The Tycoon and the Townie

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!”

Chapter Two

“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.”

“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.

Jeff tensed as he caught her against his chest. She was taller than Ellen and lighter, her body all bone and sinew in his arms. Her freckled features were as sharp as an elf’s below the kinky bonfire of her hair. Even now, Jeff could not help wondering how much this rather strange child resembled her mother.

Water churned around his hips, threatening to drag him down with his precious burden. “Hang on,” he muttered, battling for a foothold on the treacherous bottom. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of me!” He staggered toward the beach, each step an adventure in peril. The girls weren’t heavy, but their weight was enough to throw him off balance. One false step, and they would all go down.

Through a curtain of sea spray, he could see Kate. She had left the beach and was toiling toward him through the battering surf. He wanted to shout at her, to warn her to stay back, but Kate Valera was a stubborn woman, and he was carrying her daughter. Even if she could hear him, Jeff knew she wouldn’t listen.

The water grew shallower, but no less violent, as the slope of the beach rose under his feet. Kate had almost reached him. She was stretching out her arms to take Flannery when a wave struck her from the side, knocking her off her feet and flinging her toward him.

Jeff had no free hand to grab her. He fought for balance as she crashed into him and went down. “Hang on to me!” he shouted over the roar of the surf. Her arms clutched his legs as he staggered out of the water, dragging her with him.

It took a moment for Jeff to realize they were safe, all of them, on the warm, dry sand. Still clutching her notebook, Flannery let go of Jeff’s neck and dropped lightly to her feet. Ellen clung, trembling, to his back. He unpeeled her arms and eased her downward.

Kate sprawled on the sand. Her wig was askew, her makeup smeared. The padding under her clown suit drooped with seawater. She looked so pathetic, and so ludicrous, that Jeff might have laughed—except there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Flannery Valera, you come here this minute!” She pushed herself to a sitting position, eyes sparking like flints. Her orange-haired daughter shuffled forward, eyes downcast, notebook clutched to her chest.

“What do you think you were doing, young lady?” Kate demanded. “You were told to stay in the kitchen! When we get home, you and I are going to have a long—”

“Oh, please don’t punish Flannery!” Ellen darted between them like a fragile, yellow butterfly. “It was my fault! I asked her to take me out on the rocks! She said no at first, but I begged her—”

“Why?” Jeff placed a hand on his child’s shoulder and turned her around to face him. “Why on earth would you want to go out on those dangerous rocks, Ellen?”

Ellen’s velvet eyes held an expression Jeff had never seen before—a look of pure, radiant wonder.

“Flannery told me about the mermaids. She said that if you sit on the rocks and listen with all your heart, sometimes you can hear them singing—”

“Ellen!” Jeff groaned in dismay. “That’s nonsense, and you know it! There’s no such thing as—”

“But you’re wrong, Daddy!” Ellen’s small frame quivered with certainty. “They’re real! I heard them out there! I listened with all my heart, and I heard the mermaids singing!”

Kate trudged miserably up the side of the dune. Her sand-caked costume hung like a sack of potatoes on her sweltering body. The saltwater residue on her skin was beginning to itch, and her damp wig had been discovered by a colony of friendly sand flies. All she wanted to do, at this point, was find the Jeep, go home, take a long, cool shower—and nail her daughter’s little freckled hide to the living room wall.

The afternoon had been a string of disasters, but this was the capper. For the most part, she enjoyed Flannery’s creative nature and allowed her youthful imagination free rein. But when Flannery’s imagination overruled good judgment and put her and another child in danger—

“Are you going to make it all right?” Jeff Parrish glanced over his shoulder with a superior scowl—his usual expression, Kate surmised. To avoid his gaze, she had deliberately dropped behind him in their trek up the dune. Her position, however, gave her a mouth-watering view of his rugged shoulders, tapering back and taut, muscular buttocks. Jefferson Parrish III might be a pain in the fanny, but he was also, Kate conceded, a world-class hunk.