Home Field Advantage (20 page)

The man she knew, and the man
she didn't.

Of course, on Friday, once he
had left for the airport and poor flushed Emma had been soothed to sleep and
the twins fed and tucked in, Marian had had second thoughts. She had grounds
for her wariness of him. She might have been unfair—she had been unfair—but
that didn't change the fact that he was wealthy, successful, and famous, while
she was just like a million other women whose husbands had walked out on them.
Poor, tired, and frantic. Why was he attracted to her? Would it last?

And could he have made other
choices about his job? Maybe the ranch could have waited for a few years, or he
could have done endorsements or television commercials that wouldn't have
taken him away from home so often. How had Emma felt, when she had just lost
her mother, to have her father disappear for several days of every week? Did
Marian want to love a man who hadn't put his daughter first? Did she have a
choice?

But then she remembered his
hands on her breasts, the look on his face, the heat of his kisses, and
flushed. And she remembered his anger and his accusation. She would not let
Mark taint her relationship with John.

“I wouldn't walk out on my
daughter, and by God, I wouldn't walk out on you, either.”

John wasn't the same kind of
man as Mark. If she loved him, if she really loved him, maybe trust had to be
part of the package.

On Sunday afternoon, she had
barely turned off the TV set when the phone rang.

Emma beat her to it.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed joyously. "I'm all better. I even ate
breakfast. And Marian let me have a 7-Up while we watched you on TV."

She prattled on happily and
insisted on Jesse and Anna whispering hello into the phone before she passed
the receiver to Marian, who took it and smiled.

"Would you like to speak
to Esmerelda, too?"

John's response was
unprintable.

"Didn't the game just
end? Are you calling from the stadium?" Marian asked.

"It's a taped delay on the
West Coast. I'm back at the hotel, throwing my stuff in a suitcase so I can get
home."

"Good," Marian said
softly. She glanced at the kids, but they were no longer paying any attention.
Tyrannosaurus Rex was wreaking havoc.

"Uh..." John
cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you something."

"That's ominous."
She tried to speak lightiy.

"I'd like to take you
out to dinner tomorrow night."

Her pulse accelerated.
"You mean, like a..." She hesitated.

"A date. Exactly. Maybe
we could go whole hog and make it all the way to Seattle. The Comedy Club? Or
do you like jazz?"

Could he possibly sound
nervous? "I'd love that," she said.

A moment later, she hung up,
smiling but trembling a little inside, too. A date. A real, honest-to-good-
ness, old-fashioned date, like she hadn't been on in years.

She could hardly wait for
John's good-night kiss.

In the dark auditorium, the
sweet sounds of Graver Washington's saxophone floated gently through the air,
sank to a whisper, and at last shimmered into a silence as eloquent as the
music.

The audience in Seattle's
elegant, restored Paramount Theatre sat unmoving, hushed, straining for any
last trickles of sweetness, before erupting into applause. Since this had been
the second encore, the lights came on then and the audience gracefully if
reluctantly began to file out.

John's hand on her shoulder
steered Marian through the packed crowd and out a side exit. He had accomplished
a miracle in finding tickets to a sold-out concert at the last minute, but
maybe that was what fame and fortune did for you, Marian thought ruefully.

Grover Washington's magical
playing had only been the cap to a perfect evening. A perfect evening that
wasn't over.

"So what did you
think?" John asked, once they were in the car and heading toward the
freeway on-ramp.

"It was wonderful,"
Marian said simply. "I haven't been to a concert in...oh, ages. And never
one like that."

John reached out and took her
hand in a warm clasp. "I like other kinds of music, but jazz is my
favorite. I'm getting too old for stadiums. Not much is worth standing in line
for. Or, God forbid, standing during the concert."

"Mm-hmm," Marian
murmured.

His fingers tightened.
"Although I don't feel so old tonight."

"And you usually
do?" she teased.

"There's something about
children. All that energy. And watching Emma grow up..." In the darkness
she felt more than saw his shrug. "The years are passing right in front of
me."

"It must get worse when
they really grow up," she mused. "In ten years Jesse'll be taller
than I am. And then the day comes when they'll die of humiliation if somebody
actually sees them out with Mom or Dad."

"And then there's the
day they leave home."

Marian secretly dreaded that
time, which was ridiculous when her children were still a few months away from
their third birthday. She couldn't help wondering if John had deliberately
introduced the subject to remind her that their children were only a small part
of their lives. That they had to have a life left after the children were gone.

And maybe she should remember
that more often. It had been a long while since anything but Anna and Jesse had
seemed important. Now she had something—someone—else. At least for the moment,
Marian couldn't bear to question or doubt.

They talked comfortably on
the drive home, John about the personalities of some of his sports colleagues,
Marian about the kids and Isaiah and Emma's stories from school and the field
trip.

"She was crushed,"
Marian said humorously. "Nobody at the station paid any attention to her.
She said they were so busy and it wasn't exciting at all. Being a television
star looked bo-ring." She drew the word out the way Emma had, and John
laughed.

"Poor Emma. She wants the
world to fall at her feet."

To Marian it seemed natural
that a child who had lost her mother would crave attention, but she said only,
"It may yet. She's going to be beautiful. And smart."

John gave her an amused
glance. "You're almost as prejudiced as I am."

