by Peggy Webb
Just when he was going to make his presence known, Sarah turned her head. Her smile wavered, then died. Her mouth formed a word, but no sound came out. For a fleeting moment Jake wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth. Then he was furious with himself. He never wondered about women's mouths, he merely took them.
"Good afternoon," he said, sharper than he meant to. Sarah's eyes widened, and she reached for Jenny's hand. "I hope I didn’t startle you."
Jake moved toward the pair at the small table, holding the rose in front of him to show his good intentions. "I brought a rose. . . ." Sarah's eyes held his. "For Jenny," he added.
"I'm so glad you came back." Sarah flashed her smile once more. He felt warmed. "You never told us your name, and I didn't know who to thank for . . ." She hesitated, swinging her gaze toward Jenny then back to him. ". . . this morning," she finished.
"Jake Townsend." He was beside the small table now, towering over it like some giant in a fairy tale, gazing down at two live princesses. Sarah and Jenny gave him twin smiles of almost dazzling radiance. Where was the absent Mr. Love? Why wasn't he there to protect these two lovely females?
"Jenny and I have worked so hard moving into our new house, we decided to reward ourselves with a tea party. Won't you join us?" Sarah nodded toward a chair that wouldn't hold his left thigh, let alone all of him. He squatted beside the small table, an interloper, stealing what wasn't his.
"I don't want to intrude." It was a lie. He wanted desperately to intrude. He wanted to bask awhile longer in the warmth of Sarah's smile. "You're probably saving this place for your husband." He didn't know why it was suddenly important to know whether Sarah had a spouse. She was definitely not his type. All his playmates walked on the wild side. And certainly none of them had a child. Never a child.
"No." Some of the light went out of Sarah's face, but that was all she said.
There was no Mr. Love. Jake felt triumphant. Then he felt like a heel. Why should he be glad that two lovely and innocent females didn't have a protector?
"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it.
"Don't be." Sarah brightened, and if her smile was false, Jake couldn't tell. "Jenny and I are a twosome. We like it that way."
"And I'm a loner." He smiled. "I like it that way." Sometimes. When the dreams aren’t too bad. He kept smiling at Sarah, and somehow their gazes got tangled up and the summer air got heavy.
Sarah recovered first. "Why don't I get you a big chair? You look uncomfortable."
"No. I'm fine." He wasn’t. He hadn't been fine in six years and didn't ever plan to be fine again. "Anyhow, I'm not staying long. I just came to deliver the rose."
He turned and handed the rose to Jenny. "This is for you, sweetheart."
Jenny didn't move.
"Go ahead, Jenny," her mother said. "The flower is for you."
Slowly Jenny reached for the rose. Her tiny hand closed around the petals and squeezed. "Pretty," she said. Her smile got big, and she stood up. "Pretty, pretty, pretty," she chanted. Then she marched solemnly through the weeds in ever-widening circles around the table, crushing the rose and chanting, "Pretty, pretty, pretty," in her faraway voice.
That was when Jake first knew that something was not right with Jenny. He wanted to gather the child to his chest and defend her with his life, and at the same time he wanted to run like hell.
"Jenny's special," her mother whispered.
"Yes, she certainly is." He hoped Sarah knew that he meant what he said.
"There is excellent training here for special children. That's why we came."
"I see."
"She has none of the outward signs of Down's syndrome. That's why she fools most people. Actually the doctors have never diagnosed her as a Down's child. They don't know why she's . . . special." Sarah folded and refolded the napkin in her lap. The sun shone on her golden hair. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this . . . except that you've been so kind." She lifted her eyes to him. They were very blue, and bright with sincerity. "And you're the only person I know in Florence."
"I'm sure you'll meet other people soon. Florence, Alabama, is filled with fine people."
Jake stood up to leave. Sarah didn’t know him at all. And he didn’t want her to find out. It was best to go while she still thought he was kind.
"You aren't leaving? I didn’t even give you any tea."
Sarah stood beside him. The skirt of her flimsy summer dress drifted against his leg. He felt as if he had been touched by angels. Her light summer fragrance filtered into his senses. He felt as if he were drowning. Breathing became hard.
