Mending Jodie's Heart (When Paths Meet Book 1)

by Sheila Claydon

  “I guess I’m a coward Blue,” he told him. “But at least I know what I’m up against now. A protest campaign that’s being run by the village shop!”

  * * *

  Marcus underestimated the power of the village shop, however. Within a few days Jodie’s campaign had garnered a lot of sympathy, and once people from outside the village started adding their signatures to the list as well, the local Press got involved.

  At first it was just a couple of lines telling readers about the protest. Then it was a half page picture of the closed off bridleway with the No Trespass sign featuring prominently in the foreground. By the third week things were a lot worse. Marcus, who had been away on business and so had missed the earlier papers, stared at the lurid headline in barely contained fury.

  ACCIDENTS INEVITABLE AS MUSIC MOGUL

  FORCES YOUNG RIDERS ONTO THE ROADS!

  Underneath was a picture of that dratted girl and her horse. The caption said she was called Jodie Eriksson, and she was flanked by a group of small children. Marcus knew publicity and he could see they had all been told to look as miserable as possible. If he hadn’t been so angry he would have found it amusing.

  He grabbed his cell phone and called his agent. He needed to organize some damage limitation as soon as possible.

  * * *

  The following week he was standing on the steps of the trailer talking to his site manager when he saw Jodie clamber over the gate and start to walk up the path. She was clutching a folded newspaper in her hand and from her furious expression he knew he was in trouble. Deciding he’d better meet it head on, he excused himself and strode towards her.

  “You do know you are trespassing,” he said.

  She glared at him. “Did you enjoy making a fool of me? Did it amuse you to pretend to sympathize and then go away and laugh about me with all your celebrity friends?”

  Wondering what she would think of him if she knew he could count his celebrity friends on two thumbs, he shook his head.

  “I haven’t discussed you with anyone. I didn’t set out to deceive you either…I…it just it never seemed to be the right time to come clean.”

  “Huh!”

  One word, but somehow she managed to make it radiate disbelief and contempt. Her eyes were the same. They might be dark brown and luminous, and set under finely arched brows, but they were hard and unforgiving.

  He knew a sensible person would just point to the No Trespassers sign and send her on her way but suddenly, and inexplicably, he found himself minding very much what she thought of him.

  “Come into the trailer. Join me for a coffee while I try to explain things.”

  “What’s to explain? You made your feelings very clear in your newspaper interview. You have no intention of opening up the bridleway. Your personal privacy is far too important.”

  “Maybe. But I didn’t say why.”

  “You didn’t need to. Your picture says it all! It’s obvious you want silence so you can be ready when the muse strikes!”

  She thrust the newspaper at him as she finished speaking. It was folded open at his picture and he cringed inwardly when he saw the PR shot his publicist had chosen. It was the one where his hair was slightly too long and slightly too artfully arranged, where his silk shirt was open one button too many, and where his pose was soulful and serious. In it, he looked every inch the poseur maestro, right down to the white grand piano behind him. No wonder she thought she knew why he had refused to open up the bridleway.

  He shook his head again. “It has nothing to do with my music. It’s because of my son.”

  “Your son? The article doesn’t mention that you have a son.”

  “That’s because I don’t talk to the Press about him.”

  “But you’re talking to me.”

  “Yes I am, because I want you to understand why I can’t open up the bridleway however much you want me to. I want you to understand why Luke has to be protected.”

  Her expression didn’t change but at least she was listening. He took a deep breath.

  “He has...a learning disability.”

  “And?”

  His temper flared. She was impossible. “And nothing! Isn’t that enough for you.”

  “No. Not unless you think he’s about to be kidnapped or something.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think so. Explain to me why his learning disability affects the bridleway?”

  “Well for a start he’s frightened of people. A new face can make him hysterical for hours. He’s the same with people he does know if they turn up unexpectedly. He finds a lot of things challenging and that’s why I have no choice but to keep the bridleway closed…I need to protect him from himself.”

  “So you’re going to turn your home into a fortress without any regard for the local people you’re going to upset in the process. Tell me, do you really think that is what your son needs, or is it just the easy way out?”

  Surprised she was still challenging him; he met her gaze and saw something close to sympathy had crept into her eyes. He resisted it. He wasn’t interested in sympathy. He just wanted her to understand about Luke.

  She gave the tiniest of smiles when she saw his scowl. “Maybe I will have that coffee after all, but only if I can bring Buckmaster inside the gate.”

  Now it was his turn to give the ghost of a smile. “Don’t you ever go anywhere without that damned horse?”

  * * *

  Five minutes later Marcus led the way into the trailer. Buckmaster, now tethered to the branch of a tree, watched them go. Then he resumed his hopeful search for a few blades of grass amongst the builder’s rubble and the piles of old flagstones.

  Jodie looked around the trailer with interest. It was the sort of thing she imagined movie stars used on film sets except it was being used as a site office. There was a desk immediately inside the door. It was piled high with architect’s drawings, and there was a laptop computer too. It was open and working, its cursor winking impatiently at the end of a half written letter.

