Home Field Advantage (10 page)

"Lemon meringue
pie." This time his grin was self-mocking. "We did our best. Store-bought
crust, Jell-O mix, and the meringue...well, it's a little on the flat side,
but..."

Marian held up one hand.
"I surrender. I couldn't possibly hurt Emma's feelings. As you know darn
well." She heard his soft chuckle when she raised her voice for the benefit
of their audience. "Let's get our coats, guys. We'll go see Snowball and
Esmerelda's new home."

"Hey, cool!" Emma
jumped up. "Come on, hurry up. I'll show you my bedroom and
everything!"

Unfortunately, everything
included her dad's bedroom. Half an hour later, Marian and the twins had
already dutifully inspected a living room bigger than their entire house,
complete with gleaming maple floor, river rock fireplace, vaulted ceiling, and
a wall of windows that looked out toward the Cascade Mountains. Marian stood
for a long moment in front of the windows, gazing past the red barns and crisp
white fences toward the jagged mountain range, shadowed by dusk. The scene was
heartbreakingly beautiful. She had to wrench herself away to continue the
tour.

There was a large office as
well, and a small room set up with a projector and screen that covered one
wall.

"Game films," John
said.

The kitchen gave Marian a
spasm of envy, with its counters tiled in bright blue, glass-fronted maple
cabinets, and dishwasher, microwave, and double ovens. Emma's pride in her
bedroom upstairs was poignant. It was so perfect for a little girl. Marian knew
each toy and piece of white-painted furniture had been anxiously chosen by
John, trying to make up for all that Emma had lost.

She was reassured by the
normality of their small family when he stuck his head around the door and
raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's the first time in days I've seen the
floor in here. I have a cleaning agency coming twice a week," he added as
an aside. "I guess they must have bulldozed their way through here
today."

Anna stared big-eyed at the
two-story pink Barbie house and the Barbie Ferrari. Jesse's eyes were just as
wide as he peeked around Marian's leg at a four-foot-tall teddy bear. Emma
bounced on her bed, then whirled past John and Marian to fling open the door
across the hall. Marian followed without thinking.

John's bedroom. She didn't
want to see it, but she was trapped in the doorway, her gaze riveted to the
king-size bed. From her peripheral vision she knew that the floor in here was
carpeted in a rich shade of rust, the pile deep and lush, that the walls were
oyster white, dominated by a huge wallhanging, stylized and primitive, that
some distant part of her recognized as South American. Below it was the bed.
Marian couldn't look away from the expanse of black coverlet, the simple table
beside it with a clock and a lamp and a pair of glasses.

Dear Lord. Why was the sight
of his bed so intimate, so unnerving? Of course he slept in a bed! What had
she expected? Why was panic stealing her breath and heat coiling in her belly?
Why was she painfully conscious of John standing just behind her? Why was she
so sure he knew what she was feeling?

Her voice defied her best
attempt to control it. Huskily she said, "You wear glasses?"

When he didn't answer, she turned
her head to look at him. Their eyes met and Marian quit breathing altogether.
John was watching her with blatant desire, the curve of his mouth unbearably
sensual. The children no longer existed. She was frozen in the doorway,
achingly conscious of the big hand braced on the doorframe only inches from her
shoulder, of his wide shoulders in a worn denim shirt, and the lock of hair
that fell over his forehead. They stared at each other, neither moving.

The shocking spell was broken
when Emma snatched Marian's hand and said eagerly, "Let's have pie now. I
made it myself. Except Daddy helped some."

When John smiled crookedly at
his daughter, Marian's stolen breath was restored. Shaken, she wondered if
she had imagined the expression of naked desire on his face.

"I... Thank you, Emma.
I'd like some. Jesse...Anna? Would you like pie?"

"What kind?" Jessie
asked with deep suspicion.

Emma dropped Marian's hand
and grabbed his. "Oh, come on. It's good. Really. I think it's good. Daddy
and I've never made it before, but when I licked the bowl I liked it."