At home, he used the remote
control to open the garage door, then close it behind them. In the silence of
the garage, he turned off the car lights. Nervousness and excitement fluttered
in Marian's stomach, and she made no move to get out.

John turned to face her, though
she couldn't see his expression in the darkness. "I have to drive the
baby-sitter home," he said.

"Yes?" Had her
voice squeaked?

"I hope you'll wait up
for me, but just in case..." One big hand twined in her hair and tugged
her toward him. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and went.

The kiss was deep, slow, and
satisfying. But not enough. Never enough. Marian almost sobbed when John's
mouth left hers, but when she let her head fall back, he trailed kisses down
her throat. At the barrier of the dress's neckline, he groaned and lifted his
head.

His voice was husky with
mixed passion and amusement. "I haven't necked in the car since I was
sixteen."

"I feel about
sixteen."

"Mmm." His answer
was muffled against her lips, though this time his kiss was exquisitely gentle,
so tender that tears prickled at the back of her eyelids.

At last he set her away from
him and heaved a sigh. "Damn. I wish the baby-sitter could drive."

"It won't take you
long," Marian said hopefully.

He sighed again. "Well,
shall we go in and face the worst?"

"The kids will have been
asleep for hours," she reminded him.

John had no sooner opened the
door to the kitchen when they heard the distant wail. "Famous last
words," he muttered.

"I want Daddy! I want
Mar-Marian!"

Marian's heart sank. Why
couldn't they have all been peacefully asleep? Then she felt selfish for her
momentary rebellion.

The harassed baby-sitter
looked up eagerly when Marian and John appeared in the bathroom doorway. Emma
was throwing up in the toilet.

"She woke up sick about
an hour ago," the teenager said before adding fervently, "I'm glad
you're home."

Understatement of the world.
Marian, competent as ever, took over, helping Emma rinse out her mouth and wash
her face and change into a clean nightgown. After assuring himself that his
daughter wouldn't die, John left to take the baby-sitter home.

Just before he left, John and
Marian exchanged a despairing look. So much for waiting up for him.

For the moment, what she
would be doing was sitting up with a sick child, bowl in hand. True romance.

*****

Emma's relapse only lasted
twenty-four hours, but was exhausting nonetheless. That week Marian began to
feel as if she were tripping over children. Every time John cornered her alone,
along would come one of the three. Or Isaiah. Or a stablehand. Or even
Esmerelda, who peered interestedly in the window at them when they were
kissing.

"Why is she out?"
Marian whispered.

"I felt sorry for
her," John growled. "I didn't want her to get lonely..."

Marian couldn't help it. She
started laughing. "The big tough cowboy!"

A reluctant grin tilted one
corner of his mouth. "She is the only goat."

"Why don't you get her a
boyfriend, then?"

"So they can have sweet
little baby goats? Who can dig up some more daffodil bulbs?"

"More?"

"I stuck them back in. I
hope right side up. What was left of them."

Marian broke away and headed
for the door. This time, John laughed. By the time he quit, Emma and the end of
any hope of peace had arrived in the kitchen.

Not once in that week did
John suggest, or even hint, that they retire to his bedroom. Marian wasn't
quite brave enough to suggest it herself. Even his kisses, at those rare
moments they found themselves alone, were gentle, coaxing rather than
demanding. He was holding back; but why? Marian couldn't decide whether he was
courting her, or living up to his word. What had he said? That he wouldn't take
a lover in the same house as his daughter?

Marian wished, very much,
that he would.

Except...she had qualms of
her own. She felt a little like the beggar maid in love with the king. She
overheard John on the phone a couple of times, assertive to the point of being
aggressive. He expected the best, and he expected it now. All Marian ever hoped
for was just to get by.

John was tactful enough to be
sure she never had to ask for money; he paid her promptly, unemotionally, and
left cash for housekeeping on the kitchen counter for her to find. She was
grateful for that. She would have hated to stand in front of him and say,
"Please, may I have money to go to the store now?"

With the weekend, John left
again. Philadelphia, this time. Emma had her friend from school out, and though
it drizzled, Snowball was a big success. Patient as ever, he plodded around the
covered arena for over an hour, taking all four children in turn, chased by Aja
happily yapping.

"You're lucky!” Emma's
young friend said ardently when her mother arrived to pick her up.

The mother made a face.
"She's dying for a horse. Now she'll never give us any peace."

"Sorry," Marian
said apologetically. "She did have fun."

"Maybe Emma could come
and visit us next Saturday."

"Cool!" Emma said.

Unfortunately, she'd been
spoiled by having someone her own age to play with, and was a pill all day
Sunday.

"Anna and Jesse are no
fun to play with. I have to tell them what to say," she complained.

"They're only two,"
Marian reminded her.

"I know, but I wish they
knew how to play."

"They're learning from
you."

"I don't feel like being
a teacher. Can I watch TV?"

"Nope," Marian said
cheerfully. "I'm going to watch your dad. Besides, you spent an hour and a
half in front of the TV this morning. That's enough for one day."

"You're mean," Emma
declared, and flounced out of the kitchen. Marian stuck her tongue out after
the five-year-old, then blushed when she turned back to discover Isaiah
standing at the kitchen door, looking in through the glass, his hand raised to
knock. She actually thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

When John called Sunday
afternoon, he asked her on another date.

"What do you think, do
you want to go to the opera or a drive-in movie?" he asked, tongue-in-
cheek.