The Cinderella List

by Judy Baer

  Jake felt laughter bubble in his throat. Beautiful, quirky and unexpected. Nice.

  “Coffee then? I make a mean espresso, and my lattes are pretty good, too.”

  The woman seemed to enjoy talking to herself. She muttered something about being hospitable before saying in a louder voice, “Thanks, but no. We don’t normally…”

  “But I insist.” He enjoyed watching Marlo’s open, expressive face. Every thought and emotion she had seemed to pass across her features. It was easy to see what was on her mind without her uttering a word. And she appeared to be thinking he was an eccentric millionaire, emphasis on eccentric, for wanting to spend time with the caterer.

  She clasped her hands in front of her, not knowing what to do with them. Guileless and transparent, she showed her nervousness. That, too, was in her favor, Jake thought. He liked a woman who didn’t put on airs—one like Bette.

  “We’d love to,” Lucy answered for both of them. “There’s plenty of coffee still hot.” And when she thought he wasn’t looking, she made a face at Marlo, as if to say, “What are our chances of ever doing this again?”

  “Come into the library. It’s more comfortable.” He removed three hefty mugs from a cupboard, poured coffee and put them on a wooden serving tray while Lucy picked up what was left of the minicheesecakes. He indicated that Marlo should go first, as they made their way through the house toward a large, closed, wood-paneled door.

  He watched her as she walked. Long, shapely legs, a straight back, head held high…she’d be a natural in the saddle, Jake deduced. He could imagine her on a filly that was fifteen-and-a-half or sixteen-hands high, or perhaps an even bigger horse.

  The foyer through which they walked was larger than some entire houses, Jake thought, as their footsteps tapped against the marble floor. A richly carved table, weighed down with an enormous vase of fresh flowers, filled the center of the circular room from which doors led into other parts of the house. A vast staircase spiraled upward. Jake rarely noticed the luxury in which he lived, but imagining it through the lovely caterer’s eyes, he wondered if it appeared pretentious, extravagant and over the top.

  He led them into the library which was behind the first closed door. The door opened onto a vignette of ox blood–leather wing chairs, ottomans, a lavish area rug that covered most of the cherrywood floor. A gas fireplace burned brightly in the dimness in the room. Leather-bound books marched in neat rows down the shelves, collectors’ items, mostly. The only ones that really got used were a basket of Bibles and history books. The others he never picked up. Artfully arranged on the shelves were carvings of horses, interspersed with Hammond family photos.

  Normally, he didn’t pay any attention to those photos, but tonight he realized that Sabrina had made her way into several of them, usually cuddling so close to him she could have been a second skin. In a closed glass case along one wall were dozens of gleaming trophies, decorated, again, with horses.

  “I’ve been transported to a movie set,” Marlo blurted, as she gazed around the room with huge eyes, her pink mouth puckered into a little bow of astonishment.

  “Glad you like it.” He put the tray onto a vast ottoman, gestured for them to sit down. “I want to personally thank you. The guests raved about the food. I gave your cards to several individuals. I’m sure you’ll be getting calls. This crowd loves to entertain.”

  “And just what kind of ‘crowd’ is that?” Marlo asked.

  He smiled at her. “A horsey crowd. Clients. Friends of the family. The people my father and grandfather deal with. Studs, you know.”

  Marlo’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t notice that many good-looking, younger men in that group. Ow!” Then she glared at Lucy, who’d kicked her in the ankle.

  Hammond spewed coffee back into his cup and burst out laughing. “Not that kind of stud. The horse kind. Stallions, standing at stud. My father and grandfather have owned a lot of good mares over the years. That’s how Hammond Stables got started—with brood mares, very expensive ones, and valuable stallions. We’re breeders. A lot of prizewinners have come out of our barn.”

  Marlo’s face grew so red that Jake thought it might ignite. She didn’t burst into flames but it was obviously a very close call. Jake realized that he liked a woman who blushed.

