Home Field Advantage (3 page)

John glanced at his daughter,
but her face stayed averted. "Suppose I bring her about noon?" he
said.

"Good." She
hesitated, then looked up at him. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Or
tea?"

The offer was obviously no
more than polite, and even so he refused only with reluctance. "You must
be tired. And Emma and I both have to pack."

Marian told herself firmly
that she was relieved. He had a strangely unsettling effect on her, one she
didn't even like to acknowledge. If she were ever to fall in love again, which
at this point in her life she found difficult to imagine, it wouldn't be with a
man who spent more time away from home than he did with his motherless
daughter.

When he and Emma were gone
and Marian was involved in the nightly rituals of bathing her twins, of
cuddling them and reading stories and tucking them in, a peripheral part of her
consciousness puzzled over the two who had left—the child with the frightened
brown eyes and the man who had looked so tenderly at his daughter but was
prepared to leave her with a stranger for the weekend—not just this weekend,
but all the ones to come in the next—what?—three months? Four months? Did all
men lack some basic instinct for nurturing? she wondered, giving her own sleepy
children a soft kiss as she pulled the covers up to their chins and left them
in the warm glow from their mouse nightlight.

Tired, she began to run soapy
water into the kitchen sink automatically, wanting nothing more than to finish
cleaning up so that she could go to bed herself. But tonight her thoughts were
relentless, the remembered ache of betrayal sharp in her throat. She knew the
unfairness of turning her bitterness on John McRae, who at least had not
abandoned his child. But he had sparked too many memories, ruffling the
hard-won serenity she had achieved. Unfair or not, she resented that.

Watching John McRae say
good-bye to his daughter nearly broke Marian's heart. Crouched before Emma, he
pulled her into a tight hug, resting his cheek against her dark hair. For just
a moment his eyes met Marian's over the littie girl's head, before Marian
looked uncomfortably away. The pain she had seen was too private, not meant for
her eyes.

Why, she wondered, if he
loved his daughter so much, was he leaving her? Although she knew little about
football, even Marian was vaguely aware that professional athletes made an
obscene amount of money—surely enough for him to have retired, or at least
waited until Emma was older before he went back to work.

He abruptly released his
daughter and stood. His expression was wiped clear of all emotion when he said,
his voice rough, "I'll see you Monday morning. Do you mind if I call
Sunday night en route?"

"No, of course
not," Marian said. "If you want to call any time and talk to
Emma..."

John nodded. When he spoke to
his daughter his voice was softer, filled with tenderness. "I'll call tonight,
hon. Have fun riding the pony."

Marian stepped forward and
instinctively put an arm around the girl's thin shoulders as her father strode
to his car and drove away without a backward glance. Something caught at
Marian's throat as she watched him go. She tried to tell herself that it was
anger, but it felt more like pity. Only, how could she feel pity for a man who
was rich, successful, and sexy? He had everything. Didn't he?

Tearing her thoughts away
from the father, she glanced down at his daughter. "Would you like to meet
Esmerelda now?" she asked gently.

For a moment Emma didn't
respond, but at last she nodded. Feeling the child's stiffness, Marian let her
hand drop away. Perhaps without a mother, Emma wasn't used to being cuddled. Or
maybe it was just too soon.

Turning to her own toddlers,
who lurked shyly in the doorway, Marian said, "Anna? Jesse? Do you have
your shoes on? Good. Let's go visit Esmerelda. And maybe you could all have a
ride on Snowball. If we don't exercise her a little, she'll get so fat she
won't be able to walk! Maybe she'll have to roll like a real snowball!"
Encouraged by Emma's slight smile, Marian herded the children around the house,
accompanied by both dogs.

The goat was penned in a tall
enclosure beside the ramshackle barn. Seeing them coming, she butted the fence
and bleated.

Emma dropped to her knees and
pushed her hand through the wire. When Esmerelda nibbled on her fingers, a soft
giggle escaped the five-year-old.

"It tickles!"

"Wait'll she gets your
hair!" Marian promised.

"She's fat, too,"
Emma said shyly.

"Yes, but she has an
excuse," Marian said as she opened the gate to let Esmerelda loose into
the pasture. "She's a pygmy goat, and they're naturally round. Although
she does look like she's pregnant, doesn't she?"

"A baby goat would be
nice," Emma said wistfully.

"It would be fun,
but..." Marian stopped. There was no reason to tell Emma that they might soon
have to find another home for poor Esmerelda, who had been outrageously
spoiled. And Snowball. How would she ever find anybody who would love the
shaggy white pony as much as she did? Snowball had been hers when she was a
child. It would be a part of her life she would be selling. How could she do
it?

Forcing a smile, she said,
"Oops, here comes Snowball. He gets jealous. Here." Marian pulled a
carrot from her back pocket and offered it to Emma. "Break this into a
couple of pieces and hold it out to him on the flat of your hand." She
demonstrated. "I promise, he'll be your slave for life."

"Ride Snow," Jesse
demanded.

"Ride," his sister
agreed.

"Emma, do you mind going
next? No? Okay, who wants to go in front?" Marian asked.

"Me!" Anna
insisted.

Marian plopped her
two-year-old daughter on the broad white back and waited until her small
fingers had knotted in Snowball's mane before lifting Jesse up behind. Busy
crunching the carrot, the pony paid no more notice to the added weight than he
did to Aja, frisking about his hooves.

Snowball had to be convinced
that no more carrots were forthcoming before he reluctantly agreed to amble
around the pasture with Marian walking on one side of him and Emma holding the
lead rope. Any shyness vanished in the pleasure Emma took at being trusted to
be in charge.

