A touch of love

by Conn, Phoebe

  This book made available by the Internet Archive.

  Life begets life. Energy creates energy. It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich.

  Sarah Bernhardt

  Startled by that reminder, Trisha inquired softly, "Do you suppose he's in the wrong room?" *

  "It's a distinct possibility, but didn't he turn in a regista-tion form when he paid his fee?"

  Trisha checked through the stack of papers on the desk, certain she would recognize his scrawl. "Yes, his is here. His name's Jesse, Jesse James."

  "Oh wonderful, a cowboy with a sense of humor. Sounds like he's just your type." Aubrey turned away as Trisha's grin widened. She scanned the room hurriedly to make certain they had set up enough chairs. The Pasadena Civic was a gloriously ornate auditorium from which the Emmy and Grammy Award shows were televised but the stark meeting rooms in the east wing possessed the hollow charm of an aircraft hangar.

  Aubrey made a mental note never to book another seminar in a location so lacking in ambience. Then, after clearing her throat, she began an enthusiastic greeting. With the poise of an accomplished actress and a honey-smooth voice, she made an instant impression on her audience. Her compelling warmth radiated clear to the attractive cowboy in the last row.

  "Good morning. I'm Aubrey Glenn, and most of you have already met my assistants, Trisha Lynch and Shelley Sandler." She paused while the two young women nodded to acknowledge her introduction. She then turned toward the young man who handled their sound and recording equipment. "Gardner Evans is our engineer. If you would like a tape of today's session, please speak to him during the break."

  Aubrey waited until Gardner had waved to the crowd, then continued speaking without referring to notes. "I want to welcome you to the first in a series of seminars which will provide an opportunity for you to acquire techniques which have the potential to improve every aspect

  of your life. Over six Saturdays, we'll be presenting proven ways to use creative imagery to banish stress, enhance your intuition, and achieve your personal and professional goals."

  "Bullshit," Jesse whispered under his breath. He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped down another couple of inches in his chair. He had deliberately chosen a seat on the aisle so he could stretch out his legs, but he was still far from comfortable. He was one of perhaps a dozen men in a room of nearly one hundred women. Everyone else sat perched on the edge of the chair, many clasping copies of Aubrey Glenn's bestselling book on creative imagery, The Mind !s Eye.

  He had assumed she would be dressed like a hippie in a long, flowing tie-dye outfit and dripping with crystal-encrusted jewelry. Not that he could recall hippies all that clearly. Born in 1958, he had spent the sixties in a grade school in a dusty Arizona town where fashion hadn't been a big priority. Regardless of his expectations, however, Aubrey's stylish, powder-blue knit dress was no disappointment. Its fluid lines showed off her slim figure to perfection. Even if he failed to agree with anything she said, she was no strain on the eyes.

  She was wearing sterling silver jewelry, but only a few pieces that appeared to be handcrafted. Her strawberry-blonde hair was a mass of curls that extended past her shoulders, and from the generous sprinkling of freckles dusting her pale golden skin, he thought her curls had to be natural. It was easy to imagine she had been an adorable little girl, for she projected a childlike innocence still. She was pretty with the natural, fresh-scrubbed look he had always admired, but he doubted he was her type, and that put the brakes on his interest real fast

  Jesse's attention strayed briefly to the petite brunette on Aubrey's right. She was dressed in a red plaid shirt and

  short black skirt. Her glossy hair curved under in a sleek pageboy, but although she glanced at him frequendy with an unmistakable invitation glistening in her dark eyes, he offered no equally encouraging smile.

  Nor did he find Aubrey's other assistant, a blonde with a shy glance, appealing. She was also in pale blue, but unlike Aubrey's, her gauze floral dress hid rather than enhanced her slender figure. He dismissed her as too reserved to provide the excitement he craved in bed, then reminded himself that he had come here with only one purpose in mind: to hear Aubrey Glenn. As he again focused his attention on her, his insolent expression mirrored his skepticism. He was clearly daring her to teach him something he was firmly convinced he damn well didn't want to know.

