by Peggy Webb
She dropped her torn sack and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead, never taking her eyes off him. Sarah, so proud, covered with dust from the road because she didn't have a car—or a husband to take care of her.
Jake silently cursed his own selfishness. He had spent the day in frivolity while Sarah walked the road with her heavy sack and her special child.
"Oh ... I didn't expect to see you," she said, smiling and patting her hair, as if he had just rung her doorbell and she were welcoming him into her parlor.
"Do you need some help?" Foolish question, but her eyes had bewitched him.
"I guess the bag got too heavy." She looked down at her broken sack. "And my paint is making a fast getaway toward Florence."
Jake jumped off his bike and raced after the runaway paint cans. He caught up with them just before they rolled into a ditch.
He glanced at the labels. Wedgwood blue, latex, and ivory, satin finish enamel. Sarah was going to paint one of her rooms. Which one? Her bedroom?
A vision of Sarah in a freshly painted bedroom rose up in Jake's mind. He tried to run away from it by hurrying up the hill toward her.
"They were ornery," he said, "but I subdued them."
"Thank you," Sarah said, smiling and reaching for the cans.
"It looks as if you have your hands full. I’ll take the paint to the house for you."
"We've taken up too much of your time already."
"No. You've rescued me from a lonely Saturday evening." It was a confession he hadn't meant to make, but once he'd said it, he realized it was true.
"And you've rescued me," she said, so softly he had to bend close to hear.
"'ake!" Suddenly Jenny held out her arms to him. "Me!"
"Oh, my." Laughing, Sarah tried to hold on to her struggling daughter. "Jake can't carry you and the paint, Jenny. Be a good girl now and stop wiggling."
"She wants me to take her?"
"I'm afraid so. I guess I've spoiled her."
"Me!" Jenny demanded, still holding her arms toward him. She tipped her chin up and stuck out her lower lip. "Me!"
"I'm afraid she doesn't accept defeat easily," Sarah explained.
"Why should she?" Jake set the paint cans beside the road and reached for Jenny. She felt as fragile as a rose. She caught his face between his hands and rubbed her tiny nose against his.
"Nice man."
"Yes, he is, darling. He's a very nice man."
He felt a terrible aching in the dark recesses of his soul. At that moment he would have given everything he owned to be the nice man Sarah and Jenny Love thought he was.
Jenny's soft hair brushed his cheek, and flowers bloomed In his soul. He smiled down at Jenny, then at Sarah.
"Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?"
"Why, no."
"Then let's all climb aboard, and I'll take you home ... if you aren't afraid."
"Will we all fit?"
"You can ride behind me, Jenny in front. I’ll come back for the paint."
"Jenny will love that."
They climbed aboard his motorcycle. Jake held Jenny, who was squealing with delight, and Sarah sat behind him.
"You’ll have to put your arms around my waist, Sarah. Otherwise I might lose you."
She circled his waist. It was a light touch, but it transported him. His spirit threw off the dark shackles of the past and lifted into the sky, higher and higher until he touched the setting sun, absorbed all the colors, red and gold and purple, so that he glowed. All because of Sarah's touch.
Jake closed his eyes, knowing she couldn't see. What about you, Sarah? Do you love this? Sitting so close, your body pressed into my back?
"Jake? Are we ready?"
Sarah's soft question brought Jake back to earth.
"We're ready. Hold on tight."
When he put the machine into motion, Sarah's hold tightened. He wanted to ride forever, ride off into the sunset with his stolen bounty, a child who reminded him of Bonnie and a woman who reminded him of love.
But they didn't belong to him. He didn't want them to belong to him. He was careless. He broke things. He broke people.
He kicked the machine into motion and drove with great caution up the hill. Sarah's house was in sight. He didn't have far to go with his precious packages.
Just a short distance, and he could deliver them safely.
Sarah squeezed his waist. She flattened her cheek against his back, and he could feel her warm breath through his shirt. The house loomed closer.
