Handyman Special

by Pamela Browning

  "Of course I do," he countered. "Doesn't everyone?"

  "Not in Willoree. Everyone here knows everyone else. We live in one another's pockets, so to speak."

  Their heels barked out a hollow sound on the boards of the dock. At the end of it was a round gazebo, roofed in shingles, with a wooden seat circling the inside. Sage sat down, throwing her head back so that the moonlight streaming in through the latticework sides patterned her small, even features.

  "What would the good people of Willoree tell me about Sage McKenna?" Adam asked lightly, sitting down beside her.

  She shrugged, slanting an oblique look in his direction. "You're bound to hear something from the local grapevine unless it's withered and died."

  "I'd rather hear it from you." In the moon-dappled darkness of the gazebo his eyes looked jet black, and they burned into her so uncomfortably that she turned her eyes away in sudden confusion and focused on one of the many cypress trees that grew in the shallow water along the shore.

  She drew a deep breath. "I've only lived here for six years," she told him. "Since my ancestors didn't float up the Pee Dee River on a cotton barge with the original settlers before the Revolutionary War, that makes me a newcomer in a place like this."

  "And how did you happen to come to Willoree?"

  "My husband—my ex-husband now—inherited the house I live in. His grandmother willed it to him, and so, being newlyweds living in a tiny apartment in Baltimore, we moved into it. The house was so run-down that we began fixing it up, learning home-repair techniques as we went along. I ended up with the house as part of the divorce settlement."

  "And your former husband?"

  "I've heard he's remarried and lives in a town called Marion, which is about forty miles from here. We don't keep in touch."

  "He doesn't see Joy?"

  "No. I have sole custody, and he never wanted visitation."

  "I see. And let me guess - he doesn't send you money for her support?" There was a cutting edge in Adam's voice.

  Sage shook her head. "Gary's never contributed any money, even though Joy needs special doctors and therapists. He blamed me for Joy's condition. He said he never wanted to see her again."

  "He abandoned his own child? And to saddle you with all the expenses! That's really callous."

  "So far I've been able to manage financially. As for Gary, everyone handles his feelings in different ways."

  "Don't make excuses for the man," Adam said, contempt dripping from every syllable. Visible anger churned across his face in shades of loathing and disgust. But underlying it all was a certain raw agony that flashed only briefly beneath the other emotions and then was rapidly stilled, as though he was ashamed of it. This was the first evidence Sage had seen of a private darkness in Adam, and she was curious as well as sympathetic.

  Sage let a few moments pass before saying quietly, "What's wrong, Adam?"

  He didn't intend to answer at first. But Sage's eyes swelled with compassion as she waited with her own special brand of insightful curiosity, and he found himself wanting to talk to her. Her own story had uncovered the scar of his past and laid it open like a fresh wound.

  "I don't tell many people this, but I was an abandoned child," he said slowly and deliberately, fighting to suppress the old pain. "Stories like yours make me angry."

  Moments ticked by, one by one, and the noise of the party drifted across the water like sounds of another world. The lapping of little waves at the dock pilings took on an exaggerated importance in the vacuum surrounding the two of them.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have been so candid," she said. "It's habit, I guess. As I said, everyone knows everything about everyone else in Willoree." She didn't add that this made it easy for people to support one another in times of trouble. It was one of the things she appreciated most about living in a small town.

  "I asked because I wanted to know. Never apologize for telling the truth."

  A long silence ensued, and for a while, Sage was at a loss for words. "Do you want to tell me what happened to you?" she asked softly when the silence had lasted too long.

  Adam stood and walked to the railing, looking out over the wide expanse of water. Here in Willoree, he was far away from where all the bad things had happened. Over the years, in all the towns where he'd lived, he'd felt like he was running away, yet somehow, now, with this woman in this place, he felt comfortable with letting down his guard. Maybe that was because she had been totally honest with him.

  When she rose and moved to stand at the railing with him, he leaned on it and spoke reflectively.

