Touched by Angels

by Peggy Webb

  Before she sat down to her sewing, she went to the window and looked out. No sign of customers. She shaded her eyes and squinted into the afternoon sun. No sign of Jake. Not even a puff of dust on the road.

  How silly of her to be looking. She had been watching out the window for three days, and it hadn’t done a bit of good. Jake was not coming.

  She sighed and went back to her sewing.

  o0o

  "Are you going to dictate a letter, or do you plain to stare out the window all afternoon?"

  Jake turned from the window. Gwendolyn had a steno pad in her hands and a look of mutiny on her face. He knew he was in for a lecture.

  "All right. Gwendolyn. What's on your mind?"

  "What's on your mind? You've been mully-grubblng around here for three days."

  "I have a lot to think about."

  "Like what?"

  "That's a nosy question."

  "I'm a nosy woman." She glared at him. "Well?"

  "Where do you want me to start, Gwendolyn?"

  "How about starting by telling me how come you never showed up at the art gallery Saturday night. You never miss an opening."

  "I was painting."

  "Since when did you become an artist."

  "I was painting a room."

  "Painting a room? Since when can't the richest man in town afford a painter?"

  He decided to make her work hard for her information. Both of them had more fun that way. He ignored her question.

  "Let's see . . . you mowed a yard, even drove the lawn mower through the city streets after dark. Could have gotten yourself killed." She gave him an arch smile. "Didn’t you figure half the town would see you and report directly to me?"

  "What other reports have you heard?"

  "Why, Jake. You do me an injustice. Do you think I'd stoop to petty gossip? If I want to find out something about you, all I have to do is ask."

  "How do you know I’ll tell you the truth?"

  "Hell, Jake. I'm your mother and your father confessor and your favorite maiden aunt all rolled into one. Not to mention your good friend and the best executive assistant you'll ever find this side of heaven."

  "It's a good thing I wasn't looking for modesty when I hired you."

  Gwendolyn laid her steno pad aside and squinted at him. "So, tell me. Does all this yard mowing and house painting have anything to do with that yellow rose and certain people who live in an old house at the edge of town?"

  "Yes."

  "Be careful, Jake."

  She was echoing what he had been telling himself for the last three days. His Good Samaritan act was getting out of control.

  "I hear she's pretty," Gwendolyn added.

  "Who?"

  "The mother, Sarah Love."

  "She is."

  "And she has a child . . . about the age Bonnie was."

  "Yes." He couldn't face Gwendolyn now. She was too wise. He swiveled his chair and gazed out the window.

  "You cant bring her back, Jake." He kept staring out the window. "Did you hear me, Jake? Don't try to use this child as a substitute. You'll get hurt."

  "They are the ones who would be hurt, Gwendolyn." He faced her once more. "I would never do that to them."

  They studied each other like two wise old lions in the same arena.

  "Just so you know what you're doing."

  "I do." He didn't know whether he was lying. He sincerely hoped not. He stood up, full of resolve and purpose. "Look, Gwendolyn. Forget the letter. Take the afternoon off."

  "Why?"

  "Don’t question your good fortune. Just go."

  After Gwendolyn left, he picked up the phone and placed his order.

  "Deliver it in half an hour," he instructed. That gave him exactly fifteen minutes at Sarah's before the delivery truck arrived, five if he stopped at the hardware store for hammer and nails.

  He decided to stop. Sarah's porch steps needed repairing. It would be a good way to say good-bye.

  Jake saw the sign in Sarah's yard—THE DOLLHOUSE. She had opened her shop. That was good. It meant she would soon have other friends in Florence. With her personality, she would have so many friends in two weeks, she wouldn't even know he was gone, let alone miss him.

  Darkness settled around his heart. He willed it to go away. Dammit, he was doing the right thing, the best thing for everybody. Emotions had no place in his decision.

  He went around the side of her house to the shop entrance, intent on his errand. He would do one last repair job—the porch steps. But before he did, he would explain to Sarah why a friendship between them was impossible. Breaking his promise now would be easier than ruining their lives later.

  When he was even with the picture window, he heard the music, a slow tune, sung the way blues should be sung. Memories paralyzed him.

