Home Field Advantage (5 page)

Her brow crinkled.
"But...what would you want with a goat?"

"Blackberries keep
springing up in our pastures. I hear goats are damn near the only way to get
rid of blackberries once and few all, short of poisons I'd prefer not to use
around the horses. You'd be doing me a favor."

"Why don't I believe
that?" she said softly.

He wanted to smooth the worry
from her brow. No, what he wanted—needed—was to touch her, with any excuse at
all. He was probably crazy, but he reached out, his hand curled into a fist,
and lightly stroked her cheek with his knuckle. The contact was fleeting, but
it jolted him like walking into an electric fence.

"Don't worry so
much," he said huskily.

Her eyes widened in something
very close to panic and then she ducked her head away from his hand, which fell
back to his side. She spoke in a muffled voice. "I can't take a favor like
that. It's...it's kind of you, but..."

He made himself thrust his
hands in dishwater and say brusquely, "I love my daughter, that's
all." He rinsed some plates under the faucet and stacked them in the
drainer, not looking at Marian. "You'd make her gloriously happy if you
agreed. And I mean the offer. It's practical for both of us. Just think about
it, okay?"

Out of the corner of his eye,
he could see her watching him with a troubled gaze. "I can promise that
much, at least," she agreed uncertainly. "And I don't want you to
think I don't appreciate..."

Catching both by surprise,
Emma popped up right behind them and craned her neck to see between them.
"Why are you washing the dishes, Daddy?"

"To be helpful,"
John said. "You all ready to go, kiddo? I'm about done here."

He'd already decided that
strategic retreat was the order of the day. Anyway, he was looking forward to
hearing how Emma had enjoyed the weekend. Because he'd had an idea that would
kill two birds with one stone, to put it vulgarly. If Marian could take Emma
every weekend, he'd not only feel comfortable about his daughter, but he'd
have an excuse to see Marian again. Regularly. And he'd be able to avoid a
repeat of the housekeeper hunt.

So he made their good-byes
casual and left a check bigger than Marian had asked for. He could still see her
small house in his car's rearview mirror when he asked Emma about the weekend.

"It was fun,
Daddy." She bounced in the seat. "Can I go there again? I didn't
really like the lady that was going to come to our house that much. I like
Marian. So could I...?"

"I think that's a good
idea," John said firmly. "I'll call Marian tonight. Okay?"

"Okay!"

Of course, that was only step
one, he thought with satisfaction. Step two was going to be luring Marian away
from all the children so he could have her to himself for a few hours.

Why was he so sure that it
wasn't going to be easy?

"Then I'll expect Emma
Friday afternoon," Marian said.

She slowly replaced the
telephone receiver and stood without moving, staring out the window into the
backyard where the children played in the sandbox. Warning bells were going off
in her head. No, that was ridiculous. She'd agreed to take Emma again only because
of the generous check John had left. That amount weekly added to what she
already earned might make the difference in the kind of rental she would be
able to afford. And it wasn't as though Emma had been any trouble. Despite the
sadness beneath, she was a joyous child, one who had all too easily touched
Marian's heart.

She would simply have to be
wary of her own vulnerability, Marian told herself firmly. She cringed at the
idea of Emma's father discovering how his kindness had affected her.

Who was she kidding? He
hadn't even needed to be kind! It was that slow, rough voice, the penetrating
gray eyes, the broad shoulders, and the lazy, graceful way he moved. Marian
shivered as she pictured the rare smile that warmed his face.

The real trouble was that
John McRae had reminded her of her own nearly forgotten sexuality, of the
sweetness and passion and tenderness that was possible between a man and a
woman. Unfortunately, along with that she'd remembered betrayal and sorrow and
loneliness. For her, the happiness in her marriage had become inextricably
tangled in her memory with the sadness.

Exhilaration and heartbreak.
She didn't need either, Marian thought fiercely, turning from the window to
hurry out into the backyard. Her children were enough. They had to be enough.
She would not allow John McRae to reawaken longings she could no longer afford.

She crouched by the sandbox.
"Hey, guys, want some help making a castle?"

*****

Emma accepted her father's
hug with grace, but without the previous week's misery. When he released her,
she danced away. "Hey, Jessie, Anna. Let's go pet Snowball. Can we ride,
Marian?"

"I'm afraid it's too
late. Dinner's already in…” But the three children had vanished around the
house. Marian rolled her eyes and turned back to John. "I can tell who's
popular around here."

His grin was wry. "And
how badly she's going to miss her dad."

Marian bit her lip. "I'm
sure..."

He gestured dismissively.
"Just kidding. I'm glad she was looking forward to coming. It makes
leaving easier for me."

Easy was what all absentee
parents wanted, Marian thought, but somehow she couldn't summon any anger.
John too obviously loved his daughter.

"Well," Marian
said. "Have a good trip. Where are you going this week?"

"L.A. Which reminds
me..." He patted his pockets, producing a slip of paper. "My cell
phone, my phone number at the hotel, and the network. They can always track me
down."

When she reached for the
paper, her fingers touched his, sending a disconcerting tingle up her arm. Her
gaze lifted and she saw in his eyes an echo of the awareness she felt. For a
very still, breathless instant, they looked at each other, until Marian swallowed
and made herself glance away. She stared down at the telephone numbers written
in a bold, dark scrawl. They might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphics for
all she knew.

"I'm sure we won't have
any problem," she said brightly. "Still..."

"Better safe than
sorry?"

Something mocking in his tone
brought her gaze up again. His mouth was curled into a crooked smile, and
Marian wondered whether his comment referred to telephone numbers or to the far
more intimate, unnerving vibes that shivered just beneath the surface.

