by Judy Baer
“They make a lovely couple.”
“He’d be perfect for you. I wish you’d start dating again. You are simply too fussy about men. Charlie was a nice guy.” Lucy scowled. “Maybe it’s that dumb list of yours.”
Lucy referred to Marlo’s latest ex-flame. Marlo felt no regret at encouraging Charlie to date other women or the fact that he’d actually become engaged to one of them. They would never have made it as a couple.
He’d gone to church with her. He’d attended Bible study with her. But he’d been going only to please her. None of it meant much to him—other than the fact it was a way to make points with her. That didn’t work for Marlo. Charlie needed to do those things for himself, and until he did they couldn’t be on the same wavelength. If the spiritual connection wasn’t in place, then a romantic relationship wouldn’t work either. Sincere, active faith was the first item on the Cinderella List, and there would be no negotiation there. When she checked that item off her list, it had to be for real.
“Charlie needs to have his own relationship with God. I’m not a proxy who can do it for him.”
“At least you aren’t like most of the single women I know.” Lucy plucked a stray radish from a plate of crudités. “You don’t talk nonstop about your biological clock.”
“Unfortunately, I think mine ran out of batteries, got unplugged or something. I wish I could find a man who could jump-start it for me.”
“You probably have Jeremiah Cole to thank for that.”
Tall, blond, tan, rugged in a surfer sort of way, he’d swept her off her feet the first time they met. She only found out later that he, with his compelling green eyes and smooth words, had a way of sweeping many women off their feet.
It had been a dreadful time. Marlo had been planning her own fairy-tale wedding—and might even have gone through with it, had she not caught her fiancé and his “other woman” in a cozy tête-à-tête in a downtown hotel restaurant. She knew for sure what it felt like to have a broken heart—one shattered like a piece of brittle glass.
Marlo despised revisiting that time in her life, but it was impossible to avoid sometimes, especially when someone new expressed a romantic interest in her. The experience had colored every relationship she’d had since, and her views not only about immoral men, but about soulless women who were willing to step into an existing relationship and break it apart.
“I learned a few things back then, Lucy. It wasn’t all wasted.”
What she had learned was that men were not to be fully trusted, because they could be comfortably engaged to one woman and dating another. She also learned that no matter how much she cared about someone, she would never pursue him if there was someone else in his life. She learned that the last thing she would ever be was the other woman.
It was painful even now, months after the breakup. “I thought that we’d be perfect together, and look what a mess that turned out to be. This time I’ll wait for God to handpick someone right for me, and stay out of the selection process.”
“Admirable,” Lucy said. “It’s going to take an act of God to find someone for you. I worry that the standards you’ve set for your ideal mate are so high that no one will ever match your qualifications. You’ll regret that Cinderella List of yours.
“Jake Hammond is a perfect match in the physical looks category. Did you see what happens to his eyes when he smiles? They crinkle up and practically dance with laughter.” Lucy gazed dreamily into the glass-fronted refrigerator, swollen with food they’d transferred from the coolers in the van. “And you could hardly miss the way he fills out a suit. He must lift weights, don’t you think?”
Marlo thrust a tassle-topped toothpick into a meatball and handed Lucy the tray. “Scram. These go to the table.”
“If I can’t think about men, I can still imagine living in this house and cooking in this kitchen,” Lucy continued. “The parties we could have. Elegant, sophisticated…crème brûlée at every meal…truffles…caviar…sushi….”
“Crème brûlée at every meal? I don’t know.” Marlo tapped her finely shaped chin with a fingernail, as if trying to imagine it. Simultaneously, they looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Let’s party.”
Every time Marlo entered the vast dining and living room areas of the house to refill plates, her eyes scanned the room for Jake. The consummate host, he continually circled the room, speaking to every single guest as he moved. She noticed, however, that there was one guest who received more of Jake’s attention than the rest. An elderly woman with snow-white hair, pink cheeks and miles of wrinkles etching her face made her way slowly across the room, leaning heavily on a burled wood cane. She reminded Marlo of Britain’s Queen Mum. When she approached a group, conversation slowed and those in the group became very deferential, almost obsequious. Only when she left would they start their animated chatter again.
