Anything You Can Do

"If you're determined to push down a tree, why don't you try that one over there? The scenery's better."

Leaning against a big oak tree,
Bailey Russell paused in her efforts to stretch her hamstring muscles and followed the direction of Paula's gaze to the tall man on the other side of the trail. He leaned forward, both arms braced against a tree, muscular legs stretched behind him in the same pose she'd just been executing. His head bent forward in concentration, hiding his face, showing only a crop of thick, razor-cut black hair.

Bailey
regarded her friend, shook her head and laughed. "You've been in Kansas City less than twenty-four hours, and you'll probably have half a dozen offers to go to dinner by tonight. Some things never change. As I recall, you were the only girl in Haywood High history to have three dates for the prom."

"It was only two, and I tried to give you one."

For an instant, the memory tugged Bailey back to the painful days of being a skinny, awkward adolescent, the butt of jokes about red hair and freckles and brainy women. But that was the past. She stretched again, savoring the present, her status as a successful attorney, the no longer awkward body, the smooth response of well-toned muscles.

Her gaze shifted involuntarily across the way, to the long legs stretched out behind the dark-haired man. A quick thrill shot through her at the sight, a thrill she immediately quelled. Of course it was only a thrill of admiration, she assured herself. Impersonal admiration of good musculature. She wasn't leering at him or anything silly
like that.

Thus reassured, she allowed her gaze to travel up his body, past the flat stomach encased in silky running shorts
that looked as if they'd never been worn, over the pectorals bulging under the thin material of his T-shirt. He lacked the lean, streamlined upper body of a serious runner, would be more at home in the gym, obviously worked with weights.

Then her eyes met his impossibly blue ones
. He was watching her and smiling. Busted!

Abruptly ducking her head, she concentrated on her exercises, tried to tell herself she had no reason to be embarrassed. The man probably scarcely noticed her watching him since he was undoubtedly focusing on
Paula. Men did that.

"Go get him, kiddo," she said brusquely. "You've got his attention now."

"I don't think—" Paula began.

''I've got to go find my spot," Bailey interrupted as the man pushed away from his tree and strode toward them. Jamming her sun visor over her cropped auburn hair, she turned to leave. There was no reason for her to hang around and watch him flirt with
Paula when she'd just made a colossal fool of herself gawking at him. Studying his musculature, she corrected.

She did, however, pause long enough to turn back with a grin. "But take note, the man's wearing a green T-shirt. Only members of the Bar Association, our race sponsor, got green ones. And I do recall that you said you're allergic to lawyers." With a wave and
a laugh, Bailey jogged away.

When the five-minute warning buzzer sounded, Bailey watched in surprise as the man
she had
not
been ogling moved into the front ranks of the group of almost nine hundred runners. Since race etiquette dictated everyone line up according to speed, the man obviously thought he would finish in the first group. Bailey didn't think so. Not with all that weight in his chest and arms.

On a hunch, sh
e looked down at his shoes. New, not a speck of dirt on them. Since no one could be stupid enough to come to a 10K race with shoes that hadn't been broken in, she could only assume he did his running indoors. She could imagine his surprise when he came to the first hill, a geographical feature noticeably absent from health clubs. He wouldn't be smiling so broadly then. That perfect hair might even get mussed.

The starter's gun sounded and the crowd plunged ahead.

Bailey forced herself to settle into an easy, loping gait. She yearned to stretch her long legs to their limit, pass everyone, and run straight up into the crystal blue prairie sky, but common sense tugged on the reins. Six and two-tenths miles was a long way to run. Pacing was important.

She soon found her stride and began to run effortlessly. As she moved from the shade of a tree into the sunlight, then back into the shade, as the cool morning breeze stroked her cheeks, she gloried in the joy of running, almost forgot that the purpose of the race was to win. She drew in a deep breath, picturing it full of rich oxygen from the forest of trees along the path through the Corporate Woods area, felt that richness flowing through her blood, energizing her body.

"I see we're in the same profession."

The voice jarred into her concentration, causing her to make a misstep and lose her stride.

The dark-haired man ran beside her. Knowing he was a lawyer, Paula had doubtless sent him packing, and now he thought he'd get to her through her friend. He wouldn't be the first to try that.

"I doubt it," she said
. "I'm a thief. I stole this shirt from the lawyer who's defending me."

She increased her pace slightly, pulling away from him, concentrating on regaining her stride.

When the water table at the end of three miles came into view, she still had scarcely broken a sweat. Neither, she noted as she approached the table, had her friend, Gordon Thomas. At least he had made it out of bed in time to help serve water.

