The Cinderella List (4 page)

Lucy filled in the conversational gaps while Marlo gathered her wits about her again. They were talking about training horses when she finally felt confident enough to enter the discussion.

“It’s something I enjoy, but I don’t have enough time in my day to be as active as I’d like,” Jake was saying. “I prefer working with the animals, but the buyers come first. Without them, we’d have no reason to raise horses in the first place.”

“How did you learn to do it?” Marlo asked.

“From my grandfather. I was attached to his side like a tick to a dog when I was young. And what he didn’t teach me, my father did. The Hammond family has been raising horses for generations, so maybe I learned by osmosis.” He smiled and his eyes did that thing again that made Marlo’s heart flutter. She almost wished he’d quit doing whatever it was that was making her have this reaction. No one like Jake would be interested in a girl like her.

Lucy gave a mouselike squeak as she looked at her watch. “Marlo, I have to get home. I promised I’d call my brother tonight, and it’s getting late, even on the West Coast.”

“You are welcome to use the phone in the library.”

“I’m supposed to give him some phone numbers and addresses that I have on my computer at home. I’d better get going.”

Marlo started to rise from her chair but Lucy waved her back. “No use both of us leaving.”

“But we drove together,” Marlo protested.

“I can call Marlo a cab,” Jake offered, “if you need to leave in a hurry.”

“Good idea. Thanks so much. Marlo, honey, call me in the morning.” Without so much as a goodbye, Lucy shot out of the library. In moments, they heard the van fire up and pull away.

Marlo wanted to strangle Lucy with her bare hands, she decided, as her means of escape roared away. She knew exactly what Lucy was doing—giving her extra time with Jake, because she assumed he was a perfect fit for the List. Well, it wasn’t going to work. The List indicated that the ideal man should “earn a good living” not be preposterously wealthy. She didn’t know how to relate to people with money like that, even though he made it easier than she’d expected.

“More coffee?” Jake bent near her, carafe in hand. She smelled the woodsy cologne he wore and saw the fine weave of the arm of his jacket.

“I’d better not. I won’t sleep all night.” Not that she would, anyway, after this heady experience. She turned her eyes up toward his and became conscious of how close he was. “I have to apologize for my friend.”

He stepped back, poured himself another cup and sat down. “Why?”

“Because those ‘names and numbers’ she had to give her brother were probably fictional.”

He cocked his head to one side and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. Couldn’t the man be unattractive from any angle at all?

“Lucy is playing matchmaker. I hope you’ll excuse her. Sometimes she just doesn’t think things through. Now, if you’ll call me a cab…”

“Matchmaker?” He sounded amused, even pleased. To Marlo’s amazement, he didn’t appear to think the idea was ludicrous, just entertaining. She supposed that was a compliment, but it didn’t undo her friend’s machinations. Maybe she wouldn’t wait until morning to throttle Lucy; perhaps she should stop at her house on the way home.

“Besides, there’s no hurry. Where do you live?”

Marlo gave him the address.

“It’s not far. I’ll take you home myself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t… A cab is fine…really.”

“Sure you could.” He pulled off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves as if he were about to go to work. His forearms were tanned and muscular. He wasn’t a stranger to physical work, Marlo noted. “I’ve had enough coffee now to keep me awake until the New Year. No use taking a cab and wasting my alertness.” He looked so appealing, so boyish and sincere that he was virtually irresistible.

Everything seemed to make worse the tumble of emotions coursing through her. Then why did she feel such an unwelcome attraction to Jake?

“I’m dying of embarrassment, you know. I don’t want you to bother.”

“No need. I’ll enjoy getting out for a drive.” He picked up the plate of cheesecakes. “Now that you know you’re going home soon, do you want to have one of these?”

Marlo’s stomach growled a response. She clamped a hand over her belly but it was too late. Hammond had heard it.

“I thought so. You were too busy to put any food in your own mouth.”

“That’s a little like stealing,” Marlo pointed out. “It’s your food. You bought it.”

“Then help me eat it.” He sank back into the leather chair in which he’d been sitting. Framed in dark leather and the faultless white of his shirt, he could have been posing for one of the handsome portraits that lined the staircase gallery.

Oh, why not?
Marlo told herself. This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. What was more, she knew just how good the Divas’ cheesecakes were.