Jake began to sweat. Would a car come barreling down the road, taking the curve too fast? Would it smash into them, killing Jenny first, then Sarah? His hands trembled on the handlebars. Silently he prayed. Just this once. Let me be a protector. Just this once.
By the time he reached Sarah's gate he was in need of a good stiff drink. She dismounted and reached for Jenny.
"That was exhilarating, Jake. I've never ridden a motorcycle."
"I'm glad you liked it."
Behind her coating of dust, Sarah glowed. Don't like me too much, Sarah. Don’t trust me, his inner voice warned.
"I’ll go back for the paint," he said, turning abruptly away so she couldn't see his face. He waited until they were through the gate before he left.
The engine roared in his ears and the wind whistled around him. He was empty. No sweet arms wrapped his waist, no soft cheek pressed his back. He was alone.
o0o
Jenny wanted to stay and watch the motorcycle, but Sarah hurried into the house. She wanted to wash the dust off her face before Jake came back. Call it pride. Call it silly vanity. Every time she saw Jake she looked like a bag lady.
"Let's hurry, Jenny. Let's get pretty for Jake."
When she reached the bathroom, she handed Jenny a brush to occupy herself, then hastily washed her face. Would she have time to apply lipstick? She decided yes.
Her hands shook. What was there about Jake Townsend that made her feel so warm and shaky inside? Here she was, primping like a silly schoolgirl. Sarah smiled and kept on primping. She was just tucking her last stray curl out of sight when the doorbell rang.
She pressed her hand over her heart. "My goodness," she said, flustered. She absently smoothed her hand through her hair, causing the stray curl to come loose and curve against her cheek.
"'ake," Jenny screamed, then trotted toward the door in her brave rolling gait.
Jake was standing on her front porch with her paint cans, backlit by the setting sun. He looked like one of those heroes in Westerns who always appeared sitting atop a huge horse.
"Where's your horse?" she blurted out.
"I beg your pardon?"
Sarah was mortified. Here he was, an important businessman—she knew because she'd inquired in town about his work—and here she was, a woman always depending on the kindness of strangers, like Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire. He was going to think she was flirting with him. Or worse, he was going to catch on to the idea that she had enjoyed every blessed minute of that motorcycle ride because she had liked being pressed up against his broad warm back.
There now, she had finally admitted it. She had liked it. Furthermore, it felt good to see Jake on her front porch holding her paint cans. Sometimes she got so tired of doing every little thing for herself, she didn't know what to do. Not that she would change a thing, and not that she wanted to complain . . .
"I do have horses," Jake said, smiling, "but not with me."
Sarah patted her hair. "I was just being silly. You reminded me of one of those heroes in the Westerns who never seem to be without a horse."
"I remind you of a hero?" Jake seemed pleased with the idea.
"Well . . . yes."
He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and they kept on grinning at each other that way through the half-open screen door. Then Jenny got loose from Sarah's hand and wrapped herself around Jake's leg. His smile wobbled, like one of those spinning tops about to wind down.
"Je
nny. Come here, darling."
"No!"
"Let the nice man alone. He's brought our paint and he has to go."
"No! Want 'ake."
Sarah's heart broke a little as she watched her small daughter clinging to Jake's leg. She wanted Jake, too. She wanted his calm presence. She wanted him to fill a room as only a big man could. She wanted to lean on his broad shoulders. She wanted to share small day-to-day problems with him. But, oh, most of all she wanted him to make the loneliness go away.
Oh, she was as selfish as the day was long, standing in the setting sun thinking of her own needs when her daughter's needs were so great. Dear sweet Jenny with all her special ways. Her own father hadn’t been able to cope. What man in his right mind would willingly embrace the task of taking care of Jenny? Sarah had best quit dreaming and settle for reality.
"Come, Jenny," she said, bending down to peel her daughter away.
