01_The Best Gift (8 page)

“Why don’t you go do that while I reheat this soup?”

She stared at the bag in this hand. “You brought me soup?”

“I figured you probably hadn’t eaten all day. Rose said chicken noodle soup was perfect for a cold. And she told me to tell you to get a lot of rest and drink a lot of water. She said we need you in fighting form for our battle with city hall, and made me promise to report back to her that you were taking care of yourself.”

A.J. could imagine Rose issuing those instructions. What she was having a hard time imagining was that Blake had gone to all this trouble on her behalf. She looked at him quizzically. “Why did you do this?”

Blake had been asking himself the same question all the way over here. And he hadn’t come up with a good answer. Or at least one he was willing to live with. “Let’s just say it’s Christian charity.”

“I might buy that if you were a religious man.”

He gave her a frustrated look. “Are you going to stand here all night, or are you going to take your temperature?”

She certainly didn’t feel like standing here all night. In fact, she didn’t feel like standing, period. She was starting to get light-headed again. Instead of responding, she just headed for the bathroom to retrieve the thermometer. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and stuck it in her mouth. She heard Blake rummaging in her kitchen, heard him open the microwave, heard the beeps as he programmed it. He hadn’t really answered her question about why he was here. And she was too weary to try and figure it out today. But whatever the reason, she was glad he’d come.

A.J. was still sitting on the edge of the bed, thermometer in hand, when Blake appeared at her door holding a lap tray with a large glass of water and a bowl of soup.

“May I come in?”

She almost smiled. It was so like him to ask a question like that. After all, it was the conventional thing to do. “Of course. Where did you get the tray?”

“Rose had it in the back of her deli and insisted I borrow it. So what’s the verdict?” He nodded toward the thermometer.

“One hundred.”

He frowned. “Not good.”

“It’s a little better than before. The aspirin must be starting to work.”

“Do you want to get back into bed? It might be easier to balance the tray.”

She nodded. With an effort she scooted back and swung her legs up. A chill went through her, and she reached for the comforter.

“Are you cold?”

The man didn’t miss a thing. “Chills and fever go together.” She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she spoke.

“Maybe the soup will help.” He leaned down to place the tray on her lap, and as he settled it in place their gazes met. A.J. stared up into his eyes, only inches from her own, and it happened again. She wanted to reach out to him, to pull him close, to take comfort in his strong arms. The impulse scared her. She didn’t want a man in her life. Not now. Not ever. She’d been down that road once. It was not a trip she wanted to take again. Especially not with this man. But she couldn’t quiet the sudden staccato beat of her heart at his nearness.

Blake’s gaze flickered down to the pulse beating frantically in the hollow of her throat, and when he looked back up his eyes had darkened in intensity. A.J. had a feeling that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, and the flush on her face deepened. She tried to look away, but his compelling gaze held hers. Suddenly his eyes grew confused, and a slight frown appeared on his brow. He stood quickly, and when he spoke, his voice had an odd, appealingly husky quality. “Eat your soup.”

A.J. didn’t even try to speak. She just averted her gaze and picked up the spoon. When she finally ventured a glance in his direction, he was standing near the doorway watching her, his hands in his pockets, the frown still on his face.

“You ought to leave, Blake. I don’t want you to get sick, too,” she croaked.

“I don’t get sick.”

“I don’t usually, either.”

“Except in Afghanistan.”

“That was a fluke.”

“Was the leg injury a fluke, too?” The question was out before he could stop it.

Slowly she raised her gaze to his. “What leg injury?”

Too late to backtrack now. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight, A.J. I’ve seen you limping.”

She swallowed and averted her gaze. “That’s not from Afghanistan. It’s an old injury. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me.”

He waited, but it was clear that she wasn’t going to explain further. And much as he wanted to know the story behind the injury that clearly
did
bother her on a fairly regular basis, he knew she wasn’t up to discussing it today. Her eyelids were growing heavy again, and weariness was etched on her face. At least she’d eaten most of the soup. He moved toward her and lifted the tray.