  Dying on the spot would have been useful for hiding her embarrassment but Marlo couldn’t manage it, here in gorgeous Jake Hammond’s library. She considered crawling under the rug but decided tough it out. Fortunately, the man was obviously a well-bred gentleman who didn’t make a big deal of her blunder.

  Marlo liked that. In fact, there weren’t many things about Jake Hammond that she didn’t like. He came eerily close to fulfilling the requirements of her youthful list of romantic qualifications. Too bad he was already taken. By what she had deduced, Sabrina, Randall and Alfred already considered the union a done deal.

  It was just as well. She was a poor match for the wealthy, refined man before her.

  Lucy filled in the conversational gaps while Marlo gathered her wits about her again. They were talking about training horses when she finally felt confident enough to enter the discussion.

  “It’s something I enjoy, but I don’t have enough time in my day to be as active as I’d like,” Jake was saying. “I prefer working with the animals, but the buyers come first. Without them, we’d have no reason to raise horses in the first place.”

  “How did you learn to do it?” Marlo asked.

  “From my grandfather. I was attached to his side like a tick to a dog when I was young. And what he didn’t teach me, my father did. The Hammond family has been raising horses for generations, so maybe I learned by osmosis.” He smiled and his eyes did that thing again that made Marlo’s heart flutter. She almost wished he’d quit doing whatever it was that was making her have this reaction. No one like Jake would be interested in a girl like her.

  Lucy gave a mouselike squeak as she looked at her watch. “Marlo, I have to get home. I promised I’d call my brother tonight, and it’s getting late, even on the West Coast.”

  “You are welcome to use the phone in the library.”

  “I’m supposed to give him some phone numbers and addresses that I have on my computer at home. I’d better get going.”

  Marlo started to rise from her chair but Lucy waved her back. “No use both of us leaving.”

  “But we drove together,” Marlo protested.

  “I can call Marlo a cab,” Jake offered, “if you need to leave in a hurry.”

  “Good idea. Thanks so much. Marlo, honey, call me in the morning.” Without so much as a goodbye, Lucy shot out of the library. In moments, they heard the van fire up and pull away.

  Marlo wanted to strangle Lucy with her bare hands, she decided, as her means of escape roared away. She knew exactly what Lucy was doing—giving her extra time with Jake, because she assumed he was a perfect fit for the List. Well, it wasn’t going to work. The List indicated that the ideal man should “earn a good living” not be preposterously wealthy. She didn’t know how to relate to people with money like that, even though he made it easier than she’d expected.

  “More coffee?” Jake bent near her, carafe in hand. She smelled the woodsy cologne he wore and saw the fine weave of the arm of his jacket.

  “I’d better not. I won’t sleep all night.” Not that she would, anyway, after this heady experience. She turned her eyes up toward his and became conscious of how close he was. “I have to apologize for my friend.”

  He stepped back, poured himself another cup and sat down. “Why?”

  “Because those ‘names and numbers’ she had to give her brother were probably fictional.”

  He cocked his head to one side and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. Couldn’t the man be unattractive from any angle at all?

  “Lucy is playing matchmaker. I hope you’ll excuse her. Sometimes she just doesn’t think things through. Now, if you’ll call me a cab…”

  “Matchmaker?” He sounded
amused, even pleased. To Marlo’s amazement, he didn’t appear to think the idea was ludicrous, just entertaining. She supposed that was a compliment, but it didn’t undo her friend’s machinations. Maybe she wouldn’t wait until morning to throttle Lucy; perhaps she should stop at her house on the way home.

  “Besides, there’s no hurry. Where do you live?”

  Marlo gave him the address.

  “It’s not far. I’ll take you home myself.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t… A cab is fine…really.”

  “Sure you could.” He pulled off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves as if he were about to go to work. His forearms were tanned and muscular. He wasn’t a stranger to physical work, Marlo noted. “I’ve had enough coffee now to keep me awake until the New Year. No use taking a cab and wasting my alertness.” He looked so appealing, so boyish and sincere that he was virtually irresistible.