Jake, however, didn’t show the same reverence for the old woman. Each time he came around to her, their heads bent together, dark and white, and he would whisper something in her ear that made her smile. Curiosity ate at Marlo. What was their relationship? she wondered. What could a pair like that have in common?
About halfway through the evening, Marlo found out. The kitchen door opened and the regal little woman entered, surreptitiously escorted by Jake.
“I don’t think they saw us leave,” Jake said.
The old woman bobbed her head. “Good. That’s the stuffiest crowd I’ve been around in a long time.” She looked at Marlo, who was staring slack-jawed at the pair. “Jake said you’d make me a sandwich. I haven’t had supper and no amount of finger food will fill me up like a peanut butter and banana sandwich will. Jake will join me.”
Jake moved to the cupboard and took out the ingredients. He held up a banana from a fruit bowl on the counter. “Do you mind?”
Marlo stifled a laugh. “Of course not. Do you have any preferences? Thick chunks of banana? Thin?”
“Thick,” he and Bette said in unison.
As the caterer began to prepare the sandwiches, Jake said, “This is Bette Howland, grand dame of the horse world in these parts. She’s also my godmother and one of my best friends.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Marlo Mayfield.” She took a plate of sandwiches to the table. “Milk?”
Bette looked at Jake with a twinkle in her eye. “A woman who can cook. You should be nice to this one, Jake.” Eyeing the attractive caterer, Jake couldn’t disagree.
“Too many of these pretty young things after Jake are useless in the kitchen. Don’t know how they get by with it, but it’s shameful. Don’t they know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
Bette turned again to him. “Right?”
“Absolutely.” Jake smiled, glad to spend a few minutes with Bette, away from the gathering in the other room. But after gulping down a half a sandwich, he pushed away from the table. Realizing he should get back to the party, he said, “Bette, I’ll come and get you in a few minutes.”
The elderly woman waved a sandwich in the air as if to shoo him away. “Take your time, dearie,” she said, watching Jake leave.
Bette turned her bright eyes and full attention on Marlo.
“You’re a pretty thing. Jake could do much worse than you.”
Marlo felt a blush burning up from her neck. “I’m just the caterer.”
Bette snorted. “That has nothing to do with anything. Jake doesn’t have a pretentious bone in his body, unlike his father, I might add. Jake is like his grandfather, Samuel, my brother.” Her expression softened. “Those two are cut of the same cloth—compassionate, fair, loving. And Jake, bless his heart, puts up with a crotchety old woman like me.” She lowered her voice. “We go out on dates, you know.”
She grinned at Marlo’s puzzled expression. “Movies no one else thinks I should see—action-adventure mostly, suspense, mystery. Gory ones sometimes, although Jake refuses to take me to a horror movie. He’s afraid I might like them. Then we eat at a little diner aroun
d the corner from the movie theater. Oh, the heartburn I get!” Bette said happily. “I just love that boy.”
The old woman’s eyes turned sly. “I think you’d love him, too.”
Marlo didn’t doubt it. Bette had just described a man that fit perfectly with the List. Unfortunately, that was Jake’s decision, not Bette’s.
At that moment the kitchen door burst open. “Come on, Bette, let’s stroll back in like we’ve never been gone,” Jake said. Bette jumped to her feet as though that cane of hers was a mere prop, and they vanished together into the din in the other room.
A big grin spread across her face. She liked Jake Hammond.
Two hours later, Marlo and Lucy were eyeing the last of the meatballs, a single plate of veggies and dip and the empty trays they’d stacked on the kitchen counter.
If the guests didn’t quit eating soon, they would run out of food. Hammond had told Lucy there would be twenty or thirty people in attendance, but there were at least fifty. Marlo hoped they had cans of smoked oysters in the van. Perhaps they could do something with them on a cracker.