  People generally attended Aubrey's seminars to strengthen the skills she had covered in The Mind's Eye, but occasionally she encountered a disgrunded soul who either asked challenging questions or continually regarded her with a threatening stare. That the cowboy was apparently the latter type was a relief, and she simply ignored him.

  "My topic today is: following your heart. It's the path to your authentic self, and often revealed through intuition. Shakespeare said it best. 'This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.' " Aubrey paused while appreciative murmurs passed through the crowd.

  "We'll begin with an exercise to relax your muscles, and then move into guided imagery to free your mind. After the break, we'll give each of you a journal and some time to compose your initial goals. Then in the coming weeks, we'll work together, and in small groups, to give imagery to your dreams, and provide the tools to bring those images into reality."

  Aubrey concluded her introduction with a phrase many in the audience repeated with her.' 'Whatever we can imagine, we can achieve." She cued Gardner, who began the soft musical selection which would accompany the first gende exercises. As she encouraged everyone to draw in a deep breath, she saw the cowboy's head nod toward his chest. He certainly deserved high marks for relaxation. He was sound asleep.

  At the close of the seminar, more than half the participants came forward to ask Aubrey to autograph copies of The Mind's Eye. She complied, graciously writing a personal note in each. After she took time to evaluate the session with her assistants, it was past four o'clock by the time she began the four-mile drive home. As she pulled into her driveway she didn't notice the Chevy pick-up truck parked across the street until Jesse got out and started walking toward her. She slammed on her brakes and took the precaution of leaving her car parked in the driveway rather than putting it in the garage.

  There were half a dozen children playing baseball in a neighbor's front yard, but she didn't feel altogether safe as she quickly slid out of her Volvo and greeted him. "I no longer do private consultations, Mr. James. I thought I made that clear before we adjourned this afternoon." After the way he had bolted from the room when she drew the seminar to a close, she was astonished to find him there.

  That she knew his name, or at least the name he had given, brought a rakish grin to Jesse's lips. He had waited nearly two hours for her to arrive home and he was not in the best of moods. At least he hadn't been until she called him Mr. James.

  'That was a feeble attempt at humor. I'm Jesse Barrett," he said as he extended his hand.

  Aubrey had to juggle her notebook and purse to shake hands with him, but managed it without mishap. Up close she could see Jesse's tan was too deep to have come from a tanning salon and as she felt the calluses on his palm she realized he was exacdy what he seemed at first glance: a cowboy.

  While his eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat, they were as vivid a blue as Trisha had reported. His features were even but seemed to be permanently settled in a cynical frown that lifted only momentarily when he smiled. He was handsome, but his expression was so forbidding that she broke their contact as quickly as politely possible.

  "Mr. Barrett then," she began again.

  "I'm Edith Pursely's
nephew. She was certain you'd remember her."

  Although caught by surprise, Aubrey was greatly relieved by that announcement. She had the fondest memories of Edith Pursely, a charming woman who had always possessed immense enthusiasm and energy equal to that of her teenaged students. Relaxing visibly, she leaned back against her station wagon. "Mrs. Pursely was my favorite teacher, of course I remember her. How is she?"

  As Jesse debated how much to reveal, he glanced toward Aubrey's Spanish-style home. The two-story, tiled-roof house was painted a warm apricot shade with deep blue trim. He doubted the paint was more than six months old and the petunia-filled flower beds clearly displayed the owner's pride in the stately residence. The whole street was lined with an impressive array of distinctive homes built before tract housing became popular in Southern California.

  From what his aunt had told him, it was not simply this street, but the whole suburb of San Marino that conveyed

  the impression of long-established wealth and comfort. He was insulted Aubrey hadn't invited him to come inside her home after he had identified himself, and struggled not to let it show. He yanked off his hat and raked his fingers through sun-bleached curls that were several shades paler than his light brown brows and mustache.

