by Peggy Webb
“As long as she’s here she’s not forgotten. O’Banyon Manor is her home until we can locate her real one.”
The Bird Lady twirled toward them, then looked at Lance and stopped. “Jacky?” Standing on tiptoe, she cupped his face. “Are you my Jacky?”
“Who is Jacky?”
Confusion contorted her face. “He was in first grade and then....” She clapped her hand over her mouth and twirled off.
“Do you think she has a son?” Jolie asked.
“Could be.”
“Oh…just look at her.”
Standing beside one of the bird’s nests, the Bird Lady stroked a bright blue Christmas ball and crooned, “There, there, baby birdie, I’ll take good care of you.” Looking up, she said, “Jacky, come see. It’s a songbird.”
Her request tugged at his heart in ways Lance didn’t want to think about. Under any other circumstances he’d have set the woman straight, then walked away. But it was almost Christmas. What would it hurt to play along with an old lady’s fantasy?
“Pet him, Jacky,” she said, and Lance didn’t even feel foolish as he rubbed the blue glass ornament. What he felt was some long-buried tenderness and a thawing around his heart.
The Bird Lady rested her hand on his arm, swaying a little. “It’s the bluebird of happiness,” she whispered.
And he answered, “Yes, it is.”
“I’d like to sleep now.”
She was leaning heavily on him, and Lance picked her up and said, “I’ll tuck you in.”
“Can you carry her up the stairs?” Jolie said.
“Yes. She weighs no more than a baby bird herself.”
“Follow me.”
Jolie led him to a room with a rose-printed comforter and ruffles. Lance deposited the Bird Lady in a nest of pillows on the four-poster bed, then secured the windows.
“We’ll lock the door,” he said. “That way we can be certain she won’t run away.”
“Oh, no. What if she wakes up and gets scared? I’ll stay here and watch her.”
“She might sleep till morning.”
“That’s all right.” Jolie tugged off the cowboy boots and spread the quilt over the sleeping Bird Lady. “I’ll grab a book and something to eat. I’ll be fine.” She worried her lower lip. “Of course, that leaves you hanging around with nothing to do.”
“Don’t worry. I had expected to be here alone, anyway.” Seeing her crestfallen look, he added, “Having your company is a bonus I hadn’t counted on.”
Her glowing smile was his reward. “Okay, then. Will you watch her a minute while I go fetch my stuff?”
“Sure thing.”
Within fifteen minutes Jolie came back with one of her mother’s romance novels—steamy, if the cover was any indication—and an armload of junk food. All she lacked to withstand a siege was her makeshift flak gear.
“All set,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind being on your own.”
“Not at all.”
“The library is filled with books, the bubble is over the swimming pool in case you want to swim, the exercise room is in the basement and the kitchen is full of sandwich stuff. I’ll be right here.” She smiled. “Oh, and in case you want to call Elizabeth or something, don’t hesitate to use the phone.”
“I have my cell.”
“Well, naturally, but sometimes the signal gets messed up here. Shady Grove is not the center of the universe, popular opinion to the contrary.”
Jolie made it so easy to smile. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
He was at the door when she called him back. “You’re sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time.” All my life, he thought, though Jolie’s concern for his welfare touched him deeply. “Thanks, anyway.”
She unwrapped a candy bar and held it out. “Have a bite?”
“No, thanks.” Lance escaped. And just in the nick of time, for Jolie’s chocolate had gone soft and the bite she took left an endearing smear at the corner of her mouth. Besides that, she was making delicious humming sounds, and though he knew it was merely contentment over a candy bar, he had visions of another kind—Jolie in bed approaching the act of intimacy the way she did everything else, full speed ahead, no holds barred.
The swimming pool provided some relief, then afterward he worked himself into a lather on the rowing machine in the basement. No sense going soft while he was in Mississippi. Soft bodies could get a man killed.
What about soft hearts?
A vision of Jolie hovering over a homeless woman came to him, but Lance pushed it firmly aside. He had no intention of being seduced into letting down his guard.
Instead he called Elizabeth.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m here,” he told her.
“Great. I’m sorry my kid sister’s there. I know how much you were looking forward to a week of peace and solitude.”
“No, everything’s fine.”
“Kat means well, but she can be…scatterbrained at times. Just tell her no if she tries to rope you into one of her escapades.”
Let it go, he told himself. It would be the easy thing, but taking the easy way out was not his style. And besides, he couldn’t get that smear of chocolate out of his mind.
“Actually, I’m enjoying her company.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She’s a delightful young woman.”
“I’m glad you like her.”
“Yeah, she’s a great kid.” Though Elizabeth was one of the most levelheaded, feet-firmly-planted women he’d ever met, he didn’t want her getting ideas. “If the rest of your family is as nice as she is, this will be a memorable Christmas.”
“They are. Eccentric, but lovable. I hate to cut this short, Lance, but they’re yelling for me on the set.”
After he’d hung up, Lance sat in the gathering darkness thinking about twists of fate, about how a chance encounter at a small café in Italy had led him to the lovely, self-possessed woman who almost made him believe in himself again.
