Hart's Victory (11 page)

“W
HAT
?”
Hart asked, sensing Cynthia’s scrutiny.

“She must be special if you’re taking her to Giancarlo’s. You never take anyone there.”

“If I took Kellie to some of those upscale places the other women expect, she’d demand to leave. She’s already thinking this is going too fast.”

His uniform was starting to itch, and he wanted it off. The conversation was also a bit uncomfortable.

“So there’s a
this?
” Cynthia prodded.

“I don’t know,” Hart said in exasperation. “I’m certainly not planning on a weekend fling, and neither is she.”

“She’s not the type,” Cynthia observed.

“No, she’s not,” Hart said. “Which is just one of the things I like about her. I asked her here next weekend and she turned me down.”

“Smart woman,” Cynthia teased. Seeing Hart’s expression, she sobered. “Sorry.”

“I don’t know how I’m to get to know her if she won’t come to the track. I have to be here. It’s my job.”

“So you do want to get to know her,” Cynthia said, slightly surprised.

Hart exhaled. “Yes. Like beyond the preliminaries that lead to other things. Make what you want of it, but I told you last weekend that she’s different. I want more.”

If nothing else, the kiss had confirmed his determination to pursue a relationship with Kellie, but he refused to tell Cynthia. The kiss had seemed to make time stop, if that were possible. Whatever had happened when he’d kissed Kellie, the connection he’d experienced had blown him away. He didn’t want one night. He wanted multiple. Long term. That kind of thing. The revelation should be scary, but Hart wasn’t a man who feared much.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Cynthia said. “I’ve got to get back to the condo and to Liam. He’s holding down the fort until I return. I just came over for the driver introductions.”

The truck race would be starting soon, and Hart wanted to get out of the complex before that happened. He had other priorities.

S
ATURDAY WOULD BE
a late day. Access to the haulers wasn’t until one o’clock and the garage didn’t open until two. The morning before a race Hart would sleep in as late as possible, and he didn’t think that tomorrow would be an exception. Thus, after dinner, he took the risk of asking Kellie and Charlie if they’d like to see where he lived. He’d planned on showing them on Sunday, but found himself not wanting to wait.

Maybe it had been the cannelloni and the warm bread she’d eaten, but Kellie hadn’t protested when Charlie had shouted his yes. Hart had been prepared with comeback arguments if she’d disagreed: if she’d said it was too late, he’d remind her she could sleep in. If she’d said Charlie was tired, he’d tell her that they were already more than halfway there, and her son could snooze on the way back to the track. But she hadn’t said a word, only nodded her consent.

So here they were, beginning down the narrow, half-mile asphalt road that served as Hart’s driveway. The road was almost impossible to find, and about halfway down it widened into a turnaround. Hart drove up to the gate, keyed in his code and soon was through. A little less than a quarter of a mile through the trees, the road made a sharp turn, and Hart’s home was visible at the top of the clearing.

He’d called ahead to have all the lights turned on both inside and out, so the house sat like a welcome beacon against the night sky.

“Wow,” Kellie said.

“Like it?” Hart was proud of the house. He’d designed it himself. When he’d found the property, the house his caretaker now lived in had been the only one already standing. Hart had added the office near that building and then, out of sight of both, he’d built his dream home. Unlike the often ostentatious, new construction that screamed money, Hart had worked with the architect so that the building gave off the feel of a large, centuries-old, rambling farmhouse. A wraparound porch framed three sides. A porch swing overlooked a large front lawn and an expansive wildflower garden.

The driveway curved around to the back of the house, and Hart parked in front of a four-car garage. The asphalt parking area was large enough for a number of parked cars side by side or his motor home. Once country star Beau Akers had visited for a few days during his tour.

Although Hart exited quickly, both Charlie and Kellie had climbed out before he could assist either of them, and he led them through a gate and onto an expansive back deck.

“This is nothing like I’d expected you to have,” Kellie said. “Well, perhaps this part.” She gestured to the in-ground pool just below the deck, and beyond that, a go-cart track.

