by Judy Baer
“I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. Wear something comfortable. We’ll stop for breakfast on the way to the stables.”
Before she could reply, he ended the conversation.
Wondering what she’d gotten herself into, she stretched like a tabby in the sun. Thirty minutes? She sat up, stuffed her bare feet into a pair of fuzzy, pink slippers and shuffled to the bathroom.
The phone was ringing again when she stepped out of the shower some minutes later. This time it was Lucy.
“I’m going shopping. Want to come with me?”
“Sorry. Another time.” Marlo studied herself in the bathroom mirror as she talked. Her dark hair curled and spiked around her face and her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the shower. “I’m going to Hammond Stables for a tour.”
“Whoa. He’s smooth. And fast. He’s invited you already?”
“He has an ulterior motive. He’s racing to get his hippotherapy program up and running. Don’t think for a moment that this is about me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Hello? Did you notice how Sabrina hung all over him the other night? And how he didn’t once brush her off? Besides, she told me she was planning a wedding,” Marlo said, “and I don’t doubt it for a moment. Even if the groom is a little reluctant, Sabrina will make it happen. There’s no way on earth I’d get in the middle of that relationship. You know me better than that.”
“Then why are you so willing to help him? I’d spend my energy on someone with marriage potential.”
“Because life is about more than dating and mating. He’s onto something with the horses. My motivation, truth be told, is Brady. I’ll tell you about it later if you promise not to announce it all to the Bridesmaid Club.”
“I want to know every detail. It almost makes me wish I weren’t going shopping…almost.”
By the time Marlo had pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt and a woven leather belt, her doorbell was ringing. She grabbed a baby-blue, zippered sweatshirt out of a drawer and, lacking boots, slid her feet into tennis shoes and hurried to answer the door.
Jake was standing on the porch, looking as yummy as ever. Marlo was definitely in big trouble.
“You don’t give a girl much chance to pretty up, do you?” Marlo accused, as she stepped onto the front porch and closed the door behind her.
Jake smiled, pleased with her natural appearance. Her hair was still damp and the only makeup she’d had time to apply was a bit of lipstick. She was utterly unconscious of how much simplicity became her. With her dark hair, long eyelashes and faintly tanned complexion, she was as naturally lovely as a woman could be. He approved. It was a delightful change from the high-heeled, blood-red, heavily made-up, high-powered female architects at his firm.
“I want to get to Franco’s before the food is gone.” He tucked her arm around his and she didn’t resist. A good sign, he thought.
“I have plenty of food here. Want me to scramble some eggs?” She skipped to keep up with him as he strode down the sidewalk. “I also make a mean frittata.”
“I know you can cook. You do it all the time.” He smiled down at her from his six-foot-two height. “I’d like to give you a break.”
He watched her nose wrinkle. “You don’t like that idea?”
“Are you a mind reader or something?”
He laughed at her dismayed expression. “I work with horses every day. I’m always watching for subtle signs of what’s going on with them. It’s second nature now, I guess.” He opened the door of his hybrid car and helped her in.
“I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or not, to be as easy to read as a four-legged animal.” Marlo buckled her seat belt and leaned back.
“I suppose that depends on how much the one doing the comparing likes horses,” Jake said, as he slid behind the wheel. “When I compare a person to a horse, it is a major compliment for the human.”
Mollified, Marlo settled into the seat. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be unappreciative. It’s just that because Lucy and I cook so much and are pretty good at it, it’s hard to find a restaurant that genuinely surprises or pleases us. If we eat out it’s at a sushi place or an Asian fusion spot, food we don’t normally make ourselves. I don’t mean to be a food snob, but usually I prefer my own food to eating out.” She blushed prettily.
Jake liked a woman who blushed. It seemed rare these days. “Oh, ye of little faith,” he chided. “I appreciate your honesty. But don’t worry. You’ll like this place, I promise.”
“Franco’s. I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. Then it will be a surprise.” Jack adeptly navigated an on-ramp to the freeway and took a deep, satisfying breath of fresh air.
It was easy to relax in her presence. There were no uncomfortable gaps and edges that were sometimes present with people who didn’t know each other well. Being with Marlo felt natural, as though they were meant to spend time together. Jake was surprised at just how much he liked the idea.
Franco’s was a narrow structure wedged between two gray-block warehouses. On the left was a long-term storage center, and on the right a furniture rental business with a pathetic brown-and-beige-plaid hide-a-bed, a chipped side table and a lamp with a tipped shade in the window.
“Somehow, I didn’t expect this would be your kind of eatery.” Marlo sat straighter in her seat and took notice.
“A working man’s café. The best kind.” He pulled into the single available parking place, slid the key from the ignition and turned to grin at her.
“Your eyes crinkle when you smile, you know,” she said. Then, appearing to realize she’d been a little too candid, clapped her hand over her lips.
“Is that good or bad?” Jake found himself enjoying this.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I just meant that you aren’t much like your father, are you?” She frowned. “There I go, doing it again, putting my foot in my mouth. I only meant that you’re very cheerful and easygoing. It was supposed to be a compliment.”