"Are you all right?" Sarah put her hand on his arm.
"Yes. I'm fine." He moved out of her reach. Jenny was still circling the weed patch, chanting. "Tell Jenny good-bye for me." He left quickly.
"Do come again," Sarah called after him.
He didn't breathe easy until he was sitting in his car. He would never come again. He had been a fool to come the first time.
He revved the engine to life and roared down the road, driving as if all the hounds of hell were in pursuit. He didn’t stop until he reached the airport.
"Take me up," he yelled toward his friend Bert Donnogan, who was sitting outside the hangar where private planes were kept, his chair tilted back and a big cigar stuck in his mouth.
"Jake ..." Bert jerked the unlit cigar from his mouth. "What the hell?"
"Just suit up and shut up. Bert. I'm going skydiving. And if you don’t take me. I’ll find somebody else who will."
Bert didn’t argue.
An hour later they were over the target, a gentle rolling meadow. Bert circled once, twice, bringing the plane lower each time. When he was at thirteen thousand feet, he gave the signal.
Jake jumped. With arms spread and legs together in the swan-diving position, he fell through the sky.
"Twelve thousand, ten thousand, nine thousand," Bert whispered as he watched. Jake's body turned and spun, every movement beautifully controlled. There was nothing around him except miles and miles of blue sky.
When Jake reached two thousand feet, Bert yelled. knowing he wouldn't be heard. "Now, dammit. Pull the rip cord now!"
Jake's body continued to float downward, the parachute neatly folded across his back. Sweat popped out on Bert's brow. He held his breath.
When Jake was pushing the limits, he slowly reached for the cord. The parachute unfolded like a giant cloud.
Bert wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering to himself, "Someday Jake Townsend is going to get himself killed."
Chapter Two
Jake's route to work took him by Sarah's raggedy yard and run-down house. He thought he could pass by, just as he always had. But he was wrong. Some powerful impulse made him turn his head and strain his eyes for a glimpse of golden hair, a flash of soft gauzy skirts, a fleeting glance of blue eyes.
He saw nothing except the house, accusing him with its ramshackle appearance.
Fool. Asking for trouble. He tightened his jaw. There was only one thing to do: Change his route to work. The new route took him fifteen minutes longer, but it was a price he was willing to pay for sanity.
"This is the third time this week you've been late, Jake." Gwendolyn stood in the middle of his office, hands propped on her hips. "You have about a million vices, but being late is not one of them."
"Is that any way to greet the boss, Gwendolyn? Aren't you afraid of getting fired?"
"Yes to the first question. No to the second. You couldn't live without me, Jake." She plopped a stack of letters on his desk. "Sign these, then go in the bathroom and wash the road dust off your face and put on a suit. You have an appointment with Mr. High-and-Mighty himself." She was referring to their least favorite client, H. L. Clevenger.
"Gwendolyn, someday you're going to forget yourself and call Froggy that to his face, and then we’ll lose a big account."
"My mind's a steel trap. I never forget, which is not to say the same for you. One of these days you're goin
g to call him Froggy, and I'm going to be standing behind the door laughing my head off."
"You're warped."
"That's why you love me. Go wash your face."
Jake signed the papers then went into the bathroom, cupped his hands under the faucet, and splashed water on his face. Reaching for the towel, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The water looked like tears. He leaned closer and watched the moisture stream down his cheeks. Tears—and a blue-eyed child who had called him Daddy.
"I never forget either, Gwendolyn. Never," he whispered.
The blue eyes haunted him all day. By late afternoon he was so exhausted, he couldn't remember whether the blue eyes were a part of his past or a part of his present. All he knew was that he felt empty and cowardly.
Sarah and Jenny Love were two people in need, without a soul in Florence to call friend. Would it kill him to do a small kindness? Surely he had that much humanity left in him.
He punched the intercom. "Gwendolyn, I need you."
"You and every other handsome stud in Florence. Can this wait, Jake? You've run me ragged today, and I'm having a well-deserved cup of coffee."
"No, it can't wait, Gwendolyn. Bring your coffee with you."
"This is bad for my digestion, you know." Gwendolyn settled herself in the most comfortable chair, being careful not to spill coffee.