  Marcus led her beyond the desk to where the trailer opened up into a comfortable sitting area. He gestured to the black leather couch that took up half the space. His dog was stretched out on a rug in front of it. Jodie bent down and patted him.

  “Make yourself comfortable while I brew some coffee.”

  “Don’t bother just for me. Instant will be fine. It’s all we ever have at work,” she told him as she sank into the cushions.

  He grimaced with distaste as he moved across to the kitchen area. Then he grinned. “I guess only liking fresh coffee makes me seem like a spoilt rotten celebrity too.”

  “Just a bit,” she nodded with the trace of a smile. “But I’m prepared to be persuaded it’s all a big mistake and you’re a just regular guy who is misunderstood.”

  He ignored the sarcasm and concentrated on the coffee. When it was ready he offered her sugar and cream before settling himself into a corner of the couch.

  “I’m not you know.”

  “Not what?”

  “I’m not a spoilt celebrity. I mostly live a very ordinary life and I do everything I can to avoid the limelight.”

  “For you, or for your son?”

  He sighed. “For both of us I guess. It was bad enough when his mother died but he was only a baby then, so it didn’t hurt him. Now he’s older any Press intrusion sparks a hysterical reaction that sometimes lasts for days. That’s why I have to protect him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “At our home in London.”

  He sat forward and watched the steam rising from his cup as he tried to explain. He was finding it difficult because he never discussed Luke with anyone. He wasn’t even sure why he was discussing him with this irritating girl, or why he cared what she thought of him.

  “Luke is autistic. He goes into total melt down over things that don’t bother most people at all. The only way to keep it to a minimum is to maintain a routine. If he knows
what’s going to happen every minute of the day he stays relatively calm, so I employ a team of people to care for him. They follow a set program 24/7. He does schoolwork, he exercises, he draws and paints, but all at exactly the same time every day. Although I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to find any other way to help him. I have to make sure he’s pre-warned before visitors arrive too, especially if they are people he doesn’t know, so the thought of an open bridleway full of dog walkers and horse riders doesn’t bear thinking about. He would be in permanent melt down if I kept it open, surely you can see that.”

  Jodie heard the pain in his voice and understood how much effort it had taken to talk to her, so her voice was soft when she replied.

  “I’m sorry about your son. Truly I am. And I do I understand. But hasn’t it occurred to you there might be another way?”

  She didn’t flinch when his head jerked up. Instead she kept her eyes steady. “I know you think I’m talking out of turn and maybe you’re right…but I do know about challenging behaviors because I run a program for disabled riders. You’d be amazed at the miracles the horses achieve. Even just coming along to watch might help your son get used to being around new people.”

  Marcus gave a short, hard laugh that was devoid of any trace of humor. “And you think this would succeed where everything else has failed I suppose?”

  “I didn’t say that. But once he’s settled into his new home wouldn’t it be worth giving it a try? If nothing else it would give him a chance to experience something different, something that might teach him to cope outside of that routine you talk about.”

  Swallowing the last of his coffee he stood up, irritation written all over his face. “You don’t know Luke. He wouldn’t even pat a horse let alone ride one, so thanks, but no thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  Jodie stood up too. “Okay. Have it your way, but maybe you should ask me why I want the bridleway kept open so badly. It isn’t for me; it’s for children just like your son; children with problems who come to ride our horses but who need to be kept safe. So just remember that when you can’t sleep at night Marcus Lewis!”

  He clenched his fists as he watched her jump down from the trailer. Then he turned back to the coffee machine and refilled his mug. She could see herself out.

  Chapter Five

  Jodie was very quiet when she returned to the riding school. Everyone noticed but nobody said anything. They knew better than to enquire about her feelings. Jodie’s personal life was a closed book. Nobody ever got near her except Izzie. And Izzie didn’t talk either. All anybody knew about the sisters was that their parents had died when Izzie was small, and that Jodie took care of her.

  Only Carol, who was the nearest thing Jodie had to an intimate friend, had ever been inside the cottage where they lived, and when she’d stepped over the threshold she had been shocked by how bare it was. No pictures on the walls, no family photographs, and a TV that looked as if it had seen better days in someone else’s house. The few pieces of essential furniture were obviously second hand too, and the drapes at the windows were thin and tired looking. The bookcase was stuffed full of books, however, and bizarrely, there was what looked like a brand new, up-to-the-minute computer on the kitchen table.

  She glanced across the tack room to where Jodie was pulling towels from the dryer and wondered, for the umpteenth time, why Izzie attended the most prestigious private school in the area when it was clear they had barely two pennies to rub together.

  She had never seen Jodie in anything other than her riding gear either. Nor did she wear makeup, or do anything with her hair. Not that that was an issue she thought enviously as she pushed her fingers through her own frizzy curls, because her friend had hair to die for. If she had hair like that then she certainly wouldn’t wear it in one long plait day in and day out, the way Jodie did.

  As if she sensed she was being watched, Jodie straightened up, swung round and looked straight at her.