  Do you like blues? The woman had blue eyes and a friendly smile.

  I like the music, not the mood.

  Then I'll make certain you never suffer the mood. Hi, I'm Michelle. She'd offered her hand . . . and more.

  He was young and full of red wine and hot blood. He took everything she'd had to offer. That fatal decision had altered the course of his life. In one careless night he'd fathered a child and set himself and Michelle on the path to destruction.

  Jake brushed his hand across his eyes, dispelling the memories, ridding himself of ghosts. Music poured from the Dollhouse. He glanced through the window. Sarah was dancing slowly, around and around, head tilted so she could gaze up at her dance partner. The sun gilded her hair, kissed her skin, brightened her eyes.

  Jake was enchanted. He couldn't take his eyes off her. To be holding her in his arms, revolving slowly around the room, blues music defining their steps, their mood—that would be heaven. He closed his eyes, dreaming.

  Sarah. Sarah. She was like music in his mind, a remembered melody too sweet to forget.

  She had a partner. He opened his eyes quickly and looked at Sarah's dance partner. It was a mop. Jake felt relieved and saddened at the same time, relieved that Sarah wasn't dancing with someone else, and sad that she had to dance with a mop.

  The music played on and Sarah danced. He watched awhile longer, stealing precious glimpses of a brave and wonderful woman with blue eyes. Always blue eyes.

  Jake groaned. Time to get moving. He wasn't about to destroy Sarah and Jenny the way he had destroyed Michelle and Bonnie.

  He walked quickly around the side of the house and pushed open the shop door. Sarah whirled toward him.

  "Oh." She pressed the mop to her chest. Color stained her cheeks.

  "Sorry I startled you."

  "I didn't expect to see you." She laid the mop across a chair and fussed with her hair. "I must look a mess."

  "You're lovely."

  The music swirled around them. Sarah's blue eyes trapped him. Forces beyond his control pulled at him. The blue eyes beckoned.

  He crossed the room until he was so close, he could smell her perfume, feel her skirt brushing against his leg. Her eyes softened. He put a hand on her cheek.

  "Hello, Sarah." The good-byes could wait.

  "Hello." Her smile was shy. Her eyes bewitched him.

  Sultry music whispered siren songs in his ear. His hand trembled on Sarah's cheek. He wanted to wrap himself around her until they merged, until he couldn’t tell where he left off and she began. He wanted to lose his darkness in her sunlight and be cleansed. He wanted to obliterate his past with this blue-eyed woman who bravely walked sideways under her burdens.

  How could he tell her good-bye? It would be cruel.

  He trailed his fingers down her cheek. Then, unable to resist, he traced the outline of her mouth, memorizing its heart shape.

  "I have a surprise for you," he said, removing his hand and backing away. He couldn’t say good-bye, but he could control his passions. He had destroyed once; he would never do it again.

  "For me?"

  "Yes. Just for you."

  Tears brightened her eyes, and she
brushed at them with the back of her hand.

  "I didn't mean to make you cry."

  "I'm not . . . it's just that ..." She blinked the last of her tears away and gave him a steadfast look. "The puppy was a different matter; it was for Jenny. But I can't accept gifts for myself."

  "Why not?"

  "I have nothing to give in return."

  "You have everything to give in return, Sarah— your smile, your warmth, your kindness."

  "It doesn't seem enough. You are too generous."

  "Indulge me, Sarah. I don’t mean to buy you, nor to make you feel obligated to me in any way. But I do want you to accept my gifts." His smile was rueful. "I'm more than able to afford them."

  "I'm not used to receiving gifts." She gave him a sweet, shy smile. "Especially from heroes."

  Why had he ever thought he could tell this woman good-bye? She was pure and innocent and warm and beautiful. She was the only good thing in his life. If he let her go, he would lose the part of himself that made him believe he might be human.

  "I'm a selfish hero, Sarah."

  "No."

  "Yes. I give for my own pleasure."

  "Oh, Jake." She came to him and circled her arms around his waist. Then she pressed her cheek against his chest. The need to possess her was so great, he trembled. "You have no idea, do you?" she whispered.

