by Peggy Webb
“That’s it!”
Her children, the misfit boys at Southside Academy, needed a dream. And she knew how to give it to them.
Leaving her tea to get cold, she hunted through the telephone book for Jim Standing Bear’s number. It took five rings for him to answer. By the time Sarah heard his voice she was trembling like a leaf.
“Hello.” His voice sent chills over her.
“Jim, this is Sarah.”
“Sarah.” Was that pleasure she heard in his voice, or was she dreaming? “Is everything all right? How’s your dad?”
“Yes, to the first question. He’s fine, to the second.” Sarah laughed with the pure joy of talking to him. “But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Certainly.”
“Not on the phone. In person.”
Silence. Was he going to refuse to see her? Sarah plunged boldly ahead.
“I’d like to come over, if it’s all right with you.”
“When?”
“Now? The sitter’s with Dad, and I…I really should bring your robe home. I meant to do it yesterday.”
“That’s not a problem.”
He paused. Was he going to turn her down?
“Come on over, Sarah. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Sarah set the receiver back in its cradle, then fisted the air in victory.
“Yes!”
She pressed the intercom to her father’s room. The sitter responded immediately. Sarah took that as a good sign.
“Mrs. Grimes, this is Sarah. Is everything all right down there?”
“Yes. Dr. Sloan is napping.”
“Good. I’m going next door. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“How long will you be gone?”
How long would it take to tell Jim her plan? Fifteen minutes. Max. Suppose he kissed her again?
Her face bloomed pink at the thought.
“I don’t really know, Mrs. Grimes. All I can tell you is that I’ll be home before you leave at six.”
Sarah was halfway down the staircase before she remembered Jim’s robe. She raced back to get it, and by the time she arrived at his house she was breathless from exertion. Or so she told herself.
The minute he answered the door, she understood that her condition was due to something else entirely. Her condition was due to the excitement of seeing him, an anticipation almost too great for the heart to bear and a skin-searing, blood-boiling passion that stole the starch from her bones.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said, and she melted like a stick of butter that had been left too long in the sun. “Won’t you come in?”
Was that spark she saw in his eyes interest? She pinched herself to be sure she was wide-awake. Then she had to pinch herself again, for Jim Standing Bear was leading her into his den, back to the place where it all had happened.
Sarah stood in the doorway while memories rendered her speechless. There was the sofa where her father had slept, and there was the rug where she’d knelt when Jim lifted her onto his lap and kissed her. There was where she’d beheld magic.
Jim tossed the robe over the back of the sofa.
“Won’t you sit down, Sarah?”
That was a good sign, wasn’t it? She sat beside his robe close enough to touch, then surreptitiously buried the fingers of her right hand in its soft folds. To give her courage.
Jim felt at a disadvantage in his wheelchair. If he were having a discussion with Ben or Wayne or any other man, he’d have swung himself into a wingback chair.
But he wouldn’t do that while Sarah watched. Being in the condition was bad enough without calling her attention to it.
“I was never a woman to beat about the bush, Jim, so I’ll get right to the point.”
That was one of the things he liked about Sarah. No pretense. No posturing.
He would have thought she was perfectly at ease if he hadn’t seen how she clutched the robe. Jim smiled.
“I’m listening, Sarah.”
Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip, another sure sign that the unflappable Miss Sarah Sloan was not as composed as she seemed.
“My father always used to say that. When Julie or I were children and would go to him with a problem, he’d pull us onto his lap and say, ‘I’m listening.’”
“If it will make you feel more comfortable, I’ll pull you onto my lap.”
“Not unless you want this meeting to take a while. As I recall, the last time you did that, we got sidetracked.”
They stared at each other, astonished at their audacity, astonished at the easy way they’d slipped into such familiarity, almost as if they were lovers.
Jim felt as if he were flying a jet off the deck of an aircraft carrier. Once a pilot committed the plane to takeoff, there was no turning back.
And it felt good. He felt a freedom he hadn’t felt in months.
He held Sarah’s gaze, loving the way her flush deepened, loving the way she crossed her legs, then uncrossed them and tugged at her skirt. Then crossed them again.
“I’m getting sidetracked now,” he said.
“So am I.”
If he hadn’t been in his wheelchair he’d have strode across the room and pulled her into his arms. He’d have kissed her until they were both breathless, kissed her until kissing wasn’t enough, kissed her until the only possible way to satisfy their hunger was upstairs in his king-sized bed.
“Oh, dear,” she said, as if she’d read his thoughts.
She pushed her hair back from her flushed face, then laughed. A bit self-consciously, he thought. He hoped.
“Some get-right-to-the-point person I turned out to be.”
“I liked your digression.”
“Did you?”
“Absolutely. I haven’t felt playful in a long time. You make me feel playful.”
“And you make me feel…” She flushed again.
“How do I make you feel, Sarah?”
“Beautiful. Almost.”
There it was again. Sarah Sloan’s Achilles heel. Jim wheeled his chair across the room and leaned over to cup her face.
“You are beautiful, Sarah.”