"Gwendolyn, does Townsend Publishing own a lawn mower?"
"We own one, but I don't think it's nearly as fast as that motorcycle you ride. Are you planning to add yard work to your list of ways to get yourself killed?"
"It's none of your business what I'm planning to do. Just tell me where the damned thing is."
"Down in the garage beside Newt Thompson's pickup truck. But if you're planning on using it, you'd best be advised to ask Newt's permission. He's mighty possessive about his equipment."
"I own everything in Townsend Enterprises, including the damned lawn mower."
"Nevertheless, if you want to keep a good maintenance man, you'd better ask Newt."
Jake scowled at her, mainly because he knew she'd be disappointed if he didn’t. They had to keep up appearances. It wouldn't do if either of them slipped up and let on how important they were to each other.
"All the sweet-talking secretaries in Florence, and I had to hire Attila the Hun."
"I'm not a secretary; I'm an executive assistant, and don't you forget that, Jake." Gwendolyn glared at him over the rim of her coffee cup, then flounced out.
He chuckled, but not until after the door had closed behind her. Then he went downstairs to ask Newt Thompson if he could borrow his own lawn mower.
o0o
Sarah stood on her front porch batting a red balloon with Jenny. Jenny loved bright colors, and batting the balloon helped her with coordination. It was one of the things Sarah had discovered on her own. All Jenny's doctors and teachers had been good, but they didn't have Sarah's determination or her faith. The doctors had said Jenny might never walk. Sarah and Jenny had proved them wrong. They had said she was capable of making sounds, but she might never be able to organize those sounds into words—and certainly not sentences. Jenny would never give the valedictory address at her high-school graduation, but she could definitely talk. Sarah had seen to that.
"Mine, mine, mine," Jenny chanted, meaning Mommy, you've held the balloon too long. Quit daydreaming and send it to me.
Laughing, Sarah batted the balloon toward her impatient daughter. The late afternoon sun turned the balloon into a sparkling jewel.
"Pretty, pretty, pretty," Jenny chanted, batting at the balloon and missing. She fell onto her bottom and gave her mother a look of such wounded dignity that Sarah had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
"Let me give you a hand up, Jenny."
"No. Me." Jenny pushed her hand away and stuck out her lower lip. "ME!"
Sarah watched Jenny's great struggle as she tried to get her body to cooperate with her strong will. In four years of fighting for every small victory, Jenny had learned great perseverance and Sarah had learned patience.
"Come on, Jenny. You can do it."
"Yes. ME! ME!"
"Come on Jenny! That's my girl." Sarah clapped and urged her daughter on. "That's my big brave girl."
They were making such a racket, neither of them heard the sound of a motor.
"Hey! Anybody home?"
Sarah recognized the voice immediately. Feeling flushed and breathless, she turned toward her front gate. There was Jake Townsend, as big as she remembered and far more handsome, sitting on a lawn mower, of all things. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, he had dust all over his face, and his wild black hair was so tousled, he looked as if he had just returned from a windy climb down Mount McKinley.
"Oh." She pressed her hand over her heart.
"Did I scare you?" He got off the lawn mower, and she would swear he looked as if he were dismounting a magnificent stallion.
Sarah was so flustered, she forgot all about Jenny's struggle to get off the porch floor.
"Why, no. You didn't scare me," she called. "I was startled. That's all." She patted her hair, though what good it would do at this stage of the game, she had no idea. She probably looked like a frazzled, overworked shop girl. She wished she had combed her hair before she'd come out to the porch. It felt all wispy around her face.
"Do you think you might undo the latch so I can get this trusty steed through the gate?"
Sarah felt like a giddy schoolgirl. Here she was worrying about her hair, and Jake Townsend was standing in the road. Land sakes, her manners around men were as rusty as they could be. Not that It mattered, for she had neither the time nor the heart for men. But Jake wasn’t just any man. He had saved Jenny's life.
"Just a minute." Sarah snatched Jenny off the porch. It wouldn't do to leave her alone, even while she went the short distance to the gate. In that length of time Jenny was perfectly capable of disappearing altogether. Sometimes she was that fast.
"No!" Jenny said. "Me, me, me."
