Elizabeth Lane - The Tycoon and the Townie

She had finished the juggling routine and was digging something else out of her lumpy green duffel. From where he stood, it appeared to be a box of long, thin balloons. Yes—she was blowing them up now, twisting them into clever animal shapes for each of the girls. As entertainment, it was corny, but her skill was mesmerizing. Although he would never have believed it possible, she had those jaded youngsters in the palms of her deft little hands. She damned near had him!

For another minute, perhaps, he remained glued to the window, fascinated by the puzzle of the woman beneath Jo-Jo the Clown. There was something about the quaint little figure—an air of grace and spirit….

But enough of this time wasting; he had work to do!

Reluctantly Jeff forced himself away from the view and back to his drafting table. Shutting out the distractions of the warm summer day and the disturbing little clown, he refocused his thoughts on the hospital plans. The ideas were just beginning to flow again when he heard his mother’s no-nonsense tread coming up the stairs.

“Jeff!—” Her agitated breathing told him she was upset. “You’ve got to come down and help me! It’s Ellen! She’s left her own party! She’s gone!”

Now what?

Kate rummaged in her duffel bag, wondering how much longer she could hold this show together on her own, with no guest of honor and no hostess.

She had glanced up from inflating the last few balloons to see Ellen Parrish slip away from her table and wander off in the direction of the house. If the other girls had noticed, none of them had spoken up, and Kate wasn’t about to call attention to the poor child, who was more than likely just feeling sick to her stomach. It was only a few minutes later, when Ellen’s grandmother caught sight of the empty chair, that the strain had burst into the open.

“Where could that child have gone?” she’d exclaimed, visibly at her wit’s end. “You—Clown—carry on while I go and find out what’s gotten into her!”

Jo-Jo hadn’t been doing too badly up to that point, but now things were beginning to come apart. The girls were whispering and giggling like a flock of restless budgie birds, and Kate knew the cheap pocket toys she’d brought along as favors would be no help at all. Groping in the duffel bag, her hand closed on the spare makeup case she carried for touch-ups. Suddenly she had an idea.

“Say, who wants to be a clown?” she exclaimed, speaking for the first time as she opened the case on a tabletop. “Come on, I need a volunteer!”

The girls buzzed and twittered, then shoved one of their peers to the center of the circle. It was the little Shirley Temple blonde Kate had noticed earlier.

“So, what’s your name, dear?” she asked in an encouraging tone.

“Muffet. Muffet Bodell. My father is—”

“How would you like to be a clown, Muffet?”

“Uh, I guess it would be—”

“Wonderful!” Kate plopped the little girl onto a chair and swiftly fashioned a makeshift cape out of a táblecloth. “Come closer and watch, girls. Then we’ll see who’d like to be next! Now…the first step in putting on clown makeup is to rub on lots and lots of white…”

The other girls crowded around, fascinated, as their playmate acquired a clown-white face, red cheeks and big, round, painted eyes. Kate was just adding some eyelashes when she heard a horrified gasp from behind her.

“No! Oh, no, no, no!”

She turned around to see Mrs. Parrish descending on her like a lavender steam locomotive. “How could you do this?” she snapped. “Muffet is Congressman Bodell’s daughter. Her mother is coming by to pick her up and take her to a wedding. She’ll be here any minute—and just look at the child!”

Kate grabbed a jar of cold cream and a handful of tissues. “I’m sorry, but no one told me a thing. We were just—”

“Here, I’ll do that!” The woman snatched the tissues out of Kate’s hand. “You’re already in enough trouble! I just talked to the cook. Ellen has disappeared with your daughter!”

“Flannery?” Kate’s heart plummeted. “But I told her to stay right there with Floss! She wouldn’t just disobey me and—”

“Well, it seems she did! Floss told me that Ellen wandered into the kitchen and the two of them started talking. The next time Floss turned around, they were both gone! My son’s out looking for them now, but I’m warning you, if anything’s happened to my granddaughter, I’ll hold you responsible!”

Worry, chagrin and indignation yanked at Kate’s emotions. “Look, I know you’re upset, but they shouldn’t be in any danger. Flannery knows the neighborhood and the beaches. She may have disobeyed me, but she’s not foolhardy enough to—”

“Never mind!” the woman snapped. “The party is over! I’ll look after these girls until their parents come for them. Meanwhile, if you have any notion where your daughter might have taken Ellen—”

Kate’s frayed emotions snapped. “Merciful heaven, you’re making it sound as if Flannery’s kidnapped her!” she burst out against her better judgment. “If you think you can just stand there and imply that—”

“I’m implying nothing! I just want my granddaughter found forthwith! Now if you wouldn’t mind—”

“I’m going. And don’t worry, I’ll find them.” Kate waddled off toward the house, clutching the shattered remains of her dignity. She could feel the eyes of the little girls drilling into her back like bullets from a firing squad. For all she knew, they’d concluded she was part of some evil conspiracy to lure small children with her clown act, then spirit them away into slavery or worse. If such a story got around, Jo-Jo would be finished for the season, maybe for good.

That Flannery!