Tilting her chin up slightly,
she said, "I do my best."

His smile widened until he
looked almost predatory. "I'm sure you do. Otherwise I wouldn't bring
Emma here."

Was he talking only about
Marian's capabilities as a baby-sitter? The look in his gray-green eyes was too
direct for her to believe that. But why would he be interested in her? He was a
retired pro athlete, a media personality. He must have stylish, sophisticated
women constantly throwing themselves at him. He couldn't possibly be attracted
to a struggling single mother who couldn't remember the last time she'd
bothered with makeup or worn anything more elegant than jeans. But if he was...
Dear God, what was she going to do?

Her panic must have showed on
her face, because his smile faded and his expression became guarded.

"I'll call tomorrow
night."

She bobbed her head
nervously. "Fine. Emma looks forward to that."

His voice was soft, sending a
shiver up her spine. "I look forward to that."

Marian refused to remember
the last time he had called. Instead she said only, "Emma needs the
reassurance."

"You'll take good care
of her?"

It sounded like an entreaty,
and she reacted instinctively, reaching out to touch his arm. "Of course I
will."

Before she could withdraw,
he'd captured her hand in his. The clasp was light, allowing for escape, but
she was paralyzed by the strength she felt in his long fingers. For an instant
she quit breathing as she stared up at him with wide eyes.

A frown gathered between his
brows. "Do I scare you?"

"No, I..." She bit her
lip. "Yes, I guess you do. I'm just not used to..."

When her words trailed off,
he arched one brow. "What aren't you used to?"

Marian tugged her hand free,
in a rush of defiance saying more than she wanted to. "I'm not used to
having a man look at me the way you do."

Again he frowned.
"You're a beautiful woman."

She held herself very
straight, although she had to twine together her trembling fingers. "Right
now I'm more interested in being a good mother. And a good baby-sitter for your
daughter."

Their gazes held for a tense
moment before his mouth tilted wryly. "That's pointed enough even for me.
I'd better get moving, anyway, or I'm going to miss my plane. Damn, I hate
L.A."

Marian struggled to sound
normal. "But didn't you live there?"

"That's why I hate it.
Oh, well. See you Monday morning?"

Again there was that hint of
vulnerability in his voice. What was he asking? Whether she would want to see
him? But Marian didn't let herself examine the question. "Monday,"
she agreed.

She made herself turn away as
he started his car. Before he had backed into the street, she circled the
corner of the house. She didn't have to watch him drive out of sight, anyway.
That last quizzical smile was frozen in her mind's eye like a butterfly in
amber.

Marian stopped in the long,
late-afternoon shadow behind the house. Outside Esmerelda's pen, the three
children were hunkered down in a row with their backs to Marian. Something
about the sight squeezed her chest with tenderness. But as though she had
opened herself to emotion, a wave of desperation washed over her, pulling
little bits of her along as it receded, like sand being swallowed by the tide.
She couldn't bear to be hurt again like Mark had done to her. It seemed that
John McRae could hurt her without even intending to, just by his existence, by
the possibilities he made her want to believe in. But that was impossible. He
was impossible.

Somehow, in the next three
days, she had to make herself believe it.

*****

Stretched out on the hotel
bed, John cradled the telephone receiver between his shoulder and ear. He still
wore slacks and a dress shirt, but his tie was flung over a chair and papers
were strewn across the flowered bedspread.

"Did you ride the
pony?" he asked.

"I made Snowball
trot," Emma told him with great satisfaction. "It was kind of bumpy
and I bounced around, but I held on tight and it was fun. Marian said I did
great. And Snowball stopped the minute I wanted to. Marian says I can trot again
tomorrow if it's okay with Snowball. But I know he will."

John carefully kept the
amusement out of his voice. "That's terrific. You're going to be my show
rider before you know it."

"Can I be in the costume
class? I could dress up in purple and silver and..."

"Sure, why not?" he
said recklessly. Actually, he'd always thought the dressy costume class at Arabian
horse shows was tacky. The intent was to present the graceful horses as they'd
once been ridden. John had a suspicion that hundreds of years ago, as the nomads
swept over the desert on their swift mounts, very few were accoutered in purple
silk with jangling bits of silver and painted hooves and even mascara around
the horse's eyes, for God's sake. But if entering the class would give Emma
pleasure, hey, what was a little purple silk?

"Listen, can I talk to
Marian?"

"Sure." The little
girl hesitated. "I miss you, Daddy."

His heart seemed to knot in
his chest. "I miss you, too, honey."

His daughter didn't bother to
cover the telephone before she bellowed, "Marian!"

As he waited, John pulled
himself up, yanking the pillow from beneath the spread and bunching it behind
him. The king-size bed was too hard, the pillows too squishy. With an ache Emma
had brought on, he missed home. His own bed, his solid foam pillow, Isaiah's
silent, familiar presence, the soft whisper of a horse's muzzle against his
hand. Always Emma, with her light, high voice that ran on and on. And at times
like this he still thought about his wife, who had died over two years ago. As
Emma changed and grew, John couldn't help hurting for all that Susan had
missed.

With a shock he realized that
he was seeing Marian, too, as though she held a part of his heart as well. He
had almost kissed her yesterday, before he had recognized her fear. What would
have happened if he had? Damn it, he couldn't be alone in feeling this
attraction!

He heard her coming, her
voice muffled as she said, "Emma, could you help Jesse and Anna pick up
the Playdoh?" Then she said into the telephone, "Hello, John. How's
your trip going?"