  “What?”

  “Nothing…that is…is something the matter? You’ve hardly said a word since you got back from…”

  “My coffee break with Marcus Lewis…the unexpected meeting of minds that has all of you sniggering behind my back you mean.”

  “That’s not true,” Carol flushed slightly as she shook her head.

  Unexpectedly, Jodie grinned at her. “Yes it is, and according to Izzie it’s all my own fault. Apparently I am the only twenty-eight year old in the whole world who wouldn’t recognize him at ten paces.”

  “Perhaps it’s why he talked to you. Perhaps he likes being anonymous…you know…the way some celebrities say they do.”

  Jodie shook her head decisively. “No, it wasn’t that. He just had something he wanted to say but he didn’t know how to say it, so he invited me in for coffee to buy himself time.”

  “What, Marcus Lewis? You must be joking,” Izzie picked up the tail end of the conversation as she stepped into the tack room trailing her school bag behind her. “He’s used to performing to a whole arena full of people and I know he still sometimes gives Master Classes to students. How can someone like that struggle with words?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just saying how it was. And will you please pick up your bag before it gets covered with mud and straw.”

  Izzie hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder with a long-suffering sigh. “So what was it he had such trouble talking about then?”

  Jodie shrugged. “Just some personal stuff.”

  “And…?”

  “And nothing. It’s not important.”

  “Jodie! Any personal conversation with Marcus Lewis is important. He’s the man who shaped the musical tastes of a whole generation: your generation as it happens. He’s probably just told you something the local paper would love to know about and yet you don’t think it’s important. How come, when this morning you were ready to tear him limb from limb? What has he done to you?”

  * * *

  Later, washing up their supper things while Izzie finished her homework, Jodie pondered her sister’s words. What had Marcus Lewis done to her? What was it about him that had made her reluctant to repeat their conversation? And why had he told her anyway? He had freely admitted he liked to keep his personal life out of the public eye, so why had he taken such a risk? Why had he trusted her when, for all he knew, she might go straight to the Press and blow the whole story.

  After sluicing down the sink, she upended the dish mop into a pottery mug Izzie had made for her years ago, and stared out of the kitchen window. It was dark outside; too dark to see anything but her reflection in the glass. She looked at it for a long minute and then twitched her thick plait over her shoulder and slowly removed the elastic band holding it secure. With a toss of her head she shook her hair free and started to brush it with the hairbrush she’d left lying on the windowsill that morning.

  She was still brushing it when Izzie came into the kitchen to say goodnight. She gave a sigh of envy as she planted a kiss on Jodie’s cheek. “If Marcus Lewis could see you with your hair down he would open up that bridleway in a heartbeat!”

  Jodie frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous…and anyway, when did you become so knowledgeable about men?”

  Raking her fingers through the wheat-colored pixie crop covering her own head, Izzie returned her sister’s frown. “I’m not exactly a child anymore you know. Besides the girls at school never talk about anything else.”

  “Well I hope you’re not one of them. You’re only sixteen. You’ve another two years of school ahead of you, and then university. You’ve got better things to do than waste your time giggling about men and worrying about whether they like long hair or not.”

  “Seventeen, I’m nearly seventeen. I’m almost the same age you were when Mama died, and you didn’t think you were too young to take care of me then did you? Seventeen is practically grown up. Besides there’s nothing wrong with thinking about men, or even having a date. I can do that and get an education you know.”

>   When she saw the stricken look in Jodie’s eyes she laughed. “Don’t worry! I’m not dating, not yet anyway. And when I do, I’ll tell you. I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Nor would it be the end of the world if you tried a different approach with Marcus Lewis…you know, ride Buckmaster in there Lady Godiva style, just covered by your hair. That would get his attention!”

  Jodie’s tart response died on her lips as she stared at her sister’s retreating back. What if Izzie was right? What if a softer approach would work? What if she could persuade Marcus Lewis to open up the bridleway by using her feminine wiles?

  A single glance in the mirror propped up on the windowsill was enough to put paid to that idea. What feminine wiles? If she’d ever had any, she’d lost them, along with her innocence and her belief that the world was there just to do her bidding, the day her stepfather died.

  With a sigh she began to plait her hair again. For once the paperwork could go hang. She would do it tomorrow. Right now all she wanted was to go to bed.

  * * *

  Two hours of tossing and turning later she gave up trying to sleep. Thrusting her feet into her slippers, she pulled on a dressing gown that had once been fleecy and pink but was now fuzzy and beige thanks to years of repeated washing, and made her way downstairs. If she couldn’t sleep then she may as well do the paperwork after all.

  She fired up the computer while she waited for the kettle to boil. Maybe a hot drink and an hour or so of staring at the riding school’s accounts would do it.

  She started off full of good intentions. Tapping in figures with one hand while she lifted a mug of hot chocolate to her lips with the other, she tried to concentrate. It worked for about ten minutes until her mind strayed back to Marcus Lewis. Damn the man! Why couldn’t she get him out of her head?