“No offense taken.”
He watched her closely as they walked into Franco’s restaurant. It was a garish combination bistro and truck stop. The counter stools were filled with men wearing denim shirts and jeans. There was not a tie or a pair of wingtips in sight. Several men looked at Marlo with interest, and Jake found himself moving protectively near her. He took her hand, which felt warm and tiny in his. She didn’t protest, so he moved a little closer. Skittish fillies required a good deal of patience.
Tacky artificial grapevines wound across the ceiling, down several cheap artificial pillars and circled the cash register. More important, the pastry case was filled with the most delectable-looking pastries Jake, at least, had ever seen.
“Franco used to cook on a cruise ship,” he explained, seeing the bewildered expression on Marlo’s face. “Just wait.”
At that moment a small man with a bald head and fuzzy black mustache sailed out of the back carrying a pan of caramel rolls bright with the glistening sheen of a buttery caramel topping. He put the pan on the counter, dished up two plate-size rolls and presented them to Jake and Marlo with a flourish. She held the plate to her nose and breathed in the aroma. Jake was almost positive that he heard her murmur, “Exquisite, just like Chanel No. 5.”
“Eggs, Jake? Rhubarb fritter, French toast? Steak?”
“Whatever you feel like, Franco. Today’s special is fine. Just beware, my friend Marlo is a caterer, so she’s hard to impress.”
That, he realized later, was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Marlo was still eyeing the fresh-squeezed orange juice and fruit compote when one of the waitresses brought them a pile of sausages and bacon and a basket of still-warm-from-the-oven muffins.
“There are omelets coming, and Franco has a coffee cake he wants you to try,” the woman informed them. “And save room for some caramel-walnut bread pudding. It’s a new recipe, and he wants your opinion.”
“I take back any concerns I m
ight have had about eating out with you,” Marlo told him between bites. “I’ll do this with you anytime.”
“Anytime?” He watched her eyes flicker with an unspoken emotion and noted that she hesitated—but only slightly—before answering.
“I guess not anytime. This place closes for the night, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a breakfast and lunch place. He usually closes about 3:00 p.m. unless there’s something special going on.” Jake put his hand on top of hers as it lay on the table. “I’m going to remember that, Marlo. Don’t be surprised when I call.”
“I have never eaten a breakfast as wonderful as this one,” Marlo declared some time later, as she pushed herself away from the table.
And Jake had never experienced this kind of breakfast companion before. She’d approached every bite of food with a sense of anticipation and delight, savored each flavor on her tongue. He could have been eating with a food critic from the New York Times.
“I remember my first breakfast in Poland,” Jake said, as he polished off a fat omelet filled with vegetables, along with a steak and hash browns. “You can imagine my surprise when the waiter brought me a Polish sausage with mustard and a hunk of bread and nothing else. My stomach churned all day as a result. That was years ago, of course.”
“Do you travel a lot? My closest brush with Poland is the sausage.”
“My firm does a lot of projects abroad, but I avoid them if I can. Ever since I had the idea about the hippotherapy program, my heart isn’t in the travel.” He waved a piece of crisp, golden bacon and Marlo surprised him by leaning forward to bite into it. He plucked a leftover sausage off her plate in retaliation.
“I grew up in a house of privilege. What I wanted, I got. Cars, horses, education, you name it. What I’d always taken for granted was beyond the dreams and expectations of most people. And some are born with even more significant strikes against them—kids with disabilities and physical issues, for example. I finally realized that I could no longer live with myself if I didn’t give back some of what I’ve been blessed to have.”
He flushed, wondering if he’d said too much. It was too easy to talk to this woman. “Sorry. I don’t mean to bore you with my ‘aha’ moments about being a spoiled rich kid.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She put her hand over his. “I only wish more people would have those moments.” He could feel her light touch and the warmth of her fingers on his. Then Franco came by with a fresh pot of coffee. Jake was sorry when she pulled back away. Her touch was like the rest of her—light, ethereal, warm.
“How about you, Marlo? What drives you?”
He watched her put cream into her coffee and stir it thoughtfully. “My faith. My family. Doing what is right. How I am to follow Jesus.” She blushed and looked at him, as if checking to see how he was taking this.
This was important to her, Jake knew. He leaned forward on his elbows and nodded encouragingly.
“I always felt a little defective, considering that I’ve always done things the hard way, like a salmon swimming upstream, until I realized that the Bible is full of backward examples.”
“How so?” Though she seemed to expect it, he wasn’t uncomfortable with Marlo’s statement.
“God’s famous for taking unlikely, unqualified people and using them for His purposes. He has people backing into their potential all the time. Look at Paul, for example. He persecuted the church. He was practically a terrorist, but he ultimately became a missionary and defender of the church. If there was hope for Paul, there certainly is for me.”
“And look what happened to Peter, a simple fisherman.”
“You do understand.” Her expression brightened and grew more animated.
Jake felt like the proverbial moth being drawn to the flame.