"Don't. It's all right." Jake squatted beside her and caught her hand. Sarah could have stayed that way forever with her hand nestled in his. She felt protected, cherished, though why such a small gesture should make her feel that way, she couldn’t say. Nor could she say why his leg brushing against her set her aflame. She guessed it had been too long since she had attended to her own needs. Not that there was anybody around to attend to them, and not that she was looking. But Jake . . .
"Why don't I come inside?" Jake smiled at her. She was sorry when he took his hand away. "That is . . . if you don't mind."
"Mind? Why, that's a lovely idea."
"I’ll bring Jenny." Jake lifted her daughter and carried her into the house. Jenny looked as if she had just discovered Christmas, and Sarah felt as if she were glowing herself.
Jake brought Jenny into the den—thank goodness she'd had time to get it in order. Then he stood there looking uncertain.
Sarah was puzzled. One minute Jake was perfectly at ease, laughing and talking, and the next he was as closed and untouchable as if he had gone off to Alaska without telling anybody.
She guessed he was tired of being put upon by a helpless female. Of course, Sarah was far from helpless, but lately she must have appeared that way, especially to a stranger. Well, almost a stranger.
"Come, Jenny." Striving to be brisk and efficient but not rude, she reached for her daughter. "We've taken up far too much of Jake's time."
"Not at all."
He looked relieved to be rid of his burden. Dreams that had been springing to life inside her heart like wild summer flowers suddenly wilted. Why should Jake have to cope with Jenny? Why would he want to? Jenny's own father hadn't been able to stand the pressure.
"Actually, I was beginning to enjoy my role of hero," Jake added.
"You were?" Sarah studied the quicksilver man standing beside her. The casual observer might have said he was smiling, but Sarah wasn't a casual observer. She was seeing with her heart. There was a look of such poignancy on his face, she wanted to take him into her arms. She wanted to rock him and croon to him. She wanted to be balm to his soul, succor for his spirit.
Ah, Sarah, Sarah, she chided herself. This will never do.
"It isn't often a man is called upon to be a hero," he said.
"I need a hero daily." The words slipped out before Sarah could stop them. That was not the kind of admission she wanted to make to this complex man. "What I mean is . . ."
"I understand," he said gently, bending closer to her.
"No." She set Jenny down and was only vaguely aware of her daughter's dignified exit to the toy box. "It's not that my burdens are too great or that I feel unequal to the task. Far from it. I'm strong. I'm perfectly able to take care of Jenny." She pushed at her hair. Her face felt hot. She guessed she was overdoing the defensive bit, but she would not show any weakness before Jake Townsend. "Jenny and I have a wonderful life together. Really, we do."
"Sarah. I know you're strong and brave." Jake reached for her hand. She felt as if she had been sucked into the center of an electrical storm. "And I can see that you have a wonderful life."
"You can?"
"Yes. Where there is this much love in a house, life has to be wonderful."
Did she hear a note of longing in his voice, or was she transferring her own feelings to him?
"Thank you. That's a beautiful thing to say." He still held her hand. She didn't want him to let go. "You are truly kind."
"Don't." He dropped her hand and turned his back to her.
"Jake." She put her hand on his back. Jake stiffened with tension. She felt the tightening of his muscles underneath his shirt. "Why do you turn away from compliments?"
He stood, silent and tense. Sarah thought he might leave without another word. Finally he turned back to her. His face was tight.
"Show me the paintbrushes and the room you want painted."
"Why?" He was changing the subject, and she wasn't quite willing to let the old one go.
"Call it a mutual rescue mission. I rescued your paint, and you can rescue me by giving me something to keep busy."
"I don't want you to think I'm helpless. . . ."
"Are you going to rescue me, Sarah?" His eyes were full of mysteries she couldn't begin to comprehend. She looked into them for a long time, lost in the contemplation of his secrets. "Are you?" he added softly.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Then show me, Sarah." His smile was genuine this time, free of ghosts. "I’ll paint while you take care of Jenny."
