A Prince for Jenny Read online

  Daniel Sullivan. Her hero.

  She stood where he had a while longer, holding on to the delicious sense of wonder, then she got her sketch pad from beside the easel and sat on the wicker love seat. Bent over so that her hair brushed against the paper, she captured Daniel Sullivan with quick, deft strokes— his square jaw, his noble nose, his bold eyebrows and fierce dark eyes, his shock of wild black hair that looked as if he'd just climbed down from a mountain and couldn't be bothered with a comb, his mouth ...

  Her pencil stilled, and Jenny gazed across the yard at the pink roses climbing the trellis behind the swings. His mouth was beautifully defined, mobile and generous, with a full lower lip. Just thinking about it made Jenny's breath catch.

  His mouth was so beautiful, she wasn't sure she could ever get it right on paper. Her hand trembled as she touched pencil to paper once more.

  "Jenny?"

  Startled, she looked up. Gwendolyn had come into the yard, carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies.

  "I thought you might like a snack." Her oldest and dearest friend sat on the love seat and leaned over to look at the sketch. There was no mistaking the likeness, and Gwendolyn was nobody's fool. She pursed her lips over the drawing, then glanced up to study Jenny's face.

  A robin hopped across the grass looking for worms, and a pair of cardinals landed on the willow tree and set the branch to swaying. Jenny reached for a cookie.

  "Is that a preliminary sketch for a portrait?"

  "No. I just wanted to draw him."

  "You've captured him to a tee." Gwendolyn munched on her own cookie. "He's not pretty, but there's something powerful and magnetic about him. Dangerous, I'd say." She shot a sly look at Jenny.

  "He's a nice man."

  "You don't know that, Jenny."

  "I do. I know it in here." Jenny put both hands over her heart.

  Gently Gwendolyn took one of Jenny's hands in hers and caressed the long, slender fingers. "You're sheltered, honey. You've always been surrounded by people who are kind and loving ... your mother, your sister and two brothers, me, Jake.... God knows, Jake Townsend would kill anybody who wasn't kind to you."

  "Daniel will always be kind."

  The stillness in the garden was absolute, broken only by the call of the cardinal and a deep sigh from Gwendolyn.

  "Jenny... Jenny." Gwendolyn squeezed her hand. "I don't want you to be hurt."

  With her fingertips, Jenny traced the penciled fines of Daniel's face. Megan had said her mother ran away. How could any woman run away from a man like that?

  Her hand lingered over the sensual lines of Daniel's mouth. She'd never been kissed, but from the time she'd peeked around the nursery door and seen Jake kissing her mother, she'd known it must be something wonderful.

  Oh, she knew she was different. Inside her mind, everything worked fine. She just had a hard time getting it all out. Normal men like Daniel didn't kiss women like her, and they certainly didn't fall in love. But that was all right.

  All she wanted to do was love. She didn't expect to be loved back.

  "Dreaming won't hurt, Gwendolyn."

  "As long as you know it's only a dream."

  o0o

  Daniel sat at the head of the carved dining table that had belonged to three generations of Sullivans before him. His children sat on either side of him, dressed for dinner as he always insisted. Candles gleamed on the long expanse of polished walnut, sparkling rainbows on the crystal that had belonged to his grandmother.

  Three was a lonely number at a table designed for fourteen. Daniel tried not to think about it.

  "Can we talk about the guinea pigs now, Daddy?" Megan asked. "You said right after dessert."

  "So I did." He leaned back in his chair and studied his children over his steepled fingers. "Why do you want a guinea pig?"

  " 'Cause Jenny has one," Megan said.

  "That's not a good enough reason."

  Patrick regarded him with solemn eyes. " 'Cause Mommy runned away."

  Guilt smote Daniel... and pain. He'd failed to give his children the one thing they needed most—a stable home with two loving parents.

  You're selfish, Claire had screamed at him when he'd gone after her to bring her back. I don't intend to spend the rest of my life waiting for you to come home from your almighty job.

  He'd flagellated himself for months for neglecting a woman so beautiful, so attentive, so innocent... until he'd discovered her in the arms of another man.

