Elizabeth Lane - The Tycoon and the Townie

“Oh, thanks a lot” Jeff struck up the side of the first dune, feeling the sea wind like the stroke of cool fingers in his hair. From beyond the crest, he could hear the roll and hiss of the incoming tide. Silently he prayed that two venturesome little girls would have the sense to stay back from the waves.

“What do you do the rest of the year?” he asked, shifting the conversation back to neutral ground.

“The rest of the year, I batten down my house against the nor’easters and mostly hole up in my pottery studio,” she answered. “What gave you the idea the girls went to the beach? Was it something Floss told you?”

“Right—careful!” Jeff grabbed her elbow to steady her on the sandy slope. Her arm felt lean and strong. He liked touching her. “It struck me as a bit strange,” he said, “but Floss claimed she overheard them talking about…mermaids.”

“Mermaids!” Her laugh was low and cool, with a delicious little bite to it, like iced Kahlúa on a sweltering summer day. “I should have guessed! My daughter loves mermaids! She’s writing a book about them!”

“A book?” Jeff felt a hillock of sand give way beneath his step, filling his shoe with grit. He cursed mildly under his breath. “I thought we were looking for a youngster.”

“We are.” The glance she flashed him was ripe with mystery. Then she, too, stumbled in the cascade of loose sand. Her big, clown feet splayed in opposite directions, and she went down hard on her padded rump.

Caught between gallantry and amusement, Jeff stretched out a hand. She reached up tentatively, then withdrew, shaking her shaggy, purple mane. “It’s no use! I can’t climb sand dunes in these idiot shoes. I’ll have to get rid of them and catch up with you—go on.”

“Go on? And leave a lady in distress? I’d never live it down. Here…” Jeff slid to the sand at her feet and began tugging at her tightly knotted shoelaces. She sank back against the dune in tacit consent, resting, but far from relaxed.

“Are you sure you should be out here alone with me?” she ventured. “Your mother was upset enough when our daughters disappeared together. If her son vanishes, too…” She broke off, her small, even teeth pressing her lower lip as if she’d said too much.

“I’m a big boy. Even my mother knows that.” Jeff tugged off one of the platter-sized shoes and the thick cotton sweat sock she wore underneath. Her narrow-boned foot was as pink and innocent as a child’s. For a heartbeat, he cradled it like a captive seabird in his big, brown hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palm. A subtle electric pulse trickled up his arm, awakening his whole body to a quivering awareness of—

No, this was not a good idea.

“I realize she comes on a little stridently,” he said, reaching for the other shoe, “but don’t misjudge my mother. She never expected to be raising another child at the age of sixty. She does her best, and I know how much she cares for Ellen, but I daresay it hasn’t been an easy adjustment for either of them. Sometimes that shows.”

Her blue-green eyes studied him from their painted circles, their expression as unreadable as a cat’s. Seconds ticked by before she spoke.

“Do you mind my asking what happened to Ellen’s mother?”

“She died over a year ago—in an automobile accident.” Jeff tugged at the stubbornly knotted shoelace. No use going into the ugly details—Meredith’s drinking, her affair with one of his clients, the bitter divorce that would have become final six days after she crashed her Mercedes into an oncoming truck….

“I’m sorry,” said the clown.

“We—were all sorry?” Jeff jerked the knot loose and twisted off the other shoe. The sock came with it. “Come on,” he muttered. “We’d better get moving if we want to find our daughters.”

He gave her a hand up, surprised at the power in her thin fingers. Then he waited while she knotted the ends of her shoelaces and flung the shoes over her shoulder. Her bare feet gripped the sand as they mounted the dune.

Kathryn. Kate. Kate Valera. The name had a nice ring to it. Almost as nice as her voice. And her eyes.

But what was he thinking? He wasn’t ready for another woman in his life, let alone a free-spirited throwback to the seventies, who made pottery, masqueraded as a clown and, for all he knew, could look like a basset hound under that greasepaint.

Oh, sooner or later he planned to remarry—to provide a mother for Ellen, if nothing else. But the few dates he’d tried in recent months had been disasters, underscoring the fact that he was still too raw, too angry for a new relationship.

But why was he being so damned analytical? He had no intention of dating this woman. He was making polite conversation with her, that was all. They would find their little girls, go their separate ways, and if he passed her on the street later, without that crazy clown paint, the odds were he would not even recognize her.

“What about you?” he asked. “You said you were alone.”

“Flannery’s father—he, uh, we separated before she was born.”

“Flannery?” he asked, bringing her back. “As in Flannery O’Connor?”

“Uh-huh. She’s my favorite author. Have you read her?”

“My freshman English professor assigned us a couple of her stories.” Jeff could not remember the titles or what the stories had been about. Now he found himself wishing he’d paid them more attention.

“So your Flannery’s an author, too.”

“Absolutely. She’s already filled up four spiral note-books. Who knows? We may have a bestseller on our hands, in which case, Jo-Jo can retire, and Flannery can put me through college!”

“But mermaids! Lord, why doesn’t she write about something sensible, or at least real?”