“There’s more soup in the fridge. And some quiche. Take it easy tomorrow, okay?”

She looked up at him, grateful he hadn’t pressed her about her injury. “Thank you, Blake.”

“You’re welcome. Nancy and I can cover the shop on Monday if you’re still not feeling well.”

She nodded gratefully. “Okay.”

He turned to go, pausing on the threshold to look back at her once more. A.J. stared at him, her green eyes wide and appealing. She’d lost some weight in the past week, and the fine bone structure of her face made her look almost fragile. Somewhere along the way the band that tamed her unruly curls had disappeared. Now her strawberry blond hair tumbled around her shoulders loose and soft. She looked innocent. And sweet. And very, very appealing.

A voice inside him urged him to stay.

But he was afraid.

So he listened to the other voice, the one that told him to run.

As far and as fast as he could.

A.J. took Blake up on his offer and stayed home Monday. The Board of Aldermen meeting was Tuesday, and she needed to be in top form when she made her appeal. Fortunately, when she woke on Tuesday, she felt well enough to go to work. There was just one little problem.

She had no voice.

A fact she didn’t discover until she walked into Turning Leaves and tried to return Blake’s greeting. She opened her mouth. She formed the words. But no sound came out. Her eyes widened in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Blake asked.

She raised her hands helplessly and pointed to her throat, then walked behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. She wrote, “My voice is gone,” and pushed it toward him.

He read it and frowned. “You can’t talk?”

She shook her head. And suddenly felt tears welling in her eyes. Talk about rotten timing! The rest of the merchants were counting on her to make an impassioned plea tonight. She’d carefully prepared her remarks, practiced them, prepped for possible questions. What were they going to do?

Blake studied her face, his perceptive eyes missing nothing, then took her hand and led her toward the back room. He passed Nancy on the way. “Cover the front, okay?” he said over his shoulder.

When they got in the back he gently pressed A.J. into the desk chair, pulled up a chair beside her and turned on the computer. “Okay. Let’s try communicating this way. You’re worried about tonight, right?”

She nodded and typed, “Everyone is counting on me! What are we going to do?”

“Can’t someone else speak for the group?”

Her fingers flew over the keys. “But no one else has had time to prepare. And it’s a lot to dump on someone at the last minute. I could give someone my comments, but who could deliver them?”

Blake steepled his fingers, rested his elbows on the desk and stared at the computer screen. A.J. had shared the draft of her comments with him, so he knew what she planned to say. Her remarks were eloquent and touching, but also hard-hitting. No one could deliver them as well as she could. And none of the others were accustomed to standing in front of a group and making a business presentation. Except him.

Blake knew he was the logical choice to take over. He’d worked side-by-side with Jo for years, so he could talk about her commitment to the area with authority. And he’d done his homework on TIF. He understood how it worked and why the city was interested from a financial standpoint. But he also understood why using it wasn’t necessarily in the best long-term interest of Maplewood.

Finally Blake turned and looked at A.J. And read in her eyes exactly what he’d just been thinking. Yet she hadn’t asked him to step in. Because after meeting his parents, after the dinner in her apartment, she knew how he felt about getting publicly involved in causes. Even one this close to his heart. And she wasn’t going to pressure him.

Maybe if she had, Blake would have resisted. But because she didn’t, because she had taken his feelings into consideration and refrained from asking him to put himself in an uncomfortable position, Blake felt an obligation to offer. A.J. had poured herself into this effort, as had the other merchants. He’d just attended the meetings and contributed on a peripheral level. Maybe it was time he pulled his weight.

He drew a deep breath and slowly folded his arms on the desk in front of him. “Okay. How about if I speak for the group?”

Gratitude filled her eyes, and then she turned back to the monitor and typed rapidly. “It would mean a lot to me. And to Aunt Jo, too, I know.”