  "I was eleven years old and an only child," he said, and his enunciation flowed into a new cadence, more heavily accented. He sounded almost foreign. "I came home one day from playing and my family had moved out of the dingy little apartment where we'd lived for only a month. I spent weeks roving the streets of Boston—all the alleys, the dirty neighborhoods—eating out of garbage cans and being tormented by bigger boys in gangs. I was a throw-away kid, Sage, a kid even my own parents didn't want."

  This description of a traumatic event in Adam's childhood did not jibe with what Sage knew of him. It didn't account for the manners, the fine clothes, all the appurtenances of success.

  "What happened?"

  "I was picked up and sent to a charity home for boys. I lived there for a year." His words were terse, and Sage intuited that he was struggling to overcome the accent, which was now less pronounced.

  "And then?"

  "Someone adopted me," he said shortly. "A stroke of good fortune." He laughed without humor.

  "You never found your natural parents?"

  "Never. And I never want to find them." His voice was vehement, but strangely enough, the indefinable accent had gone. She studied his face intently, looking for the boy inside the man. She didn't see that boy—at least not yet.

  "I'm sorry, Adam," she said, looking at him sadly. There didn't seem to be anything else she could say. Nothing could make the pain of Adam's terrible childhood experience go away. Ever.

  He shrugged, then reached for her and drew her closer. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "It was a long time ago," he said. She drew warmth from him, and she found herself shaping her contours to the angles of his body.

  "Are you cold?" he asked suddenly.

  "Not anymore," Sage replied in a low tone. They watched the moving lights on the far shore, cars traversing the lakefront road below Kalmia Hill.

  Adam was embarrassed about his outburst. It seemed shameful, somehow, to have expressed his own wretched bitterness about his past when Sage's life had provided more than enough opportunity for rancor and disillusionment. Yet she had overcome the obstacles of her life and risen above them to become something quite special. Special, with unique abilities and a dauntless strength of character that few people could match.

  She was all woman, too, and her nearness aroused all his senses. He knew how his caress could excite her, and he wanted to excite her. Not here, though. Not now.

  "Will you come back to Kalmia Hill with me after the party?" he asked quietly.

  When she saw the passion deep within his murky dark eyes, when she saw the way his eyelashes drooped in blatant sensuality, she knew he wasn't inviting her over for a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

  Oh, she thought, I'm not ready for this.

  Nonsense, said another voice inside her. You were melting in his arms on Halloween night. If it hadn't been for Joy, you would have let him do anything he wanted, right there in front of that beautiful warm fire in the fireplace.

  Hardly, she shot back. He had to keep answering the doorbell.

  "Well?" he prompted. "Will you?"

  Still she hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted to get involved with Adam Hracek. Involvements had a way of becoming complicated. Her life was full and satisfying as it was, and only occasionally lonely. Well, perhaps more than occasionally lonely. But she could handle loneliness. She'd been doing it for years.

  Sage hung on the bri
nk, unsure whether her answer would be yes or no.

  And then a reply was no longer necessary. A cacophony of noise broke out in the house, and someone ran out onto the patio. Sage whipped her head around and recognized Fred Peterson, Olene's husband.

  His stricken voice echoed and reverberated over the lake. "Adam! Is that you? Sage? Come quick! Something's wrong with Ed!"

  * * *

  What ensued was a nightmare. Ed Sheedy, usually bluff and hearty and the life of any party, lay on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a stunned group of guests. One of the men was on the phone calling 911. Lyndell, white and shaken, appeared to be in shock. Betty Sue went quickly to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Someone called for smelling salts, and Sage hurried to rummage in Lyndell's medicine cabinet.

  As Sage returned with the smelling salts, Adam knelt beside Ed. Swiftly he positioned the heel of his left hand on Ed's breastbone, gripping his left wrist with his right. "I'm starting cardiopulmonary resuscitation," he explained tersely to the group as he applied steady rhythmic pressure to Ed's chest, trying to pump the heart into normality.

  Ed's eyes flicked open, and at that moment an ambulance arrived with a flashing of lights and a squealing of sirens.

