“A helper? Me? Don’t you think I’m doing a good job?”
“Of course you are, Jane, it’s not anything bad about you. The guy’s had it rough — he has PTSD and was on the street for a million years, and he asked if he could work with the horses. He’s a veteran. I didn’t have the heart to say ‘no.’ There’s something about him, Jane. He’s got this uncomplaining, suffering thing … ” As Mark described Mac, Jane felt her shoulders relax. She was a sucker for strays, of all species, and was pleasantly surprised by Mark’s concern for the unfortunate Mac. It made her like Mark even more.
Jane glanced from Mark to the window and scratched her nose. She squinted back at him and was about to speak when he added, “You know that Hanoverian stallion you fell in love with? I bought him. He’ll ship next week. I was going to surprise you.”
“Well now, I really can’t say no, can I? Well played, sir,” Jane laughed. “Does this Mac even know anything about horses?”
“I assumed he did when he asked to work with them. I guess we’ll find out. He speaks Spanish,” Mark lamely offered.
To which Jane teasingly laughed, “Oh, why didn’t you say so! He can give the horses Spanish lessons, and I’ll teach them lines from Shakespeare, and it’ll all be grand,” and then thinking out loud — a habit she had, which utterly charmed Mark, “well, I can actually use the help, especially with the stallion. Pretty soon, I’ll be bringing all the horses in at night, and that’s a lot of poop to muck,” and then turning to Mark, “Actually, if this Mac knows anything about horses, the timing is great.”
Brightening, Mark said, “Now, don’t kill me, but I’ve got another favor to ask.”
“Not killing you is already another favor. You only get three — anymore and you’ll be over quota. You’ll have to toss one back,” she said playfully.
“This last one is fun. It’s that time of year when Hannon Farm hosts a fall party,” Mark said. “It’s both a tradition and an obligation: My mother always planned these things, and now the duty has fallen to me. And when I say ‘me,’ I mean ‘you and me.’ It won’t be difficult — we’ve hosted this party for twenty years, so it’s pretty self-performing. I have a list of to-do’s, but I need you in the loop so you can make decisions in case I’m not here. Would you mind? My assistant is good with smaller events in the city, but I’d really like a partner here at the farm. Are you game? I promise it won’t take up a lot of your time.”
Jane was excited by the prospect of a party at the farm. “Are you kidding? I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday next to Christmas.” She immediately suggested a good, old-fashioned masquerade ball, “We could have a hayride with the new tractor, and everyone can come in formal costumes. It’ll be great fun, and good PR for the farm,” she said excitedly.
“Let’s call it ‘The Dragon’s Ball’,” she said. “The locals and their kids, and your clients will love it. And, the whole party could be coupled with a charity fundraiser. We could have a headless horseman appearance — oh, Halloween is just so much fun!”
Jane was pleased when Mark agreed to a Halloween theme. She glanced at her watch and told Mark she expected Ben, the farm vet, in a few minutes and asked if they could discuss detailed party plans later.
Mark, reluctant to end their meeting, threw out the first jest he could think of, “By the way, Jane, I could use those Shakespeare lessons. We shouldn’t let all your training go to waste.”
“You’re on,” she called back over her shoulder, “but I expect to be paid — you can balance my checkbook for me.”
On her way back to the stable, Jane smiled. She enjoyed teasing Mark and their easy bantering. And she felt she’d glimpsed another layer in his personality — he was a definite softie. She knew he was a fierce businessman, but she liked that he genuinely seemed to want to help people, like this Mac guy, and that he wanted her to be happy, too. After all, he was her boss. He didn’t have to ask her permission to hire anyone and was free to assign him wherever he wanted. But he did ask her. It made her feel that she mattered, that she wasn’t just some subordinate. She was also happy about being asked and trusted to help plan a party with him, even without reading too much into his having said he wanted a “partner.” And she was happy because it was a fine, clear, crisp day. She set a brisk pace back to the barn, smiling all the way.
