away. The sleek ballooning sides, the flawless mane, tail, and fetlock feathers, and the vivid black-and-white coloring all added to the horse’s power.

  “Hurry up and have this baby,” she murmured as she pushed in beside the horse. “You look like you’re about to pop.”

  The huge horse lowered her muzzle, snuffling into Jill’s hand and nuzzling curiously at Angel, who sat calmly in the open door. Jill drew in the familiar musty scent of horse and talked on, petting and admiring her, finally pulling her head close and blowing softly into one enormous nostril. In return Gypsy snorted and cocked one ear, staring down with intense interest.

  “She likes you.” McCormick’s voice surprised her.

  “I like her. Mr. McCormick, this is very forward, but if I give you my phone number, would you, maybe, give a call when the foal comes?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said brusquely. Jill swore he tried not to look pleased.

  Deeper twilight had settled once they got outside. Along with the dark came battalions of mosquitos. Everyone swatted as they headed for the porch.

  “Come on inside, and I’ll get paper so you can write down your number,” McCormick said. “You two want some lemonade, or a beer? Wash down them dad-gummed cookies.”

  “If it’s the lemonade I heard about, I vote for that,” Chase said.

  Just like the barn’s interior, McCormick’s home showed none of the neglect evident outdoors. The kitchen was a spotless, warm hodgepodge, one where nothing matched but everything fit. The living room was equally eclectic with faded pink cabbage roses on the drapes and deep maroon leather on a well-used recliner. Beside the chair was a generous pile of Louis L’Amour Westerns. More framed photographs than Jill could count stood on various end tables.

  “Look, Chase.” Jill picked up one picture of a younger Robert McCormick beside a woman with graying brown curls and deep crow’s-feet. The eyes harbored an impish light.

  “This must be Olive?”

  McCormick nodded and proceeded to recount a story for nearly every photo, including the ones of his son, Karl. Eventually they all sat with their lemonades, McCormick in the recliner, his legs elevated and slack-hipped, Chase and Jill on two cushions of a saggy sofa, Angel at their feet. The old man seemed starved for his captive audience and reminisced for nearly an hour before there was a lull. Chase checked the time and broke the satisfying silence with an astonished whistle.

  “Dang!” He showed the watch face to Jill. It was nearly eleven. “I hate to say it, but we need to go. We both have work in the morning.”

  McCormick followed them into the black night, and all three looked up. A vivid smear against the luminous sky marked the Milky Way, and awe engulfed Jill as the stars pulsed and se
emed to push closer to Earth, as if it were they who gathered to peer down upon the three puny Earthlings.

  “This is a good place, a safe place,” Chase murmured. His head craned back, exposing a jutting, very sexy Adam’s apple. “I remember Mama telling us when we were young how any place where you could see clear up into heaven had to be good. She hated it when I moved to Memphis. ‘But can you see the stars come down?’ she always asked. She meant like this.” He scratched the back of his head in slight embarrassment and then extended a hand to McCormick. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

  The old man cleared his throat gruffly. “Nothing to thank me for.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. McCormick,” Jill said. “For the lemonade if nothing else.”

  “Thank you for the fortune. Next time just bring me the Norwegian.”

  He walked them to The Creature, and Jill caught sight of a fence she’d never noticed jutting from the far side of a small shed.

  “What’s that gate?”

  “Old chicken yard. It’s oversized, but as we got older Olive tired of chasing her stubborn biddies around the whole yard.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Oh. Mebbe sixty-five, seventy feet long and half that wide. I made it big enough so Olive thought the damn birds had running room. Only woman I know who cared whether her chickens got enough exercise.”

  “The more I hear about Olive the more I like her.” Jill touched McCormick on the shoulder. “Next visit you’ll have to give me a tour. There seem to be stories everywhere.”

  “You come,” McCormick said, still gruff. “You c’mon back, too.” He looked at Chase.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Sir?” McCormick snorted. “Hell, call me Robert.”

  They drove a long way in silence before Jill finally looked at Chase, staring pensively out the passenger window. “You’re awfully quiet. Everything all right?”

  To her shock, he threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed. Her stomach did happy and very confused flips.

  “Each visit reminds me a little bit more of home.”

  “You sound awfully wistful for somebody who left the farm voluntarily.”

  “I knew long ago I didn’t want to be a farmer. But the lifestyle always had its appeal.”

  “You said you’re really close to your grandfather. Does Mr. McCormick—Robert—remind you of him?”

  Chase chuckled. “Not even a little. Poppa is one hundred percent smooth, Southern, church-goin’ gentleman, and Robert McCormick is calloused, cynical, Midwestern work ethic. I just appreciate old people—they know a lot more than I do.”

  “You’re nice, and smart, too.” She smiled in the dark.

  “I kind of wish you’d stop saying things like that— Hey! Cut it out!” His disheartened tone grew into a chuckle and then a laugh as Angel lapped at Chase’s ear from her spot in the seat behind him. “Crazy dog. What got into you all of a sudden?”

  “She’s agreeing with me.”

  “Yeah, well, you both need to stop.” He nudged Angel away with his shoulder, squeezed Jill’s hand again, then loosened his fingers. “And I’m sorry. I said I wasn’t going to do this anymore. I promised we would be just friends.”

  She refused to let his hand free.

  “Let’s say we’re friends with hand-holding benefits. I’m not reading any more into it.”

  His hand tightened into hers. The butterflies in her stomach belied what she’d told him. Angel rested her head on the console between their seats.

  Jill pulled into the driveway and parked where Chase could take the dog around the side of the house without being seen. They sat silently, and neither moved. He ran his thumb back and forth along hers, and electricity bloomed like static off a big old balloon rubbed on thick carpet. Jill’s pulse raced.