“Even my father said your food was an enormous hit at the party.”

“‘Even’ your father?”

“His approval doesn’t come easily.” He paused a long time before adding, “Life has made him a suspicious man. When you get a compliment from him you can assume you’ve neared perfection.”

“I’m flattered.”
And delighted, overwhelmed, ecstatic and probably falling in love with you,
she might have added if she were being completely truthful. Of course, some things were better left unsaid.

“He’s requested that I put you on notice. Hammond Stables will be doing a significant number of events this fall and we’d like you to cater all of them.”

“As soon as the dates are fixed, I’ll put them on our calendar.” She should have left then but a comfortable languor washed over her. Jake seemed to feel it, too, and they sat in each other’s presence silently for a long while. Finally, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. “Now, I’d better be going.”

He stood swiftly. “Let me help you.” He reached out to help her up. She felt his warm, slightly rough palm, calloused from the chafing of the reins, no doubt, and the gentle squeeze of his fingers that brought her to her feet.

Gentlemanly. Check.

Jake led her toward the garage, another massive space with a black-and-white tiled floor and a bank of lockers against one wall. He chose one of the four cars there, a black BMW.

Even his car fit the List! Marlo ran a hand across the soft leather seat before putting her right hand to her left forearm. She gave herself a pinch. It hurt. She wasn’t dreaming.

It was easy to be silent, relaxing against the smooth leather, hearing the powerful drone of the engine, watching city lights go by. She sneaked a peek from the corner of her eye at her driver, his strong profile lit by streetlights and the glow from the dashboard. Marlo rued the fact that his lifestyle and his wealth were so foreign to her. She would have little idea how to live in his world, or he in hers.

Or maybe, she told herself, she was making unfair assumptions about Jake.

“Jake, what is it you want to accomplish with Hammond Stables?”

He turned and looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Feeling as if she’d been x-rayed by lasers, she was glad when his eyes returned to the road. “Objectives, aspirations, wishes. Everyone who is successful has them.”

“You’re a funny little thing, you know that?”

At five feet nine inches, she was rarely called
little,
so she decided to take it as a compliment. “Why, thank you.”

He threw back his head and laughed, and her heart skipped a beat at the sound. “You took me off guard. I believe you have a knack for that.” He pressed his lips together to ponder the question. “Objectives, aspirations and wishes, huh? My objective is to continue the family business and take it to the next level, to raise the bar even further. My father and grandfather have done amazingly well and I feel it’s my duty to continue the tradition.
I’ve already got my business plan in order.” He looked at her again and his eyes twinkled. “Would you like to see it?”

“No, thank you.” Marlo suddenly felt shy and prim, responses that were rare in her emotional vocabulary. “I was just making conversation. I didn’t expect you to write a treatise or anything.”

“It’s okay. I happen to like something more than casual conversation. I enjoy meaty topics. If you really want to know, my personal aspiration is to someday settle down, get married and have those grandchildren my father thinks he’s never going to get. Until then, I’m going to work at making my architectural firm one of the top in the city, and Hammond Farms recognized nationally.”

He pulled into the driveway of Marlo’s immaculate South Minneapolis bungalow. The darkness of the car’s interior felt uncomfortably intimate. To her surprise, Jake lifted her hand from her lap to his lips and kissed it. “And the wishes will have to wait for later.” He paused before continuing. “I overheard you and your partner talking back at the house. You said something that stuck with me. I wanted to know if you meant it.”

They had said a
lot
of things. That would teach her to keep her mouth shut while she was working. The easy, breezy conversation she and Lucy maintained was usually just mindless chatter—emphasis on
mindless.
What part of their empty-headed banter had he overheard? Hopefully he
hadn’t
heard them discussing the Cinderella List.

“You were discussing yourselves as children, as I recall,” Jake prodded. Marlo paged through her memory bank. She had no idea that Jake, on his trips in and out of the kitchen, had overheard them.

“I heard you say that you had a lot of compassion for children who struggled to learn, and that you wished you knew a way that you could help to make a difference for them.”

“I was a difficult child myself, according to my mother—at least until my parents discovered I was dyslexic. I transposed
words and letters. My reading problems were mostly from seeing things backward.” Marlo smiled ruefully. “Even though I overcame it quickly in academics, my mother says it didn’t shake my penchant for doing other things in reverse order.”