  Lyndell, pale and calm, insisted on accompanying Ed to the Yewville hospital thirty miles away. Adam offered to drive her there, and Sage went to get a wrap for her.

  "Lyndell and I may be up all night," Adam told Sage in a low tone as the ambulance attendants settled Ed onto the stretcher. "You'd better go home and get some rest."

  "Will you let me know about Ed?" she asked, worried.

  "Of course," said Adam. He squeezed Sage's hand reassuringly before helping Lyndell into his car.

  After the ambulance left bearing Ed, its siren blaring, and after Adam had driven away with Lyndell, Sage endured a ride home with the Petersons.

  "I knew it was a heart attack right away," said Olene officiously. "The way Ed turned all gray and fell over. Did you see him clutching at his chest? Just like Edith Pierce when she dropped dead at bridge club. We suspected it had something to do with her low score, but maybe it was the crab cakes. Edith never did like crab."

  "Olene," said Fred patiently, "let's not talk about anybody being dead, all right? People survive heart attacks every day."

  "Well, not if they're as mean as Edith."

  "Olene. Stop." Fred let out a long and exasperated breath.

  The back-and-forth pettiness of the Petersons' conversation irritated Sage, and she remained silent in the back seat, wishing she didn't have to listen. Like everyone else at the party, she'd been stunned and shocked to see the normally vigorous Ed Sheedy slumped on the floor, his florid face ashen. She wished she hadn't seen it. She feared the scene would stay with her all night, imprinted on her brain, banishing sleep.

  When they dropped her off at her house, Sage thanked the Petersons for the ride. As quietly as possible, she let herself in the front door. First she tiptoed to check on Joy, who slept in the small dressing room off her bedroom. Joy was sleeping deeply and peacefully. Sage picked up old Watson, the one-eyed bear, from where he'd fallen on the floor and tucked him under the covers beside Joy, who sighed and stirred but didn't wake. Gently Sage caressed the child's face with one trailing finger, her heart brimming with maternal love.

  Then she went to her own bed, but she couldn't sleep. Instead she tossed and turned, worrying about Ed and wondering as the minutes slid by how she would have answered Adam's request that she return to Kalmia Hill with him after the party. She would have gone with him, she thought. Oh, yes, she would have.

  She woke at five o'clock when she heard an automobile outside. The Lamborghini glided so quietly into the driveway that Sage was surprised that she heard it at all; her ears must have been fine-tuned for it. She rolled out of bed and flung aside the curtain as the tall figure of Adam Hracek unbent itself and stepped out of the car.

  Sage tugged the comforter from her bed and wrapped it around her so that it covered her thin gown. Then she flew down the stairs to arrive at the front door by the time she heard Adam's footsteps on the porch. She threw the door open. Adam stood there, looking weary, needing a shave, and his hair rumpled.

  "Ed's all right," he said heavily. "For now."

  "Thank heavens," said Sage, pulling him inside. "Come into the living room and tell me all about it."

  "We won't wake anyone?"

  That possibility brought her up short with second thoughts. Sounds carried easily in this big, high-ceilinged house. Sage wasn't eager to be barraged with worried questions from Irma, Ralph, Poppy, Gregory, Hayley and Joy. The news about Ed could wait until morning after everyone had a good night's sleep.

  "Sage, will you come out and sit in the car for a few minutes? I'll turn on the heater. It won't take long to tell you about Ed."

  She hesitated only a moment. "All right," she said.

  In a gesture that Sage found inexpressibly tender, Adam reached out and wrapped the comforter more closely around her. Then, quietly, cautiously, they slipped outside, pulling the door closed as softly as they could. Sage's bare feet picked up the faintest hint of frost from the fallen leaves on the ground.

  She inhaled the pleasant fragrance of the Lamborghini's leather upholstery as Adam slid into the seat beside her and flicked on the car's heater.

  "Warm enough?" he asked.

  "Yes. Tell me about Ed."

