Joker looked around the gazebo and felt the lingering aura of Allison’s presence. He let out a cry of joy and gave an imaginary high five to the bright sunshine and whispering summer breeze.
Allison climbed the back steps and entered the kitchen as though she’d been thrown back in time. She was a schoolgirl again, hurrying home to share her day with Gran, calling out as soon as she entered the kitchen. The woman behind the sink would smile, hold out her cheek for a kiss, and go on whipping potatoes with a large metal fork.
Allison would fling herself down in the chair at the table by the bay window overlooking the garden and enjoy whatever treat Gran had prepared, while she told her grandmother about her day. She hadn’t known what it was like to have a best friend to play with after school. She’d had Gran, and Gran had been enough.
Allison glanced around the kitchen. It was exactly the same—the faded marble countertops, the glass-fronted cabinets filled with the gold-colored Depression glass plates and glasses that Gran had received as wedding presents. She’d eaten on those dishes every day for thirteen years, until she’d left to train for the Olympics.
The ice-skating rink had been built on a vacant lot near her house when she was eight years old. The rink had quickly taken the place of the friends she’d never had. Skating had been a wonderful escape for her. It had allowed her to express herself and had hidden the uncertainty she’d felt as an adolescent. The only success she’d ever experienced in her life had been while on the ice.
Allison ran her fingers over the marble countertop, feeling the smooth, cool finish. The house was quiet, and she shivered as the memories came crashing over her.
When she was thirteen Allison had been selected to go to the Olympics training school in Colorado. She’d been too young to understand the sacrifices Gran had made to pay her fees. She’d missed Gran, but for the first time in her life she’d had a chance to be special. And she’d never really come home again, except for brief visits.
Then she’d met Mark, and he’d become the most important person in her life. Now Mark was gone, Lenice Josey was in a nursing home, and the house was still and empty.
Allison looked around.
Tired … so tired of having to put on a stoic face before the world. She groaned out loud. She’d been so sure that she could do this alone. Before she’d always been dependent on somebody. First there had been Gran, then her coaches and trainers, then Mark, and finally her doctors. She’d been to the mountaintop and had come crashing down. Now it was up to her. No more dependency. No more living on her pride or hiding her feelings or her past.
Allison Josey had checked herself out of the hospital and had come home. She’d learned to skate while living in this house. Now, one way or another, she’d learn to walk again. She gritted her teeth and climbed the stairs, grimacing with every step.
She pushed open the door to her bedroom, flexing her arms and shoulders, which were strained from using the crutches. She glanced around and felt a great lump tighten her throat. Gran had kept the room just as Allison had left it. The cabbage-rose print spread and the pink sheets were on the bed. Her stuffed animals still lined the bookshelves on the wall, and the picture of her receiving her first skating trophy leaned against the mirror on her dressing table. She dropped her crutches and lay back across the bed, absorbing the feeling of home.
The presence of the man in the gazebo should have disturbed her, but it didn’t. There’d never been a man in their house before, but he seemed to belong there. She’d have to talk to Gran about him as soon as she’d rested for a while. She closed her eyes, remembering his gentle kiss. The memory was a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves.
So weary … Allison was asleep seconds before the screen door of the porch below swung open. She didn’t hear the steps of the big bearded man as he deposited her suitcases inside the bedroom and stood over her, watching the faint up-and-down movement of her chest as she slept.
“So fragile,” he whispered, and forced away the overpowering urge he felt to cradle her in his arms. His heart ached for her. She was a wildflower, a rare wildflower hiding in a dark place away from the sun. He’d protect her—somehow.
Two
Fried chicken. Gran was frying chicken.
Allison opened her eyes. The late afternoon sun made fingers of wavy lavender light across the pale pink carpet in her bedroom. No, she wasn’t dreaming. She was in her room, and she definitely smelled chicken frying.
Allison had craved fried chicken for days before she’d left the hospital. She’d been tired of struggling, tired of hurting. When the doctors admitted that her surgery had been only partially successful and that their plans for a second operation promised no guarantees for further improvement, she gave in to her longing and headed south. She’d decided it was time to go home and start over again.
With a groan Allison forced herself up. Reaching for her crutches she dislodged one from the foot of her bed, and it clattered to the floor. The noise had hardly died down when she heard the unmistakable thud of footsteps on the stairs.
“Who’s there?”
“Just me, Beauty. Are you ready for dinner?”
It was the red giant, the earthy apparition who had kissed her in the gazebo. He was standing in her doorway wearing a pink gingham apron around his waist and a frosting of flour on his beard.
“Are you the cook too?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m it—butcher, baker, and candlestick maker. And I do a mean Texas two-step on the side.”
“Just as long as you understand that this little house is in Georgia, not Texas,” she responded with a smile, “and there isn’t a chicken on the place.”
“Ah, shucks! Well, the rest of my talents may not have an outlet, but at least the lady has a sense of humor and the cook has a captive audience.” With an elaborate bow, he scooped her into his arms and did a two-step routine out into the hallway to the stairs.