When the pony's stride
dragged, she tugged on the lead and demanded, "Come on, Snowball!
Giddyup!" The pony sighed and increased his pace infinitesimally.

Marian hid a smile. At
twenty-three years old, Snowball had learned long ago that he was the master.
Fortunately, he was a kind, well-meaning one.

"Okay, Emma,"
Marian said as they came around by the barn. "Your turn. Have you ever
ridden before?"

"Whoa, Snowball."
The pony had already stopped, but Emma clung to his halter as though she
expected him to fling up his head and gallop away at any moment. "Daddy
has a horse ranch," she informed Marian. "Arabian horses. I ride a
lot."

Marian instantly pictured one
of the elegant horses, but it wasn't Emma she saw astride; it was her father.
The image fit, Marian realized. John McRae looked more like a cowboy than a
football player, his tall body rangy rather than overmuscled, his voice deep
and slow.

Emma's tone of importance
dwindled into discontent as she admitted, "But Daddy or Isaiah always has
to lead me because our horses are all big. I'll bet I could ride Snowball all
by myself."

Seeing the hope in her dark
eyes, Marian smiled. "I'll bet you could, too," she agreed.

Snowball had worked his usual
magic, Marian thought with relief. It was going to be all right. Emma would be
happy with them.

Why she was so relieved,
Marian couldn't have said. After all, this was temporary. After Monday morning,
she would probably never see Emma or her father again. Which was just as well,
Marian thought firmly. She had enough problems without complicating her life
further. And a complication was all that the vulnerable child and her too-attractive
father would be.

*****

Sunday morning Marian studied
the classifieds while the children watched cartoons. "Hannah!" she
exclaimed, pushing a fat gray cat off the newspaper. "I can't read it with
you sprawled in the middle!" Hannah grudgingly moved over a few inches.

There were plenty of rentals
available, Marian thought, trying to find her place. The trouble was, she
couldn't afford three-quarters of them. And of the remainder, almost all
specified no pets. She'd given up hope of keeping Snowball and Esmerelda, but
to have to find homes for the dogs and cats as well... Her teeth closed painfully
on her lower lip and her gaze moved to the next column. Eight hundred and fifty
dollars a month! She lived on less than that.

The next one was a possible,
she supposed, circling it in red. But the description was ominous.
"Fixer-upper with darling potential!" In her experience,
"darling" translated to tiny, and if it was too much of a
fixer-upper, she'd never get it licensed by the state for day-care. Assuming
there were no neighbors to object, and that her current customers were willing
to cross town to leave their children, and... Her mind easily found the
familiar path strewn with worries.

If only she'd been able to
stay here a few more years. Just until the twins started school. Then she could
have worked... But she was wasting time. If she were going to dwell on the
"if onlys," she ought to wish for child support. If only her
ex-husband were paying it, life wouldn't be so hard. But he wasn't. And she
wouldn't trade her children for anything on earth.

She lifted her voice above
the canned giggles from the television set. "Guys, we have to go
somewhere. Time to turn the TV off and get your shoes."

"But Daddy's going to be
on," Emma protested. "We could watch him."

The thought had already
crossed Marian's mind. She had instantly squelched it. She didn't have time to
waste today, and football bored her anyway. She could satisfy her curiosity
another time, once father and child were out of her life.

"I'm sorry," she
said. "I know you probably enjoy watching your dad, but I have some
errands that have to be done."

Anna unpopped her thumb from
her mouth and scrambled off the couch, but Jesse was still staring at the
colorful screen, mesmerized. When Emma turned it off, he blinked, as though
coming out of a spell. Marian hated to let the children watch even as much as
she did, but many days it was her only time to herself.

"Where are we
going?" Emma asked.

"To the grocery store,
and to look at a couple of houses. I don't own this one, and unfortunately the
people who do, want to build some condominiums here. We have to move pretty
soon."

The twins didn't understand,
but Emma did. "I hated moving. I don't have any friends. And Helen left
because she didn't want to live here."

Crouching to put on Jesse's
shoes, Marian said, "It's hard, isn't it? At least we don't have to leave town,
so we won't lose our friends." What friends? she thought. Who had time for
them?

"Let's go look at the
houses first," Emma said, bouncing a little as Marian buckled all three
into her old station wagon. "Grocery stores are boring. Besides, maybe we
can find a really neat place. Like our house. Our house is okay, even if I wish
we still lived in California."

Marian clicked the seat belt
into place over Emma, then ruffled her bangs. "You know something? I'll
bet in just a few months you'll have tons of friends and you won't be able to
remember why you didn't want to move."

Marian had buckled herself in
and backed the station wagon out of the driveway before she glanced over to
see how pinched Emma's face was.

Without looking up, the
little girl mumbled, "If Helen loved me, she wouldn't have left."

The road was empty. Marian
put the brake on right where she was and reached out to enfold Emma in a hug.
Leaning her cheek against the dark head, she closed her eyes. "Oh,
sweetie," she said sadly. "Life should be easier, shouldn't it?"

*****

The children were long in bed
that night when the telephone rang. Answering, Marian recognized John McRae's
voice immediately.

"Emma's doing just
fine," she said. "She's asleep already, but if you want—"

"No, don't get her
up," he interrupted. "I'm at the airport and I just thought I'd call
before I try to remember where I parked the car. Emma sounded happy when I
called last night, but since I didn't really get a chance to talk to you...
Well, I wondered how things went. I wasn't sure we'd get a chance to talk in
the morning."

Marian tucked the receiver in
the crook of her shoulder and sank into the comfortable, worn armchair where
she did most of her knitting. It was odd how easily she could picture his lean
face just from the sound of his voice.

"Emma's done well,"
she assured him. "She loved Snowball. She says you have horses, but
they're all too big for her."