“So can we go carting?” Charlie asked as Hart used his key and let them into the mudroom. He keyed in some numbers, turning off the beeping alarm system.

“Go-carting’s up to your mom,” Hart said, figuring he’d already pushed Kellie enough by bringing her here. She appeared a little shell-shocked as they walked past the laundry room and into the kitchen.

“If it were daylight, you could see the view,” he told them, as they walked into the room. “I had all the windows specially tinted. I hate curtains, except in the bedrooms. I mean, why have windows if you cover them up?”

He took them on the guided tour, starting on the first floor, going up the front staircase to the second, and then down the back staircase two levels to the finished walkout basement. There a recreation room with gaming systems, a foosball table, a billiard table and a huge media area.

“It’s a beautiful house,” Kellie said. Although dozens of people had said the same thing, coming from Kellie the words were special. Hart knew her compliment was genuine. She wasn’t trying to impress him or curry his favor.

“Hey, I’ve racked the balls. Who’s up for a game?” Charlie asked. He stood by the billiard table, holding a pool cue he’d taken from the rack on the wall.

“I’m sitting this one out,” Kellie said.

“I gotta warn you, Charlie, I’m pretty good,” Hart announced.

Charlie laughed, his eyes twinkling behind his plastic frames. “I’ll take my chances,” he said. “You can break.”

Hart grabbed his favorite cue and chalked it. “Okay. Kellie, there’s some colas and things in the bar fridge. Help yourself.”

“I’d like one, Mom,” Charlie said. “Please.”

Hart leaned down, broke and sank a ball. “Stripes.” He sank one more before he missed and Charlie stepped up. And proceeded to clear the table.

“Okay, I’ve been hustled,” Hart stated, reaching over to tap Charlie on the bill of his ball cap.

“This is one of the few things my mom lets me do,” Charlie said with a wide grin. “She went to high school with the owners of the local billiard club and I can go in there during the day when it’s not busy. I also like to bowl. My highest game was a two-eighty.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten higher than one-eighty,” Hart said, impressed. “Rack them up and we’ll go again. I’m not going to go easy on you this time.”

“Yeah, right,” Charlie replied, laughing. “Bring it on.”

They began to play, and as they’d tuned the TV to the truck race, Hart occasionally glanced across the room at the giant screen. However, racing didn’t provide much of a distraction. Instead, Hart focused on stepping up his billiard game, refusing to allow Charlie another blowout. As Hart leaned over to take a shot, he was fully aware that he was giving Kellie a view of his backside. He grinned, and sank the solid he’d been aiming for before straightening and asking her, “Sure you don’t want to play?”

“No,” she said simply and Hart could see that she didn’t feel left out at all. Rather, she was comfortable in her role as an observer. He found himself slightly irritated. Kellie watched life from the sidelines. He wanted her in the action. While go-carting wasn’t an area to push, this was. He decided to shake her out of her shell.

“Nah,” Hart stated. “Not acceptable. Come on, I’ll teach you.”

“She needs it,” Charlie said. “I’ll sit this one out. I want to call Grandma and see if she’s watching the race.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket, wandered over to the television and sat down on the sofa. All that was visible was the top of his head.

“Come on, scaredy-cat,” Hart teased. He racked the balls again, removing the triangle and hanging it on a peg. “Break.” He reached on the wall, selected a cue stick for her, and approached where she was sitting on the barstool. “Time’s up.”

To her credit, she grabbed the stick. “I’ll have you know I’m terrible at this. It’s all geometry, and unlike Charlie, I’m not good at math.”

“Of course not, you’re an English teacher.” Hart snickered when she shot him the “look.” She then bent down, aimed, and hit the cue ball on the side, sending it awkwardly down the table. The hit dislodged two balls maybe an inch.

“Told you.”

“Let’s try it again,” Hart said, unperturbed at her inadequate billiard skills. Most women tried to impress him or used the opportunity to be coy and flirt. But not Kellie. He took the triangle back down and set the balls back up. Then he came around to the end of the table. “First, you need to stand like this.”