  "I'm sorry to tell you that she's had a real rough time of it lately. She lost her husband five years ago, and she has arthritis that gives her quite a bit of pain. She wanted very much to attend your seminar, but she just didn't feel up to it. I was hoping you'd get home in time to visit her this afternoon. I hope it's not too late now."

  Aubrey found herself listening to the concern in Jesse's voice as well as his words. He had an accent, not a deep Southern drawl, but a very attractive accent all the same. Had she misread his preoccupied mood during the seminar as hostility, when in reality he had been worried about his aunt? Her first impression of people rarely proved to be wrong, but this appeared to be one of those times. Because she took great pride in her intuition, she was always embarrassed when it failed her.

  "I would love to see Edith. Is that why you came to the seminar, just to invite me to visit her?"

  The lie rolled easily off Jesse's lips. "Yes. She'd like very much to talk with you if you have the time. If now isn't convenient, then what about tomorrow?"

  Aubrey saw no reason to keep Jesse and his aunt waiting another day. She turned around, tossed her notebook into her car's backseat, and pulled her keys from her purse. "Why don't I follow you? Does she still live on Fletcher?"

  "I'll drive you over."

  Aubrey glanced across the street at Jesse's truck. It looked brand new but she shook her head. "Then you'd have to go to the trouble of bringing me back home later. I'll just follow you."

  Jesse's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded and crossed the jacaranda-lined street to his truck. Conscious of her gaze following him, he tried not to limp, but his long stride was never completely smooth by the end of the day.

  It took only a few minutes to cross into the city of South Pasadena. When they turned down Fletcher Avenue Aubrey recognized Edith's house immediately. She had been there often during high school when the drama department was preparing for a play. They had painted sets in the backyard and held cast parties there. It was a marvelous old house, built at the turn of the century, with a chimney made of stones dug out of the yard and a wide porch that extended across the front. The gray house looked forlorn in the late afternoon sun, and Aubrey feared both it and its owner had seen far better days. She parked behind Jesse's truck, and he immediately jumped out to come back and open her door for her.

  "Thank you, Mr. Barrett."

  "Jesse."

  Aubrey smiled. She had never thought of cowboys as having an abundance of manners, but she chided herself silendy that she was thinking only of Western movies that portrayed a fanciful view of life on the frontier rather than the present day.

  "You're a real cowboy, aren't you?" she asked rather shyly as they approached his aunt's front door. The walk was bordered by rose bushes in full bloom. The soil surrounding the gnarled old plants had been recently turned and rid of weeds. She thought it a good bet Jesse had been the gardener.

  "As real as they get," he replied. "I own a ranch in Arizona, but I try to visit my aunt at least once a year."

  "Arizona? Trisha will be disappointed to hear that. She was certain you were from Montana."

  Shocked by the accuracy of that guess, Jesse hesitated

  as he reached for the doorknob. "She's right. I was born there."

  "You see, intuition is an innate ability that can be fine-tuned."

  "So you say." Thinking it a poor time to pick an argument, Jesse pulled open the screen door and stood aside to allow Aubrey to enter his aunt's home.

  Visiting Edith Pursely was like stepping back in time. A quick glance around the front room revealed it to be unchanged since Aubrey had last been there more than a dozen years ago. Edith was seated in an overstuffed chair watching the early broadcast of the evening news, but she immediately turned off the television when she saw her guest.

  "Jesse told me he'd bring you home with him, but I didn't dare hope that he really would."

  Aubrey hurried to the smiling woman's side. Other than the fact her hair had gone from gray to white, Edith appeared as untouched by time as her home. Her fair complexion was still unlined and her figure was as trim as the day she had attended Aubrey's graduation.

  "All he had to do was mention your name." Without waiting for an invitation, Aubrey took the chair at Edith's left and leaned forward. "I was sorry to learn you've not been well. I wish I'd known. I would have come to see you much sooner."