When their gazes met a moment later, there was a softness in A.J.’s eyes that Blake had never seen before. And suddenly he found it difficult to breathe. He cleared his throat, and scooted back slightly. “Why don’t you give me your notes and I’ll use them as a basis for my own comments. Can you and Nancy cover the shop part of the day while I prepare?”

She nodded. Then she laid her hand on his arm and mouthed two simple words. “Thank you.”

The warmth of her touch seeped in through the oxford cloth of his shirt. And somehow worked its way to his heart.

The turnout for the meeting at city hall was better than any of the merchants had hoped. The seats were all taken twenty minutes before the proceedings were scheduled to begin, and several staff members scurried around setting up extra chairs. Even then, there wasn’t enough seating. Attendees lined the walls and spilled out into the hall. By the time the meeting was called to order, the room was packed.

Routine business was dispensed with first. Then Stuart MacKenzie presented his proposal, and the floor was opened for comments and questions. A.J. glanced at Blake and gave him a thumbs-up sign. He shot her a quick grin, then stood and made his way to the microphone.

“Good evening. I’m Blake Sullivan, co-owner of Turning Leaves, a bookshop in the block that Mr. MacKenzie is targeting for his development. I represent the seven merchants on that block. I also represent Jo Williams, the original owner of Turning Leaves, who passed away a few months ago.

“I mention Jo because she was the first merchant to open a business in what twenty-some years ago was a blighted area. I’m sure some of you were around back then and remember that Maplewood wasn’t exactly prime real estate. But Jo believed in the area and was convinced that with the right nurturing, it would someday rise again. The other merchants on the block felt the same way.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t hesitate to call these people pioneers. They courageously took a chance on an area many had written off as too far gone to be saved. They invested their time, their energy and their finances in Maplewood, and they did it with no concessions from city hall.

“Today, Maplewood is a thriving community. I submit to you that without people like the loyal, hardworking merchants in this room tonight, the incredible rebirth that this town is enjoying would never have happened. I also submit to you that one of the reasons this area is attracting new investment and renewed residential growth is because of its character, which has remained largely intact.

“Mr. MacKenzie’s proposal is quite impressive. And I don’t quarrel with his numbers. I’m sure the projected revenue he discussed tonight is sound. But this type of development will change the very character of Maplewood that has attracted renewed interest. Independently owned businesses, like those represented here tonight, will give way to franchises. The town will become homogenized. And in doing so, it will lose its unique appeal and charm. In the long run, I believe that will hurt, not help, the city.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, as you consider this proposal, I ask you to weigh the immediate financial gains against the long-term effect on this community. And I ask you to factor in the human element. Because in the end, people are what make up a town. There are good people in this room tonight. People who fight for what they believe in and work hard to make their dreams come true. And they are also people who will probably be forced to leave if this development goes through. That will be a great loss to this town. I present to you tonight signatures of more than two thousand residents who agree with this position and are against this development.

“As I said at the beginning, Jo Williams was the first to take a chance on this area. She’s gone now. But her legacy lives on in the lives of the people here tonight and the businesses they have built. I hope that you don’t let this legacy slip away. Thank you.”

For a moment after Blake finished speaking, there was silence in the room. And then, almost as one, everyone rose and applauded wildly. But as he made his way back to his seat, Blake hardly heard the ovation or felt the hands that slapped him on the back. He just wanted to get back to A.J. Because the only reaction he really cared about was hers. He knew she’d counted on him to deliver an impassioned plea. Knew that a great deal rested on his ability to convince the board of the value the current residents added to the community.

When he reached his seat he glanced at her—and almost went limp with relief. Her face was shining, her lips tipped into a smile, telling him he’d done okay. Maybe more than okay. As he took his seat beside her, she reached over and rested her hand on his arm. And though her voice was gone, her eyes were eloquent, filled with gratitude, admiration…and something else he couldn’t quite identify. But whatever it was made his throat suddenly go dry.