Chapter Five
Mark didn’t think there was any harm in asking Jane to dinner at The Tavern in Gladstone so that they could plan the party in earnest. He knew most of the vendors they would need, and his mother had left a list of contacts for him — which decorator she’d used in the past, which talent agency for music, who to use for invitations, and the like. Phillips would take care of the consumables. But Mark wanted to get Jane’s ideas, too. He wanted her to feel included. Her enthusiasm was infectious — she’d already conceived of a great theme for the party — and he thought it would be nice for her to get off the farm for a change.
He decided not to call her on the cell, but to walk about until he ran into her “accidentally.” He needed a walk anyway and headed toward the stable first. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the image of Jane instructing the horses in soliloquies from Hamlet, while Mac translated into Spanish.
Mark, who had never known any material want, who was a beloved only child of great parents, had a keen admiration for those who had been less fortunate. He had found Jane uncomplaining — she was no one’s victim. But he had also come to know that she’d been very poor, raised by her mother with her two brothers, and that she’d been self-supporting after high school. She impressed him. He had never had to triumph over any of the challenges she had faced. He found himself wanting to ease her life, if he could, if it was within his power. He thought people like Jane and Mac and Phillips were the ones really worth knowing. People like my parents, who had made their fortune from nothing. He, too, had made his own money, but he’d been given every advantage to do so, and he knew it.
He saw Jane in the adjacent outdoor riding arena, finishing a lesson. “Okay, drop his head, and give him a nice rub on his neck, and tell him what a good boy he’s been.” As the young rider crooned to her mount and dropped the reins to let him walk out, Jane gave the English Setter, who stood patiently by her side a quick obedience lesson. The dog had come to the farm as a gift from a family who found his energy levels too high. On the farm, he could run free, swing home for dinner, and cozy into the farmhouse with the Golden Retriever and the big mutt at night.
Jane had adopted them all out of the stable where they’d been living, and had been training them. The setter, whom Nora had named Vincent, was the most intelligent of the crew. The retriever was Dega, and the big, ridiculous-looking mutt was Frankendog, Frank for short. “Sit, Vincent,” Jane commanded and then laughed and roughed his neck when he obeyed. Mac had started in the barn earlier that day and was throwing the night’s hay down from the loft. “Heads up,” he bellowed, though no one was below.
Mark leaned on the fence and watched Jane finish the lesson for both rider and dog. “Don’t tell me you’re actually civilizing that hound,” he called out to her.
Jane smiled and waved back at him and said, “He’s very smart — I have to spell words like o-u-t so he doesn’t get too excited.”
“Ah, but is he balancing your checkbook?”
“No,” she said, strolling toward him, “but then neither are you.”
“Well, bring it to dinner, and I’ll take a crack at it.”
“Dinner?” she cocked her head.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I thought since you’re helping me with the party, it was the least I could do. I mean … ”
“Oh!” she stammered, mortified that he might think she was insinuating that the invitation was some kind of date. “Dinner to plan the party. That would be great. When did you have in mind?”
“If you have no other pl
ans, tonight,” Mark suggested.
“That works for me — what time?”
I know you get up at the crack of dawn,” Mark said, “so, early — how about seven?”
“Great. Do you want to drive together or meet there?”
“I think we can drive together without compromising our reputations. I’ll pick you up at quarter to.”
Mark was pleased that Jane would have dinner with him and looked forward to getting to know her off the farm. Mark had seen a lot of women in britches and boots and thought Jane stacked up with the best of them. She managed to look utterly feminine, no matter what she had on. Even oversized khakis could not conceal her athlete’s firmness. He admired her capable strength and discipline. He never would have thought that any of the dogs, especially the hyper Vincent, would attach to anyone. He’d seen enough Cesar Milan episodes to know that Jane must have a gift for gaining an animal’s trust. He tucked this insight into the enlarging area of his mind reserved for observations about Jane O’Hara.
