Heather Graham (12 page)

“Come on in by the fire,” Ted said, and Kent followed him into the delightful old-fashioned parlor. He sat on the plump sofa, his arm around his daughter, who curled beside him.

“Great game, Kent, really great game!” Ted said warmly.

Kent smiled. Damn, but he did like Ted. Maybe it was possibly because he and Paula had really fallen out of love with one another. Or maybe it was just Ted. His daughter’s stepfather was a tall, slim man with pleasant blue eyes, gaunt features, and a smile that spoke of honesty and a gentle nature. Ted was a prominent attorney, a true pillar of society. He had avoided any possible problems by coming to Kent before he had married Paula and setting all his cards on the table. He had, without being broached on the subject, promised to love and care for Anne with all his heart—and welcome her natural father into his house at any time. He was an amazing man, Kent thought affectionately.

“Thanks,” he said, then shrugging, he admitted to Ted, too, that his effort had been for self-preservation.

Paula swept back into the room at that moment, carrying a tray of warm muffins and hot chocolate.

“Self-preservation!” She sniffed. “You should be thinking about more than a little self-preservation, Kent. You should start thinking about retirement.”

“Paula, I’m not that old—”

“Old has nothing to do with it, not in the true sense of the word,” Paula reminded him. He felt a little uneasy, since she was accurately touching upon a number of his own recent thoughts. “You’ve been front line forever!”

“Most men last three or four years in your position. Ten tops,” Ted commented.

“Oh, I’ll probably retire soon,” Kent murmured.

“While you’ve got a body left?” Paula asked dryly.

“Ouch!” Ted said, laughing. “She’s sure on your case tonight.”

Paula sat on the other side of Anne and pushed back a sweep of her rich chestnut hair. “I’m not on his case,” she protested to her husband. “I’ve just been watching the lineup.” Paula proceeded to outline the “if they beat” path to the Superbowl. “And Kent, if you meet up with Pennsylvania, I’ll really be worried.”

“Because you won’t know who to root for, huh?”

“No, I’m serious!” Paula declared. “That defensive tackle—what’s his name, Ted?”

“Paul Crane,” Ted supplied, filling his pipe with tobacco and packing it down lightly with his thumb.

Paula looked at Kent again. “That’s it—Paul Crane. He’s been on a lot of the sportscasts lately, saying that the only way to beat the Saxons would be to knock you and Sam Loper right out of the game.”

Kent sighed and shrugged. “Oh, come on, Paula, you know a lot of the players talk that way.”

“Yes,” Paula insisted, “but this man means it, Kent. If you face him, he’s going to try to cripple or kill you!”

“Paula, there are rules to the game,” Kent reminded her gently.

“Great. They get a penalty while you’re wheeled to the hospital.”

“Dad won’t get hurt by any big lug, will you, Dad?” Anne piped in.

He looked into her earnest eyes and gave her a hug. “I’ll try not to!” Kent promised with a laugh.

“Anne, bedtime,” Paula said suddenly.

“Oh, Mom, Dad just got here—”

“And I’m letting you stay out of school tomorrow because of it,” Paula reminded her daughter.

Anne looked at her father pleadingly.

“Bed when your mother says so,” he told her.

As a last-ditch effort Anne looked at Ted. He laughed. “You think I’m the soft spot, huh? No way. Up to bed. We’ve got nice things planned for tomorrow.”

Anne gave up. She kissed her father, then her mother, then Ted. Emotions riddled through Kent. After Anne disappeared up the stairs, he looked at Paula and Ted.

“I really want to thank you both,” he said quietly.

Ted laughed and lit his pipe. “For what?”

Kent grinned. “It isn’t every man who can feel at home in his ex-wife’s new home.”

“Well, you’re welcome any time,” Paula said matter-of-factly, folding a piece of her plaid skirt. Then she looked directly at him. “But haven’t you thought about having a home of your own?”

“I have two of them,” Kent defended himself, “one in the Rockies and one right on the beach in Sarasota. You’ve seen them both—”

“And neither is a home,” Paula stated. “You need a wife.”

“Paula,” Kent protested, looking to Ted for help. Ted shrugged.

“Paula,” Kent continued, “you were there, remember? Marriage didn’t work for me.”

She waved a hand in the air. “We weren’t suited to one another to begin with. You need someone with a little more … spirit, I guess is the word. A woman who fights back. I could become a cringing, soppy doormat too easily.”