Somehow they were retracing
their steps, first through the hall and then down the carpeted steps, the
children bumping on their bottoms and giggling.

Marian was about halfway down
in their wake when she heard John's voice behind her, more rough-edged than
usual. "I wear glasses to read. It's a sign of impending middle age."

She seriously doubted that he
would look any more middle-aged in glasses than he did without. She could
picture him tipping them down, smiling lazily at her over the top of the
frames. Leaning against a pillow, long legs stretched out. On a bed.

She couldn't think of a thing
to say. What in God's name was wrong with her? She didn't want a man in her
life. Any man!

In the kitchen Emma laid out
quilted placemats on the antique oak table, then solemnly served Marian, Anna,
and Jesse before carrying her own plate to the table. Marian felt...odd. Going
through the motions. Smiling at Emma, lightly thanking her, answering Anna's
questions—"Mama, why do they have two tables to eat at?"—sliding the
tines of her fork into the weepy meringue and tough crust.

But on another level she
remained acutely conscious of Emma's father. In faded jeans and scuffed
leather cowboy boots he looked nothing like a television personality. His
straight brown hair showed the marks of the Stetson and he smelled faintly of
horse and hay. And goat, she thought, with the first stirring of humor she'd
felt since she walked in his front door. But even that faded when he drew up
the pressed-back oak chair next to her and dubiously eyed his pie. His knee
touched hers under the table. He glanced up to smile ruefully at Marian, though
the look in his eyes somehow didn't match the smile.

"I can make a damned
good dinner," he said. "But I have to admit, my baking still leaves a
little bit to be desired."

"This is fine,"
Marian said. "Really." It wasn't a lie. She couldn't taste the pie.
She was too miserable. There she sat in John McRae's kitchen, facing the
facts. She was jealous. No, worse than that. She was swamped by longing for
this kitchen, this house, for the acres of rolling green pasture and the horses
behind those freshly painted fences. For Emma with her anxious brown eyes and
for Emma's father with those intent gray ones. The hunger was a searing, wholly
unexpected pain. Marian wanted to belong here. She would have given almost
anything to belong here—anything but the pitiful remnants of her pride.

This house had made obvious
the vast gulf between her and John. Maybe he didn't walk around with a pretty
blonde on each arm. Maybe he loved his daughter and did the best he could.
Maybe he even worked hard with those elegant Arabians out in the pasture. But
his life was as alien from hers as that classy gray stallion out in the pasture
was from dumpy, shaggy Snowflake. What were either of them doing here? She
tried to picture John in her kitchen, tasting her jam, washing dishes, gently
teasing, but the image wouldn't come. Why had he chosen to leave his daughter
with her when this was what she was accustomed to?

For Emma's sake, Marian
finished every bite on her plate. Then she said with determination, "Thank
you, Emma. That was delicious. But I'm afraid we'd better be going."

"But Emma said I could
play Barbie," Anna whined. "Can we?"

"I wanna play,
too," Jesse said. "Not go home."

"Please?" Emma
chimed in.

Defeated before she opened
her mouth, still Marian tried. "We really need to..."

John laid down his fork and
said casually, "Why don't you let them play while I show you the barn. You
should know where the tack is. And don’t forget the blackberries."

"I..." What could
she say? She was as trapped as she'd been upstairs in the door to his bedroom.
"Just for a few minutes," she conceded.

The three children poured out
of the room, Emma's nonstop chatter leading them. "You can play with my
Western Fun Midge. She has red hair, like the Little Mermaid. Jesse can be
Prince Eric. I'll be the Witch. You know how to play Little Mermaid, don't you?
I can sing the songs, too..."

John shook his head.
"Bossy."

"Normal for that
age." Marian began carrying dirty dishes to the immaculate sink.
"Anyway, Anna and Jesse are young enough to like being bossed."