"Come. It's my bedroom." His eyes got dark as she led the way. She didn't know why she had felt compelled to identify the room, except, of course, that her bed was in there, big as you please. She guessed he'd have figured it out anyway. "Blue on the walls, ivory on the trim," she added to cover her own turmoil. "I've always been partial to blue. It makes me think of being outside, surrounded by sky."
"I've always been partial to blue, too." He was looking directly into her eyes when he said it, holding her attention with his powerful gaze until she could hardly breathe.
"Yes . . . well . . ." She forced herself to look away.
The paint buckets rattled as he bent over them. It was an ordinary sound that brought her back to reality.
"I’ll come back to help you as soon as I feed and bathe Jenny and tuck her into bed. Routine is very important to her. I suppose it gives her a small sense of control in a world that's beyond her grasp."
"Take your time. I paint better than I mow lawns."
"I thought you were really good at that."
"You did?" He looked up from the paint, his eyes shining with pleasure. She had a hard time looking away.
"Indeed, I did. And so did Jenny. She loves running without weeds to impede her progress."
"I will do anything for Jenny," he said quietly.
"So will I."
His eyes drew her, caught her, held her. She couldn't look away. Anything for Jenny, he said. The words still hung in the air, sweet, reassuring. Sarah caught a stray curl and tucked it behind her ear. Anything for Jenny . . .for Jenny . . . for Jenny.
Jake was in her house because of his generosity toward her daughter. She would have to remember that.
She breathed deeply, then turned toward the door. Behind her, Jake rattled paint cans. He sounded all business. Well, that was exactly what she needed. Somebody who was all business, with no silly notions. Though how she would ever repay his many kindnesses was a mystery to her.
She tried to make quick work of Jenny's evening routine, but Jenny would have none of it. She was accustomed to a leisurely supper, a bubble bath with her rubber duck and two rubber whales, and then three bedtime stories. Sarah tried for two, but Jenny insisted.
"No! More. More."
Sarah sighed, impatient with her daughter for the first time in a long while. She wanted to say, "No. I have other things to do." But she didn't. How could she deny Jenny anything? And why was she impatient in the first place? All because Jake Townsend was in her bedroom with his compelling green eyes and his broad back that
felt warm against her cheek, and his sweet, sad smile that made her want to cuddle him close.
Oh, Sarah Love, a fine kettle offish you've gotten yourself into. Pining after a man you hardly know. But she knew his smile. She knew the sound of his voice. She knew the miracle of his touch.
Common sense told her to send him away . . . now, before things got too complicated, before Jenny became attached to him.
Jenny? What about yourself?
She picked up a book and read Jenny's third story, but her mind was somewhere in her bedroom with a green-eyed man. How could she send him away? How
could she bear to think of looking down the dusty road and never catching a glimpse of him? How could she endure a tea party in the yard he had mowed, knowing she might never see his face again?
Jenny had drifted asleep by the time Sarah finished the last story. She leaned down and tucked the sheet around her daughter, then kissed her softly on the cheek.
"Good night, my little special princess. Sweet dreams."
Sarah placed the book back on the shelf, then turned toward her bedroom. Jake was waiting.
Chapter Four
Jake's back was to the door, but he knew the minute Sarah entered the room. There was a sudden sense of electricity in the air as she charged the room with her presence. A shudder ran deeply through him, as if every fiber in his body were straining to be free.
He gripped the handle of the paintbrush harder than he had to and kept on painting. Blue, the color of Sarah's eyes.
He fancied he smelled her fragrance, but that was impossible, of course. A silly fantasy. The smell of fresh paint filled the room, too strong to allow perfume. Still, he dreamed the scent. Just as he dreamed being a hero. He was standing in Sarah's bedroom with his eyes wide open, dreaming that he was some noble character out of a novel, rescuing a beautiful woman in distress. And all along she was rescuing him, blackhearted thief that he was.
Her shoes tapped against the hardwood floors as she approached him. All his senses vibrated with her nearness.
