Joker’s Wild is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
2013 Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1989 by Sandra Chastain.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
eBook ISBN 978-0-345-54203-8
Cover design: Susan Schultz
Cover photograph: © Malek Chamoun/Getty Images
Originally published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House Company, New York, in 1989.
www.readloveswept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Dedication
The Editor’s Corner
One
Allison Josey slammed the door of her beloved red MG with her good knee, fitted her crutches under her arms, and awkwardly made her way across the courtyard into her grandmother’s garden. She’d driven for almost three days to get there, and she was determined to sit in the gazebo.
The scent of freshly mown grass was sweet and familiar. But the sight of the latticework structure wasn’t. It had become weathered over the years and was no longer white. By the time she reached the gazebo, where she’d spent so many happy hours as a child, her knee was throbbing with pain, and there was an ache in her throat. The place wasn’t at all as she’d remembered it.
Propping her crutches against the banister, she pulled herself determinedly up the steps. She’d made it—on her own. It didn’t matter that the paint was flaking and peeling. She was finally there. “Home,” she whispered, just as her bad knee gave way, and she stumbled inside.
Two arms caught her as she fell and lifted her against a bare, rock-hard chest that cushioned her face with soft downy hair and smelled like the woods after a rain. She felt the slow, steady beat of a person’s heart beneath her cheek.
“Hold on there, darling, you’ve reached the castle. I’ll pull up the drawbridge and stave off the attack.”
“Oh! I beg your pardon.” Allison’s voice was a choked sputter as she tried to settle her whirling senses back to normal. She was being held by a titian-haired, bearded giant of a man wearing faded jeans and a half-buttoned green plaid shirt.
“You never have to beg, Beauty.”
“I didn’t mean to … I mean I didn’t see you or I wouldn’t have …” Unwelcome tears of frustration welled up in her eyes.
“It’s all right. With a rainstorm of salty tears blinding your vision, you couldn’t be expected to see anything.”
“I don’t cry,” she protested wearily. “I’m just exhausted.”
“Don’t worry, darling”—his teasing dropped off and his voice became soft—“you’re in Joker’s territory now. I’ll protect you.”
Caught by the tenderness in his voice, Allison tilted her head and looked up, straight into the biggest, deepest gray eyes she’d ever seen. Little laugh lines fanned out from their corners as his eyes flashed in merriment. In spite of their deep, smoky color, they seemed perfectly matched to the face of the burly, bronze-colored giant.
Thick auburn hair curled damply about the man’s forehead, and a darker brick-colored beard covered his face and upper lip. She had the absurd feeling that she’d stumbled into a time warp and was looking at Eric the Red standing on the bow of a Viking ship.
For the longest time they stood, not speaking, simply gazing at each other. She knew she ought to pull away from his embrace, ought to remove her fingers from his massive chest. But all she could do was look up at him in bemusement. She had to be dreaming. There couldn’t be a man in the gazebo in her grandmother’s garden in Pretty Springs, Georgia, at eleven o’clock in the morning.
He nodded as if in reassurance. “You’re Allison. Your grandmother said you’d come.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Joker.”
“You can’t be real. I must be more tired than I thought.”
“Oh, yes, I’m real. I’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” She felt a bit light-headed. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. Her grandmother was in a nursing home. Why would a stranger named Joker be on the grounds? Yet the man’s arms were solid and warm. She knew instinctively that he was the kind of man a woman could lean on, a man who feared nothing. For the first time in a long time she felt secure.
“But why?” she asked, feeling as if she were a child again, there in the gazebo with Gran, asking questions. Why are the stars so tiny? Why does the wind blow? She hadn’t asked questions for quite a while. Trained athletes didn’t ask questions. They followed instructions. And she had, until she’d checked herself out of the hospital and run away from all those instructions.
“Why?” The big man repeated softly, pushing back a stray tendril of midnight black hair that had curled across her cheek. He caught it between his fingers and rubbed it back and forth as if he were studying a priceless treasure.
“Never question fate, darling. Just accept what it sends. You need me, and I’m here.” Reluctantly he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear and trailed his fingertips across her shoulder and down her back. He didn’t know what was wrong, only that she needed him.
“No. What I need is to walk again, skate again. The doctors told me that I’ll never skate again, and I must. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Allison Josey. For now, just lean on me.”
She rested her weight on her good leg, allowing him to support her with his big arms and strong body. Gran had told him to expect her? That was all that she needed to hear—for now. He seemed to be part of home, the steady comfort she’d been drawn back to, and she looked up at him once more, a wistful expression on her face.
“All right,” she agreed, too tired to put up a fight. “But I should know why, shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m here, and I need you too,” he answered.