He’d met Elizabeth Coltrane shortly after the accident that had claimed Danny’s life. She was warm and beautiful, intelligent and easy to talk to, and he met her at a time when he needed to talk, when he was under fire from every major newspaper in the world, as well as his own conscience. Could he have saved his partner? Had he made major mistakes in the planning stages of the operation? Was he losing his edge? Those were the questions he’d asked himself.
Now, alone in the library, he listened to the quiet voice of the mansion, not a silence but an echo of Coltrane and O’Banyon voices, years of family history contained within the bricks and mortar Jolie Kat Coltrane called home.
A great sense of loss descended on him, and with it a longing so fierce he almost groaned aloud. Lance had no history and no place to call home. Not really. Except for his state-of-the-art kitchen, the apartment he kept in Atlanta was functional at best, a roof over his head, someplace to hang his hat between assignments.
He thought of Jolie upstairs curled into a chintz-covered chair with chocolate on her mouth, immersed in her book. Was she dreaming of romance? Of falling in love? Of a life that included happily ever after?
Who would the lucky guy be? Somebody she already knew? Somebody with parents and grandparents and a long, illustrious list of ancestors that went all the way back to the eighteenth century?
Lance stalked into the kitchen and snapped on the light. Jolie’s future was none of his business…but her immediate comfort was. There was no need for her to sit upstairs ruining her health on junk food when he was perfectly capable of providing a nutritious meal.
He would continue the search for the Bird Lady’s home tomorrow. Tonight he had another mission: making a pot of soup.
Chapter 5
Jolie crumpled the empty potato chip bag and tossed it into the wastebasket, then tiptoed to the bed to check on the Bird Lady. She was still sleeping, and if the deep sound of her breathing was any indicatio
n, she was out until tomorrow.
It was only nine o’clock. Jolie was in for a long night. As she walked around the room to stretch her cramped legs she wished for her nightshirt, her robe and another glass of Coke. Wasn’t it just like her to get stuck without all the things necessary for comfort? If she wanted to make real changes in her life, she’d better start being prepared.
Elizabeth never forgot anything. She noted everything in her day planner with copious sticky notes in bright colors coordinated according to the importance of the task: hot pink for urgent, yellow for sometime today, blue for when you can.
Personally, Jolie thought the sticky notes went a little too far, but first thing tomorrow she was going to buy herself a day planner…after she’d made a follow-up call to the SPCA about her job.
Feeling better now that she’d made strides toward self-improvement, she picked up the candy wrapper and licked away the last remaining bits of chocolate, then turned to page 150 in her mother’s romance novel.
She was the only one of her siblings who actually enjoyed their mother’s books, though Jolie knew for a fact that Matt had read a few when he was courting Sandi. Her sister-in-law had told her.
Elizabeth had read the first one and told Lucy how proud she was, but she didn’t have time to read the rest of them—fifty-something in all.
Jolie supposed most folks would look at her mother’s massive bibliography as the outpouring of a prolific writer, but she saw the array of novels in a different light: the fruits of a lonely woman.
Of course, when you considered that Lucy was happy now and still wrote just as many romances, Jolie’s logic didn’t hold up. Nothing new there. On a scale of one to ten, her logic skills ranked about two.
She was giggling over one of her mother’s comedic scenes when the door opened and in wafted the most delicious smell this side of heaven. Right behind the divine fragrance came Lance bearing a tray with three steaming bowls, two glasses of wine and a glass of tea.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Hungry? I’m starving. What smells so delicious?”
“Macadamia nut soup.”
“Wow. Where on earth did you find it? Mother didn’t tell me Shady Grove had opened a gourmet restaurant.”
“They haven’t. As far as I know.” He set the tray on the table beside her chair. “I made it.”
“You made it?” Drat. Wasn’t it just like Elizabeth to fall for the perfect man? Leather jacket, tender ways, good looks and a great cook to boot. Jolie could get depressed if she’d let herself.
“Cooking is a hobby. It beats movie violence posing as entertainment.”
“I enjoy a good blood-and-guts flick myself,” she said, and he smiled at her the way an indulgent parent would a wayward child.
“I see the Bird Lady is still sleeping.”
“Yes. I haven’t heard a peep. I guess she’s exhausted after scrounging for herself for so long.”
“Not to mention breaking and entering.”
While he pulled up the only other chair in the room, Jolie noted the linen napkins and the crystal vase with its single rose, obviously from the Don Juan climber in the rose garden. “This is mighty fancy,” she said.
“You deserve it,” Lance answered simply.
Her head grew about two sizes too big for her baseball helmet…if she’d been wearing it. In fact, the remark so flattered her and inspired her to fantasy that she forgot the soup.
“I’ll go down and fix you a sandwich if you’d like,” Lance said.
“No…oh, no. I love soup.” Good grief, she sounded like a simpering teen or else one of those women who batted her eyelashes and talked as if she had a mouth full of butter and honey. “At least I think I do.”
She dipped her spoon in and closed her eyes as she took a bite. With the next she rolled her eyes. And on the third she groaned as if she were in the throes of ecstasy. Which she was.
Lance smiled. “That’s the best endorsement my cooking’s ever had.”
