Читать книгу The Cinderella List - Judy Baer - Страница 9

He was gorgeous. Literally.

Here he was, the personification of that tuxedoed dream man she and Jenny had concocted, smiling and casually sampling a deviled egg. In her dreams, Marlo’s perfect man always wore a tuxedo. That, according to her father, was her mother’s fault. Mrs. Mayfield had watched a lot of old Cary Grant movies while she was pregnant.

She could feel her heart pounding and her throat went dry. The response was so abrupt and powerful that it almost frightened her. Even when she’d discovered Jeremiah had betrayed her, her body hadn’t reacted as strongly.

Marlo considered herself generally coolheaded but this…this was the guy on the white horse, wearing the armor, rescuing her from the dragon. Suddenly the joke she and Jenny had shared all these years didn’t seem quite so funny. Of course, she’d never expected the man from her imagination to turn up before her very eyes.

“I see the housekeeper left the door open for you. Dining with Divas, I presume?” Her fantasy dreamboat stood framed in the doorway, his elegant, chiseled features lit in the golden glow of lights in the other room, his back to the richly paneled room behind him where an honest-to-goodness butler was standing as straight and still as one of the Queen’s guards.

As he stepped into the kitchen, Marlo could see more clearly the even profile and the amused grin that played on his lips. He wore his hair short, but not short enough to tame the natural curl that evidenced itself above his ears and at the nape of his neck. She gawked at the perfectly polished shoes, his strong hands and even, charming smile. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice.

“Your catering business has a very good reputation.” There was pleasant anticipation in his honeyed tone and his brown eyes twinkled. “I’m expecting great things tonight.”

A pleasant shiver worked its way through Marlo as she recovered from her initial shock. Granted, this fellow looked like her dream man, but there was much more to her idea of the perfect mate than looks. She’d dated handsome men in the past and learned that the hard way. In fact, the most handsome man she’d ever loved had hurt her the most.

He looked at the women’s dumbstruck expressions and smiled more widely still, his white, even smile appearing more amused than apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jake Hammond. I’m part-owner of Hammond Stables. You’re catering a get-together for some of our clients tonight.”

“Stables?” Lucy’s round, ingenuous face looked confused. “I thought someone from a place called HMD set up this engagement.”

“HMD is Hammond, Mercer and Devins, an architectural firm. That’s my day job. Hammond Stables is my hobby.”

Horses, Marlo knew, were a hobby like sailing in the America’s Cup—neither easy nor cheap.

He eyeballed a plate of Marlo’s specialty, a hot artichoke dip, picked up a cracker and a knife and took a sample. Marlo watched raptly, glad she hadn’t been skimpy with the artichokes. Who knew her hot artichoke dip would pass through the lips of an Adonis like this?

She couldn’t tear her gaze from him. As an incurable romantic, enthralled with those Cinderella fairy tales even into her teens, Marlo had sketched dreamy renditions of a guy like this all over her high-school notebooks. And now here he was, come to life and eating her artichoke dip. Appreciates fine food. Check. It didn’t get much better than this. He probably even smelled like oatmeal-raisin cookies.

“I-is there anything else you’d like us to do right now?” she stammered.

“You’re doing just fine.” He winked and Marlo’s knees nearly liquefied. That debonair look combined with a playful smile, shades of North by Northwest and To Catch a Thief. “And no doubt you’ll be as glad as I will to have this stuffy event over.”

He’s so handsome it should be illegal, she thought grumpily. Somebody should be prosecuted for looking like that, running around giving women heart attacks and all. Still, she didn’t draw her gaze away.

“Jake, darling? What are you doing in the kitchen? The guests are arriving.” A beautiful blonde woman in an strapless, emerald silk taffeta dress rustled into the room. Her skin was flawless porcelain and her lips full and pouty. She appeared coy, brazen and petulant all at once. “Your father, grandfather and his friends are looking for you. The Hammond triumvirate is to gather in the hall to welcome guests.”

She looked at Lucy and Marlo, in their black-and-white serving clothes and sensible shoes. “You hired these people to take care of things. Now let them.”

At first Hammond didn’t seem inclined to jump to the beauty’s bidding, but then thought better of it, and with a generous smile at Marlo and Lucy, he turned and held out his hand. The young blonde curled herself kittenishly around his arm as they walked out of the kitchen and returned to the party.

“He’s too good-looking to be real,” Lucy said, sinking into a chair. “I’ll bet he’s a hologram or something.”

“You watch too much TV.”

“Too bad he’s taken.” She looked slyly at Marlo. “You aren’t seeing anyone right now. Unfortunately, that blonde had her paws all over him.”

“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 around 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 through 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.”

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 father 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?”