He felt how she trembled at his touch. He reveled in it, loved it.
He wanted to kiss her. But not here. Not now. Not while he was still imprisoned by the wheelchair.
Her eyes were wide and misty. Sarah Sloan had the look of a woman who expected to be kissed.
Jim silently berated himself for being a selfish bastard. He had no right to touch her.
And yet… His hands were on her face, and she was watching him with a misty-eyed look that tore his heart in two. How could he bear to pull away?
Fortunately, Sarah saved him. She drew back and covered her embarrassment by rearranging her skirt. Silently, Jim wheeled back across the floor.
“Oh, my goodness. I came here for the children. Not this.”
“The children?”
“Yes, my students. At Southside Academy.”
He was familiar with Southside. He could picture Sarah there bringing her strength and honesty and caring spirit to those lost souls who had been booted out of the traditional school system.
“You’ve taken on quite a challenge, Sarah.”
“I like challenge.”
So did he. The realization pleased Jim. There were still parts of him that the accident hadn’t destroyed.
He waited for her to continue.
“My students are all boys, Jim. Adolescents who have fought against society in every way possible, defiance, drugs, even crime.”
This was an aspect of the school he had never considered. His blood chilled at the idea of Sarah being in danger.
“Does the school provide security for its teachers, Sarah?”
“Absolutely. They provide all the security the teachers need. But little else, Jim. When the budget pie is sliced, Southside is generally overlooked. My students need equipment, books, supplies.
“But most of all they need a hero, and that�
�s where you come in.”
“You’re talking to the wrong person, Sarah.”
“No, I’m talking to exactly the right person, Jim. I want you to come to Southside and mentor these troubled adolescent boys. Two days a week, Jim. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I can give you a list of people who can do that for you. Commander Chuck Sayers, for one. I think he’d be happy to carve out some time for your worthy cause.”
“This is not a cause, Jim. It’s a crusade. I’m sure Commander Sayers is a great guy, but I need someone who can donate more than a little time. I need someone who will be committed to these boys.”
She fell silent, giving her speech time to sink in.
“I need you, Jim.”
He needed her, too, but not in the way she was describing.
“My answer is no.”
He could tell by the way she stiffened her spine that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“Why?”
“That should be obvious.”
“No, it’s not. Explain.”
“In the first place, I’m no hero, Sarah. I’m merely a man who served his country as thousands of men and women have before me, and will after me.”
“You’re a Blue Angel.”
“I was a Blue Angel.”
“You’re still a celebrity, Jim. Somebody people remember and admire, somebody these young boys could pattern themselves after.”
“I’m confined to a wheelchair, Sarah.”
“No, Jim, you’re imprisoned by your wheelchair.”
The flush on her cheeks was no longer passion; it was anger. She jumped up from the sofa and paced his den like an avenging angel.
“All right, have it your way. I’m in prison.”
“One of your own making.”
“If your intent is to provoke me to anger, you’re dong a hell of a job.”
Two feet from him, she stopped pacing and stood glaring with her arms akimbo.
“Let me tell you about a little five-year-old boy in Mexico. He pushed himself around by hand in a make-shift wooden platform that had cast-off wheels from a rusty pair of roller skates. He had no legs, Jim.”
She started pacing again, gesturing as she talked. “He was one of my students in La Joya, and he entered every race we had at school. He never won, but that didn’t keep him from trying.
“Another of my students was a little girl who was born without fingers. She taught herself to hold a pencil between her stumps. She wanted to be an artist.”
Sarah glanced at him, expecting a comment. Jim was silent. Waiting. Listening.
“I had a five-year-old boy with only one ear, a six-year-old girl with Down’s Syndrome. They lived in shacks made of cardboard and rusty tin and whatever bits of wood they could find. They kept goats and chickens in the yard and when they bathed it was in a barrel outside.”
Her voice softened, and she stood in front of him once more, her eyes shining with tears.
“Every Sunday they walked up the steep mountain path to a pavilion with a primitive cross attached to the top and they sat in a circle on the concrete floor and told of all the things they had to be thankful for. And when they sang, you could hear their voices lifted in praise all the way down the mountainside.”
The tears slid down her cheeks, glistening on her soft skin, and Jim had to grip the arms of his wheelchair to keep from reaching up and wiping them away.
“You’re a good woman, Sarah Sloan. The world would be a better place if there were more people like you.”
Sarah stared at him, making no attempt to check the tears that continued to flow.
“And like you, Jim Standing Bear.”
“Don’t pin any medals on me.”
“I won’t. Not until you prove yourself.”
Jim smiled. “You’re stubborn, too. You’re going to stand there and badger me, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to do whatever it takes. I’ll stand here till hell freezes over if it takes that long to convince you to share yourself with my boys at Southside.”
“How long have you been there, Sarah?”
“One day.”
“And they’re already your boys?”
She flushed. “Yes. It doesn’t take me long to make up my mind about people.”
Jim grinned. “Lucky me. Today was my day to be chosen.”