“You were not—”

“I was,” Paula said, “or I never would have let a few newspaper articles ruin our marriage. But that’s past history.” She paused, then continued in a slightly different vein, “Kent, if the Saxons do go to the Superbowl, there will be a lot of reporters coming after you.”

“I’ve already got one on my tail,” Kent murmured.

“Oh?”

He shrugged, then decided he did want to talk—at least a little. “A girl—woman, that is. Dante Hudson’s daughter.”

“Oh!” Paula exclaimed. She was quiet for a minute. “If she wants an article, you’re going to have to give it to her, Kent. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.” Paula laughed suddenly. “Wasn’t she the one who scratched up your cheek?”

“The same.”

“How the years fly!” Paula murmured.

“That they do, my love,” Ted agreed. He gazed at Kent. “You don’t sound happy about this.”

“I’m not. I think that I wish she would have stayed in New York. Loper brought her out to a party the other night, and, well, Paula, you’ve seen a few of those parties.”

Paula raised a brow. “She can’t be a child anymore, Kent.”

“I know, but …”

“Something’s telling me our football hero dragged the young lady out of the party,” Ted said.

“Did you?” Paula pressed, laughing.

To his embarrassment, Kent found himself blushing. “Uh, yeah, I did.” He lifted his hands. “And now … well, now, I’m not really sure what she’s up to.”

“You’re the Cougar,” Paula reminded him.

“An old cat,” he countered.

“But still the most cunning on the mountain. Maybe I should call her and warn her,” Paula mused.

“Don’t you dare!” Ted warned his wife.

“Well, are you going to give her an article?” Paula asked.

Kent shrugged. “I’ve invited her up to the Rockies next weekend.”

“I definitely better call her up and warn her!” Paula exclaimed with a laugh.

“I’ve already tried that myself,” Kent muttered. “I just wish I knew whether she deserved a warning or not. Maybe I’m the one being … stalked.”

“Well,” Paula said, “I guess I’m going to have to take your side in this one. She’s a big girl now. If she comes at you with claws bared, she’ll have to expect to get scratched back.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Kent mused.

“I think I want to meet this woman,” Ted said suddenly. Then Kent caught him exchanging a glance with his wife.

Am I wearing my feelings that clearly? he wondered. Both of them knew that he wanted her—and were apparently interested in the outcome.

Paula yawned. “I’m going to bed. I assume you two are going to stay up and discuss sports and the American legal system for the next hour. Just don’t stay up too late. We planned a big day tomorrow for you and Annie.”

“Sure, we’ll turn in soon,” Kent promised.

“Your bedroom is ready,” Paula said. She brushed his cheek with a fond kiss, gave her husband a much more promising one, and disappeared up the stairs.

Kent did stay up with Ted for another hour, and they did discuss sports and the law.

Kent was glad of the company. Because when he did go up to the guest bedroom, he didn’t sleep. He lay awake, hot and uncomfortable, consumed with thoughts of Katie Hudson.

What was she doing now? It was one o’clock here, but only ten in California. Had Sam taken her back to the hotel room? Was she safely in bed—alone? Was she dreaming of a lover? Planning on returning to one? Or were there many lovers in her life?

He groaned aloud, suddenly aware that if Katie Hudson didn’t come to him, he would be going to Katie Hudson.

His prayers weren’t really directed to heaven when he murmured out loud in the night—they were to an old friend.

“Dante, forgive me. All I can think about is bedding your daughter …”

When his own daughter slept in the same house. A pretty, bright, loving little girl … Just like Katie Hudson had been.

Except that his daughter still had a mother and a great stepfather. Katie’s mother had deserted her after the divorce. She had spent the years with a kind but elderly aunt, and she had lived for her father …

Kent jumped out of bed. They were all going to think he was crazy when they heard the shower running at this time of night. He had to cool himself down somehow.

While Kent was visiting Independence Hall with his daughter, Katie was dragging herself into the sixth floor offices of
World Magazine.

In New York it was two o’clock, but back in California it was only eleven. And after her early-morning six o’clock flight, she felt as if it were still the middle of the night—anywhere.

I stayed out with Sam too long, she decided regretfully as she attempted to give the receptionist a sunny smile and assure her that both the trip and the game had been wonderful.