"Shhh. Hush darling." Sarah smoothed Jenny's hair as she headed toward the latched gate. "Our friend is here. The nice man who brought you the flower."
Jenny looked at her visitor, and her face bloomed with joy. "Nice man."
"Hello, Jenny." Jake Townsend reached over the gate and took Jenny's hand.
All that was well and good, of course, but Sarah was busy with the gate and holding Jenny all at the same time. Things got complicated when Jake's arm brushed against hers. The shock of the contact rendered her helpless. Her hands got clumsy and the latch got uncooperative.
"Need any help there? I can climb over and undo it for you." Jake released Jenny's hand, and thankfully Sarah got back to normal. How silly she was acting over Jenny's friend.
"No." She even managed a smile. "Ill have it open in a jiffy."
He smiled back at her, and oh, she hadn't remembered how green his eyes were. She got lost in.the contemplation of them. Jake's eyes were so green and so beautiful—and so very empty, as if the man behind them didn’t live there anymore. The sad emptiness reached out and touched Sarah in ways she had never been touched. Who are you. Jake Townsend? her mind whispered. And how did you climb so quickly into my heart?
She was being silly, of course. Jake hadn’t climbed into her heart at all. She was missing her old friends back in Birmingham. That was all. She was lonely.
She concentrated on the gate and tried not to feel Jake's gaze upon her. Some men had ways of looking at a woman that made her feel touched. Jake was one of them. Sarah could feel his gaze upon her, and everywhere it touched, her skin felt warm and tingly.
She hugged Jenny closer and concentrated on the latch. Stubborn old thing. It finally gave way, but not before Sarah said a word.
"Well, fiddlesticks." She looked up at Jake. He was suppressing a smile.
"Sometimes gates can be stubborn," he said. Then he walked into her overgrown yard like some prince out of a fairy tale and stood tall and handsome,
as if he were surveying his kingdom. "It was a spur-of-the- moment decision, coming here like this, assuming you would allow me to help you with the mowing." He smiled down at her. "I hope you don’t mind."
"It's kind of you." She shifted Jenny's weight to her other hip and tried not to take Jake's smile personally. Just because his smile made her feel as if it were all for her benefit didn’t mean he had one iota of interest in her. Not one. Which was all well and good, for she certainly had her hands full with Jenny.
"Please don't be mistaken about me, Sarah. I'm neither kind nor generous, but since you're new in town and I had this perfectly good lawn mower sitting in the garage at Townsend Publishing, I thought I'd come out and lend you a hand." He smiled. "The real pity is that I didn’t have a truck to haul it in. Newt wouldn't let me borrow the truck."
"Who's Newt?"
"My maintenance man. He was skeptical enough about letting me use the mower. He had grave doubts that I could operate it."
Sarah laughed. "Can you?"
"Lady, I can drive anything on wheels."
Sarah felt bright and giddy, caught up in Jake's laughter like a red balloon in the sunshine. She tipped her head back, laughing. And Jenny laughed with her. She sensed Jake's eyes studying her again, and they felt so very good. Sarah. Sarah, she chided herself. This man has come to mow the lawn. That's all.
"I'm afraid I can't pay you right now." she said, sobering suddenly.
"This is not for pay. Sarah. It's ... for Jenny."
"Well, in that case . . . Jenny is so pleased. And so am I." She offered her hand. "Thank you." He held her hand so briefly, she might have imagined the touch. But she had proof. Her skin still tingled.
"Me, me, me." Jenny pointed at the mower.
"No, darling. You can't ride. It's too dangerous. But we will watch from the porch."
"Stand well back," Jake said. "The mower might sling a stick. And hold tight to Jenny."
Sarah climbed the porch with her daughter, then settled into a straight-back chair with Jenny in her lap. Someday she hoped to get a porch swing, but for now she was content with her chair.
She hummed to Jenny as Jake began to mow her scraggly lawn. Every time he passed in front of the porch, he waved and smiled. Jenny waved back. Sarah felt like waving, but she thought that might look too obvious. It was wonderful to have a man taking care of her yard. All week she had wondered how she would get the yard work done. She couldn't afford to hire someone, and she certainly couldn't afford a mower.
