Читать книгу Because of Jane - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 9

JANE WENT UPSTAIRS and entered the first room on the left, her mind reeling. After she’d stood there dumbfounded, her throat too dry to speak, he’d told her to change her clothes. Then he’d dumped her suitcases up here. “Hurry up. We’re burning daylight.”

After meeting him on the rather narrow stairs—or at least the stairs seemed narrow with him blocking her and with all the clutter of old newspapers and magazines on almost every step—she’d silently watched him stomping away with a parting shot over his shoulder. “Wear something sensible—like jeans and a work shirt.”

“I don’t have a work shirt. I mean, I have blouses and jeans, and workout clothes, of course, but what exactly kind of shirt do you mean?”

His smirk had deepened as he turned, one hand on the newel post, those crystal blue eyes sweeping over her. “I mean something to keep the bugs off. I’ll find you one of mine. Oh, and we might run across some other varmints. You know, snakes, mice. All kinds of critters hang out around the hog pen.”

The man was testing her endurance again. She’d thought they might have reached the first breakthrough there in the kitchen, but this was going to take a while. But she was organized and thorough and after having seen where Lenny’s priorities were, she knew this mission was important. Lenny needed to learn to let go. And she was the perfect woman to teach him exactly how to do that. As long as she could keep her own scattered reactions to the man at bay.

“I’ll be down shortly,” Jane had countered, the dare in her words unmistakable. “I can’t wait to see the little piggies.”

Now, unable to stop the rapid progression of her thoughts, she got out her laptop to make notes on her first impression of Lenny Paxton. Good thing she always carried a tiny tape recorder and notebooks. In five minutes, she’d done a passable first draft of her analysis and saved it on both the hard drive and a flash drive. She’d pretty things up for the magazine article.

Pushing her guilt about that aside, she rushed around stripping off her business clothes with one hand while she talked into the tiny machine which she held in her other hand.

“Subject seems unwilling to try therapy. Concerned that he might be hostile toward working through his problems. (Big surprise, that!) Note: He did make me some food and he can be very pleasant when he sets his mind to it. But it’s all an act, I think. He needs to clean up his clutter, both emotionally and in his physical residence. Messy and overstuffed in both areas! Subject seems extremely attached to his grandmother’s possessions. Refusal to maintain contact with friends and coworkers indicates a deep-seated need to connect with something from his past—something he has lost.” She stopped, took a long breath. “Saw a bit of hope when he turned soft and told me I should leave. It wasn’t a threat. It was more of a plea. I think I’ve made a hint of progress. And for that reason, I think I need to stay.”

A paradox, Jane thought as she shut off the tape machine then put it on the old walnut chest of drawers. Lenny looked so out of place in this bulging antique-filled house. And yet, he seemed right at home here, too.

“I think he has a heart,” Jane said as she pulled on an old pink T-shirt she’d brought to sleep in. “I intend to find that heart and get it back into shape. And I also intend to find out why Lenny refuses to get back into action. Does he truly want to retire from all public life, or is he just scared of failing? Does this cluttered house bring him comfort, or keep him from going through his real feelings? He’s stuck in the past so he can’t commit to the future.”

No way was she leaving now. This challenge was too important, for her career and also…for Lenny.

Suddenly excited about the prospect of helping Lenny to deal with his problems, Jane delved into her findings with renewed energy. She quickly plugged in her 3G Internet card and pulled up information on hog farms, scribbling notes and making faces about what the poor animals had to endure. Soon, she had information on peewee football, too. She might be a fish out of water, but she could swim upstream if need be.

A loud knock followed by Lenny’s bellowing voice brought her head up. “How long does it take to put on a pair of pants, Coach?”

“Oh, I’m almost ready,” Jane said, grabbing the jeans she’d tossed on the bed. He’d called her Coach—a term of acceptance if she’d ever heard one. That was a good sign, a very good sign.

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, Jane wondered if she’d died and gone down below. It was that hot and miserable and stinky in the pigpen. And these animals—brutes, all of them! They snorted and pushed and gobbled and drooled in such disgusting, sickening ways. And the stench! Wishing she had on a protective face mask, Jane tried not to inhale too deeply as she distributed grain, old fruit and wilted vegetables to a passel of grunting, rooting animals.

This was not exactly the industrial-sized operation of a real pig farm; it was more like a few sows and one very-pleased-with-himself, ton-sized boar hog who’d obviously sired the twenty or so squeaking, squealing piglets of various sizes and shapes. No, this was more like an old-fashioned pigsty.

And it smelled worse than anything Jane had ever sniffed in her life.

