Falling For Her Boss (4 page)

"Is that what it takes you?"

Amusement danced in his eyes.  Francie felt too pulled toward their green sparkle.  She took another thumbtack from a flier on the board.  "As one gets older, one gets faster."

"Does one have a reason for the change?"

"One learns it's not what's on the outside that counts so much."  She tore the old fliers in half and threw them in the trash can in the corner.

Noah stood still in front of the bulletin board facing her, as if their conversation wasn't over.  As she approached, he asked, "Francie, how well did you know Craig?"

There was something in his voice that made her stop at least three feet from him.  "What do you mean?"

"Was your relationship strictly business or was there...a personal element?"

Over the years, Francie had learned to keep her temper in check.  That had come along with the discipline and control of skating, working with coaches, being in the public.  "Craig Reardon and I were friendly.  He had dinner with my family when he was in town.  He didn't talk much about his personal life, but I did know he was married."

"I didn't mean to suggest--"

"Yes, you did, and I resent it."

"You're a beautiful woman."

She didn't see herself that way.  The fact that he did excited her.  But that didn't excuse his suspicions.  "Craig was my employer.  There was no personal involvement between us."

After a long, penetrating look, Noah nodded.  Putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall in a casual stance, he said, "Tell me about the group of kids that came in the bus this morning."

She tensed again.  Apparently the third degree wasn't over.  "They're from the boys' home."

"Orphans?"

"Some.  Some have parents who can't take care of them."

"The rink picks up the tab?"

"Half of it.  Community organizations donate the rest.  The kids come in once a month."  She took a deep breath.  "I realize you probably don't approve, but--"

He frowned and his brow creased.  "What makes you think I don't approve?"

His questions about Craig, her attraction to Noah, made her blunt.  "You want to make money."

He pulled his hands from his pockets and straightened.  "You think I'm that single-minded that I can't appreciate your giving kids a chance to have fun?"

"You've made it clear your aim in coming here is to--"  She stopped abruptly as a man came in the door and paused to unbutton his overcoat.  Francie's heart almost stopped.  Then she squared her shoulders, and it resumed its normal rhythm.  Brent McIntosh had no power over her anymore, no power to hurt her.  But what was he doing here?

Noah surveyed Francie's face, her body posture, then the man approaching her.  "Who is he?"

"My former skating partner."

"Then why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?"

"Because he is a ghost--from my past."

"Do you want me to get rid of him?"

Francie was surprised by Noah's offer, as well as his wide-legged, protective stance.  "No.  I don't run from problems, Noah, I meet them head-on.  Do you mind if we use the office for a few minutes?"

Noah's intense scrutiny was almost as disconcerting as Brent's presence.  "I wanted to check out the equipment in the program room anyway.  I'll tell Veronica you'll be tied up for the moment."

Francie nodded.  Her assistant manager was capable of overseeing while she was busy elsewhere.  In fact, Veronica would make an excellent manager herself someday.

Seconds later, Brent stood before Francie, his smile as charming as ever, his blond hair pushed back from his forehead.  He'd shed his coat and thrown it over his arm.  His casual sweater and slacks did justice to his athletic body.

To her surprise, Noah stayed put.  She could tell he was giving Brent a thorough but quick once-over.  Brent might be in excellent physical condition, but so was Noah.  Brent's strength was purely physical.  Francie sensed Noah's strength came from within.

She introduced the two men.

Noah said, "You know where I'll be if you need me."

Francie didn't know whether to smile or frown.  She'd been making major decisions and standing on her own two feet since she was a teenager.  Noah's I-can-handle-this-for-you attitude was both irritating and...confusing.

Francie showed Brent to the office.  As he walked beside her, he asked, "How have you been?"

"Fine.  And you?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

Once in her office, she closed the door--an uncommon occurrence, but she had no idea what had brought Brent to Gettysburg and privacy seemed smart.  "Why are you here?"

"Look, Francie, I'm sorry I haven't e-mailed or called..."

"You've been busy.  I imagine you're getting ready for the Olympics."

"I wish.  We didn't qualify."