She smiled as she watched her friend, perfectly tanned and immaculately clad in white shorts, lounging beside the bottled water
, handing out soggy paper cups. Gordon had probably never broken a sweat in his life except in a sauna or steam room.

"There are people ahead of you in this race!"
Gordon exclaimed, holding out two paper cups. "It's not like either of you to allow that."

"I'm still running faster than you are," she retaliated.

At the same time a familiar voice declared, "The race isn't over yet," and as she reached for one of the cups
of water, another hand clasped the same paper cup.

She looked up into electric blue eyes. At least the man wasn't smiling anymore. He looked as confused as she felt.

"I have two cups," Gordon said. "One for each of my friends."

"You know him?" Bailey asked.

"Turn loose of the cup, both of you," Gordon insisted, offering two fresh waters. "Of course I know him. This is Austin Travers. Austin, Bailey Russell."

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, Bailey accepted a new cup, gulped the tepid water, and tossed the paper into a convenient barrel. "See you at the awards, if you don't fall a
sleep and miss the whole thing," she called to Gordon as she loped away, consciously controlling her pace, resisting an urge to run full out until she left Austin Travers and his compelling eyes far behind.

How distressing to find that man was Austin,
Gordon's old college buddy. Gordon had been anticipating Austin's impending arrival in Kansas City for some time, and she'd been looking forward to meeting him, to having another friend like the easygoing Gordon. She was pretty sure Austin would not fit into that category. She suspected he was highly competitive.

She forced herself to concentrate on the run, on
settling back into her satisfying rhythm. The race was about half over, and already her steady pace carried her past many of the runners who'd passed her earlier. At the end of the next mile she could begin to stretch out a little, start to move up, then sprint the final mile.

"Gordon's told me a lot about you, Bailey Russell."

Bailey almost stumbled. That man again. And now that she knew who he was, she supposed she had to be nice to him.

"Ditto," she said.
No point in overdoing the
nice
.

"He and I went to school together," he continued.

"Yes," Bailey acknowledged. "So I've heard." And now she could see the stories in a different light.

Gordon, who'd been born with a platinum American Express card in his mouth,
was proud of his self-made friend. Austin had put himself through school with jobs and scholarships while still having the best grades, the prettiest women, the most honors. She'd assumed all those things would matter as little to his friend as they did to Gordon. That assumption was likely erroneous. Though to be fair, she supposed she'd have to give him the benefit of incomplete evidence thus far. Just because he looked like a movie star and came to the race wearing new running shoes didn't necessarily make him all bad.

"Gordon tells me you've come all the way over from St. Louis to shape up Kearns, Worley's branch here in Kansas City," she said, making an effort to be polite.

"I missed the last partners' meeting and got elected." He tossed the information out casually, though it was a glaringly obvious way to work into the conversation that he was a partner. So much for incomplete evidence. The man was an arrogant jerk, no doubt about it.

Since she couldn't think of any subtle way to retaliate by letting him know that she was up for a partnership in the very near future, she just kept running, increasing her pace slightly even though they were starting up a hill. 

He stayed right with her, and while his face was shiny with perspiration, he continued to breathe through his nose, a feat she was finding increasingly difficult. She grudgingly gave him credit. He was doing a lot better than she'd expected.

"That hill was a killer, wasn't it?" he asked as they started down the other side.

She smiled. She'd been right about the health club. This was probably the first hill he'd ever run. "Wait till you get to the one at the end of the fifth mile. We're talking serial killer."

"You sound like you're familiar with the route."

"I've run here a couple of times."

"I've only run sporadically since the high school track team."

Aha,
Bailey thought. Already he's making excuses for losing. She increased her pace again, but again he refused to fall back.

"Twenty-eight thirty!" a voice announced.

Bailey's attention snapped to the volunteer with the stopwatch calling out the four-mile time. The marker must be short. Her time should be closer to thirty minutes. Austin didn't seem to notice, and she wasn't about to tell him. Let him relax, think he was doing better than he really was, then she'd run the socks off him.

They strode along in silence for a few minutes. He really did keep an awfully good pace for someone of his size.

"You don't look like a runner," she finally said.

"You do," he answered, and something in his voice made her glance his way, into his bright, appraising gaze.

She directed her attention back to running. That particular stare was undoubtedly calculated to make women melt—a weakness to which she was fortunately immune. Nevertheless, it was time to speed up again.

Adrenaline and endorphins gushing, running on a high, almost flying, she found herself smiling. Only from the joy of the exercise, she assured herself, not from Austin's comments. Nevertheless, she quickly erased the smile lest he see it and think she'd been taken in by his erotic eyes.