Joker felt he knew the dark-haired woman with the haunting eyes he held in his arms. She was the same graceful beauty whose photographs and news clippings papered the study wall in the main house. She’d fascinated him, captured his attention with her ethereal loveliness. For more than six months he’d taken the image of her to bed with him every night and had woken with her every morning. But this time she wasn’t wearing a gossamer ice-skating costume or being held by a slender man in some dreamlike skating pose. She was in his arms—and she belonged there.
Allison Josey’s appearance in the garden was no surprise to him. He’d already heard so much about her from her grandmother. He’d expected her, sooner or later. Now that she’d come, he had no intention of defying fate. The minute he’d seen the crutches he’d known that she’d come to him because she was bruised, hurt, in need of care. When she fell into his arms, he knew it was up to him to nourish her and make her bloom.
There was a hush in the garden, as though they’d slipped into a secret place where no one else could go. The sun was warm, the smell of honeysuckle sweet. Allison looked up at him with soulful eyes that drew him and held him imprisoned by the pain reflected there.
And then he kissed her.
&nbs
p; As he lowered his head, Allison’s eyes widened in surprise. She couldn’t believe that his lips were touching hers. Her body seemed to sigh, rippling pleasantly as she sagged against him.
Suddenly, she could feel a fluttering inside her like a butterfly’s wings, as the floor of the gazebo seemed to float beneath her feet. For a moment she wasn’t sure she was breathing. The sun seemed to brighten, shooting a shimmering curtain of warmth through the vine-wrapped roof. She swayed against him, her fingers tangling in the hair on his chest. She returned his kiss as naturally as if she’d expected it, as if she’d known he’d be waiting there—for her.
When he finally lifted his head, she stumbled backward and tried to speak. “I … I don’t understand. This can’t be happening. I must be daydreaming,” she whispered.
“Daydreams are mirrors of the soul’s desire. That’s what your grandmother told me.”
“Gran?” Yes, she thought, that sounded like something her grandmother would say. Allison gazed at him for a moment as she tried to collect her thoughts.
“Oh, yes. She told me all about you, Allison Josey. You’ll celebrate your twenty-seventh birthday in December. You like fried chicken. You’re stubborn. Red is your favorite color, and you’ve been waiting for me. I think that just about covers it.”
His voice was low as he leaned closer. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. His beard was touching her forehead.
“Eric the Red?” she whispered under her breath. She trembled and pushed against him, reality nudging into the serenity of the moment. “I don’t understand. This can’t be happening. Let me go. Please!”
“Don’t be afraid, Beauty,” he said. “Sit here on the banister. I’ll release you—for now. But we’ve touched, and I’m part of you. You can never again erase the me from you.”
The stranger stepped away, and Allison’s heart pounded even harder. She’d been right. He was large, not heavy but tall and muscled, a man who worked with his hands and his body. This was no gym-shaped hunk. This was a man who was a part of the earth, a part of the universe, a part of her now, and she yearned to reach out and touch him again.
“Listen, I’m a little spacey from driving for the last five hours without stopping.” She jutted her chin forward and continued more formally, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. I don’t normally fall into strange men’s arms.”
“Strange? No. Once you kissed me, I stopped being a stranger.”
As the absurdity of the situation hit her, Allison gathered her scattered senses and said, “When I kissed you? Stop kidding around, mister. I’m too exhausted to deal with this right now.”
He didn’t answer her. He just stood inches away from her as though he were waiting for her to come back into his arms. Every nerve ending in her body strained toward the security of those arms. She began to wonder if she might be having an out-of-body experience.
“I understand, Beauty. I know you’re tired.”
“Beauty? All right, why do you keep calling me that? Is this fairy tale time? Are you acting out some kind of Beauty and the Beast fantasy?”
“No, darling,” he said gently, a patient smile on his face. “I’m just a man, a simple gardener. I make things grow. And if you’ll let me, I’ll bring a bloom back to your cheeks and teach you about a sweet and loving life.”
“Honestly now,” she protested weakly, “no more fun and games. I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but this is my home. Or it was my home until I moved to … that doesn’t matter. I’ve been driving for a long time. I’m totally wiped out, and I don’t think I can stay awake much longer. Please, let me go!”
“I’m not holding you, my Beauty. You’re free to go whenever you like. But I’m here. All you have to do is need me, and I’ll come to you.”
He really wasn’t touching her, Allison realized. His nearness was an illusion that lingered. She still felt him, felt the strength of his arms and the warmth of his touch. Then the feeling was gone, and she shivered as he lifted her hand, touching her palm to his lips before moving away.
Allison blinked once and then rubbed her eyes in disbelief. She had to be hallucinating. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them again, she was alone. She wasn’t sure how much had been real and how much she’d imagined.
It must have been the aftereffects of the painful knee injury that had colored her mind and made her see what she’d needed to see. She’d read about women who wanted a child so badly that they gained weight, suffered morning sickness, and even produced milk when they weren’t even pregnant. Did she want a tender, caring lover so much that she’d conjured one up? No! She was in the gazebo in her grandmother’s garden. She’d come home to get away from the world and let herself heal. Only … she hadn’t taken any pain pills since she’d left the hospital. Whatever had happened hadn’t been induced by her medication.