Reminding herself that she had to get through this first test in order to show Lenny she had staying power, Jane tossed more pig feed into a dirty metal trough and waited for the onslaught of muddy sows and squealing older piglets. Gingerly stepping out of the way, she turned to survey the round pigpen. This was the last of the feed and every trough had been filled. Her work here was done.

Turning with a satisfied smile on her face, she saw Lenny sitting on the wood-and-wire fence, grinning at her, the smirk of his trickery evident on his face.

“How’s it going out there, Coach?”

Jane held her pristine smile in place, in spite of the thumping beat of elevated blood pressure in her temples. “Just dandy.” She sneezed. “These piglets are so adorable.” Then she added a few choice suggestions. “Tell me, though, have you ever considered using sow stalls or gestation crates to lower your birth production costs? And what about iron? Are these piglets getting daily doses? You know, you could probably produce a better pig if you take my advice.”

The proud smirk left Lenny’s face as he hopped off the fence and came stomping through the mud toward her. “This isn’t some mass market pig farm, Ms. Harper. This is just me—trying to do what my granddaddy always did—raise a few animals for meat.”

Jane gasped. “For meat? You mean you’re going to send all of these cute little pink pigs to the slaughterhouse.”

His laugh was as coarse as a hog’s snort. “Of course. That’s what the fancy farms do. Or did you think I was raising them for pets?”

Jane glanced around, eyeing one particular little runt who couldn’t seem to get anywhere with either the grain or his mama sow’s offers of dinner. “But, Lenny, look at him. He’s so precious. You can’t mean to send him into such a horrible death.”

“Now don’t go all PETA on me,” Lenny said, reaching out to take the empty grain bucket from her. “This is just a way of life on the farm. Always has been.”

“But Precious there shouldn’t have to give his life just so you can have bacon for breakfast.”

He glared at her then frowned at the struggling little piggy. “That pig’s getting all he needs from his mother. He’s growing up just fine. I let him out of the stall last week. He’ll be all right until he’s full grown. So stop worrying over him like an old mother hen. Besides, that sow isn’t exactly fawning all over the little runt.”

“You obviously know nothing about a mother’s love for her child,” Jane said, trying to find his sensitive side.

That tack didn’t work.

His glare changed into a look Jane would never forget. He stepped toward her, then stepped back, his face red with anger, his eyes igniting in a blue-colored flame. “You have no idea what I know about that,” he said as he reached to yank the bucket from her.

Jane held it back, realizing she’d stumbled onto something that Lenny had buried deep inside himself. “I’d like to know all about you.”

“I’m warning you to stop,” Lenny said. “Don’t ask me another question. I don’t want you picking my brain.”

She had one more question that needed to be asked. “About clutter or your mother?”

That did it. He grabbed for the bucket while Jane stepped backward to keep it from him. Just as he caught at the old, dirty bucket, his foot slipped in the slimy mud. He moved in slow motion toward Jane, his hand reaching for her arm. Then she started slipping with him, right into the middle of all the piglets.

Jane tried to stop the fall, but it was too late. And Lenny, realizing what was about to happen, tried to keep them both balanced. But his efforts were in vain. All he could do was hold on as they both slid with a sickening thud right into the dirty wallow of pig heaven.

“Oh, no,” Jane screamed as the bucket went in one direction and her legs went in the other. “Lenny!”

He held her close enough to manage to take the brunt of the fall, but before it was over they were tangled together in wet, coffee-colored mud. With squealing, pushing hogs and pigs all around them.

Jane looked up to find Lenny’s eyes on her, his expression bordering on confused and contrite. “Are you all right?” he asked, huffing as he tried to sit up.

But he kept slipping back down and taking her with him. Jane screamed then tried to stand. She felt as if she were caught in quicksand. “Uh, oh. I can’t—”

Then they heard a deep-bellied grunt, followed by the sound of agitated boar flesh heading in their direction.

“Lenny?” Jane managed to point with one mud-caked finger toward the boar. “Is he mad?”

Lenny glanced over his shoulder then said something underneath his breath. “You bet he’s mad. And so am I.”

But, mad or not, he found the strength to pull both of them out of the mire. “Get behind me,” he shouted as he tried to block her from the rooting boar.

Jane did as he said, while Lenny grabbed the bucket and threw it to ward off the attack.

“Now what?”

“Now, we run,” Lenny shouted as he pushed her toward the fence. “Go! Run now!”

She did, her loafers heavy with clinging mud, her breath leaving her body in a burst. She cleared the fence just as the male hog charged at Lenny. Lenny sprinted to the right, groaning as his leg apparently twisted. Jane went out the unlocked gate, turning to hold it for Lenny to pass through while Boy barked and ran in circles behind her. Lenny used some more of his impressive football moves to zigzag away from the angry boar, then ran through the open gate, grabbing it to push it shut just before the massive animal slammed at it. Jane saw the white of the mad hog’s eyes and smelled the stench of his breath, but now there was a fence between them at least.