  "He talks too much," Edith scolded, and with an embarrassed flutter of her hands she sent him away. "Go make us some tea, Jesse. Now that Aubrey is here we want to make her feel welcome."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Aubrey turned to watch as he left the room. "He seems like a very nice young man," she remarked in too low a voice for him to overhear.

  Edith beamed with pride. "Yes he is, and he's single, too.

  I know you're married, but perhaps you have an attractive friend who'd like to meet him. I'm sure he gets lonesome for women when he comes to visit me. He has lots of girlfriends at home."

  "Yes, I'm sure he must," Aubrey readily agreed. She glanced around the room again, and her eyes came to rest on the oil painting hanging above the fireplace. Roger Pursely had been an amateur artist, but unfortunately not a talented one. Obviously that didn't matter to Edith who continued to display his work. "I was sorry to hear about your husband. I'm divorced now, so I know how much you must miss him."

  Startled by that odd combination of comments, Edith adjusted her glasses to get a better look at her guest. Aubrey was as strikingly pretty as she had been in high school, but if Edith was not mistaken, there was a hint of sorrow in her manner, too. "Yes, I do miss him terribly. But what happened? You were popular and wonderfully easy to get along with. You are the very last person I would ever have expected to get a divorce."

  Edith hesitated, obviously expecting Aubrey to provide some details on the breakup of her marriage, but she was not even tempted. "No, I didn't expect it either." She was relieved when Jesse reentered the room and provided the perfect excuse to drop such a personal topic.

  Jesse placed the tray holding a ceramic teapot and three cups on the table beside his aunt. "Would one of you ladies like to pour the tea while I get the cookies?"

  "Ladies, " Edith whispered when they were again alone. "He's four years older than you are. Had I known you were divorced, I would have—"

  "Edith, please!" Aubrey couldn't help but laugh, for she and Jesse Barrett were an extremely unlikely couple. "I came here to see you, not to look for an eligible male."

  Edith's blue eyes sparkled with the mischief that had

  made her a popular drama teacher. "Serendipity exists, you know that it does."

  "Yes, that's certainly true, but—"

  Jesse returned then wit
h a plate of chocolate chip cookies his aunt had baked that morning. He could tell from the color in Aubrey's cheeks that they had been talking about him, and that didn't please him at all. In his aunt's view, it was high time he was married and had a kid or two. He didn't agree. Realizing he had forgotten the sugar bowl and lemon slices, he went back to the kitchen and this time also remembered the spoons and napkins.

  "I've not kept track of anyone from high school," Aubrey admitted, "other than to scan the San Marino Tribune each week for news of old friends."

  "I hear from quite a few each Christmas."

  "That's good. Is anyone doing anything particularly interesting?" Aubrey hoped to include Jesse in their conversation, but he seemed content to sit on the couch, sip his tea, and munch cookies.

  "Nothing to compare with your achievements," Edith revealed with a nervous smile.

  Aubrey was aware of a subtle change in Edith's manner. She glanced frequendy at her nephew as if expecting him to contribute some significant remark, but he remained silent until they had all finished their tea. Once they had finished exchanging pleasantries the conversation grew increasingly strained. Aubrey was looking for a graceful way to excuse herself when Edith suddenly set her cup aside and reached out to touch her hand.

  "I need your help."

  "Of course. I'll be happy to help you in any way I can," Aubrey said.

  "Roger was my second husband," Edith revealed with another anxious glance toward Jesse. "We had no children,

  but I had a son from my first marriage. I'm sure you never met him. Peter was grown before I ever started to teach."

  Aubrey tried not to let apprehension show in her expression, but she could not help but feel she had been lured to Edith Pursley's home under false pretenses. Edith was a teacher she had recalled fondly, but she could not work miracles for anyone, no matter how deep their faith in her might be. When she looked over at Jesse, he was regarding her with the same skeptical glance she had observed at the seminar. Clearly he thought her visit a waste of time, and she felt all the more offended.