  "Give me your hands," he demanded. She stuck both hands out from under the comforter and he rubbed them between his.

  "Your hands are cold as ice cubes. Better thaw them out."

  He lifted the gray rag-knit pullover he wore and planted her hands on his stomach, so that only the shirt he wore underneath separated them from his skin. She tried to yank her hands away, but he held fast. With one hand he pulled the sweater down. She felt his pulse beating steadily beneath her palms. It was profoundly distracting.

  Adam drew a deep breath. "Ed is in intensive care and will remain there until his condition stabilizes. He's had a severe heart attack, but his doctors expect him to survive."

  "Poor Lyndell," murmured Sage. "This must be a nightmare for her."

  "Lyndell's gone home to get some sleep. She's doing fine, Sage, especially since the doctors have told her that they think Ed will recover."

  "What effect will this have on Wilpacko Industries?"

  "This is a critical time, what with the changes they're making in their production line. I can run Wilpacko if Ed's okay with that. It'll mean spending more time on administration, but I can manage the plant and the move forward with the planned innovations."

  "Have you ever supervised a plant like this one?" she asked doubtfully.

  "The one in Italy was very much the same. I not only ran it but coped with the language barrier."

  "So you speak Italian?"

  "A bit. Say, do you always look so beautiful when you wake up at five in the morning?"

  The unexpected question flustered her. She shrugged slightly, and the comforter fell away, baring the graceful contour of her shoulder. Adam noticed, and despite his fatigue, a slight smile rounded his cheeks. "Do that again with the other shoulder," he said mischievously. "I like the results."

  "Give me my hands back," she insisted, pulling them away from the warmth of his body.

  "Only if you'll take mine," he said, and in a sudden breathtaking motion he released her hands and quickly and deliberately slipped his own broad hands under the comforter.

  The filmy gown she wore was not much protection against the cold, nor was it any protection against his hands. He liked stroking the smooth delicate fabric, and he liked the way her heart sprang to life at his touch. Warm—she was warm, and she was waiting. He watched her face through lazy-lidded eyes, becoming aroused at the flush that swept upward along her neck. He was titillated by the parting of her moist lips and at the sight of the tip of her tongue barely visible as she lost herself in sensation.

  Sage could n
o longer think. Thought was lost in the thundering of her pulse in her ears and in the warm, smooth, languid motion of Adam's hands. Time was lost and became meaningless as she was trapped in Adam's gaze. She liked giving him pleasure, and he was giving her so much. Her hands moved to cover his, lending her approval to their caress for brief seconds before she slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, thereby not only opening the comforter but also giving him access to her body.

  He whispered her name against her ear, and it unfurled into a long sibilant syllable that went on and on, the breath of it dizzying her. She moved her cheek upon his beard, letting the rough stubble graze her skin ever so softly, then taking the tip of his mustache between her lips and tugging at it gently. And then she permitted her lips to descend to his, barely touching them at first, then allowing the moistness to mingle, then nipping with her teeth until he sighed her name again and bent his head over hers in a kiss that reached down into the silent depths of her and touched her very soul.

  He dipped his hands into the loose front of her gown, cupping her softness in his palms, molding her breasts to the will of his fingers. He lifted his hands and slipped the slender straps of her silken gown off her shoulders so that the fabric fell shimmering to her waist, exposing her breasts to his wondering gaze.

  "You are so beautiful," he said, his voice low and throaty with emotion. "Beautiful beyond words." His hands trembled as he slipped the comforter up around her bare shoulders for warmth.

  And then it was pure ecstasy as he bent his head to her and sucked with easy measured movement, sending warm, heavy and pleasurably aching currents through her until she slid low in the seat beneath him, sinking into the soft, downy comforter and drawing him across the gap between the bucket seats and down with her.

  Her hands, blazing now with the warmth of his love-making, tipped his eyelids, his brows, furrowed through the hair at his temples. They came to rest on the tight muscles of his shoulders, pressing him closer. His mouth remained on her breast, evoking an urgency and longing for completion.