Francie hadn't kept track of the world of figure skating, hadn't watched the cable specials.  Instead, she'd poured her time and energy into a different life.  She hadn't cared about Brent's career, or so she'd told herself.  Seeing him now, she knew the deep feelings she'd once had for him were gone, but she also knew there was something left unfinished between them.

"I don't know what to say.  I know this Olympics was your goal."

He shifted his coat to his other arm.  "I came to Pennsylvania because I heard of a choreographer in Hershey who is supposed to be superb."

"You're going to try a new style?"

"Perhaps."

"Why have you come to see me?"

"Because I want you to be my partner again, Francie.  What do you say?"

CHAPTER THREE

Noah went for a walk as soon as Francie closed the office door.  He didn't understand the turmoil pushing him to take long quick strides around the parking lot, ostensibly to study the plot of land he wanted to sell.

Why should he care that Francie's former partner had the power to shake her up?  Why should he wonder what was going on in that office?  Why should he feel a stab of jealousy he had no right to feel?  But the thought of Francie with any man, let alone Brent McIntosh, made his stomach roil.

He walked the perimeter of the property, not caring that the wind sliced against his jacket flaps, not caring that his overcoat still hung in the motel closet, not caring that he was in Gettysburg to size up the rink, not Francie.

When he returned to the rink, his fingers were numb.  He blew on his hands and waited for a slew of kids to enter in front of him.  The sound of skates rolling didn't distract him as he went to the office.  The door was open.  It was empty.

Glancing around the rink, he quickly spotted Francie's violet outfit.  She talked with a few children as she rolled beside them.  He went back to the office to wait for her.  And wait.  And wait.

Finally, at the end of the afternoon, the sound of children's laughter diminished.  Noah poked his head out of the office door, expecting to find Francie mopping the floor or taking a well-earned break at the snack bar.  She was doing neither.  He found her in the program room, the door almost but not quite closed.

She sat on a stool facing a monitor.  A DVD player sat beside it.  She didn't hear him push open the door.  She didn't hear him step in.

He stood beside her, his gaze drawn to the monitor.

The music was the background; the movement was the poetry.  Francie's emerald-green costume floated around her.  Her hair in a ponytail shifted with her movement, brushing her shoulder, swaying across her back.  Her posture, her gliding, her skating, was pure artistry as her head tilted, her arms gracefully lifted.  Her elegance was enhanced by her partner's strength.  Brent McIntosh's strength.  He lifted her, twirling her above his head on one hand, her body a perfect arc.  Noah held his breath as she seemed suspended in time.  He didn't breathe again until she was safely on the ice once more.

Francie must have sensed Noah's presence because she stopped the DVD.

He took a step closer to her.  "That was beautiful."

"We won the Nationals with that one."

Her eyes were full of so many things, none of which Noah understood.  He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, what she was feeling.  But he didn't know her well enough to do that.  Even if he asked, he had the feeling she wouldn't answer.

So he stuck to the obvious.  "Did your meeting go well?"

She flicked off the DVD player with the remote.  "It gave me something to think about."

"Something to do with skating?"

She stood and set the remote on top of the TV.  "Brent wants me to be his partner again."

"Professionally?"

She didn't turn around.  "For the next Olympics.  He wants to go for the gold, as he puts it."

"You're considering it?"

She faced Noah, her eyes troubled.  "I don't know.  We were good together once."

Noah knew she meant in more than skating.  The jealousy rolled again, but he ignored it.  "How long have you been away from training?"

She unplugged the wire leading from the DVD player to the monitor and stored it in a drawer.  Then she ejected the DVD.  "I haven't been away entirely.  I still run, lift weights, take dance classes.  I could lose the five to eight pounds..."  Her voice faded.

"But?"

She seemed surprised that he'd heard the doubt.  "I don't know if I want that life again."

Noah was sure there was more to it than that, and he wanted to know what.  Stepping close to her, he touched her arm and nodded to the now blank monitor.  "What does all this mean for you?"

Her eyes drifted shut.  "I'm not sure yet.  I have so many mixed feelings..."  She stopped abruptly and opened her eyes.  Looking down at his hand on her arm, she stepped away.  "None of this is any of your concern.  I won't let it affect my work."

