interests. Bibles and devotionals, deep-sea diving and mountain climbing, Chihuahuas and Great Danes, the classics and comic strips, South American authors and the North Pole—hints, no doubt, at her paradoxical personality.
The other side of the bookcase revealed an entirely different side of Marlo, he observed. If she didn’t have every cookbook every published, she was well on her way. James Beard and Julia Child rested comfortably with Birthday Cakes for Toddlers, Salsa Extravaganza and Sushi for the Timid.
“You can tell a lot about a person by the types of books they own,” Jake commented, as he sidled toward the kitchen counter and slid onto a tall stool. Marlo trailed after him and automatically poured him a mug of coffee.
“What do my books say about me?”
“For one thing, you are very spiritual. I also gather that you are diverse, eclectic and interested in a wide variety of subjects.” She was complex. Jake liked that in a woman.
“At least you didn’t tell me I’m a confused mess. After this day, that’s certainly how I feel. I had friends here for a luncheon, and it didn’t turn out quite as planned.” Jake watched her face. It was obvious that she thought she’d said too much, and she clamped her lips together, as if to prevent another extemporaneous word from slipping out. He left the statement alone, instinctively knowing something important had happened, and sensing that she didn’t want to talk about it. Deftly, she changed topics. “I apologize about the whisk. I would have come over to pick it up.”
As Jake studied her, she put her hand over her heart as if to protect herself from his gaze. She was as uneasy as a new colt that had not been handled properly, shy and jumpy but no less adorable. Jake’s curiosity—and interest—grew.
“That’s not the only reason I came. I wanted to know if you’d thought any more about what we discussed the other night. I wanted to give you a little time, in case you wanted to reconsider your answer.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll be there at the hippotherapy program. I keep my word. Besides, it’s a chance for me to see what it’s all about. I want to see what it does for the children. Maybe my nephew would benefit from it.”
“A woman who keeps her promises. I like that.” The more he learned about this woman, the more he liked what he knew.
Chapter Six
W aking up from a delicious dream about Jake Hammond, Marlo opened one eye, stared at the ringing telephone and willed it to be quiet. Regretting that she’d turned off her answering machine, she rolled over twice, enveloping herself in bedding like a tortilla wrap, wormed an arm free of the blankets and picked up the phone. “This is Marlo’s answering machine,” she growled. “Marlo is sleeping. Call back later. No, call back on Monday. Late. Not before 7:00 p.m.”
“You have a very strange message on your machine, Miss Mayfield,” a silky, perfectly awake male voice responded. “Now be a good answering machine and go wake up your owner.”
Her eyes popped open wide, sleep banished. “Very funny,” she groaned. “Haven’t you heard of Saturday? Sleeping in? A day off?”
“All highly overrated. Especially on a beautiful day like this. Would you like to meet my horses today?”
“Really? You mean it?” She flipped back across the bed, unwrapping herself.
“The hippotherapy program will be up and running soon. I’d like to show you what I have planned.” Jake’s voice was as tempting as the Pied Piper’s tune.
No sales pitch needed here, Marlo thought. The man could melt her with a sentence. Besides, if it could help kids like Brady, she was all over it. But there was no need to look overeager, either. He didn’t need to know just how much she enjoyed being in his presence.
“Frankly, I’m flying under the radar right now,” he continued. “If the program is in place before my father realizes the extent of it, he may just leave it
The other side of the bookcase revealed an entirely different side of Marlo, he observed. If she didn’t have every cookbook every published, she was well on her way. James Beard and Julia Child rested comfortably with Birthday Cakes for Toddlers, Salsa Extravaganza and Sushi for the Timid.
“You can tell a lot about a person by the types of books they own,” Jake commented, as he sidled toward the kitchen counter and slid onto a tall stool. Marlo trailed after him and automatically poured him a mug of coffee.
“What do my books say about me?”
“For one thing, you are very spiritual. I also gather that you are diverse, eclectic and interested in a wide variety of subjects.” She was complex. Jake liked that in a woman.
“At least you didn’t tell me I’m a confused mess. After this day, that’s certainly how I feel. I had friends here for a luncheon, and it didn’t turn out quite as planned.” Jake watched her face. It was obvious that she thought she’d said too much, and she clamped her lips together, as if to prevent another extemporaneous word from slipping out. He left the statement alone, instinctively knowing something important had happened, and sensing that she didn’t want to talk about it. Deftly, she changed topics. “I apologize about the whisk. I would have come over to pick it up.”
As Jake studied her, she put her hand over her heart as if to protect herself from his gaze. She was as uneasy as a new colt that had not been handled properly, shy and jumpy but no less adorable. Jake’s curiosity—and interest—grew.
“That’s not the only reason I came. I wanted to know if you’d thought any more about what we discussed the other night. I wanted to give you a little time, in case you wanted to reconsider your answer.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll be there at the hippotherapy program. I keep my word. Besides, it’s a chance for me to see what it’s all about. I want to see what it does for the children. Maybe my nephew would benefit from it.”
“A woman who keeps her promises. I like that.” The more he learned about this woman, the more he liked what he knew.
Chapter Six
W aking up from a delicious dream about Jake Hammond, Marlo opened one eye, stared at the ringing telephone and willed it to be quiet. Regretting that she’d turned off her answering machine, she rolled over twice, enveloping herself in bedding like a tortilla wrap, wormed an arm free of the blankets and picked up the phone. “This is Marlo’s answering machine,” she growled. “Marlo is sleeping. Call back later. No, call back on Monday. Late. Not before 7:00 p.m.”
“You have a very strange message on your machine, Miss Mayfield,” a silky, perfectly awake male voice responded. “Now be a good answering machine and go wake up your owner.”
Her eyes popped open wide, sleep banished. “Very funny,” she groaned. “Haven’t you heard of Saturday? Sleeping in? A day off?”
“All highly overrated. Especially on a beautiful day like this. Would you like to meet my horses today?”
“Really? You mean it?” She flipped back across the bed, unwrapping herself.
“The hippotherapy program will be up and running soon. I’d like to show you what I have planned.” Jake’s voice was as tempting as the Pied Piper’s tune.
No sales pitch needed here, Marlo thought. The man could melt her with a sentence. Besides, if it could help kids like Brady, she was all over it. But there was no need to look overeager, either. He didn’t need to know just how much she enjoyed being in his presence.
“Frankly, I’m flying under the radar right now,” he continued. “If the program is in place before my father realizes the extent of it, he may just leave it
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