She’d always believed that her dyslexia and proclivity to come at things from the wrong end had deepened the compassion she felt for her nephew, Brady.

“I thought you might be interested in something I’m doing at the stables…if my father doesn’t sink it before it starts.” Jake’s expression was cautiously neutral, as if he didn’t want Marlo to guess what he was thinking.

He chose his next words carefully. “The changes I’m currently making at the stable have my father and me at odds. He’s the opposite of calm and laid-back. He accuses me of being too easygoing and willing to go with the flow.” His eyes crinkled and a slow smile graced his lips. “I like to think I’m a lover, not a fighter, but my father is not always amused.”

“He doesn’t trust you?”

“The only person my father has ever accepted unconditionally is his friend Alfred. They were boys together, best friends. My father calls Alfred’s judgment ‘impeccable.’”

“What awful things are you doing? Insisting the horses have weekly pedicures? Wear diamond-encrusted saddles? Eat gourmet oats?”

Jake’s smile flashed in the dimness. “The show animals are practically doing that already—they have polished hooves, saddles and tack with bling, and highly regulated diets. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“I’m starting a hippotherapy program at Hammond Stables. Dad calls it a wild idea, a notion that I’ll lose interest in as soon as I find a high-rise to design.

“The program is designed for kids with special needs. And kids like you were—struggling with things beyond their control. Things like cerebral palsy, severe injury, mental and physical issues, strokes.”

Compassionate.
Marlo liked that in a man.
Check.
“And your father disapproves of…what exactly?”

“Dad doesn’t feel disabled kids add to the ‘ambiance’ of the operation.” Jake’s expressive eyes darkened with anger. “He’s afraid potential buyers might not like competing with children for time in the arena.”

“What will you do?” she asked, feeling sympathy for his predicament.

“Ignore his protests for the time being. He hasn’t forbidden it entirely—yet. I plan to start small, but to try to grow it quickly. I’m looking for compassionate volunteers who are willing to help with the program. People who can withstand my father’s negativity.”

“And you think I can?” Marlo was surprised. “Although I adored them as a child, I don’t know a thing about horses. Not real ones. I fantasized about them, but the only ones I’m truly familiar with are of the
Black Beauty
and My Little Pony variety.”

“That can be learned. What I’m looking for, Marlo, are people who
care.
”

She took a deep breath. Here she was, backing into something once again. Volunteering to work with horses when she’d never even ridden one. But one look at Jake, and she couldn’t say no.

“When do we start?”

S
till giddy from the previous night, Marlo decided to stop at her sister’s house for a cup of coffee before heading to work. When she swung into the driveway of the tidy white bungalow not far from her own, respect for Jenny and Mike, who had worked so hard to make this a safe, loving home for Brady, always surfaced.

No one who had not experienced it for themselves understood the struggle and pain that had transpired behind these windows with their blue shutters and yellow trim. Yet flowerboxes filled with a madcap assortment of red flowers, mostly geraniums, made the house look as though it belonged in a lighthearted film.

It was a good house in a pleasant older neighborhood, but Marlo knew that Jenny longed for something bigger, for her day-care children, but she and Mike chose to spend every extra penny they earned seeking help for Brady, who had been oxygen deprived at birth. Marlo didn’t blame them. No one with a heart could resist Brady. He was certainly her own biggest weakness—he could reduce her to mush with one gleeful smile.

The day of his birth was still etched into her mind like carving in stone. A protective bond had formed between them that day
that couldn’t be broken. Marlo knew she’d do just about anything for her little nephew—especially anything that would make his life simpler and more enjoyable.

She rang the doorbell, opened the door and walked inside knowing that her sister had already been up for hours. The day care she ran opened at 6:00 a.m. for early arrivals.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Jenny called. “You’re just in time to help me cut sugar cookies.”

Marlo kicked off her shoes—Jenny hated dirt on her carpet—and headed toward her sister’s voice. Jenny was at the large island rolling a sheet of cookie dough. Cookie cutters in the shapes of bucking broncos, cowboy hats and a cowboy on a horse littered the area. The sweet aroma of vanilla permeated the kitchen.

“Hey, sis,” Marlo greeted her. “How are you this morning? You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep much last night. The little hamster wheels in there just wouldn’t quit whirling. I kept thinking about my day-care kids and Brady.”