  Everything seemed to make worse the tumble of emotions coursing through her. Then why did she feel such an unwelcome attraction to Jake?

  “I’m dying of embarrassment, you know. I don’t want you to bother.”

  “No need. I’ll enjoy getting out for a drive.” He picked up the plate of cheesecakes. “Now that you know you’re going home soon, do you want to have one of these?”

  Marlo’s stomach growled a response. She clamped a hand over her belly but it was too late. Hammond had heard it.

  “I thought so. You were too busy to put any food in your own mouth.”

  “That’s a little like stealing,” Marlo pointed out. “It’s your food. You bought it.”

  “Then help me eat it.” He sank back into the leather chair in which he’d been sitting. Framed in dark leather and the faultless white of his shirt, he could have been posing for one of the handsome portraits that lined the staircase gallery.

  Oh, why not? Marlo told herself. This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment. What was more, she knew just how good the Divas’ cheesecakes were.

  “Even my father said your food was an enormous hit at the party.”

  “‘Even’ your father?”

  “His approval doesn’t come easily.” He paused a long time before adding, “Life has made him a suspicious man. When you get a compliment from him you can assume you’ve neared perfection.”

  “I’m flattered.” And delighted, overwhelmed, ecstatic and probably falling in love with you, she might have added if she were being completely truthful. Of course, some things were better left unsaid.

  “He’s requested that I put you on notice. Hammond Stables will be doing a significant number of events this fall and we’d like you to cater all of them.”

  “As soon as the dates are fixed, I’ll put them on our calendar.” She should have left then but a comfortable languor washed over her. Jake seemed to feel it, too, and they sat in each other’s presence silently for a long while. Finally, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. “Now, I’d better be going.”

  He stood swiftly. “Let me help you.” He reached out to help her up. She felt his warm, slightly rough palm, calloused from the chafing of the reins, no doubt, and the gentle squeeze of his fingers that brought her to her feet.

  Gentlemanly. Check.

  Jake led her toward the garage, another massive space with a black-and-white tiled floor and a bank of lockers against one wall. He chose one of the four cars there, a black BMW.

  Even his car fit the List! Marlo ran a hand across the soft leather seat before putting her right hand to her left forearm. She gave herself a pinch. It hurt. She wasn’t dreaming.

  It was easy to be silent, relaxing against the smooth leather, hearing the powerful drone of the engine, watching city lights go by. She sneaked a peek from the corner of her eye at her driver, his strong profile lit by streetlights and the glow from the dashboard. Marlo rued the fact that his lifestyle and his wealth were so foreign to her. She would have little idea how to live in his world, or he in hers.

  Or maybe, she told herself, she was making unfair assumptions about Jake.

  “Jake, what is it you want to accomplish with Hammond Stables?”

  He turned and looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Feeling as if she’d been x-rayed by lasers, she was glad when his eyes returned to the road. “Objectives, aspirations, wishes. Everyone who is successful has them.”

  “You’re a funny little thing, you know that?”

  At five feet nine inches, she was rarely called little, so she decided to take it as a compliment. “Why, thank you.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, and her heart skipped a beat at the sound. “You took me off guard. I believe you have a knack for that.” He pressed his lips together to ponder the question. “Objectives, aspirations and wishes, huh? My objective is to continue the family business and take it to the next level, to raise the bar even further. My father and grandfather have done amazingly well and I feel it’s my duty to continue the tradition. I’ve already got my business plan in order.” He looked at her again and his eyes twinkled. “Would you like to see it?”

  “No, thank you.” Marlo suddenly felt shy and prim, responses that were rare in her emotional vocabulary. “I was just making conversation. I didn’t expect you to write a treatise or anything.”

  “It’s okay. I happen to like something more than casual conversation. I enjoy meaty topics. If you really want to know, my personal aspiration is to someday settle down, get married and have those grandchildren my father thinks he’s never going to get. Until then, I’m going to work at making my architectural firm one of the top in the city, and Hammond Farms recognized nationally.”