As she planned their next move, the kitchen door swung open and Jake strode in. His tie was loosened and pulled to one side, the top button of his shirt open, as if he’d worked up a sweat entertaining the crowd. “I had no idea I’d invited a plague of locusts to this party,” he said apologetically, his eyes warm with sympathy, “but they love your food. The guests are leaving with truffles in their pockets and sushi in their purses.”
He grinned impishly and a slash of appealing dimple appeared in one cheek. His skin tone was that of an outdoorsman, tan and healthy-looking, not the pasty look of an office-dwelling architect. “My reputation as high-class host is sealed, thanks to you.” With a thumbs-up, he disappeared again into the din in the main room.
“That was thoughtful,” Lucy commented. “It was as if he read our minds.”
“Not mine.” Marlo tapped a finger to her temple. “There’s nothing up here to read.”
“Reading your mind is like trying to read a newspaper while riding a Tilt-a-Whirl,” Lucy said cheerfully. “There’s too much happening at once to make any sense of it.”
Marlo wasn’t sure she liked the analogy, even if it was apt, but she didn’t have time to debate the statement. She and Lucy needed to make the serving trays and platters discreetly disappear in the next few minutes.
By eleven, the kitchen was spotless and most of the guests had taken their leave, except for Sabrina the kittenish blonde attached to Jake by Super Glue. Marlo had watched them all evening, as she moved in and out of the main rooms refilling trays and removing dishes. There was something so engaging about Jake Hammond that she couldn’t tear her eyes from him.
As if thinking of them actually conjured them up, they walked into the kitchen looking like a pair of dolls, Soiree Sabrina and her boyfriend, Tuxedo Jake.
“I’ve called you a cab,” Hammond was telling Sabrina as they entered.
She pouted. “I’m not done partying yet, darling.”
“Then you’ll have to find someone else,” Hammond advised her pleasantly, his charm not slipping for an instant. “I’m out of steam.”
“But you promised—” Her words were cut short by the sharp blast of a horn.
“Cab’s here. Come on, sweets, I’ll tuck you in and pay the fare.” Smoothly, Hammond navigated his reluctant package toward the door.
Chivalrous. Check.
Only moments after they’d left, the door swung open again and the party’s other host, Randall Hammond, strode into the room. The senior Hammond was shorter than his son by two or three inches, strong-looking but thin and sinewy, like, Marlo mused, a piece of human beef jerky. There was a hardness about the man, an inflexible, unbending quality, totally unlike that of his son. As much as Marlo had liked Jake upon first meeting him, she felt conversely wary of his father.
But perhaps she’d judged too quickly, since the first words out of his mouth were a compliment. “Well done. My guests appreciated your hard work.” His pale eyes darted around the room. “Is Jake…”
“He’s outside. He sent for a cab and…”
“He’s sending Sabrina home in a cab? Odd. He always drives her home.” The older Hammond appeared puzzled. “Those two usually close down every party. What a pair they make.” He looked both pleased and paternal at the notion.
Another man of Randall’s age strolled through the kitchen door. He held the hand of a child with bright eyes, a curious expression on her perfectly oval face and a mass of blond curls cascading down her back.
Marlo couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a child so beautiful.
“It’s time to get you home to bed, Cammi.”
“Not so soon, Grandpa. I don’t have school tomorrow.” She released her grandfather’s hand and skipped to the glass-fronted refrigerator and pressed her nose against the glass. “I’ve never been in this part of the house before. It’s fun.”
“Your grandmother never uses that adjective to describe her kitchen, I’m afraid,” the child’s grandfather said, with a chuckle. “I’m not sure that she’s even visited her kitchen lately, except for the occasional glass of water or to harass a caterer or two.”
“Oh, Grandpa!” Cammi chided. “I’m telling.”
“Don’t you dare, little miss.” He leaned down to pick her up and the child wrapped her arms around his neck. “Your grandmother will insist on coming along on our dates if she thinks we’re having too much fun. Besides, if your aunt Sabrina has already left, you know we’ve certainly overstayed our welcome!”
The child giggled and buried her nose in her grandfather’s collar. The little girl already possessed some of Sabrina’s stunning good looks. It must be nice to be part of such a genetically blessed clan, Marlo mused.