Jolie took another bite. “Oh, my Lord, how did you make this?”
“With a little chicken broth, a few scallions, ground macadamia nuts and lots of cream added at the last minute.”
“No, I mean…practically anybody can read recipes. It takes a special skill to make them turn out right.”
“I take it you were cooking last night.”
She giggled. “Trying.”
His smile caught her unaware. It was glorious, starting at his eyes and spreading all over his face. And the way he was staring at her… It was enough to make her believe in impossible dreams.
“Jolie…”
“Hmm?”
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
Here it comes. He’s going to say he’s engaged to Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth and I…”
“I know. And believe me, I’m happy for you, I really am.”
“She told you?”
“Well, no, but it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. I mean, she’s beautiful and smart and successful and here you are....”
Jolie ran out of steam. All of a sudden she was so dejected she didn’t even want the world’s best soup.
“Here I am…what?”
“Well, for Pete’s sake. Look at yourself. You’re the world’s most gorgeous man, plus you have a heart the size of Texas and a noble streak as big as Kansas. Why wouldn’t Elizabeth fall for you?”
“Elizabeth and I are friends.”
“What are you saying? You broke up?”
“We were never together. We met in Italy, and she was kind to me when I needed a friend. I shouldn’t have let you run on the way you did, but every now and then a man likes to hear flattering remarks from a lovely woman.”
Everything vanished in a swirl—the soup, the room, the dear little lady on the bed, the remains of Jolie’s junk food binge. There was nothing left except her and the man who thought she was lovely.
“Really?”
“Yes. Most men won’t admit it, but we love having our egos stroked.”
“I mean, do you really think I’m lovely?”
“Yes.” That smile again. She reveled in it, bathed in it, got lost in it. Then ever so slowly Lance leaned toward her, and she got so nervous and excited she nearly fell off her chair.
He was going to kiss her. She could see it coming, feel it, taste it. She was actually getting ready to pucker up when he rubbed the side of her mouth with his thumb.
“You have chocolate here.” Oh, Lord, his hand on her face felt wonderful, miraculous. She wished she had chocolate from head to toe.
Keep doing it, she thought, and mercifully, he did.
“Right there,” he murmured, while his gentle touch turned her into a new woman. Somebody altogether different from cute, funny Kat Coltrane. She became scintillating, mysterious, glamorous…and totally off her rocker.
Pulling back from paradise, she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered calmly, then went on eating his soup. Naturally, he would. He was cleaning up her messy face, that was all. He hadn’t meant to set her imagination on fire and heat up her blood. He certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her.
And she was glad, she really was. She intended to put out the fire as quickly as possible, probably as soon as he left the room and she could breathe again. Jolie Kat Coltrane was busy becoming a new woman. She absolutely, positively did not have time to get sidetracked by a dangerously attractive man.
Instead she finished her soup…then gazed with longing at the extra bowl.
“Here.” Lance handed it to her. “I don’t think Birdie is going to wake up.”
“I was thinking the same thing myself.” Jolie had her spoon already poised over the bowl when she remembered her manners. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“Positive. There’s a potful in the kitchen.”
“Oh, goodie.”
Lance looked like a man holding back
laughter, and then he simply let it go.
“What?” she said.
“You.”
“I know. I’m silly.”
“No. Delightful. At times a little girl and other times…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he went to the bed and bent over the Bird Lady. When he sat back down he had the closed-up look of a man with secrets.
“Do you think she’s all right?” Jolie asked.
“Yes. She appears to be sleeping normally. I’ll stay with her the rest of the night.”
“There’s no need.”
“You look all tuckered out.”
“I’ll admit it has been a long day. But of course, you had the same long day.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Why?”
“Part of the job.”
She would have pursued the subject of his job but his look warned her away. Puzzled and saddened, Jolie wondered how she could have gone from lovely to outcast in the space of fifteen minutes.
It was just as well, for in spite of her staunch resolutions, she was having a hard time reining in her wild imagination and her stampeding heart.
“That’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to stay. Really.” After all, wasn’t he the one who had suggested they lock the door?
“I’ll stay. You go to bed.”
The look he gave her brooked no argument, and truth to tell, she was glad to escape.
“I’ll take the dishes on my way out.” She picked up the tray, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. Maybe for him to say Don’t go. Stay.
Instead he said, “Good night, Jolie. Sleep tight.”
It wasn’t Sweet dreams, but at least it was something.
In the kitchen she rinsed the bowls and started loading the dishwasher, but the call of gourmet soup lured her over to the stewpot.
She lifted the lid and there it was—five thousand calories per bite, the best soup she’d ever tasted, prepared by the world’s most delicious man.
Sighing, Jolie ladled out another portion. “I don’t care if it makes me fat,” she said. Then she put her bowl on the cooking island and ate the soup standing up. Just on general principle.
Chapter 6
It was perfectly natural for Jolie to wake up in a houseful of people, even complete strangers, for often her mother or Aunt Kitty and even Dolly Wilder, would invite someone to visit O’Banyon Manor. And often as not the guests ended up staying longer than they intended because they loved the quiet beauty of the northeast Mississippi hills and the warm hospitality of their hostesses.