  Even so, he still sometimes wondered if he could have done something different, something to make her want to stay.

  He cleared away the lump in his throat, but he couldn't clear that last twisted image of Claire wrapped in the arms of her lover.

  His son's words hung in the air, and the three of them were trapped in the ugly web he and Claire had woven. It was Megan, the peacemaker, who broke the spell.

  "That's okay, Daddy, 'cause we got you." Megan grinned, then skipped around the table and hugged his neck "I want two guinea pigs, 'cause Jenny says animals need friends just like people, and I'll call mine Mable and Patrick can name his Charles, and we'll take really, really good care of them and hug them every day and give them lots and lots of food and they won't ever leave, and now can I please be excused? I have to go to the bathroom."

  "You may." He'd been wrapped around his daughter's finger ... as always. He smiled at his son.

  "Someday your sister is going to strike fear in the hearts of that stodgy old board at Sullivan Enterprises."

  "Are you soggy, Daddy?"

  "The word is 'stodgy,' Patrick It means ..."

  "Will you sing the Irish songs to me?" Patrick came around the table and climbed into his lap, then cuddled his downy cheek against Daniel's.

  Megan popped her head around the door. "Not till I get back." She danced up and down on one leg. "I'll hurry."

  Daniel wondered if he'd ever be adequate to the task of bringing up his children alone.

  When his daughter got back, he sang "Too-ra- loo-ra-loo-ral" and their favorite, "Danny Boy," the song his grandmother used to sing to him. After she'd sung, she would hug him close and say, "I love you, my Danny boy." Her love was the only constant he'd had. So far away and so long ago.

  When the last notes of "Danny Boy" died, he kissed his children and whispered, "I love you, Megan and Patrick."

  Did they understand that his love was real and that he'd never go away and leave them? He hoped so.

  Afterward the children played quietly until bedtime, then Daniel carried them both up the stairs and tucked them in. He could easily have afforded for the nanny to live in, but he wanted their lives to be as normal as possible. He couldn't take the place of a mother who had abandoned them, but he could try.

  He took one last look at the precious faces of his children, then went to his downstairs study and poured himself a brandy.

  With his glass in his hand, he stood at the window and watched the shadows of the moon in the front yard. The stone face of the angel in the water fountain gleamed soft and silvery, her smile haunting and almost real. Suddenly Daniel remembered another face, another smile.

  Jenny. With eyes impossibly blue and innocent voice lifted in Irish melody. Beautiful Jenny, fatally flawed in the eyes of the world, calling to him in a voice so sweet, it brought tears to his eyes.

  Come again ... come again.

  He'd be a fool to listen, for he understood all too well the consequences of folly.

  o0o

  "The blue or the green?"

  Gwendolyn looked up from the coffee she was making. Jenny stood in the doorway holding two dresses, one the color of spring leaves and the other the exact shade of her eyes. The morning sun slanted across her hair, turning it to spun gold. Soft color bloomed on her cheeks and in her lips.

  "Don't you think those dresses are a little too fancy to paint in?"

  "I want to look nice for Daniel."

  Gwendolyn's heart was so full that she couldn't speak. She busied her
self pouring coffee into two mugs. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Jenny standing in the doorway with that look of bright expectancy on her face.

  "He's a busy man, you know, head of that big company, and all. He might not come."

  Jenny laid the green dress across the back of a chair and, holding the blue one close, whirled around and around the room, bumping into chairs. When she was near the window, she steadied herself on the windowsill, laughing.

  "I think I'll wear the blue. Daniel likes blue."

  "How do you know?"

  "I know in here." She covered her heart with her hand.

  Oh, Jenny. Jenny. Gwendolyn sank into her chair and took a sip of coffee. She was too old for this job.

  Jenny took a sip of her coffee, then drifted back up the stairs, holding on to the party dresses. Gwendolyn pressed her hand over her massive bosom.

  Dreaming won't hurt, Jenny had said.

  Gwendolyn prayed to God she was right, for if dreaming did hurt, they'd all have Jake Townsend to answer to.

  o0o

  When the clock said three, Jenny poured tea into two porcelain cups, then carried them into the garden and sat at the table, waiting for Daniel.