  He pulled into the driveway of Marlo’s immaculate South Minneapolis bungalow. The darkness of the car’s interior felt uncomfortably intimate. To her surprise, Jake lifted her hand from her lap to his lips and kissed it. “And the wishes will have to wait for later.” He paused before continuing. “I overheard you and your partner talking back at the house. You said something that stuck with me. I wanted to know if you meant it.”

  They had said a lot of things. That would teach her to keep her mouth shut while she was working. The easy, breezy conversation she and Lucy maintained was usually just mindless chatter—emphasis on mindless. What part of their empty-headed banter had he overheard? Hopefully he hadn’t heard them discussing the Cinderella List.

  “You were discussing yourselves as children, as I recall,” Jake prodded. Marlo paged through her memory bank. She had no idea that Jake, on his trips in and out of the kitchen, had overheard them.

  “I heard you say that you had a lot of compassion for children who struggled to learn, and that you wished you knew a way that you could help to make a difference for them.”

  “I was a difficult child myself, according to my mother—at least until my parents discovered I was dyslexic. I transposed words and letters. My reading problems were mostly from seeing things backward.” Marlo smiled ruefully. “Even though I overcame it quickly in academics, my mother says it didn’t shake my penchant for doing other things in reverse order.”

  She’d always believed that her dyslexia and proclivity to come at things from the wrong end had deepened the compassion she felt for her nephew, Brady.

  “I thought you might be interested in something I’m doing at the stables…if my father doesn’t sink it before it starts.” Jake’s expression was cautiously neutral, as if he didn’t want Marlo to guess what he was thinking.

  He chose his next words carefully. “The changes I’m currently making at the stable have my father and me at odds. He’s the opposite of calm and laid-back. He accuses me of being too easygoing and willing to go with the flow.” His eyes crinkled and a slow smile graced his lips. “I like to think I’m a lover, not a fighter, but my father is not always amused.”

  “He doesn’t trust you?”

  “The only person my father has ever accepted unconditionally is his friend Alfred. They were boys together, best friends. My fath
er calls Alfred’s judgment ‘impeccable.’”

  “What awful things are you doing? Insisting the horses have weekly pedicures? Wear diamond-encrusted saddles? Eat gourmet oats?”

  Jake’s smile flashed in the dimness. “The show animals are practically doing that already—they have polished hooves, saddles and tack with bling, and highly regulated diets. That’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is?”

  “I’m starting a hippotherapy program at Hammond Stables. Dad calls it a wild idea, a notion that I’ll lose interest in as soon as I find a high-rise to design.

  “The program is designed for kids with special needs. And kids like you were—struggling with things beyond their control. Things like cerebral palsy, severe injury, mental and physical issues, strokes.”

  Compassionate. Marlo liked that in a man. Check. “And your father disapproves of…what exactly?”

  “Dad doesn’t feel disabled kids add to the ‘ambiance’ of the operation.” Jake’s expressive eyes darkened with anger. “He’s afraid potential buyers might not like competing with children for time in the arena.”

  “What will you do?” she asked, feeling sympathy for his predicament.

  “Ignore his protests for the time being. He hasn’t forbidden it entirely—yet. I plan to start small, but to try to grow it quickly. I’m looking for compassionate volunteers who are willing to help with the program. People who can withstand my father’s negativity.”

  “And you think I can?” Marlo was surprised. “Although I adored them as a child, I don’t know a thing about horses. Not real ones. I fantasized about them, but the only ones I’m truly familiar with are of the Black Beauty and My Little Pony variety.”

  “That can be learned. What I’m looking for, Marlo, are people who care.”

  She took a deep breath. Here she was, backing into something once again. Volunteering to work with horses when she’d never even ridden one. But one look at Jake, and she couldn’t say no.

  “When do we start?”