"Leave the dishes,"
John said. "Come and meet Isaiah. I see his pickup's out there. He must be
back from town."

She glanced involuntarily out
the window. "Isaiah?"

"My partner. He's good
with horses."

Reluctantly Marian left the
pile of plates in the sink and followed him. "Does he know about Snowball
and Esmerelda?"

"As long as it walks on
four legs, Isaiah likes it," John said. He waited at the bottom of the
front porch steps for her to catch up with him.

Evening was coming on, and
outside the light was gilded by the setting sun, the shadows deep and long. All
that was missing was a garden, Marian thought irrelevantly. Roses climbing the
porch rails behind tall lilies and spiky blue speedwell and heavy-headed
peonies.

Her effort to distance
herself failed when John said bluntly, "What's wrong, Marian? Why are you
so quiet?"

"Oh, I'm just
tired," she said evasively. "It's been hard work getting packed and
still taking care of the mob. I'll be relieved to get settled again."

He studied her in silence for
an uncomfortably long moment. At last he took a different tack. "Emma
doesn't like the new rental. I hope you didn't settle for something..."
John hesitated.

Marian managed a chuckle.
"Your daughter has no imagination! It's a perfectly adequate house, just
kind of blah. Some fresh paint and wallpaper and a flowerbed in front will do
wonders."

He was frowning, his
searching gaze too perceptive, but Marian kept her chin up and waited him out.
Finally he smiled crookedly. "You shouldn't be so polite. It's none of my
business, anyway."

"But it's kind of you to
be interested," she said, a little stiffly.

John nodded toward the barn.
"Shall we get on with the tour?"

She murmured agreement and
fell into step beside him, very aware of his size and sheer physical presence.
His long strides ate up the ground and she had to hustle to keep up.

"Where does your partner
live?" Marian asked.

"Right over there."
John nodded past the barns to a rise, where a small white farmhouse sat. Marian
had vaguely noticed it and assumed it belonged to another property.
"That's the house that came with the place," John added. "Isaiah
and I talked it over. He decided to keep the old house and I'd build a new one.
It's worked out."

The huge doors to the barn
stood open, revealing a wide, sawdust-covered aisle with stalls to each side. A
soft whicker called her to the first stall, and she glanced over the half door
to see a leggy bay yearling moving restlessly.

"Oh, you're
beautiful," Marian murmured.

John paused beside her and
propped his elbows on the Dutch door. "He's one of our first crop of
foals. I like his looks."

"What a wonderful way to
make a living," Marian said, then asked impulsively, "Why do you
ever leave?"

"Hey, it's an expensive
hobby. I have to support it somehow, don't I?"

His tone was so flippant that
she discounted his answer. She read the sports page in the Seattle Times and
knew darned well how much pro stars were paid. He must have had plenty of money
or he couldn't have bought this spread to start with. She held one hand out for
the colt to nuzzle. "You're lucky," she said, wondering why she felt
a spasm of pain in her chest.

John didn't look at her, and
his tone was unrevealing. "Yeah. I know I am."

The magnitude of the
operation became more obvious to Marian as they continued the tour. A
bisecting aisle led into a huge, covered arena, and she could see that on the
other side of it was another corridor lined with stalls. John showed her the
tack room and the nearby stall where he planned to put Snowball, who had been left
with Esmerelda in a small paddock while the house tour was conducted.

"Shall I put the goat
next door until we rig some kind of pen outside?" he asked.

"You know," Marian
said thoughtfully, looking into the large, loose box with a thick bed of straw,
"I'll bet Snowball and Esmerelda would happily share a stall. They're good
friends."

"If you think that's
best."

John's response was so terse
that Marian turned her head, only to find that he was watching her again. The
light was dimmer here in the barn than it had been in his bedroom, shadowing
his expression, but she saw enough to make her pulse take a dizzying leap.

"John..." She
stopped, licked suddenly dry lips. "You're doing it again. I wish you
wouldn't look at me like that."