  Gwendolyn stood at the window not knowing what to do. A part of her wanted to go out and gather Jenny and her teacups, then bring her inside and tell her as gently as she could that Daniel Sullivan would never show up in the flower garden for afternoon tea, that men like him paid court to women who fit in their fast-paced, sophisticated worlds. Another part of her wanted to march into Sullivan Enterprises and drag Daniel Sullivan out by the ear and force him to take tea in the garden with Jenny—and to smile while he did it.

  The hands of the clock inched around to quarter after. Outside in the garden, Jenny was oblivious to time. She guarded the teacups from a dragonfly determined to use them as a landing pad, and laughed at the antics of that crotchety old mockingbird scolding a pair of robins.

  Inside the kitchen, Gwendolyn squeezed her hands together and watched. This business was bound to drive her to an early grave.

  o0o

  Daniel sat in his parked car with his hands sweating, like some teenager full of fear and hormones. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should have taken the time to shower and change.

  Hell, he was acting as if this were a damned date and not a last-minute attack of conscience that had sent him scurrying to Jenny's yard instead of sending Helen as he'd intended. If he'd followed his head instead of his heart, he'd be sitting in his office right now. Safe.

  "Daddy, aren't we ever going inside?" Megan, the impatient one. "I want to pet the guinea pigs before Jenny paints."

  "All right, children. Let's go." He glanced at his watch. Three-thirty. He'd be out of there in five minutes.

  Gwendolyn met him at the door. The children raced off to see the guinea pigs, and he faced Jenny's executive assistant.

  "She's waiting for you in the garden," she said. "Wipe that scowl off your face."

  "It matches the one on yours."

  "Let's get this straight: Jenny sees you through the eyes of innocence, but I don't. I don't know why you came back. All I know is that if you do or say anything to hurt her, I'll personally run you out of town on a rail."

  "Miss Phepps, I can assure you my motives are pure."

  "Good. Keep them that way."

  The minute he saw Jenny, he knew he'd lied. She was sitting at the white wicker table wearing a feminine dress that matched her eyes and a bright smile that rivaled the sun. He hadn't come merely to see that his children arrived safely; he'd come to see Jenny's smile.

  "Hello." She rose, graceful as a willow. "I knew you'd come."

  "Hello, Jenny."

  "Say it again." Pressing her hands over her heart, she spoke in a breathy, wistful voice.

  "Hello..."

  "No. My name."

  "Jenny..."

  "Again," she whispered.

  "Jenny..."

  Her name was music on his lips, part litany of praise, part litany of supplication, and he had the sensation of falling, falling straight into her blue eyes, through their golden center all the way to the magic that lay beyond. Wind stirred her hair and the filmy skirt that rustled around her legs. One delicate finger touched her lips.

  He stood breathless at the wonder of it all.

  "I made tea," she said.

  Two china cups sat upon the table. And two lace-edged napkins. Sitting down, she lifted one of the cups and offered it up to him. How could he refuse?

  "That's kind of you, Jenny." He sat at the wicker table, feeling too big and unaccountably ill at ease. When he took the teacup, her soft hand touched his, and he felt an astonishing shock of awareness.

  To cover, he took a sip of tea. It was cold.

  "This is delicious."

  She smiled as if he'd awarded her a great prize. "Mother taught me how to make tea. It was a long time ago. I couldn't read very well, but I could make tea."

  He pictured her as a little girl, struggling with the printed word, probably frustrated. How wise her mother had been to teach her something at which she could excel.

  "Your mother must be a lovely woman."

  "She is ... and lucky too. She has Jake. Sometimes they dance in the moonlight."

  The wistful quality of her voice tore at his heart. He studied her, the golden hair that would gleam in the moonlight, the silky skin that would be soft to the touch, the heart-shaped lips that would taste so sweet. Feelings stirred deep within him, feelings that had nothing to do with compassion but everything to do with a man wanting a woman.

  "Do you dance in the moonlight, Daniel?"

  "I used to." A century ago, it seemed.