  He tensed. His wife's words echoed from the past.

  You have no idea, do you, Jake? No idea why I hate you so?

  I'm certain you'll tell me.

  Damned right, I'll tell you. Do you know what it's like to be married to someone who doesn't love you?

  Yes. It was never love between us, Michelle. Only necessity.

  Bonnie. It's always Bonnie with you.

  Leave Bonnie out of this.

  She's always there, between us. A reminder that you had to marry me. Well, you can have her. I'm tired of being viewed as a necessary evil. You can take your precious daughter and go straight to hell where you belong. And I hope you burn forever knowing how much I despise you.

  Sarah pressed her cheek against his heart. "I want you to know, Jake ..."

  "Don't

  ". . . just how wonderful 1 think you are."

  He drew a ragged breath. If she knew the truth about him, she wouldn't be saying that. But he would never tell her, never let her know what he had done, just as he would never let her know that her simple hugs drove him crazy.

  Her arms around his waist melted him. Her head against his chest set him aflame. Her sweet summer fragrance set off erotic fantasies that haunted him day and night. When had a simple friendship gotten so out of control? How had he managed to steer clear of disaster for six years and then fall into the first tender trap he came to?

  "You're going to give me a big head," he said, taking her by the arms and gently setting her aside.

  "It's true. You're wonderful. I don’t think you know that about yourself."

  "Neither does anybody else. It's the town's best- kept secret."

  "Then I’ll make it my duty to inform them."

  "No one has ever fought dragons for me." He smiled, hoping she would take his statement as a joke.

  She smiled back. Letting him think she had.

  "And no one has ever brought me a surprise. What is it?"

  "It's no surprise if I tell." Jake heard the delivery truck outside, right on schedule. "Close your eyes, and don't open them until I tell you."

  He took her hand and led her outside. She held on tight, trusting and innocent. Jake felt as tall and noble as the Washington Monument.

  "Keep your eyes closed, Sarah," he said. Then to the deliverymen: "Put it on the front porch . . . yes, that's right . . . there. That's perfect. Go ahead and install it."

  "Install what? I'm dying of curiosity."

  "You feel perfectly healthy to me." He squeezed her hand. Feeling lighthearted and playful, he ran his hands tenderly across her cheeks, down her neck, and down her arms, till he was holding her hands again. "Hmmm, very healthy. Except . . . what is that? A callus?"

  "From sewing. I never can find my thimble."

  "Are you forgetful, Sarah?"

  "No, I never forget. ..." Her eyelids fluttered.

  "Keep your eyes closed, please."

  "I forgot." She squeezed her eyes shut, then explained about the thimble. "Jenny loves to hide my thimble. She always hides it in the same place, the potted plant beside the door, but I pretend I don't know. It thrills her to think she's outfoxed me."

  Dear Sarah. Always making the people around her feel good. She was a natural caretaker. She could be hurt so easily.

  Jake looked at the color staining her cheeks. It was time to let her go—past time. He released her as the deliverymen passed by, on the way to their truck.

  “The surprise is ready, Sarah. Open your eyes."

  She opened them slowly, first one and then the other. Then she pressed her hands over her heart, her mouth open in wonder.

  "Well?"

  "Oh, Jake. A swing." She ran up the steps, careful of the broken ones, then sat in her new swing. With one foot, she set herself into motion.

  "Do you like it?"

  "Like it? Why ... I think it's the most wonderful gift in the world." She shoved off once more. The movement stirred a breeze that ruffled her hair. Her smile was glorious.

  Jake was content. He felt like a man who had wandered in the desert for six years and had suddenly come upon an oasis, cool, green, inviting. He stood in the yard, feeling the comfort of the oasis all around him.

  And then he got greedy. He wanted to grab great handfuls of the oasis and stuff it into his pocket. He felt covetous. He wanted to possess. But he knew possession would mean destruction.

  "Jake." Sarah called to him, laughing. "Come join me." She patted the wooden slats beside her.

  Need made him take one step toward her; caution made him pull back.

  "Enjoy the swing, Sarah. There's something I have to do."

  "You're leaving?"