He stepped behind her, putting his hands lightly on her and moving her into proper position. “That’s better. Now bend over like this.”

He leaned with her, his right arm wrapped almost across her body. His left hand moved her fingers, placing them up so that the cue stick could easily glide across her thumb. His right hand rested on her forearm, and he drew her arm back and forth, showing her how to slide the stick. “Now you’ll need to put some force behind it. That’s right. Like this.” He guided her arm, giving her the example.

Then he stepped away. Touching her had done something to his equilibrium, and he needed some space to get his body back under control. She drew back and fired off her shot. The balls cracked, and she sunk one.

“I got one!” She seemed quite incredulous and happy, and at that moment Hart wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. Charlie, just the top of his head visible, wouldn’t see anything; heck, he’d probably approve. Still, Hart refrained. If he kissed Kellie, he wouldn’t want to stop. In fact, here he was on a Friday night, at home, enjoying himself more than he had in years or when this place had been filled with tons of partying people. He had a sudden vision of many nights like this: Kellie and Charlie in his house, him flirting with her before Charlie went off to bed and they…well…they…

“Great job,” he told her, giving her a high five as he tried to tamp down his steamrolling emotions. She already thought they were moving too fast, and he’d just pictured her moving in.

Now he understood the other part of what his dad had always said�while you might know exactly what you wanted right away, sometimes you didn’t get it immediately. Patience wasn’t a virtue, but torture. “Let’s make another shot.”

He walked her through how to pick out the next shot. Then, fate help him, he wrapped her body around his and showed her how to make the next one before he stopped, his body needing the distance. She sank the shot, and he swore her eyes flashed triumphantly as she straightened. She’d come alive, and he reveled in it, continuing to teach her until he’d brought her to the point where he only had to point to where to hit the cue ball for her to sink one.

“I need to check on Charlie,” Kellie said. He’d finished his phone call a while ago. Hart followed Kellie over to the sofa, where they found Charlie sound asleep.

“We need to get back,” she said.

“Do you want to just stay here?” Hart asked. “I’ve slept on that sofa many times. I can get him some blankets.”

“He has nightly medicine he needs to take when we get back to the track. I didn’t bring it with me, since I didn’t think we’d be out this late. He usually takes it at bedtime.”

Hart could see her withdrawing into herself, as if inwardly blaming herself for failing in Charlie’s care. He refused to let her do that. “It’s fine. We can go back. Do you want to wake him up or just have me carry him?”

Kellie chewed on her lip for a moment. “You could probably just carry him.”

“Then let me go and turn off the lights. We’ll go out from down here. I can set the alarm via remote.”

Within minutes, they were on their way back to the track, Charlie asleep in the back captain’s seat.

“Stop berating yourself,” Hart said.

“I can’t help it. He wears out so easily,” Kellie replied. “He didn’t feel warm, so that’s a very good sign.”

“What do the fevers mean?” Hart asked.

“They mean he’s caught some infection. His cells don’t function like normal cells. Germs you and I don’t even notice can turn into something major for him. We fight anemia. He bruises and bleeds easy because of a shortage of platelets. His white cells don’t fight infections, and there aren’t enough of them, either.”

“How is all this treated?” Hart asked.

“Blood and platelet transfusions. Chemo. This next treatment hopes to take his few healthy white cells and multiply them.”

“I don’t quite get it,” Hart said honestly.

“It’s so complicated. In the simplest terms, most of his white blood cells are immature. They don’t work. So not only does he not have enough cells, but the ones he has are useless.”

“Oh,” Hart said. Traffic was light heading to the race track and heavy going away from it as fans left after the truck race finished. He reached over and touched Kellie’s hand. “You’ve been through a lot. Thanks for letting me give him this weekend.”

She sighed. “We both needed it. Sometimes everything looks so positive. The tests come back with no malignant cells and then, boom! Two weeks later, we’re worse off than where we started. I don’t want to lose him. He’s all I’ve got.”

“No,” Hart said, tightening his grip. “From here on out, you have me, too.”