Marlo looked out the door to see Jenny’s day-care brood playing outside in the grass. They were laughing and running with red, blue and green balls, bouncing them off the ground and each other. Several had one hand in the air, swinging it in a circular motion. Brady, meanwhile, sat just outside the French doors to the deck, intently watching the other children.

“Why isn’t Brady playing, too?”

“He’s afraid.” Jenny’s chipper demeanor slipped a little. “He’s okay when everyone is inside and I keep the din down to a dull roar, but the minute the kids go outside, he refuses to join them. It’s progress to get him onto the deck.”

“Why do you think that is?” Marlo asked calmly, suppressing the prick of sadness she felt at her sister’s statement. She
picked up a cutter and began to press out cookie shapes and lay them on baking sheets.

“He took a tumble and got a nasty scratch on his elbow last week and he’s refused to have anything to do with the kids when they are running ever since.”

Marlo stared out the window at the back of her small nephew. His slender neck and frail shoulders didn’t look strong enough to hold the beautifully shaped blond head covered with baby-fine curls that always smelled of strawberry-scented shampoo. He appeared as fragile as the hummingbird currently dipping its beak into a nearby feeder. His white-blond hair and porcelain skin gave him the appearance of an otherworldly being, an angel, delicate and easily broken. It was no wonder, Marlo mused, that Jenny didn’t push him to play with the other little rowdies on the grass.

Jenny wiped her hands on a towel and moved to stand by Marlo. “It breaks my heart,” she said softly. “It’s my fault he’s not out there playing with those kids.”

“Don’t be a goose,” Marlo said sternly. Even though she empathized deeply with her sister’s pain, one of them had to remain clear-headed. “Of course it’s not your fault. It’s terribly unfortunate but the fact is that children can be injured in childbirth.” Gently, she reached for her sister’s hand. “No one blames you for Brady’s issues.”

“Well, they
should
blame me.”

“Oh, Jen…” Marlo had prayed fervently that the unproductive guilt Jenny harbored be removed from her, but it was obviously not happening yet. What made it all the worse was Jenny’s seeming inability to turn what had happened over to God. Instead, she continued to blame herself, never allowing the wound to heal.

“If I hadn’t been so determined to tough out most of his labor
at home, they might have known the umbilical cord was twisted and compressed. But no, not me. And look what it did to Brady.”

Brady had been born oxygen deprived—hypoxia, Marlo thought they had called it—and the still, pale infant had been whisked away to a neonatal intensive care unit as soon as he was born. The result had been this beautiful, delicate boy with a lowered IQ, slowed language skills, poor balance and coordination and a marked inability to concentrate. Jenny had never forgiven herself. Marlo wished her sister would focus more on Brady’s precious qualities—his loving personality, his perpetual good cheer, his sensitivity, the traits that made Brady who he was—and less on those other qualities.

“Babies are born in traffic jams, on kitchen tables and, in some countries, right in the fields. Childbirth is a natural process, Jenny, not an illness. How could you have known what was happening?”

“I’m his mother. I should have known.”

Marlo’s own chest tightened when her sister talked like this. “Forgive yourself and go on. God forgives us. If He can do that, then you should, too.” After five years, Jenny still hadn’t let go of her guilt and turned it over to God.

“Give the boy some credit for knowing himself, Jenny. He’s not ready for roughhousing right now. Better he sit on the porch than get hurt.” Marlo ground a cookie cutter hard into the soft dough. She hated sounding unsympathetic, but sometimes it was the only way to snap her sister out of this mood of blame.

“I don’t want him to be a porch-sitter for the rest of his life!” Jenny dug for a tissue in her pocket, turned away and blew her nose.

When she turned back to Marlo, her cheeks were flushed. “You’re right and I know it, sis, but sometimes…”

The damage to Brady’s brain had left him with weak reason
ing abilities and powers of logical thinking. Occasionally he was impulsive and unable to absorb the idea of consequences. Sometimes this worked in his favor, other times it did not, such as the time he’d decided to test what his mother meant by “hot” on the stove and came away with a second-degree burn on the palm of his hand. Other times he was abnormally cautious, like today.