Blue lightning sparked in her eyes. “Watch it, mister! Flannery happens to be the world’s foremost authority on mermaids!”

“Then I can’t imagine that she and Ellen would have much in common. Ellen has been raised the way my parents raised me—in the world of truth and reality. No talking teapots. No animals with human personalities. No dragons, no fairy princesses—”

“And only anatomically correct teddy bears, I suppose! Good grief, that poor child—”

“Excuse me.” Jeff had gone rigid. “Are you presuming to tell me how to raise my daughter?”

She turned on him at the top of the dune, the sea wind ruffling her wild, purple hair. “I’m not presuming to tell you anything, you stuffy, pompous—”

“You watch it, lady!”

She faced him. almost toe-to-toe, undaunted by his size and his anger. “You wouldn’t listen if I did tell you! But then, why should I have to tell you anything? Just look at your little girl! Look how unhappy she is—”

“And you’re suggesting that a dose of fantasy will cure that?” He thrust his own steel into her intense blue-green gaze. “Answer me this, then, Kate Valera, or Jo-Jo the Clown, or whoever you think you are! Will fantasy bring back Ellen’s mother? Will fantasy give her a real family again?”

Her eyes held steady, but her lips had begun to tremble in the center of her painted clown smile. “I don’t know how to answer that,” she whispered, “except to say that I—I feel sorry for you!”

She spun away from him and stalked off along the crest of the dune. Jeff glared after the slight, lumpy figure, his mind still hearing the little catch in her voice. If it had been tears, then the woman was an emotional fool, he told himself. The last thing he and Ellen needed was pity, especially from someone who knew so little about her.

Mermaids indeed! No, Ellen didn’t need that kind of nonsense either! According to the therapist, what she needed was to accept the reality of. her mother’s loss, not escape from it. If he could just make that mule-headed little clown person understand—

“Wait up!” he called after her. “You’re not getting away without hearing my side of—”

“I see our daughters,” she said quietly, glancing back over her shoulder as if she hadn’t heard him. “They’re out on the end of the spit. Look…”

Jeff’s gaze followed the direction of her pointing arm, anxiously scanning the long, pale crescent of beach below the dunes. About two hundred yards away, on a rocky spit of land that jutted into the pounding surf, he saw them— two dark specks, perched on the flat top of a high rock, oblivious to the waves that crashed around them.

“Damn!” Jeff’s fear exploded as anger through his clenched teeth. “Look at that tide! Don’t they realize it’ll be over the spit in a minute or two? They’ll be cut off from the beach! And if they try to get back then—” He cupped his hands to his mouth, and was about to shout when he felt her cool, taut fingers on his bare arm.

“They won’t be able to hear you over the surf,” she said. “Come on, we’ve got to get down there!”

Without waiting for him to follow, she bounded down the slope of the dune, half-sliding, half-falling in her tie-off dyed clown suit. Jeff charged after her, each step setting off a small avalanche of sand. He knew this beach well. The girls were safe enough on their high rock, but if they realized their predicament and tried to cross the wave-swept spit, they could be washed into the ocean.

Kate had reached the level beach and was running fullout, her bare feet spattering the edge of the tide foam. Jeff could see the girls clearly now—Ellen, with her dark hair and pale yellow dress; carrot-topped Flannery, wearing shorts and a green T-shirt. They were sitting close together, staring out to sea, oblivious to the danger behind them.

Sheets of water were already whipping over the spit. He didn’t dare shout now or do anything that might draw the girls’ attention. If they saw him and tried to come back on their own, the waves would sweep them away.

Kate was flagging. Jeff saw her stumble, then catch herself and plunge ahead. With a surge of effort, he sprinted past her and raced toward the spit, silently praying the girls would stay put until he could reach them.

Gritty seawater swirled around his ankles as he pounded into the surf. The tide was coming in fast now. Its powerful undertow sucked at Jeff’s legs as he waded deeper. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Kate. She had plunged recklessly into the waves and was struggling after him. With a scowl, he motioned her back. The water was getting deep. It would be rough going for her in that soggy clown getup, and the last thing he needed was another body to rescue and haul ashore.

The girls had spotted him. Ellen was waving, dancing up and down like an excited jack-in-the-box. Flannery, he noticed, was hanging back with more caution. One hand gripped the skirt of Ellen’s sundress, as if to prevent her from leaping into the sea. The other hand clutched a brown spiral notebook.

“Stay put!” Jeff shouted, but his words were sucked into the roar of exploding surf. Sand dissolved under his feet as he rounded the narrow curve of the spit. The water hissed and clawed at his legs like a demented wildcat.

An eternity seemed to pass before he reached the rock. Looking up, he could see Ellen. She was straining toward him, her gray eyes round with fear. Only Flannery’s terrier grip on her skirt kept her from losing her balance and toppling into the waves.

“Come on!” Jeff held out his arms, and Ellen clambered into them, clinging to his neck like a frightened monkey. Shifting her to a piggyback position, he reached upward for Flannery.

Kate’s daughter hesitated. Her right hand clutched the notebook as her narrow, hazel eyes measured the distance between them. Then, with the fearlessness of an acrobat, she flung herself into space.