In the distance she heard a lawn mower start up. The limbs of the great oak trees hung still and graceful in the garden around the gazebo. A quick little breeze caught the leaves and moved them, stirring the quiet peacefulness with secretive whispers. Sounds of the garden sifted through her confusion, and she took a deep, sweet-scented breath.
This was Pretty Springs, Georgia. This was home. After fourteen years she was back where she’d started. She could wash her face, take off her shoes, and eat brownies and pancakes and fried chicken forever. She’d never be half of the team of Josey and Saville again. She’d never be married to Mark Saville. The couple whose faces had been plastered across the covers of every gossip magazine from the moment they’d won the Olympic gold medal five years ago was no more. Mark had found someone else.
For almost six months she’d been plain old Allison Janette Josey, who couldn’t manage on dry land any better than she could skate on ice. She swung around into the doorway, picked up her crutches, and hobbled down the steps toward the house.
“Damned knee! Damned doctors. I’ll show them all. I will skate again!”
In the distance the auburn-haired man watched the delicate woman move awkwardly and stop every few steps to rest and look around as if she were taking her bearings. She seemed to be breathing in the scents and feel of home. As if she were some music-box ballerina, she raised her head defiantly and slowly turned around, her body language indicating a change in her attitude from defeat to a tentative acceptance. A half smile washed across her face, and she opened her arms as if she were a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.
Joker nodded. He understood her feelings about this place. It had been while he’d been landscaping the Pretty Springs Golf and Tennis Retirement Community nearby that he’d found Elysium and fallen in love with it—and the gentle elderly lady who owned it. His brothers understood why he preferred renting the carriage house on the grounds of Elysium to living in one of the condos they were building. They’d learned about saving precious things. They’d saved the healing mineral springs at the golf and tennis housing community by incorporating the Sports Medicine Rehabilitation Center into the project.
The first day he’d driven by the wisteria-covered stone entranceway to the estate, he’d been intrigued. Without any hesitation he’d driven down the lane lined with deep red crape myrtle trees and had seen the lovely old house and gardens falling into disrepair. When Lenice Josey welcomed him inside, he’d known that he wanted to stay. She quickly became the grandmother he’d never had. And he’d become her fierce protector. She’d rented him the carriage house, and he’d moved in.
And then he’d seen the photos of Allison. From that moment he’d been captured by something more than the house, by a need he couldn’t identify, an obsession for the hauntingly beautiful Allison on the silver skates. He couldn’t have left, even if Lenice Josey hadn’t welcomed him like a grandson.
It wasn’t until he’d found Mrs. Josey crumpled on the kitchen floor and had taken her to the hospital that he’d discovered the perilous state of her finances. Only her concern for her granddaughter had ke
pt her from selling out and moving into a retirement home long ago. But it was clear that Allison had her own life, a life outside of Pretty Springs. And Mrs. Josey knew that Allison’s love for Elysium wasn’t for the place itself but for her. Then, Lenice had fallen ill, and she’d had no choice.
As long as she owned the estate she was unable to qualify for the extended medical assistance she needed. Mrs. Josey had to sell to pay off the hospital and supplement her own meager income. Whatever was left over would then go to Allison later. But she’d made everyone involved promise that Allison wouldn’t be told—until Mrs. Josey could tell her herself.
Joker couldn’t allow a stranger to tear down the estate or turn it into co-ops or condos. He’d offered to buy the place, and she’d agreed, knowing that the chances of Allison ever living there again were slim. At least if Joker bought it, it wouldn’t be swallowed up in new development.
At the time, Lenice Josey’s doctor had notified Allison of her grandmother’s fall, but Allison was scheduled to undergo the operation on her knee, and she couldn’t come. Joker became Mrs. Josey’s family. But he continued to live in the carriage house, even after the house became his. The house was meant for a family, and he’d been alone—until now.
The exterior needed to be painted, the roof leaked, and some of the windows had begun to rot away. But Joker couldn’t bring himself to change anything. Now he knew why. He’d kept it just the way it was for the woman in the pictures. He just hadn’t anticipated that she wouldn’t know that the home she’d come back to wasn’t hers any more.
The expression of defeat on Allison’s face as she made her way to the gazebo had been no surprise to him. He’d been down the same lonely road, trying to find the sense of home he’d lost. Now he knew that he’d been walking toward her with every step he’d made.
Allison didn’t need to be told yet about his arrangements with her grandmother. She hadn’t been informed about their friendship or that his large monthly house payments were supplementing Miss Lenice’s small income. He’d explain everything to Allison when the time was right. He wasn’t sure why Allison had come home or what she needed, but he felt her pain as though it were his own. Learning that Elysium belonged to him now could set her recovery back even more.
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