What could have gotten into the child? Kate brooded as she trudged around to the kitchen entrance, intending to speak with Floss. Flannery was usually so obedient. Why on earth would she—

Oof!

The collision with Jeff Parrish was a solid blow, as if she’d run headlong into a brick wall. Kate reeled backward, the physical shock triggering an unexpected rush of tears. After this ghastly afternoon, all she wanted was to find Flannery, pile the clown things into the Jeep, and drive home. The last thing she needed was another encounter with this irritating man!

“Would you like to try that maneuver again? I don’t think I’ve quite gotten the hang of it.” He was standing on the kitchen stoop, making no move to let her pass.

Kate’s defiant gaze measured his muscular frame, moving upward to a square, suntanned face with a nose that would have looked more at home on a prizefighter than the architect she’d been told he was. It was not a glamorous face, not even a handsome face in the usual sense—but he did have unsettling gray eyes. A closer look confirmed that they were the same color as his daughter’s—except that Ellen’s eyes were like stormy sea clouds. Jeff Parrish’s eyes were the cold steel gray of bridge girders.

Kate realized she was staring at him. She groped for a clever remark and came up empty except for the emotions that threatened to bubble over and disgrace her on the spot.

“Oh, get out of my way!” she muttered, starting to edge around him. “I haven’t got time for this!”

Only then did she notice his shirt—a soft polo, obviously expensive, its color an immaculate ice blue against his golden skin—

Immaculate, except for the big, ugly makeup smear in front, where her face had slammed into his chest.

“Oh!” She noticed it the same time he did. “I’m sorry— no, sorry doesn’t say it! I’m mortified! I’ll pay to have it cleaned—”

“Cleaned?” He craned his neck, examining the spot. “No, wait! This could have possibilities! Maybe we could add a stencil saying ‘I Bumped Into Jo-Jo the Clown.’ You know, sort of like those old Tammi Faye shirts that were hot sellers a few years back. Think what great publicity it would be for you, Jo-Jo.”

“My name isn’t Jo-Jo.” Kate popped off the rubber nose and jammed it irritably into her pocket. “It’s Kathryn. Kate. Kate Valera.”

“I Bumped Into Kate Valera. No, I’m sorry. It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

“Are you always this sarcastic?”

“Only when it suits me.” The barest hint of a spark flashed in his eyes, only to vanish when he spoke again. “If you’re looking for your daughter, she’s not in the kitchen.”

“I know. Your mother seems to think that Flannery has spirited your Ellen away and is holding her for ransom in some murky cave! I came by the house to see what I could learn from Floss. Then I’m going to look for the girls. So if you’ve still got work to do—”

“I’ve already spoken with Floss. From what she told me, I’d say our two young fugitives have gone to the beach. I was just on my way to look for them. If that chip on your shoulder isn’t weighing you down too much, you’re welcome to come with me.”

Kate’s jaw dropped. “Chip on my shoulder…” she sputtered. “Of all the—”

“That’s what I said.” He steered her away from the house with a firm grip on her upper arm. “Now, stop arguing and come along. We’ve got a couple of lost daughters to find!”

“So how long have you been, uh, clowning around?” Jeff realized the question was inane as soon as he’d asked it. First sarcasm, now lame wordplays. Thank goodness he wasn’t trying to impress this lady.

“Doing Jo-Jo, you mean?” She had a cute nose without that silly rubber ball. Small and pert—and was that a tiny freckle on the end, where the paint had rubbed off? He found himself itching for a closer look.

“Uh-huh. I saw your juggling act from the window. Pretty impressive.”

“My grandfather taught me how to juggle when I was ten.” She marched along beside him, picking up each clumsy shoe and putting it down flat to keep from stumbling in the long sea grass. “As for the rest of the act, about five years ago, I sent off for a video course in clowning. After a few months’ practice, I made the costume, bought the wig and makeup, and voilà! Jo-Jo was born!”

She paused to work her way around a thick clump of sedge. Jeff slowed his pace to wait for her, savoring the uneasy truce that had settled between them. Whatever she might look like under that clown getup, she struck him as a plucky little woman, smart and down to earth. And sexy, he conceded—which was damned strange, considering he’d never seen her face, let alone her figure.

“Jo-Jo’s been a good sideline,” she continued, “at least in the summer. If you count church fund-raisers and passing out cheese dip samples at Piggly Wiggly, I do two or three appearances a week. But I lied to you about one thing earlier this afternoon.”

“About my being smug, arrogant and self-satisfied?”

“Hardly.” Her eyes flashed danger.

Jeff faked an indifferent shrug. “All right. I’m waiting to hear your confession.”

“I lied about the money I earn as Jo-Jo. It doesn’t go to pay bills. I put every cent of it into my daughter’s college fund.”

“And you lied about that—for shame! What could have possessed you?” He studied the stubborn outline of her profile, thinking it was extraordinary of her, going through this idiot clown charade for her child’s future. He would have liked to tell her so, but something held him back. This woman was proud, he sensed—too proud to welcome such a compliment.

“It just came out,” she said. “But I don’t like lying. Not even to you.”