“Joker,” she protested, “Wait a minute. I appreciate your kindness, but what are you doing here?”
“If you mean what am I doing in the house, I have kitchen privileges. If you mean what am I doing in the kitchen, I’m frying chicken.”
He descended the steps to the kitchen.
Quirking one eyebrow, he grinned. “If you’re asking what I’m doing at this precise moment, I could say that I’m exploring my baser instincts.”
Joker stopped beside the breakfast table, slid his fingers up her rib cage, and shifted her weight seductively against him before placing her on the gray leather dinette chair.
“Stop taking advantage of my injury, nature boy, and tell me what you mean by kitchen privileges,” Allison said in a breathy voice.
“Miss Lenice and I made an agreement. Until I get a new stove in the carriage house, I can use her—excuse me—your kitchen.”
“So when will that be?”
“Look.” He turned, pointing her grandmothers heavy mixing fork at her. “It’s my turn. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours. What are you doing here now? Miss Lenice’s doctor said that you wouldn’t complete your therapy for another six weeks.”
His question brought her up short. What exactly was she doing there when her doctors and her therapist were in Boston? She didn’t know. Looking for hope, for the courage to start again? Looking for a place where people didn’t demand or make decisions for her?
“Well, I … I left early,” she finally answered. “I needed to be near Gran.” And she knew that was the only answer she had. She needed someone to say, whatever you want, Allison. She needed someone to believe in her as a person and love her unconditionally.
The bearded man wadded a corner of his apron in his hand, lifted the lid of the frying pan, and began to turn the chicken. “Maybe, but seeing you hobbling around, I think you need as much looking after as she does.”
“I’m fine,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Or I will be soon.”
For the last three days she’d dreamed of nothing else but home. She
knew that Gran was in the nursing home, and though she’d known it would be hard being there without her, she’d wanted the time to work out her problems—alone. But she wasn’t alone. She had a knight in shining armor in her castle, her own private defender of the realm, whether she wanted him or not.
“It’s obvious,” he began, “that you’re still unsteady on those crutches. Want to tell me about it?”
“No, I don’t,” she answered quietly. “I’m not accustomed to having a man wait on me. The men I know expect me to be the one who … well, let’s just say that I’m not used to this kind of attention.”
“You should be. I can’t imagine a man not showering attention on you. He must have been a real jerk,” Joker said, shaking his head. “Want me to hunt him down and feed him to the crocs?”
“Mark isn’t—I mean, how’d you—” She bit back the question. Why was she protecting him? Mark, the favorite of the press. When she couldn’t skate anymore, their breakup had made the front page of all the tabloids. He’d said it was temporary. Only she had known that the arrangement was permanent. Mark had loved her, but he’d loved skating more. And she’d lost him. She wasn’t ready to talk about Mark or the future—not yet. Instead, she said, “You never answered my question. Who are you, Joker, and why are you here in my house?”
Joker continued to turn the chicken as his mind worked quickly. He didn’t think that the time was right to break the news to Allison that the house she’d come home to was his. He had an idea that she was too proud to accept his charity, and he didn’t want her to do something desperate. He’d just figure out a way to give her the time she needed to heal before he told her the truth.
Joker’s brothers had always accused him of dancing to a different drummer. When Jack and King looked up, they saw the sky. Joker saw cornflower blue velvet with clouds like swirls of alabaster and magnolias. He never saw the bad if he could see the good. And if he couldn’t find anything good, he just didn’t see anything at all.
Joker had always thought that he and his sister Diamond were the most alike. She decorated the inside of peoples’ worlds and he landscaped the outside. The real reason they enjoyed their work was because they made the world more beautiful.
The truth was that he’d never quite trusted reality. If he created a situation, it couldn’t change or disappoint him. He never said anything that would hurt anybody else. Now he sensed that a little imagination could soften the blow for Allison.
A large crackle of grease spat from the pan and singed his hand. “Ouch! What I am is a gardener. Your grandmother needed help, and I needed a place to live.” His answer was true enough.
“Gardener? What happened to Ollie?”
“Ollie? Don’t know. I’d say it’s been a while since he was here. Your grandmother has had a hard time finding help during the past few years.”
“I can see. She should have told me.”
“She didn’t want to worry you. And since I needed a place to stay,” he improvised as he cooked, conscious that she was beginning to lose that frantic look, “she let me rent the carriage house.”
Joker removed the pieces of chicken from the pan and placed them on paper towels. “After Miss Lenice fell, we altered our agreement somewhat. I look after things for her in exchange for my keep. You know your grandmother. She thinks I’m such a sensible boy. She trusts me. And I promise, my gardening is almost as good as my cooking.”
Boy? Allison smiled broadly. Her grandmother had a unique way of viewing the world. A boy? No, her grandmothers gardener might be many things, but a boy wasn’t one of them. She sneaked a look at him.