His attention span was brief; he cried easily and was susceptible to perceived slights. But there were gifts, as well. Brady was exceedingly sensitive to people’s emotions. More than once, when Marlo was feeling down, he’d given her a perceptive hug and a pat on the arm. “It’s okay, Auntie Marlo,” he’d say. Sensitive Brady could read and identify with another’s hurt or pain, and yet he couldn’t count past five.

“His irrational fears are getting worse,” Jenny continued. “Next, we’ll have an agoraphobic on our hands, as well.”

“Aren’t you the cheerful one today?” Marlo finished laying cookies on the baking sheet and put it into the oven. There was no point pursuing this line of conversation further, so she changed the subject. “I take it that this is cookie decorating day?”

“A cowboy theme. The kids outside are pretending to rope cattle.” Jenny poured Marlo a cup of coffee and pointed to the kitchen table and chairs. “Sit.”

They sat and Jenny stared into her cup a long time before continuing. “We can live with his disabilities, but not with his fear. The doctors say that someday he could hold a job, but not if he’s afraid of every unexpected sound or movement.”

“He’s not six yet. He has time to learn.” Perpetual optimism was another trait Marlo had learned from her aunt Tildy.

Even if she hadn’t believed in Brady—and she did—she would never admit it to Jenny. Sometimes she felt as if she were propping up the entire family, and it was an exhausting endeavor.

“But
how?
And
when?
”

Brady, hearing the voices in the kitchen, left his perch on the deck and came inside. His pale, angelic features made Marlo want to scoop him into her arms and ward off the outside world that was so alarming to him. Instead she put out her hand for a high five. “Put ’er there, buddy. Wassup?”

Brady giggled. “You talk funny.”

“Why aren’t you playing with your friends?”

“Too hard.”

“You mean they play too hard?”

He nodded fervently, his blond hair bouncing.

Marlo loved this little boy beyond words. She’d rocked him for hours on end when he was a newborn, allowing his exhausted parents to sleep. Marlo had patiently helped Brady learn to walk, while all Jenny could talk about was what might happen if he fell and hurt himself. Ultimately, she’d been the one to pry Brady from his mother’s protective clutches long enough to pet the neighbor’s dog, go down a slide and splash in the baby pool at the park. His life needed no detours.

“Come here and give your auntie Marlo a kiss, Brady boy. I’ve got to get to work.” She tapped her cheek with her finger and, giggling, Brady complied.

“I love you, little buddy,” Marlo whispered as Brady’s soft breath skimmed her cheek. Brady threw his arms around her and hugged her tight.

“You’re late,” Lucy said when Marlo finally arrived at the Divas’ kitchen. She was putting together leafy spinach salads with sliced hard-boiled eggs.

“I stopped at Jenny’s for a cup of coffee.”

“How is Brady doing? Last time I talked to your sister she said that she was afraid he might have strep throat.”

“A false alarm, fortunately, but with him, she never knows.” A wave of tenderness swept over Marlo. “The child never complains about anything.”

Sometimes she wondered if she were being fair to Jenny by accusing her of being too cautious. Her sister simply couldn’t resist being overprotective of her darling boy.

“Someone called for you this morning,” Lucy said with studied nonchalance.

“Did you take a message?”

“I did not. I told him that if he wanted to talk to you he should show up here.”

“It’s not that health food distributor again, I hope. There’s nothing like a reformed snack-food junkie to be a high-pressure salesman.”

“No, not him. Better.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled with delight, giving rise to a suspicious foreboding in Marlo. Lucy was up to something.

“I don’t have time to play around. Who called?” Before Lucy could answer, Marlo’s eyes widened as Jake sauntered through their front door. Her heart did a traitorous flip. She willed herself to be calm.

“You can thank me later. Right now, I think I’ll just slip into the storeroom and rearrange the supplies.” With a wink, Lucy disappeared, leaving Marlo alone with the gorgeous Mr. Hammond. Marlo didn’t know whether to pop Lucy in the nose or hug her.

“I brought your check.” He tucked his hand into an inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a long white envelope.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to make a trip out of your way. You could have mailed it.” She was, however, glad he hadn’t. He was just as gorgeous as she remembered—and as sophisticated and charming, too. His smile was easy and his eyes intelligent-
looking. She gave herself a little mental slap. What was she doing fantasizing about a client? She knew perfectly well what she was doing. She was comparing him to the List, and so far Hammond was a very good match. A very good match, indeed.