“You did it. We’re safe.”

Winded and dirty, Lenny and Jane fell on the grass outside the dirt pen, looked at each other, then burst into laughter.

Then Lenny turned toward her, triumph replacing his earlier anger. “So, had enough? Are you leaving now?”

“No way,” she said, determination replacing her fear of hogs. Her family lived for taking dares. And Jane was up to this one. “I’m just getting started.”

He gave her a long, muddy look that turned from triumphant to calculating. “I tell you what, Coach. How ’bout you and me make a deal?”

Jane didn’t like the challenging dare in his eyes. The way he looked at her made her insides quiver like that mud they’d just fallen into. Because she was wet and it was getting cool as dusk descended on them, and because she was wearing one of his old shirts, she shivered. “What kind of deal?”

“You can stay for a little while—just a little while—and…uh…coach me back into shape.”

“I can?”

“If you let me do a little coaching with you.”

“I don’t need a coach,” she said, turning to get up.

His mud-splattered hand on her arm stopped her. “Oh, yes, ma’am, you most certainly do. You look as uptight as a porcupine.”

That unflattering image didn’t set well with Jane. “I am not uptight. I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, too professional if you ask me.” He pulled her up to her feet, his hands on her arms, his eyes a smoky blue now. “I think we could both learn from this situation.”

“You do?”

He nodded, then shot her one of his famous Lenny Paxton lady-killer looks. “Oh, yeah. You know, you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours? Could be fun.”

“I don’t like it,” she said. But the memories of his touch made her mind play little tricks on her. “I didn’t come here to fraternize, Lenny.”

He let her go, slapping his hands together to get rid of mud. “Suit yourself. In that case, you will be leaving the premises first thing tomorrow morning.” He whistled for Boy. The big dog came running from where he’d just taken a muddy dip in the pond.

“But—”

Lenny stomped away. “No buts. I might need help getting organized and maybe I need help with this mess I’ve made of my life, too. But it’s my way or the highway. Might as well mix a little pleasure with our business.”

The man was giving her an ultimatum?

Anger flared hot and fast inside her system. “Oh, that is so not fair.” She didn’t need him coaching her. That wasn’t how this was supposed to work.

He whirled with athletic ease in spite of the mud weighing down his clothes. “No, what is not fair is that you had to come here and harass me just because my agent thinks I’m having a midlife crisis.”

“Aren’t you?” Jane hurried to him, her mind clicking with precision. He thought he’d scare her away with all that charisma and charm and…nearness. But his challenge just made Jane more determined than ever. “All right. I’ll take you up on that deal. Then we’ll see who needs coaching the most.”

She was rewarded with a grunt and a look of utter shock that made his eyes turn from crystal to diamond-hard.

With what little dignity she could muster, considering she was dirty and reeking, Jane prissed ahead of him back toward the house.

LENNY WATCHED HER GO, the mad in him wrestling with the sad of his situation. He’d just made a fatal mistake, thinking he could out-dare the little life coach. She’d actually taken him up on that dare. Double-triple-trouble.

“She was right about the pathetic part,” he told Boy. Watching the wet, dirty dog bounce and bob around him, he said, “Maybe we both need help.”

Female companionship wasn’t so bad. Well, unless you married a female just to fill a void in your life. Especially if you married in haste and divorced in a lengthy, well-documented court battle. Three times.

He wouldn’t let that happen again, Lenny told himself. This was a little fun with a woman who clearly needed to cut loose and have some fun. And he was the perfect man for that job. He knew how to kick up his heels. He just didn’t know how to stay true to one woman. His one flaw, according to the many women who’d stomped out of his life, was not being able to open up and share the angst he carried in his heart. But a man had his pride. Lenny shut down because he couldn’t take anyone’s pity. He’d seen enough of that growing up and he’d seen it the day he’d lost the big game. And he sure wouldn’t open up to this cute little woman who wanted to analyze him and dissect him. No, sir. So he’d have a little fun, put on a good act. And do his best to drive her away. Why change his reputation now?

“So, Boy,” he said to his faithful, uncomplicated dog. “How ’bout we let the little life coach unclutter us while we teach her all about throwing caution to the wind?”

Boy’s bark indicated it was a solid plan. Lenny wasn’t so sure. He might get cured or this little exercise could drive him even deeper into seclusion.

AN HOUR LATER, Jane sat waiting for Lenny to come back from practice but she hadn’t wasted her time. She’d gone into a work-related blitz, making more notes and jotting down a list of things she wanted to go over with him. Earlier, after taking a water hose to the worst of the gunk plastered on her borrowed shirt and her dirty shoes, she’d finally managed to get upstairs to take a hot bath in the old-fashioned claw-foot tub in the bathroom next to the frilly bedroom. And realized this was probably the only room in the house that was neat and clean.

