young man was blinded—the glass cut the corneas of both his eyes. We think the blindness is temporary but the doctors can’t be sure.”
Blinded. Guilt gave her a sharp jab to her conscience. She’d been so devastated by her own problems, she sometimes forgot others were far worse off. “I am truly sorry, but I don’t understand why—”
“The young man is Jay Tolliver. I think you may remember him.”
It was almost as if the fire chief had struck her. The air left her lungs; her knees went suddenly weak. Fate had played an odd trick on her to have the boy—now a full-grown man—on whom she’d had a huge crush in high school be the one to rescue her after the earthquake. She’d known as an adolescent, as she knew now, it was not a relationship she’d ever be able to explore. Not because in the past she hadn’t cared. But because he’d barely acknowledged her existence. And now it was too late.
When she didn’t respond to the chief’s revelation, he said, “Jay tends to be a little macho. He’s out of the hospital but he won’t let any of us help him. He’s got this burr under his saddle that makes him want to be independent, even if it kills him. Almost literally. He’s determined to do everything he’s always done, despite the fact he can’t see.”
“I don’t see how I could—”
“Miss Lydell, after the earthquake Jay talked about you for days—even when his buddies gave him a hard time about it. If he would accept help from anyone, it would be you.”
Panic shot through her like a thousand-volt current.
She couldn’t! The fire chief was asking too much of her. For months she’d only gone out of the house to doctors’ appointments and then only when wearing dark glasses and a scarf to cover as much of her face as possible. Not that the medical profession had done her much good. Everything else she needed, she ordered by phone to be delivered. As much as she might like to help Jay…
She began to tremble. Dear God, she couldn’t! The thought of anyone seeing her. Pitying her. Or more likely being revolted by her appearance was too much to bear.
“I’m sorry….”
“He needs someone, Miss Lydell. I’m afraid—”
She shoved open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. Into the afternoon sunlight. It took all of the courage she possessed to lift her face so the chief could get a good look. She had to make him understand so her own guilt wouldn’t rest so heavily on her shoulders.
“Do you really think anyone who looks like I do could help anyone else?”
Unflinching, she waited while the chief studied her.
“He’s blind, Miss Lydell.” He spoke quietly, persuasively, as a father would. “I don’t think he’ll care.”
Chapter Two
What in the name of heaven was the man doing?
Shortly after noon on the day of the chief’s visit, Kim pulled her car up to the curb in front of Jay’s house. It was a small wooden structure in a neighborhood of modest homes, each one featuring a porch with a swing perfect to enjoy on a warm summer evening. The front yard boasted a postage-stamp lawn, which Jay was now mowing.
Mowing with a power mower that was spewing exhaust and cut grass out the side.
Either Chief Gray was wrong about Jay being blind, or Jay was totally crazy. Not that he didn’t look thoroughly macho in his cut-off jeans, his legs muscular and roughened by dark hair, and a cropped stenciled T-shirt that revealed a washboard stomach. Just the thought of running her palms over that hard expanse of abdomen made Kim shiver. The reflective dark glasses he wore and a few healing cuts on his cheeks took nothing away from the sexy image he created.
Her only regret might be that instead of wearing his hair long enough to curl at his nape as he had in high school, he’d trimmed it far shorter, almost military in style. But definitely attractive.
Even in high school he’d held a special appeal for all the girls, dangerously so for Kim, who’d seen him as forbidden fruit—the bad boy who would be able to tempt her too much. Which hadn’t stopped her from spending a good many hours fantasizing over the aloof adolescent who didn’t seem to know she existed.
Some things never change, she thought as she adjusted the scarf she wore in public to hide the scarred side of her face. She got out of the car and slammed the door closed. With the mower roaring, he didn’t hear her. She walked into the yard, the scent of freshly mowed grass ripe in the air, then winced as Jay proceeded to mow right on past his property line and across his neighbor’s bed of yellow daffodils that under the warmth of the late February sun had just begun to bloom.
Two steps later, he turned the mower around and cut another swath back the way he’d come, clipping the flower bed again and leaving a narrow strip of uncut grass on his own lawn.
“Jay!” she shouted, jumping out of the way so he wouldn’t mow her down, too.
Jay shoved the mower into neutral, stopped and listened. He’d heard something—or someone. God, how he hated the eye patches that covered both his eyes making him dependent on his other senses, the oppressive darkness of being blind making him less than a man. Vulnerable in ways he hadn’t thought possible.
He tensed. “Is someone there?”
“Jay, it’s me. Kim Lydell. Turn off the mower!”
The familiar smoky, blues-singer’s voice of the TV newscaster sent a message directly to his groin. He killed the mower and turned his head in the direction he thought he’d heard her voice from.
“Kim? What are you doing here?” Over the years he’d had more than a few dreams about her, but never in the bright light of day—assuming he could have seen the sun, rather than simply feeling its warmth on his skin.
“At the moment I’m trying to save your neighbor’s flower bed.”
“Huh?”
“You managed to wipe out two big chunks of daffodils with that mower of yours. You want to try for some recently bedded pansies? The neighbor ought to love that.”
Of all the things he’d dreamed of Kim saying if and when they met again, a discussion of flowers hadn’t been the topic that came immediately to mind. “What are you talking about?”
“Jay, you mowed right on through the flower bed at the edge of property.”
“No, I didn’t. I paced off every foot of the grass before I began mowing. I wouldn’t—”
She shoved a slick handful of leaves against his chest, and he caught a faint floral scent. It could have been Kim’s sweet perfume, or the flowers she said he’d inadvertently trimmed. He wished it were the former.
“I messed up, huh?” he said. Worse than that, he’d done it in front of Kim Lydell, every guy’s fantasy newscaster. For the past four days, since the explosion, he’d been desperately trying to act as though everything was normal. Dammit, his blindness was temporary! And if the lawn needed mowing, he was damn well going to—
“I