  "How wonderful that must be." Jenny glanced down at her lap. "My brothers tried to teach me once, but I'm too clumsy to dance."

  "You're as graceful as the dandelions that dance on the summer breeze ... and twice as pretty in that lovely blue dress."

  "Thank you." Softly, she reached out and touched his hand. "You're a nice man."

  As she rubbed a delicate finger across his knuckles, Daniel imagined himself whirling her around in the moonlight, holding her lithe body close so she wouldn't stumble. Passion stirred his loins, and he mentally pulled himself back from the brink. God in heaven, what was he thinking of? Casting himself in the role of hero, of somebody who would ride up on a white charger and rescue her from her burden of innocence.

  Her hand burned on his, but he gladly suffered the pain. Never again would he use his stinger on her, for Jenny was more than born special: She was special in ways he dared not even think about.

  "I'm glad you came, Daniel."

  "I'm glad too." Was he? A part of him was turning cartwheels at the sheer ecstasy of being in her sweet presence, but a part of him was weeping.

  "You will stay while I paint the children?"

  "Yes." Sullivan Enterprises seemed another world away, and suddenly not so very important.

  "I knew you would." She stood, smiling down at him, with her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "And afterward, we'll all have a tea party."

  Daniel was overwhelmed, a prisoner of her tender touch and innocent expectations. He sat in her delicate wicker chair sipping the cold tea while she tamed his two hellions with gentle persuasion.

  "Let's swing." She climbed aboard a rope swing as happy as a child herself. His children's joyous laughter drifted upward, then Jenny left her swing and took up her brush.

  Her hands flew over the canvas, as fragile looking as two snowbirds, but swift and sure. When she finally laid the brushes aside, he was amazed that he'd watched for an hour instead of only minutes.

  "Are you ready for a tea party?" Jenny asked his children.

  "Yeah!" They raced to her and caught her hands, with Megan grinning up at her and asking, "Can the animals come too?"

  "Yes. Go inside and bring them out, and I'll get the cookies and tea."

  Sh
e started across the yard, an enchanting woman who made Daniel forget everything except the magic of being in her presence.

  "I'll help," he said, under her spell. And that's how he found himself in the kitchen pouring tea into tiny cups and laughing.

  Later they ended up sitting in a lopsided circle on the grass—Megan holding onto Eleanor and Franklin, the guinea pigs, Patrick hugging Ruby and Marilyn, the prissy Persians, and Jenny cuddling Ralph and Ernest, the fluffy mutts.

  Daniel sat beside Jenny, feeling a contentment he hadn't known in years.

  "It's peaceful in your garden, Jenny."

  "I love gardens. The birds and the flowers don't mind that I'm different." There was quiet dignity in her voice and not a shred of self-pity.

  The world was full of thoughtless cruelty, especially for people who didn't fit the norm, and the idea that Jenny had suffered filled Daniel with helpless rage. He tried to think of a response that wouldn't sound condescending.

  "I don't care if Jenny's taller," Megan said. "Do you, Daddy?"

  "Not in the least." He'd never been prouder of his daughter. "We don't mind if she's prettier than other people either, do we?"

  "Nope."

  "And more talented?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see joy bloom across Jenny's face. Daniel felt as if he'd won an Olympic gold medal.

  "Nope."

  "See, Jenny. We're like the birds and the flowers." He turned to her, smiling, and suddenly he got lost in her blue eyes. "We like you exactly the way you are."

  "And I like you." She touched his hand softly. "I think you're wonderful."

  He wasn't, not by a long shot. His father knew it; Claire knew. But being called wonderful felt damned good, and so he kept sitting in the flower garden when plain common sense told him he ought to go. Was he selfish to want Jenny to keep thinking of him as wonderful?

  "Daniel." Jenny leaned close to him, her face rosy. "Do you dream?"

  Cynical men didn't dream, but he didn't tell Jenny that. Instead he said, "Do you?"

  "Yes, I dream about going off to see the world." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "I'll drive myself, so I can stop in the woods and wade in the rivers and sit under the trees and listen to the birds. And I'll go in a bus big enough for my animals."