  Nothing preceded his kiss except a slow movement toward her and heat from his breath on her skin. Nothing touched but their lips, locking, opening, and exploring hungrily. His head bobbed with hers, and her stomach slid toward the reactivated throbbing point between her legs. When he pulled away, the parting made a succulent sound in the dark.

  “Aw, hell,” he whispered. “I don’t seem to be very good at keeping promises, do I?”

  He trailed a finger across her jaw, opened the door, and slid out, then patted his leg for Angel to follow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  JILL FLOATED UNHAPPILY from sleep fifteen minutes before her 5:30 a.m. alarm went off. She dragged the covers over her head and drifted along with the wisps of a dream.

  Chase kissed her until Jamie Barnes flashed past them bareback astride a magnificent black-and-white stallion. Every few seconds she passed the gate from Robert McCormick’s chicken yard. Rebecca wedged herself between Jill and Chase yelling, “This is so stupid, Jamie, you’re the only woman I know who cares whether your chickens get enough exercise.”

  Jill’s eyes flew open, and she sat straight up. Sleepiness vanished, and she hugged her knees to keep from laughing. It wasn’t hard to figure out the inspirations for this dream. Seventy by forty feet was just big enough for a functional riding space. The idea was cheerful if insane.

  But, by the time she got to breakfast Chase had already borrowed Elaina’s car and gone, leaving her cheeriness faded.

  She settled for the anticipation of seeing Chase at lunch, but it lasted only until she learned he’d worked all morning, then gone to a Connery company meeting. Bummed for a second time, she distracted herself by scoping out the stable’s familiar outdoor and indoor arenas with an eye for Jamie’s needs. She didn’t like the outdoor since it had no fence or rail, and the potential for runaway was too great. She didn’t like the indoor arena because the space felt too cavernous for a rider with limited control.

  All of a sudden, the prospect of Jamie riding seemed far-fetched. Too many barriers seemed insurmountable. She didn’t have the foggiest clue how to teach a physically challenged rider. That was Dee’s area of expertise. The whole endeavor would take a lot more thought.

  When Chase wasn’t in the guesthouse after eight when she got home, Jill finally started worrying, wondering if he’d been hurt and nobody knew whom to contact. Or, she wondered if he was avoiding her, running scared after their kiss last night, as he’d done once already.

  She didn’t know how to reach the part of him he kept hidden from the world. When it came to support and tenderness of her, he could out-Casanova the great Casanova. When it came to himself, however, he was guarded as Area 51—hiding who-knew-what behind the half lover, half warrior she could see on the surface.

  A fugitive? A deadbeat dad? A drug runner? An undercover cop? A werewolf? She’d considered the most fanciful possibilities. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t be a bad person. On the other hand, nothing less than something bad would make a person toss back every deserved compliment he received like it was an unexploded grenade.

  Jill padded around the kitchen scrounging halfheartedly for dinner. When the phone rang, she ignored it, hoping her mother would answer. On the fifth ring, however, she grabbed it, exasperated.

  “Hello?”

  “Jill? Is this Jill?”

  The gruff old voice startled her. “Mr. McCormick?”

  “Yah. Say, I think there’s a problem with the mare.” His words came out understated in comparison to the agitation in his tone.

  “With Gypsy? What’s wrong?”

  “She’s been in labor all afternoon I think, but she’s not right.”

  “Did you call Dr. Hardy?”

  “He’s still out sick, so I called your Thomlinson fellow’s clinic. Their vet is on another emergency and will come when he can. I was thinking you know horses pretty good.”

  “Of course I’ll come if you want me to, but you know I’m not a vet.”

  “I’ve seen you with her. Maybe you’ll have an idea.”

  “Okay. Keep her calm. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  The worry in his voice set he
r heart aching. She knew exactly what was at stake for him.

  “Robert? Take care of yourself, too. Gypsy will be fine.”

  “Yah, me. I don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She grabbed her paddock boots from the back hall and stuck her foot in one of them, hopping to get it on. “I’m going out,” she shouted toward the living room.

  “Bye. Have fun,” came her mother’s disembodied voice.

  After jamming on her second boot, Jill paused a moment to decide if there was anything she should bring with her. There was nothing. She made for The Creature, her laces dragging, Angel behind her, and just as she opened the door, Chase pulled in beside her. Angel howled in happy greeting.

  “Hey.” His quiet voice held questions and apologies, but she couldn’t think about anything except her task.

  “Mr. McCormick called. He thinks Gypsy’s in trouble and he can’t get a vet.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I doubt there’s anything I can do, but I told him I’d come. Ride along?”

  “Of course.”

  “What could be wrong?” Chase asked when they were under way.

  “Any number of things or nothing at all. The foal could be positioned wrong, or Gypsy could be having trouble dilating. I just pray everything’s okay. I think this horse means an awful lot to him.”

  “I know you’re right.” He nodded and closed his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Or are you praying to all the angels again?”

  “Got one angel right here.” He stroked the dog’s head. “But you can’t have too many in a situation like this, I suppose.”

  “Good point. I, uh, missed seeing you around today.”

  He was quiet for so long Jill feared what he would say. “I was avoiding you. Sort of.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You have to know by now you scare me to death. I can’t control myself around you no matter how hard I tell myself to behave.”

  The hurt that had started to build dissipated with a rush. “Two kisses don’t constitute bad behavior, Chase. They constitute two kisses. Extremely good kisses, I admit, but it’s not like you have to marry me now. It doesn’t work that way in this part of the country. Does it in Memphis?”