The room wasn’t very big, but the soft mattress on the four-poster bed seemed to float like a flying carpet each time she sank down on the yellow chenille bedspread. The pillows were covered in lacy white cases embroidered with dainty yellow roses and ribbons. The room smelled of sunshine and fresh air. A high-backed chair with a cane seat sat in one corner near a beautiful ornate armoire. A tall white bookcase brimming with all sorts of literature bespoke someone who loved reading. All the classics were there—from Little Women to Pride and Prejudice to the Brontë sisters and Flannery O’Connor, as well as several bestselling women’s fiction books. And displayed all over the room on every available tabletop and armoire were beautiful porcelain dolls of all shapes and sizes. Someone certainly was a hopeless romantic.

Or had been. Bertie?

Marcus had told her about Lenny’s grandmother. Bertie had died of Alzheimer’s in February, a week after the Super Bowl game. The game Lenny and his team had lost.

That’s all she knew at this point. Lenny valued his privacy a lot more than he seemed to value his public image. Or maybe he had just valued his grandmother’s privacy.

Thinking about Bertie’s influence over this house and her grandson, Jane tried to imagine Lenny running through the halls of this dainty, overstuffed cupcake of a house. Wondering if Lenny actually ever read anything other than the sports section of the paper and the back of cereal boxes, Jane shook her head.

“Can’t wrap my brain around that one,” she said as she got dressed in khaki pants and a blue cashmere sweater.

But she did need to wrap her brain around why Lenny was living here in seclusion. He’d spent a lot of time here growing up, so this place had to have a special meaning to him. Obviously, he’d taken his retirement seriously, even if his goofy, hyped-up agent and the rest of the sports world hadn’t.

Then she thought about Bertie and the memories Lenny must hold for her and his grandfather. Memories he wasn’t willing to let go of. While it was natural to mourn a loved one, it wasn’t healthy to refuse to touch anything that loved one had left behind. It would be hard to make him see that this place needed to be put back in order so he could get his own life straight, too. Jane knew hoarding usually began with a traumatic event in a person’s life. What had happened to Lenny?

He loved his grandmother. Was that why he’d told her he didn’t intend to leave, ever? Or could the real reason be so very private and very hurtful that he refused to even discuss it. What had happened to Lenny’s parents?

Lenny Paxton had given up on his career and fame to come home to Arkansas and the one place where he felt safe. But why? Had he really lost his confidence? Did he feel useless and used up? And why was it that way with athletes? Why did they seem to think that winning a game was the most important thing in life?

“Oh, Lenny, you can’t do it on your own,” she whispered, all sorts of thoughts rushing through her head. “You can’t heal. Not until you work through this meltdown everyone keeps talking about.”

And why had he put her in this room that seemed so sacred and silent and yet so alive with his grandmother’s memory. Why?

We made a deal, Jane thought. And she intended to stick to that deal even though she knew he would put her through her paces. But right now, she had work to do before the Warthogs big game two days from now.

Somehow, in spite of Lenny’s need to find some solace, Jane had to show him he’d been looking for it in the right place, but in the wrong way. It wouldn’t be easy. Because from what she’d seen so far, Lenny Paxton wasn’t going to budge. The man had stubborn written all over his handsome face.

Deciding she’d try to get him to talk more when he got home, Jane headed downstairs. It was nearly dark now, and the old house glowed with a golden thread of light that looked like spun silk falling out across the wide hallway. Dust particles moved through the last of the sun’s rays, dancing with abandonment in the still, crisp air. The whole house had the illusion of home and hearth, but Jane could also sense a forlorn kind of sadness floating through those sun rays, too. The house, probably much like the woman who’d once lived here, was trying valiantly to remain prim and proper in spite of certain deterioration.

And her grandson was trying to salvage the memories and the comfort of her love to fill a void in his heart.

She could make this place shine, Jane thought. And she could help Lenny decide what he wanted. Then she remembered falling into his arms in the mud, a delicious shiver radiating throughout her body. Such eyes the man had. No wonder supermodels and housewives alike fell all over him. And in spite of the reports that he’d grown complacent and out of shape, Jane remembered nothing but hard, sinewy muscles and a sense of strength that took her breath away. Which was silly, of course. She wasn’t one to get all fluttery and breathless around men. Maybe because she didn’t take the time to be around men unless they were in crisis. She didn’t date clients, so that was that.

But when she heard Lenny’s truck growling up the drive, she did a save of all her notes and tidied up her work space, anxious to talk to him. Her phone vibrated against the oak dresser.