He hadn't even been aware he'd touched her.  Yet now he was very aware that he wasn't touching her.  "The hell with your work.  I'm worried about you.  I saw your expression when McIntosh walked in."  Noah waved at the monitor.  "Talent like that shouldn't go to waste.  And I'm sure it's not the first time you've heard that.  Why are you managing a roller-skating rink when you could be using your natural gifts?"

Her chin lifted, and her eyes darkened to the deepest brown he'd ever seen.  "You don't know anything about it, Noah.  Have you ever loved something so much you never even thought of doing anything else?  You wanted to eat it, sleep it, live it every minute?  But then did you ever lose the joy that made it wonderful?  The prize became greater than the art, success became more important than beauty, practice became an endurance trial rather than preparation.  Why would I want to go back to that?"

He knew what loss was.  He knew what happened when faith was shattered.  Yet he knew about hope, too.  "You can't get back the joy and beauty?"

She shook her head.  "I don't know.  I don't know if I want it back or if I want to move on.  Maybe it's too late.  Maybe I'm too old."

"Those sound like excuses."

She tossed him a defiant glare.  "Maybe I don't want it back.  Maybe I want something else."

"It's part of you, Francie.  I saw your face as you were watching your performance."

"And what did you see?"

"Longing.  Wishing."

Her voice lowered.  "You don't know what happened."

"Were you injured?"  It was the only explanation he could think of.

She picked up the DVD.  "I don't want to talk about it."

"With anyone?  Or with me?"

Her brown eyes couldn't have been any more direct.  "I don't know you."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."  Though he was quickly discovering he didn't want to be a stranger to Francie.

"Sometimes."

He listened to the determination and saw the independence.  "But you're not going to talk to anyone, are you?"

"I'm an adult.  I have to make my own decisions."

"That doesn't mean you can't let someone give you perspective."

"Noah, I've learned that everyone has their own agenda.  I have to work this out on my own.  But thanks for offering."

He heard her underlying reservations and suspected the real problem was that she didn't trust anyone enough to confide in them.  Why?  Who had hurt her?  McIntosh?

Noah wrestled with his own demons in matters of trust, knowing they were part of the reason why he traveled as much as he did.  He made sure he didn't stay anywhere long enough to make attachments.  That way he didn't get hurt.

Yet Francie's offer--or challenge--to stay in Gettysburg a while  intrigued him.  She intrigued him.  Her family intrigued him.  He could monitor his other rinks from here as well as from Richmond.  He'd been traveling the better part of the last three months.  Maybe it was time for a break.

"When do you have to decide about McIntosh's offer?"

She gripped the DVD tighter as if it could somehow help her decide.  "He wants to know within the next few weeks.  He's invited me to come up to New York state to watch him train, to train with him, to skate with him again.  But I don't see how I can leave the rink."

"Why not?  Veronica is more than capable of taking over from what I've seen so far.  Am I right?"

"I don't know how I'd manage without her.  She's organized and the staff respects her."

Noah  was close enough to Francie to see each tiny freckle on the bridge of her nose that he hadn't noticed before.  "If Veronica can handle the rink, and if I stay on, you don't have an excuse if you want to go to New York."

"But I thought you were leaving..."

"I've decided to agree to your suggestion.  I'll stay.  With video conferencing and my cell phone, I can run the business from here."

She smiled, as if he'd agreed not to sell.

"Francie, I said I'd stay.  I'm still looking for a buyer."

The smiled dimmed slightly, but not much.  "I know.  But at least you're giving the rink a chance.  You won't be sorry."

He hoped not.  But when he gazed into Francie's beautiful brown eyes, he wasn't so sure.

****

When Francie came into the rink early Sunday afternoon after dinner with her family, Noah was sitting at her desk.  She zeroed in on the larger monitor there, rather than Noah, hoping to forget the strange way she felt whenever she was near him--hot and cold, excited and afraid.  Thinking about Brent's reappearance in her life, her conversation with Noah and his decision to stay on awhile, had kept her awake most of the night.