Smiling through her tears, she swiped at her face with the back of her hand.
“Lucky you. Say yes, Jim.”
“What exactly would I be saying yes to?”
“I thought you were the kind of man who believed in taking risks.”
“I used to be.” His smile was rueful. “I guess I still am. All right, Sarah. You’ve won. I surrender.”
“Yes!” Sarah made her hoorah sign in the air with her right fist, then without thinking she wrapped her arms around Jim.
He was a mountain, the Rock of Gibraltar, the rock of ages, a fortress that she clung to for the sheer joy of being there.
“You’ve made me so happy,” she whispered.
“I’m glad.”
Then slowly, ever so slowly his arms stole around her, and he was hugging her back.
More than hugging. He was caressing her, her arms, her back, her hair, and Sarah was in heaven. She closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes paradise came so quickly it took her breath away.
She felt the thunder of his heart against hers, smelled the clean outdoorsy scent of his skin. She could have stayed in his arms forever.
Guilt slashed her. The sitter was waiting for her, and her father was sitting upstairs in his bedroom in the lonely isolation of his disease.
“I really should go,” she murmured.
For a heartbeat he held her closer, then he released her. Sarah smoothed her blouse and pushed her hair back from her flushed face, and the Bear watched her with eyes as dark and unfathomable as the bottom of the ocean.
If he apologized for caressing her, she was going to start screaming and never stop.
He didn’t, and she took a ragged breath.
“I brought a file folder on the children for you to get acquainted with them. Then we’ll need to talk again, perhaps tomorrow in the garden over a cup of tea?”
He was so still she thought he was going to refuse. She thought he was going to change his mind about helping her boys.
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you come over tomorrow after school and we’ll go to the beach? I know the perfect spot for talking.”
Sarah flew home on wings.
“Yes,” she’d told him. “Yes!”
Her feet didn’t touch the ground till she came to the long winding staircase that would carry her upstairs to her father.
Chapter Six
They loaded the picnic lunch into Jim’s specially equipped van, and he drove them to a section of beach secluded by sand dunes piled head high and a thick stand of sago palms.
A sagging volleyball net was slung between two poles weathered gray by wind and rain and time, and in the distance dolphins leaped silver in the surf.
Sarah spread Jim’s Indian blanket, then kicked off her shoes before sitting cross-legged and serving up heaping plates of potato salad, ham sandwiches, apples and cheese.
She was a barefoot goddess in the sun. Jim could hardly concentrate on the food.
“This looks delicious,” Sarah said.
“It certainly does.”
He was looking directly into her eyes, and she flushed pink at his remark. He wanted her more than any woman he’d ever known. He ached for her in ways that brought sweat to his brow.
Jim broke eye contact. “Delta outdid herself,” he said.
“I’ll have to remember to thank her.”
Jim busied himself with the food, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. That’s all it took for him—one glance and he was swamped by such longing it made his heart hurt.
After they’d finished eating, Sarah gathered the remainders of their picnic
, then arranged herself on the blanket and smiled up at him.
“I think what you will be able to do for my boys is wonderful. How can I ever thank you, Jim?”
“You already have.”
“I have? How?”
“When you kicked off your shoes and smiled as if you’d found paradise. That’s thanks enough for any man.”
Emboldened by his choice of words, she stretched full length on his blanket with her arms folded behind her head.
“I’ve found paradise.” She smiled up at him. “Why did you choose this place, Jim?”
“Because of the dolphins. I used to come here on my days off. I could spend hours watching them and wondering what they know that we don’t know.”
“Do you think they have a language, Jim?”
“I’m no marine biologist, but my answer is yes. Furthermore, I think the day will come when we can communicate with them.”
Sarah sat up and buried her toes in the sand. “This feels so good.”
“Yes, I remember.”
His poignant answer tore at her heart. Sarah didn’t stop to analyze, didn’t pause to rationalize. For once in her life she merely acted.
She reached for his shoelaces, and Jim made a sound very much like the grizzly whose name he bore.
“Let’s live dangerously, Jim.”
She kept her tone light, but her heart was hammering so hard she wondered that he didn’t hear.
She hated the way her hands shook as she untied his shoes. She felt like an imposter, a country bumpkin all dressed up and pretending to be a sophisticated lady.
She pulled off his shoes and set them on the blanket. He was wearing athletic socks, blindingly white and so masculine they made her mouth dry.
Dear Lord in Heaven, what was she doing?
Jim was so still he might have turned into a stone statue. She didn’t dare look at his face. What was he thinking?
What was she thinking?
Don’t think. If you do you’re lost.
She peeled his socks away, lingering over the task, loving the way his body heat transferred itself to her hands, then to her heart.
There was a long low sound like the rumble of thunder. Jim shuddered, and Sarah felt the vibrations in the palms of her hands.
His feet were long and graceful, copper-colored and intensely masculine. Sarah’s fingers paled against his skin. Her palms grew damp. Chills made goose bumps rise on her arm, then she felt so hot she wanted to cast off all her clothes and run into the sea screaming.