Katie then hurried through the narrow corridor to her own office, a five by five patch of space that could barely hold a desk, chair, and typewriter. But then, she wasn’t really on the staff yet, so she was probably lucky to have that space with its thin paneling and glass partitions.

She sat down, dropped her note pad on her desk, and put her purse in the bottom drawer, then closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, hoping that activity would give her a sudden burst of energy—or at least the desire to be alive and awake.

Julie,
World
’s tall, elegant, and nice receptionist, tapped on her door, speaking cheerfully. “Brought you some coffee, Katie. Hate to say it, but I think you need it.”

Katie opened her eyes and accepted the mug with a grateful smile. The editors at
World
might not think that she was there to stay, but Julie had welcomed her. Julie had given her the
World
mug with her name scrolled across it.

“Thanks, Julie, you’re a doll,” Katie murmured. “I guess I’d better drink this quickly and look as if I’m doing something.”

Julie waved a hand with beautifully manicured fingers in the air. “Raff is still at lunch. Sue Morgan is on the desk for me and will ring back if he shows up. I’m just dying to hear all. Tell me. What was he like?”

“Who?”

“‘Who’ she asks!” Julie laughed. “Kent Hart.”

Katie stared at her coffee while she sipped it and shrugged. “He’s … okay.”

“You spend a weekend chasing Kent Hart, and all you have to say is that he’s okay?”

“Julie, you know I didn’t want to go, and you know why.”

“Yes, because of your dad, and that’s foolish, Katie. And if he’s only ‘okay,’ why do you look so bad?”

Katie had to laugh. “Thanks a lot! I look so bad because I was out with Sam Loper, not Kent Hart.”

“Oh! Sam Loper, now, huh? Hmm … well, I must say, even if he’s not quite as intriguing, he’s still a cutie. A real cutie. And all I ever get is stockbrokers!”

Julie moved into the room. She was about three years older than Katie and, Katie felt, much more sophisticated. She moved through life with an amused tolerance and a very shrewd intelligence.

“I didn’t exactly ‘get’ Sam Loper,” Katie replied dryly.

Julie leaned against the single bare spot on Katie’s desk, arching a slim dark brow. “The young lion of the NFL takes you out, and you barely sound interested? Katie!” She laughed again. “You’re dating schedule sounds like a
Who’s Who
article, and you’d rather be going after ancient war heroes!”

“More character there,” Katie murmured.

“So what’s Loper like?” Julie pressed.

Katie could smile freely then. “A doll. A perfect gentleman. He opens car doors, watches for traffic, talks about his sisters and brothers, loves animals—”

“Kate, you sound like a mother that’s proud of her son.”

“That’s a little how I feel about Sam.”

“Six feet of bronzed muscle, the cutest tush I’ve ever seen, and she comes up with a maternal complex!” Julie groaned.

“You haven’t asked me about the article yet,” Katie reminded Julie dryly.

“Why bother? You attract football players like a free ball in the end zone. I’m sure Hart succumbed sweetly.”

“No, not exactly,” Katie murmured.

Julie’s smile fell. “You’re kidding! He refused to give you the article?”

“No, not exactly that either—”

“Oh, thank God! Raff is really set on this one.”

Katie felt herself pale with tension and anger. “Damn Raff! I’m thinking the damn job isn’t worth it!”

“Calm down, honey,” Julie advised sympathetically. “Think past the moment, okay? The pay is good here, and you’re talented. In the years to come, you could bypass Raff and then fire him! Think of it that way. Now, why don’t you explain your ‘not exactlys’?”

Katie sighed, finished her coffee, and set down the empty cup. “I saw Kent Hart on Saturday night and Sunday morning. He asked all the questions. If I want a real interview, I have to go to his place in the Rockies after the next game.”

“Oh. Oh!” Julie started to laugh. “Well, I guess you collected Kent Hart after all!”

“Julie, it’s nothing like that, I assure you,” Katie said uneasily. “I think the man hates me—but he does feel he owes my father.” Was that true? she wondered. Kent
acted
as if he hated her, and yet she could still feel the touch of his arms, the hardness of his body …

A blush rose to her cheeks when she thought about his hands on her. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping Julie wouldn’t notice the heated color in her cheeks.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I guess that means I head out to Denver next.”

Katie’s phone extension started to ring. She cast Julie a startled glance, then reached around her typewriter to catch it quickly.