Chapter Six
Jane hurried through the afternoon feeding and barn chores and asked Mac to top off the water buckets. She hurried to her farmhouse, showered, and threw on black dungarees, a black jersey, and topped it with a little leather biker jacket. Rushing around brought color to her cheeks, and she ran downstairs when she heard Mark ring the doorbell.
When they were finally seated at The Tavern and had ordered dinner, Mark said, “So, let’s talk Dragon’s Ball. What do you have in mind?” and took a small notepad and pen from his inside jacket pocket.
“Let’s see, Halloween parties can be fairly inebriating affairs where I come from, so have you thought about accommodating your guests for overnight, if need be?”
“I’ll hire a limousine service for the New Yorkers,” Mark said as he made a note. “The locals are on their own.”
“What about music? Good bands book up pretty quickly.”
Mark made a note to contact the talent agency his mother used and asked Jane, “Should we go with classical or rock?”
“Classical?” Jane was incredulous. “On Halloween? Big bands can be cool, but most people will prefer your classic rock, don’t you think?”
“Let’s do both swing and rock and alternate?” Mark offered.
“I like the cut of your jib,” she said. “What about food? I’m guessing Phillips arranges that?”
“Yes, Phillips will contact vendors he’s used in the past and will present us with menus and costs. I’ll eat anything, so, you can choose if you like. Oh, and if you could help the decorator with decisions, I’d really appreciate that. I’m lost at that kind of thing.”
Jane said, “I’d be happy to. I love decorating. We should also put out some personal touches — you know, your favorite bubbling cauldron, pumpkins we carve ourselves. Phillips’ kids might enjoy carving pumpkins, which reminds me: will there be a lot children at the party?”
“The locals will bring kids, but they’ll leave early. The New York crowd will definitely leave the niños at home — besides, most of them are single or between marriages. Maybe we could offer a prize for the best kid’s costume? Scholarship money for their college fund or something,” Mark suggested, “my clients don’t need the money, but a lot of the locals aren’t so rich.”
Again, Jane warmed to Mark’s feeling for those less fortunate than himself. He really was very sweet, she thought. “Definitely,” she said, remembering how difficult her own college funding had been. “Oh, and how about a bachelor, bachelorette ‘match’ for charity? You know, everyone who is single tosses their name in a bonnet and cap, and the matches are made by drawing.”
“That’s a great idea. My clients can afford ten grand apiece, or they can stay on Match. Maybe we should make them put in their Match pictures — you know, woman on the beach in a wet suit with her Italian Greyhound — like that doesn’t tell a story!” Mark joked.
“You’ve been reading my profile, I see,” Jane laughed, and then quickly added, “Just kidding — I’m not actually on Match.” (“Yet,” she added, under her breath.)
“So what charitable causes do you like, Jane? What should we support?”
“Oh, anything with animals or kids is fine with me — as long as I don’t have to watch the infomercials,” she added.
“I know, right?” Mark exclaimed. “The sight of Marlo Thomas makes me bawl like a baby.” Switching a gear, Mark said, “I’ll throw in fifty, providing I don’t have to throw my name in the hat.”
“Are you kidding? You’re on last month’s cover of GQ with Leonardo DiCaprio for God’s sake. You have to be a contender. But I’m exempt,” Jane laughed.
“No way. It’s your idea — you’re in, missy. Hey, wouldn’t it be a laugh if we drew each other?”
As the waiter set down their meals, Mark asked if there was anything more that Jane could think of that would ensure the success of the party. She paused thoughtfully and said, “How about a gypsy fortuneteller? I have a girlfriend who gives psychic readings. I could see if she’s interested. She’s very serious about the ethers — or is it the vapors?”
“That would be outstanding. Can she tell us when the market will get freaky or who’s going to win the Super Bowl?”
“Rachel doesn’t have that kind of connection with the spirits, Mark. She’s more of a character reader. But she’s eerily good at it. Believable and kind of spooky. Even I have a hard time being alone with her sometimes. I mean, I love her to death, but sometimes she freaks me out — like my future lies naked before her,” Jane said, in her wooo-wooo voice.