“Jesus is all about love. It seemed to me that using my gift, my cooking ability, and running my business with the intent to serve and to bring joy—and to show love in my own unique way—was a good place to start. I want to be a first-class caterer of course, but I also want to be known as the caterer who cares.” She paused. “‘The caterer who cares.’” Marlo rolled the words across her tongue as if she tasted them. “Maybe that should have been our business logo.”
“You don’t need the logo. It shows anyway. I noticed immediately.” For him, part of her charm, Jake knew, resided in her obvious faith.
The slash of dimple in his cheek winked as he smiled at her, and Marlo felt any reluctance she’d felt toward involving herself with this man soften. She was like butter on toast, her reservations quickly melting away.
“That man can work miracles with eggs. I’m gaining weight just thinking about the pastries!” she said, as she buckled herself into Jake’s car.
“Glad you liked it,” Jake said, sounding genuinely pleased.
She studied him, taking in his profile, the pleasant smile lines that crinkled around his eyes, and the tanned skin of an outdoorsman. “I have to admit, I was surprised by your choice. I thought r—” She clamped lips shut. She’d almost said “rich men.”
“It’s below me, you mean?” Much to his credit, he didn’t look insulted, only amused.
“I’m sorry. My brain is in carb overload and it’s made me stupid. No offense meant.”
“None taken. I spend a lot of my day dealing with people with too much money and too much time on their hands. Franco’s is my way of reminding me who the real population is.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged lightly. “People who are trying to decide if six bathrooms in their house is enough or if they should have seven, for example. Sometimes it’s hard to take when a good share of the world’s population doesn’t even have a roof overhead.”
Her curiosity was piqued. “You’re not what I expected you to be.”
“In what ways?”
“You’re friendly, for one. To a lot of our clients, Lucy and I are invisible. We’re hired by an assistant, introduced to the house by a servant, and leave by the back way when the party is done. I don’t mind, because it’s part of the job. Frankly, I didn’t expect to see you in the kitchen. What’s more, you were very gracious and helpful.”
“Blunt, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know any other way to be, I’m afraid. My family says I don’t just put my foot in my mouth occasionally, but that it’s my foot’s default location. You’ve probably already noticed that I speak first and think later.”
“I hope you’ll like Hammond Stables.” Amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “But if you don’t, I can be sure you’ll tell me.”
“I’d like to know more about your program,” Marlo admitted.
It didn’t even occur to Marlo that involving herself in the program meant involving herself very closely with the man she was sitting next to, as well. She had no thought that she might be backing into something dangerous, something that might break her heart.
“Hippotherapy can be used in physical, occupational or speech therapy,” Jake told her as they drove. “It is a treatment strategy that makes use of the movement of a horse. With hippotherapy, the horse influences the rider, not the other way around. The rider must respond to the horse, not vice versa.” He turned to her as the city whizzed by and the landscape began to grow more and more rural. There were still houses everywhere, but on much larger parcels of land, and neighbors were farther apart.
“Hippo is the Greek word for horse,” Jake continued. “I took a little Greek in undergraduate studies. I thought perhaps someday I would like to read something in its original text.”
Intelligent and well read. Check.
“You mentioned having a nephew who might benefit from a riding program.”
“I think I spoke out of turn,” she admitted. “My sister and I don’t always agree where Brady is concerned. It’s difficult to explain.”
Marlo had known from the moment Brady was born that she was to play a special role in his life. She was to speak for the normal little boy in Brady, the part
of him that wanted to run and play, to get dirty and fall down and scrape his knee. She spoke for the part of Brady that Jenny refused to hear. How did one put that into words?
He heard something unsteady in her voice, and he turned to look at her. “It’s okay. Tell me when and if you want.”
It was virtually impossible, Marlo decided, to resist anyone who was persistently cheerful and easygoing as Jake. She felt a little more of herself melt inside, like chocolate softening in the sun.
This man is dangerous, a small voice inside her said. It would be very easy to fall in love with him. She pushed the preposterous notion out of her mind. Taken, she reminded herself. He’s taken. Nothing was more important to her than that bit of information.
Chapter Seven
She hung on every word he said, Jake observed. He had an apt pupil in Marlo, no doubt about that. Not everyone—his father and Sabrina included—wanted to understand the nuances of his new project.
“Equine movement is variable and rhythmic. Staying on a horse requires balance, good posture and strength. When the horse changes gaits, the rider has to subtly adjust in order to stay astride. The movement affects posture, the senses, motor skills and so much more. Therapists tell me that no machine can duplicate the muscle movement of a horse—side to side, as well as up and down and forward and back.” He glanced over to see if Marlo was still listening. She was. “It’s remarkably similar to a human gait. Keeping balance on a moving horse strengthens the same muscle groups the kids would use to walk, sit or reach.”
“I had no idea. I suppose I’ve never really thought about it before, but it makes sense with a child touching, smelling, feeling and hearing a horse. It would stimulate all the senses at once.”
“Children who have never uttered a word have suddenly begun to say the names of their horses. Kids who have never been out of their wheelchairs get to see the world from a vantage point the rest of us take for granted, standing on our own two feet.” Jake felt his excitement building just at the idea. “This is life-giving, Marlo.”