Elizabeth Lane - The Tycoon and the Townie

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.