His expression was serious. Unconsciously she watched his profile as he worked. She’d never met anyone like this man. There was something about him, an energy that seemed at war with his size and strength. Yet she could picture Gran and him sitting on the patio talking. Perhaps it was that kind of belonging that made Allison accept his presence in spite of her protests. He was the one who belonged in Gran’s kitchen—not she. The thought made her sad. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the belonging.
“Almost ready,” he said as he poured tea into familiar gold-colored glasses filled with ice.
Allison frowned and stretched her shoulders. She hadn’t been so tired since she was thirteen and had skated in her first competition with Mark. She hadn’t known then that he would become so important to her that she’d give up control of her life to please him.
“All right,” she finally agreed. “I’ll honor Gran’s wishes. But I’m at home now, so we’ll have to work out a schedule to share the kitchen.” Allison took a big sip from the glass of iced tea he’d placed before her. “At least until I can talk to Gran about what we’re going to do.”
“Maybe you won’t want to bother Miss Lenice about the details just yet, Allison. I mean, she’s improved considerably, but she still has a way to go. Perhaps we could continue to share the kitchen for a while. How do you like the fresh mint in your tea? It’s straight out of my herb garden.”
Allison swallowed the sweet liquid and watched as the red-haired man spooned peas and new potatoes onto two plates. To each he added a large golden chicken leg and a slice of cornbread dripping with butter, then placed them on the table.
“You mean you expect to traipse in and out of my house at will? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Well, maybe after your knee improves, we can take turns. I’ll make breakfast, you make lunch, and we’ll share the night duty.”
“I don’t eat breakfast, I can’t cook, and how much better my leg will get is open to debate. All I’m interested in right now is sunshine, rest, and quiet.”
“Fine. We can supply that. But breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I’ll teach you to cook, and I think I can help with the leg too.”
“Oh? Do you practice medicine along with your other duties?” she asked with a smile, thinking how much she liked his carefree attitude.
“I’m a whiz with injured plants, but I’ve never tried my skills on a person. Want to be my first patient?”
Allison shook her head, wishing for a moment that she was back in the gazebo. Nothing was as she’d expected it to be. Maybe she ought to go back and start over.
Joker leaned over the table and touched her face with his fingertips. “Don’t worry. I promise you that what I have in mind for your leg is something very special. I’m a man of many talents, darling, and I’m going to teach you to appreciate every one of them.”
There it was again, that tenderness. She’d thought she’d imagined what had happened in the gazebo, but she’d been wrong. He’d kissed her, and she hadn’t protested. Now he was barely touching her cheek, and she felt the promise of his protection as if he were telling her with words. What was there about this man that made her feel warm and secure with only a touch? What was wrong with her that she was allowing it?
“Don’t. Please.” She pulled herself out of his reach. “Tell me why you would want to live here in our carriage house.”
“Because”—his gray eyes sparkled as he held her gaze—“the first time I saw this place, I knew it needed me. I’m going to bring it back to life as it was in the gay nineties when Pretty Springs was a famous resort.”
“I don’t think anybody can do that. In a few more years this whole area will be commercialized.”
“Bite your tongue. Just imagine ladies in their soft pastel dresses and picture hats, strolling through the gardens arm in arm with dapper gentlemen wearing bowlers and carrying canes. Oh, darling, it will be grand.”
“1890?” He’d caught her attention, and her question slipped out.
Joker sat down at the table and picked up his fork. “Did you know that Mark Twain came to dinner here with your great-grandfather? I’ll bet he ate fried chicken too. What do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy. How’d you find out all that?”
“Oh, this house is a treasure of history. Have you ever taken a good look in the library?” He took a
big bite of chicken and began to chew lustily. “Dig in, darling. I made strawberry pie for dessert.”
Allison allowed herself to be distracted by his exuberance. The food was good. For the first time in a long time she was hungry. Maybe it was due to Joker. Maybe it was due to being back at Elysium where she felt safe.
She took a few bites of the fried chicken and considered his question. “No, I guess I haven’t taken a good look at the library. I never had much time for reading. Once I started skating, all my spare time was spent at the rink.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight years old and scared silly. Besides that, I had three left feet.”
“But you learned. You must have figured out how to conquer your fear. That’s good.”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t easy.” She brightened and gave him a half smile. “I guess I never did get over my fear, but I learned to live with it.”
“What about friends?” Joker asked with a cautiousness he didn’t understand.
“There weren’t many. I didn’t fit in. I always had to practice so early in the morning that I couldn’t stay up very late at night. The only time I ever went to a school dance I fell asleep in a corner of the gym and woke up when they were turning out the lights.”
“What, only one school dance? Well, that will be our second order-of-recovery business. I still have my Elton John records somewhere. How are you fixed for miniskirts?”
“Elton John? I skated to one of his songs in a local competition. That was when my instructor decided I was good enough and moved me off to Colorado to live with a real coach. After that I never had time for history or dances either.”
“That’s all right. We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll teach you while you’re getting rid of those crutches.”
“If you’re a betting man, Joker”—she allowed the pain and doubt to creep into her voice—“you could be bankrupt before you get started.”
Joker's Wild Page 2