“Ladies,” Randall Hammond said, “this is my friend, Alfred Dorchester, and his beautiful granddaughter Cammi.”
Alfred smiled pleasantly and tipped his head. “Nice to meet you.” Cammi, still smarting from her grandfather’s refusal to stay any later, remembered her manners and mumbled, “Hello.”
Alfred’s gaze found that of the older Hammond. “Randall, I just came to tell you that Cammi and I are leaving. I’ll stop by the stables tomorrow.”
“Me, too?” Cammi put the palms of her hands on her grandfather’s cheeks. “Can I come, too?” Seeing her grandfather hesitate, she turned to the elder Hammond. “Can I?”
Randall Hammond fondly stroked one of the child’s long, tight curls with his forefinger. “If you do, you can see our new colts,” he offered. It was clear that both men adored this beautiful child.
“Unless your mother doesn’t want you to be a tomboy tomorrow.”
Cammi wrinkled her nose. “Bor—ring.”
Laughing, the men exited the kitchen. Only the little girl, looking back over her grandfather’s shoulder, waved an acknowledging goodbye to Marlo and Lucy.
Jake returned immediately to the kitchen after tucking Sabrina into a cab, his interest piqued by the long-legged, dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty in the kitchen. It wasn’t often that someone so appealing or charismatic showed up in his life. He was accustomed to beautiful and sophisticated women, but this one displayed a good-natured charm that captivated him.
“Your father and his friend were just in here looking for you,” the lovely caterer informed him, as she expertly packed used glasses in carrying containers.
“Alfred? Did he have a little girl in tow? Alfred dotes on that grandchild of his, as I’m sure you noticed. He would do anything for her. The Dorchesters know how to pamper their women.” Sometimes a little too much. Sabrina, who was accustomed to having her own way, had not appreciated being sent home.
He straddled one of the stools at the counter much as he might swing his leg over the back of a horse, in no hurry to leave the kitchen. “My father and Alfred have been close friends for years. Since Dad doesn’t have any grandchildren of his own, he’s grand-parenting vicariously thr
ough Alfred.”
“No grandchildren?” Marlo sounded surprised. He didn’t blame her. A house this size should have a covey of them. He’d thought it many times himself, in fact. But he needed a wife for that, and so far he’d effectively eluded matrimony, despite everyone’s hopes to the contrary.
“I’m an only child,” Jake assured her. “I can guarantee it.” He enjoyed seeing a pink flush spread across those high, finely shaped cheekbones, but didn’t give her time to be embarrassed. “Is there anything I can do to help you clean up? If you have any crates or boxes you’d like me to carry…”
He liked the way her eyes lit at the offer, even though she promptly refused his help. She was independent, that was obvious, but still seemed to appreciate being treated like a lady.
Jake felt an unexpected reluctance to leave the kitchen. These women had made it feel cozy and inviting. It took a special sort of magic that didn’t often happen in his home. It was too big and the staff too part-time for it to ever become more than a lavish hotel of sorts, luxurious, comfortable and rather sterile. It was the kind of house good for entertaining large groups of people, which he did often, so it served its purpose well. Still, Jake would have preferred a home that was comfy and welcoming, the way the kitchen felt tonight. Not only that, it was a relief to escape the one-up-manship that often happened in crowds of wealthy people. He had grown tired of hearing about the latest cruise or land acquisition or jewelry purchase.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the tall, dark-haired one staring at him as if his presence were slightly disconcerting. Her vivid blue eyes were curious and her short cropped hair was standing on end as if she’d been pulling at its tips. Apparently, caterers were usually left alone to clear up their messes.
“Thoughtful,” he thought her heard her mutter under her breath but he wasn’t sure. “Check.” To him, she said, “It’s what you pay for—not having to tote or carry.” She flushed to the roots of her hair before adding, “You’d better be careful, offering to help us carry crates of dirty goblets. That’s as appealing to us as it would be to tell your wife she needs to gain a few pounds because there would be more of her to love.”