“Even better — and, I’m not gonna lie: the idea of one woman’s anything lying naked before another is kind of arousing,” he grinned.
Jane, caught off guard by Mark’s innuendo, smiled and blushed and quickly looked down at her plate, at a loss for that sassy, saucy comeback that would have come in so handy. Instead, she was Jane, the postulante, the novitiate, the nun-bun in the oven. For Pete’s sake, she thought. Say something.
Mercifully, Mark threw her a rope, laughing warmly, “I’m sorry, I’m a guy! You can’t say ‘naked’ to me without my inner twelve-year-old coming out.” Without skipping a beat, he resumed the gypsy topic, “It wouldn’t be Halloween without a fortuneteller on deck. I hope your friend can come.”
Jane asked whether Mark had thought about security, and said, “I think Mac could knock some heads if you need him to. He’s an ox.”
“Good to know,” Mark said, “I’ll ask some of the men to keep an eye on things, too. But it’s not typically a violent crowd.”
They ate for a few seconds in silence. Mark piped up, “Can I ask you a really personal question?”
“Sure, but I may decline to answer,” she warned.
“Have you ever been married?”
“Alrighty then, that is personal,” she laughed and added, “Nope, I’ve had a couple of near misses, but no, never married. What about you?”
Mark laughed, as Jane had come to know, easily and often. He shrugged, “No marriages, no near misses, even. I guess I never found the right girl,” and bit the matter off with a smile.
• • •
Mark didn’t drop Jane off until nearly nine, and while she didn’t want to be rude, her days began at five-thirty A.M. He had insisted on walking her to the door, however, and then asked if she would let him come in, just for a minute, to see the place, as it had been a long while since he’d been inside the old farmhouse. Jane had enjoyed their dinner so much, she agreed, figuring she’d just have to sleep harder and faster.
“Would you like a beer?”
“Perfect,” he said. “You know, this house is my mother’s favorite. She always says she’d rather live here than in our house. She says that about all the little places she fixes up on the property, but she means it with this house. My parents lived i
n it, you know, while they were renovating the big house. I was in college then.” Mark looked at Jane and asked, “Are you happy here, Jane?”
“Oh, yes, most definitely. Your mother certainly went to pains to bring this place forward,” Jane observed. “It’s really the most extraordinary house I’ve ever lived in. It has all of the charm of an old farmhouse, but modern and comfortable at the same time.”
Jane’s tastes in furnishings resembled Nora’s: lots of picture rugs, overstuffed sofas and chairs, and all of the flourishes that made her house seem cozy and warm. She led Mark through the foyer and living room, past her favorite leather club chair, down the wide hallway, and into the thoroughly modernized kitchen.
“The place looks great, Jane. It’s so … homey.”
“You can thank your mother — she insisted on new appliances and of course most of the really good antiques she had acquired. I brought a few old pieces, and the newer furniture is mine. But your mom really has an artist’s eye for interior design.”
Surveying the room, “It looks like you belong here,” Mark said as he relaxed against the island counter. Jane turned to him from the refrigerator, and as she offered him his beer, he took her wrist in one hand and slipped his other around her waist and pulled her close to him. He didn’t strong arm her. His touch was more of a suggestion, a request really, to come to him. “Jane,” he smiled softly and kissed her. He felt her unresisting acceptance of him as she melted into him. He deepened the kiss. He felt her yielding to him, matching him, their hearts beating together as he settled into the kiss, which both had good reason to stop, but neither did.
Mark had been leaning against the island counter, but he turned her so that her back was against the counter and continued to press himself against her even as he held her close, bending her backward over the counter, forcing her hips to rise toward him. He felt her body liquid and warm as he held her tightly, burying himself in her curves and exploring her with all his senses. He bent her further back on the counter, so that she clung to him, and he felt her warmly inviting him.
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