  He was selfish; he loved the disappointment in her voice.

  "No, I'm going to repair your porch steps."

  "I’ll help."

  He pictured Sarah, standing beside him, her skirt brushing against his leg. He couldn't endure it.

  "No. You need to watch after Jenny."

  "She's sleeping." She left her swing. Jake couldn’t stand to be near her and not touch her.

  "Stay," he said, harsher than he meant to. Her eyes widened. "Please," he said gently, smiling. "I want to watch you enjoying my gift."

  "In that case ..." Sarah returned to the swing and set it into motion.

  With a safe distance separating them, Jake began to work and Sarah began to talk. He loved the music of her voice. It was a cool wind, blowing across the oasis.

  "You're spoiling me. Jake."

  "That's what friends are for."

  "I probably should be inside sewing. ..."

  "Stay . . . please."

  Their gazes touched, softly, then drifted apart. He hammered and she swung.

  "I guess you think I was silly . . . dancing with a mop."

  "No."

  "I love to dance. Sometimes I dream about wearing a real dance dress with a swirly skirt, about dancing with a real band ... in the arms of a real man."

  He silenced the hammer; she brought the swing to a stop. Something shimmered in the air between them, something that warmed his heart and lifted his spirit.

  Laughing self-consciously, Sarah fussed with her hair.

  "Just listen to me. prattling on about myself." She twisted a curl around her finger. "Tell me about your dreams. Jake."

  "My dreams are dead."

  He was sorry the minute he said it.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Don't be."

  He swung the hammer viciously. He could feel Sarah watching him. Ghosts grabbed at his mind. Darkness seeped into his spirit. He dared not look at Sarah.

  She set the swing back in motion. Her f
eet tapped lightly against the porch floor, and the chains anchoring the swing squeaked. Still, Jake couldn't look at her. He had admitted to dead dreams. He had made himself vulnerable.

  Sweat trickled down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He wasn't dressed for hard labor. He had acted on impulse, knowing from experience how often impulse led to regret.

  Sarah's swing grew still, and so did his hammer. The careful silence set his nerves on edge. Sarah rescued him.

  "I must check on Jenny."

  "Yes," he said, without looking at her. Then, feeling a coward, he looked into her face. It was serene, unreadable. "Sarah, I'll be leaving as soon as I finish here."

  "I understand."

  She left quietly, her footsteps echoing on the wooden porch. When the screen door closed behind her, he threw the hammer to the ground, cursing softly.

  Gwendolyn had been wise to warn him. The pity was that he hadn’t heeded her warning. Worse, he hadn't followed his own instincts. He should have told Sarah good-bye when he'd first stepped into her Dollhouse. Now it was too late.

  He picked the hammer up and attacked the sagging steps, his mind alive with dark thoughts.

  Chapter Six

  "You're in a black mood today, Jake," Gwendolyn told him.

  "Black is my favorite color."

  "I see the afternoon off yesterday didn't improve your temper." He didn't comment. Gwendolyn was not deterred. "You didn't tell her good-bye, did you?"

  Instead of answering, Jake stared out the window, seeing not the tree-shaded recreation area of Townsend Publishing but rather a woman with bright golden hair, sitting in a porch swing. Sarah Love consumed him.

  "Jake?" Gwendolyn had come to stand beside him, and her voice was soft. Gently she put a hand on his shoulder. "Can I help you?"

  Briefly he closed his eyes. An agony of indecision tore at him.

  "I'm damned if I leave her and damned if I don’t, Gwendolyn." He took the liver-spotted hand that rested on his shoulder and kissed it. "I'm in too deep to back out now." He lifted haunted eyes to Gwendolyn's face. She had tears on her cheeks. "I can't just walk out of their lives. Not yet. They need me."

  Gwendolyn wiped the tears off her cheeks, then stiffened her spine and marched to the chair in front of her desk.

  "Hell, Jake, this hearts-and-flowers routine has got me bawling like a baby." She flipped open her steno pad and glared at him. "So . . . they need you. Then get off your duff and figure out how you can help them—besides painting and mowing the lawn and fixing the porch steps. Have I missed anything?"